#gloom tries cupping for the first time

[mrs-elsie-barnes]

Welcome Home | Azriel x Cassian x Female Reader | One shot 3k

After a mission away your bat boys return to the comfort of home and their beautiful mate. The three of you have a lot of catching up to do, but first, a bath.

Warnings: 18+ sexual content & language, slight d/s themes, pet names, dirty talk, wing play,p in v, anal, dp, bath sex, shower sex.

Divider by @firefly-graphics & @reveriesources

Cassian - Can Yaman, Azriel - Avan Jojia images from Getty.

Created for @polyacotarweek prompt 2 - comfort

Masterlist | Poly Fics | Azriel | Cassian

Azriel and Cassian had been gone for a week this time, somewhere unknown, they had left from the roof of the House of Wind, their Illyrian leathers freshly polished.

You’d waved them off, tears in your eyes, unsure of when you would see your.boys again. 

But tonight was the night, as the candles that decked the corridors of the House had extinguished behind you, swirling shadows had tangled at your feet, whispering to you. Now it wouldn't be long until their Master was beside you as well. 

The clock on the mantle ticked around to 3am when Cassian finally cracked open the door to your rooms. Slowly, inching into the dark room, his wings caught on the door as they dragged tiredly behind him. 

Azriel followed, dropping his own pack to the floor and kicking off his boots as quietly as possible. 

“Sweetheart?” Cassian called softly, while Azriel’s shadows spread out, disappearing into the gloom in search of you. 

Creeping up the side of the chaise like ivy, they reached your shoulder and curled around your ear, tickling you awake. 

You'd tried to stay awake, slumped on the sofa, waiting for them, until sleep overtook you, lulling you down into the crouched position they found you in now, curled in on yourself. 

“Boys?” you mumbled, sleep still clinging to you even as you tried to drag your eyes open, “You’re home.”

Cassian smiled, kneeling in front of you and cupping your cheeks in his hands and kissing you on the forehead. “We’re home, sweetheart, all in one piece.” 

“Are you hurt? Do you need anything?” Your brain slowly kicked into gear, worry clouding your joy at the General’s return, hands running up his arms to feel for any bandages. “Is Azriel with you?” 

“I’m here, baby, and we’re safe and well.” He ran a hand up your bare arm and then kissed you too, quickly and chastly before pulling back to run his eyes over you, checking that you too were well, fed and happy. 

“Good, my boys,” you reached both hands out, touching their cheeks in turn and pulling them to you, “are you sure you don’t need anything?”

“We’re just dusty and muddy. I could do with a wash and I really want to kiss you again right now.” Cassian laughed, sitting back on his heels so he could look at you properly. 

His head was heavy with what looked like caked mud, his usual long waves weighed down in limp grey tendrils around his face. Even the little lines of his cheeks and eyes seemed to be picked out with it. You leaned down, your lips fitting against his perfectly, as if you were made to kiss each other forever. Despite his clothes and the dust settling on the carpet, his lips were soft as they moved over yours, picking up where he left off when you said goodbye.

Azriel hadn’t fared any better, but he was quietly watching you, those hazel eyes of his roving over your own body, making sure you were safe too. 

Reluctantly, you pulled away. “Let’s get you cleaned up.” You sat up, pushing your blanket to the floor. Cassian kicked it away and Azriel scooped you up into his arms.

You ran your hands into his hair, picking out debris with a laugh. Even their leathers was filthy, the white dust of limestone shining against the pitch black leather.

“What happened to you?” You lay your head against his shoulder and began fiddling with the straps of his armour as he led the way to the large bathing room. 

“Best not to ask,” Cassian grumbled, “Blame Lucien if you have to blame someone, setting fires and cracking walls. We all got showered in it. You can imagine how upset Rhys is!” He chuckled. 

You giggled too, remembering Rhy’s face the last time his pristine suit got dirty. Azriel jostled you in his arms, “he was very upset.” 

Cassian rolled his eyes, turning into the bathing room and letting his wings flare a little, dust and debris falling from between them too, the veins and creases of his delicate wings filled with soot. 

“You two should rinse off before you get anywhere near the tub,” you pointed at the cubicle in the corner of the bathing room. You’d asked Rhys for one after he’d had a similar thing specially commissioned for Nesta, it stopped your beautiful sunken tub from getting filled with mud and dust after your boys got back from training, missions, daily life - how they managed to get so dirty just existing was beyond you. 

As an incentive you began unbuckling Azriel’s leathers further, letting them drop to the floor, before you could turn to help Cassian too the male was behind you, his hands on your hips. 

“Are you going to join us?” He hummed in your ear, the feel of his chest vibrating against your back, his powerful arms surrounding you sent heat straight to your core. 

“It’ll be very lonely without you, baby.” Azriel’s hands were on you now too, pulling up the sheer nightgown you’d worn, hoping for this very moment when two sets of battle weary hands would strip you back out of it. 

“There she is,” Cassian’s hands moved up from your stomach to cup your breasts, your nipples hardening. Azriel bent forwards, latching his lips onto one nipple and then the next, flicking and teasing them until they ached. 

You let your head drop back against Cassian’s chest as Azriel moved lower, kissing down your stomach until he knelt on the floor at your feet. Scarred hands ran up your legs, his thumbs tickling the inside of your thighs, tantalisingly close to wear your silk underwear clung to your slick folds. 

His hooked his fingers into the band of your underwear and stopped there, staring up at you. 

Cassian’s large hand crept up over your sternum and wrapped loosely around your throat, holding your head back. Despite his gentle hold your breath stuttered out of you. 

“Good girl, ask him nicely if he’ll take them off for you.” 

He let go, only enough for him to use his thumb on your chin to tilt your head down to look at the famed Illyrian warrior, his wings spread out around him, his eyes glowing in the faelight. 

“Puh-please take them off, Az.” 

He began sliding them down your legs, carefully lifting your feet in turn and then throwing them behind his back. 

As he stood he let his fingers dance up between your legs, barely skimming over the slick that stuck your thighs together, before laying his hand over Cassian’s and claiming your mouth. 

“We missed you so much,” Cassian crooned, pressing wet kisses up the side of your neck, “couldn’t wait to get home to our little sweetheart.” 

Your heart was pounding, the thick heat of the streaming bathroom only making your body slicker and hotter. Cassian sucked your ear lobe between his teeth, worrying the delicate flesh until your knees buckled and Azriel had to take your weight, sliding his thigh between your sweat slick legs.

“Shower-” you moaned brokenly, trying to get Azriel to step backwards under the rainforest showerhead. He relented, allowing the hot water to drip from his hair like summer rain. “Let me - ugh - wash you.” Every word was a struggle against the on-slaught of pleasure from both warriors. 

Cassian moved away, the loss of his body heat sending goosebumps flaring over your skin. Behind you the sound of water splashing into the enormous tub filled the room. 

Azriel stepped away too, lifting his face into the water and rubbing his hands over his face. You followed, wrapping your arms around his waist and allowing your hands to find the sensitive spot where his wings met his back. 

“What are you doing, baby?” His gaze snapped down, sending water flying. 

“Let me wash you,” you pouted, two scarred hands cupping your cheeks as he kissed the pout from your lips. But then he turned, kneeling on the floor of the shower so you should reach him. 

The lavender soap was slippery in your hands, filling the shower area with its sweet, floral scent. 

You began with his shoulders, rubbing the knots away with your thumbs and then sliding your hands over his shoulders, suds revealing hints of the detailed tattoos that hid beneath, fingers brushing over the hard nubs of nipples before squeezing the soft muscle of his pecs playfully. 

Cassian, hair now slicked back from face, stepped behind you in turn, guiding your hands back to Azriel’s shoulders. 

“Just - here,” he nuzzled into the soft spot below your ear, moving your hand between Az’s wings and then pressing. 

In front of you Azriel moaned, a deep sound that bounced off the tiles and vibrated up your legs. Cassian chuckled behind you and pressed again. 

“Wicked, both of you, wicked, teasing -” he stood and turned, crowding you back against Cas until all three of you were in the corner of the shower, kissing and laughing while Azriel tickled up your sides. 

“Hmm, time for the bath I think,” Cas wrapped his arms around you, reaching for Az. 

“I agree,” you nodded, breathless. 

Tearing yourself away from their searching hands and hungry kisses, you added a large squeeze of bubble bath to the filling tub. You barely had time to turn around again before Cassian hauled you into his arms and kissed you.

“Fuck, I missed you, baby, you’ll stay with us in the bath, right?” His hazel eyes, so full of lust just moments before, were clouded with something else too, a fear, a need to be close. 

“How can I say no to you, Cas?” You looked down into his gorgeous face, clean now after his quick shower, glowing in the steamy room.

“Good,” Az sighed into your ear, the feeling of his shivering shadows creeping up your legs and around your waist. 

Surrounded, you were entirely surrounded by them and it was exactly where you needed and wanted to be. Between your boys, safe and loved and close, just the three of you in the sanctuary you’d created. 

“Good!” Cassian echoed, climbing into the overflowing water.

“Cassy!” You giggled, sloshing the water as you both got comfortable before Azriel climbed in too. 

The tub was enormous, large enough for both males and their impressive wingspans, but you crowded together anyway, needing to feel them. You leaned forwards and pressed a chaste kiss to Azriel, revealing in the contrast of his cold shadows on your cheeks and his warm, full lips gently parting your own. 

Cassian’s grip on your hips tightened, “where are you going?” he tugged you back into his lap and nuzzled kisses into your neck. “I’ve gotta feel you, baby,” he hummed, settling your hips directly over his so you could feel the hard length of his arousal between your legs. 

Gods you’d missed this, the way your pulse raced and your body reacted for them. Your legs falling further open and your hips grinding back against him.

“Fuck, sweetheart, we can’t flood the bathroom again,” Azriel groaned, remembering the last time the three of you had taken a bath together, the whole floor had been soaked within minutes, soap and suds dripping out of the floor length open windows into the jasmine scented sky. 

“Just - let me -” he nipped gently at your shoulder, “feel you then.” You never could resist when he turned on his puppy dog eyes, how could you when they were so full of want and desire and the tip of his cock was nudging between your legs in that sinful way. 

You knew exactly what he wanted and you needed it too, reaching between you, you took hold of his hard cock and lined him up against your entrance, sinking down slowly. The first inch was always the hardest, his thick head stretching you, the pressure against your clit so sudden and delicious you could barely keep your eyes open. 

And then you felt Az’s shadows on your cheeks again and you opened your eyes to meet his, dark with lust and need while he watched you sink back down into Cassian’s lap with a gasp. 

Open mouthed, you gasped harder, feeling him so deep inside of you after so long was a welcome shock. 

“You look so beautiful like this, sweetheart.” Azriel’s voice was a low purr, each word punctuated by his shadows skittering over your skin, dancing between the dappled candlelight. 

“Az-” you moaned, leaning back against Cassian once more, ever your rock in this sea of pleasure. 

“That’s a good girl,” he whispered into your ear, soft and low, “taking me so well, taking such good care of me.” He pressed a kiss behind your ear, hands squeezing your hips. “But I think Azzie is lonely over there.” He tipped your chin back up to look at Azriel again, one arm resting on the tile surround, the other under the bubbles, his arm moving slowly as he pumped his cock. “Why don’t you keep him company?” 

Azriel met you searching hand with his own scarred palm, lacing your fingers together and drawing you closer. With a whimper you allowed Cassian’s cock to slip free, instantly feeling lost and empty without his firm, grounding presence. But Azriel was quick to help, situating you on his lap, knees spread wide around his hips and the wide head of his own cock nudging against your entrance. 

He swiped a hand over your forehead, beads of sweat forming from the heat of the bath, down your cheek and neck, his thumb pressing up just a little as it brushed under you chin. It was like you couldn’t breath, taking in his gentle touch, the caress of his hand over your nipple and down your side before he corsetted your waist with his fingers. And then you were lowering on to him too, taking every delicious inch that he had to offer. 

“You feel heavenly, baby,” he whispered, nosing at your jaw and nipping at your throat while you rolled your hips. “Would be a shame not to share you.” 

The water swirled around you both and Cassian’s scent heightened as he drew closer, his hands over Azriel’s at your waist and then dipping lower, lower, tracing the dip at the small of your back and slipping under the water to cup the round swell of your bottom. Massaging and pressing, his fingers touching the delicate skin that stretched so tight around Azriel’s length and then pulling back to circle the your tight pucker. 

“This okay, sweetheart?” He breathed and the feel of his lips on your cheek, Azriel’s on your shoulder, their bodies slick and hard and wanting surrounding you had you whimpering again, clinging to them. You’d take everything they would give you, every touch, every kiss and every inch. 

“Yes - yes - Cassian - please.” You begged, letting your head fall back against him, that familiar movement, that let you feel safe in his arms, that let you gasp and shudder as he pressed inside, knowing they would keep you here on the precipice of pleasure. 

“Fuck-” he brought his other hand around your chest, pulling you tight against him, cupping your breast in his large palm. “You’re perfect - perfect.” He grunted, a second finger joining the first and your mouth fell open in a silent shout. 

“Gods damn, Cassian, I can feel you.” Azriel shut his eyes, leaning into your chest and laving at your free nipple, he sucked the stiff nub into his mouth and worried it with his teeth, breathing heavily through his nose in his efforts to stay still. 

You could feel Cassian’s answering smirk on the cooling skin of your shoulder and then, just as suddenly, deep inside where he curled and spread his fingers. 

“Cassie,” you whined, shifting down into the full feeling, trying to move yourself while trapped between the two Illyrian males and finding no give in their embrace. “Please.” 

You didn’t need to beg further because Azriel took up your cause, barking at Cassian to hurry up before he embarrassed himself. His fingers were gone in an instance, replaced by the blunt, wide head of his cock and then - “Cass-” his name was punched from your lungs, leaving you breathless and floating between them. But they didn’t move. 

Together, you soaked in the bubbles for a few minutes, connected again after so much time apart, each intake of breath making them shift inside of you, sending sparks of heat across your skin. They were here, with out, safe and unharmed. 

 The aching of their initial thrusts gave way to a deep, dull, yearning for more. You clenched around them, trying to stay still but finding it increasingly difficult to stop your body moving, it was drawn to them, needing to feel them moving and loving you as much as they needed to hold you.

Azriel pulled away from you and opened one eye. “Baby, you need to stay still.” His soft, sleepy voice rolled over your skin, igniting your need further, he had fallen as deeply as you, hypnotised by the flickering candles, your combined scents and the closeness that you all craved. 

“Az, I can’t,” you cried, biting into his shoulder to stop your moans as your hips found the perfect pressure, “I missed you both so fucking much.” 

You hooked one arm around his shoulder and the other behind you to tangle in the messy of Cassian’s curls. 

“Fuck,” Cassian grunted, “I’m trying to be good here, don’t wanna make a mess like last time” He chuckled thrusting up anyway, the water swirling around the three of you and spilling over the sides of the tub and across the pearlescent tiles. 

“I don’t care, I don’t care, I just need you, please, fuck, I can’t wait anymore.” Frantically, you moved your hands and kissed Azriel roughly before turning your head to capture Cassian’s lips too. 

“Okay,” Azriel smiled, a secret smile that only you and Cassian ever saw, “but remember you asked for it.”

He gripped your hips again, fingers bruising tight on your hips, and thrust up, chasing his release. 

“Fuck, Azriel,” Cassian groaned behind you, biting into your shoulder and starting to move in contrast to Az. 

“I love you,” you moaned, eyes closed, lost in bliss. “I love you both so much.” Your climax hit you like an arrow, your whole body clenching around them as your walls fluttered, drawing them ever closer to their own release. 

