#like snarky comments between them are a joy to draw

[moeblob]

Felix, once again, is me.

[downthe-f4ndom-rabbith0le]

The Monster Inside (Tyler Galpin x Addams!reader)

The Monster Inside (Tyler Galpin x Addams!reader)

Sequel to Monster Like Me

Word Count: 5170 Reader Insert: she/her pronouns Warnings: mentions of prison treatment, self-hate, a gun, hanging, active murder scene, and (obviously) SPOILERS for Tim Burton's Wednesday tv show on Netflix. Note: NOT A TYPICAL HAPPY ENDING

Since their first encounter, (y/n) has found herself visiting Tyler more often than she would like to admit. The past twelve months have seen the two draw closer as they try to heal old wounds. But just when there seems to be a light at the very dark tunnel they both crawl through, a threat on Tyler's life forces (y/n) to choose whether to let justice reign... or embrace the monster inside.

Welp... guess I have to eat my own words because we're here now. That being said, thanks for the support on the first piece, people. I do appreciate all the love and nice comments and so this is for you since I can't get this story out of my head!

The snow crunches underfoot as they walk their daily route around the prison exterior.

It became regular every time she came to visit for them to go on walks. They had picked up the routine six months ago when the prison stopped putting him in straight jackets and the resident therapist suggested gentle exercise would do him some good.

When (y/n) had first heard the news, she hadn't hesitated to drag him outside to feel the summer sun on his skin. She would never forget the look that had blossomed on Tyler's face when he had stepped outside for the first time in who knew how long. It wasn't exact joy, more of an awestruck disbelief. Like a dream he never thought would come true.

Perhaps it was that very look that had been engrained in her brain from that day on that drew her back more often. Six months after her first visit she only returned twice: the first time was two months after, being her scheduled check-in with the boy for clinical reasons, the second a special request from Sheriff Galpin himself. But after six months, after that summer day, she found herself visiting more and more until she came by the prison once a week.

Every Thursday she booked off to visit. Although, (y/n) couldn't exactly deny it was just for professional reasons anymore.

'I think the weather has finally had enough of seeing our faces,' he says, his breathy laugh floating like a ghost past his flushed lips. His cheeks bleed a demure scarlet.

'On the contrary,' she counters, her eyes wandering across the white landscape surrounding them, 'I think it's rewarding us.'

'How so?'

'Don't you see it?' She gestures with her arms to the snow that blankets the ground, that nestles in the tree tops, that glistens in individual flecks off the remaining leaves. 'It's beautiful.'

Tyler huffs, only sparing the view a moment of his warm gaze before it returns to her, charming smile stretching his lips. 'Guess I hadn't noticed with you being beside me.'

Her cheeks flush. He's still got it.

The flirting wasn't a new concept to either of them. Between their snarky banter and clinical catch ups, they always managed to sneak in a comment or two that had the other blushing. It was like some sort of competition: who could rile the other up so much that they get turned on first?

But it was always something that appealed to their dark humour. Recently, though, the comments had become... sweet, nice even.

The worst part, however - the part that had her truly sick to the stomach - was how genuine he sounded. How she sounded in return.

Her gaze locks with his. Hell help her, no wonder even Wednesday fell for him for just a moment. His eyes, his hair, his voice...

He was intoxicating.

'Achoo!'

The sudden sneeze shatters the bubble the two had formed, forcing them to stop in their tracks and drawing their attention to the accompanying guard that walks twenty-odd metres behind them. It is the same guard that has accompanied them since they insisted on walking outside the prison yard. He looks elsewhere, rubbing his nose with the sleeve of his coat casually. Despite his relaxed demeanour, (y/n) knows a gun hides within the giant pocket of his coat, ready to draw if Tyler tries anything.

There once was a time I was willing to pull a gun on him. In some sense, she still is. A gun (approved by the prison) lays in her own coat pocket right now. But things have changed. She is not so certain that she would be able to do it with as little hesitation as she once had, with as little guilt and regret.

Tyler pulls at the collar of his orange jumpsuit that is tucked under a tattered trench coat lent by the prison. More specifically, he pulls at the black shock collar strapped to his neck - the new substitute to the constant gene-repressant drugs since he has been on 'good behaviour' according to the prison warden and therapist.

'Might as well be summer with this thing on,' he says, his tone betraying a bitterness (y/n) had come to associate with the boy. 'Darn thing gives a whole new meaning to being hot under the collar.'

'Oh, don't lie,' she scolds. 'You're practically a Smurf you're that blue.'

'It's called the Prison Look, where orange and blue are the new black.'

Despite the dark meaning, an amused smirk twitches at her lips at the joke. But his shivering form prompts her to unravel the white scarf that warms her neck without a second thought.

'Here,' she says gently, raising herself onto her tippy toes to reach behind Tyler once, twice, then tug and tuck the reminder of the scarf into the top of his jumpsuit. For good measure, she tugs the tattered jacket as much as possible over the jumpsuit, as if to trap as much warmth as she could inside.

'There,' she breathes out, looking up at him once more. 'Now you won't freeze to death before they declare you fit to return to society.'

His eyes glow under the winter sun much like a fireplace. She senes his awe, his wonder as he scans her with those eyes. But she also senses uncertainty, doubt.

'I wouldn't waste your breath,' he mutters. 'I've spent six years here now, and not once have they indicated at potentially releasing me.'

'Because up until now you haven't given them a reason to consider it.'

'Well maybe that's because I never had a reason to consider it.'

The way he looks at her now, she swears he can hear her erratic heartbeat with his heightened hearing thanks to his Hyde heritage. His sadness and pain threatens to consume her, and she is oh so tempted to take it all away like he had begged for almost every time she visited.

Another emotion stops her, though. Between the sadness and pain, she senses a glimmer of light. And as she looks in his eyes now, she sees it.

Hope.

(Y/n) forces herself to breathe, to steady herself before she speaks again, not knowing where this conversation is heading. 'So you have a reason now?'

He doesn't reply straight away. Instead, his gaze flickers down to her lips then back up. It was only a second, but the movement has her breath hitching as he some steps closer to her.

Chest to chest. Heart to heart.

'Maybe,' he whispers, his words taking shape in the form of warm mist that grazes her lips. Like the first time she got this close to him, back in the interrogation room with only a gun between them, she finds herself wanting to lean in more to him, desperate to feel warmth, but more importantly his warmth.

'You really think I can ever go back?' he asks, and the desperate plea in his voice is so genuine and hopeful it threatens to break her heart.

Based on his past actions alone, absolutely not. Nothing would ever be the same as it was back then. But many nights (y/n) had dreamed of Tyler, of him being released and starting over somewhere else.

Some nights she dreamed he would take her with him.

Wednesday scolded her any time she brought up Tyler in casual conversation, saying, 'You'll surely regret ever involving yourself with him.'

She knows he is trouble, that he still doesn't regret what he did no matter how sick it was. But that same sick, twisted part inside her couldn't find it in herself to care.

'Maybe,' she finds herself repeating, because she doesn't want to see his hope die in his all-consuming eyes. 'You're a good person, Tyler. It would be a shame to see you waste away because of someone else's choices.'

'A waste for who exactly ? Society? Or you?'

Before she can answer, an alarm pings inside her coat pocket. She waits a breath, thinking it is just her imagination. But when it goes off again, she forces herself to step away from Tyler - to let go of Tyler - and retrieve her phone from her pocket.

It is the timer she sets for an hour every time she comes. Time truly does fly when you're... occupied, I guess.

'Time's up?' Tyler asks, though he knows what the alarm means by now.

She nods, turning around to call to the guard. 'Ready when you are.'

He nods in reply, silently walking up to them to lead them back to the prison. Before he reaches them though, Tyler flashes (y/n) a sad smile.

'Guess I'll see you next week?' he asks, his voice a mixture of light amusement and hope.

The moment between them has passed, and who knows if she'll ever get it back. But (y/n) finds herself smiling in reply. 'Aw, you going to miss me or something?'

