#for the life of me i cannot think of another reason why asking for rope would garner that reaction

[squeakadeeks]

fucking chrighst i just had a hell of an interaction at a hardware store- I asked the help desk which was notably staffed by a gaggle of teens where the rope was and one of them bugged their eyes out and started snickering and i dont know for sure BUT im pretty sure it was a “teehee this is sex rope isnt it!!” chortle like ma’am i get absolutely zero game this is so i can dress up as a guy who died of sepsis in siberia during the paleolithic era. 

but then the cashier goofed the order and i got 20$ of rope for .99 cents and im feeling like macklemore once again 

[landfilloftrash]

May I ask for more of your ShinKaru headcanons please? 😀🙏 or even about Manfred, do you have any HC about his wife?

Not gonna lie with you Chief, it took me longer than it probably should’ve to realize that you were using “Karuma” for the second half of the ship name lmaooo (very jovial)

But headcanons for Gregory and Manfred!!! I have those in spades! I won't go into tooooo much detail because we'll be here all day but I can give you some I sent to my partner! But as always I must preface; this is mostly based on vibes, certain lines I cannot quote off the top of my head, and fanfic-- because both characters and their backstories have not been TOUCHED let me see how they GOT HERE

Anyways /lh

In actual canon, my guess is that they met for the first time during the IS-7 incident. More specifically, the first time they’ve actually TALKED.

However, this alone is boring; So I imagine they’ve seen glances of one another in the courtroom. On Gregory’s end, he has seen von Karma in passing, fresh from the courtroom, going into battle, or going over something in the lobby and scowling, given a polite nod to the man or a nice tip of his hat if he was wearing it and mostly classified MvK as “older gentleman with nice taste in clothing.” if he ever sees him again.

MvK on the other hand might have heard of Gregory in passing? Extremely good defense attorney who regularly beats prosecutors; that’s not saying he’s perfect, that would catch the older man’s attention after all, but MvK has probably heard of him and his Justice filled ways and gone “bah. these fools don’t know how to prosecute that’s all, and he’s a naive fool.” If SEEING him without first noticing his badge, might politely nod back or huff a breath in lieu of greeting. If seeing his badge, 100% a nearly uncontrolled sneer. A mere defense attorney. A bug to crush.

And if later down the line Gregory wants to be that cool bug that Manfred studies closer and finds interesting, that’s his own damn business, thank you very much /lh

The only way I see them happening would be if Manfred's wife was either divorced or dead; He brags about his wife's cooking in a contest about baking that man is a wifeguy fo sho

Anyways

They are court rivals!

They match each other blow for blow, which means whatever Manfred’s brand of insane is that trial, Gregory is ready to go with it and turn the tide, and even if he doesn’t win (perfect win streak), the crowd goes away with a sense of “wow. Von Karma was really on the ropes a couple of times.” and Manfred HATES IT. Not the crowd’s whispers— but now people know there’s someone who can actually MATCH his damn insanity and that riles him up to the point of bloodthirsting lust

Gregory ALSO hates it but for a different reason; he's fighting for his gawddamn life with these cases, doing his best as a defense and usually coming so so close but missing just that little something, and von Karma wins.

But he’s stubborn. He will get people their Justice, and he WILL literally die trying so help him gods. That stubbornness extends to von Karma; he WILL win against this man one day, and he’s tenacious and firm, so one day, it WILL happen.

On other hand.. he’s also interested in the amused expressions and sometimes even delighted smile that pops up on extremely brief and rare one second occasions when Gregory pulls a trap of his own or turns von Karma’s trap around; It’s a predator amused that his prey thinks it can win, but playing along and once again trapping the poor creature, but he can’t deny that the expressions make him pause for a moment. Von Karma is very intrigued as he is incredulous about Edgeworth; the fact he only smiles when cornered, so deadly serious and matching fire with fire, a little bit of a nerd! What is this man and why is he so amused by him? He's gonna have an aneurysm

Outside of the courtroom, there’s not much interaction. But… on occasion, they will cross paths while investigating, and almost make a game of it.

They’ll bicker, snip at each other, get close to violence on a couple cases, occasionally even laugh at a stupid/funny comment the other made, quip and quote back and forth like their lives depend on it and should they fail they’ll disintegrate.

Most detectives, especially Badd, the one they most regularly have to deal with, have caught onto this and stay the FUCK out of their way; no matter if von Karma demands they don’t let Gregory onto the scene, they find out later he snuck past them and is up to his thighs in a mystery he’s two thirds of the way figured out

Meanwhile von Karma is already ‘hiding’ witness testimonies and figuring out what he might need to smudge to keep the 'innocents' safe and the 'culprits' put away. While this is a tried and true tactic, and a very welcome one, if he can get away with not doing those things, he prefers it.

Gregory on the other hand, has a notebook for every case he’s been on with MvK as the prosecutor because every time they go against each other he needs to write down every thought that comes to mind in regards to the case. In other cases not against Manfred, he’s decimated the prosecutions arguments before they get off the ground thanks to having to deal with the god of prosecution. But he goes over these notebooks and regularly writes new theories and ideas on what might’ve actually happened, or if he came across the truth and was unable to prove it, circles it, and when they're all actually solved, he closes that notebook permanently.

On the extremely rare occasion that they have NO culprit, but there’s a crime they’ve been assigned to, they have tossed theories at one another, simple to try and one up each other of course. But it’s a different kind of race and game. It’s slower, much more careful.

Manfred once couldn't get to a crime scene up on a hill because it was a terrible pain day and Gregory said nothing about it as he supported Manfred’s almost full weight and let him recover before they actually approached the police and the scene. They never bring it up again and Manfred hates the fact that it even happened, but Gregory soon after finds a small gift basket and a note that says “tell no one. they will never believe you.” and Edgeworth keeps the note.

Gregory is a very calm and chill man, but he has on multiple occasions yelled in true anger at Manfred for certain topics, and Manfred purposefully doesn’t bring those topics up again unless truly relevant, which is almost never.

Manfred absolutely hates Gregory the way you hate a dog. Gregory hates Manfred the way you hate a season.

That's where I'll leave those for now lmao-- but now. Ouuuh. Headcanons about Manfred's wife, huh? She's not so closely my department in headcanons/personal canons like my buddy @.nwdolphin is! But if I were pressed...

May perhaps not be a perfectionist like her husband, but probably strives for it in a way that Manfred saw, appreciated, and partially married her for

I'm not quite sure on ethnicity or name-- depends on if they met in Germany or Japanifornia, and even then it's a mixed bag either way-- but definitely not "noble birth" or whatever if going on with MvK's edwardian outfits /aff Just a normal person from a normal Ace Attorney universe family, so of course her name is a pun/irony.

That being said-- Business woman though. Possibly a CEO of some kind? Possibly just a simple worker. Either way, she commands attention

Softer face for Franziska? She's who it came from!

Like I said earlier in the post; Manfred brags about her cooking! Wifeguy for sure. Her cooking may not be "perfect" but it's made with a genuine effort and a love of the task/people it's made for, so it's perfect to him, goddamnit all, and he will stand by this until he dies

This is all not to say that she's perfectly fine with her husband's bullshit; she calls him out when he gets too Into It

Definitely challenges her husband in more than one way-- whether it be verbally, mentally, or maybe even physically in a sparring match when they were younger and Manfred's leg didn't act out as much!

Manfred fr wouldn't have it any other way; he strikes me as the kind of guy who would decay rapidly without a proper challenge in some way or another (enrichment for the caged tiger in his enclosure please)

I could definitely see her being the one that completely and utterly endorse her youngest daughter wielding a riding crop as little more than two so even she could defend herself

Both of them were definitely so proud of her

Of course her eldest also got a weapon (<- the one who gave them their weapons) who do you think she is

Their granddaughter is named after her, methinks; the eldest keeps in contact enough for Manfred to know her dog's name is Phoenix (whether or not he was simply bluffing on this is irrelevant, I'm taking it and running with it /lh) and even if it isn't, he still knows his granddaughter has a dog who she very much adores.

I think around the time she left his life (death, divorced, missing, etc.) is around the time he truly started to lose the way of how he wants Perfect Justice and instead started to perfectly embody everything wrong with the Law

[hihopelessromantics]

Can clever plotting end the Holy War? Sure. But this time the plot’s just, “Meliodas decides to fuck around and find out and drag everyone he can think of into it."

ah yes another drabble that I got too shy to put in the reblogs. this meme format gives me so much joy 

from that reblog chain: Yet another reason why the Demon King ducked up by making his preteen son a war commander. The amount of strategy he displays by doing that is… might I say god awful. He consulted ZERO people on the development of children. Probably freaked out when he saw baby Mel for the first time. Like "STOP SCREAMING I COMMAND YOU TO STOP."  *even louder infant screaming* "YOU CANNOT GET AWAY WITH THIS INSOLENCE!” levels of ignorance. 

The only thing stopping Ten Commandments Meliodas from getting the audacity to kill him sooner was a lack of a support system. This kid saw the slightest hint of hope and went OH YEAH. PEACE. ALL THE WAY LETS GO. and immediately was such a disaster about it that he sent shockwaves through history. Imagine if he had been allowed to properly communicate with his brother and others even once every several weeks. The hijinks TC Mel would get into.

Prompt:

The traumatized teen leader of the Ten Commandments finds a little hope in his own home. Throwing as much caution to the wind as he can possibly afford, he drags his precious little brother around the Demon Realm and the battlefields of Britannia to find a solution to the war that’s fucked up their lives from the beginning. More and more happless souls are yanked into the rebellion as impulsive kid shenanigans ensue. Then Meliodas and Zeldris accidentally open up a litttle too much to their new friends and news of their (and Elizabeth’s!) home life goes viral, roping in the four archangels and the ten commandments who are not fucking stoked to hear what they’ve been left in the dark about. This is the aftermath. In meme format. 

________

Zeldris: I remember last time we got the chance to talk like this you asked me why I always work so hard. And I got too nervous to answer

Meliodas: uh huh

Zeldris: well… the truth is… I have this dream. That one day I’ll be able to make the demon realm a peaceful place. No more reliance on violence to prove our value. Just, just us demons, working to be the best we can be.

Meliodas, feeling a lil bit of his soul revive as his third eye is being pried open with a chainsaw: ‘keep it cool Meliodas don’t be a blubbering weakling in an important moment’    d-damn Zel…that...

Zeldris: I know it’s strange. To imagine a world where we could give up satisfying our vengeance against the goddesses. But it’s doing so, so much more harm than good. I can see it. I know you might not understand why I would be willing to give it up, with what the goddesses have done to us… to you… to mom. You think I haven’t guessed what happened to her, but… unless father killed her… no, that’s not important now. What’s important is how we move forward… if we just… stay stuck like this, then what’s the point of it all?

Meliodas: nah FUCK the war. It’s all pointless BS. Mom knew it too

Zeldris: please don’t - wait what

Meliodas: don’t what?

Zeldris: um. I thought you might be really angry

Meliodas: what, for being stronger than me? Strong enough to hold onto hope even after all this time?? Zel. I’m glad you could share that with me

Zeldris: 🥹

Meliodas: That dream... I would love to make it come true. even if trying to make this place less of a hellhole is a big hassle and doesn’t work out like exactly like we thought, I don’t think I could regret trying. You’ve shown me love can grow here after all... I have a reason to try

Zeldris: Big brother… do you… doyouwanttorulethedemonrealmtogether one day?

Zeldris: I’m the second prince, and I know father expects much less of me. But I’m capable. I’ll be of use right by your side. You’re the heir. The one everyone expects will be king. Fullfilling that... Is that the path you’re dreaming of? Is that what you want to do? 

Meliodas: !    Weeelll. Actually. It never meant anything to me, being the heir. Except more pressure from the Demon King. If there’s gonna be a new Demon King, it should be you. That’s what I think.

Zeldris: Ah. So that’s how you feel... in that case, are you still willing to continue on as a prince at all?

Meliodas: like I’d let you shoulder all this BS all by yourself if I could help it. I trust I’ll... “be of use”? 

Zeldris: No-no-I-that sounds- use? No- I don’t think like that -!

Meliodas: Aw, Zel, your face is all reddddd. Hehe. Always wanted to turn the tables on you like that! Don’t worry. I know it’s because father makes you so unsure, and I unwittingly helped out with that for a while.

Zeldris: Hmph. You just can’t restrain yourself. Don’t make me so anxious when you know I already am!

Meliodas: I’m sorry, I’m sorry. But you know-

Zeldris: Yes, I know. You love me. When do you think we’ll be capable enough?

Meliodas: hm  *remembers a certain silver haired goddess*

Meliodas: Well, that depends…. How much into the realm of crazy are we willing to let this revolution become?

Zeldris: I’ll do anything I have to for our people.

Meliodas: great. great. How good are you at Public Speaking by the way

*some time later*

The demon king: 👁️👄👁️

Assorted people from all five clans, several Induras, a bucketload of dragons and miscellaneous creatures from all over Britannia, Bloody Ellie and some archangels, all of the vampires under a newly crowned queen, and the demon army, including Gowther who somehow broke out of prison and found Glariza along the way:

. . .  you’ve been staring at us for five minutes. That’s gratifying and all but I hope you don’t expect us to explain. Trust me, you don’t want to ask how we all got here. No time for that anyway. We also have questions. So many questions... Questions we prefer you answer before we all kill you. For starters, why are your sons lolis and how the hell are they talking to those CREATURES in the back. Do you see those? Please tell us we’re hallucinating at least some of them. Is that a pig?

Zeldris: rude. Karen has been dragon queen for eons. She knows more languages than I do and probably understands every word you are saying. I’m just doing my best to translate, that is all.

Meliodas: his name is Wild :D isn’t he cute?

Wild: Meliodas-sama why is your father’s face so red? I think he needs a healer.

Ludociel: a pig that speaks? this truly IS hell. Why the fuck did you summon all these untrustworthy creatures from purgatory. Meliodas, I can’t wait to punish your father for bringing you into this world. I can’t believe his mistake is working in our favor right now. MAEL STOP HUGGING THAT THING

Mael, choking on the fluff: this is the best day of my life for so many reasons

Wild: Good to hear, my friend!

Elizabeth, removing her face from the fluff: AMEM. Thank you for having an audience with us, demon king. We have important news. We are ending the Holy War once and for all. Die or die. I'd give you the option of living, but you'd die anyways. Your people are really pissed that you sent your own kids to war and lied to them about it. Whether you live or die, whatever your punishment for prolonging this war will be, that is their call, not mine.

Demon King: FOOLS. DO YOU REALLY INTEND TO KILL ME? when the dust settles here, you will all be dead, and the Holy War will begin anew!

Elizabeth: when the dust settles, I'll be making love to your son on my golden throne, and you'll be a scorned, forgotten memory.

Meliodas: looking forward to it!

Zeldris: I’m gonna kill you brother

Demon King: you mortals cannot POSSIBLY fathom the thoughts of a God. Why I've done the things I've done is beyond you.

Random demon: could say the same for any other child abuser...

Ludociel, shouting at the demon king with equal ire: YOU could not possibly fathom how MUCH I have had to deal with ever since Lady Elizabeth brought that horrible demon and his gaggle of abominations into our camp! I have seen things. Felt things. Even tasted things. That no goddess should ever have to again. (*Meliodas grins evilly*) I don't even care anymore. What is strategy? What’s logic? We ate rocks made by a 5-year-old to get in here safely

Merlin: I'm 12

    (Bloody) Elizabeth to the demon king: touch her and ill torture you to death 

Demon King, trying desperately to figure out why there's a small child here and why Bloody Ellie is being weird about her, she LOOKS FAMILIAR, oh god is this her child, HOW LONG HAVE THOSE TWO BEEN A THING, this isn't their weird fucked up love child is it??: 

I AM GIVING YOU FIVE MINUTES TO LEAVE THIS REALM

Rou, completely ignoring the 200 ft tall giant: oh my God Mel he fell for it!

Ludociel, also completely ignoring him: WHAT??

Meliodas: that was frozen tree blood. And a prank. Your goddess magic is adequate to protect you that's why we had you all cast Saint's Coat

Merlin: Maple Syrup. It’s called maple syrup. And magic potions don't taste nearly that good. I'm shocked you fell for that Ludo. you really are losing it

Gowther: technically, he isn’t wrong. The potion to combat the miasma is partly made from organic material from purgatory. There were some rocks in it. And also bone.

Sariel: when did you go to purgatory??? 

Mael (muffled by Wild's fur): rock is organic?

Zeldris: 84% of native purgatory rock is!! It’s even been linked biologically to a demon’s darkness. It’s fascinating. I read a whole book about it

Sariel: hello??? who took this man to purgatory without saying shit to anyone?? 

Tarmiel: I don’t even know who that is. I can’t remember when he got here

Demon King: YOU DON’T EVEN KNOW YOUR ALLIES?! YOU SNIVELING NAIVE FOOLS! STOP THIS.

Mael: not true, we know who he is!  that’s the boyfriend of the demon I found trapped in a magic circle in the woods, remember? And I was like, I’m kinda having an exestential crisis right now so it could just be me, but if a goddess and a demon can really be friends and being a pacifist is okay actually and everyone was just being a bitch to me for no reason, then fuck it, who cares why the demon king put you in here? I’m setting you free. just promise you won’t wreck anything. make a demon contract with me or whatever and let’s end this cursed war. and she went “yea actually i’m directly an enemy of the demon king. he threw my lover in jail :(” and then me and Elizabeth and that guy over there *Doll Gowther throws up a peace sign* did a jailbreak while you lot were arguing over whether you could trust Mel or not? Remember that guys? 

Ludociel, who did NOT remember, on the verge of fainting:

Mael: Wait did I not tell you ANY of that?!? BROTHER I’M SO SORRY

Doll Gowther: Don’t be. He would not have let you contribute in a substantial way again. 

Ludociel:  I HATE YOU ALL. EVEN YOU ELIZABETH YOUR VIRTUE IS UNSALVAGEABLE

Elizabeth: do I owe you dessert Mel or does him insulting my virtue in this context not count

Meliodas: I’m not actually sure…might have made that bet too vauge

Zeldris (to Merlin): I’m not letting them adopt you. You can be my little sister

Demon King, finally realizing who Merlin is and that he’s not getting out of this unscathed unless he gets serious: THAT’S IT. YOU THINK YOU CAN DEFY ME? BARGE INTO MY REALM UNINVITED TO CHALLENGE ME ONLY TO BANTER AMONGST YOURSELVES? GUESS WHAT. YOU CAN’T. EVEN THE MAGICAL POWER YOU RELY ON SO MUCH COMES FROM ME!

The ground begins to shake violently. Besides the obvious, nothing else happens. 

Demon King: MY COMMANDMENTS. HEAR AND OBEY. END THIS NONSENSE REBELLION. RIGHT NOW! 

The Ten Commandments, permanently scarred from realizing that Meliodas the Destoryer and Zeldris the Executioner were kids this whole goddamn time, and not just weirdly short: ...loooooook...uh...here’s the thing. we’re gonna kill you now and we don’t need your power to do it. We got rid of it already. We have the power of, uh, *checks smudged writing on hands, dilligently inscribed by Elizabeth* ... teamwork

Wild: AND OUR MIGHTY BODIES!