“Love you too, Sweetheart.” 

“Love you, Baby.” 

They growled in unison cumming hard, Azriel bent his head back into your chest, nipping at the soft swell of your breast. Cassian dug his fingers into your waist, pulling you down onto them one last time. 

You stayed there, sandwiched between them, matching smiles on your sated faces, until the water went cold and the bubbles faded. 

[lokisgoodgirl]

Believe Me [Loki x Reader]

A Link to my Masterlist is HERE Summary: Home from a mission in the dead of night, Loki requires absolution (w/c 1.4k) Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI. Smutty. Avenger!Loki. Established relationship. Mild sub!loki, non-toxic jealously, 'authorised' mild infidelity (missions, innit).

You had dozed, slipping between the fleeting embrace of slumber. Snatches came and went, the cool of your pillow turning hot before you turned it again.

Fat feathers crisped as you lowered your head. The finest Asgardian goose. Loki insisted. With each wave of consciousness, you tried not to think of your lover destructively flirting his way through a honeytrap mission tonight. The poor mark didn’t stand a chance. You checked the clock. 03.23.

But something feels different.

Sitting up, you squinted beyond the darkness.

On the far side of the room, a wing-back chair rose in the gloom. The draped silk of your discarded robe still hung over the armrest, but it shimmered. It was moving. Black became grey as your eyes adjusted, seeing pale fingers weaving silk between them.

You saw him now.

Legs crossed, back straight and chin dipped as he watched you sleep while he bathed in shadow. Curls sat effortlessly back from his face, slices of cheekbone protruding from blackest night.

The shade of his suit was at one with the leather behind, but Loki’s bright eyes smouldered; embers of starlight and dying galaxies deep in the darkness. “I didn’t wish to wake you, love” he murmured, pulling the silk hem through his fingers a final time before letting it fall.

One long leg unfurled over the other, the click of his heel meeting the floor making you clench beneath the bed-covers. You were wet already. So wet. Like your body could sense his presence, if not yet your mind. She always could.

Like a dream, you cast the duvet back and rose; bare feet padding across the boards towards him. Cool air sent gooseflesh rippling up your thighs, your arms; the curves of your body protected only by a flimsy camisole. Only a few more steps. The leather of the chair squeaked as his thighs spread against the sides. “Loki,” you breathed, cupping his face.

No sooner had the name left your lips than a row of candles flickered to life, illuminating him from behind. They floated in the air, rivulets of wax already spilling soft rolls down the sides. “Hel-lo,” he purred teasingly. One eyebrow cocked. And the threat of a smirk pressing against his cheeks.

For the first time, you noticed his unusual attire. A three piece suit, with its crowning glory the drip of starched ruffles cascading down his chest to the high waist of his trousers. He shifted in the chair, the pad of a fingertip brushing a close-lipped smile.

“Steve really went Ken-doll on you tonight, huh?” you teased, mirth ebbing to renewed desire as he drew the fingers to the bow-tie fastened at his neck.

He shrugged, tugging it slowly, letting the silk unfurl. It hung perfectly around his collar. You wondered if he would tie you up with it. You hoped he would.

In a flash, two large hands cupped your ass, pulling you down to his lap. With a gasp you managed to straddle him, slotting your knees on either side of his thick trunk. You kissed him deeply, savouring the softness of his tongue as it welled and licked and loved you. The ceremony was about to begin. His fingers spread against your cheeks, pulling and massaging as he groaned into your throat.

He tasted like jealousy. Traces of expensive perfume lingering on his skin and the faint hang of some rich whisky doing its best to conceal it. A thrill flooded through you, imagining the mark's desire roaring through her blood as she felt his muscle ripple beneath her touch. But Loki would never betray you, not beyond the emotionless tactics his position required.

Your thumb skated up his cheek, catching a patch of forgotten lipstick near his ear. Forgotten? No. You knew better than that. Whenever Loki came home from ensnaring a target with his wiles, he never missed the chance to make sure you knew who he belonged to. It was a mission. It was nothing. But ceremony must be upheld. His lips waxed and waned deeper, firing passion setting you alight. Every swallow was harsher and deeper than the last. Like he might lose you in the darkness. Loki grunted wetly as you scooted closer on his lap, chest flush to your colossus of a lover while his fingers wound in your hair. Your digits slid down his chest, feeling the ropes of muscle bound beneath starched folds. You broke apart just long enough to whisper the question he was waiting for. "You had to kiss this one?" You let the playful mist of a snarl hang on the air. Loki growled in response while you began working down his chin, along the long blade of his jawline. Letting the tip of your tongue run over the angle of his bone structure.

“Yes,” he rasped while you dropped lower, fastening to the slender muscle of his neck. You took a moment to appreciate his Adam’s apple work as he swallowed hard, ragged breaths ripping the air. His head fell back. “Only for a minute,” he panted to the ceiling. “It was perfunctory.”

Honestly from the god of lies, you’d found, was the greatest aphrodisiac of all.

“Where?” you asked, closing your eyes against his skin. “Against the wall,” he choked. His breaths were short. Loki’s fingernails grazed down the exposed skin between your shoulder-blades while you began to gently gyrate in circles. The god’s thick cock snaked down his thigh, ferociously hard against the tight fabric. At the mercy of your movements.

His brow creased as you slid back and forth, wetted lips parting with a needy gasp. “Did she want you?” you goaded, sliding the heel of your palm over one of his cheekbones. It raked through his hair. "Of course," he strummed, thighs beginning to tremble beneath your hips. Loki's hands ran in worship up the curve of your waist. "And did you want her?" you asked coyly. Loki pouted before a gentle tug of the camisole made your breasts spilled into his waiting hands. “Never,” he breathed; eyes flashing dangerously as he lifted them to meet yours. “Never.” You slid a hand down his torso, through the mass of white foliage ruffles which lapped against your palm in flickering candlelight. They were hard, and yet soft. Just like him. And stiff. That too, was a common attribute.

Slowly, you reached the button of his trousers. Loki thrust into the touch, biting his lip with a flinch. His brows knitted together.

One button popped beneath your fingers. Then two.

He leant forward, pushing your cleavage together and burying his face deep. The god’s nose slotted perfectly between the mounds of flesh he sought, drowning himself in the scent of you. The feel of you. His muffled moans of anticipation made you squirm on his lap, rubbing your bare pussy against his sprung manhood.

Pants and wet grunts of desire filled the air before Loki surfaced, kissing manically up the path to your lips. He consumed you again, his palm skating up the nape of your neck in a violent embrace. Waves of stiff ruffles grazed your nipples, sending electric shocks of pleasure to your dripping core. Had you ever needed him more than this? You were certain you had. But you couldn’t remember when.

Loki’s hands massaged your ass, pulling you deeper against his face. His shirt ruffles scratched your inner thighs, the tender caress making you mewl his name to the ceiling.

“Say you believe me,” he gasped in desperation.

It was a dark prayer. And a desperate one, at that. A ring of saliva was smeared across his lower face. The words chanted on repeat as your searching fingers lined him up between your slick thighs.

“Say you believe me,” he pleaded, slurring. His throat clung to the final syllable, rasping it through a torturous exhale.

The tip of his cock jarred against your slit, a sticky mess of pre-cum and arousal webbing with each slow buck. He was trembling with the effort of resistance.

He would not. Not until the ceremony of his forgiveness was complete.

You looked down at him, head resting against the back of the chair. Carefully coiffured hair now hung around his cheekbones, jutting at mussed angles. Half-lidded eyes observed you with reverence, submission. A pilgrim awaiting absolution. You smiled. Leaning in, you traced the taut vein popping in his neck. Felt every bob and tighten as he swallowed on your ascent. The little mewls from his pretty lips. And all the while, his hips rocked; cock licking and caressing your glistening sex.

The swirl of your tongue tasted bitter. Remnants of perfume from her wrists as she wound her arms around his neck, perhaps. But it would be gone soon. It always was. They always were. And you? You remained. You always did.

You reached the soft skin beneath his ear, humming a little before sucking his delicate lobe between your lips. “I believe you, baby” you whispered.

It was no more than a breath. The truth needs no more than a breath, you’d found. And with a broken sob of gratitude, Loki felt you sink deep onto his leaking cock.

Tags

@lokischambermaid @meowmeow-motherfucker @gigglingtiggerv2 @imalovernotahater @avengersalways @littledark11 @lokikissesmyforehead @simplyholl @fictive-sl0th @thedistractedagglomeration @loopsisloops @glitchquake @jaidenhawke @silverfire475 @fandxmslxt69 @morriggannlostinfandoms @marygoddessofmischief @sebstanwhore @xorpsbane @peacefulpianist @yelkmelk @wheredafandomat @mistress-ofmagic @acidcasualties @ozymdias @your-taste-on-my-lips @lokidokieokie @kikster606 @peachyjinx @tbhiddlestan83 @trickster-maiden @skymoonandstardust @justjoanne242 @thenotoriouserg @ladyofthestayingpower @wolfmoonmusic @brittbax @smolvenger @liminalpebble @joyful-enchantress @kaleenjackson @fictional-hooman @kellatron55 @mrs-illyrian-baby @icytrickster17 @multifandom-worlds @buttercupcookies-blog @goddessofwonderland

[seireiteihellbutterfly]

Snapped

A/N: Ok, so, villain! Nanami isn't my cup of tea. For me, he's my comfort character, the one I go to at the end of the day for hugs and forehead kisses. However, as one of my moots said, with all the bullshit happening in my life at the moment regarding my job, Nanami would be so pissed off for me. Is this fic indulgent? Yes. And I don't care. However, it is my first time writing villain! Nanami and I'm not sure how well it's been portrayed. Pairing: Villain! Salaryman! Nanami Kento x Fem!Reader Warnings: MDNI, violence, gore, mentions of murder, death, general corporate shittiness Summary: In the midst of a layoff, your boyfriend Nanami snaps at his own office, leaving a bloody trail in his wake. Word Count: 2.7k

Nanami masterlist | Taglist Form

Nanami’s jaw is tense, mouth set in a grim line as he exits his meeting. Another long day of listening to how the company’s profits didn’t meet the quarterly requirements, about how their stock value was plummeting, and how their finance experts must work harder at pushing their client portfolios into buying rather than selling.

He pinches the bridge of his nose with his fingers, sighing, wondering how to combat this feeling churning in his stomach. The sense of repulsion, knowing what he did for a living, this constant hook behind his navel, yanking, pulling, warning him that all he was doing was making rich people richer, enabling a gluttonous corporate’s insatiable appetite for more money. 

He checks his schedule, a slight crack of relief filling his being when he sees it’s lunchtime and he exits his office, slumping against the elevator wall, running his hands through his hair. The sun shines brightly outside, indifferent to the gathering gloom inside him as he walks to a restaurant nearby. He gives his order and walks back to work, sandwich in hand when his phone rings.

Your name flashes on the screen and he answers quickly, hoping a quick chat with you would pull him out of this foul mood…only to be hit with your weepy voice, making his eyes widen.

“Ken. I-I.” Your breath hitches and he quickly tries to calm you down. 

“Take a breath darling. Are you ok?” 

Your voice shudders as you continue. “I walked in today. Completely normal. Ready to take on the day. Except when I got to my office, our HR representative was waiting for me near the door. She led me into one of the huge conference rooms, the ones they save for guest visits and symposiums. There were like, at least 100 other people in there with me.” You pause to take a breath, tears leaking from your eyes, and continue.

“We were logged into a Zoom call and told by our CEO that the company’s profits were not high enough to keep up with their budgets. They went on and on about all these different numbers but in the end, none of it mattered. They told us they had no choice but to do a layoff.”

Nanami’s heart tightens in his chest. Trying not to let his feelings seep through, he asks, “And then what happened?”

You sniffle and carry on with your tale. “The HR representative told us to open our work laptops and that we would receive an email officially notifying us of the termination. It came not less than a minute after we all logged in. I have two weeks left. They’ll pay me out for that time whether I go in or not. And after that…” Your voice trails off, tears choking your throat.

Nanami listens patiently, but there’s a quiet, simmering rage underneath. “They let you go?”

“Yes. Me and my whole team.”

“Even though you guys delivered on a project that brought in almost 2.5 million dollars in profit?”

“That’s what I thought too. HR insists it was arbitrary and that they were only retaining teams that they thought would maximize their profits. I guess 2.5 million dollars isn’t considered a profit.” You laugh, the noise filled with bitter irony. “I thought I was more valuable than that. 4 years at this place, Kento, 4 years! I could understand if I wasn’t meeting deadlines or refusing to be a team player-”

“You went in on Sunday for the last 6 months and no one said a word of appreciation to you.” The blond salaryman can’t keep out the bite of irritation in his voice, aimed not at you, but your employer. “When was the last time you slept in on a Sunday? When we were able to get brunch, or simply lie in bed together? They didn’t even compensate you for it.”

 You hear the harsh tone in his voice and sniffle. “I’m sorry Ken I-”

“No.” He cuts you off. “Don’t apologize. I’m not mad at you darling. Please understand that. I just hate that they used you and that didn’t matter to them when they chose to let you go.”

“I have some savings but... Kento, I don’t think I can afford my share of the expenses soon. Rent, utilities.” His heart almost breaks at your next words. “I understand if you don’t think we should continue living together under these circumstances.”

A lump forms in his throat, so painful, so intense, threatening to consume him like a tumor. You chose to follow him outside of the world of sorcery. You chose to study at the same college he did. You chose to get a corporate job despite the talent you had for jujutsu. You did it for him. He thinks back to the days of you sharing a college dorm, broke students picking up small jobs at cafes and delivering groceries. The ratty apartment you’d both found with your first paychecks, the celebration the both of you had in the cramped kitchen when both of you landed your first serious jobs. The move to the nicer neighborhood, with a coded entrance, toasting each other, thinking you’d made it.

Only to be worn down by corporate mundaneness. That chewing feeling of being a cog in a machine, a hamster on a wheel, ever-turning, never-ending, stuck until you die. Money. The big controller of the universe. The ultimate checkmate to everything. Money. Money. Money.

“No.” His voice is gentle. “Don’t even for a second think about moving out. I love you darling. You’ll find something else. I can tide us over till then. We’ll just cut back on some of our other expenses till then. Ok?” The thought of coming home to an empty apartment weighed down on him. Even back in the olden days, the dorm, the ratty studio that you’d both shared, you had always been there. The concept of living alone was long since driven out of him. The idea was unbearable, coming home and not seeing you there. 

Your eyes fill with tears. “I love you too. Thank you.”

“No need.” Kento’s gruff voice calms you and you cling to it like a prayer. 

“I have to go. I need to surrender my laptop and badge. I’ll see you at home, ok?”

“Yeah. Go ahead. I’ll be home in a few hours.”

The line disconnects, leaving him feeling strangely hollow. Companies really didn’t care. It was all bullshit propaganda, the act of ‘being a family’. You were just a collateral statistic. With a groan he forces himself back to his own office, his cubicle, the appeal of the sandwich lost to him now. He forced himself to eat, knowing there was another block of meetings coming up and there was no guarantee about when he could catch a break again. To his displeasure, he sees his manager walking hurriedly in his direction, and averts his gaze, hoping to finish his lunch, but to no avail. 

“Nanami-San!” The man unctuously calls, putting both his hands on Nanami’s shoulders, setting his teeth on edge. A manila envelope is tucked in his armpit as his fingers dig into Nanami’s blazer. He had spent a grueling two hours with this person in an earlier meeting, where he had praised Nanami for being able to sell one of their poorer-performing stocks, raising its portfolio value. The celebratory way it had been said as if Nanami hadn’t conned their clients into buying mediocre stocks which wouldn’t fetch them any benefit in the long run, made the bile rise in his throat. The contempt he holds for this man is tangible, yet he swallows his feelings and pretends to look calm.