'You know I will. You're the only monster like me I know.'

~~~

(Y/n) cannot drive to the prison fast enough.

A week has passed since their walk in the snow and she can no longer deny her excitement she feels with every impending visit. But this morning she received a call from a certain Sheriff Galpin that melted her mind into irrationality.

She doesn't bother correcting her park as she pulls up to the entrance of the door, nor does she bother locking the car, for she is already racing into the foyer.

'Where is he?' she declares as she enters.

A guard immediately stops her as she attempts to pass through the declaration zone. 'Ma'am, you need to go through standard procedures before you are allowed through.'

'You have no right to do this to him. No right!'

'What is going on?' It is the warden. He's a tough and burly-looking fellow, his stature emphasised more so by the petite figure of the prison therapist that follows behind him, her heels clacking against the tiled floor.

(Y/n) turns to him, fury coursing through her like wildfire. 'That's a question I should be asking you. What is going on with Tyler?'

He releases an exhausted sigh, but she senses no regret or guilt from him as he says, 'So you heard. Sheriff Galpin, no doubt.'

She nods, and it takes all her self control to not punch his pudgy face in. 'He's so close, sir. I respectfully ask that you rethink this course of action.'

'I'm sorry Miss Addams, but it's not my call. The higher ups still consider him a danger that needs to be stopped.'

'He hasn't turned, let alone hurt anyone, in six years! He hasn't done anything to warrant your distrust.'

'And in those six years he also hasn't done anything to warrant our trust, either.' It is the therapist this time, her clipped words clinical and heartless. 'I'm sorry, but his lack in progress is unsettling, and I'm afraid he cannot be saved.'

(Y/n) cannot believe what she is hearing. Each word they speak breaks her heart a little bit more than she liked to admit. 'So you would subject a 22-year-old boy to be executed like some medieval criminal?'

When Sheriff Galpin called her saying Tyler was to be hanged today, she never could've expected the panic and terror that floods her entire being now, that turned her veins icy and halted her heart for only a moment.

She knew from the start that this would always be Tyler's end. Even as they drew closer and she hoped beyond hope that it wouldn't happen. But she should've known better, even as her judgement had been clouded by emotions.

She should've known that monsters don't get happy endings.

(Y/n) turns her blazing gaze upon the therapist. 'And you're one to talk. Isn't it your job to help people like him? To fight for every life?'

The therapist smiles sadly at her, her calm demeanour angering (y/n) more. 'You don't need to feel guilty for him, (y/n). We both did our best. Some people just don't want to be saved.'

'Miss Addams,' the warden stepped back in, 'it is not our decision to make. I am simply following orders.'

Furious tears threaten to sizzle down her cheeks as she looks between the two. Logically, morally, what they are talking about doing is right. The clinical, factual side of her is partial to those demise.

And who doesn't love a good hanging?

The hollowness behind the clinical facade, however, is so strong that she feels as if she is being torn in two. But she is surrounded, she is the minority in this majorly wrong operation.

She sucks in a deep breath, blinking rapidly to force the tears away. 'Of course. But... can you show me to him? Perhaps the thought of death row will make him see some sense. I'm sure his dad would appreciate that closure.'

The warden contemplates her for a moment. She doesn't look away from his scrutinising gaze. She doesn't even blink. My sister and I are more alike than I thought.

A moment later, the warden sighs in defeat. 'Of course, Miss Addams. If you'd care to follow me...'

The walk to the yard is blurry, (y/n)'s mind numb with defeat. When they finally reach the open area, the sight of the huge hanging platform doesn't bring her the joy she thought her first official hanging would bring.

The ones she and Wednesday subjected their dolls to as children don't count.

Instead, she resists calling his name when she sees Tyler being lead towards the stairs that will lead him to the platform. Which will lead him to his imminent death.

'Hey!' The warden holds a hand that tells the guards to stop. When they do, he turns back to (y/n). 'You have two minutes.'

She nods her thanks before jogging over to Tyler, the guards escorting him taking a few steps away to give them some privacy.

'Hey,' she says.

'Hey,' he replies, lips twitching with the itch of a smile though his eyes don't reflect such casualness. They are almost as dead as the day she first visited him a year ago. No fireplace warmth to take away the sting of Winter's cool breath blowing through the yard, through her clothes.

She doesn't know where to begin. For a year, she has stood by this boy. For a year, he has shown that he is still the kind and loving boy she first met all those years ago. For a year, she has spent her time and attention and - dare she say it - heart to heal this boy, only to realise somewhere along the way he was helping her heal too.

And now he will be slaughtered like some farm animal.

For a girl who prides herself on her eloquent and succinct way of speaking - how her tongue was more like a rapier, and wielded words with deathly precision - she now finds herself in the most discombobulating situation where she cannot speak her mind.

'I just heard this morning,' she says, the words coming out strained like she just ran a marathon. 'I came as quickly as I could. I... I...'

'It's okay,' he offers, noting her struggle for the right words. 'Honestly, I didn't expect you would come.'

Her brows scrunch with confusion. 'Why wouldn't I come? It's the day I always come.'

He shrugs, causing the chains on his wrists to rattle ever so slightly. 'Don't know. I guess... If my own dad wasn't going to come to my hanging, then why would you?'

It is the genuine tone of his inquiry that makes the statement all the more heart breaking. He is almost nonchalant about it all, his face a rigid portrait of nothing. Void of emotion, his exterior is the perfect deflection of the deeply hurtful emotions that lurk in the shadowed parts of his heart.

(Y/n) tries to remain relaxed in the face, cool and collected in her stature. But when she speaks, her words are tighter than she intends. 'But I am here,' she finds herself saying, stepping closer to him and placing her hands on his. As if her presence alone isn't enough to convince him of the reality that she truly is there, standing by him.

His hands are ice under hers. Perhaps that is why he takes in a sharp breath before huffing out a quiet chuckle. It isn't joyous, nor sad. It is a melancholic sound that echoes in her heart in a way she doesn't appreciate.

'You are certainly one of a kind, (y/n) Addams,' he says, and it relieves her to see some life return to his chestnut eyes. 'And seeing as I'm now on death row, I see it only fitting that I tell you my one regret in this miserable, horrible, bleak life.

She cannot help but roll her eyes. 'Oh don't be so dramatic. Don't tell me now, of all times, you have grown a conscience.'

'Come on, I'm trying to be serious for once, Addams. Can't you let me have this one?'

She wants to playfully argue more, wanting to draw out these two minutes as much as possible, but can't find the words to do just that. So instead, she breathes out a shaky laugh and concedes her loss with a nod.

'Fine. What is it?'

The chains rattle again as he reaches into one of the pockets in his jumpsuit, his hands rifling around for a second before pulling back out. As one hand clenches tightly around something when he is finished, he uses the other one to pull her own hands out in front of her. A conglomeration of emotions shoot through her every fibre as his fingers brush her palms, gently open and letting the small object float softly into her awaiting hands.

It's a small square piece of paper, with white on one side and on the other side-

No. Not a piece of paper.

(Y/n) recognises the object now. It's a photograph. Of the two of them. Well, sort of.

The image itself is blurry, like the photo had been taken while in motion. Usually an image like this would make her cringe, having spent countless hours researching and practicing and taking notes on taking the perfect shot. This photo disregards all the rules and formats of proper photography.

Despite the poor quality of it, the smiles both her and Tyler wear are clear as day. She remembers the day it was taken. It was about six months ago back at the beginning of summer when she had brought in her camera because why not, and Tyler had managed to steal it from her bag without her looking.

The picture captures the moment she had realised and had tried to tackle the camera from his grasp but he would not relent. Somewhere in the chaos of it all the picture had been taken. After taking her camera home and looking through her photos, seeing that one in particular brought an unfamiliar yet familiar feeling into her heart. She didn't know what it was, but she knew she wanted Tyler to have the photo. So the next visit came, and she gave Tyler the photo.

She hates how her throat constricts at the sight of the photo once more, how she feels herself slightly shaking at the thought that he kept it all these months, right there with him.

'That I couldn't give you more moments like this,' he mutters so deathly quiet (y/n) thinks for a moment she imagined it. 'After all, there are not many monsters like us in this world. Perhaps if I hadn't been so pre-occupied with Wednesday, with all that drama back then... perhaps things would've been different for us.'

It confuses her when a water droplet plonks onto the picture in her hands. Until she raises a hand to her face and feels a wet trail from her eye run down her cheek and chin and realises that it is a tear.

She is crying.

The last time she cried was six years ago when Wednesday battled Crackstone at Nevermore and somehow came out of it alive.

(Y/n) finally looks up at Tyler to find a similar mixture of shock and confusion on his own face, probably also not expecting her sudden reaction.

She's aware they have no time left, so she swallows the threat of more tears and nods in agreement. 'Yes. Yes, I believe they would've.'

Footsteps draw closer to them, and suddenly Tyler is being taken up the stairs of the platform to be fitted with the noose. (Y/n) looks up but isn't really watching, her mind racing with thoughts, her heart thumping too loudly and with too many emotions. What she wouldn't give to feel someone else's emotions right now.

It is true what they say: the quiet ones usually are the ones that feel the most.

She watches as the noose is fitted around Tyler's neck, how the executioner hides behind a black cloth so he remains an unnameable murderer who kills in the name of justice.

Justice. She used to believe in justice. It is why she agreed to help Tyler in the first place. It is why she didn't argue about Tyler's treatment at the prison for so long. But where had it gotten him? No trial, and an unfair execution of life.

'I truly am sorry, Miss Addams.' (Y/n) hadn't noticed the warden come up beside her, the therapist in tow. 'But people like him... well, people like him just can't be saved.' They look up at the platform too, but now she looks at them, irritation morphing her features.

'He didn't even get a fair trial,' she mutters, because that is all she can manage without screaming. 'Sounds like you didn't want to save him rather than the other way around.'

The warden huffs but doesn't spare her another look. 'Look, if you think a psychotic monster with no regrets about killing can be saved, then you're just as crazy as he is.'

His words aren't meant to mean much; a simple, blanket statement at best. But there rings a bell of truth in them that flips a switch inside (y/n). Like when one turns off the lights of their house to go to sleep, all thought and feeling disappeared, leaving a void of darkness of hollowness.

With the light gone, there's nothing stopping the monster inside from coming out to play.

She turns her head with a cool grace to look upon the platform. The executioner is ready to pull the lever, Tyler is set to fall. On the warden's call, it will all go to hell.

(Y/n)'s hand slips into her coat pocket, fingers folding around the desired item like it was made for her hands alone. 'You know what, warden?' she says, voice as steady as her grip.

'What?'

'I think you might be right.'

A gunshot rings through the yard before he can say the word, and another follows close behind. The warden and executioner both hit the ground simultaneously, identical shots in their heads.

The therapist screams but is cut off as (y/n) fires another bullet and finds its target too. The surrounding guards of the yard run towards her, their stunned hands fumbling with the guns they never thought they would have to use that are stuck in their holsters. But she clocked them all the moment she stepped into the space, and she is pulling the trigger faster than they can call for help.

Fifteen seconds. That is all it takes before the yard is quiet once more.

The void suddenly closes up, and the lights inside her turn back on. A tightness constricts her chest like a python constricts its prey. Ever so slowly, her heart aches more and more at the horror around her, the horror she brought upon them all.

I turned it off. The realisation is both terrifying and exhilarating, fuelling her with a kick of adrenaline that spurs her towards the platform stairs and up them. She finds Tyler's face in front of hers before she can fully comprehend what she is doing.

'(Y/n),' Tyler says, his eyes wild and cloudy - a reflection of the confusion and shock she senses from him. 'What are you-'

'We don't have much time,' she says, bending down to the executioner to fish through his pockets. She eventually finds a set of keys and returns to Tyler to work on his wrist and ankle shackles. By a miracle, the key fit the key hole of the shock collar around his neck, too. It makes a heavy thudding noise as it hits the wooden platform. Once he is free, she throws the noose off his neck and pulls him off the trap door. 'Other guards will have heard the gunshots by now. We've got to move.'

'Wait.' Tyler's grip on her forearm is both strong but gentle, firm but comforting. His eyes search hers, however, much like a bloodhound, his gaze insistent and headstrong. 'Care to explain what happened just now?'

'Tyler, we don't have time for this.'

'Fine, let me rephrase: Tell me what in the hell just happened, Addams.'

She looks frantically around. No guards yet, but she knows they will be there soon. But when she looks back at Tyler, she cannot find it in her to deny his eyes.

'I turned it off,' she says so quietly it is almost a whisper. 'I turned my humanity off... and on again.'

Tyler looks her up and down, his face relaxing with shock and surprise and something else she can't quite put her finger on. 'I thought you said you couldn't do that.'

'I couldn't... until now.'

'How, then? Why?'

'Seriously, Tyler? Can't we talk when I get you out of the prison?'

'Wait, slow down. You're breaking me out?'

She rolls her eyes. Her patience is wearing thin. And so is their time. 'Damn, I would've thought me killing a bunch of people then breaking you out of chains would've been a big enough sign, but I guess not.'

'But why, Addams? Why didn't you let me d-'

'Because I love you, damnit!'

The silence that stretches between them is weighted with the echo of her words, bouncing off the walls and tiles of the yard and coming straight back to them. Only their heavy breaths from their heaving chests breaks up its monotony.

Tyler swallows thickly, his voice tight with an invisible restraint. 'You what?'

She clenches her jaw with a force so strong she might've broken her teeth had she not opened her mouth to reply. 'I know I shouldn't... but I couldn't let you die, Tyler. Not when I know you're good deep, deep inside. Not when you've worked so hard for a second chance. Not when I still needed to say that I love you.'

Her gaze falls from Tyler's prying eyes over the edge of the platform. Pools of blood bloom around each corpse's head, and from the angle and height she stands from, the whole thing looks like a painting.

It is a sick and twisted outlook, but one that she cannot help but relish in knowing this is all wrong wrong wrong. She knows her humanity is back on because she can feel. Tyler's shock, the confusion and panic of close by prisoners. She even senses the emptiness where emotions should've been in the corpses, their hearts still and their souls long gone.

But among all the emotions she feels, cannot find it in herself to feel sorry for any of it.

'I never thought I'd fall for anyone,' she continues, turning back to Tyler. 'Let alone you of all people.'

Something shifts in Tyler's demeanour as they lock eyes. His gaze darkens as he steps closer, and she senses another emotion festering inside him. This time, however, she knows what it is. It is the same emotion she's been feeling for a while now unknowingly. But she recognises it all the same.

Want. All-consuming and disorienting and intoxicating want.

'And who am I? To you?' His breath fans her face he is so close, his voice sultry and promising danger. But despite the lights, the monster is inside the house now. And it lives for danger.

'A monster like me,' she breathes out before Tyler grabs the back of her head and slants their lips over one another.

A primal hunger courses through her every nerve as she grabs at him, her hands not seeming to pull him close enough despite how their bodies fit together like puzzle pieces. The taste of mint and fresh air taints her lips as she tries to devour him, her hunger for him insatiable. She senses the feeling is mutual as he kisses her with just as much fervour and want.

His hands in her hair and down her back, his lips on hers, the groans and growls that escape him when she bites his lips. It is simply delectable.

But underneath the hunger and desire, there is a genuine passion that burns so intensely it pulls a squeak from (y/n). What they feel is true and raw and overwhelming right despite the wrong circumstances. A sense of relief and joy overwhelms her at the thought.

The door to her home has finally been opened to guests and she is just so happy to have a friend.

A monster like her no less.

When they pull apart, all she wants is to pull him back in for more. It doesn't help that his eyes burn with life again despite the lustful darkness that surrounds them. 'You are... full of surprises, (y/n).'

She can't help the small smile that twitches at her lips at the tone of surprise. 'As usual, you underestimate me, Tyler.'

'Something I will never do again.' He pulls her back in for another mind-numbing kiss, but this one is backed by relief and a gratitude that threatens to break (y/n)'s heart. When he pulls away, he keeps their foreheads touching, his panting breath hot against her cold skin. 'I never thought I'd find someone like me, someone with a monster inside them.'

'I guess fate works in mysterious ways.' Distant, muffled shouting echoes down the hallways that lead into the yard. (Y/n) pulls away from Tyler, her mind racing with plans on how to escape this place. Well, there is no going back now. 'Come on, lets get out of here.'

Soon enough the news will get out: Prison staff killed in monster breakout. She knows Wednesday will never forgive her. Her family will never forgive her. But she has never felt quite right playing the role of the good guy.

Perhaps she was always meant to play the villain. And with Tyler by her side, she finally feels at home.

The monster inside has been unleashed, and she has no plans on locking it up ever again.

[xiaowhore]

blinded by stardust.

premise. keep your friends close and your enemies closer.

word count. 973.

note. ridiculously self-indulgent. i just wanted to write some sexual tension between an assassin and their commissioned target, man.

“A great blade you have.”

Sharp, stretching to a curved edge. It gleams ominously in the moonlight, draped in cold silver. Gloved fingers wrap around the hilt, tracing the carved patterns, curiously smoothing over embedded diamonds. A twinkle of interest rests in his eyes, but the scimitar doesn’t hold his attention for long—his gaze shifts to your figure, pinned beneath his grip.

“Unfortunate you never got to use it.”

Contempt blemishes your otherwise fair face, twisting to a scornful expression directed solely at his irritable attitude. Ayato feels a flash of sadistic joy at that, but dissatisfaction rolls off him in waves at the way you worry your lip with your teeth.

“Not very keen on responding?” A thumb presses down on your mouth, brushing the swell of your lip. The snarky reply at the tip of your tongue dies the moment he applies more pressure to the blade ghosting over your neck, a firm weight that threatens to cut you open.

You try your best to suppress a shudder when it digs further to your skin, one stroke away from drawing blood. He revels in your panic, your pride crumbling to dust and burnt to ashes; glows in delight knowing you’re pliant at his mercy, rippling in every delicate touch.

(More than he should, probably.)

“You know, I was quite flattered,” Ayato begins, eyes darkening when you squirm in futile attempts to escape. “You kept approaching me, bright-eyed and eager just to exchange pleasantries. I was under the assumption you were interested.”

He sighs in solemn contemplation, dismayed by the turn of events. “Though it seems you were only after my neck. I'd say I have far more attractive qualities than that.”

His voice takes on a cheery lilt as he moves closer, the tips of his hair tickling your cheek. Stiffening, you turn away, but that only prompts him to tilt your face in his direction, the edge of the blade beneath your chin.

“No need to play coy with me,” he reassures, a kind smile gracing his features. “You were so bold to invite yourself to my room tonight, after all.”

You twitch.

“Pardon the intrusion, my lord,” your words come out firm, less shaky than you expected them to be, “but with the way your door was left wide open, I presumed visitors were welcome.”

“Mhm. I figured it would spare you the time to sneak inside,” Ayato answers, all too merry for someone who anticipated an assassination. “It did save you the trouble, didn’t it?”

You smother the urge to grimace and take on a wry simper, “Truthfully, it wasn’t much of help. I would’ve preferred if you remained obedient and slept the night away like you were supposed to.”

“Oh? I didn’t take you for the kind to go for defenseless men.”

“You don't have to worry about that.” Too smug for someone held at knifepoint, you drawl, “Scheming men aren’t my type.”

“That’s a shame then.” He has the gall to look disappointed. “You were mine.”

Unconvinced, a chuckle bubbles out of your throat. “So you’re saying you treat people you like this way?”

“Do you have a problem with it?” Ayato cocks his head to the side questioningly.

“Even for someone like you, I thought you would be a little nicer.”

He laughs at that, breathy and quiet, the faint gust of air tickling your ear when he leans further down to stroke your cheek tenderly. “Thoma always did say I have a bad personality.”

His hand travels south, pressing on the column of your throat. “I want to be kind to the person I like,” he whispers softly, like a confession you aren’t supposed to hear. “But you’re so cute I want to bully you some more.”

Psychotic bastard, you think as the scimitar hovers above your skin. This is beyond bullying.

“You thought something rude about me just now, didn’t you?”

You avert your eyes. “I didn’t.”

He laughs again, dubious. “I’m not sure if you’re aware,” Ayato comments, tracing the line of your chin, “but you’re so awful at lying it's almost impressive.”

Before you can retort back, he cuts in, “It makes me want to believe you weren’t deceiving me the entire time.”

You dig your nails into the rumpled sheets, the mattress sinking with his weight. Swallowing, you measure the remaining distance placed between you and the sharp edge, pondering his reluctance to end this farce.

“Don’t you remember?” He hums, a chipper tone lacing his words. Like reminiscing a fond memory. “You gave me muffins before. You made them yourself. You said you wanted to know what I thought of them.”

To your bewilderment, he sets aside the scimitar, gently laying it down the bed. It sits a safe distance away.

You can try to run. Your hands are free, and the only threat that kept you immobilized was the sword. Ayato would probably let you, even though you doubted the credibility of his self-proclaimed affections earlier.

You don’t.

You stay right where he wants you.

“We were alone. Nobody would’ve known you came by. I ate those muffins, knowing the risk.” His free hand settles on your waist, but you hardly notice when you’re too immersed in the intensity of his gaze. “But you didn’t poison them at all.”

He leans down. Closer.

“You should know best why it's advised to keep smaller weapons. You conceal them until the target is vulnerable. Yet you brought a scimitar.”

Closer.

“Like you were trying to get me to notice you.”

Until your nose brushes against his, your lips separated by a hair’s breadth.

“Even now, you don’t push me away. Like you want to be caught.”

His eyes burn like embers, a smoldering flame that sears your very being.

“Can you tell me why?”

You don’t know the answer either.

[firecatvariant]

Hi! I hope you're having a nice day!💓🌸

I was wondering if you could do a request on how the obey boys would react if mc has to be in a arranged/forced marriage back in the human realm and they feel a bit nervous going back home, especially since they have feelings for [said character].

You can do just the brothers if it too much

I love your work btw💗

Hi there! I super apologize for the length of time it took me to do your request, and I appreciate your patience! This is such a cute and angsty idea! I just wrote a couple of quick HC's about the situations, but this has such amazing potential to turn into ficlets! So I hope you'll stay tuned because I definitely want to try and explore this topic a little more. I hope you enjoy it!

Lucifer - Understands that it's your duty and responsibility, but secretly wishes you'd shirk it. He'd never tell you to do so though. - Since you didn't understand his true feelings about the situation, you were going to go through with it, until he ultimately shows up to stop it and declares his love for you. - Whisking you away back to the Devildom, you can't help but feel relieved, and happy that Lucifer loves you back.

Mammon - Actively thinks of ways to try and sabotage it. - Considers going into even more debt with the Witches, in order for them to conjure up something to stop it from happening. - Luckily, saving himself from debt (and probably embarrassment) the depth of your love for him has you decide to call the whole thing off to stay by his side. Levi - Is jealous. And even more so as he becomes closer to you. He doesn't want you to marry anyone else! - Considers going all Grand Admiral during your wedding day, and secretly fantasizes about summoning Lotan and whisking you away. Like in a crazy epic anime drama. - The day of your departure he finally summons up enough courage to beg you not to go through with it, to your joy and relief. Satan - At first is indifferent to the situation, but as time goes on and he falls more and more in love with you, he actively begins to think of ways to stop it. - Reads books on the legal ways you could get out of it, does research on magic spells that could help you get out of it (like altering people's memories). - In the end, will actively show up to call it off himself, proving to you how much he loves and cares about you, and can't stand the thought of losing you.

Asmo - Hates the whole idea and thinks you should just do whatever you want. - Tempts you to call the situation off as much as he possibly can. - When you do finally call it off, his happiness cannot be contained. Beel - Is just sad about it. Really cares about you, and only wants you to be happy. - Keeps asking you if you are ok, if you really want to go through with it, and his gentle questioning causes you to rethink. - When you do decide to call it off, he'll protect you from whatever fallback may happen. No one will dare try and give you grief with Beel by your side. Belphie - Passive-aggressive towards you once he finds out. - Will be bratty about the situation, making snarky comments but only because he hates the idea of losing you. - Once he realizes your feelings for him, he will actually get some motivation and actively stop it. Maybe by paying your ex-fiance a visit to politely tell them to call the wedding off. Diavolo - Actually thinks about starting a war between the realms in order to rescue you from the situation. - Thankfully, Lucifer and Babartos talk him out of that and suggest he just confess his feelings towards you and let you decide what to do. - Diavolo will make sure the other party is compensated for your loss. He'll do anything to keep you by his side. Barbatos - Thinks about altering reality. He could easily choose a timeline where you weren't engaged and could stay with him forever instead. - Is mostly quiet about the situation, but as the time for you to leave draws nearer, he asks you to truly think about what it is you really want. - Knowing the answer is to be with him rather than go through an arranged marriage, you call it off and stay with him. Simeon - Is upset, but knows there's really not much he can do about it. - But Simeon also has a way of making you rethink, and once you start falling for the handsome angel, you know you'd rather call it off so you can stay by his side. - Assures you you're doing the right thing by following your heart. Solomon - Wants to intervene with magic. - You know, turn your future intended into a frog, or place some sort of curse on them. Tbh, he could probably just cook for them and that'd be enough. - Luckily for him, your feelings for the sorcerer were conveyed and you decided to call it off, to his delight.

Masterlist

[leiawritesstories]

Give Me Wings

Rowaelin Month, Day 24: Missing scene from canon

Designing Aelin’s new tattoo in Kingdom of Ash because we deserve that. It got a little emotional...but so was their reunion...so......

Word count: 1304

Warnings: Emotions. Lots of them.