TC: and what ... what the pig said

Mael, extracting himself from Wild’s fluff, noticably buffer than 5 minutes ago: Plus the power of the gods! It’s almost noon :)

Zeldris: Damn, we timed this wrong. You better not destroy the castle

Yeah this has been sitting in my drafts for weeks because I don’t know how to end it. Anyone who wants a part 2 let me know lol

[agirldying]

digesting early childhood trauma pt. 1

i feel like my trauma actually begins well before i was told i had autism.

i was growing up alienated from my peers and constantly asking myself what was wrong with me. i was bullied at school, mostly on the school bus since the bus driver was more focused on driving than keeping the kids safe from each other, and we didn't have security cameras. we never had security cameras. some busses did, but nothing ever came of what might've been caught on film.

gonna get graphic here but. regarding the school bus - and to clarify i have no idea how old i was for any of these things, but - one thing i remember is that i had a neighbor of mine, Jamie, who was maybe a year or two older than me and lived down the road from me in a cabin house. she had these two big rottweilers named chip and cookie i think. one of the few times i was at her house i remember one of her dogs jumped on me and tackled me to the floor, since i was a kid and they were bigger than me on their hinds.

other than that she, well, i wouldn't say she hated me, but i was her punching bag when we were growing up. the only reason why i refrain from saying she hated me was because sometimes she'd sit with me on the bus and we'd have a literally normal conversation as if we were friends. but other times she would come on the bus and immediately sit down beside me, grab me by the throat and slam me against the window. i also remember drawing on the bus and she grabbed it from my hands and tore it up and threw it over me like confetti.

another one of my bus bullies was Adam. He definitely wasn't as bad as the others, as sometimes we just talked and we'd listen to blue man group together, but I also remember he'd give me an indian rope burn on my arm.

then there was this girl, i cannot remember her name for the life of me but i think it was Iliana or something. Her and this boy I also don't remember the name of but was something like Jimmy or Johnny would gang up on me. i remember one time they insisted that Adam and I were getting married. obviously this was stupid but I was a kid and so I was frustrated that they kept telling everyone we were in love.

I think what frustrated me the most about this was that the only time I remember the bus driver pulling over was because of me. we were about to pull out from the school's parking lot and I was showing the kids in the bus over how sticking your ring finger up looks like sticking the middle finger up, until I accidentally did it and hid until we pulled out. then as we were driving away the bus driver pulled over and interrogated us, asking who gave the middle finger.

School adult figures are the kings of punishing the wrong kids. this is kind of a running theme in my life.

[mishkakagehishka]

hiya korka!!! how are you doing today?

anyway, since you reblogged that thing asking about questions... how about why valkyrie are your favorite unit? or some of your favorite things about your culture/the country you live in if you're willing to share~? (i'm so curious and you talk about it a lot!!)

WE GOT ANOTHER ONE (interested in the culture) LADS /lh

Okay but wait hiiiii!! I'm doing quite well, resting up😌 I hope you're still fine, too!

Firstly, Valkyrie. Valkyrie. [Screams] okay, to understand why I love Valkyrie, you need to understand me on a molecular level. Not really, just some key facts - n°1 I am unfortunately very into steampunk, have been for ages, it's peak aesthetics to me. Victorian era in general, too, but specifically, like, the 1860s and 70s and 80s were a blessing for western european fashion, and you cannot change my mind. I love crinolines and bustles and corsets and I want them back soooo bad. But then steampunk is like. Personally, I think industrialisation was a mistake (/hj), but steampunk aesthetics? The bronze, the cogs, the goggles, the clocks, the myriad of belts? Yeah. Go off. N°2 so my music taste is questionable, a singular "kpop" band, videogame soundtracks and anime rappers, mostly. But the one thing I'm willing to call my taste superior over is the fact that I love chamber pop and adore baroque and classicism especially.

And when my friend showed me Valkyrie, who do (livelier - very, yes i'll say this again, baroque of them) chamber pop with steampunk aesthetics, what was I supposed to do? Not install Ensemble Stars then and there? But! I could have just been a ValkyrieP without being a Shu and MikaP so I'll also say why I'm a ValkyrieP both as in "I have all of their songs downloaded on my phone" and "I'm tempted to throw my actual irl money at happyele if it's to get Shu or Mika cards". But if I said all the reasons, we'd be here until tomorrow, so I'll keep it brief: I fucking love well-written conflict and a satisfactory conclusion to a story. Granted, enstars is ongoing, but I'm mainly talking ab their growth during ! here. The contrast between early ! and early !! ... it's like. It makes me want to send flowers and chocolates to Akira, because the character development is immaculate, makes sense, it's well-written, and well-paced. Like, it takes a while, and they're still not quite "there" yet, but you can taste and feel the progress. It makes you want to root for them imo bc you see how much they've already done.

Is this already getting too long? Maybe. ANYWAY I recognise you put "or" between the two, but guess what, I'm gonna tell you about a proposal tradition that I've been going insane about for a month now. Nobody does it anymore (but I better be proposed to that way or I'm rejecting smh), but like. So, in Croatian, "engaged" is hard to literally translate. Zaručiti, can be separated into za and ručiti, and ručiti comes from ruke. Za ruke (and zaruke means "engagement"), would mean "hands" but you gotta use a verb. As in, "hold hands" or "take [someone's] hands" - držati za ruke, uzeti za ruke. I always thought this was metaphorical, like, taking your s/o's hands as a symbol of going into life together. Anyway. In ye olden times, proposing would be like. The couple literally joins hands and pledges love to one another (which used to be the marriage rite itself), and the girl gets gifted an apple, money and/or a ring. And then gets spun around in the direction of the Sun, which I thought was hilarious, but also cute. The old wedding traditions are cute, too (personal fave: best man has to tie the couple together with rope), but modern weddings are more like drink and party until you see the Sun, and then some more.

[invisibleanonymousmonsters]

Seized

An addition to Approval. Do not read this until reading that first. 

Character: Bruce Wayne x Fem!Reader // Damian Wayne x Batmom

Summary: What happens when Talia Al Ghul learns that someone has stolen the affections of her past lover and her son?

Word Count: 3,000 [One Shot]

“Delinquents have been detained. I can hear the sirens,” Damian stated calmly in his comms.

“Good work, Robin. You know where to meet me. You have a minute,” Bruce responded as he whipped the bat mobile through Crime Alley to grab his son.

Just as Damian opened the door and hopped in, an alarm went off within the vehicle.

“The Manor,” Damian thought aloud as he read the screens with his father.

Bruce ignored his comment and was calling Alfred immediately.

“Master Wayne,” the butler instantly picked up. “I followed protocol, but they were already gone when I arrived.”

“Y/N…” Bruce immediately asked.

“They took her,” Alfred told him, distress clear in his tone.

Damian’s head whipped to his father to watch his reaction.

But Bruce’s jaw only tightened and he sped the batmobile even faster.

Returning faster to Wayne Manor than ever before, Bruce jumped out of the batmobile and up the secret entrance to get to the main house.

Damian was hot on his heels. He’d already sent an encrypted message to his brothers, informing them of the situation. It was only a matter of time before they were at the manor as well. Though Damian suspected Jason would not come, instead already starting to scour the streets of Gotham for Y/N and her captors.

Alfred was already waiting for them. “Master Wayne, I am so sorry.”

Bruce ignored him and walked to the master bedroom. Y/N would’ve been sleeping when the attack occurred. It wouldn’t have mattered if she had been awake, she had no training in self defense. She was merely an innocent civilian.

“Father,” Damian muttered quietly.

Bruce turned around to find his son ripping a shuriken out of the door frame.

They shared a look, both recognizing the particular shape and color.

“The League…” Damian muttered quietly, saying what they both were thinking.

——————

Y/N was barely awake.

They clearly had drugged her with something to make her more compliant. Everything was foggy and muffled.

Yet they still tied her hands and ankles together, as if her brain could even manage to get her body to move.

But Y/N could feel the effects of the drugs losing their strength, yet keeping their hold on her.

She squinted as she looked around. The air felt different. It was colder and dryer, making Y/N believe that she was no longer in Gotham. Little did she know, she wasn’t even in the country any longer.

“I do not know what he sees in you,” a woman hummed from somewhere in the room.

Y/N blinked as he listened, but her eyes could not adjust to the low lighting and she didn’t even have the strength to turn her head.

“You are weak. Ripped from your own bed without so much as a fight.”

Then she heard the grunts and clashing of metal.

The woman smiled. “Right as expected, my son.”

Y/N’s brow furrowed at ‘my son.’ Then she finally lifted her head and took in her surroundings. There were swords and other weapons stored everywhere, and there was armor hung from the walls.

“Talia?” She whispered.

The woman chuckled. “Weak, but not utterly foolish.”

Then the door of the room was thrown open.

Y/N looked to see Damian in his Robin uniform.

“My son, finally returned," Talia greeted with a smirk.

“Mother.” Then his gaze flickered to Y/N. Very subtly, he was scanning her body to access any possible injuries.

His gaze turned back to his mother. “What is the meaning of this?”

“You have forgotten where you come from, Damian. You are not just the heir to the Wayne family. Before anything else, you are my son and the heir to Ra's al Ghul’s throne.”

“She has nothing to do with this,” Damian said with a gesture to Y/N.

“She has everything to do with this,” Talia snapped. “She has made you weak.”

Damian said nothing.

“She has taken you both from me,” Talia growled.

“Father does not love you,” he growled.

“A small lapse in judgment on his part, but not something that cannot be remedied. Our love gave us you, and I fully believe he will return to me.”

“His heart belongs to someone else. The sooner you realize that, the sooner you can give up your fantasy.” Then he hesitated to say the next part. “I never plan on returning to The League of Shadows. I wish to stay with father.”

Talia’s amusement vanished at her sons words.

The next second, she unsheathed her sword. “Perhaps I should just kill her and remind you of your place, my son.”

With that, Damian rushed forward and intercepted Talia’s attack with his own sword.

“Do not touch her,” Damian growled.

Their swords continued to clash as the mother and son fought each other. The fight raged on for what felt like forever. Too evenly matched, but also both too terrible at hiding that neither actually wanted to kill the other.

In the distance, Y/N could hear even more fighting. She could only assume it was Bruce fighting his way to her and his son.

Talia and Damian’s swords locked again, both of their stances shaking from the hold.

“Do you really think you and your father stand a chance against the entire League? Why do you think we lured you all the way here? You are outnumbered.” Talia hissed.

“You think us foolish enough to come alone?” Damian smirked right before there was a boom that shook the entire compound.

Talia’s focus slipped half a second, allowing Damian a window to go on the offense.

He flipped his mother’s sword out of her grip and held his own to her throat.

“Yield,” he growled down to her.

“You truly choose her over your own mother?” The hurt in her eyes was clear.

“You abandoned me, used me as a tool to disrupt father’s life. She taught me that there is more to life than killing and destroying. She loves me and care for me, even when I gave her no reason to do so.”

“And it will be the death of you,” Talia warned.

He glared at her. “Yield!”

But he knew she would never. So he whipped out a dart and blew it to her neck – a sedative.  It knocked her out within seconds.

Waiting until he was sure it had worked, Damian sheathed his sword once again and ran to Y/N’s side.

With a knife, he cut the ropes around her wrists and ankles.

“D-Damian,” her voice was still slurred from the drugs and she was weak. How long had she been here without food or water? “I don’t think I can walk."

Damian helped her to her feet. “Y/N, please try,” he begged as he wrapped her around around his shoulders. He was still just a boy, one that was shorter than her. But he wouldn’t give up that easily.

There was another explosion.

“What’s-What’s happening?” Y/N asked as she dragged her feet and held on tightly.

“That would be Todd, most likely taking his job of distracting to an unnecessary level.”

“You all came?” She asked in shock.

“Of course,” Damian scoffed.

Suddenly an object came flying at them and Y/N cried out in pain.

“No!” Damian bellowed as he looked up to see that another League member was attempting to stop their escape. And with it, they had thrown a shuriken that had landed in Y/N’s side.

She dropped to the ground.

Damian screamed as he unsheathed his sword once again and charged the assassin. It wouldn’t take him long. He knew that every minute spent fighting was a minute Y/N was bleeding out and edging closer to death.

He didn’t hold back like he had with his mother and quickly disarmed the enemy. Then thrusting his sword into a nonfatal area of his body, enough to neutralize him. 

Damian rushed back to Y/N’s side, where a pool of blood was forming from her wound.

He knew it was useless, but he still tried to lift Y/N into his arms to carry her. He cried out in both panic and frustration.

The building had now caught aflame due to Jason’s explosions. Damian would need to call for backup, hoping one of his older brothers could help.

Then a shadow was cast over him.

Damian tensed, believing it to be another attack.

But he looked up to find his father standing before them.

However, Bruce’s gaze was on his unconscious girlfriend.

With the arrival of his father, Damian’s cold and calculating disposition melted.

“She’s hurt,” his voice trembled and tears formed in his eyes. “Help her.”

Damian rarely cried. He cried less than grown men. He was raised that way. It didn’t help that his father was not a great example of healthy emotional expression.

But Bruce knew what his sons tears were for: Damian was frustrated, he felt weak, and he thought he had failed his mission. But most of all, Bruce knew his son was crying for fear of Y/N’s death. Because the boy had grown to love her.

As if there were a world when Bruce wouldn’t give his own life to save Y/N.

Bruce bent down and carefully brought Y/N into his arms.

Damian heard her mutter his father’s name, though still delirious from both the drugs he’s sure his mother pumped into her and the blood loss.

“Red Robin, get the jet to my coordinates immediately,” Bruce instructed through his comms.

Damian wondered how his father could be so calm when the woman he loved was bleeding out in his arms. This wasn’t bat business, this was personal. But Bruce spoke like it was just another night of patrol.

A few minuets later, Damian and Bruce had fought their way through the flames and burning compound.

Tim lowered the platform of the jet.

Damian made sure his father and Y/N got on before he followed. He turned and gave one last look at the burning compound that would no longer exist come morning. He did not fear for his mother’s life. He knew someone from the League would come for her – if she didn’t save herself first.

When he boarded the jet, his father already had Y/N on the surgical table that elevated from the jet floor.

Bruce had taken off his cowl, allowing Damian and his brothers to study his expressions.

Damian had been wrong about his father handling the situation like any other mission. For now he could see the terror and worry in his father’s eyes, despite him trying to control his emotions.

Damian looked to Jason, who still had his Red Hood helmet on.

“My grandfather?” He asked his brother.

“Escaped,” Jason muttered.  

Damian stepped forward to help Bruce with Y/N’s injuries.

“She’ll be OK,” he muttered to his father.

All of them had high-level medical training to know.

Thankfully the assassin’s aim was not great and didn’t land in lethal place on Y/N’s body. But she still lost a lot of blood and would need many stitches.

All the brother’s shared a look when Bruce ignored the statement. 

———

Y/N woke up to someone gripping her hand. She recognized from the smell and the feel of the bedding that she was in Bruce’s bed at the manor.

She winced as she opened her eyes to find Bruce was the one holding her hand as he sat in a chair only inches away from the side of the bed.

“Hi,” she whispered to him with a sad smile.

“Hi,” he said back with a smirk.

“How long have I been asleep?”

“Two days.”

Then Y/N looked past Bruce to realize there was someone else in the room.

Damian passed out on the velvet chaise that was pushed against the windows.

“He hasn’t left your side,” Bruce told her. “Dick had to convince him just to take a shower for 5 minutes when we first got back.”

Y/N’s heart melted at the revelation.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here.”

The sound of Bruce’s voice as he said it made Y/N’s gaze snap back to him. Had it shook? Or was she imagining it?

Y/N squeezed his hand that was still wrapped around hers. 

“I know,” she told him with a sympathetic look.

He hid it well, but Y/N knew Bruce. And she knew that her being kidnapped from his own home probably drove him mad with guilt. She wouldn’t be surprised if he’d already designed an entirely new security system to prevent something like that ever happening again.

Bruce took in a shaky breath and opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

He wanted to say that he always feared her being with him would put her in danger like this. 

He wanted to say that maybe she should stay away from him. 

He wanted to say that him and the kids didn’t deserve her. 

He wanted to say that the only reason this happened is because Talia hated that she loved her son better than she ever did.

But Bruce had never been good at saying how he actually felt – or even acknowledging he had any feelings at all.

So Y/N brought his hand to her lips and kissed his knuckles. “Bruce, I know,” she said once again.

“I won’t let it happen again. I promise you,” he told her evenly.

“Bruce, I knew what I signed up for when you told me you were Batman. If I wasn’t willing to face the reality of it, I wouldn’t have stayed.”

“No one would’ve blamed you if you hadn’t.”

There was a knock at the door and then it opened a second later.

Damian jumped awake at the sound. But then he quickly brought his attention to Y/N. “You’re awake.”

But everyone’s attention was on Dick, who was standing at the open doorway.

“Hey,” he greeted Y/N, surprised to see that she was awake. “How are you feeling?”

“Sore. Tired. But I’ll be alright.”

He seemed to relax from her answer.

Then he winced when he looked at Bruce. “They put the signal up.”

Bruce’s jaw tightened.

He was about to open his mouth to ask them to handle it, not wanting to leave Y/N alone now that she had woken up.

“Go, Bruce. I’ll be OK.” Y/N told him, reading his mind.

“I think it’s the Joker,” Dick added with a serious frown.

“Bruce, go.” Y/N repeated.

And he saw the sincerity in her eyes. He leaned forward and kissed her gently, deciding he didn’t care if his two sons were witnesses to the intimacy.

Then Bruce kissed her forward. “I’ll be back as soon as I can. Alfred will be here if you need anything. Do not hesitate to call.”

Y/N nodded.

Bruce stood up and acknowledged Damian and Dick. “Let’s go.”

Once they were ways down the hall, Bruce heard Damian stop.

“Father?”

Bruce and Dick both turned to face Damian.

“I wish to stay with Y/N.”

Bruce and Dick shared a look, and then Dick decided to give the two a moment alone and muttered something about waiting in the cave.

Bruce walked back to his youngest son.

Damian’s gaze was glued on the floor. “Mother truly would’ve killed her?”

Bruce sighed. “Most likely, yes.” He saw no point in lying to his son.

“Because she knows that you and I love her?”

“Yes.”

Damian was quiet for a moment. But Bruce knew he had more to say.

“I used to think I had to earn it.”

Bruce frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Mother’s love. I had to earn it. Win in combat. Successfully execute a target. Outsmart a puzzle or challenge.” Damian looked up at his father with a broken expression. “Her love always came with a price.”

Bruce kneeled down to his son.

The boy shook his head. “But Y/N made me realize that I don’t have to earn anyone’s love. I don’t have to prove that I’m worthy of it.” He bit his lip. “She’s not my father or my brother. She didn’t have to love me. But she does…even when I did nothing to earn it.”

“Everyone is deserving of love, Damian.” Bruce gripped his son’s shoulder. “I’m sorry for not teaching you that myself.”

Damian nodded. “So, may I please stay with her tonight? I don’t want her to be alone.” But then he quickly corrected himself. “Unless of course, you require my assistance, father.”

Bruce smirked at him. “I think we will manage, Damian.” Then he squeezed his shoulder. “Look after her for me, alright?”

Damian relaxed and quickly nodded his head. “Of course, father.”

When Bruce returned hours later, Damian was cuddled next to Y/N in the bed. But clearly laying in a position to be mindful of her injuries. Both were fast asleep. The bright television was the only thing lighting the room, as it played a Pixar movie.

Bruce couldn’t help but grin at the sight.

“I got him,” Dick whispered to him before stepping into the room and carefully lifting the boy in his arms, clearing the space in the bed for Bruce to join Y/N.

Bruce moved about the room as he changed into cotton shorts and went without a shirt.

Y/N woke slightly as he joined her in bed.

“Everything OK?” She whispered sleepily.

“Everything’s fine. Did Damian keep you company?”

Y/N smiled and shifted her body so she was cuddle into him. “Yes…my little protector.”

Bruce smiled at that. “Don’t let him hear the ‘little’ part…”

She chuckled. “Good call.” 

And then she was fast asleep once again.

-----------------------

Please, please, please let me know what you think! 

[elysiadjarin]

Day 6: Hand Kink

Day 6 of Kinktober! Already almost a week in, huh… I figured I’d dip into the rich Japanese side of mythology this time. I hope this is an acceptable tribute… Find my Kinktober Masterlist here.

Warnings: Minors DNI, this is 18+ content ONLY. Trigger warnings for violence mentioned including physical assault, some family abuse dynamics, implied sexual assault (does not actually happen), and mild descriptions of death. Also sexual content including soft dom themes, PinV unprotected sex, entirely consensual.