“Yes?” he asks politely, trying not to squirm away from his touch.

“Nanani-San, I have news! Very good news for you. Please come with me.” He pulls him away into a private meeting room, Nanami dubiously taking a seat and looking at the man wearily. His manager sits down opposite him with barely contained glee, setting down the manila envelope on the table. 

“They want to promote you Nanami-San!” he bursts out, as though the energy of containing this information was eating at him from the inside. For a second, Nanami’s face goes blank. Then he realizes what he’s just been told.

“A promotion?” he asks again carefully. 

“YES! You’ve been killing it with your clients, raising our stock portfolios, and our profit margin! Hard work deserves to be rewarded!”

Despite his distaste for the man, Nanami blinks and then feels his heart expand. It wouldn’t matter if you were laid off, with the promotion. He could take care of both of you, and you could be peacefully at home while you job-hunted. You wouldn’t need to be in a rush, could maybe take some time to yourself…make up for all those Sundays you went in. A weary smile touches Nanami’s lips as he imagines the life he could provide for you. Could it be, that there was a lining after all?

He glances back at his manager, who appears to have more to say. “Was that all…?”

His manager gives him a nauseatingly saccharine smile, and Nanami feels the temporary prick of joy vanish. 

“Well, the position you’d be up for is more of a leadership position. The higher-ups want to make sure you’re a man capable of navigating difficult situations. Sometimes, things must be done, even when they’re unpleasant.” Nanami’s stomach is roiling, but he swallows and looks at his manager squarely in the face.

“What do you need me to do?” he manages to clip out.

His manager pushes the manila envelope towards him. Feeling like he’s been given a sentence, Nanami opens the envelope, and from it, removes three employee dossiers. He recognized the names as he looked through them, three young men who had started here around the same time he had.

“We’re going to need you to tell these three people that they’re fired.”

His manager’s words fall into Nanami’s ears deafeningly. Swallowing, he looks at the man with narrowed eyes. “I’m sorry but…why?”

“They’re underperforming.”

“Their numbers are consistent.”

“Consistent is not the same as moving up.”

“So you want to fire them because they’re not bringing in more money? Is that all?” Nanami drops the dossiers onto the table, an acrid taste building up in the back of his throat. 

“Well, you would be firing them. Think of it as their three salaries combining to equal your promotion.”

A chill washes over Nanami’s body. “I refuse.”

“Don’t you want the promotion?” his manager cajoles him, like trying to mollify a child with a lollipop.

“How about I get the promotion first, then you ask this of me?”

“Ah…if only the world worked that way. But no. We need them removed first. And since you will be taking over the department they will be leaving…you have to do it.”

Nanami looks at his manager, at this greasy, servile man, who he has hated ever since he started working here. His smug face, as he waited to see what he would do. He thinks back to you, let go for no other reason than “it’s what’s best for the company”. A red haze fills his vision.

“You’re despicable.” Nanami says quietly, his hand curling into a fist, feeling a tremor of cursed energy flowing into his arm, something he hadn’t succumbed to since leaving Jujutsu High. A turquoise aura begins to envelop him. His manager appeared to have not noticed but continued to give him that leery grin. 

“It’s your life versus theirs Nanami-San. I imagine a wise man would do what he’s being asked.”

Nanami stands, his impressive height and build towering over the man. 

“Fuck you.” 

The blond raises his hand, which is glowing with cursed energy now. His manager stares at it, taken aback. With a swift moment, Nanami’s ratio technique hits him, cleaving his body straight down the middle into two halves, grotesquely falling to the floor with a splat, blood spraying everywhere, covering the walls, windows, and the door of the meeting room.

A terrified scream is heard outside. In a daze, Nanami leaves the conference room, indifferent to his coworkers who are now gaping at him and scrambling to get out of his way, several of them shouting in panic at his state, his crisp suit spattered with fresh blood.

He walked into the conference room where he knew the higher-ups were sitting for their next meeting, locking the door as he did so. The men all move away in shock, a few even call his name, but he simply doesn’t care. The meeting room fills with the horrified sounds of men pleading and begging for their lives, and in a spray of red…silence. 

Nanami unfeelingly walks to his car afterward and drives home. Later when you open the door, you gasp and cover your mouth.

“Kento! Are you ok? Did you get into a fight?”

When he simply sits down on your living room sofa, you try again. “Kento what-”

“Grab me the whiskey bottle, would you darling? Don’t bother with a glass.” Dumbstruck, you obey, and retrieve the bottle from your liquor cabinet and hand it to him. He takes a deep swig before setting the bottle down. His sharp eyes, the same color as the alcohol in the bottle, fixate on you.

“We need to leave. Now.”

“Wh-Why- Kento I need an explanation!” You take in his bloody appearance. “What happened?”

“I could get into details. But simply put, I killed my manager and all the higher-ups at my company.” He watches you intently, his sweet, innocent girlfriend, who deserved more than what life had handed you. Your eyes widen.

“Kento- you- you murdered those men in cold blood?” your voice is a hushed whisper, as you look at the man you had spent the last several years with. Not a capricious person at all, so there was nothing that could convince you that Kento snapping like this was a coincidence.

“Darling. There’s no point sugar-coating things. Yes, I killed them. Now the question is, are you coming with me, or staying here?” There’s no malice in his voice. It was a genuine choice he was offering to you. The murders were his cross to bear, and it wasn’t right to involve you if you didn’t want to be.

You cover your face, trying to organize your thoughts, trying to get your breath to even out. Kento reaches out and pulls you closer to him, leaving bloody fingerprints on your clothes. “We don’t have much time my love. If we want to disappear, then we have to do it now.”

You look at him, then, to his disbelief, you ask, “Where would we go?”

He takes a shuddering breath, relieved that you were in this together. “It’s not the police we need to worry about right now. It’s the sorcerers who will undoubtedly put two and two together and realize I’m the culprit. However, I’m hardly the first sorcerer to do a revenge killing against civilians.”

“You’re not?”

“There’s an underground network of sorcerers who went off the grid for similar reasons. It’s seedy, but darling…we’d be free. None of this corporate bullshit, or punching in and out on a clock. We’d take jobs only we wanted to take. Freelance assassins, essentially. We deserve this. Life is full of shit anyway. Might as well pick what we want to do right?”

His words hit you with clarity, and despite all the suddenness and ups and downs in the last ten minutes, your resolve steels. “How long do we have?”

“Not too long. Pack a bag, essentials only. I only have a vague idea of how to contact this network but I’ll figure something out. Now quickly.”

It takes less than 10 minutes for you to pack a suitcase. Your boyfriend slips out of his blood-stained garments and into fresh clothes, hurriedly packing another suitcase alongside you. You glance around the apartment one last time, a wistful look in your eyes as you remember how hard the both of you had worked to get here.

But Nanami was right. It was all bullshit. You hadn’t chosen to stay with him out of blind loyalty, but because deep down, you knew he always had the right reasons. The both of you look at each other, a deep connection of understanding passing between you both, and with a resolute goodbye to the past, walk out of your front door together, unsure of what lay ahead. 

Divider and banner by @/ saradika-graphics

@estarlias @daswanj @whatshernameis @byul9158

@mirrors-musings @Mangiswig

@that-goth-bisexual @connorsui @jadedjane @darkstarlight82

@soft--cherry @galactict3a @hunnie-lily @actuallysaiyan

@harlekin6 @buttercupbitches

[samgirl98]

Wail of the Silent 3/?

Prev | Next

Danny took out his phone to see where he ended up.

“Park Row?”

He put away his phone to shield it from the pouring rain and took in the ambient ectoplasm in the air. The area he was saturated in corrupted ectoplasm. The shades and spirits here were darker and full of pain. It made the other areas of Gotham seem downright sunny by comparison.

Danny couldn’t pinpoint the spirit that had let out that ungodly wail, but he was determined to find them and help. Nobody deserved to be alone with those emotions ready to burst.

Now if he could only figure out which way to go…

“What the hell is that?”

In the distance, Danny saw a glowing purple shadow. Out of curiosity, and because he’s Danny, he followed it. Danny couldn’t get closer to the shadow, no matter how much or fast he flew.

Eventually, he ended up in front of an old building that seemed abandoned. There was a horde of spirits around the building. All the spirits turned at the same time to look at Danny.

They all used their core at the same time.

Help him, the cores hummed; he’s the avenger of the dead. He protects the living. Help him move on like he’s helped us.

All the spirits disappeared, and the street got eerily quiet. Danny stared at the building. The building was full of gloom and despair, even with the other spirits gone. Danny took an unneeded grounding breath and entered the building.

In complete contrast to the outside, the inside of the building was new and clean.

The feeling of despair was stronger, and Danny gagged at the corruption around him. How did any ghost survive this way?

Danny didn’t talk out loud. He let his core hum and project feelings of reassurance and acceptance.

(The spirit felt lonely and rejected.)

Danny floated to the second floor and looked around the rooms. The first one had a bunch of computers and wrappers strewn all over the floor. Danny floated into the next room and found it empty except for a bed and closet. He went into the closet. He found a secret door and went through it. Danny found a bunch of weapons that ranged from guns to swords and knives. There was also a red helmet that looked vaguely familiar, a suit that had a red bat on it and was made of a rigid material that was obvious protection.

It suddenly clicked. This is what Red Hood, one of the Bats, wore. Fuck!

Danny turned invisible and left the hidden room. He was about to leave when the feelings got even stronger. It felt like he had been suckered punch. Danny curled into himself and tried to keep himself from crying. How did anyone, human or spirit, deal with this? It was making Danny feel like he was going crazy!

Even though Red Hood was human, he was definitely feeling these negative emotions that were probably driving the man insane.

Danny stayed invisible and decided to let his core hum.

I’m here to help, it said, where are you?

Lonely, pain, I’M SO ALONE, the spirit yelled out.

Danny followed the screams and ended up in a living room. He saw a broken China cup on the small kitchen floor, a brown liquid cooling on it.

Danny followed the pain to the couch. He was shocked back to visibility.

Before him was another halfa. How? When? Why didn’t they know about this halfa?

The other halfa was crying. For some reason, he wasn’t making any noise. Honestly, if it weren’t for the pain coming from his (stunted, corrupted) core, Danny wouldn’t know what the man was saying.

A hum came from the man’s core. The hum was full of anguish, and Danny felt his heart and core go out for the other halfa.

Danny picked up the man and put went to the bedroom. He put the other halfa down and studied him with a critical gaze.

The man was wearing a thin pair of sweatpants and a black T-shirt. He had black hair with a white streak through it. His hair was plastered to his face, from tears or sweats, Danny didn’t know. (Maybe it was both.) His eyes were an ectoplasm green that was glowing with pain. He was tall but still shorter than Danny. He had muscles that spoke of training and strength. What got Danny’s attention were his scars.

His body was littered with them, but the one that angered Danny was the one on his throat. It had obviously been a deep wound and the likely reason the man didn’t make a sound even as his mouth opened in silent cries.

He was young, maybe the same age as Danny’s twenty years. Maybe a little older or a little younger. Danny didn’t know, but even without the other halfa’s core broadcasting the pain deep in the man’s soul, Danny could tell he had been through a lot.

Danny started humming through his core, making it as loud as possible.

Safe. I’m here. You’re safe.

The other halfa responded, tired, scared. Alone, so alone. Pain, pain, pain, PAIN!

Shh, he answered, I won’t leave.

Danny started chirping, hoping the melodies he was producing mixed with the humming and feelings of reassurance he was emitting would be enough to help the other halfa down. Danny stood there, keeping sentinel over the other halfa, chirping, and humming.

The other man would answer back, and eventually, his face relaxed from his pain.

The man looked at Danny in disbelief.

Pretty, he chirped, angel?

Danny wanted to laugh. Him pretty? An angel? Never!

Friend, he chirped back.

The man signed something, but Danny didn’t know sign language. ‘What a pity,’ he thought to himself.

The man stared at Danny, and Danny stared back.

Jason was dreaming. It was a good dream. The anguish he was feeling had calmed down some. It was more bearable. And he had an angel looking over him.

The angel had white hair that defied gravity and soft, glowing eyes. He knew he should be scared (they were the color of the Pits.), but the man was emitting chirps and hums that calmed Jason down. He had light blue skin and pointed ears. There were glowing freckles on his face that reminded Jason of starlights. They even twinkled in and out of existence like the stars in the sky. Jason didn’t know if he was imagining them, but it also looked like the freckles were clustered in the shape of constellations.

‘Are you an angel,’ he signed, ‘you’re very pretty.’

“Sorry, dude, I don’t know sign language.”

Jason felt a hum surrounding him like a soft blanket.

Friend, it said, safe. I hear you.

How? He asked. Jason was mute. How did the angel understand him?

Like me, he answered back, we’re the same.

Jason gave a silent snort. He was far from being an angel.

Jason heard a chirp and looked back at the mysterious being.

Rest, he chirped, I’ll be here to keep the nightmares away.

Please, Jason chirped back, I’m so tired.

Close your eyes. Sleep.

Jason let his eyes slide shut to the feeling of safety surrounding him.

Avenger, the spirits had called him. Protector. But who was here to avenge and protect the other halfa? No one. Well, Danny was going to fix that.

Miles away, still in Gotham but far from Park Row, Crime Alley, Batman was not having a good time.

First, the Penguin had been able to see him even as he hid in the shadows. Then he was hit by a few bullets. They didn’t pierce his armor, but they hurt like hell. Then the rain started pouring. Thunder boomed, and lightning danced in the sky, wiping away any evidence Batman could use on the Penguin.

(Lady Gotham was furious at the moment. Jason’s pain was making her fuse short on her Dark Knight. Batman wouldn’t die, no, but he would be punished.)

As Batman stared out at the city of Gotham, he couldn’t shake the feeling of despair he was feeling. He couldn’t go home yet; something big was going to happen.

(He didn’t know his son was close to losing his sanity.)

He had to protect his city.

(Gotham was too angry at Batman to appreciate her knight.)

In Crime Alley, Jason, a newly discovered halfa, slept for the first time in a long time with no nightmares. Hums filled the air around him. Finally, the silence was broken.

[adidastain]

i have something to tell you

90s matt stone x ftm reader (blurb)

a/n: this is something i whipped up real quick for my own comfort cus i've felt so shitty the past few days. i'm actually really glad i wrote this cus not only did it make me feel better but i also don't hate it and it's my first time writing ftm reader (i'm ftm. idk if you could assume from my prns (he/him) despite the fact that i primarily write fem reader fics but yes i am ftm) so this is for all my t-brothers in the mattrey fandom <3 obviously if you're cis you can read it all you want i love u all no matter what :) enjoy

other notes: some suggestive dialogue at the end, all lowercase, 2847 words

--

“hey,” matt said to me. i was standing in the kitchen, washing dishes from the night before. i hated touching the food grime stuck to the porcelain, but it needed to be done.

“hi,” i said, putting on a small smile and leaning sideways to accept his kiss to my cheek, which he held for a few seconds. i felt my face grow warm. he was so good at making me blush. 

my smile quickly faded, however. something had been on my mind all day that kept me constantly terrified. i just hoped that he would make me feel better, enough so that my gloom would go away and i wouldn’t bring his mood down too. 

matt set his coat and stuff down on the kitchen table, before coming back over to me and wrapping his arms tightly around my waist. i leaned back against his broad chest, tilting my head as he kissed the crook of my neck. 