~~~~~

Every mark on his mate’s body had been erased--the scars from Endovier, from the years as Adarlan’s Assassin, the calluses, bruises, and bumps she’d earned during long hours of training, even the faint burn marks she carried from learning to control the wildfire that raged inside her veins. And her tattoos, the three scrolling lines of Old Language that told the story of how Aelin Ashryver Galathynius conquered the darkness that threatened her brightly burning existence.

The tattoos Rowan had poured his heart and soul into. Gone.

Aelin had barely spoken in the days since their reunion, the invisible scars Maeve had inflicted still too fresh, too deeply engraved. He watched her with Fenrys, the silent language they shared in the blinking of their eyes conveying so much more than speech. He watched how she curled against him in the nights, her eyes brimming with all the things she wanted to tell him but couldn’t yet bring herself to say. In the darkness of the night, Rowan gladly shared his body heat with Aelin, hoping his silence was comfort, hoping she could read the unspoken promise that whenever she was ready, he was there for her.

As they passed through the caves, guided by the Little Folk, Rowan sensed a spark of Aelin’s flame returning. When she mustered a smirk, an offhand snarky comment, his heart swelled with joy. And for the first time in months, a pulse of her own happiness slipped down the bond in response. It would take time, time they might be borrowing, before the queen of Terrasen was once again her fiery, sharp-tongued self, but she had started to move from the blackness of the past months into the hope of the future.

He knew some of it was for show, knew she was making herself smile and swagger and tease and lift Goldryn to stop the “fussing.” Yet he was more than happy to train with her on the small deck, to steal her focus for a few hours and keep her mind from falling into despondence. 

There were nights when she woke up in tears, shaking, always silent but always in pain. Those were the nights when she either burrowed closer into his side or quietly got up and curled against Fenrys in his wolf form. Rowan couldn’t hold anything against Fenrys; after all, he too had suffered at Maeve’s hand and if his presence could comfort Aelin, she deserved the companionship.

Every night after they’d exchanged rings in the treasure cave, Rowan kissed the obnoxiously large emerald on her left hand. To whatever end, Fireheart. Though she didn’t respond verbally, the tears that welled in her depthless turquoise eyes spoke more than words ever could. 

The night they saw stars, signaling they were almost at the end of the cave passages, Aelin produced a small, soft flame in her cupped hands. Rowan sat next to her, watching as she played with the flame, gradually expanding it into a sphere of flickering light that cast warmth around the whole small group. Ever so gently, he placed his hand on her back, offering support. I’m proud of you, Fireheart.

For the first time in too long, she responded. To whatever end, Rowan.

To whatever end, my queen.

Later, as everyone was drifting off to sleep, Rowan slipped paper and charcoal out of his pack. Knowing Aelin was still awake, he brushed a hand down her back. She rolled over. 

“What’s that for?”

Seating himself next to her, he spread out the page, revealing Old Language symbols sprawled haphazardly across part of the paper. “This is your story.”

“Is that…is that your sketch of my tattoo?”

“Yes.”

She looked at him, tears pooling in her eyes. “Rowan, it’s gone.”

“I know, Fireheart. I know.”

“She rutting stole it from me. My tattoo. My link to you.”

“You’ll always have a link to me, Aelin.” He touched his heart. “Here.”

Aelin twisted her ring around her finger. “Rowan?”

“Hmm?”

“Would you tattoo me again?”

“Of course,” he breathed, “of course I would.”

A soft smile crept across her face. “I want a hawk. A buzzard, just like you.”

“Aelin--”

“I’m serious, buzzard. Like this.” Taking the charcoal, she traced a series of swooping curves onto the page. “Look. This shape, Rowan.” She cast a soft golden light over the paper.

Rowan gazed at the design she’d created, a set of hawklike wings with three longer lines, like rays of light, underneath. “It’s gorgeous, Fireheart. May I?” He held out his hand, and she gave him the charcoal. Carefully, he added a light curve linking the three rays and a Terrasen knot above them. “What do you think?”

Tears dripped down her cheeks. “I love it. I love you. How soon can I wear it?”

“I need a few days to work out the script, but we can start the process in about four days, I think.”

“What are you writing this time?”

“Your story.”

“I want you in it.”

He blinked. “What?”

“You are part of my story, Rowan Whitethorn. Put us in my tattoo. Tell my story, yes, tell all of it. Sam, Endovier, Adarlan, Doranelle, our bond, everything. I want it all.”

Rowan swept away the tear before Aelin could see it. “Of course, Fireheart,” he managed, his voice husky with emotion.

Aelin picked up the charcoal again and sketched an elegant symbol onto the page. 

“What’s that one?”

She smiled. “The Wyrdmark for home.”

~

Every free moment he had, Rowan worked at the tattoo, filling Aelin’s graceful lines with Old Language script. As promised, he told her whole story, the tale of a young princess who loved her kingdom and the Fae prince who loved her. He labored over each character of the ancient Fae calligraphy, rendering every word precisely.

All the better to intertwine Wyrdmarks with the Old Language.

The home mark Aelin drew for him…it made him wonder if she knew his plan to include a centuries-old spell in her tattoo. He’d discovered, while combing through Aelin’s extensive library of Wyrdmark books and scrolls, a series of marks that could act as a map between mates. It was a simple enough line of markings, and as long as they were all in the same line, it didn’t matter what else wove around them. 

So he sketched the chain of Wyrdmarks across the wings of his mate’s tattoo, one mark in each feather, to let her fly home.

After four days of careful sketching, Rowan had a finished design. He took the design, his tools, and ink to Aelin’s tent when they camped for the night and tapped on the post. 

“Aelin?”

“Come in.”

She was perched on her cot when he entered, a map of Erilea spread on her lap. 

“Is that the design, Rowan?”

“Yes, yes it is. It’s finished. I wanted you to see it before agreeing to have it inked onto you forever.”

She scanned the page, tears springing to her eyes. “It’s perfect.” 

“Where are we drawing it, Fireheart?”

“On my back, of course. Wings across my shoulder blades.” 

Rowan nodded slowly. “Are you ready?”

Aelin folded up the map, pulled her cot into the center of her tent, and spread an old sheet over the top of it. “I am.” 

“Shift for me, my love. It’s better to tattoo you in your Fae form because of the salt and iron in the ink. And you heal faster in a Fae body.”

Aelin closed her eyes and breathed deeply.

I believe in you, Fireheart.

She inhaled a steadying breath. And shifted.

I love you too, Rowan.

The smile he gave her flooded her heart with joy. “We’ll do the wings today; the rest either tomorrow or the day after.”