Tags: Beast Youkai x reader, fox spirit x reader, exophilia, terato

Small Sun Showers

“It’s such a small thing, really.”

You slid the bag you’d brought into the hollow of the old tree. Avoiding the ropes strung around, you carefully sat on the rock next to the tree.

“I brought you some sweet buns, this time, with poppy seeds,” you said, ignoring the comment that had come from the dark hollow. “Since you said you missed some of the herbs.”

The sound of crinkling came from the hole, followed by the sounds of munching. “Attentive to me, as always, sweet one,” the disembodied voice cooed, though a moment later burning orange eyes stared at you from the darkness.

You studiously avoided the gaze, looking down at the grass under your feet. A sliver of shadow from the abandoned warehouse nearby fell over you, giving you some shade from the warm sun. As always, you didn’t respond to the epithets. You never did.

“How is the temple doing?” The voice asked.

“It’s fine,” you answered, almost automatically. “The festival is coming up soon, so everyone is excited.”

“And yet you do not, hmm?” The eyes tilted, as though the head had cocked at her curiously.

Your eyes slid away, more towards the forest beyond the tree. Unconsciously, your fingers tugged at the long sleeves you wore, despite the warm weather.

“I’m a little nervous,” you admitted. “As a Shrine Maiden, I’m supposed to be doing the Miko Kagura. I’ve been practicing, but…”

“You wear long sleeves again.” A hint of suspicion crept into the voice.

Despite yourself, you flinched. “I— I’m just-“

A low growl issued from the tree. “A spirit has been harassing you again, hasn’t it. Why haven’t you called an exorcist? Or told your Father, the Priest?”

You turned your head away. “It’s been contracted by someone else,” you admitted, voice thin. “I… can’t tell Papa.”

A pause. “Because it was bought at a high price.” A sneer laced the voice. “Then how do you plan to get rid of it? You can’t hold it off forever yourself. And it’s already injured you, hasn’t it.”

You shook your head. “I’ll find out a way. I can’t bother anyone else with it.” Your eyes slid closed, the bruises mottled up your arm throbbing.

“Or you could create a contract with something far more powerful,” came the slick purr. “If you’d only break the talisman, I would make a contract with you, sweet one.” The sealed beast offered, for not the first time.

“You are a beast youkai,” you answered, voice steady. “It is against your nature to bind yourself to anyone, much less become the guardian spirit of a small temple.” You reminded both him and yourself.

“Unless we have reason. Even the mightiest of beasts might be swayed by beauty such as yours.”

A bitter smile twisted your lips as you turned your face away. You? As if. The beast youkai only even spoke to you because you gave it food and paid attention to it out of your own loneliness, not because it somehow cared about you. You couldn’t bring yourself to really believe that.

With a soft sigh, you plucked at your sleeves. “What do you want me to bring you next time?”

But the voice stayed quiet for a moment. When it spoke again, something in its voice had changed. “Do you truly not believe me? I do not lie when I say that I would bind myself to you. I would never let you be injured. I would protect you, like your family cannot. I would hold you close,” the voice said, a dreamy tone in its voice, “and I would shower you with everything you deserve.”

You fought the tears that welled in your eyes as you abruptly stood, grabbing your bag. “If you don’t have any requests, I’ll just bring anything,” you interrupted, struggling to make sure your voice didn’t waver.

A sigh, so soft that you wondered if it were only the wind. “A meat bun.”

You nodded, then headed back down the hillside towards home. Reaching up, you angrily smeared your tears from your cheeks, breath hitching on your sobs.

You could never allow yourself to believe the words of a youkai, much less a powerful and dangerous one like him. No matter how sweet his words, how genuine they sounded… Everyone always lied to you. He would be no exception.

You tried to ignore the little part of you that wondered if maybe, just maybe, dying at the hands of the youkai would be better than continuing the misery of your life.

~

“Fouuuund youuuu.” A yawning mouth sprang from the darkness, black eyes fixed with crazed bloodlust on your body.

You dropped to the floor, scrambling across the hardwood to slide towards the doorway. Leaping back up, you ran for your life. Your breaths came fast and shallow as you blindly ran, tripping through the dark halls of the temple. Behind you, you could hear cackling laughter as its talons scrabbled after you.

You reached out your hand, then burst though the main doors, stumbling across the stones out front. Looking up, you froze.

An entire group of men stood in front of you, all staring at you with leering, jeering faces. The one in the front, the one your brain automatically assumed was the leader, stepped forwards.

“Well, well. Would you look at that.” He grinned, his eyes sliding over your shoulder.

Something grabbed your arm, wrenching you back. You stifled a cry, sinking your teeth into your lip as claws brutally dug into the bruises already all up your arm. The spirit held you, its tight grip almost unbearable.

“I guess the boy must really hate his family, huh?” the man sneered, hands in his pockets as he stared at you down his nose. Reaching out with his foot, he kicked at you like some sort of trash. “To think that he’d offer his own younger sister in exchange for his debts.”

Your heart sank. Of course. Your brother who had gotten into debt with the yakuza. Of course he’d offer you: the only girl, the precious little shrine maiden.

Sadly enough, it didn’t even surprise you. But at least now you figured out why the spirit had haunted you in particular so insistently, and how much trouble you were in. Which, you snorted bitterly to yourself, was a lot. Probably at risk of your life, at best.

A wild thought flashed through your head, desperate but somehow… insistent. Your eyes briefly scanned the crowd of men. You were smaller than most of them, and probably in better shape at this point. If you managed to get a brief head start, you weren’t too far away— enough to maybe be able to get there just fast enough. But you’d have to immobilize the spirit first, at least temporarily.

Thickly, you swallowed, closing your eyes and breathing in deeply. You had enough. Just enough for one— Your other hand landed on the spirit’s as your eyes flew open. The spirit let out a piercing shriek, letting go of you as the searing spiritual energy burst through your palm. You didn’t hesitate.

Breaking into a dead sprint, you headed straight for the hill behind the temple. Behind you, you could hear the angry shouts of the men as they started after you. You pushed yourself, ignoring it, taking as many shortcuts as you could, heart pounding in your ears as you gasped for air. Your legs were starting to ache, and you could hear them gaining on you; but the warehouse was in sight.

Skidding around the corner, you ran straight for the tree. Your hand reached for the talisman.

When the yakuza men caught up to you, they found you kneeling at the base of the tree, a shattered seal at your feet.

Tears streaked down your cheeks as you whispered into the hollow. “Please… if you help me, just this once… I’ll give you myself in exchange,” you promised weakly.

“It’s too late now, little girl,” the boss sneered, starting to step towards you. “You’re coming with us.”

But before he could say anything more or another move was made, a dark mist began to swirl around the area. Shouts of confusion arose as the mist covered everything, too dark to see through, almost too dark to even move in safely. A low, grating laugh spilled from the darkness, just as you felt yourself being lifted up.

Startled, you gasped softly and clung to the solidity you could feel under your fingers. Lips parted, you stared at the familiar orange eyes that slowly materialized in front of you. A wide, fanged grin split the darkness underneath the eyes; and slowly, a body started to emerge from the swirling dark mist.

“Well hello there, my sweet one,” the familiar voice cooed. Long, pitch black hair tied in a low ponytail framed a pale face. The beast youkai, one that you now recognized as a Fox, held you effortlessly in one arm, pulling you close to his chest. He towered above the ground, dwarfing you in every way possible. His entire hand curled around almost your entire thigh.

You swallowed. “H-hello,” you whispered tremulously, not even sure what to think at this point.

“You released me,” he murmured, his eyes fixed on you. He leaned forward, and his nose brushed against your cheek as a soft purr rumbled through his chest, reverberating down into you.

Your fingers clenched in his robe, surprise flittering through you that he wasn’t… leaving. Or killing you.

“My brave darling,” the youkai fairly gushed, nosing against you. “Now I can finally fulfill my promise to you.”

“Promise?” you repeated dumbly, mind whirling. What-?

He chuckled. “I told you, didn’t I? That I would contract with you, if you set me free. Protect you, cherish you as you should be.”

He’d actually meant it? What?

“I…” You stared up at his orange eyes, fixed on you intensely. Your breath stuck in your throat as the familiar ache of longing overcame you. Reminded you of your stupidity, falling in love with the beast youkai that you thought would never even glance at you if he were free.

“Of course I’ll do anything for you,” he purred, his tongue flicking out to briefly lick away the tear-streak on your cheek. “As if I would deny you when you offer me the one thing I truly desire more than anything else.” He grinned, eyes sparking. “You.”

And then his fingers tilted your chin up, and your eyes squeezed shut as his lips landed on yours. The kiss was warm and soft, surprisingly so. You could feel your spiritual energy gravitating towards him, could feel it wrapping around him, infusing him, as he made a contract binding him to you and your spiritual energy. He reluctantly let go of your lips, the dizzying kiss making your head spin as you gasped for breath.

“My name is Kaz, sweet one,” he murmured, orange eyes half-lidded in simmering contentment.

Unthinkingly, you repeated the name. “Kaz…”

His eyes glowed. “Now then. Why don’t we start with these filth?”

In the next moment, the mist cleared to reveal that everyone now stood in the empty warehouse. Kaz still held you in his arm, keeping you close against his chest as he stared at the yakuza men starting to reorient themselves.

The boss cursed, glaring at you and Kaz. “Hand her over,” he spat, bristling. “She’s ours.”

But Kaz only laughed, his teeth baring as feral glee glittered in his eyes. “Give you my precious shrine maiden?” he cackled. “Didn’t you ever consider the fact that she is in fact a shrine maiden at a temple, with her own powerful spiritual energy? Enough to make a contract with a powerful beast like me?” He licked his lips. “And your blood… smells wonderful.”

Some of the men started to look wary, clearly leery about the sheer size of Kaz, especially in comparison with you.

Kaz tilted his head toward you, just as he flicked his fingers. A soft sort of puffy cloud materialized beside him, and he gently set you on it. “Stay here while I get rid of these nuisances,” he said gently, his fingers brushing across your cheek. “I’ll be right back, I promise.” With one last sickeningly sweet smile, he turned towards the men. A sword materialized in his hand, practically the size of your entire body.

You looked away, bile rising in your throat. The blood drained from your face as you heard the men screaming, the sound of the carnage making you reach up to clap your hands over your ears. Though you were sure the men were far from innocent or deserving of mercy, the brutality of their deaths was undeniable. A high-pitched, inhuman shriek indicated that the spirit they’d contracted had also been shredded by Kaz.

It made you wonder. How powerful was Kaz, exactly-?

After another moment, you felt Kaz lift you up again in his arm. Eyes flying open, you grasped at his shoulders as he pulled you close against himself again. His other blood-spattered hand still held his sword, but his eyes were adoringly fixed on you.

Reaching up, you absently wiped away a tiny drop of blood off of his jaw. “Thank you,” you whispered. Despite yourself… you felt safe.

His eyes visibly lit up, and his grin widened as he gazed up at you. “Ah, my darling praises me!” You could swear his eyes had hearts in them. “Do I get a kiss?” His grin turned teasing.

You swallowed thickly. “I… I promised you myself if you helped me,” you said weakly. “It’s all I can really give you… besides my spiritual energy—“

Kaz leaned forwards, his face so close that you could almost feel his breath against your lips. “Be my bride,” he whispered, his voice a heady murmur.

You breath hitched. “K-Kaz?” Had you… heard him right-?

“You offered me yourself, darling,” he purred. “So, be my bride. I am contracted to you, aren’t I? So I will be an impertinent beast and ask the shrine maiden to be my bride without shame.”

You closed your eyes. “Okay,” you whispered.

He paused, as though he himself didn’t believe you’d agreed.

Because you both knew that as a youkai contracted to someone with spiritual energy, you had the power to entirely command him to do anything… and deny him anything. Yet here you were, agreeing to be his bride.

“Okay, Kaz,” you repeated, not meeting his eyes. You could feel the color splash across your face.

But in all honesty, it wasn’t as though you really had many other options. Kaz could promise you some sort of safety even against your own family, and his power was certainly enough to protect you against other youkai. It had taken one of the highest-complexity talismans to even seal him away in the first place, and you could already feel through the contract how powerful he was.

The idea of being his bride… wasn’t really disagreeable.

“Darling,” Kaz breathed. His lips gently slid against yours, the touch soothing and almost… grounding. “I’ll be a most devoted husband, I promise,” he murmured.

You closed your eyes and decided that you would try to believe.

The talisman had been such a small thing, really.

~

You smiled as you walked down the street, stretching your hand out to gather the raindrops that pattered down and pooled in your palm. The weather had been beautiful, but despite the warm sunshine and hardly a cloud being in the sky, it had still decided to rain.

Pausing in the middle of the empty sidewalk, you lifted your face and let the raindrops splash against your face in a cooling shower. You loved the rain, the way it seemed to wash away all your heavy worries and soothe the ragged edge in your soul.

A shadow fell over you, and you opened your eyes to see Kaz standing above you, smiling down at you. He leaned down and swept you up into his arm, one hand holding your thigh while the other wrapped around your waist. A startled laugh fell from your lips as you held onto his shoulders.

“Is my darling enjoying the fox wedding?” he cooed.

You flushed, just then realizing the common name for the burst of cloudless rain. You gave him a shy smile, then nodded.

He chuckled. “Should we celebrate, sweet one? I can give you a gift, if you like.” Between one breath and another, he’d shifted you both somewhere else.

You gasped, eyes widening as you saw that you were floating on a soft, wispy cloud, now deep in the forest on the outskirts of town. A place no other people were, where the rain pattered softly against the leaves of the trees and dripped to the undisturbed grasses below. Flowers bloomed beneath your cloudy carpet ride, and you leaned over to brush your fingers through the colorful blooms.

The cloud rose a little, coming to a stop and floating peacefully. Kaz pulled you into his lap, his hands wrapping around your entire waist. He smiled, watching your expressions as you looked around in delight.

“And what do you think of your wedding veil, my darling bride?” Kaz murmured, leaning down to brush his nose against your hair.

You looked down at the long, wispy cloud under you, and smiled. “It’s pretty. Thank you, Kaz.” You tilted your head back to smile at him.

His orange eyes flared, and he caught your lips in a burning kiss that seared through you like foxfire. Letting out a surprised squeak, you grasped his robe, fingers tangling in it for support as he pulled you closer, tilting his head and deepening the kiss. Your head spun as your eyes fluttered closed.

When he finally parted, you gasped a little for air, blinking dazedly. His hand gently slid up your waist and side, sliding to your back, pulling you flush against him. He pressed another kiss to your lips. You realized, with a burst of embarrassment, that the rain had entirely soaked your shirt, plastering it to your body and leaving rather little to the imagination.

“Darling, my darling,” Kaz murmured against your lips, “won’t you let me touch you?” His hands slid down your body, fingers caressing you sensually.

You bit your lip, heat staining your face. It wasn’t fair. He knew your weakness for his hands. His large, strong hands that held you close, admired your body with touch. His calloused, capable hands that protected you, defended you, worked for you.

You nodded shyly, peeking up at him. Your lips parted in a gasp as his hands slid under your shirt, starting to map out your skin. His tongue slid against yours in a soft kiss, almost distracting you from how his hands deftly explored your body.

It almost startled you when your back landed against the cloud, Kaz hovering above you with his hands wrapped around your waist. His robe slipped open, sliding down his shoulders as he observed you with burning eyes.

“So beautiful, darling,” he purred, his hands trailing down to your pants. “Can I touch? Please?”

Shyly, you nodded, one hand over your mouth as you let out a quiet whimper, chest heaving with breath. Kaz’s hands were so broad, so warm… handled you with such a reverent sort of gentility and softness that you couldn’t help but bask in it, melt into it.

A steady purr rumbled through his chest as he kissed his way down your jaw and neck, fingers sliding into your pants and underwear to pull them off. Sliding his hands under you, he pulled your body up against him, lips sliding across yours.

Your hands braced you against his chest as you gasped, feeling his cock land heavily against your stomach. It throbbed against you, but he quickly distracted you as one hand slid into your hair, pulling your head back. He pressed a kiss to your lips, his mouth hot against your skin.

“So tiny and sweet,” Kaz mumbled against your neck, his voice half-drunk. His fingers slid across your thigh wrapped around his waist, and he lowered his hips, pushing you into the plush softness of the cloud. Your mind started to fuzz, entirely focused on the way his hands grasped at you, somehow greedy and gentle all at once, and the way he handled you with that deft confidence yet tender infatuation.

“Kaz,” the moan left your lips before you could quite help it, your entire body humming at every brush of his fingers.

His answering hum was low and amused as he started to gently slide into you, making you gasp and arch. His cock slid into you without resistance. You’d gotten so wet just thanks to his soft touches and gentle attention. He murmured your name against your lips as he slid wholly into you, seating himself inside with a heavy breath.

You whimpered, biting your lip as you tried to somehow ground yourself. Everything had started to go fuzzy, especially as his hands wrapped entirely around your hips and pulled you down onto his cock, his grasp iron as he ground up into you.

His pace, once he started thrusting, stayed steady and almost agonizingly slow. But when you whined, he chuckled and slid his fingers between your lips instead. You let his lithe fingers gently play with your tongue, while his other hand kept you anchored to him.

You could feel the coil inside you steadily growing, getting tighter, closer to the edge. Everything felt so hazy and light, like the solidity of his body was the only real thing, the only think that mattered. Like his hands were the only things that kept you grounded, held you down, safe from drifting away.

“K-Kaz.” Your teary eyelids opened to gaze up at his face.

“Does this please you, my darling?” Kaz murmured, sliding his fingers out of your mouth and down to press against your clit.

“I— I love you.” Your fingers curled against his chest.

His orange eyes widened, then flooded with that pure, infatuated adoration. “I love you, my sweet darling,” he purred, kissing you. “And I am so entirely yours.”

The coil in your stomach snapped, your orgasm washing over you with a force that left you lightheaded and dizzy. The pleasure suffused your entire body until you were gasping, tears streaking down your cheeks as you whimpered.

You finally floated down from your high to the feeling of Kaz’s hands sweeping over you. He murmured soft endearments into your ear, pressing soft kisses to your skin. He pulsed inside you, but still kept his pace slow and steady as he fucked you through the aftershocks.

Wrapping your hands around his neck, you nestled your head into the crook of his neck. His hands clenched around your hips, and he let out a groan as he rested his head beside yours. You could tell that he was so close, his hips starting to stutter.

“You feel so lovely, so warm and tight and soft, darling,” Kaz groaned. “Please, can I—“

“It’s okay, Kaz,” you reassured sweetly, voice shy. “You can.”

He jerked one more time, sinking into you with a low groan. His entire body shuddered as he came, pouring into you as he gripped your thighs hard enough to leave fingerprints. For once, you didn’t mind the bruises.

Pulling back, he caught your lips in a deep kiss, mouth slanting over yours. He poured the love, the gratitude, the adoration between your lips until you felt as though you could drown in it.

“I will always protect you,” he promised against your lips.

And for once, you believed the promise.

It was such a small thing, really.

[tripleaxeldiaz]

nobody wants to hear you sing about tragedy

read on ao3

Eddie’s fine. Really. He’s got a fresh scar on his right shoulder, a twin to his other one, and a couple more medical bills to pay off, but other than that, everything is good.

Why shouldn’t it be? Things could be worse — he could’ve lost his arm, could’ve been shot in the spine instead, could’ve not survived the trip to the hospital. But he did — he’s healed, he’s still breathing, and he’s ready to get back to work on Monday, to stop staring at the inside of his house and get back to the life he’d finally started to feel settled in. There’s a twinge in his chest every time he thinks about actually being back out in the field, but it’s just nerves, a small worry at getting back into the swing of things. He knows the team and how well they work together, so he’s sure one rope rescue with Buck is all it’ll take to feel normal again.