“how was your day?” he asked me. 

“fine,” i hummed, scrubbing the inside of a plastic cup. 

“not,” he said, furrowing his eyebrows. “you know i know that ‘fine’ means not fine.” 

“it was fine,” i insisted, looking at him. “just uneventful.” 

“m’kay,” he said, still suspicious. “i missed you a lot.” 

“i missed you too,” i sighed. that was true. i missed him more and more every day. nothing in our lives had changed, i just felt like he was slipping away from me solely because i was the distant one. i just tried to cherish what i had before it would all go to shit. i was terrified. 

“wanna watch a movie tonight?” he asked, kissing my ear. i felt matt’s hand travel down my waist, rubbing over the swell of my ass and giving it a light squeeze. 

i giggled, pushing him away with my back. i was relieved that he was still able to make me laugh and feel all warm inside. i loved him so much. 

“hm?” he hummed, pushing his question. 

“sure,” i said, washing the dish germs off my hands before drying them off with a towel. 

…

we ended up choosing a pretty depressing movie. neither of us knew it would be such a rough watch, but we got through it and i felt pretty shitty. matt pulled me closer as the credits rolled, most likely able to see that i was troubled. 

no words were said; he just caressed my face with both hands and looked into my eyes. i stared back, taking in the feeling that it gave me to share that contact with him. it would be gone soon, i was sure of it. that look of love he gave me would soon turn into one of betrayal, disgust, disappointment. 

of course, the thought brought tears to my eyes, which he immediately noticed. 

“i’m sorry,” he apologized. “i didn’t know the movie was like that. i’m sorry.” 

“it’s okay,” i exhaled, swallowing harshly through a tight throat. “i’m okay.” 

i giggled slightly, hoping to rid him of his concern and make myself feel a little better too. matt buried his slender fingers into my hair, holding my head close to his shoulder. for a moment, i sat there, letting him hold me. my hands tentatively made their way around his neck, pressing him against me as i felt a sob threatening to escape me. 

“i don’t think you are,” he sighed, his voice cracking. that pushed me over the edge. i broke down, tears soaking spots in his shirt as i buried my face in his shoulder. 

matt adjusted so that his arms were wrapped completely around my waist, holding my body flat against his. his lips pressed against my neck and cheek periodically, warm and soft. 

“talk to me,” he told me, his hand trailing up and down my back. “you haven’t been yourself lately.

i didn’t understand what he meant by that. i guess he could tell that i had been feeling down, but it was ironic. i’d been feeling down because i was terrified to tell him what i’d discovered about myself. how everything i hated about myself throughout my entire life was all because of one thing that i was absolutely petrified to share with him. it was myself, yet he had no idea. 

“i don’t want to make you upset,” i sobbed, gripping the fabric of his t-shirt as if he were trying to get away and i didn’t want him to leave. 

“baby,” he said softly. he smiled, looking into my eyes. “i don’t want you to be upset either. whatever it is, it’ll be better if we talk about it.” 

maybe he was right. maybe we could work it out. maybe he would be willing to give himself a different label and call me by a different name, if we could work it out. 

i sniffled, staring into his eyes and wishing he could just read my mind so i didn’t have to put it into words and fuck everything up. i could ruin my entire life with my next words.  

matt sat patiently, looking at me with concerned yet infinitely loving eyes. i spent my last few seconds with those eyes taking in their beauty, relishing the feeling they gave me when they peered into me with dilated pupils and relaxed lids. just a few more seconds, and i may never get them back. 

“i hate myself,” i choked, practically whispering. matt’s face dropped, his eyebrows furrowing. 

“you-“ 

“i’m not finished,” i squeaked, my voice wavering as i felt tears welling again. “please believe me when i say… i-i love you more than anything, matt. you are so important to me a-and-“ 

i cut myself off when i felt his thumb wipe a tear away from my eye. that only made me cry more. 

“you’re killing me,” matt swallowed. “i’m getting really worried.” 

“i’m sorry,” i said, nearly gauging my eyes out with how harshly i wiped my tears away. 

“i’m listening, baby,” he whispered. “i promise.” 

i took a deep breath, picking my fingertips as my entire body trembled. here we go. 

ruining my life in 3, 2… 

“i’m tired of being… of being a-a girl,” i mumbled, my voice faltering. yep. it was over. gone. finished. 

i first noticed his eyebrows furrow deeper than i’d ever seen them. he cocked his head slightly. he did that whenever he was confused. 

“what are you talking about?” he asked cautiously, meeting my eyes. concern still lingered in his gaze. i still felt the love there, but i hadn’t said entirely what i needed to say. 

“i don’t wanna be a girl anymore,” i sniffled, looking down as i spoke. “i don’t think i’ve ever wanted to be a girl.” 

silence filled the space between us as matt seemed to be deep in thought. “so…” he pondered out loud, not entirely sure what he was going to say, just as i was. 

“i’m… i’m trans. transgender. i-i think,” i said, swallowing harshly. my eyes burned from drying tears. my body just shook, saving the rest of the tears for later. 

i noticed matt’s expression relax for the most part, one small wrinkle still sitting between his subtly furrowed brows. he always sort of had a resting angry face, but now he looked frustrated for real. he was staring into space, just sitting there, thinking.

i looked away from him, pulling away slightly so that i wasn’t sitting on top of him anymore. i felt cold; i’d ripped myself away from his warmth before i gave myself the chance to cherish it. 

there it was before me. my life, broken and shattered into millions of pieces. 

“can… can i ask you-“ he started. 

“yeah,” i exhaled. i didn’t realize that i’d been holding my breath. 

“how, um, how do you know that?” matt asked softly. “i just mean-“ 

“it’s fine,” i swallowed. “i-i just… i don’t- i don’t know how to explain it. i-it’s… you know how i like wearing baggy clothes and overall just, y’know, men’s clothes?” 

matt nodded, staying quiet. he had his listening face on. jaw clenched shut, chewing on the inside of his cheek, eyebrows furrowed ever so slightly. 

“it’s like, i don’t… i don’t wanna be a girl dressing like a man. i wanna be a man dressing like a man. even as a kid i wanted to wear boy’s clothes,” i explained. my voice cracked towards the end of my sentence, tears filling my eyes once again. 

i knew matt had little, if not zero experience with this, and to be honest, i barely did myself. and based on some of the stuff i’d seen and heard from his work, it didn’t seem like he ever wanted to have experience to begin with. 

“so… would you… change your name and stuff?” he asked, scratching the back of his neck. 

“mhm,” i hummed, sniffling. i wiped my eyes, cringing at the stinging sensation. 

“what name are-… w-what name would you prefer?” he asked, his voice softer than i’d ever heard it. 

did he really want to know? part of me didn’t want to tell him. part of me felt scared to death that he would tell his friends and they would mock me. 

“i, um… i like y/n,” i mumbled. i felt a small smile trying to creep up my face. it felt good to finally say that out loud. “feels good. i’ve always liked that name.” 

“y/n?” he repeated. 

i nodded, swallowing. i finally worked up the courage to look at him again. i felt better, but i still felt dread over what he was going to say next. 

“come here, y/n,” he said, beckoning me over with his index finger. good god. it felt unbelievably good to hear him call me that, regardless of whether what was to follow. 

i climbed back over to him, melting in his arms. matt ran his fingers through my hair. i could feel his heartbeat, racing nearly as fast as mine. he still felt just as warm as he did a few minutes ago. 

i let one hand caress his back while my other hand played with one of his curls on the back of his head. he let out a heavy exhale, his body relaxing under me. 

“i love you so much,” he said quietly in my ear. “you know that.” 

i nodded, pulling him closer. i said “i love you too,” but it was practically silent and only came out as a breath.

“i wish i knew more about this,” he said, his own voice starting to waver slightly. he placed a small kiss on my ear, moving my hair out of the way. 

“it’s okay,” i choked. i closed my eyes and pressed my face against his hair, letting his soft curls brush against my skin. “i understand if you… if you don’t wanna have to- …y’know.” 

“have to what?” he pressed. “call you my boyfriend?” 

i nodded. matt looked at me, wiping my tears away again. i could see his own eyes watering slightly, even through his glasses. my lip quivered as i remembered why i was so scared in the first place. 

 “i was so scared,” i laughed slightly, gulping. 

matt held both of my hands with one of his, the other reaching up to caress my jaw as he slowly leaned in and placed a soft, passionate kiss on my lips. 

even after letting go, his face lingered close to mine. we remained still, breathing each other in for a moment. his hand slipped away from my face, lowering to meet the rest of the bundle of hands that sat in my lap. 

“i didn’t want to lose you,” i whispered, barely audible. “i didn’t want to tell you ‘cause i was so scared that you would leave a-and-“ 

“i still love you,” he said. he gave me a small smile, showing off his dimples. “i don’t want to leave you. ever. not in a million years. you’re the brightest part of my entire fucking life.” 

i started crying again, hiding my face from him. i really thought he was going to be upset. i was so sure he would push me away. i guess i just didn’t read him correctly. 

“and who the fuck cares if i’m gay?” he laughed, pulling my hands away from my face. “everyone pretty much already believes that i am.” 

“but are you?” i asked, still sobbing. “there’s a difference between saying you’re gay and actually being gay.” 

“yeah, i mean-“ 

“it’s not a joke,” i swallowed. “are you attracted to men?” 

matt’s face dropped slightly. i didn’t mean to, but i had snapped at him a bit. my arms and hands were still shaking. i felt bad for interrogating him like this, but i would have preferred to get my heart broken now than later on, after thinking that i might have been spared of it. 

“i…” matt choked slightly. he cleared his throat. i saw tears welling in his eyes again. “i don’t know.” 

i sighed, looking away. i put my face in my hands again, taking a deep, shaky breath to keep more tears at bay. 

“but that doesn’t mean i can’t try new things, right?” he said softly, running a hand through my hair. i lifted my head up, tucking some stray strands of hair behind my ears. 

“i guess,” i squeaked, swallowing harshly. i looked at him, unintentionally giving him somewhat of a puppy-eyed look. i reached towards his face, carefully removing his glasses so that i could wipe a tear away from his cheek. matt turned his head to kiss the palm of my hand, before grabbing it and pressing it against his face. 

“i’m not going anywhere,” he mumbled, his words muffled by my skin against his mouth. smooch. “whether i’m gay or not, you can’t get rid of me.” 

i smiled slightly, looking down as i felt heat rise in my cheeks. “i don’t think it works like that,” i said. “but okay.”

matt smiled and let my hand rest on his cheek. i swallowed, scooting a little bit closer so i could lean forward and softly kiss him. 

the kiss lasted a few seconds, breaking every so often to we could just breath each other in and look into each other’s eyes. i still held his glasses in my hand, resting in my lap as my arms and legs stopped shaking so much. 

matt’s fingertips grazed my jaw. “i love you so much, y/n,” he said softly into my lips. i smiled at the sound of my name in his voice, speaking so softly yet passionately. 

“i love you more,” i said, trying not to grin from ear to ear. 

“is there anything else you wanna tell me?” he asked, stroking my cheek with his thumb. “anything else on your mind?” 

i shook my head, pecking his lips. i curled up in his arms, wrapping my arms around his neck. 

“okay,” he hummed. matt pushed my hair away from my face. 

“can i tell you who i wanna look like?” i asked, grazing my fingertip back and forth on his neck. 

“who?” he asked, putting his glasses back on. 

“george michael,” i mumbled, grinning slightly. 

matt giggled. “he is a beautiful man.” 

i laughed, shoving him playfully. matt just grinned, caressing my chin and pulling me in for another, much deeper kiss. 

i exhaled, relaxing my body for the first time in weeks as he kissed me over and over. it was dizzying, but i loved it. all the fear i held inside for so long about never being able to feel his lips on mine or his body pressed up against me ever again was behind me. that was the best thing i could have asked for. 

i let him slip his tongue between my lips, taking his time exploring the inside of my mouth and feeling my own tongue against his. i heard him him slightly into the kiss, leaning deeper into it. 

suddenly, he pulled away, causing a string of saliva between our lips to break. 

“what do you say we wear that name in?” he purred, biting his lip and stroking my jaw. there it was, that look of love. the one i was so sure i would never see again.

i rolled my eyes, feeling myself blush heavily. i made an “ugh” sound and pushed his chest away. 

“i’m serious,” he grinned. “i told you i would try new things.” 

“i know, i know,” i said, standing up. it had been quite a few days since we last… had fun. i’d been so distant and down in the dumps that i never really felt like it and i guess he could kind of tell that was the case. “c’mon.” 

i could have sworn i heard him giggle in excitement as he too stood up from the couch and followed me towards our bedroom, barely able to keep his hands to himself during our short walk down the hallway. 

[whorediaries-09]

old time's sake;

pairing- sirius black x reader warning(s)- hurt/comfort. a/n- not canon compliant cause i do not have the energy to pull out ootp and re-read the scene of harry's trial.

prequel masterlist series masterlist little train.

sirius flattened the pressed, white crisp shirt on his body. the sun reflected the gloom inside his mind. he didn't want to go to the ministry. he'd tried to be away from it as much as he could, with wizards buzzing around, looking for an excuse to still interview the infamous sirius black.

and also because he felt under the weather about talking for justice for his godson. he had never done it before, and he didn't even have any mentor to guide him. he had encountered numerous aurors, but not someone quite as quick witted to talk against the prejudiced ministry.

'good morning,'

sirius was not startled to see you hanging by his doorway. you were holding a cup of tea, quite fresh out of bed perhaps...still in your pajamas. he nodded, muttering a quick good morning. he stared at the reflection in the mirror. maybe having three buttons open with a wide showcase of tattoos arranged on his skin wasn't the best impression to provide the ministry if he needed to defend his godson who was apparently now a 'criminal'.

ironic, he thought.

'do you think i should button up?' he asked suddenly, not being able to keep himself quiet.

'whatever floats your boat mr. black.' you answered, taking a sip of your tea. you walked into the room, sitting by his bed.

'maybe you should add a tie if you button up. then a nice little coat would do fine.'

'go around walking like a waiter then i s'ppose?'

that earned a laugh out of you.

how pleasant it was, the sound of laughter from your lips. it was as if it was some forbidden fruit he'd finally tasted. honey on his tastebuds. he felt his heart leap, with happiness, stomach grumble with anticipation.

'do you think i should around with the shirt unbuttoned, then wear a suit too?' he asked, half joking, half trying to get you laugh. he'd spend his entire life if he had to, to make you laugh. it was his poison.

'like a full on slut? displaying your tits to the minister? oh i bet he'd like that,' you grinned. he laughed, a deep rumble in his empty stomach.

somehow, he knew exactly what to do now.

*-

lucius' cold snarl boiled his blood. who was he blabbering his mouth about his godson who got the justice he deserved? he wanted nothing but to punch him straight on his face, break a few teeth and his jaw.

'shut up, lucius, don't blabber about things you don't understand,'

'no? i think that applies to you too...you know when you betrayed your family all those years ago...'

'is that all you have got, malfoy? taking shit about somebody who stands with the right side of history?'

he laughed. a cruel cold familiar laughter.

'not sure about that, black. you'll beg for our mercy when the right side finally takes over.'

with a swish of his robes, he was gone, leaving sirius alone to wait for harry to stop talking to arthur. with futile, nervous steps, harry approached him, still shy of his new found paternal figure.

'hello, sirius,' he smiled,

'i knew you'd do it. i'm proud of you,'

he pulled him for a warm embrace. for the first time in their lives, had they felt the warmth of fatherly love blossoming in their hearts.

'let's go to the headquarters. there's never much to celebrate about.'