Aelin pulled her shirt off and lay facedown on the cot. “Then give me wings, carranam.”

~~~~~~~~~~

In case anyone wanted to see my concept of Aelin’s tattoo:

https://leiawritesstories.tumblr.com/post/663357987153379328/in-case-anyone-was-wondering-what-my-concept-of

[ficsnroses]

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐞 - 𝐉𝐨𝐡𝐧𝐧𝐲 𝐒𝐢𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐅𝐚𝐧𝐟𝐢𝐜

Johnny Silverhand x fem!V

summary : V loses her virginity to johnny, although he’s hesitant at first. requested!

warnings : a soft johnny. fluff, angst, rough smut. oral sex. 6k words.

notes : hope you like it! I’m a little nervous about this one so please be kind. feedback and comments so so appreciated, and much needed after a long day of writing this. enjoy!

Maybe paradise was real.

Them, this way, his lips molten onto hers, limbs mindlessly tangled as they drink each other in.

The folds of her apartment lay quiet, the sound of tongues meddling, his tender suck to her bottom lip; his breath is warm when he chuckles against her ear, fingers pausing their draw over her hips.

Something about the way his lips curved slowly against hers when he smiles; something about hearing him joy more frequently as of late, causes a sputter in her heart. “I could kiss you forever.” A hoarse whisper falls, palms of his hands skimming her clothed hips, dipping suggestively, trailing closer to her bottom by the second. To her thigh, she’d swore the swell of an erection grows into her skin; their kiss had been more heated tonight, their grasps of each other’s skin far more fevering.

Somewhere along blurred lines, a fondness simmered in their veins. A companionship, a friendship.

A friendship blossomed, something mirroring a fire; something that made his voice feel warm, hers so honeyed, even the so called narcissistic shell of a man that used to be, had begun to feel warm, tingling on the inside when their skin touched.

Tired evenings often ended this way as of late, since this bond between them bloomed. Them, this way, his lips molten onto hers, limbs mindlessly tangled as they drink each other in.

They’d end this way almost each day, however, what seemed to be brewing between them tonight, had never happen before.

They hadn’t gone all the way yet.

A long burns between them tonight, her body yearns to be one with his; she longs for something physical to satiate relief, something physical to match the care, the love she feels for him.

He’d felt it too. The feelings that grew inside him for her were something he’d yet to feel for someone prior. Reborn, from death and ash, he’d forgotten how good it felt to melt into someone, to touch someone in that special way. Johnny presses himself to her, laid on the bed underneath him, their lips still working together in a symphony. She tastes sweet and subtle, breathy sighs escape plump, parted lips.

Groaning into her mouth, Johnny reacts to her touch, lazy, soft fingers grazing his hardened shaft through his brown leather pants, she skims his midsection, eliciting a soft shudder when her tongue glazes his, Johnny’s inquisitive fingers dipping into the hem of her shirt when he could wait no longer. “In a hurry, huh?” He smirks, snarky tone prompting a roll of her eyes to his words. She’d come to adore his casual remarks, those sarcastic undertones so true to Johnny.

She’d come to adore him. All of him.

Johnny watches her, sighing to the way his palms graze the firm skin of her breasts, nipples hardening for him under her shirt. He needed her. It had been too long since he’d been intimate, too long since he’d felt that special, incredible relief.

All seemed perfect, all seemed exactly the way it needed to be. Wispy fingers threaded through his hair, however, a pair of beautiful eyes dilate with something off tone. Something nervous, something unsure. He realizes the gleam in her eyes gone, his hand retracts out of her shirt in a slow realization. “Something wrong?” He asks, tone casual, relaxed.

She nods her head ‘no’, his cheek cupped in reassurance with a soft smile. “Not at all,” She confirms, bringing her left hand to place on his shoulder. “It’s just…I feel like you should know.” She begins, sincerely gazed to his coffee eyes. “I’ve never done this before, with anyone.” Johnny’s throat dries, and his eyes widen so slightly, the news a shock. “You’ll be my first.” She whispers, smiling still.

He eases out of her grip, her beckoning eyes causing an ache inside his heart.

He wanted this with her, so bad. So bad. But, he couldn’t.

He couldn’t.

His form moves, shifting to sit the edge of the bed, cotton silk sheets, quiet. She watches him, suddenly cautious, insecure to his abrupt retract.

Was she not good enough? Did he not feel the same way?

       Does he not want her, they way she wants him?

Her shift is slower, cautious hands moving slow to rest to a toned bicep. His skin is warm, so warm, she longs to be cuddled into his hold right this second, the same way they’d fallen asleep each night. “Johnny?” She calls, so soundless, he’d hardly caught the melancholy gloom in her whisper. His gaze is intent on the floor below, a noticeable tense to his muscles.

“I can’t do that to you, kid.” He speaks, gaze never flickering.

       Quiet.

      Emptiness.

Like an anchor; like the moon to the earth, she’d held onto him since their unlikely love began. Always longing, always desperate for the sign that maybe-

“I won’t do that to you, V. I’m not…I’m not what…” his voice is heavy, heavy with respire. “…you deserve.”

       -that maybe, he loves her too.

She didn’t expect her eyes to give out so quickly.

Tears brew, like a string being cut.

She moves slow, she moves wary. She grazes his skin, sinking to her knees in front of him. She doesn’t understand what she sees in his eyes. She’d known, she’d been the first to realize how much he’d changed. How he’d forgotten old ways, lived a truer, noble life this second time around.

The man who would once find himself in the arms of a new woman each night, was now, today, having trouble taking that special thing, that so valuable, cherished thing from the woman who means so much to him.

“Johnny,” She speaks, desperately trying to meet his gaze. Worn palms lay rested to his thighs, she takes hold of them, so gently, delicately. She draws a breath, her heart shudders in her chest. “Johnny, I-” the words seem so heavy in the moment. “You mean…you mean so much to me.” She whispers, assuring. In her hands, his stoic fingers feel thick, she’d sworn she could feel the blood rush his veins. Muscles tense, features loomed. “I want this with you.” She whispers, gripping the skin of his hand tighter. “There’s something between us, Johnny. You can’t deny it; we can’t ignore it. There’s no one else I’ve ever wanted this with.”

His eyes stay fixed to the floor, and her heart lingers. “Baby,” She whispers, pleading.

Their love was new. She’d never called him that before. “Please, look at me.” She asks, promising.

And to her plead, he stares her, hands encapsulated, her touch so warm it sends a shiver down his spine. He wanted this. He wanted this with her too, there was no denying it. And to a slow move of limb, Johnny lifts his hand from hers, a gentle finger pressed to her chin as he lifts it, gazing tenderly into those much familiar, beautiful eyes.

Outside, Night city bustles with life. Endless opportunity, beauty, chance. So much to see, so much to feel. Beauty bustles in the lively night skies, yet, they find themselves hidden from the world, in the quiet folds of her room. Into the eyes of her he stares; bustling, endless opportunity, endless beauty, endless chance.

       His perfect girl.

In a bed that was once exclusively hers, they lay. As of late, he’d been spending each night in the sheets, holding her.

Mocha eyes gaze her for a long moment- a firm, unnerving moment that makes her heart stammer. Expressions lay almost unreadable, stoic, reserved. Then, with an ease so natural, he lifts her laced fingers to his lips, ghosting them over her knuckles.

       Maybe paradise, was real.

“Tell me to stop.” Johnny whispers, bionic chill of his replica hand cupped to her cheek, a tenderness resides in his eyes, something she’d perhaps seen before; yet never this deep. The way his eyes lock to hers now, in the moment, in blissed anticipation of what they’d soon do together…

       she reaches for him too. She reaches, and she reaches, and she reaches. She grasps his skin; she offers tender strokes where she may. His breath falls tantalizingly warm to her lips, eyes fluttering shut when a human hand reaches for hers, lacing brittle fingers together.

Johnny frays to admit; the feelings she’s began to make him feel confuse him nonetheless. Johnny frays to admit, he adores the feeling of holding her hand in his. The weight of her smaller, delicate, softer hand in his callous palms.

His hands had held awful things. Guns, bombs, weapons, hatred. Yet now, they held her. And they’d swore, they’d hold her forever. Forever, and ever, if the universe would allow. “Please,” a gravelly slow seeps from his lips, eyes intent to hers, her hand in his grip with their bodies so proximate, her breath hitches. “Tell me to stop if you want to.”

Part of him still fears. Part of him still wonders if this would be right thing to do. If he deserved to take this part of her; if the raging narcissist, the demon, the animal inside him deserves to keep this part of her forever.

Deserves to take a part of his V, forever. His beautiful, kind, resilient V. Part of him still wonders, still ponders, whether that fragment of him had died for good.

Or if it had just gone to sleep. Sunk into a deep slumber, to keep his time with her good. To keep her from all the hurt, the fire, the blaze that brews inside him. To a soft sigh, his lips find her neck, leaving a few peppered kisses,

 Honey drips from his lips, honey brewed in her name. To the sight of her supple lips, he sighs. He thinks, he promises. He’d make this perfect for her, he’d give her the love, admiration she deserved. Johnny Silverhand knows, he knows all too well. This mountain of a woman, deserved so, so much. Much more than perhaps he would ever be able to give her.

To give her the world had been what he’d wanted. What he’d wanted, what he’d wanted…

       He’d wanted so much. and now, he wanted it all for her.

With a lax hand holding hers, the index of his spare glides into the waistband of her bottoms, dipped in with caution. As if waiting for an objection, assuring himself she was ready. Within seconds, Johnny’s lips trail further down her skin, the weight of his frame settled on top of her.

In the past, he’d waste no time in stripping a lover naked. Sex was quick, a burn to satiate relief. Yet with her, he moves slow, sure to confirm. “Can I?” He asks, thick fingertips on the hem of her shirt, whispering. She nods, wanting to surrender herself to him, all of herself.

Callous palms move to her breasts, carved to her chest in a swell so beautiful, a tingle jolts through his body in want. The touch alone flees a soft moan from her lips, the feel of him, the man she’d wanted for so, so long touching her, tenderly, intimately, in ways no one had touched her before; she sighs, to his mercy she succumbs. To his touch, she feels a certain vulnerability, a certain long she’d never sensed before. Nerves raise, breaths quicken. A fire burns in her belly, yet, fear had been far too distant to play factor.

She wasn’t scared. She wasn’t fearful. Perhaps it had been in the way his hand never let go of hers, the way kind fingers held hers with care, with respect. With their lips meddled, he tastes a certain sweetness to her pink stained lips; something so familiar, so V. Wispy fingers thread to his ravened mane, she hauls, drawing his body closer, a gentle knead to his scalp. They kiss, they kiss, and they kiss, they melt into each other, they sink into each other’s skin.

Her bottoms peel off in a husky draw, lip bitten when Johnny gazes to her searing heat, exposed for him, in a way no other man had seen her before. His head moves slow, lips paint over the supple skin of her figure, hands firm to her thighs as she watches, burning.

Within seconds, Johnny nestles himself between her silky legs, fingers gently spread to her folds. The chill of his bionic hand holds such force, such pleasure. Stoic, an inhumane hand it was, yet, it held a power that left shivers down her spine. “Fuck…” Johnny whispers, lips dangerously close to her throbbing heat. She finds herself cautious, insecure with his breath fanning her thighs; she’d never shown herself to anyone this way before. She’d never wanted to show herself to anyone, until him. “Beautiful,” Johnny praises, practically sputtering her cognizance into a pool of bliss, his deep baritone works a sear through her veins. “Is this okay?” He asks permission, making sure she was comfortable. A gentle nod sways, and her lip bites to the salacious view she’d been giving Johnny of everything, of all of her, of everything she’d never shown to any man before.

His lips trail tender kisses, specked to the insides of her thighs. Just a few, just enough to make her melt, just enough for her to fall in awe with all of him even further. Johnny’s hand reassuring holds her still, and she grips around him tighter, feeling a pool of heat burn between her legs. He trails closer, and closer, the smell of her sex sends him in a frenzy, each part of him rails to keep a hold on himself. To go slow, to give her the care and attention she needs.

The old Silverhand would have dove in. Assaulted a pretty cunt when he saw one. Left each pussy he ate whimpering for him after he’d been done.

Yet with her, he wanted to take it slow. Wanted to give her pleasure, in perhaps a more intimate way. Perhaps part of him already knew, he could feel it in his bones. Somewhere along frayed lines and reminiscences long gone, V had captured a part of him. A part that would perhaps always remain prisoner to her. A part that longed for her, a part that wanted to be hers, and only hers.

      Somewhere along the way, she’d become what he’d been fighting for.

       He’d fight for her till his last breath.

His mouth inches closer, sturdy fingers hold her folds. He spreads her petals just enough, just enough to place a feverish kiss to her sensitive pearl. Slow, tender, gentle, he licks a long stride, flattening his tongue with a mellow suck to her delectable clit. A quiet moan, a whimpering breath stings off her plump stained lips to the feel, the feel of Johnny making love to her cunt,

making music with his mouth.

Expertly, his tongue begins to lap her pussy, sending a pulse working her pleats, a wetness begins to grow, a need begins to thrive. Soft moans escape her lips, eyes fluttering shut to the feel of Johnny kissing gentle strokes delicately to her center. The sounds; oh the sounds. The sounds his lips let out, slicked with her releases building up turn her on further, the feeling of something so uniquely embroidered in bliss, something she’d never felt before. With a weary back arching into his touch, she feels a deep vibration melt from the pit of his mouth, a pulse of his moan into her womanhood, she feels his nose brush against her cunt, she feels lone, stray coffee hued locks feather light to her skin. Alternating between fast and slow flicks, Johnny devours her whole, the drip of his tongue blends with her slickness, a creamy cocktail of something they’d began to create together.

“Johnny..” She whimpers, quivering with a pull to his mane. “Johnny, Johnny…” His name falls, tumbles, paints a recite off her lips, a desperate remedy, a lost prayer. Feeble legs sprawl open further, his breath pants against her with each movement of his tongue. Stifling moans flood the air, nectar of her arousal builds further, much to Johnny’s joy.

She’d never taken a man before. She was untouched, pure. He’d chase to get her as wet as possible, enough to allow the thickness of his girth to glide easily through her haven.

He’d never want to hurt her. Even if during the deed, even if he knew it would be soon replaced by a pleasure so great, so delicate.

He’d seen her in pain before, and it had killed him. What died felt pain, even after death. Even after plunging into a soul killing sleep for half a century, the pain he felt seeing her hurt, hurt greater than the way his neurons scorched all those years ago.

He laps her creamy glisten, listening to the way she moans, shivers, shudders for him. Shocks of pleasure, a new pleasure char inside her, and to feel it coming from the man she longed to call hers intensifies tenfold. His thumb soothes gentle grazes over a relaxed palm, reminding her that he was there, with her, for her.

In perhaps more ways than just one.

He sucks longingly, he sucks sensitively, he sucks appreciatively, her whimpers delving her further into oblivion, her hands hold him with a squeeze so painfully tight, within seconds, she feels a wash of relief practically ascending her soul far out of reach, so far, with murals of him littering each crevice of her mind. An orgasm comes in blissful waves, toes curling, body tensing, figure falling limp complimented by an arch of her back when his hot breath on her pussy laps so generously, so skillfully. Johnny allows her to ride out her high against his lips, guiding her, licking tender strokes to her center, listening to the moans, the whimpers of his name. She whispers praise, she whispers pleading, as if he’d been a lifeline.

The moans, the yelps, the pants she breathes cause his cock to raise; raise tenderly to the thought of being buried inside her soon, to be nestled within the wet, warm, burrowed haven he’d just pleased.

A heavy gasp falls her lips, the feel of his fingers smoothing her palm create a realm of intimacy. Johnny’s skin on hers, him holding her, him making sure she was alright.