He’s fine. Or almost fine. Really, he is. He doesn’t let the tremble in his hands or the ice in his gut tell him otherwise.

~~~~~~~~~~

It doesn’t really register, the first time it happens. There’s a glint of light in his periphery, and for a second, his arms go numb. It’s just a second, though — he sees the flash again, sunlight shining off an axe Ravi is packing onto the truck, and he moves on, doesn’t think about it again.

The next time, the wind whips by his ear a little too fast after a call at the pier, and he turns around so quickly he cracks his neck, the thought of bulletbulletbullet ricocheting in his head. It gets him a concerned look from Bobby and reminds him that he never called that therapist his doctor mentioned at his last visit, but he elects to deal with it later and moves on.

Things keep happening, but they’re all small, insignificant — someone laughing too loudly at dinner, the feel of hot asphalt under his hands as he reaches under the ambulance for a runaway bandage roll, a phantom jolt of pain in his shoulder when someone accidentally jostles him running to the truck.

Tiny things, meaningless, not even worth remembering.

He’ll get used to them, eventually. He’s been healing, isolated from the real world for months now, it’s going to be a bit of a shock to his system and his senses.

He doesn’t call the therapist.

~~~~~~~~~~

Buck’s happy. Genuinely happy, in an open, honest way that Eddie doesn’t think he’s ever seen. His laughs are still loud but they’re freer, unrestrained, and his smile is bright enough to light whatever room he’s in. It makes something sing in Eddie’s chest, especially when all that wattage gets directed at him. If he’s honest, the music’s been there for a while, it just took lying in his own blood, reaching toward the only thing that felt like safety, for him to finally put a name on the song that’s been playing.

Talk about shitty timing.

Because Buck’s with Taylor now, and as much as he still doesn’t care for her, she’s helping with Buck’s new attitude too. He sees the soft smiles that linger after a text from her, and he only gives himself a minute to wish it were for him instead before reminding himself how much of a miracle those smiles are at all.

If he had watched Buck get shot, been splattered with his blood, been soaked with it as he tried to stop it from leaking out of his chest, he’s not sure he would’ve had any kind of happiness to spare.

So he adds this feeling, this particularly green beast twisting in his chest, to the list of things that he’s just going to have to get used to, and moves on. Buck is still in his and Chris’ life, still at their house more than his own, still the center of both of their worlds, and that’s enough. 

It has to be.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Wow, Eddie, you look like shit.”

He glares at Chimney as best he can, but he’s too tired for it to hold any heat. “Good morning to you too, Chim.”

Hen sits next to him at the table where he’s nursing his second mug of coffee of the day, downing the first one before driving Chris to school. She presses the back of her hand to his forehead, and he tries not to melt into the touch too much.

“You don’t feel warm,” she says, “but you look like you’ve been hit by a truck.”

He shrugs, staring down at his coffee. “Just haven’t been sleeping well.”

That may be an understatement. Not sleeping well implies sleeping at all, which Eddie’s not sure he’s been able to do in the past few days. It was easy enough when he first got home, still on pain meds that made his eyelids constantly heavy. And when Chris crawled into his bed the night after his sling came off, quiet but sniffling and burrowing into his side, it was a relief to gather him up close, a hand stroking through his hair as they both drifted off, clinging to each other. It was good for both of them, necessary to remind them both that Eddie is still here, but Chris went to his own room on Monday night instead of Eddie’s, and Eddie refused to take that choice away from him. 

So he’s been alone, in a too dark room with a too big bed and a too loud brain that only shows him flashes of light and blood and fear whenever he does try to close his eyes.

Just another thing he has to get used to.

He sees Chim and Hen exchange a look and hopes to God they don’t press it. He’s beyond frayed, his state of exhaustion warring with his almost constant state of hypervigilance, and he’s not sure if he’d snap or cry or both if they try to ask him any more questions. Either way, that’s not how he wants them or anyone else to see him, especially not at work. At work, he’s Mr. Cool, always level headed, always in the game, always on top of it. Despite the jumpiness, despite the sense of dread that seems to be a permanent fixture under his skin, he’s been able to keep that attitude going, even getting lost in it sometimes, feeling like the Eddie of four months ago again. If that starts to unravel, who knows what other parts of him will fall apart with it?

Luckily, they seem to get the hint, a pat on the back and a squeeze on the shoulder as they leave the loft to restock the ambulance. But even once they’re gone and he’s alone in the quiet of the loft again, Eddie feels exposed. Fragile. Vulnerable. Teetering on the edge of an abyss he can’t afford to fall into. And he hates it, because this isn’t him. He’s the protector, the provider, the guy who’s survived getting shot twice now, and as much as he encourages Chris to be open and emotional, it still feels wrong to him, like something too close to failure. He knows, rationally, that talking about the mess in his head would probably help, but it would also feel like a loss. Like this one-sided war he’s been fighting was all for nothing.

He hears Buck before he sees him, his unmistakable bounding up the stairs echoing through the whole loft. Just that sound, just the knowledge that Buck is about to be in his vicinity, is enough to yank Eddie back from the edge. He’s not settled or calm or better, but he’s not worse. These days, that’s all he can really ask for.

Buck takes Hen’s vacant seat, stealing a sip of coffee and chattering about a traveling art exhibit he thinks they should take Chris to. Eddie feels the vice on his ribs loosen, letting Buck’s voice and enthusiasm wash over him, pushing him back to center. He doesn’t quite make it, not when Buck stops talking mid-sentence, brow furrowed and looking so intensely at Eddie he can probably see right through him

“You look tired,” Buck says. 

Tired isn’t a strong enough word. But he smirks half heartedly instead, willing a little bit of his confidence back to get the subject changed sooner. “And here I thought I looked good today.”

“No, you always—“ Buck clears his throat and shakes his head, “You just look like you could use a nap. Are you okay?”

And for the first time since he woke up in the hospital with a new hole in his body and extra demons in his head, Eddie doesn’t want to say he’s fine. In the face of earnest blue eyes and worry lines, he doesn’t want to lie, and that’s exactly what an I’m fine would be, no matter how much he’s been trying to ignore it. He doesn’t want to downplay and pretend that it’s nothing, because it’s Buck. Buck who has seen him lower than he’s ever let anyone see, who slept on his couch so he was never too far away from him or Chris, who knows when Eddie needs to be pulled or pushed or pressed or none of the above. 

He doesn’t want to just say he’s fine, because he’s not.

The courage to say so finally fills him, just in time for Buck’s phone to light up, Taylor’s name flashing across the screen on two messages. Buck doesn’t even glance at his phone before flipping it face down and pushing it to the side, but it’s too late — Eddie feels his walls going back up, any bravery leaving to make room for the reminder that Buck is in a good place and Eddie will do anything to keep him there. He’ll take another bullet, he’ll keep every emotion under lock and key, he’ll carve his own damn heart out of his chest if he has to. He cannot — will not — be the reason that smile that’s become so natural on Buck’s face dims by even a watt. 

The crease in between Buck’s brow has only gotten deeper the longer Eddie hasn’t answered, so he musters up the most genuine smile he can. “I’m okay, Buck. I promise.” The lie cuts through his throat like broken glass.

Buck squints at him, scooting forward until his knees are digging into Eddie’s thigh. “You’d tell me if you weren’t, right?”

“Of course,” he says, another lie, more salt in the wounds he’s already given himself. Buck’s quiet for a few long moments, studying Eddie’s face, and Eddie prays that he doesn’t crack, that Buck doesn’t keep pressing. By some miracle, he doesn’t, just rests a hand on Eddie’s knee and squeezes before heading to the pantry for a snack.

The vice is back as soon as he’s out of sight, and Eddie’s list of things he has to learn to live with is starting to feel a little too long.

~~~~~~~~~~

Healing isn’t linear. It’s something he’s heard from every doctor he’s seen, every therapist he’s been assigned to, something he’s experienced first hand, physically and emotionally. So when he wakes up one morning feeling rested, energetic, and normal, he’s wary. He doesn’t want to focus on it, afraid he’ll scare this fragile feeling away, but he also wants to soak in it as much as he can. Wants to remember the easy laughs with the team and the night of board games with Chris and Buck when he’s inevitably surrounded by darkness again tomorrow.

He falls asleep and he doesn’t dream and he wakes up and feels...normal. Again. Same thing the morning after, and the morning after that. For a whole week, he doesn’t wake up with the taste of blood in his mouth or a soreness in his shoulder. He hears birds and sees the sun peaking in and feels something dangerously close to good. The wariness is still there, but every day it gets pushed a little farther back in his mind, making it a little easier to believe that while this feeling might not last, maybe it won’t be as dark when the clouds roll back in.

He’s wrong. 

The restlessness comes back with a vengeance — a thrumming in his blood that won’t let him sleep, that amplifies every sound to sharp snaps that remind him too much of the gunfire he’s been trying to forget, putting him constantly on edge again. There’s a heaviness too, making it hard to breathe, hard to move, even though staying in one place for too long feels like putting a target on his back for the monsters that have made a home in his head.

He tries to keep his cool, tries to keep the facade up, but it’s hard to keep your balance on a frayed tightrope.

Bobby notices the shift right away.

It doesn’t help that even the quiet thump of the oven closing makes Eddie flinch where he’s sitting at the kitchen counter. He had hoped that watching Bobby make breakfast would calm him, remind him of the countless hours he’s spent in Abuela’s kitchen doing the very same thing, but it doesn’t. He’s still jittery, worse than he can remember being, and everything just feels like too much. 

Bobby sets a to-go container down in front of him, and Eddie flinches (and curses himself) again. He looks up, confused, and is met with Bobby’s I’m about to tell you to do something and you are not allowed to say no look. Usually it’s Buck on the receiving end of that one.

He tries for a deflection. “Are we going somewhere, Cap?”

The look stays in place. “We are not. You are. There’s enough in there for you and Chris, take it home and don’t let me see you here for the next 48 hours.”

“There’s still three hours left of shift.”

Bobby pushes the container closer. “Go home, Diaz. Be with your kid. We’ll talk when you get back. And if you won’t talk to me, we’ll find someone you will talk to.”

Normally, he’d fight back. Raise his hackles, insist he doesn’t need any special treatment or intervention. But he feels like his insides have been scooped out and replaced with lead and cement and he’s tired. He barely has enough left in him to keep himself upright.

He slowly picks up the container and gets up to leave. Bobby calls his name as he gets to the top of the stairs.

“We’re here for you,” he says. “You’ve been through too much to be handling this on your own. Just let us know how we can help.”

I would if I could, but I don’t even know where to start. 

He just nods, hopes his face looks some degree of reassuring, and heads to the locker room.

~~~~~~~~~~

The way Chris’ face lights up when he sees Eddie waiting for him in the front office is enough to thaw the ice in his chest for a minute. He can hear the exact octave his mother’s voice would reach if she heard about him pulling Chris out of school for “no good reason”, but he also could not give less of a shit.

He feels a little bit more like a person with Chris in the backseat. That’s a good enough reason for him.

They set up camp in the park near their house, Bobby’s food and extra snacks Eddie picked up spread out between them, and Chris fills Eddie in on all the things he missed while he was working. He tries to focus on everything — Chris’ excitement about his upcoming science fair, the Sour Patch Watermelon sugar stuck to the tip of his nose, the way his hands move with his words. Eddie feels better, more settled, just getting to bask in the sun and in Chris like this, but he still feels heavy, like every move he makes has him fighting against gravity, threatening to pull him into the dirt. 

There’s a crack from the playground in front of them, and Eddie’s blood turns to ice. He’s halfway to standing before he sees it’s just some kids snapping sticks in half to build some kind of log cabin. He lets out a slow breath as he sits back down and wills his heartbeat back to normal.

Chris is staring at him, eyes intense and brow furrowed, very similar to someone else they know.

Shit.

As soon as he’s settled, Chris moves to sit in the criss-cross of his legs. He’s a little too on the lanky side for this anymore, but Eddie’s absolutely not going to complain. Chris twists until he’s looking Eddie in the eye. Eddie does his best not to look away.

Chris rests a hand on his cheek. “It’s okay if you’re feeling bad,” he says. “You can talk to me about it, if you want.”

The crack comes from Eddie’s own heart this time. His kid has been through so much in 10 short years, and it’s only made him wiser than he should be, compassionate and understanding and open, ready to be there for anyone without a second thought. He’s good in every sense of the word, and Eddie’s in awe of the fact that he, somehow, has something to do with that. And the last thing he wants to do is lie to his son, but he just...can’t. Talk about it. Not now. Not yet. Not in a way that will keep Chris this good.

He has no way of articulating all that, so he just wraps his arms around Chris’ middle and squeezes him close.

“I know, buddy. Thank you. I’ll be okay, and we’ll talk soon.”

It’s not a lie, but it’s not everything.

It seems to be enough for Chris, though. He nods and pats Eddie’s face before reaching into his backpack and pulling out a library book. “Well, I’m gonna read to you until you feel better, just like you do for me.”

It’s the first real smile Eddie’s cracked in months. He kisses the top of Chris’ head, settling his chin there as Chris leans back into his chest.

“Sounds like a good plan to me.”

They sit there for a while longer, Chris reads to him about Percy and Annabeth and Grover, and Eddie, inexplicably, feels a little bit lighter.

~~~~~~~~~~

Buck’s Jeep is parked outside when they get home, and Chris practically breaks down the door to greet him. It looks like he’s gone all out, too — Chinese food on the table, the promise of cookies and cream ice cream in the fridge, and a list of movies that Chris ecstatically agrees with as Buck lists them off. Chris hurries off to change and clean up for dinner, and Eddie moves to start opening plastic lids and cardboard containers. 

“You didn’t have to go to all this trouble,” he says. He leaves out just having you with us is enough.

Buck waves him off. “Anything for you two.”

He could leave it at that, keep up the comfortable silence as they move around the kitchen in tandem, but there’s a nagging memory that he has to ask about or he’ll never stop thinking about it.

“Didn’t you have a date with Taylor tonight?”

Buck tenses ever so slightly, a container of dumplings shifting in his hand. “Cancelled,” he says with a shrug.

Eddie knows there’s more, but Chris comes back before he can ask, and it doesn’t feel like a conversation they can have in front of a 10 year old. So they eat, and fall into the familiar banter between the three of them, and for half an hour, Eddie can be present. He can forget the last six months and the weight still hanging off of him and live in this moment, with the two most important people in his life, and pretend that this is all there is. Just these two and their joy and warmth that wraps around him tight enough to make him feel alive again, if only for a little while.

Two bowls of ice cream and one and a half movies later, Chris is dead to the world. Buck carries him to bed and Eddie tries to ignore the new ache that’s sprung up of the course of the evening, the one that wants and pulls towards Buck like a magnet. The one that almost purrs when Buck settles back on the couch so close they’re touching from ankle to (good) shoulder, contentedness washing over the living room as they find a rerun of The Shawshank Redemption playing on cable. It’s not perfect, there’s still a roiling in his blood that won’t seem to leave him alone, but he feels better than he has in God knows when.

Buck shifts closer to Eddie, eyes glowing in the light of the TV, and Eddie never wants him to leave. “Thanks for coming tonight. I— Chris and I both really needed this, I think.”

“I told you, anything for you two. Always.”

He ignores the way his stomach flips and tries to focus on the movie. He gets about five minutes of peace before another thought comes back, still nagging him, mixing with his anxiety enough to actually force him to say something.

He aims for cool and casual. “So, you and Taylor...everything okay?”

Buck gives him a very long, almost challenging look before turning off the TV. Seems he missed that casual mark. “I should be asking you the same thing.” “Very funny.”

“I’m not trying to be. I’m really worried about you, Eds.”

“This isn’t my first time getting shot, I know how to handle it.” He doesn’t mean for it to come out as bitter as it does, but he can’t bring himself to care, either. He doesn’t have the energy to keep a filter up anymore.

“Eddie, I’m serious.”

“I’m fine, Buck,” he says sharply, and he’s surprised his teeth haven’t fallen out of his head yet with how hard he’s lying through them. He hates that he’s lying to Buck at all, but those smiles he’s gotten used to have been fewer and farther between recently, and he knows it’s his fault. He might feel like his own seams are coming apart, but he’ll be damned if he rips Buck open too, even if it means pushing him away from his mess. “You’ve got a life and a girlfriend to worry about, I’ll figure everything out on my own.” 

“I don’t.”

“What?”

“I don’t have a girlfriend. We broke up.”

Eddie pauses, curses the faint hope that sparks in his chest. “Why?”

“Because I’ve been a little distracted by someone else for the past few months. It didn’t feel fair to her to keep it going.”

He gives him another long look, and Eddie might be a little dense when it comes to things like this, but that look breaks through loud and clear. This is it. This is real. This is everything he’s wanted for the past six months — and probably longer than that — but now that it’s happening, it doesn’t feel right. Buck was happy, free, finally settled into his own skin, and it’s all gone now because of Eddie and his stupid, broken everything. He knows he won’t be able to give Buck everything he needs, at least right now, but Buck needs to know that too. “Buck—”

“Nope,” he says with a firm shake of his head. “I know you’re gonna try and blame yourself for this somehow, but…don’t. It was bound to happen anyway. Because you’re right, I do have a life, but it’s you two. You and Chris. That’s all I need it to be. That’s all I want it to be. And I hate that it took so long for me to figure out, that it took you getting shot, but we’re here now.” His eyes shutter a bit as he looks down at his hands. “At least, I hope we are.”

And there it is. So simple, so easy, for Buck to admit this huge thing that Eddie thought he was dancing around on his own. The ease reminds Eddie, through his fog of sadness and anger and every other bleak feeling that’s been controlling him, that that’s what makes them work so well together. Honesty. Being able to show all their ugly, mismatched inside parts to each other and still find the beauty, the ways to help, the ways to hold each other together when they need it the most.

And Eddie doesn’t think he’s ever needed to be held together more than he does right now.

“Ask me,” he whispers, the sound seeming to echo around the room.

“Ask you what?”

“Ask me if I’m okay.”

Buck shuffles on the couch until they’re facing each other, takes both of Eddie’s hands in his. 

“Eddie,” he says softly, “are you okay?”

The world blurs as the tears he’s been fighting finally break free, but he feels strong. Brave. Like he can do anything now that Buck’s holding his hand.

“No,” he says, a crack in his voice but the conviction behind it still firm. “No, I’m not okay.”

The floodgates open, and he lets everything wash over him, all the things he’s been holding back, forcing away in the hopes that they’d just disappear one day. He’s floating and sinking and lost in the waves of it all, but strong arms wrap around him and pull him close, and there’s relief. Not a lot, not enough, but it’s there, for the first time since he woke up in the hospital. He feels safe here, with Buck wiping away his tears and pressing kisses along his hairline. He honestly forgot what safety felt like, was sure he’d never feel anything like it again. But he knew it that day he was bleeding out on the street, and he knows it now — it feels like Buck’s sweatshirt and smells like his aftershave and sounds like whispers of it’s okay and I’ve got you.

It all subsides, eventually, but Buck still holds him close, presses their foreheads together so there’s nothing else Eddie can focus on. His eyes are piercing, bright like Eddie only usually sees when Buck has a plan that refuses to be derailed.

“Let me help, Eddie,” he says, punctuated with a kiss on Eddie’s cheek. “I know you think you can do this yourself, but you don’t have to. I don’t want you to. Let me help you carry it.”

His voice left with the rush of everything, so all Eddie can do is nod before sinking back into Buck, into relief. Even that simple motion, the silent acknowledgement that he’s not alone anymore, is enough to let small seeds of hope sink into him and take root. They’re still weak, still unfamiliar, but they’re here, waiting to grow. 

And Eddie knows, with a certainty that he forgot he was capable of, that Buck will be here to help tend to them, no matter how long it takes for them to blossom.

~~~~~~~~~~

When Eddie wakes up the next morning, he still feels weighed down. There’s still an edge, an unease low in his gut, anxiety still crawling through his veins.

He’s not okay. But he looks over and sees Buck — breathing even, arm thrown over Eddie’s stomach, keeping him close — and the ever-present darkness fades from an angry black to melancholy grey. Not perfect, not even close, but better.