*-

the vinyl in the kitchen was playing an old muggle band's music. sirius took a sip from the goblet of wine, chuckling at the thought of his mother breaking havoc if she ever had the pleasure of hearing the beats.

her ears would have exploded, had she heard the song. to her, it music was a sin. for harlots and beggars, for "lewdness" she would never approve.

his niece saved the stumbling upon the umbrella stand, for jolly times. from the corner of his eye, he saw kingsley immersed in deep conversation with poppy, who'd decided to join the dinner molly had been hosting. fred and george were sat with mundungus, who he didn't really like, but he proved to be of much importance for the order, so he couldn't really do anything about it. remus was making conversation with molly and arthur, simultaneously helping her chop the vegetables. hermione was laughing with ginny. moody was sitting in the corner of the room, grumbling as usual.

harry was nowhere to be found. he took another sip from the goblet, before setting it down on the table. he had decided he had done enough of waiting around. he'd seen harry's face sweep when the letters from hogwarts had came in.

he stood in front of the room harry had been sharing with ron, knuckles against the wood of the door.

'open the door, harry,' he said, as an uneasy feeling settled in his stomach. the door was swung open, almost instantly.

'i think i'm broken, sirius.' harry said, standing in front of him, his eyes lowered on the floor. sirius watched harry's shaking hands.

'you're not broken, harry,' he said, ushering him into the room. there were unshed tears at his waterline as sirius lifted up his head. 'do you understand?' he nodded in response.

'you're a smart, strong and a wonderful young man.' he breathed slowly, careful with his words. he was still afraid he would effect him negatively.

'you're not broken. you were accused of abandoning the battleship, but the truth is you were going down with it. that would...fuck up a child's mental health. i understand how you're feeling, okay?' harry wrapped his hands around sirius' pulling him close for a hug.

'thank you, pap- sirius.'

*-

'hello, i noticed you were missing from dinner.'

'oh- uh hi,' you said, nervously hiding your wand behind your back.

'you found your wand.'

'i did.'

'i trust you know what happens if you use it?'

'i...do. haven't used it yet.'

'you're smart enough to not use it, i trust you. but if you don't mind me asking...why were you missing from dinner?'

'well i had too many sweets.'

sirius sat down beside you on the bed. he noticed the revolving vinyl on the desk, softly humming. he murmured a wandless spell for silence to wrap around the room, increasing the volume of the recorder.

'sweets?'

'promise me you won't tell molly,' you said, unconsciously shuffling closer to him.

'i won't. i haven't had any pleasant experiences with her to think i owe her some secrets or anything.'

'hmm...she can be rather...tacky. well, the thing is...you remember last year? how harry got into the triwizard tournament and won that money? he gave it away to fred and george because they wanted to open this shop with the concept of pranks, sweets, chocolates...you get the idea...'

'so they gave some you some to taste?'

'in that context... not 'some', i guess.' sirius chuckled. he rubbed his palm on his knee, unsure how to bring up his thoughts.

'i can tell when you've got something on your mind. tell me what you're thinking,'

and oh how he hated that you were the only one who could come up with the right words to comfort him. even when you'd left him stranded like a traveler looking for a path to follow. even when you'd had him wishing he'd never met you.

even when you'd had him love you.

'i'm not sure how to say this but...harry told me he thinks he's "broken". i think that's what bothering me...how he thinks there's something wrong with him,' he breathed heavy, letting the music sink into his ears.

'and you're not sure how to advise him and tell him that he's not broken. well...don't do anything. he's at a fragile age and in a fragile position. you don't need to fix something that ain't broken. he's a smart boy, he'll realize it himself.'

'do you think that'll work?' you nodded, curving your lips a bit.

'you remember what we did when we used to be sad? we used to dance.'

sirius seemed startled by your tone and words. it was almost as if you were suggesting him to a dance.

'do you want a dance, maybe? for old time's sake?'

he took your hand in his, engulfing you into a warmth. slowly, he got off the bed, pulling you up. wrapping his free hand around your waist and pulling you closer, he breathed.

'sure.'

the steps were unrhythmic, like the erratic beating of hearts. it was no use, to listen to the little voice that mumbled in the mind. who was going to stop you from waltzing back into rekindled flames?

you knew the steps anyways.

so when he rested his forehead against yours, his breathing heavy, your eyes stared at his parted lips. he pulled you closer, and you let him. in his eyes was a vulnerability you'd not seen for so long, but recognized it so very well.

'please,' he said, calloused hand grasping tight onto your palm. 'stay. for old time's sake?' you breathed heavy, a deep chuckle leaving your throat. you stood on your tip toes, palm cradling his face, lips brushing against his.

'for old time's sake.'

****************************************

original idea posted by - @lilwnet

taglist - @reggieisfit @siriuslycaptainofthedawntreader @jamespottergf @eternallybipanicking @fictional-magic @iamgayforyourmom1510

taglist (for series) - @urbansaint

(if you want to be tagged please send a request through my inbox.)

****************************************

[yanderecrazysie]

Shadow (Yandere Matsukawa)

Requested on my Wattpad.

I was surprised to get a request for Matsukawa, so I hope I did him justice. Another drabble.

Title: Shadow

Pairings: Matsukawa Issei x Reader

WARNINGS: Yandere themes, implied murder

Summary: The frequenter of the coffee shop you work at is a lot closer than you think.

shadow

/noun/

used in reference to proximity, ominous oppressiveness, or sadness and gloom:

The way you smiled politely at him when he paid for his coffee always melted his heart, even if his face remained stoic.

Everything you did seemed to make his heart flutter. From the way you bustled around the shop, cleaning, to the way you picked at your nails while waiting for someone to come to your register at the dead times of day.

The shop was a warm, cozy place, but that’s not why Matsukawa visited it so often. He settled himself into a booth seat with a clear view of the rest of the cafe for one reason and one reason only.

To see you.

Matsukawa set up his laptop in the corner booth, taking a sip from his white styrofoam cup. The coffee was good, he’d discovered that much on the day he met you, but maybe that’s because you’re the one who made it.

He remembered the day you two met like it was yesterday, although it had been many weeks since then.

He had come in for a simple coffee with old friends from high school. Oikawa had led the way through those glass doors, the tinkle of a bell alerting the servers inside to their presence. It was rush hour, so a line snaked its way nearly to the doors.

Oikawa was quick to flirt with the servers, but as soon as Matsukawa saw you, he suddenly wished his outgoing friend would shut his mouth for once. It was love at first sight, he was sure of that much. 

He was sure you’d fall for Oikawa’s irresistible charm, just as every other girl did, but you surprised him. When you heard his flirtatious lines, you smiled politely and turned him down. Iwaizumi wasn’t the most impressed one this time around.

Matsukawa would never- could never- approach you. He didn’t have the charm Oikawa did, even if you were more into tall, quiet, mysterious men. He didn’t have the confidence to be your boyfriend.

Maybe that’s why he always followed you to and from work. You were so oblivious to it, he couldn’t help it. It made him worry what else you were oblivious to, especially considering you walked home in the dark.

You occasionally took a shortcut through an alley, but this was the first time something went wrong. One of the homeless men warming his hands over a trash can fire made a pass at you, tried to grab your ass as you walked by.

You ran down the alley, tears running down your face. What was Matsukawa supposed to do?

Thank goodness you didn’t notice the splash of blood on the shirt of the man walking behind you.

[missbrunettebarbie]

Six Sentence Sunday

Thank you @blairwaldcrf for the tag! I'm aware it is not Sunday now, but if I don't post this today I'm gonna forget all about it.

This is a flashback that has yet to feature in my Gotham Knights: Homecoming series, which is a series of oneshots that follows the events of the Gotham Knights tv show post the season 1 cancellation, according to my own beliefs and desires (i.e. it is veeery self-indulgent). This particular episode takes place somewhere around 48 hours post 1x02, the episode where Turner and the the others saved Duela from the Talon sent to kill her.

Duela woke up with a start. While nightmares weren’t a stranger to her, they usually never startled her into awareness. Granted she usually never dreamed of invincible assassins coming for her head. 

One quick look around assured her the wonder twins were firmly asleep. Good, she wouldn’t like anyone witnessing her weakness, let alone them. Batbrat was nowhere to be seen, but she just assumed he might have tried to find a more comfortable place to sleep. 

She figured she might as well go to the kitchen to see if she might find any alcohol. Surely there was at least some champagne left somewhere. 

She wasn’t expecting to find Rich Blond and Handsome there. 

“Couldn’t sleep?” She asked, completely taking him by surprise. 

“Duela,” he breathed out surprised, and she hated that a small shiver ran down her spine at the sound of her name on his lips. He had a nice voice, she’ll give him that. A part of her wondered if he ever sang; she thought he’d be good at it. “Yeah, I didn’t manage to fall asleep so I figured I might as well come here to make a cup of tea. What about you?”

Her first instinct was to ignore the question and taunt him a little. But then she realized all over again that this guy was the only reason why she wasn’t shish kebab right now, so maybe she should try … being nice. It was a novel idea to her, but she liked a challenge. 

“My bed was too comfortable so I couldn’t sleep anymore.” She caught a brief look of amusement at her obvious sarcasm which pleased her. She told herself it was just because she was proud of managing to make him feel any kind of positive emotion. He had been slightly doom and gloom since the first time they met, but it had gotten worse ever since he had got daddy’s diary from Wayne Tower. She had no idea what the big bad Bat had written there, but whatever it was, it didn’t exactly cheer his son up. 

I'm not gonna tag anyone but if you see this, feel free to assume you have been tagged!

[theteltales]

The Letters That Move Us - Chapter 14: Kindred Spirits.

Isabella

Isabella sat on a stool outside the bathtub, the sleeves of her nightgown rolled up well past her elbows to avoid getting them wet. She held a cup with one hand and used her other to hold Violet's blonde hair as she poured water over it repeatedly. Her own hair was still damp from the bath she’d taken a few minutes ago after failing to convince her friend to go first. A wholly unsurprising outcome. Isabella had tried to wash fast enough to preserve as much of the water’s heat as she could but ultimately, the water had lost much of its warmth. Not that Violet would ever complain.

She spent her time waiting for Violet to call her back in by sitting at the table with a book open in front of her. However, she couldn’t really focus well enough to read. She probably skimmed the same paragraph at least a dozen times without actually comprehending the words. Every time her thoughts drifted by the end, landing on Violet and her earlier gloom. It played over and over again in her mind beside a single question. What did that mean for the pair? Mercifully, Violet eventually beckoned her to join. Probably once she was done washing her body. At least the opportunity to help would distract Isabella from too much pondering. 

Once she finished wetting the hair, Isabella silently worked the soap in like she had done that first time. “Isabella…” Hearing her first name come from Violet’s lips caught her somewhat off guard, even though she'd asked for it. It was exciting but would certainly take some getting used to.

“Yes?” Isabella answered without stopping her work.

“I wanted to apologize for earlier. I should not have lost my composure like that.”

And now an apology? "Please don't worry about it. That's what friends do, right? Tell each other what they're feeling." Though Violet had been upset, Isabella couldn't help but feel a tiny amount of joy that the doll’s concerns affected her that much. So much that Violet "lost her composure." If anyone could really describe what happened as such. Isabella knew it was a little cruel to feel that way, but it spoke to how much Violet's opinion came to mean to her over these past few weeks. For good or for bad.

"I suppose they do," Violet sat with her legs extended out in front and didn't move much. Her arms remained raised out of the water, lying along the top edge of the tub while she was attended to. Isabella had managed to hold herself to one peek at the slender form in front of her but didn't see much from where she was sitting. Only the partially obscured legs and the long, pale back were readily in view. Still, even that was enough to increase her heart rate by a noticeable amount. 

"I have a question for you,” Isabella announced. As much to steer her thoughts in a different direction as to sate her actual curiosity.  

"You may ask." 

With permission given, she stopped what she was doing for a moment to formulate her thoughts. As if this question needed more of her attention than another might. "Do you have friends waiting for you at home? Or maybe, someone special?" Isabella wasn't exactly spoiled for companions herself. Besides Taylor, she didn't have anyone she was close with in her life. A part of her did hope Violet might become someone special to her but in what way, she wasn't quite sure yet.

"Yes, I have a few friends back in Leiden. Those I work with mostly but there are a few others. And..." Violet paused, seemingly hung up on the answer. In the meantime, Isabella waited for her to gather her thoughts and started working on her hair once more to try and fill the gap. "There is someone special to me," Violet continued, voice lowered and head hung a bit further. "But I can't ever see them again." Why exactly that was the case was unclear and left unsaid. Even though Isabella had a burning desire for her to elaborate, she let it be for the moment. It had already been an emotionally charged day and there was no reason to dig at old wounds.

Instead, she began to rinse the blonde tresses, choosing to focus on the first part of the answer. "I'm sure they miss you, are you excited to see them when you return?" After the follow-up question, Isabella couldn't help but wonder if Taylor missed her right now. If the girl thought she would ever see her big sister again. Isabella tried her best to explain the situation, but there was only so much you could get through to a child that young. Especially once the tears and the heartache set in. All she could do was hope Taylor didn't hate her now. But, even if that came to pass, knowing the little girl was being taken care of was worth that price, no matter the pain.

"I will be happy to see them when I return, yes. However, I won't let that distract me from my work here." Violet's answer pulled Isabella back from the familiar spiral of self-loathing that came too often when she thought of Taylor. So much so that she even let slip the tiniest giggle at the answer. A perfectly Violet answer.

"I bet they will be happy to see you too." Another few cups of water and the blonde hair contained no more traces of soap. Satisfied with her work, Isabella put everything away and then clapped her hands before standing tall and casting her eyes toward the chair that held fresh towels.

"Are you finished?" Before receiving an answer, she turned and began to walk to retrieve one for Violet. A "Yes," followed in her wake and Isabella returned a moment later with a soft cloth stretched between her arms. Just like Violet did every time Isabella finished washing. She even averted her gaze by turning her head to the side, though she didn't close them. "Here you go, nice and clean." Of course, they were. What else would they be? A second later, she could see the vague outline of Violet's body rising out of the water. Even in her peripheral vision, it was easy to tell where the prosthetics ended and where the rest of her body began.

"Thank you, Isabella. You didn't have to." This time, instead of shock at hearing her name, a small smile broke out on her face. Isabella's hands dropped away once Violet took proper hold of the towel and began to wrap it around her body. Which signaled that she was free to head back into the room to give the handmaiden a little privacy.

“It’s no problem, I'm happy to help.” Subsequently, she turned with a small nod and made her way out of the bathroom to collect her book and hop into bed. However, even tucked comfortably under the blankets, she couldn’t manage to quiet her mind enough to do much of anything. It seemed she would make no progress on her story tonight. After a few minutes, she sighed, placed the book on the nightstand, and settled further down with her stuffed bear pressed to her chest. She waited silently, eyes open, for Violet to emerge dressed in her slip and ready for bed. Once she did, and made her way over, Isabella lifted the blankets and waited for her to slip beneath.

“Isabella, are you feeling alright? Do you need some water?" Seeing her already lying in bed without her book must've looked odd to Violet. At least enough to prompt a question. She didn't answer right away and chose to lay still while the handmaiden adjusted the comforter to better wrap them in its warmth. She was always so considerate. Always looking out for the slightest bit of trouble.

"No, I'm fine..." Isabella breathed in and closed her eyes, hugging the bear tighter against her chest. "I'm just wondering why you are so kind to me. Especially when I can be so troublesome. With my behavior and the illness. I'm such a pain, aren't I?" It had been comforting earlier to hear that Violet worried about their friendship. However, there was a nagging feeling in her mind that questioned whether or not she was deserving of such a thing. She was trying to do better every day, but what if that wasn't enough? 