Exactly how she’d dreamed it.

Deliberate, firm hands plant to her hips, his body raising to a hover over her frame, coffee hued hair kissed to his forehead. His eyes hold a certain regard, something soft, something warm. Something that reminds him of the way, his world spun on every axis the day she first kissed him. Let him kiss her.

A soft kiss to her lips, a stroke to her hair. Johnny nestles close, so close their noses brush, and the hallow ache inside her chest batters. “We’ll go slow, okay?” He whispers, so quiet, so assuring, she’d sworn holding a steady breath seemed unruly. She nods, melting into a bruised palm when his hand cups her rosy cheek, a gentle kiss to her forehead. “I won’t hurt you.” A gravelly whisper catches her ears; Johnny’s deep baritone had always sent a reverberation ringing through her ears. “I promise; I’d never hurt you.” He speaks, holding her hand still, pledging. A sadness almost coats his eyes, something that begs, something that pleads she’d believe him. “I couldn’t, V.”

Her expression smoothed, and she smiles, tucking stray, lone hairs off his mane behind his ear. “I know.” V whispers, softly rubbing the soft skin under his eye, calming him. “I trust you.”

That drilled stare focuses on her for a moment longer, drowning in the feeling of being completely, unconditionally, accepted.

She trusts him. She believes him. Not many had done that before.

He merely nods, letting go her soft, perfect hand for a moment to discard a worn out tank off his body, dreary hands shifting to the cold zipper of his pants thereafter. In a swift motion, the fabric shielding his manhood from her gaze peels off, thrown to a pile of shambled pieces of their wear long forgotten to the floor below. Here, in her bed, so close to her skin, Johnny Silverhand lays a top her, bare, vulnerable, worn in nothing but his signature silver dog tags dangled around a bruised neck.

A gaze down, and her breath hitches.

Between their bodies, she catches sight of him. All of him, in his entirety. His girth, the channeled length makes her swallow. Surrounded in a dark bush, mirroring that of the charcoal on his head, a few throbbed veins conjure up the length of his shaft. A rosy, beautifully erect tip seeps lonesome dewdrops of arousal for her, thick balls hang behind what was most certainly, the most impressive cock she’d ever seen. His size causes her to swallow, his weight causes a sear to ignite in her mid. A thunderous erection weights, pokes to her stomach when large arms wrap around her like irons. His voice is soft; his voice is raspy. “We’ll stop if you want to, okay?” He tells, hand gently lacing with hers again, bringing it between them. “Tell me what feels good. I’m all yours tonight.”

The air seems to warm, and an overwhelming yearn for him to take her comes when his arms take hold of hers, guiding her them to rest to his broad shoulders. “Hold on to me, okay? Wanna feel you.” He whispers.

       Even Johnny Silverhand, craves intimacy.

She wants to be good for him. She wants to be everything he’d hoped for. Everything he’d craved.

With his cock sheathed in his palm, Johnny offers himself a few prepping strokes, sighing to the contact of his sensitive skin. With a slow move, he trails a painfully swollen tip over her glistening folds, rubbing her clit with his tender cock. In unison, she sighs to the feel of him merely touching her, she draws her fingers deeper into his skin, his body hauled closer, as if habitually. His breath is hot; his breath takes hers away. “Hey,” He whispers, brushing her bottom lip gently with a rough thumb. “You’re sure this is okay?” He asks confirmation, affectionately gazed into her pupils. “No going back once it happens.” His head falls, and she’d sworn the words he spoke next took a force to conjure. “You sure you want this…with me?”

And to them, her heart toils. It aches, it hurts.

Her stare is kind; it holds a plethora of love. “I do.” She whispers, a cusp to his cheek. Johnny knew, he knew well.

He’d wanted to make love to her from the moment their relationship turned to something more. Something more than prisoners, bound to each other. Something warmer than the fury they’d started in.

With his cock in hand, he lines himself up with her entrance, gaze shifted down to just where their bodies would soon meet. Within a moment, his hand rests to the tantalising curve of her hip as he so slowly sinks himself in, just a mere couple inches in, hissing at the divine tightness, the wetness that swallows his tip whole. She’s tight, she’s warm, she’s everything he needed, and more. With his thumb softly soothing over the skin of her hip where he holds her, his spare moves cup a soft cheek. “You okay, sweetheart?” He inquires, watching the way her eyes have clasped shut, and a minor grimace soaks her features. She nods, and she nods, adjusting to the stretch of him inside.

She’d never had anyone this way before, and his cock was a wonder, an art she’d need time to get used to.

She nods, signaling him to venture deeper.

Johnny’s hips sink, cock burying into her further, less than half his member curled inside her burning cunt. He’d moved slow, he’d moved cautious; a hold to her body assuring her he had her, that he was holding her, he was there for her. Yet, still, a soft wince, paired with an emitted gasp flees her lips at the searing sensation, his mammoth girth stretching her so far, so wide, she’d sworn pleasure seemed far too distant. “Tell me when.” Johnny soothes, velvety, rich. “You’re doing amazing, you feel amazing.” He comforts, placing lone, encouraging kisses to her cheek, her temples.

It burns. It stings.

Yet, she encourages him to sink deeper. Her fingernails sink into the flesh of his shoulders, and she feels the first perk of warm, scorching tears to her eyes. The burn overwhelms, the weight of his cock rests inside, sheathed almost entirely in. Johnny’s eyes observe her, feeling awful to the way he’d been making her sore; so sore, it causes a gentle frown to evade, curling her lips. With a soft motion, he pulls out slightly, awaiting her cue. His voice barely registers; she finds herself swallowing at the sear. “We don’t have to. We can wait.” Johnny whispers, sincerely, hand curling in her hair, a soothe to her scalp. The cold metal of his silver dog tags glides over the bare skin of her breasts, causing a shiver, goosebumps to erupt down her spine. “No,” She speaks, softly. “I’m okay. I promise.”

To the words, Johnny glides in further, softly, slowly, finally, beginning to roll his hips in a tender caution. His cock slips her walls seamlessly, the shallow, leisure thrusts allowing her to get used to his heaviness. With his jaw clenching to her feel, a tight moan bites to his lips, and he feels her clench around him, as if a glove, perfectly, exclusively mould just for him. Slow and gentle,

Slow and gentle,

Something warm builds inside her, something that replaces the scorch. With each roll now, copious balls rest to the folds of her core, his length entirely sinking in, hitting her end. She feels each inch, each ridge, each curve, each vein of her lover, pulsing around him. A wash of current drifts over her body, and finally, suddenly, pleasure powers over pain, the fades of him inside make her feel godly, unlike anything she’d felt before.

To be this close, this connected to someone, was a pleasure in itself. Something addicting, something that makes each nerve inside her tense.

Johnny sucks in a harsh breath, a groan of pleasure to the way her heavenly walls slick for him, encasing him so perfectly, a sigh of her name falls off his lips, teeth gritting to the feel of being with someone, after so long. To each slow thrust, her moans cage less and less, underneath him, she longs to moan his name, whimpering when his face finds refuge in the curve of her neck. “Johnny…” She whines, melting into him. “Johnny…”

Arms wrapping around his neck, she yelps when his hips pick up pace. “You…” He groans, watching the way a painfully erect cock glistens with her releases already. “You alright, sweetheart?” He asks, a delicate kiss to her lips, meddling, caging her soft, approving moans. With each heavy thrust, her sounds of ecstasy encourage him to fasten his pace, sinking in inch by inch. The ache inside her grows, moans proving imperative, yelping tenderly by the second.

“Fuck,” Johnny praises, eyes shutting to a relish of her salacious body, dewy skin shimmers under warm bedroom lights, feminine curves and a pussy that could send any man in a frenzy. Johnny’s thrusts roll slow still, at a leisured, sensual pace. Enough to test the waters, enough to make them feel as if the entire universe glowed just for them, in this moment. His name recites off her tongue as if a desperate prayer, nerves tingling, shivers gasping and rosy blush peppering her cheeks. “You feel…” Johnny shudders, clutching her body tighter. “You feel so good, princess.” With each movement, his entire length buries inside her, her sex strewn hair messily falls to a jumble over silk pillows, a sea of bedsheets rippled around them.

Her tears still flow, only now, they fall of pleasure, of all things good, of the heaven that swallows her whole to be loved so well, to be feeling every single inch of her lover inside.  It proves far too addicting, far too celestial as incoherent moans flood the room, their bodies jolting together with each jerk. His erection is stiff, she mewled to his pace each time he hits her g spot tenderly, tasting the salt of her honey drop tears brewing a sear on melting lips, he captures her moans in his thinner ones.

Until suddenly, to a halt, Johnny’s thrusts cease, the sound of skin slapping skin breaks, drowned by the sound of their quickened breaths and lust filled pants. She holds him close still, suddenly insecure of the way he’d stopped fucking her, dark thoughts of him not wanting this with her anymore clouding over. With a soft whisper, she wearily asks. “What happen? Was it not good-”

“No.” Johnny blurts, cupping her cheek with an intense gaze, a gentle smirk finding it’s way to breathless lips. “I haven’t had sex in 50 years, and you feel fucking amazing, sweetheart.” A gentle chuckle from his mouth, and a soft smile spreads her rosier ones. “Wanna last for you.” He speaks, quiet, brushing his thumb over the fragile skin of her bottom lip. “V,” He whispers, the smirk dropped, a more intense, inquiring set of expression coating his features. “Do you trust me?”

“Yes.” Was her whisper, so sure.

And to the confirmation, a set of stocky fingers trail down to her heat, the sheen of her milky arousal coating his fingers encouragingly. “Gonna make you feel so good,” Johnny spills, and she mewls, exasperated sighs swallowed thick to her throat, feeling Johnny massage her cunt so sinfully. With his spare hand accompanied to hers, he places her arms around his neck, a lust in his eyes so inviting. “I need you to hold on to me, okay?” A love woven kiss marks to her lips, her legs spreading for him further through a mindless nod, the feeling of Johnny’s hips beginning to rock into her at a steady pace once again. Bountiful breasts bounce to the rhythm of his pace on her chest, the swell of the flesh something that causes Johnny’s member to sting for her. His thrusts prove quicker, harder, faster with every jolt.

Now that his love was comfortable, the signature Silverhand charisma chimes, his ability to please like no other routing over.

Caged cries and whines rupture to each pound of his full base, thunderous cock now gliding effortlessly to their blend of releases meddling. With her limbs a distraught, squirming mess, she pleads, she begs to a shuddering quiver. “Don’t…don’t stop Johnny!” She whinges, tone stifling, figure jerking with each thrust as her pussy swallows him whole, tender to the feel. Throwing her head back, she whimpers under his expert touch when slick digits find her aching clit, a searing rub swirled to her tip. His pace proves imperative; Johnny had begun to fuck her senseless, offering strewn kisses and tender nips to her skin for comfort, assuring she was alright through the entire session.

He’d always stay true to his word; he’d never hurt her.

Ridged thrusts pour from the violent labour of his lips, the feel of him throbbing inside, slicking sounds of her honeyed dew blended with his thick arousal spill the room, causing them to melt further. Her legs tremble, she feels each nerve in her body threatening to snap watching the way his generous load exits her cunt fully each time before slamming back in repeatedly, over, and over, and over. A worn bedframe creaks below them, Johnny’s palms holding her so tight, pads of callous fingers sinking so desperately into her flesh, she’d sworn he’d leave bruises.

Albeit, she finds herself incapable to care.

His muscled skin sticks to hers, the smell of sex prominent around. Pushing as much of himself possible into her, he groans a rich exhale, breathless, rough. “Tighten up for me, darling” Johnny’s lips brew, and she follows as told, hot tears collecting to her cheeks when the curve of his cock hits her so perfectly, she cries a scream, holding him as if a lifeline. He fucks her so well, so intense, the raunchy sound of skin slapping skin and enticing whispers of praise causing a rhythm of drunk pleasure to cascade over. Ear-splitting moans fall, and smooth, silky legs wrap his waist as he continues to pound into her delectable pussy, eye contact now intense as they stare, drinking each other in.

Foreheads press, his lips shape her name.

Her breasts press into his chest, uncontrolled whimpers and a surge of creamy, hot arousal drips down her thighs, Johnny’s drilling pace stretches perfectly, and he groans needily in her neck, tone husky when he feels himself close to release. Cock twitching, he shudders when she buries her face in the crook of his neck, wailing, quivering, his hips colliding hastily with her aching pussy; its all too much, and with a particularity rough, lewd thrust, toes curl and she screams his name, gasping, holding toned biceps lifelessly as a gush of release triggers a forceful, dangerously intense orgasm.

An orgasm, given to her from the man she thinks she loves.

From the man who she wishes so desperately, she’ll never have to wish goodbye to.

From a man she fears, had begun to mean far too much to her. So much, she fears she’ll ruin, if he’s taken away from her. Within a few rigid, forceful thrusts, Johnny cums, channeling an animalistic pace to her core, a rhythm of hunger drunk pleasure imploring each inch of his body as he still deep, deep inside her pussy, spurting thick streams of sticky, glossing white seed into her.

“Johnny…I,” She whimpers, whispering, emotions intense in the moment. “I love you.”

       I love you. they hadn’t said those words to each other yet.

He hears, he catches the words. Off guard, so heavy. He only nods, cupping her cheek. He’d felt as if he didn’t deserve them. As if he’d be taking something away from her if she declared it.

       He nods. He slowly nods.

With his cock still sheathed inside, they take a moment to relish. To douse in the aftermath, skin sticking skin, bodies held close, panting, breathless. Only to an ache of his back, Johnny falls beside her, cock flaccid, coated with her releases, leaving what he’s left behind smeared, trickling to her thighs. His durable hold wastes no time, pulling her limp body close, secure in his arms with her head rest to his heaving chest.

She moves sore, he’d left her tender, delicate, aching. She knew she’d be reminded of him for days to come.

“I’m so proud of you.” Was his quiet sigh, pulling her close. “Was I too rough?” He whispers, a stroke to her hair, arms wrapped around her like irons again as she clings to his skin. A feather light kiss embeds to the top of her hair. She smiles, unchecked tears long gone, a muffled mess as stay hairs fall; her skin glistens with a post sex dew, a warmth she could get used to, as long as it would always come from him, and only him.

Tonight had proven, she didn’t want to be touched by anyone else.

A quiet falls around, breaths syncing. In the sheets, they hold close, a few moments pass of serene, before the deep vibrations of his chest surge. “Fuck me.” Johnny sighs, and she returns it with a soft giggle. “It’s been so long since I felt anything like that.”

“50 years.” She chortles, quietly, mellow, a soft kiss daubs to his bare chest as she pulls him closer in the aftermath. The way she clings to his chest causes his heart to ache.

“No,” Johnny recites, palms soothing up her arms. “No, V. I meant, so long since I did that with someone I gave a fuck about.” Melting, melting, she holds. “So long since sex meant something.” The whisper of his tone proves quiet, rich, and the movements of his chest lull her, his palm planting to the top of hers in a gentle hold.

       “I think I’m in love with you, V.”

It began with cold brown eyes, charcoal of a black messy mane, a sinful mouth that would someday make her ruin.

It ends, with him, skin touching, tender grasps and breathless sighs. Tired ‘I love you’s, and butterfly kisses.  

       Some stories begin with a whisper.

       Others begin with a shout.

Hers, began with him, and a promise he’d ruin her.

He lays here now, bleeding love with her, and she bleeds for him.

Red,

Red,

Red.

       She’ll love to crumble; she’ll love to unravel, with him.

“You’re it for me.” He whispers. “Always have been.”

➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴

My taglist will be posted in reblogs, let me know if you want to be added or removed! :)

[there-must-be-a-lock]

Constellations

Dean Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 1250

Warnings: Smut. Incredibly fluffy smut. 

A/N: For @deanwanddamons​ 2K Challenge! My quote was “I want to play a game.” Thanks so much for letting me join in on this, and congrats! 