He’s not okay. He hasn’t been for a while. But now, finally, he feels like he will be.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Hue and Cry XVI

Warnings: non-consent sex and rape (series), pain/wounds, mild violence.

This is dark!medieval!Bucky Barnes x reader and explicit. 18+ only.  Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Synopsis: Barnes lashes out in his grief.

Note: So, it’s not over but most of you guessed that :)

Thanks to everyone and thanks in advance for all your feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

The sun cast a sardonic light on the cold winter morning. The first flakes of snow fell the night before but glistened as they melted away with the unexpected bloom of light on the horizon. The men began digging at dawn for the interment, a pit to be unmarked and unseen. The woman would be buried as any servant was; without any formality or fanfare.

Lord Barnes dressed in black, the sole attendee of the service. He had dragged a priest from the castle chapel to say some ordained words. The men climbed out of the six-foot hole as the cart was led over by two others, the wooden box atop it.

They lifted it, lifted her, and maneuvered it down into the grave with ropes. The holy man recited his verse but the duke did not hear them. He was only torn from his own grief as he heard footsteps on the crisp grass. He looked over as the foreign baron came to stand beside him, his dark eyes ahead of him as the men began to shovel dirt onto the wood. The sound was harsh in the early hour.

“Go,” Barnes growled, “you aren’t welcome here.”

“Well,” Zemo said, “how is that? After all Werner did for you; for her. I should like a proper farewell.”

“You didn’t know her,” Barnes hissed.

“Oh, I didn’t, but are you so sure that you knew her so well?” Zemo challenged, “you knew what you wanted from her--”

“Shut up! You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Barnes lifted his chin and turned to face his foe, “I will not tell you to leave again.”

“I owe you no obedience, my lord,” he said flaty, “I think you’ve misunderstood that entirely. The ground we stand on is even. I am beholden to you for nothing. Given that it was my physician who saw to her comfort in her last hours, I’d say you--”

His voice was cut off by the hand at his throat. The duke throttled the Baron with his only hand and backed him away from the grave as the dirty continued to rain down. He marched him across the grass as his blue eyes burned with a selfish sort of hurt.

“I am not stupid. I know you came to rile me and you’ve done just that so go! Go before I put you down beside her,” Barnes shoved him away so that he stumbled.

Zemo stood and touched his throat as a rare glimmer of anger flashed across his features. He raised his chin and fixed the fur collar of his cloak. He nodded as he set his jaw and peered past the furious duke.

“She is free now,” Zemo said, “from you most of all.”

The baron turned away and strode from the green. The duke turned and watched the diggers as they kept at their work. A lump lodged in his throat and he lowered his head. He could not deny Zemo’s words, in fact, they sank so deep his heart ached. He knew as all did that her death was bloody on his hands.

🏰

Lord Barnes watched from the window as the line of carriages rolled through the castle gates. He was smug at the Baron’s premature departure but he didn’t truly feel any better than he had the day before. He expected the knock at the door and he was not surprised by who drew him away from the window.

The door opened before he reached it and his sister blustered into the chamber. Rebecca snarled as she came to face him, of the few who could match his own temper. Her nostrils flared and hardened her soft features as she glared at him.

“You’ve ruined it!” she spat, “you’ve ruined it all! He’s gone and it’s all your fault, you dunce!”

“I ruined it? You really think you could have trusted him? I merely saved you time and gold,” Bucky scoffed as he shrugged her off.

“You are so conceited. Don’t you realise we need this alliance? It’s much bigger than your little maid!” She barked, “oh, all this just to fu--”

“No, no! Shut up!” he spun and pointed at her face, “you don’t speak of her. Your or anyone else.”

She reeled and chortled. She rolled her eyes and put her hands on her hips. She licked her lips sourly and shook her head, “Better yet, I will not speak to you again. You have until the end of the day to leave the capital.”

“Are you mad?”

“I’m serious,” her brows arched, “Samuel agrees with me. You will go and you will not return. Go back to your castle and be alone and bitter as you always wished.”

Barnes huffed and mirrored her own fury, “fine. I told you, I never wanted to come here.”

“So it is my fault now?” she snipped.

“No, your majesty,” he said dryly, “how could anything ever be your fault?”

“Don’t,” she warned.

“Oh, queen’s are so powerless,” he rebuffed, “how every woman in the realm must pity you.”

“You’re a bastard,” she sneered.

“We both share the same blood, the same flaws,” he slowly walked back to the window, “you will see in the end that I did you a favour. That man cannot be trusted.”

“Oh, do get over yourself, brother,” Rebecca snapped and the slam of the door marked her exit.

Lord Barnes stared down at the wintery grounds then up at the grey sky. It was due time he went home. To be alone. For good this time.

🏰

Flickers of light skimmed beneath your eyelids. Distant memories, dwindling dreams, and unheard words. 

The pain came first. The agony down your left arm and hip, the way it rippled through you like a crashing ocean against the shore. The ragged breaths grew to groans as the ground moved beneath you, rattling like your bones and your head. The noise of horses and wooden wheels in the dirt. The smell of leaves and oak. The feeling of life come back to you.

You could not move your left arm, it was bound and even if it was not, you couldn’t have lifted it. Your left leg was in similar shape and your entire body was bound in pain. The confusion laced your mind and kept you from thinking too deeply as you realised you were in a box, the darkness broken only by the thin wisps of light between the hammered boards.

“Hello?” you called, your throat dry and sore. It hurt to speak and your lungs squeezed terribly.

You bent your right arm, your shoulder straining as you did, and hit the lid. It did not budge and you hit it harder. Your uncertain strikes turned to a steady and frantic pounding as the blackness began to suffocate you. You had to get out. You would die in there. Or were you already dead. You realised what you lay in; a coffin, and your stomach dropped like a boulder.

The wheels stopped and the ground stilled. You were on a cart of some sort and footsteps tramped into the dirt and murmurs stirred outside. There was a thump on the lid and suddenly it lurched upward as it was pried off. 

Swathes of light flowed in and blinded you. You stilled and stared up as a figure stood above you and another appeared at the other side of the casket.

“Ah, finally,” the accented tone slithered, “I feared the dose was mistaken.”

You blinked until Baron Zemo came clear to you and shielded your eyes as they watered. You gasped as another shattering pain overtook you and gasped at the sheer torment. The other man, thin and tall with lines around his eyes and across his forehead peered down and reached to check the bandages around your left arm.

“She cannot sit in the carriage but we can arrange for her to recline in there, yes, my lord?” he asked as he felt your forehead, “there is no fever. She is past the worst of it.”

“We can arrange it,” Zemo nodded, “do get her a blanket. We really should have done so before we nailed the top on.”

“Yes, my lord,” the tall man hopped down from the cart and returned with a thick fur coverlet. Zemo tucked it gently around you and as he brushed your arm, you cried out.

“I… I should be dead,” you rasped, “how--”

“A trick. On the gods, on fate… on your Lord Barnes,” Zemo smirked, “oh, do not fear, he hasn’t any idea of your miraculous perseverance. Let me assure you he is most miserable to believe you dead.”

“Why?” you asked as the lid of the coffin was moved away and you heard others moving around. The stench of the horses made you shudder and brack back the scene; the clopping hooves, the roaring crowd, the pulsing of your heart, your maddened laughter.

“You know, I never desired anything more from Lord Barnes. What happened between us was an act of war. We were soldiers but he could not see it that way. I am an understanding man but I am not without reason. If he cannot be civil, why then should I?” He said smoothly, “I came to your kingdom to serve my own and I cannot do that with him snapping at my throat, so I will go home.”

“But why--”

“Patience,” he bid as he lifted a gloved hand, “I could not have factored you in if I tried. You are the most unexpected creature. What you did… well, that sent a very clear message to me, one that I heard.” He looked around and clasped his hands together as he leaned his elbows on his knees, ”I will not claim it to be entirely selfless in my deed, in fact the idea of the deceit does more for me than it could ever do for you. To think of Lord Barnes in his misery, that pompous man.”

“What--Where are we going?” you asked weakly as the wariness crept up on you once more.

“The Tower Zemo,” he said plainly, “in my homeland. You should recover there and then we will decide what to do with you.”

“What to--”

“Nothing too nefarious, I assure you. I should like to avoid the depths of Barnes…” he sniffed, “I don’t expect you to trust me, lady, you would be a fool to and you do not seem one to me. Foolishly brave and perhaps obstinate but not a fool.”

“I--how am I to thank you?” you croaked.

“Don’t do that just yet,” Zemo rose as men approached and suddenly the coffin was slid off the cart.

You were carried around the side of a carriage and set down again. The men worked carefully to remove you from inside the casket and you screamed as they did. Zemo spurred them on and apologised for your discomfort as they transferred you to the lid of the coffin placed to stretch between the seats of the carriage.

The tall man draped the fur over you again and checked your splints and the layers of bandage hidden beneath the loose wool gown. He called for some water and helped you drink. Then he was handed a chest and stirred around for a vial.

“This is Werner,” Zemo said as he sat on the empty part of the bench and the carriage door shut, “he did see that you survived and that you died in the eyes of your master.”

“Oh… thank you,” you looked to Werner as he urged you to drink from the vial.

“Just a sip, miss, for the pain,” he bid.

You did as he told you and reclined again with a grumble. He sat opposite Zemo who watched you with a cryptic expression.

“It will be a long journey,” he said, “and likely longer for you. It would be best if you kept calm and did not stress yourself. You are still… fragile.”

“I feel it,” you closed your eyes as fatigue shrouded you.

“You would,” Zemo said, “sleep is best for it, isn’t that so, Werner?”

“Sleep numbs the pain,” Werner assured, “sleep lets the body heal itself.”

“And sees the time through,” Zemo yawned, “besides, what else is there to do?”

Your breath eased along with the pain and slowly you sank back into the void. You let it embrace you as you forgot about the Baron and his odd physician, about the Duke and the life before. You welcomed sleep as you had death and yet, you were relieved to be alive.

[azucanela]

THIS DIDN’T HAPPEN | TSUKISHIMA KEI

HAIKYUU!! MASTERLIST

SUMMARY: Tsukishima Kei would never admit that he happens to like receiving affection quite a bit, only from Y/N L/N of course, and only if no one ever finds out about it. 

WORD COUNT: 2.5k

WARNINGS: honestly i think this is cute, but theres some angst oops, pining, unedited, kissing, kinda sad if you can read between the lines, season three spoilers

A/N: tsukki lovers come get your juice. also if you can’t tell im in the mood for haikyuu!! and tsukki so... rip the wips and requests i said i’d get done but it’ll happen eventually 

“Can I hug you?”

How did he end up here? A fantastic question that he cannot find the answer for as he looks down at Y/N, who’d insisted he walk her to the girl’s dorm. He probably should’ve predicted that she’d ask about his sudden change of pace, but Tsukishima doubted he ever would’ve predicted she’d ask to hug him. Especially since he definitely hadn’t been the nicest to her.

“This didn’t happen.” 

That’s all Tsukishima says as he awkwardly winds his arms arounds Y/N’s form. She hums in response, and Y/N has a feeling if he could see the grin on her face he’d pull away almost immediately. Which is why she’d buried her face in his chest, arms around his body as they stand just outside dorms they’ve been residing in during their stay at the training camp alongside the other teams. 

Tsukishima doesn’t know why he agreed to this. He’s not sure he wants to as he feels Y/N’s breath against his chest, causing his cheeks to warm. During the walk she’d confronted him and he’d— for some reason — told her that he didn’t intend to get left behind Hinata and Kageyama; who’d improved quite a bit it appeared. Even if Volleyball meant absolutely nothing to him.

And then she asked to hug him. Y/N just had a feeling he could use one, though, if she was honest, Y/N had expected a hard no. She’d expected him to criticize her for asking such a childish question, she’d expected teasing and cruel remarks about how ridiculous the idea was. Tsukishima had never been affectionate, or at least openly affectionate. He was never involved in team hugs, hugs in general, not even a simple fist bump from Tanaka. 

And yet here he was, agreeing to a hug from Y/N L/N, one of the new managers of the Karasuno Volleyball Club. 

“This didn’t happen.” Came her response, her words of agreement were muffled against Tsukishima’s chest, but he’d heard her. They had an understanding. 

And he’d never admit it, but it was nice. Hugging someone. Holding someone in his arms. Tsukishima hadn’t actually accepted affection in a while, maybe it was because one of the only people he’d been close with in his life— the one person he looked up to — ended up being a liar. Maybe its because a small part of him wanted to maintain his reputation as a coldhearted jerk, or maybe its because he just hadn’t found someone’s affection he enjoyed.

Until now, of course. There was something different about having Y/N in his arms, something comforting about her presence that made him feel compelled to answer the questions she asked as she pried about his sudden change in attitude. It’s not like they were close, though he tolerated her when she’d simply started coming to club meeting; apparently she’d known Tanaka from middle school, and decided to visit him at the club, until one day it became a daily thing. They ended up giving her the title of manager after she to work alongside Kiyoko. Y/N had even helped tutor those idiots, Kageyama and Hinata, something Tsukishima somehow got roped into. After that, he had a newfound respect for the girl.

It wasn’t that he liked her. He would never like Y/N. She just helped manage the club, and Volleyball was just a sport. Besides, they’d never be that close again, never hug again, never exchange any affection at all, ever again.

He broke that promise fairly quickly. 

Yamaguchi had insisted that he and Tsukishima start joining the rest of the team on their walk home, mentioning how they could stop by Ukai’s convenience store and pick up some food if they so pleased. And maybe that was what convinced him— though Yamaguchi had a feeling the mention of Y/N’s name had a little bit of influence on the decision as well — maybe not. 

It didn’t take long for Tsukishima to realize that as everyone slowly branched off into their respective neighborhoods, Y/N had yet to do the same. Apparently she lived the farthest from Karasuno of the bunch, which is why Tanaka had tried to offer to walk her home. 

She’d rejected the idea entirely, seeing as he’d have to walk back home in the dark by the time she’d gotten to her home. The idea didn’t sit right with Y/N, so Tanaka had left Yamaguchi, Tsukishima and Y/N on their own. 

Y/N didn’t miss the look Yamaguchi gave Tsukishima as he remained by her side, tilting her head in confusion and the blonde waved his friend off and continued walking alongside Y/N. She decided it was best not to question it, they were already a questionable pair of friends and Y/N wouldn’t be shocked if they had some sort of secret code they communicated through.

When she suggested this of course, Tsukishima called her an idiot.

“That’s not very nice, Tsukki.”

If Tsukishima was honest he should’ve kept walking alongside Yamaguchi a while ago, and yet here he was, alongside Y/N. He was pretty grateful she had yet to mention it, especially since he didn’t really favor lying, and he didn’t really have an explanation as to why he decided to walk her home.

It just felt right. 

“Well it’s a stupid idea.” Came his response, nose scrunching up at the nickname. Only Yamaguchi called him that, not that he had a problem with Y/N using the nickname as well. 

Y/N raised a brow, “I don’t think so, you’re smart enough to make a secret code or something.” A smile found its way onto her face as she looked over to him, playfully bumping into his side as she continued, “you probably use it to write about conspiracy theories or something.” 

“I’m not a conspiracy theorist, Y/N.” He side eyes the girl, scoffing at her words as he pushes his glasses up on the bridge of his nose in an attempt to distract from the warmth that flooded his chest. 

Y/N hummed in reply, looking to him as she asked, “so you don’t believe that lizard people run society?” 

Tsukishima’s brows furrowed as he looked to her incredulously, “absolutely not.” 

“Sounds like something a lizard person would say.” Came her reply, a grin on her face as she came to a stop, likely in front of her home. 

“Did you just suggest that I’m a lizard person?”

“Maybe.”

There was no way he liked Y/N L/N. In that moment, he made another promise to himself, Tsukishima Kei swore he would never like Y/N L/N, someone who was apparently a lizard person fanatic and insisted that he was a conspiracy theorist. 

A silence encompasses the two as Y/N looks up at him curiously, eyes falling over his face as a small hum leaves her lips. Tsukishima doesn’t know why exactly he lets it happen, why he lets her gently grab his chin, bringing him close to press a kiss to his cheek, “thanks for walking me home, Tsukki.” When she releases his face, she turns on her heel, heading toward her door, but not before saying, “try not to get home too late, and text Yamaguchi— he’s probably worried about you.” 

Okay, so maybe he would break this promise faster than last time. 

“This didn’t happen.” He manages to call out to her, watching as she makes her way down the cobblestone path to her front door. 

Y/N looks over her shoulder, a smirk on her face as she offers him a wave, “this didn’t happen!” She called back in agreement, stepping inside her home and shutting the door behind him. 

A lot faster than last time. 

He has no idea why he didn’t stop her the first time, when she asked. And he doesn’t know why he didn’t stop her now, or the next time, or the time after that. Tsukishima probably should’ve known better, he should’ve stopped indulging himself with her presence.

And yet sitting on his bed, lying on his side watching her, he knows there was no stopping this. Y/N is smirking, clearly noticing his gaze on her as she continues to silently read from her textbook, writing things down into her notebook on occasion. He almost gets frustrated at the sight, brows furrowing before he returns his eyes to his own textbook

Tsukishima probably would’ve finished a while ago had it not been for her, it’s not that Y/N had done anything, but her presence only served as a distraction at this point, leaving Tsukishima wondering just why he invited her. He can’t remember the reasoning behind his actions, but he has a feeling it wasn’t worth the lack of productivity that came with her visit. 

“Have you done anything?” 

As much as Tsukishima admired how observant Y/N was, he currently despised this trait of hers as he slammed the textbook shut, “yes.” It was a lie, Tsukishima had never been so unproductive in his life, and he hated it. He hated everything about this stupid project, especially the fact that she was his partner. 

A laugh escaped her, earning a glare from Tsukishima, “you’re so scary.” She says, though its clear she’s teasing him as she comes to pat his cheek condescendingly, accompanied by a mocking tone and an annoying smirk.

“Whatever.” He grumbles, tossing the textbook off the bed before falling back against his bed. 

Y/N hums, eyes falling over his figure as she nods to herself. “I see.”

Tsukishima scoffs at her words, lifting his head up to meet her gaze with a glare, “see what?”

Her grin only widens at his words as she shuts her own textbook, placing it on the nightstand beside her alongside her notebook before allowing herself to collapse into Tsukishima’s pillows. “You’re grumpy—” She turns to her side, lifting her arm up, “because you want a hug.”

Tsukishima looks at her incredulously, rolling his eyes as he brings his hands to his face, causing Y/N to lower her arm as she pouts. “You’re stupid.” He mumbles, watching her push up onto her elbows.

“And you’re a touch-starved grump.” Comes her reply, prying his hands form his forehead to gently remove his glasses, reaching over him to place it on the other nightstand before returning to her side of the bed. She lifts her arm once more, looking to Tsukishima expectantly. 

He inhales deeply, looking away in an attempt to maintain some of his pride when he feels his cheeks redden. “We have work to do.”

“The project isn’t due for another two weeks, Kei.” 

Tsukishima finds himself trying to glare at her, though it fails when he realizes she’s said his first name and he can’t bring himself to be upset anymore, simply saying, “this didn’t happen.” Before his arms come around her waist, Y/N’s arm that was once hovering above her now wrapped around his neck as she pulled him closer. Her other hand coming to tangle her fingers in his hair.

“This didn’t happen.” She repeated.

That day, he promises that the next time they meet, they’re actually going to get work done. He breaks this promise too, quickly realizing that this is a theme whenever the promises are related to Y/N.

Tsukishima doesn’t really realize that he’s in too deep until the day his lips crash against hers and he finds himself whispering those damned words once more, “this didn’t happen.” His hands running down her sides as he tries to pull her closer because whenever he’s around her that cold that plagues him day and night seems to fade, replaced the warmth she seems radiate as though she’s the sun.