"You think I'm kind?" Violet asked and then paused while she too settled further into bed. "I guess I'm just doing what I was taught." That response didn't exactly fill Isabella with the same reassurance that came from their earlier interaction. It made the arrangement seem somewhat...forced.

"So, it's because it's your job?" Was this only a fulfillment of her obligation? Was Violet concerned only ensuring her task was complete? Was a friendship only a means to an end? To make sure Isabella behaved and did what she was required?

"No," Violet quickly interjected before pausing to think. "It is not required for this role. Being kind is something I’ve learned about and chose to extend to you. Being your friend is something I want to do." 

Mercifully the cascading thoughts were brought to a halt with Violet's explanation. Eliciting a barely perceptible sigh of relief. However, if this wasn't required, Isabella couldn’t help but wonder. "Why?" She shifted then, casting her eyes down towards the sheets where Violet sat. "Why do that for me?"

"Because I know what it feels like to be alone in a world I don’t fully understand or am comfortable in." Following her answer, Violet finally lay down in the bed. With her blonde hair free of any braids, it fanned out around her head and down the sides of the pillow. The movement caused Isabella to look up and then she reached out for a few strands to gently play with while she thought. That was definitely an understatement. Still, were their situations so similar? A wounded soldier and a peasant girl thrust into a life of luxury? Isabella's wounds were only in her mind, in her heart really, but Violets were very physical. Well, besides the student’s sickness. Or was there more than met the eye? A deeper sadness hidden out of view? Violet mentioned not being able to see her special person anymore...did they die in the war? 

A feeling of jealousy swept over Isabella as her thoughts drifted to the person Violet cared about. A feeling she was immediately ashamed of considering the circumstances, but one she couldn't help nonetheless. If they were still around, would Violet even be doing this work? Would she have ever met the doll? The natural conclusion of that line of thinking was not a place Isabella's mind wanted to go. So, she forced the thought aside and kept idly twirling the soft, damp hair. Something that Violet didn't seem to mind at all. 

"Thank you, for doing that. I'm very happy you decided to take the job. To come here and help me. I'm not sure I could've done it without you." If someone had told Isabella that she would've said such a thing at the start of this, she might've called them crazy. Doubly so if they also told her she'd want Violet to stay longer than the three months of her assignment.

“I think you could have.” Violet’s head turned on the pillow, allowing the light green eyes to hold her own. Even in the dim light of the candle, it was easy to make out her features. Yet again, Isabella found herself admiring how beautiful Violet was. She just hoped the low light would conceal the tint blooming on her cheeks. At least the thump of her heart would remain hidden away while she held her gaze. "You're stronger than you think, Isabella. And you aren't a pain either. I'm happy I took this assignment and that I got to meet you."

Those words, as much as the small smile on Violet’s lips, had the warmth on her cheeks spreading through her body. Violet didn't seem the type to lie, so the sentiment must have been genuine. Maybe Isabella could do this after all. With Violet at her side, of course. Thoughts of them together were at the forefront of Isabella’s mind until sleep took hold. 

[sllhouettedreams]

On Forehead Kisses

So, this is taken from a fic series i deleted/abandoned but idk. I wanted to just share this bit. I took out the stuff that tied it in with the plotline I had but. enjoy?

Discovering it was purely an accident. Andrew’s lips brushed his forehead and Neil went mostly boneless against him. It took a second for Neil to recover, to put the inch of distance back between them. He muttered a sleepy apology-Andrew hadn’t missed the slight flush to his cheeks. 

After a few dizzying moments of analyzing the moment, Andrew came to a conclusion: Neil likes to be kissed on the forehead. 

Since it had happened the first time, Andrew hadn’t tried it again. He contemplated the effect it seemed to have on Neil. Andrew thought about the number of people in his life who would have kissed his forehead. Mary didn’t seem the type. She used brute force and abusive protection over kind affections. 

Did Neil even realize he likes it? He had been half asleep when it happened. Was it a need he had but didn’t know he had- like holding hands had become? Like leaning on Andrew and trusting him with the weight of his issues? Something that he craved now that he knew what it felt like?

Below him in the bottom bunk, Neil’s breathing turned uneasy. For Andrew, it was another one of those nights, where he felt wound too tight to sleep. For Neil, it seemed it was the beginning of a nightmare. 

Silently, Andrew crept from his bed and into the kitchenette of their dorm room. It didn’t take long for the smell of coffee to filter through the small space. The green numbers on the clock glowed just passed 5am. A familiar time. A familiar place. 

An unfamiliar resident. 

Neil hadn’t been living in the same dorm as Andrew for very long. With footsteps as light as they always are, Neil padded into the kitchen. 

It’s become routine that however macabre their nightmares or intrusive thoughts that plague them get, however late or early they are woken from them, they unwind with steadying breaths sat easy in the kitchen. 

Neil’s eyes are bright with feral energy that Andrew recognizes. “You are not going anywhere, Neil Abram Josten.” 

Until this moment, using his full, newly legal, name had always snapped Neil away from the gloom of his nightmares. Neil tensed further, lashes fluttering as his eyes twitched. Andrew took in a breath and held it for a second or two. 

“You were there. In that cop car. The one they stole to take me to him.” Neil’s volume tapers off as he says the word ‘him’. As if even just the thought of him would summon the ghost of Nathan Wesninski to finish him off. “Sometimes, one of the others were there. Matt. Dan.” Neil swallowed hard, “But this time it was you.” 

“And?” Andrew challenges but Andrew doesn’t really think Neil will answer. Not with how there’s even more sweat gathering on his brow, and his knees are bent slightly, braced and ready to bolt. 

Andrew pours two cups of coffee, patiently waiting. His face remains emotionless, knowing the stability Andrew offered had always been a comfort for Neil. Andrew could take each and every problem Neil had and help him shoulder it. “It...” Neil, despite himself, takes the mug Andrew offers. A little swirl of tension loosens in Andrew’s gut. Neil can’t run with hot coffee. 

“It was just a dream.” Andrew finishes for him, carefully neutral. “We’re both alive.” Andrew says. He watches as Neil’s nightmare starts to dissolve from his mind in little fizzles of loosened shoulders, an unclenched jaw. 

“We’re alive.” Neil echos, voice only the ghost of a whisper. He’s still miles away. Andrew watches Neil for a while, long enough to finish his coffee. Neil is staring into his, cooling rapidly. 

Because he know it will Help Neil, he forces out the words, but he can’t fake any enthusiasm for them. “Exy practice starts up today.” 

The remaining tension flows from Neil like a loosened spigot and the smile that smooths out the crease in his brow is definitely not overwhelming. “Junkie.” Andrew scoffs, setting aside his empty mug. 

“It’s the first time I’m playing without healing from any major injuries in a while.” Neil points out, as he had a couple times before when practices resuming came up, when Andrew would scorn his excitement. He knew the effect it had on Andrew.

Andrew shut up. He could concede that point. He didn’t have to like it, though. “I won’t let you score a single goal.” Andrew mutters, “Not even if you scream.” 

Neil looks excited by the prospect, “promise?” He takes a few steps closer to Andrew and sets his mug beside Andrew’s, still full. Andrew’s hand curls in the front of Neil’s shirt, tugging him closer. 

“Remember the game, your first year, that you had coach pick a number and that’s as many goals as you let through before you closed the other team out?” Neil had recovered from the nightmare, it seemed, if he was here getting aroused by the thought of Andrew playing Exy. And playing Exy well. 

“What about it?”

“What if I picked a number?”

“No, I said zero and I mean zero.”

Neil just grins. 

Because he hates when Neil gets the jump on him, he resolves to put his secret weapon to the test once more. With his grip on Neil’s shirt an anchor, he rises to his toes and presses his lips to Neil’s forehead. 

The effect is immediate. Neil slumps forward, his forehead pressing heavier into Andrew’s lips. When Andrew lifts his free hand to the back of Neil’s neck, Neil shudders. His lips part with a heavy breath that Andrew feels against his chin and collarbones. 

Andrew lingers, not long enough for it to be weird, but just long enough for the weight of just how intimate this action is to settle around both of them. When Andrew rocks back onto his heels, Neil’s arms are on either side of him, holding onto the counter. Oddly, Andrew doesn’t feel trapped. Maybe a little cornered under the weight of Neil’s stare, but not in a way that makes anxiety ripple in his stomach. His face remains placid, calm, even when Neil speaks again.

“Can I kiss you?” Neil asks because he never stops asking and Andrew appreciates that so much. He sounds breathless, unable or unwilling to speak above a whisper. Andrew doesn’t know which. 

“Yes.” Andrew says at his normal volume. He needs to show Neil it wasn’t a big deal. Simple, doting affection shouldn’t be earth shattering. Maybe it’s a lesson they both need to learn because when Neil kisses him, it’s so tender that Andrew feels he might explode with the feelings welling up inside him. 

When they first collided, it had been fast, almost angry. Rough. There was not a single ounce of gentleness to be found in their union. It had been that way for the first few months, with a rocky back and forth in the time following Spring Championships. 

Nowadays it stays more casual, infinitely slower. Andrew is still trying to reconcile this brand of Neil Josten’s sensuality with the inexperienced freshman from before. They’re both inexperienced, they’re navigating it together. 

Andrew pulls back just as he starts to feel overwhelmed, and Neil listens to his body language and takes a small step back. He drops his hands from the counter so Andrew doesn’t have a chance to feel trapped. 

He’s not. He wasn’t. 

Neil glances at the clock, then to the darkness outside the window. Andrew knows he’s thinking about taking a run. “Stay.” Andrew says.

“Okay.” Neil relents. Andrew doesn’t think it was a tough decision at all for Neil. 

When the night winds down after practice that night, Andrew stops Neil before he climbs into his own bed. “Up.” He motions, pointing to his own bed. 

Neil hesitates, “You sure?” It’s not because they technically have a roommate that Neil is double checking- Kevin is in one of the beanbag chairs out front, headphones on and watching old Exy matches. 

“Yes.” Andrew’s tone is sure, so Neil has no other reason to question him. 

Neil climbs up with his pillow just as Andrew settles with his back against the wall. It’s a good thing they’re both short and Neil is so lean. They’d never fit otherwise. Neil turns to Andrew, their faces close, but Andrew has had a good day, and there’s no anxiety in the closeness. 

They’ve been together long enough for Andrew to know he can trust Neil. For the thought of Neil’s skin against his to not have it crawling. 

Andrew shifts, lifting a hand and brushing Neil’s hair away from his forehead. He glances at Neil’s face briefly beofre pressing his lips right in the center of Neil’s forehead. 

Neil lets out a shaky breath and Andrew lingers. When he moves, his lips skim down the length of Neil’s nose. He purses his lips against the tip of Neil’s nose, another little kiss. Neil doesn’t react as viscerally as with the forehead kiss. 

Andrew digs his thumb into Neil’s pulse. He feels both their heartbeats at this single point. “You like being kissed on the forehead.” Andrew doesn’t pose it as a question. 

Andrew can see Neil fighting back his reaction, but he can’t stop the pooling of blood on his cheeks. With the summer sun, Neil is perpetually sunburned, but Andrew is so familiar with Neil he still sees it. Even in the dark. Neil doesn’t try to refute Andrew’s claim, “No one’s ever done it before.”

Andrew had suspected it, but the confirmation still doesn’t settle easy. Neil’s pulse is elevated. Andrew rubs his thumb in long stroke down Neil’s neck. He wants to tell Neil it’s just a kiss, don’t be so dramatic. But that isn’t true, is it?

It’s affection, true. But it’s patience, unhurried care. It shows trust. A level of adoration neither of them are familiar with in the slightest. 

“Can I...?” Neil tips his chin, indicating Andrew’s forehead. Andrew’s nostils flare, betraying his surprise. “Had anyone ever...?” Neil doesn’t finish either question, but he doesn’t have to. Andrew knows what he means. 

“Cass did.” 

Neil touches Andrew’s forehead tentatively, parting his hair. “No one who stayed?”

Andrew stiffens just slightly, but he doesn’t tell Neil to stop, doesn’t move away. “No one who stayed.” 

“I’m not going anywhere.” Neils fingers tap at Andrew’s temple in a mockery of a familiar salute. He leans in and kisses Andrew’s forehead like Andrew had done for him. 

Objectively, he knows why Neil likes it. Neil is warm. His lips are slightly chapped but they’re still soft against his skin. Being on the receiving end is different. There’s a puff of breath from Neil’s nose skimming his head, not moist against against his collar. There’s the scent of Neil’s bodywash and something unnamed and undoubtably Neil. 

He feels safe, astoundingly enough. 

Safer than he ever had, even. Neil settle back against his pillow and looks at Andrew in that fond way of his that he has. The kind that makes Andrew feels seen. Feel known. Combined with the kiss, it’s too much. 

Andrew turns Neil’s face into his pillow for him, as if he might smother the striker. Neil chuckles into the sheets and Andrew releases him. “You liked it, too, didn’t you?”

Andrew doesn’t respond to that trap, instead he just says, “Go to sleep, Junkie.” 

[laurelsofhighever]

Fandom: Dragon Age: Origins Characters/pairings: Alistair x Cousland Chapter: 9/? Rating: T Warnings: None Fic Summary: The story of the Fifth Blight, in a world where Alistair was raised to royalty instead of joining the Grey Wardens.

Read it on AO3

--

Morrigan, it seemed, was every bit as unpleasant as suggested by her acerbic remarks back in Flemeth’s glade. Generously, her mood might be blamed on the resentment of being sent from home and turned into a guide by her mother, but Alistair’s own churn of grief and worry left him little room for sympathy. After announcing that she had packed her things, and tutting all the while that Rosslyn needed help into her armour to avoid her injury, the witch had set a demanding pace, and seemed to follow no path beyond her own whims.

Most of the trees slouched too close together for frost to touch the banks of moss beneath their feet, but the cold still found its way in, with the scent of wet earth and the occasional shower of droplets from disturbed branches overhead. He pushed away the discomfort, worried more for Rosslyn, for the sickly gleam of her skin in the half-light. They carried only enough supplies to get them to Lothering – even having left behind his heavy plate armour in favour of quieter, faster movement – but though she bore the least of them, her eyes glazed over, and as the sunlight lengthened and dipped low, more than once ahead of him she stumbled and had to clench a sob between her teeth as the movement jostled her injured arm.

They finally halted on a spur of exposed, striated bedrock above a small pond. A stream fed into it from somewhere nearby, the distant rush of water the only sound through the windless trees, but not enough to disturb its dark, glasslike surface.

“We should set watches,” Rosslyn said. She had already sunk onto a lip of the rock, almost grey with fatigue.

“Two should be enough,” he answered, throwing a meaningful glare at Morrigan.

The witch made no protest, but shrugged off her pack and turned away.

“Where are you going?”

“You wish to eat, I suppose?” she drawled. “We will need a fire and shelter, if that is within your capabilities.”

He watched her stalk into the trees with a huff before setting down his own pack and unstrapping the small hatchet Flemeth had graciously allowed them to take. A firestarting kit had been shoved in the top as well, and this he passed to Rosslyn.

“This is almost like all those times your father dragged us out of the castle to go camping,” he joked, and then mentally kicked himself. “Almost. Fewer things wanting to kill us. Uh… I’d better get started if we want a roof over our heads tonight.”