Her fingers graze his skin, trailing up his shoulder blades, skating over the knobs of his spine, and Dean smiles into the pillow.  

“What’s the game today?” he asks sleepily. There’s no rhyme or reason to the touch that he can tell. Sometimes she traces words into his skin, spelling out secret messages just for him. Sometimes she tries to guess the stories behind the scars — she always kisses them afterward, sweet and reverent.

“Making constellations,” she answers. “Stay right where you are for a sec.”

“Don’t think I could move if I tried.” 

He loves this about her. She plays games and sees beauty in his skin, and she marvels at the tiny everyday wonders: freckles, sunsets, coffee. She always points out wildflowers on the side of the road. If they’re walking through the woods she’ll stop and turn over logs and exclaim at every salamander as if she’s never seen one before. She compliments strangers and makes faces at children and always sings in the shower. 

Dean didn’t have that innocent, childish sort of wonder in his life — not until he met her. Face down enough gods and monsters, you start to get a little jaded about the everyday things. Spend too much time focusing on the darkness in the world, you start to lose sight of the light that shines through. 

She rummages through something on the desk, for a second, and then she comes back, straddling his hips again. She leans forward, draping herself over him, breasts and stomach soft against his bare skin. It’s such a random touch, and there’s nothing inherently sexual in it, but Dean has yet to find a way of making contact between their bodies that doesn’t turn him on. 

“This one here, we’re going to call it Impalus,” she says, and he can hear the smile in her voice. The ink is cool on his skin. “According to ancient myth, it was the mighty chariot of warriors. Instead of sending its broken pieces to the scrap yard, Zeus hung them from the heavens.”  

“Feminine ends in A in Latin,” Dean mumbles. “Still just Impala.” He’s no Sam, but all those years of reciting incantations and poring over spell books have taught him a couple things. 

If he was in her place, he’d make some snarky comment about that, call him a geek, but she just hums in agreement and brushes her lips over the patch of skin. 

The marker tickles as she draws another new constellation on his shoulder. Dean doesn’t mind. 

It seems appropriate: connecting the dots, taking scattered pinpricks of light and weaving them together, giving them meaning, turning them into more than they were. 

Dean has always tried to hold onto scraps of joy, snatches of family dinners and the moments when the perfect song comes on the radio, but sometimes he used to lose track of the good memories. Sometimes they got swallowed in the darkness. 

These days, it’s different. She draws his attention to the joy, and now he can’t stop seeing all these little sparks that illuminate his life. This morning alone: the smell of bacon when he woke up — the smile on her face when he wrapped his arms around her — the way her voice echoed off the tile as she stood pink-cheeked in the steam — and this, right here, right now: lying in their bed, his legs tangled in sheets, and the fact that they smell like her, because she’s woven herself into every part of his life all the way down to the cotton fibers that brush her skin at night. 

There are so many tiny everyday wonders that Dean never would’ve noticed before, and then there’s her, tying it all together, taking the scattered fleeting moments of joy in his life and turning them into a story. She makes it all mean something. She shows him pictures in the stars when he’s forgotten to look for the light. 

She’s tickling his ribs, and Dean laughs, tries to buck her off, rolls over onto his back. She straddles him, naked, eyes lit up with mischief, and Dean tickles her right back. 

It’s playful until it’s abruptly not, and isn’t that always how it goes with her? One moment she’s batting away his hands, shrieking with laughter, and the next moment he’s resting his palms on her belly and reeling with the enormity of what they’re doing. 

Then she’s kissing him, soft sweet mouth plush and eager on his as she laces their fingers together and pins his hands to the pillow, and — 

“God, that’s —” he chokes out, as she rolls her hips. 

“Fuck. Dean.” 

— and then she’s squirming, rocking until he’s pressed right between her legs, slotted in against slick heat, teasing the length of him without letting him in. Her mouth is open and red, and she’s still pinning him, so he can’t capture her lips, but he strains against her grip, leans up and gets his mouth on her nipple to tug it between his teeth. She makes a dirty desperate noise and lets go, reaching down between them to guide him into her, and as soon as his hands are free he wraps his arms around her and pulls her down, running his hands over every part of her he can reach. 

He crushes her to his chest as she squeezes around his cock and gasps into his mouth, and it feels so good he’s seeing stars. She grinds down on him, hips swiveling, clenching hot-wet-tight like her body is trying to suck him in deeper as she works herself up. 

He loves the way she looks when she doesn’t give a fuck how she looks. He loves the way her muscles shift, the way her tits and ass bounce and jiggle, the way her skin shines with sweat — it’s art. Dean wishes he could paint or sculpt or do anything that could capture the agonized, ecstatic look on her face, because it’s art. She’s art. 

She’s moaning, rough and filthy. Her cunt is silky-soft and dripping as she squeezes around him, and she curses like a goddamn sailor: “Motherfucker — so fucking close, Dean — don’t you fucking dare stop — fuck, I love you.” 

Sacred and profane all at once, like the best art is. 

Dean has a fistful of her soft hair and a ribcage full of this hammering swollen thing that used to be his heart, and he’s so in love with her he can’t think straight. 

She’s close, close enough that all she can do is move, less coordinated and more frantic by the second. Dean rolls his hips, grinding into her, and then she shudders and shouts as her orgasm hits. The living heat of her body ripples and spasms around him and sends him over the edge, and the world dissolves into white light, bright enough to blind him. 

Dean’s seen miracles in his time. He’s seen things that shook the earth and rattled the heavens, and somehow the biggest miracle is the fact that he made it through to this moment: cradling her close, stroking her skin, imagining the microscopic spark of life inside her as the last faraway star completing a massive constellation… Dean can’t see the pattern yet, can’t figure out what shape it’ll all take, but he knows she’ll be there to help him make sense of the story. She always knows how to connect the dots. 

.

.

.

If you enjoyed this, please reblog or leave a message! 

[whats-rambled-rambled]

Long Nights - part 7

Neil x Reader

Chapter 7: Wicked game

(see chapter 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1)

summary: it’s time to come back to life, and sometimes it involves Neil dragging you to a social event

warnings: 18+, language, alcohol mention (beer is considered alcohol, right?)

author’s note: 3k words. It’s not exactly what I had in mind for that chapter, but they have a mind of their own, as always. 

Almost there.

The song for this part is Stone Sour - Wicked Game (acoustic, live)

Enjoy and let me know what you think, please? All feedback is greatly appreciated.

——————

Tag list: @cxnnienikas​ @neutron-stars-collision​ @ergunbilge​ @invertedneil​ @wanderedaway​ @i-wanna-b-yours​ @wonderwoman292​ @buckysgoldenheart​ @townmoondaltwistle @theriverbeneaththeriver​ (please let me know if you want to be added/removed from the list)

-----

It didn’t matter how many times you saw him do that, the effect the sight had on you was pretty much always the same. Filling your mind with thoughts that were quite counterproductive, one could say.

The veiny patterns covering hands and forearms. The long fingers running through the buttons. The tilted chin, extending the neck, drawing attention to that impossible jawline. The slight pout. The brows drawn together in concentration--

You smacked your tongue and shook your head

“Y’know what, those shirts of yours are so rude, but the way you wear them, the rolled-up sleeves?”

Neil looked at you through the reflection in the mirror, puzzled. “What about them?”

“Abso-fucking-lutely disrespectful,” you sighed heavily and leaned against the door frame.

Playful lights danced in the blue eyes. “Oh yeah?” he teased, giving himself a final glance-over before turning to you. “And what you’re gonna do about it?”

“Nothing,” - you shrugged, crossing your arms - “because you insist on dragging me to a social event.”

The faint resentment ringing in your last words didn’t get lost on Neil.

“So boring of me,” he said as he closed the gap between you, trying to keep a straight face. He put his hands on your waist and smirked. “But maybe after that we can come back here and continue the conversation.”

As you fixed his collar, a shade of smile hid in the corner of your mouth.

“Really wanna listen to me listing all the things that drive me mad about you, huh?” you asked smugly, gliding your fingertips along the delicate stripes of the greyish beige shirt.

Neil’s thumbs brushed over your hip bones as he hummed, “I have a feeling it might lead to a rather pleasant conclusion.”

When you let out an amused scoff, his lips captured the snarky comment that was bound to follow. He pulled you closer and lifted you up, and the next second you were sitting on the edge of a vanity cabinet, breathless from the kiss, tugging at the striped shirt.

A buzz right next to you.

You jumped, startled, and glared at the phone. “Is it too late to tell Matthias the Uber driver that we’re not going anywhere?” you asked without too much hope as you nuzzled your face to Neil’s neck, breathing in his scent, unwilling to let this moment end too quickly.

Neil chuckled and stroked your arms. “Come on, it’s gonna be fun.”

You still didn’t know where he was taking you - he’d assured you that it would be casual, and that was basically all you cared about. He knew you enough, and you trusted his judgement, after all.

“It better be,” you pouted, pulling back, but as soon as you met the bright blue eyes your heart sang in your chest. After spending all that time in the darkness, not sure if you’d ever see his face again, you caught yourself taking an extra second every now and then, just looking at him. How the light played on his features, now soft in the elaborately illuminated hotel bathroom. How his lips curled whenever he found your gaze. How utterly stunning he was.

Smiling gently, you ran your fingers through Neil’s disheveled mane, taming the blonde mess if ever so slightly.

“Let’s not keep Matthias waiting, then,” you sighed and slid off the cabinet.

-------

The afternoon was quite warm for late autumn. As you were arriving at your destination, you watched the sun shining through the scarce leaves left on the trees, adding vibrance to their colours. Too mesmerized to pay attention to the route, you recognized the place only when the car stopped. The training site. You turned to Neil in confusion, but he just wiggled his brows and proceeded to thank the driver and got out of the car. You followed him out and right through the gate of the now-empty paintball outdoor facility which served as a front for the agency’s base, hidden a bit further inside the forest.

“Picking up something on the way?” you asked, matching his pace as you strolled towards the training grounds.

Neil shook his head and smiled mysteriously. “Not really.”

“Alrighty then, keep your secrets,” you snorted, rolling your eyes. “Aren’t we a tad overdressed for a little playground fun, though?”

“A rematch?” he pondered and smirked. “Didn’t plan on that, but it’s tempting.”

Indeed. “I’m kinda out of shape, but keep those baggy trousers on and I’m game - wanna beat you fair and square again.”

Neil let out an exasperated huff. “Baggy?! They might be a bit loose but --”

You giggled at his offended expression as he got busy looking down at the target of your remark, ready to defend his fashion choice. Your laughter was enough to stop Neil in his tracks, and when he met your playful gaze, he reached out and drew you into his arms for a tight hug. After a brief moment of perplexity, you eased into his embrace, moved by the force of sudden affection.

When he pulled back, you touched his cheek. “What was that for?” you asked, searching the blue eyes, but finding nothing but joy there.

“Being cheeky.” He scrunched his nose while tapping the tip of yours. “And brilliant,” he added, and for a second you were sure there was something else he wanted to say; instead, he laid a gentle kiss on your lips. “And maybe stalling a minute longer before I’d have to share you with all these people.”

You gaped at him, about to ask what people, but Neil already grabbed your hand and led you around the corner of the building - and you heard them even before you spotted them.

“Oi, there they are!”

“Finally!”

“We’ve just considered sending a rescue party in case you got lost in the woods!”

The unexpected eruption of cheers and greetings made your fight-or-flight reflexes kick in, but as you instinctively took a step back, Neil squeezed your fingers reassuringly.  

A split-second exchange of looks.

All right?

When he saw your tiny nod, he let go of your hand, focusing on the team gathered at the makeshift chillout zone. “Not everyone has your poor sense of directions, Seb,” retorted Neil, flashing his teeth in a grin.

The young man’s protests got drowned in laughter as you approached the group together.

"Luckily not the case with our rogue here,” said Ives, elbowing his way in between other people. He shot you both a disapproving look, toned down by a smile dangling in the corner of his mouth. "Really, roofs? Didn't know you had it in you, mate."

"Me neither,” admitted Neil, going in for a clasp of hands and a brief hug. “When I saw that gap, I was sure that was it. Someone convinced me otherwise."

“The secret is to avoid looking down,” you shrugged, meeting the commander's amused gaze.

"Thanks for bringing our favourite nerd back in one piece." As Ives extended his hand, there was something serious about his expression, mixed with a sense of relief, and you realised he must have been in the response team Neil had called for help.

“My pleasure.” Beaming, you shook his hand. “Thanks for providing backup.” And scraping me off the pavement.

Neil’s gasp was almost theatrical. He smirked and nudged Ives lightly. “Aw, I’m your favourite?”

“Careful, that privilege may be revoked any minute,” grunted Ives in a weak attempt at keeping up appearances, but he couldn’t fool anyone. Now that you had a chance to observe them in the after-hours situation, the bond between the two men was clear as day, and your heart warmed up at the thought.

Waving back at Mahir, you scanned the group for other familiar faces. Wheeler, a couple of people you recognized from the HQ halls, and a bit isolated from the others - the big man himself, manning the barbecue station.

Overwhelmed by the attention you got from the team, you excused yourself and walked up to The Protagonist. You couldn’t help but smile at the confident vibe he radiated with as if he spent every weekend doing nothing but this.

“So dad of you, boss.”

He flopped a sizzling piece of meat to the other side, glancing at you humorlessly.

“How are you feeling?” he asked with polite concern.

“Grand, healed up nicely, thank you.” You circled your shoulder and grinned. “Not in a marathon condition, mind you, but that’s not exactly new.”

“That’s good, Neil was worried about you.”

Not sure if it was the lack of eye contact or something else in his presence, but you decided to stop ignoring the gut feeling.

“You don’t like me,” you said, tilting your head. A mere statement of the fact; you weren’t hurt, only curious. “It’s okay, you don’t have to, just been wondering why.”

TP sighed heavily. And when he finally met your gaze, the dark eyes were sad, only deepening your confusion.

“I’m sorry.” Then something cracked and a shiver ran down your spine, because suddenly, in front of you there was a man who’d seen a lot, suffered too much, and cared even more. The weight of it all slumped his shoulders, and for a short while, he seemed almost helpless. Taking a quick look at the hollering group, he sighed again. “It’s not your fault, it’s--“ he hesitated, searching for the right words. As he found them, there was no sign of the vulnerability from a moment earlier. “It’s a stressful business.” He sent you a crooked smile. “And I’m still mad about that watch.”

The lie was obvious. But the things you saw in his eyes made your chest clench painfully, and…did you really want to know?

Besides, that might have been a truce offering, and you weren’t bent on holding a grudge. Not with him, anyway.

“Hey, wasn’t it technically your idea?” you grinned, shrugging off the weird sense of dread.

A smile finally reached the dark irises. “I guess it was,” he admitted and patted you on the arm. “There’s some beer in the mini-fridge, could you --”

“On it.”

When the clank of bottles sealed your peace treaty, you caught Neil’s happy stare. You pointed at the beer in your hand in a question and he nodded, so you grabbed one more and joined him and the others.

That unfortunate mission must have been some sort of rite of passage in these guys’ eyes because out of the blue, you were no longer an outsider. The Cavalry accepted you with open arms as one of their own, and you couldn’t wrap your head around it. It was a nice feeling, though. Like you belonged. You saw some curious glances, but they came from a good place, and even the suspicious voice in your mind gave in under the cordial, jovial energy of the group.