He hates that he compares her to the sun, he hates that she’s become something he needs, a presence he craves, because Y/N L/N was meant to be nobody and now she seems to be one of the most important people in his life. He hates that she understands him, that she can read his every move better than he can, that she knows what he needs before he even says it. 

He doesn’t realize he’s in too deep until he’s promising himself not to fall in love.

Because for the first time in a while, Tsukishima Kei wants nothing more than to touch, he wants to feel, even though he’s filled with fear of the unknown, fear of the feelings he so desperately wanted to avoid. For once in his life, he wants to let go, because he finally feels comfortable enough to do so. 

This time all she says is, “I know.” 

Because Y/N knows that falling for Tsukishima was a mistake, a big one. She’s well aware of the fact that the boy is emotionally unavailable and renowned for his rude attitude and crude remarks. She knows that even if they have these silent moments together, even if she’s held him in her arms at night, even if they’ve been closer than she’s even been with anyone else, this basically means nothing. Because its not like either of them would ever do anything about the fact that the few words they did share in moments like these, weren’t ones of denial that the moments didn’t happen, but something else entirely at this point. 

Confessions in their own right. 

But she knows that all she’ll ever be, is something that didn’t happen. Not a story of his first love, not the girl he talks about with his friends, not the one he thinks about, the one he saw in everyday life. She was nobody, because she didn’t happen.

She doesn’t know that she’s wrong. Very wrong. That Tsukishima spoke fondly of her— honestly, Yamaguchi loves Y/N, he really does, but he’d getting a bit tired of hearing about how the mundane things she does that Tsukishima happens to notice. That he thought of her frequently, that the smell of coffee reminded him of her now, that the sight of the sunset she fawned over every time they walked home together only served as a reminder of her.

It’s not until he’s crying out in victory because they beat Shiratorizawa, Karasuno won, he won. It’s not until he’s so overwhelmed with emotion that he finds his legs moving on their own, towards Y/N; who stands beside Ukai and Takeda, the pair had taken to screaming at each other in the midst of their excitement. It’s not until his hands are on her face, bringing her into a kiss, much to her surprise, that he realizes what exactly the warmth was.

“This didn’t happen?” She asks, trying her hardest to ignore the stares of the team—though many of them are still caught up in their own celebration— as she looks to him. 

Tsukishima simply grins, “I didn’t say that.” 

A/N: kei is my favorite person to write for and i cannot explain why and this has not been edited so oops

tags: @beifongsss @shawkneecaps @iwaizoom @therainroguefanfiction​

[raibebe]

I’ve wanted to do this for a while now, so....

Here is me sorting NCT up until the 00 line into dom/sub/switch categories...

Taeil: vanilla leaning dom

I don’t think Taeil would care for power dynamics honestly. Like he would maybe naturally take charge in sexual situations but that doesn’t make him a dom.  I see him as pretty laid back and that it’s more about the intimacy for him than anything else. That being said I am 100% certain he knows how to keep it fun in the bedroom either way. 

Johnny: soft dom but can be mean if you want him to, daddy dom?

Please Johnny is a big softie. You’d be his perfect pillow princess. Will 100% get absolutely smug of he gets you begging for him. But also loves to see you riding him, softly helping you along to see you falling apart.  Also... Yeah... He could very well have a daddy kink. He might either be really into it or 100% despise is. Like you say it and the next second he pulls out because it’s such a turn-off... I don’t think he has it in him to be mean/degrading or into anything too into the BDSM range. But will try his best to pleasure you.

Taeyong: sub

He always has to be in charge when he’s at work, so I can totally see him as the type who just wants to shut his brain off and let go of all thoughts during sex.  Honestly don’t know if he would want a hard or soft dom. I can see it going both ways: A soft dom who just pampers him and showers him with love, giving him everything asks for and more until he’s crying with overstimulation or a hard dom who will push him around and use him for their own pleasure until his mind is rendered numb.  Will also be down to try more freaky, BDSM-type of stuff.

Yuta: dom

This man is into some freaky shit and you can’t convince me otherwise. Hard dom but is very set on consent. Very down to experiment with whatever. Very open and communicative before doing a scene.  I can see him really being into tying his partner up weather it is with rope, handcuffs or simply his belt. Temperature play as well, especially with wax.  Will mumble absolutely filthy shit in your ear and not even have the decency to blush.  I feel like he’s the type to favor “no strings attached” kinds of arrangements.

Kun: dom (daddy)

Well, like Taeyong he has to always be in charge as well but I feel like he gets another outlet because his stress is different than Taeyong’s.  Has set rules that both of you need to abide by and if you don’t... Well he gets to punish you, letting out all his stress as he spanks you until your ass is raw, letting his frustrations bleed away.  Loves the power play aspect, loves seeing you absolutely submit to him and follow his every command. 

Doyoung: dom

Now... Doyoung is a unfair one. Will tease the shit out of you and then proceed to make fun of you for being so turned on. Probably gets off on degrading his partner.  Would probably like a really obedient partner but rise to new heights with a bratty sub, loving the challenge of breaking them down until they’re putty in his hands. 

Ten: switch?

Ten is my first wild card. I don’t see him as either really but at the same time I feel like he would be really into power play. It probably really depend on the partner.  I feel like he’d need a hard dom though or he’ll be too bratty.  Probably a dom bottom tbh... Why did my mind immediately go: with sub top Johnny?

Jaehyun: vanilla leaning dom?

He just extrudes this lovely himbo energy sometimes... But then he’s weirdly aggressive with everyday objects and it makes me wonder... The frat boy in him probably just loves hitting it from the back while smacking ass.  Is most likely not into any hard power play, similar to Taeil he’d probably just naturally take charge.  Could see him randomly thinking that his hand would look very sexy wrapped around his partner’s throat though...

Winwin: dom???

I actually have no idea. Winwin is such a wild card for me. Like he just extrudes this natural cuteness all of NCT cannot shut up about but I can’t imagine him as a sub.  While sub is a definitive “no”, dom is more a “no?”  Could be secretly very freaky...

Jungwoo: vanilla???

Jungwoo is just... Very... Chaotic?  Like... Even in the way he expresses his love. To the point where I have no idea how he’d be like in the bedroom. I don’t think I have ever read or really seen smut for him... Because he has a generally softer character, I’m inclined to rule out dom.  Might just be vanilla tbh.

Lucas: wants to be a dom but is actually vanilla

Talking about himbo energy... This boy...  Wants to be a dom so badly. But this boy is an absolute sweetheart and gentleman at heart.  Probably just loves the intimacy of it all.  I am convinced he’s horny 24/7 though. Will ask you to suck him off in very inappropriate situations. His dominant facade will crumble the moment you get your mouth on his dick though, just too taken away by the pleasure. 

Mark: switch, doesn’t care too much

I think sex with Mark would be super laid back and chill. Like he just extrudes this dude-bro-energy.  Neither especially dominant or submissive but will get shy if you start to talk about it while other people are around. Can see him giving up control for the night though if you promise to give him the succc of his life and ride him into oblivion after.  But would also not say no to bending his partner over the desk to fuck them stupid. 

Hendery: vanilla, doesn’t care

Similar to Mark. The type to make stupid jokes while he’s literally balls deep in you to lighten the atmosphere.  But can also get really into the mood and be really open and vulnerable while making love to you. 

Xiaojun: sub who wants to be a dom

This dude wants to be dominant so badly. But he’s just not. Once his partner lets him have control, it goes right for maybe 10 minutes and then he’ll either get insecure or won’t know what to do, so they have to take charge again.  Could either need a soft dom to ease him into the role of a sub or a hard dom who just “forces” him to submit. 

Renjun: switch

Listen. I’m all for sub Renjun agenda but. Hear me out.  Hard dom Renjun. Having you under his spell despite his smaller frame. The smacks of his hand against your skin resounding in the room. Would definitely not let you cum until you’re a sobbing mess for him. Mmmmmh very sexy. 

Jeno: SUB

Is anyone surprised? Like anyone at all? Everyone who knows me or my blog knows I am the cult leader of the sub Jeno cult. Just... Obedient puppy Jeno who tries his hardest to follow your commands, preening under every praise that falls off of your lips. His chest flushed, heaving with breaths as his muscles play under his skin as you deny him of yet another orgasm, leaving him writhing and struggling against his restraints.... Sigh... I am getting side tracked.  Just... Sub top Jeno...

Haechan: switch (bratty sub, mean dom)

Will challenge his partner for dominance every chance he gets and if he gets his shot, he will use it. And not have mercy. If you don’t submit, he will make you submit. Rather with actions, he’ll have you crumbling just with his words alone. Degrading. Meanie.  Needs a hard dom or he will not end up subbing. Low key might get off of pain? Needs to be broken down and have the brattiness fucked out of him...

Jaemin: soft dom (the softest)

Similar to Jeno, who knows me and me blog knows that I am all about soft dom Jaemin.  “What baby wants, baby gets.”  And if baby is begging for an orgasm, Jaemin might just give you one. Or five until you’re crying and your head is spinning all while he gently smiles at you and strokes your hair. And if you’re begging for his cock? Well. Who is he to deny his baby?  Also @ncteaxhoe has convinced me that he likes being called “Nana” in the bedroom.  Low key exhibitionist tendencies as well... Gets off on knowing he can make you feel good. 

Yangyang: vanilla, doesn’t care about dynamics

Similar to Mark and Hendery... It’s just the dude-bro-fratboy energy.  Lighthearted sex? Does that make sense? Like... It’s just right. Nothing overwhelming. Just. Yeah. I don’t want to call it dude-bro-sex but that’s what I’m thinking.  Both just enjoying how you make each other feel while sharing little giggles when something you want to try doesn’t work out 100%...

Shotaro: sub

Inclined to say sub without giving a real reason because I ‘ll be honest, I don’t know him very well and low key don’t want to think sexual about him because he just seems... so pure..? yeah idk

Feel free to disagree with me and tell me why or do your own sorting! ✌ This was so much fun to do! Low key want to do a NSFW A-Z now...

[youvegotrpmemes]

Iron Man (2008) starters

“I feel you’re going to pull over and snuff me.”

“You’re kidding me with the hand up, right?”

“Oh no! Did they rope you into this?”

“You are not authorized to access this area.”

“I do anything and everything that [name] requires, including, occasionally, taking out the trash. Will that be all?”

“What are you trying to get rid of me for? What, you got plans?”

“I don’t like it when you have plans.”

“For three hours. For three hours you got me standing here.”

“I told you, I’m not mad. I’m indifferent, okay?”

“You don’t respect yourself, so I know you don’t respect me. I respect you. I’m just your babysitter. So, when you need your diaper changed, let me know and I’ll get you a bottle, okay?”

“Is it better to be feared or respected? I say, is it too much to ask for both?”

“I couldn’t sleep ‘til I found out how it went. How’d it go?”

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

“What the hell did you do to me?”

“Do you understand me? Do as I do.”

“Is this the last act of defiance of the great [first & last name]? Or are you going to do something about it?”

“Relax. I have steady hands. Why do you think you’re still alive?”

“So you’re a [man] who has everything, and nothing.”

“Why have you failed me?”

“Stick to the plan!”

“Don’t waste it. Don’t waste your life.”

“Well, that... uh, that went well.”

“Did I just paint a target on the back of my head?”

“Could you have a lousier poker face?”

“Listen to me, [name]. We’re a team. Do you understand? There’s nothing we can’t do if we stick together.”

“We’re gonna have to play a whole different kind of ball now.”

“How big are your hands?”

“Let’s see them. Show me your hands.”

“You know, I don’t think that I’m qualified to do this.”

“You’re the most capable, qualified, trustworthy person I’ve ever met.”

“[Name]? It’s going to be okay. It’s gonna be okay. I’m gonna make this okay.”

“Don’t ever, ever, ever, ever ask me to do anything like that ever again.”

“I don’t have anyone but you.”

“[Name], I’ve been called many things. ‘Nostalgic’ is not one of them.”

“I swear, I didn’t expect to see you walking around so soon.”

“[Name], I’m working on something big. I came to talk to you. I want you to be a part of it.”

“What you need is time to get your mind right.”

“Just because I brought pizza back from New York doesn’t mean it went bad.”

“It would’ve gone better if you were there.”

“I’m being responsible! That’s a new direction for me.”

“What was I thinking? You’re usually so discreet.”

“What’s the world coming to when a [guy]’s got to crash [his] own party?”

“Am I making you uncomfortable?”

“I actually don’t think that you could tie your shoes without me.”

“You have a lot of nerve showing up here tonight.”

“Is this what you call accountability?’

“You can’t afford to be this naïve.”

“No, no, no, no, no, no, the less I know, the better.”

“Let’s face it. This is not the worst thing you’ve caught me doing.”

“Hey. You busy? You mind if I send you on an errand?”

“[Name], you know that I would help you with anything, but I cannot help you if you’re going to start all of this again.”

“You’re going to kill yourself, [name]. I’m not going to be a part of it.”

“I shouldn’t be alive, unless it was for a reason.”

“I’m not crazy, [name]. I just finally know what I have to do. And I know in my heart that it’s right.”

“You’re all I have, too, you know.”

“So, what are we going to do about this? Hmm?”

“You are a very rare [woman]. [Name] doesn’t know how lucky [he] is.”

“There’s so many applications for causing short-term paralysis.”

“Do you really think that just because you have an idea, it belongs to you?”

“Make sure you wait ‘til I clear the roof. I’ll buy you some time.”

“Hold still, you little prick!”

“You’ll die!”

“Are you talking about the night that we danced and went up on the roof, and then you went downstairs to get me a drink, and you left me there, by myself? Is that the night you’re talking about?”

“I know that it’s confusing. It is one thing to question the official story, and another thing entirely to make wild accusations, or insinuate that I’m a superhero.”

“I’m just not the hero type. Clearly. With this laundry list of character defects, all the mistakes I’ve made, largely public.”

“Just stick to the cards, [man].”

[oh-styles]

A Little Bit of History: I

Alas, the moment roughly five of you have been waiting for. It’s here - half of it - but it’s here. The paternity test chapter! Is Harry the father? Who is her ex-boyfriend? Read more to find out!

26 September 2014 Manchester, UK

The truth can hurt.

It can burn and sting, seer your skin like a hot blade, so it’s little to no surprise when some – much like the protagonist of this story – will do indisputably everything in his power to avoid it; the impending, splintering and crushing truth.

It all began in the fall of 2014, nearly two years before.

We open this story in Manchester, more specifically, Arndale Market. The day was overcast, but she expected nothing less; soon enough the trees will be bare, the ground will be coated in sheets of white, and her favorite time of year will have finally arrived. She prefers the warmer seasons, yes, but once finally the weather drops, she knows its soon her son will be home for Christmas.

It was Robin who first spotted you, standing with your back to the door of Hotel Chocolat. You were stifling through your bag – you knew your phone was in there somewhere – and with a quick glance over your shoulder, Anne stopped in her tracks. She cannot recount the last time she saw you. Your hair had grown, and she swears up and down that you have gotten taller, though, looking back on it now, it could have just been your heels.

Anne is hesitant at first, watching as you laugh with one of the shop assistants, and she turns to Robin with a raise of her brow, as if to say, “Do we dare say hello?”

You were her sons first love – and as far as she was aware, her sons only love – and it was the sixteen months of loving you that made it just as hard for Anne when she learned the news that the love that had been built higher and higher, had finally reached its limit, and came tumbling down.

You weren’t to blame. Quite frankly, you stuck by his side through every immediate corner he turned, from the first audition to the first single. He no longer was yours, but someone who you now shared with the rest of the world. There are some things that you aren’t prepared to take on at such an early age, but you held onto that rope until your palms were bloody. You did everything in your power to keep ahold of that boy, but he was running rampant through his newfound fame, and you were clinging on for dear life.

It was a ticking timebomb, and Anne felt it. She watched the phone calls become few and far between, and even had to listen as you shrugged your way through conversations about how you couldn’t quite recall the last time the two of you spoke.

“A week, maybe?” Give or take a few days.

It was a Sunday morning when it happened, and even Anne felt a piece of her heart chip away. Her son sobbed through tears on the other end of the line, retelling how he wish he could have been better, wishing he could go back and start everything over from the beginning so he wouldn’t have to lose you this way.

And if Anne were being honest, she suspected if anyone were to bite the bullet, it would have been you.

But, if you love someone, you set them free.

She’s certain, even to this day, he holds tightly to the time spent with you. You were the girl who loved him before, and even more so after, and maybe that’s why no relationship now has lasted longer than a few months. She has yet to see the spark in her son’s eye return.

And now, three years later, here you were.

Anne promised herself she would go in, say hello, and wish you well. She knew you moved from Holmes Chapel a couple years ago – rumor has it you found yourself a hunky boyfriend and shared his London flat with him – so she was unsure when she would ever cross paths with you again.

You see, the world is a small place, and its moments like these that remind one of such. The 1975 would be playing back-to-back shows for the next two nights, and you were lucky to score tickets through your friend who worked at the arena. The show wouldn’t start for another few hours, so you decided you could fill your downtime with a little shopping trip, and because most great minds think alike, this is how Anne stumbled upon you whilst you did your chocolate shopping.

Inside the shop, she makes an immediate left, and standing there contemplating the bundles of cookie chocolate, there you were. Your lips were pursed together as you tapped a finger along the boxes, skipping over the boozy chocolates with a defeated sigh, and it was in that moment – after you moved your purse from one shoulder to the other – that Anne saw it; the small, but still perfectly round bump that almost looked out of place on you.

She didn’t mean to stare; hasn’t she already taught this to her two grown children? But truth be told, she was truly caught off guard. Ever since the breakup, and after you fled Holmes Chapel, you slipped away from the public eye, and haven’t been seen since. Any time a rumor that comes around is simply that, and one to take with a grain of salt. And Anne believes that if she had heard that you were with child, she probably would have just shaken her heard to that nonsense.

When she says your name, the same nickname she called you all those years before, she could sense your stature straighten, and your box of chocolates falls limply at your side. The last time she ever said it was in your last shared phone call the day before you vanished from the small town.

She doesn’t know when she’ll ever see you again, and as far as she’s aware, this could be the very last time, and she doesn’t let it slip by her how tightly you clung to her as she leant forward for a hug. You never even said goodbye all those years ago; the only thing you can recount is packing your bags in the middle of the night, and running as fast as you could—aloft, gone with the wind. You ended up being one of the biggest One Direction mysteries: What Ever Happened to Harry’s Childhood Girlfriend?

There were many conspiracy theories, for example: you joined porn. There was never any proof, but some fans claimed to have seen you in an advertisement or two. Some even claimed you shaved your head and joined a cult, and another that you simply died.

It’s been three years now, and fans seem to have let up on your bizarre disappearance, but every now and then does a new “lead” come around, and you question how far they had to go to dig it out of their ass.

“He still talks about you sometimes,” Anne inquired, holding your hands in hers. You couldn’t shake the desire to run at the mention of him, because even now, months after your last encounter, do you wish you could have ended things differently. “I’ll let him know you’re well.”

The last time you saw him was a mere five months ago, a secret rendezvous you are sure his mother has no knowledge of.

“Well, sweetheart, I better get going… Robin is out there probably wondering where I’ve gone to. It was great to see you, love.” She leans over and reels you back in for a final hug, and it’s then you realize that she never mentioned a word about your pronounced bump. “I’ll send Robin your love.”

By the next day, the news of your pregnancy will have made its way all the way to Charlotte, North Carolina where One Direction were set to perform for their Where We Are tour. Anne doesn’t ever mean to prattle, but this wouldn’t be considered gossip, would it? Not when she’s seen with her own eyes that you were with child. She only mentioned it to Gemma in passing, but only after having commented on seeing you before the concert in Manchester.

“She looks well… She’s pregnant, did you know?” And it was that little remark that sent Gemma typing away on her phone to her little brother, who was currently in Hair & Makeup at his show. “You won’t believe what mum told me…”

The last time he saw you was on the 8th of April, and even then, he hadn’t much prepared for such a confrontation. You claimed to have gotten his number from a friend the two of you shared from your childhood, and after he told you he was in London between gigs, you were quick to ask if you could come over. You were never exactly sure why you were so eager to see him, but there was one thing you knew for sure, and that was that you were lonely.