He was still packing moss onto the roof of the lean-to to block the wind as the final light bled from the sky and stained the encroaching clouds like a cup of spilled wine over a tablecloth. Every so often he glanced to Rosslyn, who frowned as she poked the fire. She had built it well, and even in a short time the narrow hollow between the ridge and the first line of trees had grown almost cosy. The silence, however, had not. It was a relief when Morrigan emerged out of the gloom with a brace of rabbits at her hip and the edge of her cloak folded over an armful of mushrooms and some kind of long, tuberous roots.

The quiet persisted. Night fell without the rustle of deer through the undergrowth or the calls of hunting owls overhead, as if the whole forest were cowering from the darkspawn, with only the slow bubbling of their small stewpot to measure time and Cuno’s snuffling at the discarded innards of their meal to offer conversation, until the oppressive air closed so tight that Alistair wanted to scream.

“We should probably talk about where we’re going next, once we’ve got our supplies in Lothering,” he ventured.

“Would that imply you have a plan?” Morrigan asked in an airy voice. “I had thought this morning it was settled we would go to this Arl Eamon in Redcliffe. Did you forget already?”

He tried not to grind his teeth and turned instead to Rosslyn, wiping her sword with an oiled rag. “What about the treaties? Elves, dwarves, the Circle of Magi… We’ll have to find them all at some point.”

Flemeth’s warnings gnawed at him, the sheer enormity of their task, and beneath it a deeper dread for what would now become of him – what would be expected – even though Cailan had only acknowledged him in the first place because the Landsmeet was growing restless that he had no heirs of his own.

“Rosslyn?”

She started.

“What do you think?” he pressed. “About where we should go.”

“Oh… Redcliffe is closest.”

“You do not sound eager to get there,” Morrigan observed.

A frown drew in across her brows, knotting her mouth in a hard line as her gaze drifted out into the darkness. “I came to Ostagar to find Fergus. My brother,” she clarified, at the witch’s blank look.

“Rosslyn…”

Morrigan cut across him. “If he was lost in the Wilds, then attempting to look for him would be foolish. He is either dead or he managed to flee to the north.”

“Very sensitive.” He glared at her again, because it was easier than watching the way Rosslyn’s fingers clenched in her lap.

“I am simply saying that you have no notion where this man is,” she replied in a slow, careful voice, as if he were an argumentative child. “It would be nigh-on suicidal to look for him when the wilds are overrun with darkspawn and we already have a mission that could decide the fate of everyone in Ferelden.”

“And you don’t want to try and have even a moment of compassion?” he demanded. “Or are witches allergic to that? Have you never lost anyone close to you – what would you do if your mother died?”

“Before or after I stopped laughing?”

“Right, very creepy,” he snapped. “This is the moment where we’re shocked to discover you’ve never had a friend your entire life.”

“I can be friendly if I desire. Alas, desiring to be more intelligent does not make it so.”

“That’s enough.”

Rosslyn was standing. Her features blazed in the glow of the fire, the darkness mantling about her like wings as sparks gathered in the corners of her eyes and the leather of her sword’s scabbard creaked under the strength of her grip. Before he could reach for her, the thread of tension holding her in place snapped. She turned, swallowed by the night. For a moment even Cuno only watched her stalk away, until with a high, worried whine he hauled himself to his paws and padded after her.

Alistair’s gaze flashed to Morrigan. “Happy?”

“I did not –”

But he wasn’t listening, already following the path Rosslyn had taken through the forest. The sudden loss of firelight left him blind until his eyes adjusted, the air too cool and damp against his face, but she hadn’t retreated far, and he found her tucked against the gnarled roots of a yew with one knee drawn up to her chest and the other folded underneath, the way she had once sat on the plush chairs in the teyrn’s study as she took her lessons.

“Are you alright?” he asked, at a loss for anything else to say.

She only sniffed. The Cousland sword lay embraced across her chest like a favourite stuffed toy, with the dog at her side torn between fussing over her like a nursemaid and pinning Alistair with such a baleful glare there could be no doubt of his intent.

“May I sit?”

With one last sniff, she swiped at her cheeks and laid a hand on Cuno’s head to calm him. “Feel free.”

Silence fell over them. He fidgeted. Though he tried to find comforting words, his mind kept drifting instead to the last time they had truly been alone together, to all the things unsaid that had been seething in his gut for the past two years.

“I’m sorry,” he blurted, as if such a small word were enough.

She shook her head and dragged a shuddering breath into her lungs. “No. Morrigan’s right. I shouldn’t hope that he’s alive. Part of me – part of me doesn’t want to.”

“What does Morrigan know?” he scoffed. “Maybe Fergus got out, maybe he heard about the army’s defeat and went to Lothering. But… that’s not what I meant.” He licked his lips, hoping for eloquence, that this, at least, might be one burden he could take from her shoulders. “The last time we saw each other, before the Blight, I… the way I behaved wasn’t fair. I just wanted you to know you don’t have to worry about – about me doing anything like that again.”

He had to look down at his hands, twisting them in his lap to avoid the way she searched his face. Until he spoke the words aloud, he had not recognised the traitorous little corner of his heart that still wanted, that hoped she might reach out and cup his face and draw him in for the kiss he had once so clumsily asked of her. Instead, she turned away and let the back of her head thump against the bark, scowling out at the dark in a way that told him he had yet again misjudged, too entangled in the mire of his own feelings, selfish, insensitive, callous as a –

“Arl Howe betrayed us.”

His gaze snapped sideways. “What?”

“Back in Ostagar you asked what happened.” There was a dead, distant quality to her voice. “He persuaded Father to send Fergus ahead with the army – said his own muster hadn’t finished – and then when night fell he had them attack. The defences weren’t seen to, and we were overrun.”

“And the warden-commander –”

“Conscripted me,” she spat, her lips pulled back from her teeth. “Refused to aid us until my father agreed to let him take me. What?”

“I just…” He shook his head. “I can’t believe it. Howe is one of Highever’s vassals, one of your father’s oldest friends. And all this time…” Back when he was still in Starkhaven, had Nate known what his father planned? “I can’t imagine what it was like to see that.”

“Don’t pity me,” she snarled. “I live. And before this is over, I will take my family’s sword and use it to carve Howe the slow, excruciating death he deserves.” Her knuckles strained white on the hilt, clear even in the gloom, her eyes blazing and bright with unfamiliar, feverish intensity.

He wanted to touch her. Offers of shared vengeance and enduring loyalty tripped on his tongue. And yet, with the way her pain already chafed like a splinter caught under his skin, he sat locked, struggling against the fear he might only make it worse.

“I could never pity you,” he told her eventually.

She sagged a little. “Arl Eamon should have mustered at Ostagar. If he’d been there…”

“Cailan expected him to come,” he replied. A sudden image of his half-brother, clapping a soldier on the back in praise of his courage, brought a sting to the back of his throat. “We can ask him when we get to Redcliffe – but first we have to get there, and for that we have to eat. Come on.” He nudged her with an elbow and stood. “The stew should be ready soon, and Nan did always say you can’t go knocking heads on an empty stomach.”

Her small huff of laughter warmed him as he helped her to her feet, though the sound lacked humour and she quickly pulled away from his grip. For an instant, foolish hope took root that she might lean into him, safe from prying eyes in the dark, but only until the dog shouldered him out of the way with a grunt to take pride of place at his mistress’s side. As he followed them back to the camp, he tried to convince himself he had no right to be disappointed.

--

She woke with a sword in her hand, fully armoured in her own plate. Blood splattered the front of it, though when she touched it, still wet as it smeared on her fingers, she couldn’t remember where it came from, who she had killed to become so filthy, and now shouting bubbled in the air around her, steel and the crashing of footsteps, until the door burst open and the servant’s warning died as the arrow pierced his throat. Shadows loomed in the world beyond – enemies she knew had to die. She charged, a battle cry on her lips, but though her muscles strained they would not move. Darkness sucked at her legs, rot that grew and spread along her armour, like moss, while the darkspawn grinned at her and the orange and white of the Howe Bear danced above them in the light of the flames. She struggled, snarled, struck at them all beyond her reach.

And then the world around her rumbled and the castle fell down in a cloud of dust as the great shadow loomed, a horned head and the leather flap of wings, a gaping maw and a belch of black, roiling flame –

--

The jolt awake tore at her shoulder. Sickened, she clutched at her arm with a grit of teeth to keep herself from crying out, all while the dregs of the nightmare scuttled through her bones and the scents of leaf mould and smoke coiled in her head to make her dizzy, lost in the battle to keep her stomach from overturning.

In the end, she barely managed to scramble out of the edge of the firelight before her guts heaved and she fell forward to empty her stomach. When there was nothing left, she sat back and found Morrigan watching her, like a hawk considering a mouse, as she pulled the stopper on the waterskin to rinse out the taste.

“Waste of a good meal,” she muttered. “No reflection on your cooking.”

“Then it must be something else that troubles you.”

The witch turned away to poke the fire, apparently satisfied in her scrutiny, and made no comment as Rosslyn eased herself down opposite. Faint snores carried from the depth of the shelter. For that, she was glad; experiencing such weakness was bad enough without having Alistair witness it. She had sat quiet through dinner as she processed his apology, trying to figure out the strange twist in her chest, startled up by his words like a flock of grouse flushed from a hedgerow. Did it even matter? If they managed to end the Blight and survive, fate would lead them down different paths, and already she could feel it tugging, laced with the dregs of the nightmare that crawled under her skin. She should have killed Duncan when Jory gave her an opening.

“No sign of darkspawn?” she asked.

Morrigan waved the concern away. “The wards Mother gave me will hide us for now. ‘Tis a good thing we are headed out of the Wilds, however.” She stiffened, as if anticipating disagreement.

“You seem to know your way well through rather well,” Rosslyn said instead, pushing away thoughts of Fergus.

“‘Tis my home.” The witch offered a shrug. “From time to time, I have travelled beyond its borders, to the village that is our destination. I have watched its people and pondered what curious beings they are, purchased goods from the merchants there. And now…” she added, with a purse of her lips, “Mother wishes me to expand my experience beyond that as well.”

For a long moment, Rosslyn studied her companion, the vulnerable way she hunched in on herself while trying not to make it obvious. She would have made a poor politician, far too transparent for one raised to the nobility, where every glance or twitch of a muscle could betray a person’s intentions. Unless nobody was looking. 

She forced her fists to unclench.

“Before I was… recruited, I never travelled outside of Highever, except to go to Denerim or the Storm Islands to visit my mother’s people,” she said. “But I always wanted to see mountains.”

Morrigan tilted her chin, almost in a smile. “As do I – and to witness the ocean and step into its waters, and experience a city rather than just see it in my mind.” She paused, and her face fell into a scowl. “I suppose now I will do all those things… but actually leaving is harder than I thought.”

“Sometimes there’s no choice.”

No reply came, the words spoken with too much bitterness to defy the deep hour of the night with more conversation, and as the silence stretched and let Rosslyn nod once more, only the low hiss of the logs burning offered comfort to her drooping limbs.

[ryuzatodraws-archive]

"Have you been drinking? You look terrible" with C3 pls either nsfw or sfw

tag : copia x terzo , copia x secondo , fluff , slight angst

The sharp liquor hits Copia's nose again. It had become rather too frequent. First it was with his brother and now Terzo himself. He sighs and set the bottle away before cupping The Papa's face. Terzo's giddy smile greets him instead and Copia frowns.

''Have you been drinking? you look terrible.'' He fixes Terzo's hair away and start to clear the table from the mess he made.

It's not enough that he had to take care of Secondo before his descent and now he has to take care of Terzo next. He guesses thats why they are related after all.

''Hey hey.'' Terzo nudges him with his foot before leaning in , grabbing Copia's wrist and pulling him into his lap on the armchair. ''It's not that much , caro.''

The Cardinal sighs and lets Terzo caress his cheek, he gives up and rests his head on Terzo's shoulder as he lets his eyes absorbs the small details on the man's face. The smell of alcohol already lingering in his nose, but he lets Terzo's grey eyes focuses on him instead.

''I know you misses my brother, and I'm sorry that he's gone.'' The only sober thing that Terzo spoke so far that night.

Copia shakes his head and buries his face into The Papa. It had only been a month. He didn't expect that Secondo's descending means not only giving up the mitre but his life as well. Slowly Terzo rubs his back.

''I used to hate you, thinking if you didn't rise to be a Papa then Secondo might still be alive.'' a sigh escaped from Copia. ''That is until...Omega told the truth, that it was Sister Imperator's plan...and I felt terrible for holding such grudges with you.'' Copia lets his eyes wander on Terzo again.

While it is true that this man is smaller, he didn't have Secondo's tough stature and the incredible glooming aura but he does have his way with Copia, as if he knows exactly where to touch and what to say to him. The Cardinal couldn't help but to ease into him.

Terzo tries his luck and presses a kiss on Copia's lips, he's surprised that the Cardinal didn't flinch or back away, but instead leaning in more into him. He lets the other man kisses him till he can taste the salt of Copia's tears, and that's when he releases his lips.

Copia tries to be tough, but his quivering lips and streaming tears gave him away. He never did had a chance to grieve over Secondo, all of them didnt. Terzo pulls him back into a tight hug, cooing him as he lets Copia sobs.

''It'll be alright. You know he loves you.'' Terzo muttered slowly. He wanted to tell him that he could love Copia as hard as how his brother does, but he knows he shouldn't forces his way in. Not now at least. ''I'll be right here for you.''

Copia clenches his fist onto the other's shirt, nodding as he slowly composes himself back. ''Would you mind...if I stayed?''

Terzo nods, sober and sure as ever. ''However long you like,caro.''

''Grazie.'' The Cardinal smiles hearing that. Perhaps he could give the younger brother a chance. He's the only one he had anyway in times like these. He appreciate the company.

[burdened-boy]

2086 :: death rings thru my cell phone

Limbo, on a whim, journeys out to the wasteland to kill a random guy in cold blood. For money, of course.

Death Rings Thru My Cell Phone

I can imagine the orange sunlight painting the grass and dirt around me as fire. Gasoline pumped into the eternally hungry Toronado, the price of this fillup soaring into the three figures in under a minute. Even out in the wastelands, fuel of the most impotent quality was still so fucking expensive. Me and the car were alone at the sketchy old Gulf station, an empty concrete island floating in the aforementioned burning landscape around me. The flames around me raged on, giving way to a nighttime that was as dark as nuclear winter.

Silently, I watched the little wheels of the gas pump spin faster and faster, like a slot machine. On further thought, gassing up my car here was a lot like gambling; who knew if my supercharged block of 1970s iron would even run on this soup of various ethanol, additives and detergents?

Feeling a buzzing sensation on my thigh, I slid my phone out of my pocket. My cracked glass screen displayed a grim message: there was an open contract in my area. A future victim, running on borrowed time from the moment I felt my phone vibrate. I ruminated on the message for a moment, debating if I wanted to even bother with this clown or let someone else have it. Harsh white LED lights cast a shadow from my hand and wrist and onto the concrete slab on which I stood. Noticing the natural sun setting, I decided not to rest on my laurels just yet. The moment I stop is the moment I lose touch. 

With a click, the car was full. Jackpot. I nonchalantly slammed the nozzle back onto the pump, and muscle memory naturally lifted my finger to press the “no receipt” button. However, for a brief moment, instead of asking me if I even wanted a receipt, the phrase, “YOU WILL REAP WHAT YOU SOW” suddenly appeared, flickering and jarring like an old VHS subtitle. Heart jumping, I took a second look at the message, only to find that it was instantly gone. The screen on the gas pump went black all together after that, leaving me to look at my own reflection, completely dumbfounded. There was nobody around, not even an attendant to mention this to at this credit-card-only station.