Soon enough, you were joking with a young medic, having a balancing stand-off with Wheeler, or listening to crazy stories from some old operations, until everyone had enough booze in their systems that allowed them to direct some of the questions to you, as well.

“So is Neil a decent locksmith now?”

You puffed out your cheeks in a musing grimace, but when you spotted Neil’s raised brow, you started laughing. “I’d say even more than decent. Honestly? I don’t think there’s much more that I can teach him, he needs to polish his skills in real life now.” Mocking a teary sniff, you added, “They grow up so fast!”

Nobody would know that you did so while actively ignoring a faint sting in your heart.

You refrained from meeting the attentive blue eyes, though. Just in case.

“Oh cool, then what about a little contest?” Seb clapped his hands cheerfully. “You versus Neil, we could time you, and to make it fairer we could put a blindfold on you --” as he stopped for a breath, he realized - with some help from Wheeler’s elbow to his side - the slight faux pas.

But you barely acknowledge a curse and a mumbled apology cutting through the awkward silence, too busy exchanging amused looks and stifled giggles with your student.

“Neil, would you like to explain?” you asked, schooling your features.

He bowed his head as if he was accepting a great honor. “Gladly.” Neil took a deep breath and his eyes lit up. “See, my dear friend, had you known anything about lockpicking, you’d learnt that sometimes it’s easier to do that with, for example, your eyes closed. You need to listen to what the lock has to say because it’s all about feedback--”

You watched as Neil gave a full lecture, citing your own words from what seemed to be a lifetime ago. He did it with passion and understanding of the craft you’d never dreamed to see in someone else, and yet was so familiar when it came to him. Absentmindedly, you placed a hand over your chest, as if it was enough to stop it from bursting.

You couldn’t be more proud.

Neil finished his rant and looked at you, only to be met with all the appreciation and validation in your gaze, and he beamed even wider.

“All right, damn, we can cover Neil’s eyes then,” sighed Seb, a total resignation in his voice sparking a roar of laughter from the group.

----

As much as you enjoyed the energy of the team, your social batteries were getting drained, and you needed a moment for yourself before you could carry on.

Walking right outside of the periphery of light from the garlands, you let your gaze slide across the training equipment, now barely visible in the moonless night. The leaves crumbled under your feet as you smiled at the memories. Maybe one day you would actually complete the full run? You pulled on the sleeves of your sweater, hiding your hands from the cold evening air.

“Mind if I join you?”

You glanced over your shoulder at Neil, keeping his distance, ready to give you space. With him, it was always in the details he’d picked along the way, effortlessly weaving them into everyday life. “Not at all.”

Neil perked up and joined you in the shadows, inhaling deeply.

“Funny how the scent of the forest changes with the seasons,” he mused and you grinned, turning his way.

“That’s what I call a pick-up line,” you snickered and drew a long breath. “But you’re right, it’s too easy to forget that once you become a permanent city creature.”

He chuckled and lightly rubbed his hands up and down your arms.

“Are you warm enough?” he asked softly, fixing your oversized scarf.

“Yeah.” You brushed your cheek against his fingers, longing for his touch, now that you were somewhat hidden from the prying gazes. “You?”

Neil moved closer and wound one arm around your waist, then cupped your face gently, pressed his forehead to yours, and murmured, “Now I am.”

You hummed happily and slid your hands under his open jacket, resting them at his chest, and closed your eyes. Only then realizing how tense you were, you relaxed in his embrace, savoring his closeness. A steady heartbeat under your palms. The warmth carrying undertones of Neil’s cologne. A featherlike graze of his thumb over your cheek. His nose nudging yours.

But soon enough, you had to break a stolen moment. Trying to stifle a yawn, you hid your face in his shoulder to muffle the sound.

“Oh, my poor baby,” he cooed, biting back a giggle. “That tired?”

“I’m fine,” you mumbled against him on the verge of another yawn.

“Sure you are.” He kissed your temple. “The party’s almost over anyway, judging by decreasing amount of idiotic ideas per hour. Gonna call us a cab soon, all right?”

As you nodded, Neil tightened a hug and reluctantly let you go.

“Be right back, I’ll check if there’s any coffee left,” you said, gesturing towards the tables with beverages.

As your luck would have it, there was just enough for one sip.

A sudden sneer was enough to wake you up, though.

“Hell froze over.”

Mahir walked up to the mini-fridge to grab a beer and you met his mocking stare with furrowed brows.

“Vincent must be chattering his teeth now,” you joked, unsure where the conversation was heading. “Why?”

Mahir scoffed at the remark about your old associate, but he was still studying you closely, confusing you further. “Congratulations, by the way.”

“Dude, you’re killing me today,” you sighed, wiping a hand through your face. “Thanks, but what for?”

“You and Neil?”

And when you shot him a puzzled look, he waved his bottle at the place where you stood together a moment before.

Breaking out in a cold sweat, you deadpanned, “Oh.”

Bloody hell.

“I thought you weren’t doing the whole love thing anymore.”

The pulse pounded in your ears, although not loud enough to tune out the sirens blazing in your head.

No.

It came out harder than you felt it. “I’m not.”

No, no, no, no, no.  

Mahir grimaced doubtfully. “Uh-huh.” He looked over your shoulder at the team gathered together in the distance and raised a brow. “Does he know that?”

You couldn’t force yourself to follow his gaze. The panic drained your face of all colour, and that was enough of an answer for your friend.

“I see.” Mahir shook his head, losing the enquiring manner. His features softened as he patted your arm. “Neil’s a good guy.”

Please, no.

“They always are,” you choked out bitterly.

Not again.

“You know what I mean,” insisted Mahir, searching for your eyes.

That the history was not gonna repeat itself?

...or that he didn’t deserve any of it?

“Yeah. Maybe.” You faked a smile. “Excuse me.”

Pushing past him, you went inside the building. You needed to be alone.

Oh, the irony.

Weeks of deliberately avoiding the topic. Tricking yourself into thinking that you can keep it casual. That it didn’t matter that much. That it was nothing but a self-indulgent fling.

You couldn’t breathe.

Lesson learnt, huh?

Barging into one of the restrooms, you got to a sink. Clenching your hands on the cold ceramic, you fought nausea tearing through your body.

Pathetic.

The gasp for air turned into a sob.

...and then everything went quiet.

You raised your eyes to the mirror.

Your reflection was staring back at you with determination.

It was time.

(next chapter ->)

[offspring-of-calliope]

Pins and Needles (Newsies Gang AU)

Chapter 3

Description: Davey's and Les' first day as Newsies and they already meet the famous Katherine Plumber.

words: 1675

warnings: There's no warnings on this chapter but if I did miss something triggering, feel free to tell me.

A/N: I know that there are only approximately two people and a shoelace who are even interested in this story but still - I'm sorry for not having updated this in ages. I kinda had a big writer's block which I've overcame for now, I guess, but we'll see how long that may last.

Also, just stating the obvious here but considering latest complications between my gender and me, I changed my username from "daughterofcalliope" to "offspring-of-calliope", I hope that's not too confusing.

As always, feel free to tell me if I've made some mistakes considering grammar or spelling. Comments in general are very appreciated.

I hope you enjoy it at least a little bit,

Sincerely me,

Lélo

-----

If David had thought that the Manhattan Newsies had been loud before, now he was convinced that the concept of volume got a whole new meaning when being around these boys. Selling with them was like sitting in the front row of an opera performance you hadn't even planned to attend.

David sighed. His thoughts were so misleading that he feared that people who he'd tell them to might think he hated the Manhattan Newsies. It was quite the opposite. Despite his urge to keep everything in order, to not overstep boundaries and to behave like a mature boy his age, being with the chaos that were the Manhattan Newsies filled his insides with joy.

The people he talked to at school couldn't really classify as real friends, seeing as their discussions were always aimed at topics they'd covered in their lessons or some other things that didn't relate a lot to something like free time. They were always so serious and David sometimes felt as if the other people didn't even want to talk to him more than absolutely necessary. With the Newsies, it was different. Some of them were even regularly trying to include him in their conversations, to find out about him as a person. Ironically, every one of them seemed to make a better spy than him, who couldn't even think of important questions to ask them that would lead to something that Sarah could work with.

Right after leaving the circulation gate, some kids named Kid Blink – a guy with an eyepatch and a charming smile –, Race – who constantly had an unlit cigar dangling between his lips – and Jojo – who had the most animated facial expression David had ever witnessed – had pestered him to tell them if Italian or Spanish was the more beguiling language. (While they'd been bickering, David had started to regret telling them that he was currently teaching himself Spanish. That had been the trigger that had started his inclusion to the debate.) The whole conflict had been postponed when a guy named Romeo had loudly declared that neither Spanish nor Italian was the real answer and that no language was as enthralling as his love language. Then, he'd proceeded to lure a pretty woman to buy a paper from him – the other Newsies were too nice to make him aware of the fact that she'd only bought the pape to escape his flirting – by sweetly talking in a language David didn't know. (It had been Tagalog, as Jack had later explained to him.)

Yet in his defence, David had also managed to overhear some conversations that hadn't been for him to hear – cue his bad conscience. One conversation in particular had irritated him. Some redhead – Albert was his name, he distantly recalled – had at one point asked Race if “it was cloudy up there”. That in itself hadn't been confusing since it was indeed very cloudy this day but Race's answer had been: “Oh, don't worry, I was just thinkin' 'bout somethin'. Everything's sunny as could be.” The sun didn't even shine! But maybe that was just a code David simply didn't understand.

“Sing 'em to sleep, will ya?” A voice was breaking through his thoughts and David only now registered that he had been blaring the words “Extra, extra! Does somebody want a paper?” for quite some time without actively concentrating on actually selling some newspapers.

The owner of the voice, Jack, - because of course it was Jack, why did Jack always seem to be near him? - took the most recent newspaper from his hand and exclaimed: “Extra, extra! Terrifying flight from burnin' inferno! You can hear the story right here!” It didn't take long for some guy to come and buy the paper.

David scoffed. “This story isn't even in the paper.”

“Well, I didn't say that, did I?” Jack retorted, a cheeky grin on his face.

“My father taught us not to lie,” David said, clutching the remaining newspapers in his hand tighter. He didn't want Jack to take papers from him again, or else it might become a habit for the other boy.

Jack only shook his head, holding one of his own papers into the air. “And mine taught me not to starve. Seems we both got an education.”

“Jack, Jack, look how few papes I got left now! I did everything you said I should do and the people just wouldn't stop buying the papes!” An excited Les ran over to them, smiling brightly and holding up some money for David to put away. “This is so much better than school,” he added.

“Don't even think it.” David tried his best to put on his strict-older-brother face.

A few feet away, Jack laughed. “At least someone listens to me.”

“Yeah, maybe if you'd start to actually say some things that are true, it'll be something worth listening to,” David answered. He didn't even know where the sudden burst of confidence came from. At first it had been difficult for him to focus around the leader of the Manhattan Newsies. However, after getting to know Jack a little, focusing was still difficult but now he couldn't suppress taking out his frustration on the other boy.

“I see you're making a habit out of attracting people who will put you in your place some time.” Suddenly there was another voice and upon turning around, David surprisingly found himself face to face with Katherine Plumber.

“Hello, Miss. Can I interest you in the latest news?” Jack said and his smile grew somehow even bigger. It made David's stomach twitch.

Katherine chuckled and held her hands up. The fabric of her dress wrinkled around her elbows and David noticed some spots on her clothes that were patched up. He'd always assumed that rich people would just buy new clothes when their old ones were torn but apparently Katherine didn't fit this assumption. “I'm sorry to disappoint you, Kelly, but I've bought two papers already. One from Specs this morning, the other from the little boy here.” She was pointing at Les. “He truly is a talented student of yours.”

“Hey!” Les exclaimed. “I'm not that little!”

“Of course not! But compared to Jack's ego, everything is little,” Katherine conceded amused.

Jack, who had somehow managed to sell a paper during the former exchange, crossed his arms before his chest. “Why are you all hating on me now? First Davey, then ya, too. That reminds me – Les, Davey, meet the wonderful Katherine Plumber. Kath, that's Davey and his brother Les.”

It seemed as if Katherine only now started to examine David closer. It made him so nervous that he completely forgot to tell her that it was actually David and not Davey – nobody had ever called him Davey before and he didn't know what to think of that – and without further ado, his hands started to flutter. Eventually, Katherine smiled and said, “Nice to meet you both. Say, do we know each other already? I feel like I've seen you before.”

Panic bubbled up in David's stomach. Did she somehow know that he was Sarah's brother? What if she suspected something and the whole charade – which hadn't really been that good to begin with – blew up? He looked over to Les, maybe to search for help, maybe to feel a little more at ease. And then he remembered that indeed, he had talked to Katherine before. Relieved, he let out a breath. “Yes, we already met each other once. Or better, we talked once on the street. I'm a big admirer of your work, Miss Plumber.”

“Oh, please, just call me Katherine. Kath is fine as well, friends of Jacks are also friends of mine. And thank you, I appreciate that. Perhaps we could talk more about this topic another time? I'm kind of in a rush right now but I would like to hear your opinion on some of my articles – I got this feeling that lately, something is missing but I haven't really been able to figure out, what.” Katherine was just as modest and friendly as he remembered. It was interesting that she also had a teasing side on her when it came to Jack, apparently.

David blushed. “It would be an honour, really.”

“Great,” Katherine said, then proceeded to pat both his and Les' shoulders. “Kelly, it was nice seeing you, maybe I'll stop by the lodging house later.”

“Well, it's not like you's paid a lota attention to me,” Jack retorted with a teasing grin. “Don't flirt with my colleagues that much, a boy might get jealous.”

David only registered Katherine's laugh after that. He didn't really know why but something in him refused to listen further. Well, he did know why but it was totally unfair and irrational of him to be jealous of Katherine. It was not like he was interested in Jack or something. The boy was frustrating and distracting, always had a snarky remark on his tongue and – as even Katherine had said – had a really big ego.

That was also really fragile, at least as far as he could see. The way Jack's smile had faltered for a second upon Kath's remark. The way he wouldn't take credit for the thoughtful things he'd do, like tying Crutchie's shoelaces or trying to help Romeo to court a pretty girl that had watched them doing an impromptu dance performance for a while.

“Hey, Davey.” Breath on his ear, Jack's presence right next to his – didn't he know of some thing called personal space? “If ya keep starin' at Kath like that, maybe I should draw a picture of her and pin it to yer head for a day, aye?”

David sighed and elbowed Jack in the side. Forget the thoughts of Jack being thoughtful – the boy was such an idiot.

[florvinhara]

my detectives (part 1)

kjahfjhsj i can have a little infodumping... as a treat... anyway this was originally gonna be 1 post but then i got carried away so part 1 in the series of me ranting abt my detectives!

Kira Isabella Song

Romances N, F, or M

Age: 25 at the start of book 1, currently 26

Birthday: February 7

Star sign: Aquarius sun, Taurus moon, Scorpio rising

Height: 5’7”

Hair: Short, ash blonde, a little longer than chin length

Eyes: dark brown

Race/ethnicity: Korean-American