You didn’t realize how much a boy could change in only the few years, but upon stepping in his doorway, you were greeted with someone who could no longer be described as a boy, but man. His hair was longer, pulled up out of his eyes with a bandana, and he was adorned with a couple rings, and a necklace. When he greeted you, he reached out his hand before hesitantly stepping backward and inviting you in for a hug.

The last time you touched him was years before, and you believe it was him leaving once more for another excursion with the band. You probably didn’t realize that would be the last time for a long time, and you probably didn’t think the same for the moment right now. Maybe a part of you believed this would be a new start for the two of you, but has the person in front of you changed in the years since your last meeting? Has he learned to stop letting his world revolve around no one else but him?

He invited you inside and guided you to his sitting room. “Made y’some tea,” he lifted a finger up and scurried off to presumably the kitchen. You could hear mugs lightly hitting together, and it wasn’t a minute before he was back with you, setting your glass on the table in front of you. “Glad y’came… Gives me a reason to pull out the nice glasses.”

You note the fine china and give him a weak smile. “It is nice.”

“Yeah… Someone gave it to me. Can’t remember who.”

Weak small talk. You wish he had given you something stronger instead.

An hour passes, and the two of you talk about his tour, your job, and you can sense him sheepishly shy away from the topic of Holmes Chapel, your childhood, and your sudden burst into the night. He doesn’t ask you how you’ve spent your years away, if you’re seeing anyone, but the idea still makes his palms sweaty and stomach uneasy.

It was another hour before his lips touched yours, and you quickly found yourself melting in the hands of your former lover. He tasted the same, and you couldn’t deny entry as his tongue prodded out your lips, begging for just a little more. That was all it was with him, just wanting a little more than what was given. His touch lingered down your sides and back up under your sweater, and his lips trailed across your jaw and down your neck, leaving no inch of you left untouched.

None of this was your intention, not when you made the phone call, and not when you showed up in the middle of the night. You just needed someone familiar, someone—anyone. It wasn’t your intention to drop your hands into his lap and undo the button of his pants, nor was it to reach inside and pull him out, rubbing him like all the times you had done before.

Like all the times you hid under the covers at his mother’s house, your bodies wrapped together between the sheets, showing each other a love you were only just discovering. It was clear to you now, that maybe that love hadn’t drifted so far away as you thought it had.

You hopped off his lap, undoing the button of your own pants before hastily discarding them on the floor. Like all the times before. His body felt the same; a bit broader, and a litter of tattoos scattered carelessly across his arm and torso. Stories and memories stabbed into his flesh, ones you were never a part of, and ones you might never know the origin. There will be more, you know this, and you know that’ll be a part of him you never touch.

He fit in you like all the times before; it wasn’t much like a memory but more of a nightmare, for you knew this would only become something as such. You would leave in the morning with the print of his hand still red on your ass, and every time you closed your eyes you would be able to feel his cock so deep in you, you would be walking funny until the evening. The stain he leaves on you would haunt you until you found someone else to love, and even then, you weren’t so sure.

Coming here was a mistake.

But he was like a drug; you could never stay away for too long.

*

Henry James Collins was a few months shy of twenty-one when you met him at a pub in Brixton. He played Rugby, had a Pink Floyd tattoo, and was a student at the University of Law. He bought you a pint, called you Sweetheart, and come the late hours of the night, kissed your cheek on your doorstep with the promise to call you in the morning.

It was the summer of 2013, and you were in love.

The fleeting months carried casually on by, and most evenings you spent on the floor of his flat with an open book, his flannels draped over you like a comforting blanket, and an empty spot beside you that questioned his whereabouts.

If it wasn’t one pub, it was another, and if it wasn’t him coming home passed due completely shit-faced, it was him not coming home at all. And it was you drenched in a panic until he finally stumbled in through the front door sometime that next morning.

He called you sweetheart, and kissed your cheek, and promised with putrid breath he would be better. He’d later fuck you, which was a seal to his promise that would always come undone by the weekend.

173 days, and as suddenly as he appeared, you packed your bags in the middle of the night and ran. A week later, you found yourself on your ex-lover’s doorstep, and by the next morning you would be parading a shameful walk to the bus stop, only realizing halfway home that you left your knickers somewhere in his living room. He never reached out to you after that night. You were only to him what he was to you.

*

A month later you found out you were pregnant. Eight weeks, and the size of a kidney bean.

You would find yourself multiple times a day staring at your reflection in the mirror; scrutinizing over every insignificant inch of your body, forcing yourself to see any sign of change. The longer you looked, the more distorted you appeared, and each time you placed your hand over your stomach and cursed.

It was your fault; you put yourself in this situation, but you’d be damned if you didn’t let yourself feel a little remorse for the child who would grow up without a father.

You reached out to Henry twice. One, through a voice message where you pleaded to meet up for lunch, but it only began to become clear to you that he might still be bitter of your surprise exit the month before. The second time, you texted him the words you could still barely say to yourself out loud, and he was quick to reply, “Probably best if you stop calling.”

A thought crossed your mind – brief, but poignant – to swallow your pride and swear the words you clutched in your fist like a hand grenade. It would be a little white lie, a fib, but it would be the best, if not only, shot you had of giving your little Lovebug the chance of a complete family. But after a moments thought, you were doubtful Harry would even buy it; didn’t you have a boyfriend before him? How do you know the baby isn’t his?

And who’s to say Harry even wants to take on that responsibility right now? The impending downfall was tumbling, tumbling down, and you had never felt more alone.

But from miles away in his dressing room, sat a lone lad, that unbeknownst to you was writing in his journal what would be a song that the entire world would know the words to, all relating to the feeling of wanting another person’s love, even if you weren’t the only one.

Just a little bit of your love is all I want.

[princeanxious]

Why would you hide the Villain remus and Janus thing in the tags, I'd read the hell outta Hero Virgil turned Villain

you mean this??? shdbic aaa Yeah I want to write it, but i also want to write a lot of things. xD but this is def one of those things i’d love to write a short-ish one-shot about just so I can write it.

can you imagine? Virgil, young and anxious, manifesting powers of the light and dark variety, able to manipulate shadows and summon electricity with such fine precision because he’s spent so long fretting over accidentally hurting someone with it that he refused to even dare try and step into the hero scene until he was 150% certain that he’d trained his powers to disconnect from his emotions so that he’d never have an outburst that could even harmlessly shock or scare someone. He’s so in control over his powers that its to an insane degree just because he wants to make sure he cant hurt anybody on accident.

(complete ramble continued under the cut bc boy howdy this got so long it might as well be its own short one-shot)

And, he’s worked so in depth with his powers because of course he can’t just suppress them!(Suppressing electricity based powers doesn’t get rid of that energy, it just makes that constantly generating energy stay put and build, which makes it even more dangerous when it’s finally released, so suppression is a no go) So of course not only does he work extensively with learning how to control his powers, but also how to healthily use them and expend his energy safely, effectively, and skillfully as he grows into them. Might as well push your limits of learning just how much your power can do if you have to learn how to exist safely around others by controlling it, right?

So, by default, by the time Virgil is both old enough and confident enough in his powers to consentingly apply for registry to the worlds heroes association, he’s both insanely skilled with his powers, and also insanely talented(the equivalent to a child prodigy, not that many people in charge of the worlds hero association believe that, though.). The people who had been interviewing him believed the same, thinking him to be just another super teenager boasting about his skills when they couldn’t even sense his power, thinking that what little power Virgil did have was not even worth bothering to report anything substantial about the interview. That he’d oughta go try the villain’s headquarters, because at least they take in wandering powerless for henchmen all the time.

Virgil, feeling pissed but not quite enraged yet, because what teenager wouldn’t hate it to be so invalidated and demeaned at being out right dismissed as a threat, let alone considered more of an invalid for not having powers, starts to display his power. 

First it’s the main interviewer’s phone that they’d been glancing boredly at, drained suddenly of all power. Then it’s the landline of that specific room, then it’s the lamp, the computer suddenly shuts off with zero warning and nothing of it turns on. The lamp in the corner of the room goes dark, bulb by bulb, and the printer in the room dies. Virgil’s eyes are glowing violet but he hasn’t moved any more than the annoyed twitch of an eyelid. the light’s overhead turn off, leaving the lights in the hallway still on, leaving the remaining light in the room coming from the single window in the room and the open doorway. 

He reaches up a hand, and snaps once, and shadows swallow up the light over the hallway and the window, acting as a wall from the inside and out. 

Now the only light in the room is his glowing eyes.

The second interviewer is struggling to summon fire from her hands to light the room, but it doesn’t work. The energy she’s using to summon the fire is immediately sapped by Virgil’s force, there isn’t even a spark. The first interviewer can feel Virgil’s power now, it’s bright and burning. It’s like he has a core in the middle of his being like a sun’s core because its storing so much power, and the only reason they can see it now is because Virgil’s using his power. He has so much control that even on a nonphysical level it’s nearly tangible, the way that they can see his shadow powers conceal even the existence of his power, now that they know what their looking at.

In mere seconds, this kid has tipped the world on their head and put the fear of god into them, an undetected yet undeniable threat in the making. 

They watch his eyes tilt with his head, and the distinct sound of the entire building powering down is unmistakable, shouts of surprise and confusion due to the failure of the buildings many fail-safes failing to trigger. And then, with another snap, all power is restored to normal in the blink of the eye, all machines and lights are functioning perfectly, not an irregular shadow in sight, and all at once Virgil reads as a normal human teenager, not a whiff of power to be sensed. He looks pretty peeved, though.

“Maybe I will try my luck at the Dark Side then, at least they care about the people that look to be taken in. Let me know if you changed your mind, I’d love to have a do-over. With a different set of interviewers, mind you.” before he walks out of the interview room, off to blow off some steam legally and safely.

Imagine his outrage when a week later he’s served a summons to court, deeming him a “Threat to Society” and “better left in jail until the court can be convinced of his good nature” because he’s an “out of control juvenile gifted with an unprecedented amount of power that he couldn’t possibly control without strict legal supervision and interference and cannot be trusted to continue to exist as a normal citizen until the W.H.A deems it safe.”

Faced with possible lifelong inprisonment and zero control over the rest of his life because an association of supers think that they know better and that he’s some stupid teenager that was set loose on the world with means to only cause catastrophe and devastation, or freedom at the hands of some ambiguously grey moral decisions every once in a while and being treated as a normal human being even if he has to be a henchman to another super for a while? 

The decision isn’t a hard one to make.

So imagine his surprise when he’s not only accepted into the Dark Side after being respectfully asked to demonstrate the full extent of his power and his control over it, but instead of becoming a villain’s henchmen, he instead gains the full title of Villain(with another Villain(Janus) stepping in to mentor him and show him the ropes of the rules and everything), and even further: Gets his own henchmen assigned to him. 

A pair, Patton and Logan. 

Patton has a partial shapeshifting ability, but it only really lets him turn into a big frog man, making him perfect for doing any of the main heavy lifting for the team, and also perfect for protecting Logan when under attack. He’s built like a himbo and is absolutely 100% a himbo, heart of gold, super strong, buff dad bod, the whole sha-bang.

Logan has a power that is one part linked with memory, one part linked with technology. His brain can retain information like a computer databank, and he can get any misfunctioning technology to work if he can get his hands on it or a connection to it. He avoids all the quirks that interfere or damage real databanks and technology(like magnets, water, and short-circuiting) and can semi-directly connect with devices he is familiar with, without having to hold/touch/look at one.

All together, they have the beginnings of a well rounded team: the brawns, the brains, and the leader with plans and the power to make it happen. Even before finding out their reasons for coming to the dark side, Virgil becomes ride or die for them. (And honestly, they’re also pretty ride or die for him too, not even starting with the fact that they’re both like 26-27 and Virgil is an 18 year old anxious mess that had to make the decision over being the bad guy or losing any and all autonomy for the foreseeable future, which is gonna fuck up any kid and young adult’s brain. So, lowkey adopt him as a younger sibling even though he’s the boss of them and just barely taller than them.(Virgil is a tol lanky boi, and while Logan, standing at 5′9″, is but an inch shorter than Virgil at the start, Virgil still has growing room and peaks at about 6′4″ by the time hes 22. Patton at his normal height is like 5′6″, but frog man height is like 8′3″)

Oh, and they definitely make the Worlds Hero Association regret not taking Virgil’s existence kindly, Big Time.

[witcher-and-his-bard-archive]

A Small Price to Pay

doing this thing | day 1 - makeshift gag

"I cannot and will not." Jaskier puts his foot down - literally and metaphorically - and crosses his arms in Geralt's direction. Geralt just rolls his eyes and sighs at him.

"Then how do you propose we get past half the Nilfgaardian army?"

He's being ridiculous, of course; a few dozen men hardly constitute half their army, but he does have a point - Jaskier is disappointingly low on ideas. But the idea of being bound and gagged is just... well, it's not detestable but he'd prefer it under very, very different circumstances.

"We'll just go back. Or wait for them to move on." Geralt glances over to where three men are setting up a tent and quirks an eyebrow at Jaskier. "Oh, I don't know! There has to be something else we can do? Surely we can go around, through-"

"We've been delayed enough already. If we don't make it to Vengerberg in the next three days Yen and Ciri will leave without us."

Jaskier frowns. He does so enjoy travelling with Ciri, but the entire trip to Kaer Morhen without Yen sounds like a dream come true if he's honest. He wants to say as much, but he suspects it won't be taken well. Instead, he just continues to frown at the grass beneath his feet.

Truthfully, Geralt has a very good reason for not wanting to upset Yen - or to confront the army, to be fair - but has failed to take into account that Jaskier also has a very good reason for not wanting to be tied up. Nor does he seem to care as he rifles through his pack and produces a length of rope short enough to bind Jaskier's hands behind his back.

"But why does it have to be me? They're looking for you! I could just say I'm bringing you to them!" He takes a step back as Geralt moves into his space and the look he gets is incredulous.

"And risk both of us getting killed because I can't use my swords? I don't think so." Geralt reaches out to him and Jaskier takes another step back, promptly hitting the trunk of a badly placed tree.

Realizing he's trapped and Geralt is smiling about it, Jaskier sighs and relents. He turns around reluctantly and Geralt takes his hands, placing one wrist over the other. Under other circumstances, he would revel in this much contact, but right now he just feels defeated and apprehensive.

It takes all his concentration not to think while Geralt binds his hands. It's bad enough that Geralt is practically holding his hand, rough, calloused fingers curled around his own to steady him, but the rope. He doesn't know where it came from, but it's surprisingly smooth against his skin without even the reliably scratchy bits to distract him from the feeling of, well, being entirely at Geralt's mercy. And that- that is something he really can't focus on right now.

"Is it too tight?" Geralt asks and Jaskier doesn't trust himself to speak so he just shakes his head. "Your heart is beating too quickly, what's wrong?"

"Nothing," he mutters, staring too hard at his boots. "Nervous," he adds as an afterthought; Geralt won't shut up about it until he gets an answer that satisfies him and sometimes it's better just to lie.

"Do you trust me?"

Fuck, what kind of question is that? Trust is not at all the problem here. "Of course," Jaskier whispers and his voice comes out light and wispy, not at all what he was hoping for. But Geralt seems unfazed.

He finishes his task and returns to their packs. When he returns, he's got a scrap of fabric in his hand and if Jaskier's heart was beating quickly before, it's outright pounding now. Because Jaskier would recognize that fabric anywhere. He's the one who washes and mends their clothes and that right there is a piece of Geralt's unsalvagable shirt and it's not going anywhere near his face - not in a million years.

He opens his mouth to tell Geralt as much, but he just splutters indignantly as Geralt slips the material between his lips. With his hands bound behind him, Jaskier is helpless to resist.

"Surely, you've had worse," Geralt mutters and Jaskier doesn't know if he's referring to traumatizing experiences, embarrassment, or bondage but the answer is no almost straight across the board.

Because this smells like Geralt. And Jaskier doesn't know what he tastes like, but this is probably as close as he'll get, tasting the soap he uses to wash it and something he can't place but feels remarkably like Geralt. A sharp stab of want breaks through his composure and for a horrifying moment, Jaskier wishes the gag was covered in dirt or blood or monster innards.

"Ready?" Geralt asks and Jaskier just groans. He most certainly is not ready and if he thought pushing down his arousal was hard with his hands bound, it's ten times worse with Geralt's scent flooding his senses.

Geralt steps away to collect Roach and Jaskier takes a moment to try to breathe and compose. It works for the briefest of moments before Geralt appears out of nowhere, wrapping a firm hand around his bicep and hauling him forward. Heat spreads through Jaskier's entire body and he stumbles to catch up.

Either he's going to blow it for them because the guard will take one look at him and realize he is in no way a prisoner against his will, or they'll make it through and he'll be horrifically embarrassed for the rest of his life. It's not that he's ashamed of his sexual preferences, he'd just rather not share them quite so blatantly with Geralt.

As expected, a soldier stops them just as soon as they step out of the trees. Geralt's hand tightens a little around his arm and Jaskier tries to keep as close as he can to him without seeming suspicious. Geralt speaks before the Nilfgaardian even has a chance.

"I need to speak to your commander," he growls, low and commanding, "this man claims to have knowledge of princess Cirilla's whereabouts."

He isn't even questioned, the guard just mutters something and Geralt grunts a response and hauls Jaskier forward a little more roughly than necessary. Jaskier's cock twitches and he pretends not to notice as Geralt makes a self-satisfied noise at him. So he was right then. There'll be no living with him after this.

They make it to the opposite side of the Nilfgaardian camp, a safe distance away and Geralt finally released him, but it's too late for that now. Jaskier's cock has taken a distinct interest, what with the growling and manhandling and bondage that fucking smells like Geralt and is now pressed firmly against the front of his trousers, unmistakable in his current position.

Jaskier angles himself away from Geralt, and Geralt naturally reads him wrong and slips up behind him to untie the gag. Which is little relief at this point and then, as Geralt presses up against his back, actually so much worse than just keeping it on. Because Jaskier can feel the heat radiating off his body, can imagine what it would feel like if Geralt just took one more step forward and slotted their bodies together. Jaskier bites back a moan, squeezing his eyes shut and trying to think of anything else, but then Geralt's hands are on him.

And who touches someone this much just to untie a gag? Someone who seeks Jaskier's imminent death via spontaneous combustion - or, apparently, Geralt. His fingers slip up the back of his neck, press lightly against his head. And if it's not bad enough that he spends an eternity untying the damn thing, he pushes his fingers through Jaskier's hair after before finally stepping away.

Which, Jaskier quickly discovers, is only because they've been followed. He drops to his knees to further hide his... situation and peers over his shoulder as Geralt strides toward the soldier, apparently unconcerned.

"What are you doing here?" the Nilfgaardian asks. Geralt cocks his head to one side.

"Nothing. And you're going to go back to your camp and forget you ever saw us here. In fact, you're going to tell your commanding officer the surrounding area is clear, no reason to send out scouts."

Jaskier just sits and gawks, horrified and betrayed, as the man nods and echoes Geralt's words back to him before turning away.

"Are you-" he splutters when the soldier is a safe distance away, "are you telling me you could have just done that the whole time!?" The faintest smile tugs at the corner of Geralt's lips and Jaskier could kill him. Might, even, if he wasn't still bound.

Geralt casts a final look to make sure the soldier is gone and crosses over to him. Jaskier shifts, but his mobility is limited without his arms to balance and Geralt crouches down in front of him, clearly pleased with himself.

"Maybe," he shrugs, reaching up to tip Jaskier's chin up. Jaskier's heart is in his throat and he can't fucking believe this is happening to him. Either Geralt has some very surprising feelings about humiliation or he's a grade-A dick. "But then I wouldn't get to see you like this." His voice goes very soft at the end and Jaskier shuts his eyes, biting down on a groan.