The open can of Red Bull in my cup holder still fizzed as I eased myself into the driver’s seat. With a turn of the key and quick pump of the gas pedal, the supercharger before me whirred to life as I started the car, confused, and wondering if what I had just seen was even real. My head unit switched on and started playing my music, but as I eased out onto the desolate highway and floored it, I turned the volume all of the way down. I wasn’t planning on making some money tonight, but then again, idle hands are the devil’s playthings.

Hits in out in the wasteland are rare, which, come to think of it, make bugging out here a pretty solid idea if someone ever wants you dead. Just don’t expect much company. Or running water. My headlights sliced through the gloom as I sailed further and further away from the gray walls of Los Angeles, and out into the irradiated wasteland. 

A few minutes later, and the last verse of Heaven Knows I’m Miserable Now slowly faded away. In my peripheral vision, a small flash of light gets caught by my rear view mirror. It was an ultralight aircraft, a flimsy, triangular job existing somewhere between the form of an airplane and a powered paraglider. The mystery aviator was positioned at what was roughly my eight o’clock, and traveling in the same direction as me. Deep in my electronic brain-bucket, my eyebrows frowned, and my stomach dropped. I glanced at my surroundings, pondering just how desolate they were. A small, low-flying aircraft, out at this hour, over the dangerous wastelands? My first instinct was the raiders. They were reconnoitering me, and coordinating a roadblock not too far ahead. In this scenario, I would have tried to shoot the plane down, and use the hopefully injured pilot as a bargaining chip. This, in reality, was delusional, though. For one, none of my guns could reach that far. It was also entirely possible that this was some insane, incompetent hobbyist, and I would be wasting ammunition and courage on someone that was completely oblivious to what was happening. Even if it was a civilian, they shouldn’t have been out here.

Worse still, I couldn’t even turn off my headlamps. It was getting dark, and barreling into a raider blockade at highway speeds was obviously not how I planned to die tonight. I sighed, loaded my shotgun, and turned this into a race. According to my GPS, I was only on this empty highway for about fifteen more minutes. If I could shave some time off my ETA, maybe I would reach my target’s house before the hypothetical blockade would be completed. Then again, that was assuming they weren’t already ready for me, and more than fifteen minutes out. There really wasn’t all that much I could do, other than to be ready for a sudden stop and an armed confrontation. I wondered if these scrawny, meth-crazed jackals knew who they were dealing with.

Nevertheless, I pushed on, the yellow glow of my headlamps burning like eyes in the night. Gradually, the little airplane began to slip away, but it remained in my peripheral vision like a floater in my eye. Dread pinched my stomach, but it slowly began to fade into a dull numbness. The white lines of the highway blurred into a translucent beam, dashing past my mirror while the engine droned in my ears. I yawned; paranoia is exhausting. 

Suddenly, I saw something. Instantly, my foot went to the brake, and both hands gripped the wheel. On the left side of the road, a large, rectangular object, with the outline of a pickup truck parked beside it. I braced myself, ready to broadside a possible assailant and let them have it with my gun. Closer and closer it crept, my supercharger whooshing as I let off the gas. Noticing motion on my phone’s screen, I glanced down, and immediately felt like an idiot. I had arrived at my destination. There were no raiders, no blockade. All I had to worry about was murdering someone. 

I let the shiny black door of my Olds clap shut, kicking up a puff of grit into the air. By now, the sun was just barely peeking out from behind the horizon, and darkness had taken over for the most part. The air was cool, and my surroundings peaceful. Silently, I thanked my lucky stars that this hit didn’t appear to involve a dog. In my worries about the raiders, I had forgotten to consider that I might have to contend with a German Shepherd as soon as I pulled up. If you live in a dangerous area, your most vital asset is a dog. Tiny begged me to set up this space-age security system in our house that probably wiretaps our conversations and steals her fingerprints, but I think the best way to protect your shit is to buy a mean looking dog from the pound.

After checking for tripwires, a few good whacks turned the trailer’s paper-thin door into tinfoil, and I’m inside. The flashlight on my shotgun is already on, flooding the pitch black single-wide with holy white light. It was two paces to the drab trailer’s only bedroom, and a single steal-toed kick to the door sent it open. My target, asleep and surrounded by empty bottles, barely stirred as I leveled the shotgun at his face. I squeezed the trigger, my gun letting out two consecutive booms. The murder shakes glass, soils sheets, and pounds my eardrums, but as soon as the violence is here, it’s over. My stomach flooded with a familiar soup of satisfaction and easily-dismissed disgust with my actions. Another faceless stranger wasted by another faceless stranger, all because I opened a text on Telegram. I didn’t even check to see if there was anyone else in the trailer; this settlement’s design was far too rudimentary to even bother. The master bedroom didn’t even have a closet - my target’s clothes were scattered on the floor amongst aforementioned booze and codeine cough syrup bottles. 

In the kitchen, I could already hear my colleagues calling me a coward for killing a man in his sleep. Let it be known now that I am beyond caring. After all, the other guy having a gun or a knife doesn’t get me any more money. Their jeering voices prattled on in my head as I cranked all of the knobs on the stove wide open, and stepped outside. For good measure, I popped one of the lines off the trailer’s air conditioner, and let the flammable refrigerant out. My movements were robotic and methodical as I assembled a molotov cocktail out of some junk I found strewn across the property, and as glass shattered and the house burned, I checked my phone. The pictures of the crime scene I had sent had been received, and the precious bounty for tonight’s work was instantly deposited into my bank account. The transaction was labeled “second hand Macbook Pro.”

Slowly turning around, my heart jumped as I spotted the ultralight from earlier. However, instead of stalking me from above, its skeletal outline was comically parked in front of my car. Swallowing, and steeling myself for further confrontation, I drew my 9mm and pointed it at the masked occupant unbuckling themselves from the seat. The pilot must have seen me, because their body language hardly changed upon having a gun brandished at them. 

“It looks like the early bird gets the worm, Mr. Limbo,” a female voice cooed. She reached up to take her helmet off, but by the first syllable of her quip, I already knew what this was. I recognized this assassin’s tone, but I didn’t know her personally. 

“Yeah, but the second mouse gets the cheese,” I muttered, walking towards my car. 

“Your pictures were incredible,” the aviatrix called out after me, “I just saw them now. You’re so…efficient.”

Oh, geez, thank you, I wanted to pipe up sarcastically, but I could already feel the adrenaline fading. Instead, I remember muttering something under my breath and slipping away in my car. 

[outofangband]

the next two parts of Such Cruel Devices, my attempt at a chronological Maedhros in and after Angband fic!

Part one

2

There was the endless dark broken only by starlight that they knew since the Trees fell but this perpetual gloom is not what they had grown used to. Maitimo has no sense of time here. He is given no food and the being who comes to bring water in a thin, rusted container has no face he can see and does not or cannot heed his questions. The water has a metallic, bitter taste and does not quench his thirst. He had not wanted to drink it. Of course he would trust nothing his captors gave him but, after so long, for it must have been so long, waiting in the dark, he found his hand bringing the cup to his lips when his pacing brought him to sit beside it. It was not thirst that ended his wary refusal but mere habit. He experiences a moment of fear when the liquid runs down his dry throat. But there is no excising it and he must only wait. If it is tainted in some way, he will know soon enough.

Maitimo falls into an uneasy sleep, slumped against the filthy wall, his aching limbs spread out around him. He dreams of clean water and then of drowning and wakes in a gasping panic. 

No one passes by his cell for a long time. It feels a long time. His mouth is dry and he has tried in vain to drink the spare droplets of water from the dirty cup, the one he told himself he would never drink from at all.

When the darkness is broken by the movement of a torch held by one of the guards who had left him here, his eyes burn and he raises an arm to their approach.

“Creatures of light grow used to the darkness,” the soft whisper remarks as the door is unlocked, Maitimo still too disoriented to take advantage of the momentary cracks in his prison. There are two others who had followed and they enter first, kicking him down upon his back and pulling him up. The rattle of chains makes his head ache and then they are binding him and he is being led away. His fear catches up to him with his balance but he cannot stop his footfall for when he slows, they merely drag him. 

3

Huan bounded ahead of him, the solemnity of the task serving as the only container upon the excitement of the hound at finally leaving the confines of the camp and being surrounded by woods. Not only woods but unknown woods, full of a million sighs, sounds, smells and tastes, the familiar blending with the strange and new.

The footfall of the elf is quiet, well trained to be so. But Huan knows at once when Tyelko paused

A soft ruff and his elf lifts his head  

“Káno will be angry with us. With me,” Tyelko corrects himself, “But I know him. He will know he cannot send any to find us. And if he had agreed to my plan, I would not have had to do this without his leave.” There is an uncertainty in his anger known to the hound in the tilt of his head and the way his pitch rises ever so slightly as though he is asking a question. Huan makes no response other than to nudge his large muzzle against the boot of Tyelko.

Huan runs up ahead again, the cool leaves against his paws, wind through his fur, tangling and spreading out the many scents. The grass, the dew, the rot of the undergrowth, the tracks of a hare…and something else. Something that makes his hackles raise.

It is bitter, acrid and it is close and spread out. Huan follows the scent to a distant clearing and hears the footsteps of Tyelko increase in agitated speed.

His muzzle brushed against the cold of metal. His left paw is nearly touching a corpse. One among many. Blood is dried in the grass and leaves around them. They are cold. Their smell lingers with the cool air, stagnating it. The blood he smells is around them, not within them. Cloth, metal armor and weapons, wood and fiber all scatter the clearing. Little escapes the taint of blood. Or viscera. 

Huan returns to Tyelko with the helm of Nelyafinwë held carefully in his mouth. He reaches him before he steps foot into the clearing proper. His elf falls until his head is beneath that of Huan. He takes the helm, dried blood smearing his hands. 

There is no Nelyafinwë smell away from the helm. Even this is a stale smell. Not fresh. Nelyafinwë has not been here since he lost the helm. Huan sees, smells the fear growing within his elf. Tyelko steps forward once more, sharp eyes searching the clearing. He sees what Huan has. Two fingers smear across the dried blood of one of the straps and come away with only a faint coating of rust. 

“We must get back to Káno.” Huan stays by his side as they make their slow, careful return. He carries the helm though he despises the bitter taste and the looks his elf gives it. 

(author’s note: not my best work and will need some edits and revisions! I apologize for that!)

[kissmeau]

Roman hit Autumn once.

It was a thud on his cheek that sat Autumn on the floor. Autumn had no idea what had happened, it had been a while since someone had been violent with him, and while he could have tried to fight back his mentor, he was stunned it had been Roman who punched him.

For the second time in his life, Autumn wondered what he did wrong and why he deserved punishment.

Autumn walked in late at night into Roman's room because he had had a nightmare. He was thirteen, and the killing of those three men had been recent. Autumn never had any comfort, and he wondered if the man that's always kept him safe wouldn't mind if he slept next to him until he felt more appeased.

However, Roman was wearing a dress; his long white hair was adorned with pearls, and his lips were an elegant red. Between the sight and the punch, Autumn thought he was the most beautiful person he's ever seen. And that beauty wasn't shattered by the hostility of a strong and powerful man.

"I'm sorry." Autumn was the first to get out of the perplexed state.

No, no. No. No. No. Roman wasn't saying a word, but Autumn could read it on his face. Terror was printed, and the red of his lips couldn't hide the gloom in his eyes.

"It won't happen again." Autumn left for his room, hating himself for being so frail, for thinking his restlessness could finally have a warm bed. Instead, he was naïve and thought of relying on the same man that every day recited: "don't ever expect someone will come to save you."

The lesson was loud and clear.

A couple of days passed by until Roman finally left his room. They met in the kitchen and shared a silent cup of coffee until the older man finally spoke.

Roman had a scar on the center of his face. It wasn't caused in any of the missions but by his father, who entered his room one night and found him wearing his mother's heels and makeup. Roman was sixteen and accused of being a low homosexual, a putrid child, and a shameful son. Roman's father pulled him by his hair and cut his face with a knife, so he would never have a beautiful face to put on makeup.

Shortly after that event, Roman was inscribed into the military service, where his career would start.

Roman wasn't a homosexual, but he enjoyed cross-dressing. Roman was born into a society that denied men the possibility to appreciate all considered feminine; poetry, art, and glamour. He had been sentenced to a masculinity he believed tainted. Roman lived under said disguise for many years until he met Inessa, his wife, a plastic artist under the pseudonym of Vladimir. Together, they lived their truthful self in secrecy and intimacy, away from society.

Lastly, Roman apologized to Autumn. It was a late apology. Autumn was emotionally away from that story, and the man speaking wasn't his savior anymore, just his mentor.

"Your father was wrong." Autumn shrugged. "You still have a beautiful face."

Roman read between the silence and the lines and understood that the damage was done.

Ridden by guilt, he could only thank Autumn for the compliment and turn his life story and cross-dressing abilities into a brief explanation for the next training: espionage.

[kcmews]

Heart Strong, Live Long

The heart knows what it needs and it needs treatment. In 1988, my grandmother was first diagnosed with a heart disease, specifically hypertensive heart disease. It was a devastating moment for her as she was an adventurous type of person and likes to wander around. She asked the heavens why it has to be her, but I guess bad things do not reserve themselves solely for bad people.

Constant high blood pressure happens to her, but she did not pay much attention to it. She will initially avoid the food that causes her high blood pressure, then consume it again after days of religiously staying away from it. My grandmother thought this scheme would forever work until it did not. Her early mornings consisted of a cup of tea, bacon strips, and a headache. Sometimes, it is severe, but usually, it is bearable according to her. 

Once become sometimes until it is often that she was hospitalized because of her condition. There was even a time that I had to go to the hospital where she was admitted an hour after my class. I would never consider her as bothersome, but at that time, I thought it would be more nice if I was visiting her inside their house where no medical apparatuses were surrounding her. After she got discharged, she started to take her medicines seriously, the same time I realized that the times I caught her massaging her chest was becoming frequent. 

It was often that my mom would hurry to go inside the room that I am sharing with my sister to inform us that she would be out for a while because she needs to rush our grandmother to the nearest hospital. Attempts to remember our last interaction have been made and honestly, the fear that rushes inside me every time is something I hoped I would never feel again. 

Frequently, she had to turn down offers from her colleagues and close friends because of her condition. My grandmother often finds herself short of breath and gets tired easily. With a visible gloom in her face, she would say it is okay and there would always be next time for her to go with them. She knows she should do what she has to do in order to maintain her stable health. All of us were hoping to see progress on her health, and I can see that she wants the same thing too. 

Now, she was able to avoid being hospitalized for a month now. Good news came and the doctor advised her to go back for a check-up once a month. Although it was recommended that she visits the clinic twice a month, it was only encouraged if the progress was somehow not maintained. But in general, she only visits the clinic once a month, so it was really great news for our family.

Everyone was happy to assist her in her maintenance. Prescribed with Vestar, 35mg, that should be taken two times a day. Twynsta, 18mg, to treat the symptoms of high blood pressure. Clopidogrel, 75mg, is used to prevent heart attacks and strokes. There are many other medicines that she was prescribed with, but the medicines I indicated are her priorities. My grandmother often asks my sister and I for a favor by buying her medicines for her and we would go to the nearest Watsons to buy it for her. Giving us extra money to treat ourselves is her thing too. 

Words might not be enough to describe how happy I was to see my grandmother going back to her usual self. We still remind her to be vigilant of the food she is taking as no one in the family wants those hospital trips to be repeated again. While she was cautious of what she eats, I know she still tries to enjoy things that she enjoys prior to being diagnosed with hypertensive heart disease. Life is hard when you have a disease that hinders you to do most things and pushes you to adapt even though you are against it, but really, prevention will always be better than cure.