Either Geralt is a very cruel man or somewhere along the way Jaskier passed out from the lack of blood to his brain and he's dreaming. But Geralt's fingers feel solid and real where they slide against his jaw and he's close enough now that Jaskier can feel his breath on his face and oh-

Geralt's hand settles on his thigh and Jakier's eyes flash open, searching Geralt's for any sign of hesitation but there's nothing. If he doesn't do something soon, Jaskier's going to do something incredibly stupid that he'll probably regret. He sits back on his heels, pulling out of Geralt's touch and looks up at him.

"You knew?" he asks.

"No. I was joking when I said I could tie you up and take you through the camp, but the way you reacted-" he hums and Jaskier's resistance fails him.

Geralt shifts toward him, dropping to one knee as he reaches out, running his fingers down Jaskier's chest. And Jaskier is weak to resist him. He presses up into the touch, only barely conscious of how needy he must look and Geralt huffs a soft laugh.

"I wanted to see how far you'd let me go," he breathes, "I didn't think you'd actually let me do it."

"You're an arse," Jaskier huffs and Geralt grins at him.

Jaskier doesn't know what he's supposed to do here. This is a side of Geralt he's never seen before and he's not sure how far he'd actually take it. Geralt moves closer, kneeling between Jaskier's thighs and it's all Jaskier can do not to lose control right there. Geralt's breath dusts over his jaw and Jaskier lets a soft moan slip out as he shuts his eyes.

"You didn't think I'd just leave you like this, did you?"

Everything in Jaskier's head comes to a screeching halt and before he can even consider whether or not that means what it sounds like it means, Geralt's hands are on his trousers, working them open and slipping inside. Steady fingers curl slowly around him and Jaskier loses control of his body in an instant. A sharp whine slips, unbidden, from his throat and his hips snap forward against Geralt's hand.

Fuck, he doesn't even remember the last time he was this turned on.

"What was it," Geralt asks, sliding his hand maddeningly slowly against Jaskier's cock, "that got you so worked up - the rope or the gag?"

"Both," he whimpers, "and the uh- manhandling."

"Hmm. I was just trying to make it seem realistic."

"Mission- ah!accomplished."

Geralt shifts to sit on the grass and with one quick motion gets both arms around Jaskier's waist and tugs him into his lap. Jaskier shuffles forward, encouraged by the way Geralt's hands slip to his ass, squeezing almost playfully. Jaskier tips his head up and Geralt catches his mouth in a rough kiss, nearly dislodging him in his enthusiasm.

Jaskier's head swims. He's never known Geralt to be so forward with anyone, much less with him, and the thought of it makes him impossibly harder. He aches for Geralt's touch again, rolls his hips forward encouragingly but Geralt's hands remain firmly in place, pulling him in closer. Here, Jaskier is pressed right against him, can feel the firm lines of his chest and the surprising press of Geralt's cock, thick and hard where it fits up against his own.

"And what about you?" Jaskier tries, feeling much more suave than he sounds, "what's got you so hot and bothered."

One of Geralt's hands slips up his back, right up his neck and into his hair, pulling his face right up against his own. Their noses bump together and Jaskier can feel Geralt's breath against hi, and then they're falling, dropping back into the grass beneath them.

"Just you," he breathes and Jaskier feels like he could combust. Geralt keeps a hand on him, rocking up against him and gods, he feels incredible. Geralt mumbles something against his lips that Jaskier doesn't quite catch and then Geralt is reaching between them, tugging his trousers open and pushing them down.

Jaskier rises up as his cock slips free and he finds himself staring, unable to look away. His lip is trapped between his teeth and Geralt reaches up, gently freeing it and running his thumb along the sensitive flesh. Geralt tugs him forward, grinding up against him and Jaskier drops his head against his shoulder, hips shifting quickly.

"Should I untie you?" Geralt breathes and Jaskier nods enthusiastically, pressing his forehead into Geralt's skin.

"Please," he groans, "I want to touch you."

Geralt doesn't move, but reaches around, fumbling with the rope as Jaskier kisses him again. As soon as he's free, he gets one hand on Geralt's face, sliding the other up through his hair, groaning as Geralt rolls him onto his back.

He should probably be more concerned about the Nilfgaardian camp only a few hundred meters away, but all he can think about is Geralt's cock against his own, his hands, his mouth.

Jaskier comes with his legs wrapped around Geralt's hips, completely entangled and the sky darkens above them. He doesn't move for a long time afterward and Geralt kisses his neck, slides a hand up under his shirt to brush his fingers over Jaskier's skin.

When he finally settles, he rolls onto his back, tugging Jaskier up against his side.

"Yen's gonna be pissed," he mumbles, tipping his head to press a kiss to Jaskier's temple.

"A small price to pay."

[pathofcomet]

look at what you taught me

fandom: bridgerton series

pairing: colin/penelope

summary: Colin and Penelope have never been awkward with one another. Except for this one time.  (AO3) (book spoiler ahead)

In the beginning, when he travels, Colin can think of nothing else but the present moment: a ship under his feet, the lull of a carriage, the wide expanse of the world all around him. Whatever destination is coming next, if he is certain enough – if not, he’ll just make it up as he goes. The furious scribbling of his quill against paper, as he races to put down in words all his eyes take not but a second to admire. It feels like everything he never knew he wanted to do so desperately. It feels right.

Then, it becomes more difficult to return home, the more he travels. But soon enough, the travel starts to wear him down. He begins to look forward to when he’ll return home: despite his own mother’s incessant remarks, despite the brotherly arguments, despite having to see another sister married off. Even the most loving mamas trying to marry off their daughters to him seem somewhat adorable, if he is gone long enough. But the need to travel comes back, like an itch that won’t go away unless he scratches it away. He makes promises to his sisters – so that he can stay as much as possible, but he goes insane with anything more than a couple of months. He likes to believe that by now his family simply made peace with his many eccentricities, and simply paid the cook more when he was around.

He treasures the pockets of familiarity he gets when in London as much as the breathes of fresh air he gets when he’s away. He imagines he drives his mother wild, with all his coming and going across the continent. He knows what Lady Whistledown writes about him as well, and he’d strangle the woman himself, for alerting everyone of his return so punctually. Ambitious mamas are hard to fend off when you’re a young man, and it only gets worse the older he becomes, because the expectation of marriage dawns ever closer.

***

“You must agree, Colin,” his mother says, and at the mention of his name, he straightens in his chair, because it’s a terrible thing to be singled out in a conversation by Violet. “Penelope is quite an agreeable young lady.”

Colin agrees, both because he truly believes so, and because while his mother doesn’t need his confirmation, she’s kinder when she has it. Benedict, from the other side of the room, leans closer in his chair, so he can hear better whatever commentary their dear mother is about to impart with them.

“I dare say she’d make quite a suitable bride for you, really.”

All hell breaks loose. Benedict drops his foot to the floor with a loud thud, while Colin drops his sandwich, eliciting a swear for which he’s reprimanded by three of his sisters. And then.

“Mother!” Eloise shrieks, quite offended – which Colin finds surprising, considering that the two of them are best friends. “That is entirely too daring!”

Colin agrees, but he is too busy desperately trying to cough away the piece of sandwich stuck in his throat. Eloise, though still quite shocked, pushes her cup of tea in his hands, just to get him to make less noise. He downs it in one go, grateful to not have died of this particular cause. His heart, quite in override still, might provoke a heart attack soon enough if his mother does not change the subject.

“I believe you misremember your ABCs, dear mother,” he jests, because he does not want to take the idea seriously. “There’s one son for whom you haven’t found a bride quite yet.”

Benedict shifts in his seat, suddenly finding his newspaper way more interesting. But this time around, Violet doesn’t rise to the so delicious bait of teasing her second, not when her brain is so set on match-making her third.

“I don’t see why not. Isn’t she a friend to all of us?”

She stops, waits for a nod from each one of her children currently engaged in eaves-dropping on the topic.

“She’s polite, witty,” she continues listing reason after reason, all to which Colin is entirely familiar and now that he thinks about, has noticed himself, several times over, in Penelope. “And quite darling.”

He imagines darling is what girls who aren’t called beautiful get stuck with by kind mothers. He never actually stopped to even consider Penelope in any of these ways: she’s always been there, ever since he was in short pants – and that’s almost already half their lives. A fixed presence by the side of his younger sister, and a favourite of his mother, despite all the awkward wallflower tendencies in Penelope. But he doesn’t recall ever trying to pick apart her character, find her individual traits, even consider her as a… woman.

Colin is suddenly shamed by his wilful, manly indifference. Violet arches her eyebrow at him, clearly still expecting an answer.

“Mother,” he adds with a sigh. “I can promise you most certainly that I am not marrying any time soon.”

“One never knows,” she murmurs, though she allows him his momentary peace, and returns to her embroidery.

***

Only that his mother doesn’t stop with her comments, and they seem to grow in number each time she meets Penelope, which unfortunate for him, is often enough. The next morning, as she returns from shopping, she comments on how nice she looked in a dress of her own picking, and not her mother’s own distasteful choices. Each time any married sibling sends a letter, or comes visit, her efforts in getting Colin to marry are reinforced. She jabs at him with comments: morning, afternoon and evening.

And suddenly, Colin can find that there’s nothing else much that he can think about, but Penelope, and how exactly this insane idea came to live in his mother’s mind. So he starts paying attention.

He supposes parties would be generally more enjoyable if he didn’t have to attend them with his family, as much as he loves them. He can physically feel Violet’s eyes drawing across the room, and then settling, decisively, on his back, a list of eligible ladies for marriage already compiled in her mind, alongside one for dancing partners. Colin can already guess what her mother is about to tell him.

And he is right. She pokes at his elbow with her fan, nodding to the edge of the ballroom, where Penelope Featheringston stands, card empty and looking like she’d rather be anywhere else but here. Well, at least they do have that in common.

“Colin, darling,” and really, that’s all that Mrs. Bridgerton has to say to any of her children for them to do her bidding.

He makes his way across the room, trying his best to avoid getting roped into introductions by mothers or old friends alike. The faster he’s getting this over with, the faster he can return to the appetizers, and to a reconnaissance of the room of his own.

“Pen,” he says, and she startles, turning around to him with the widest of eyes, and the shyest of smiles. Huh, maybe she does look quite darling.

“Colin!” she exclaims, smoothing down a hand over her dress, and while it’s a gesture driven by nerves, it looks quite adorable.

“Would you do me the honour of a dance?”

He extends out his arm, which she takes – an answer without needing one. And it’s quite a shame, to all the other men in the room, because Penelope is a wonderful dancer, and a most attentive conversationalist during them. She asks him of his most recent travels, destination known through the letters he sent to Eloise, most likely. He’s received his fair share of foot stepping and the occasional elbow in his side, but never with Penelope.

She animates with each step, blushing at his hand around her back, smiling at a spin. He never considered how soft her body feels under his fingers, underneath the thin material of her dress, but now he is acutely aware of her warmth seeping through. He asks of the books she’s been reading, which he knows are plenty.

And at the end of the dance, he finds that maybe dancing with Penelope Featherington is not such a tedious task, after all. And at the end of the night, he’s quite certain she’s been his best partner.

***

Art exhibitions are not really Colin’s thing, really. His interest lays in a world painted in words, not in colours. But considering the fact that one of Benedict’s pieces is to be exposed to the world for the first time, of course his entire family must be present. He is proud of his brother, for having found a path in life, having chased it so full of determination.

Colin’s good at chasing as well. He’s just been proven, more and more lately, that he chases only things that cannot last, which displeases him greatly. It doesn’t mean he is not entirely supportive of his older brother. What other reason he’d have to be present here, at all?

“Penelope!” Eloise shouts, gathering the attention of her friend.

Penelope spins around, red curls jumping with the movement, and she blushes. Colin is pretty sure she’s done this every single time he’s seen her, though maybe he now begins to understand why. She nods her head in their direction, all Bridgertons replying in kind. Eloise lets go of his arm, rushing instead by her best friend’s side, hands entangled in a most obvious display of friendship and affection.

Colin knows Penelope’s family – and so he knows there’s no such camaraderie between her and her sisters, as it can be so easily observed between himself and his own siblings. He’s glad these two have each other then: a friend is one’s most fearful champion.

He walks by his mother’s side, going through the gallery, the two girls just a few feet ahead. Eloise is the taller one, yet both their heads are bent together as they discuss, such an air of ease and comfort about them. His sister says something, and suddenly Penelope turns a bit more to the side, laughing: a sparkle of mischief in her eyes and the loveliest pull at her mouth. Now, Colin finds himself quite taken with her mouth, staring because he finds it impossible not to. The soft pink of her lips, as she’s worried at them trying to come up with a comment about this and that painting. The white of her teeth, as she smiles. Her tongue, wetting her lips, from time to time, as the rooms grow hotter, with all the people passing around.

He’s lucky that the art pieces all around are distracting enough that Penelope herself doesn’t notice. His mother does, though.

“Quite darling, no?”

And she looks at the exact same person that he is, and most certainly not at the painting of a fruit basket in front of them.

“Mother,” he warns, a slight squeeze around her arm.

“Oh,” she sighs. “You can’t blame me for caring enough to try.”

Maybe not. But he can blame her for opening his eyes to something that he, like everyone else – he begins to realize - didn’t really know was right there.

***

So Colin Bridgerton, like a true hero of his days, leaves for Wales. And like the caring gentleman that he also is, he uses one of his friends as his excuse. It helps – it’s quite a useful distraction, for a while, walking over the hills, staring out at the sea, spending evenings eating hearty meals with someone that knows him well enough, but not too much. And he writes in his journal, of his quiet passing days.

By contrast, the nights are not so quiet. While he tries so hard to forget the society back in London, at night there are no distractions: and even so, while asleep, he cannot really control his unconscious mind.

So Colin dreams: at first, the most innocent of shadows, people that he can vaguely make out. Then the visions get clearer, and longer, and more tormenting. It starts with Penelope’s smile, and that mouth of hers, which in a dream he can admit to wanting to desperately kiss. Which, in a dream, he has leave to do. He knows, upon waking, that whatever taste lingers on his tongue from his haze, it certainly has nothing on the reality, and hates himself all the more for it. Then her body, close to his, the press of her bosom hard against his chest, the roundness of her bottom in his palms. The next morning, he is in need of a change of bedsheets, like he is nothing but a horny teenager.

He is sure his mother must have cursed him. The dreams continue, sweet haunting that only makes the guilt rise in his throat. She’s his sister’s best friend, for heaven’s sake, and here he is, conjuring her up in his dreams with no respite! It’s like his body has decided to take an entirely different path from his mind.

Colin is miserable on a travel, for the first time in way too long.

***

Maybe that’s his excuse. He lacks sleep, and for him, the most pressing issue is, obviously, still the one of his marriage. Violet Bridgerton is popular for many things between her children, but her cutting words and sharp mind are not necessarily one of those, especially if used against one of them. Colin has found himself at the receiving end of exactly that for weeks and months now, so he is apprehensive when he is summoned back to London.

But if his mother has need of him, then he must make haste. Of course, the real reason is simply the news of Daphne’s new pregnancy, which is incredibly happy. Colin loves to be an uncle way better than he likes being a younger brother.

Especially since right now, Anthony and Benedict have taken the liberty to pick up with the teasing where their mother stopped.

“You left in the middle of the season,” Benedict remarks, and Anthony clasps his back in a way that only eldest brothers can do, when they require an immediate answer.

“Oh, very well,” and Colin actually scowls. “I needed to get away. Mother has been incessant with this bloody marriage thing.”

And because they’re his brothers, of course they joke and jest more, at his own expense. Everyone in their house knows that his mother has her eyes set on Penelope, and everyone in their house is already tired of her insinuations, Colin most of all. That doesn’t mean that Anthony, or Benedict are going to pass up the opportunity to rile him up on the subject. It’s been a while, after all, since they’ve had reason to laugh at him in particular.

It’s the damn lack of sleep, and all of these comments, which are entirely unwarranted and so overwhelming, despite his protests, that make him throw all decorum out the window.

“I am not going to marry soon, and I am certainly not going to marry Penelope Featherington!”

“Oh!”

The softest sound, really – feminine and delicate and belonging to the single person that he didn’t want to see right this moment. With much slowness, burning red with shame, Colin turns around to look at Penelope Featherington. And he knows: by the expression on her face, the haggard breathing with the desperate rise and fall of her chest, and her eyes, that he just broke her heart.

What he says right there on the spot, he cannot truly recall. A fumbling of stupid, empty nothings, apology too small, too unfulfilling, because Penelope draws herself up and protects the little bit of her dignity left.

And she leaves, so fast that he doesn’t have the time to do what he wants: follow her to clear up things.

Benedict punches him in the arm, quite terribly hard. It still doesn’t feel as bad as the gut-wrenching guilt building up inside himself, or the self-loathe that he so much deserves. Because just as he was beginning to make up his mind regarding how dear, truly, she has grown to be for him, he has done the worst thing a person who cares about another can do: hurt her.

***

He shows up at the doorsteps of her house the following day, surprised to find Penelope alone in the drawing room.

“As you might suspect, Mr. Bridgerton,” she says, when he inquires after her mother and sisters. “Many men before you have made the same declaration, though maybe in more private settings. I am afraid any hope of marriage left in this household falls upon my sisters.”

It is the fact that she doesn’t use his name that stings the worst, and makes him understand exactly how much harm he’s done with his extremely horrifying comment.

“Penelope, I am so entirely sorry for the way I behaved yesterday. You must believe me when I say I did not mean to offend you in any way.”

“Must I?”

He stops, opens his mouth: no words come out. She looks the picture perfect of peace, and maybe this is what should worry him the most. It is his first time seeing her as more than a blushing young woman, and suddenly maybe he realizes why she is Eloise’s best friend: she’s made of tougher stuff than what he’s been led to believe so far.

“What I said, the way I’ve said it. I’ve hurt you… It’s entirely intolerable and I apologize for the situation you’ve been put in because of me being an ass.”

Situation that she handled entirely fine, given the fact that he so singled her out in a market of numerous others undesirable young ladies. She sighs at his curse, something that sounds like Colin, that has the tiniest of fondness in the tone. Something in his chest tightens with fondness of its own, for this woman in front of him, who has been nothing but a most beloved friend, to his entire family – and to him, as well.

“I…” she stops, taking in a deep breath, her hands shaking. “I already told you, no feelings were hurt. You’ve made no remark that wasn’t already obvious to everybody in the ton,” she says, and she waves in the air the latest number of Lady Whistledown.

Of course, even when he misses it, his sisters and his dear mama are quick to fill him up on the happenings of the season. In today’s fresh paper, Whistledown has written down that were the two of them ever to get married, she’d have to give up writing altogether – such an unfitting match never having been seen before.

“You can’t possibly believe those writings,” he says, suddenly offended at the paper, though he’s not quite certain on whose behalf anymore.

“I didn’t, until –”

Until he has reinforced them all the more, with his declaration. Colin suddenly feels himself flush from head to toes, at being so openly chastised. His brother Benedict has already told him, that he has cruelly overstepped most demands of polite society when he lost his temper in that way, in such a public place.

“I really do apologize, Penelope.”

He hadn’t realize how much he enjoys saying her name until now, when he so desperately wants her, needs her to say his own. A sign that things between them can be mended, move from the terrible awkwardness between them.

“Pity doesn’t feel that nice to those who already know how pitiful they are, Colin.” His gaze snaps up at her, and finds her already smiling at him – quite charming, even if so utterly self-depreciating. “Though you are forgiven.”

He bows at her in thanks, lower than he’s gone in months, if not years, just to show how entirely grateful he is. Of course, Colin is yet too young, rich, handsome and charismatic to know the meaning of her words, and too stupid of a man to try and understand where she is coming from.

But he will, in due time.

For now, maybe his favourite sight to see during his travels becomes the shores of England, when returning home. Because home has just started to mean just a tiny bit more.