Other appearance details: Several beauty marks on face and body. a few subtle scars on face/legs from falling out of trees, etc. fingers are callused from band practice and left hand fingers are a little crooked from being broken.

Languages: English, Spanish, a few basic phrases in some other languages

Stats:

Charming/Intimidating

Impulsive/Cautious

Sarcastic/Genuine

Friendly/Stoic

Easygoing/Stubborn

Heart/Mind (equal)

Optimist/Pessimist

Team player/Independent

Primary skills: Science & combat

Strengths: Trustworthy, strong, courageous, calm under pressure, compassionate, thorough, clever, good intuition, self-sufficient, sure of herself

Weaknesses: Petty, caustic, distrustful, secretive, lackadaisical, insubordinate, emotionally unintelligent, can be disdainful, uncommunicative, contrary

Personal:

overall body language is casual and unbothered, lowkey her posture is kind of yikes RIP but she has a very fluid way of moving

her voice is smooth and somewhat low in pitch, very even in tone

Loud and/or jumbled sounds sometimes overwhelm her; she usually has noise cancelling headphones with her just in case

Rebellious as a teenager; she started skipping school and getting into fights, did some graffiti and one time she stole a street sign that she may or may not still have

When she wasn’t breaking rules, etc. she was taking boxing lessons, chilling in the library, going on runs, or playing bass guitar in her band

Wanted to get out of Wayhaven as soon as possible after college but was arrested after she came back because she was selling fake IDs and stole a car; absolutely did not want to be law enforcement but Rebecca and the captain essentially made her

The deal was that she would work at the station for 5 years and if she did well/stayed out of trouble she could then quit- she's 3 years into it

deep down if she wasnt a detective she would want to be a paramedic

She shares a lot of mannerisms with Rebecca and they’re way more similar than she’d like to admit

Birds FREAK her out seriously; she’ll deny that she’s afraid of them but she’ll cross the street to get away from them, also hates crowded places and deep water

Scary resting face and has a habit of just... eerily staring at people who are bothering her until they get spooked, but she's not actually that angry or grouchy, she's really just Vibing u know? she's not gonna correct anyone's impression though or they might start like... Talking to her :/

Loves any book/movie/show with a secret society or spy element and stories about a Hero and their Journey, also loves angsty philosophy books; her favorite movies are cheesy but feel-good (The Mummy, Pacific Rim, anything with big CGI monsters)

Doesn’t have much of a sweet tooth but would kill someone for strong coffee; if she’s really tired you can catch her drinking it cold straight from the pot with a straw

Emo/pop punk teen and she definitely cried when MCR broke up, she also listens to a lot of Dixie Chicks, Johnny Cash, Dottie West, Patsy Cline, etc

She’s been drawing since she was a kid- mainly works with charcoal and sometimes pastels. her sketchbooks are like her diaries and she’s never shown them to Anyone Ever

In her spare time, she still plays some guitar, draws, or reads; her library is extensive because she keeps every book she’s ever read or intends to read (it’s one of the few things she’ll drop real money on)

Very tactile person and fussy about textures, she prefers ultra soft blankets/pillows and her bed is basically a nest

Practical, efficient, frugal- she doesn’t necessarily find joy in cooking or anything but she can do it well enough, quick showers, uses cheap soap/shampoo, cuts her own hair

Her hands get super dry/chapped in the winter and it hurts very much :(

Never yells; when she gets angry she’s very cold & will Not hold back; every word is designed to hurt bc she’s purposefully poking at things she knows are sore spots

At the start of the books, she’s kind of... sleepwalking through life? like, she was in a not-great place mentally for most of her teens and didn’t really have a plan for the future but law enforcement was definitely not it? She isn’t feeling super passionate about what she’s doing and it kind of sucks to not have joy in purpose :( luckily that’s changing and is gonna be a significant part of her journey through the series!

Her apartment is cluttered but clean and she knows where everything is, if someone moved one of her things she would not be able to find it and it would bother her until she located it

She’s not stubborn exactly? Like she’ll concede an argument if it’s not super important to her and has no problem with losing or backing down in many cases; she’s pretty open minded in that respect, but if something is central to her values then she will Die before she backs down

On that note she’s overall a very logical person but when it comes down to it she'll follow her heart/first instinct

Does not care about rules or procedures At All, she'll follow them if it suits her end goal but otherwise... nope

Lowkey she… did not care about the reveal? it was a surprise but not her first priority in the moment- she kind of already thought UB was sketchy and didn’t trust them, so mainly she was pissed off that Rebecca had sent them to babysit her instead of actually help solve the murders

Speaking of Rebecca their relationship is kind of yikes. Kira isn’t exactly mad that Rebecca was gone so often, but she does think that she kind of forfeited her parenting rights and was annoyed that Rebecca was interfering with her life; first by getting her on the force and then by dropping UB on her. So now it’s Very Awkward between them because Kira doesn’t want to be like… mean but honestly what is there to say?? They’re trying but neither of them like to share personal information so it’s rough

On the subject of sharing, she just… genuinely doesn’t like to open up. Like, it doesn’t come naturally and in her mind it’s just… nobody else’s business what she’s feeling/what’s going on in her life

Genuinely does not realize that people care about her unless they openly tell her lmao... sad hours but at this point in the story she honestly doesnt think that any of UB cares abt her beyond their job besides the one she's dating :(

"Everyone should be allowed to feel things and rely on the support of the people around them, their emotions are Valid. not me though, this is my personal problem and as such its dumb so i have to get over it alone"

Her primary love language is acts of service, she wants the people she loves to have everything they might need; she’s Soft and really just wants snuggles but also she does not want to address it out loud

Her way of asking for affection is to just... stand/sit there and occasionally glance at the person... hovers like a sad ghost until she gets a hug... literally like 🥺👉👈 sjdhdkn Clown girl

She’s sarcastic and makes a lot of snarky comments, but generally she’s pretty honest unless she doesn’t want to talk about something (in which case she’ll brush it off and deflect or change subjects) which is why it annoys her so much when people are willfully dishonest or conniving

Pretty adaptable and capable of rolling with the punches but she generally dislikes surprises and being the center of attention

genuinely she's pretty chill! and a Huge enabler of chaos as well, like unless it's specifically bothering her she's gonna let it happen and mostly she thinks it's pretty funny to watch from the sidelines

in short she's basically like a feral cat who stares suspiciously at everyone from a distance until they successfully pspspsps their way into her heart and then she would die for them <3 but if she's mad she will make direct eye contact while shoving glasses off the counter

ahdgsksg ok last one i swear she Cannot Sit Properly, always has to be some flavor of lounging or leaning or sitting twisted into a pretzel

[conduitandconjurer]

"You father has died, Klaus. Do you feel relief? Joy? Sorrow? Anger?"

" ___ has died." Finish it in my askbox (accepting!)

"....again?"

The Seance, so intimately familiar with the transition between breathing and not, sits with this statement for a moment.

He literally sits: sinks down where he stands and draws his calves beneath him. He rests his palms on his knees, and blinks.

He can't remember a single moment in his childhood, in his young adulthood, when Reginald either said or even intimated that he loved him.

He can remember clambering for his approval. Desperate to offer up tidbits of statements made by the ghosts who terrified him in dark places of the mansion, of alleys, of morgues they visited, funeral parlors, for his "training."

He can remember giving up first, too. Even before Diego, who ended up testifying most loudly, most plainly, of Reginald's monstrousness. He can remember when he started saying "no" just for the almost arousing rush of power it gave him. No, dad. No, you can't make me. Followed by a bitchy, snarky, sardonic comment or two, that peeled back the veneer of "I'm doing this for your own good," to reveal the abusive beast who experimented on them like mice. Those little pathetic same-looking pale white mice that usually get fed to snakes, if they don't end up in laboratories.

He can remember how hard Reginald struck him across the traitorous mouth, the first time he said no. So naturally, Klaus, self-destructive, hungry for any form of autonomy, when neither the living nor the dead would listen, said no more and more until he was in the safe position of "greatest disappointment": nothing expected of him at all.

Until that, too, eroded his very soul.

'You're useless, Number Four.'

'My name is Klaus. Mom said so. Comin' from you, pops? That's a hell of a compliment.'

Aaaaaand smack! Yet again.

Klaus didn't fall down the stairs because he was wearing Grace's heels.

Reginald pushed him. No great loss, in the old bastard's eyes, if Klaus never got up again.

In the end, though....his answer, in a puzzled voice, is,

"Nothing. I. Feel nothing."

[animetrashlord-007]

LTAS;; Cliché Lovers

Word Count;; 2.6k

Genre;; Fluff!

Pairing;; Hinata x Kageyama

Side Pairing;; Oikawa x Iwaizumi, Matsukawa x Hanamaki

Summary;;

That chapter in which the boys go shopping, Oikawa continues to antagonise Kageyama, and some heart-to-heart conversations are held.

Published;; 4.14.17

Notes;;

My Masterlist

Lemme Take A Selfie Masterlist

   “Shrimpy-chan! We don't have all day for you to talk to your boyfriend,” Oikawa grumbled, tapping his foot with raised brows as he pointed to the entrance of an extravagant boutique, “We need to buy some clothes for you so we can really get this vacation started!”

   “He's on the phone, Crappykawa, leave him alone!”

   “Oh really, Iwa-chan? I didn't notice!”

   “It’s truly amazing,” Makki rubbed his temples, black rings evident around his tired eyes, “how you manage to become even more annoying with every passing day, Oikawa.”

   Downing the rest of his coffee with a pointed glare at his companions, Mattsun snarled, “Why did we have to come along? It's way too early for this. You're thinking what I'm thinking, right, cutie?”

   The two nodded at one another before offering a small smile to Hinata who was stuck in between the now-arguing setter and ace. Ignoring his pleading eyes and grasping the opportune moment granted by their quarrelling teammates, they didn't hesitate to slink away into the bustling crowd. While Hinata didn't blame them for escaping, spending too much time with the Grand King and his Iwa-chan would take a toll on even the best of people, he was rather envious of their freedom. Matsukawa and Hanamaki had known the other two for so long, they knew to always have a strategy for a hasty retreat prepared and understood how to read the ever-changing atmosphere provided by the rapid-onset disagreements. Now that they had left to enjoy a certain peace and quiet, Hinata would have to navigate the minefield of this rocky relationship he was sandwiched between on his own - something he wasn't confident he would survive, not after dealing with it for so long already that morning. While he enjoyed their company and found the duo to be equal parts sweet as they were perplexing, he didn't understand how they could fight over any (and every) little thing.

   “Are you listening, Shouyou? You should come home already, I wouldn't put it past that jerk just to leave you in Tokyo!” Kageyama’s voice rumbled into his ear, his tone deepening with every word. With all the bickering and whining, he had forgotten that his close friend was on the line still. It wasn't his first time calling that morning, and it definitely wouldn't be the last. The steady barrage of texts and calls from his personal setter was a testament of how deep their friendship had progressed. He found comfort in his concern, though in all honesty, he found comfort in everything Tobio did.

   “I am! I was just dis-”

   “Give me the phone,” Oikawa didn't wait for consent as he snatched the phone from the dumbfounded redhead, an amiable facade teasing his features, “Hey, Tobio-chan!”

   “Oi-Oikawa!” Hinata’s shocked voice called out in unison with the vexed grunting on the other side of the call. The taller setter couldn't hold back his laughter at the simultaneous sounds and their stark contrast, only stopping to stick his tongue out at Iwaizumi who had begun to mutter indecipherable insults under his breath and looked mere seconds from blowing a fuse. While green-eyed man didn't make a move to return the phone to its rightful owner, he did crack his knuckles and his glower alone was enough to make Hinata evade his line of sight.

   “Doesn't Shou-chan look so cute in our selfies, Tobio-chan?” He didn’t pause for a response as patience wasn’t an attribute he retained when it came to his kouhai, “No time to chat, I’m afraid! I'd hate to waste any more of my vacation on you. Don't worry, I'll take very good care of your little lover boy! Buh-bye!”

   “Li-Little lover boy?!” Hinata shrieked, crimson flooding his cheeks as he raised his hands in protest. Sidestepping around Iwaizumi, Oikawa powered off the phone and handed it back to the immobilized orange. With a skip in his step as he proceeded to grab the embarrassed male by the collar, he pulled him toward the store he had pointed out earlier.

   “Where the hell are Makki and Mattsun?” Iwaizumi groaned as he scoured the surrounding area, the lack of snarky comments during such an event uncharacteristic of the two, “They bolted without me? They were the ones that picked this store! Inconceivable!”

   “That's so cute, Iwa-chan! You're short like that fellow from Princess Bride too! You should make that your new catchphrase,” Oikawa hollered from within the doorway, using his pointer finger to beckon him forward. The only response he received was a middle finger accompanied by the ace’s signature scowl.

   “I think they needed more coffee, they'll be back!” Hinata lied, trying to cut off any further altercations between the two. He picked up several pieces of clothing at random, not bothering to even look at what he had chosen, “How about these ones, Oikawa-senpai? We can just buy them and go!”

   “I'm taller than that dude, just so you know,” Iwaizumi muttered as he stomped into the store, avoiding the cashier’s intrigued gaze, “and don’t think I'll be watching any of your films again, Shittykawa!”

   Oikawa chuckled, waving his hands in dismissal as the trio made their way to the changing rooms in the back. The store was larger than it appeared from the outside, with many different styles and trends showcased throughout. Some of the designs looked questionable, but Makki insisted they visit at least once during their trip. According to the diva, it was a pioneer in the fashion industry and the future started within these very walls. Anything that Hanamaki suggested would receive an automatic positive vote from Matsukawa, and Iwaizumi tended to agree with any idea that Oikawa didn't like. Outnumbered but unwilling to give in quite that easily, the captain dragged the group out at seven in the morning with the excuse that Hinata needed clothes and he needed them yesterday. If he had to suffer through shopping in a store as pretentious as this, he wasn't going to let anyone else have a good time either.

   Oikawa began to frown as he observed the mess the underclassmen had thrown together. There were two pairs of slacks, some purple snow pants, a leopard-print turtleneck, and three different sizes of the same leather jacket. Of all the items he had chosen, the only one that would have fit was a black dress with silver decals. Facepalming, the brunette tossed the clothes into the returns bin, “Don't be stupid, Shrimpy-chan, those suck! While that dress would have been fun and made an amazing selfie, I'm not spending that much money on so little fabric! I'll find you some decent outfits, and I'll actually pick the right size for you.”

   With a skip in his step, the enthusiastic setter bounded forth toward the daunting selection of endless racks. Hinata’s relieved sigh was overshadowed by the much louder one emitted from the spiky-haired male left next to him. His eyes widened as he watched the ace fall into a chair, exhaustion painted as clear as day across his entire face. With hesitation, he took a step closer.

   “Great Ace of Seijoh!” The orange ball of sunshine chimed, intensity radiating off his tiny frame. Upon hearing a grunt of acknowledgement, he raised his voice, “Are you okay?”

   “I'm fine,” Iwaizumi raised his eyes to meet Hinata’s, and he couldn't help but feel even smaller against his gaze, “and don't call me that.”

   “Sorry, Iwaizumi-senpai!”

   “It's fine, I just didn't get much sleep last night. Trashykawa kept me awake all night. Let's sit here quietly,” he closed his eyes once more, assuming the conversation had ended. A minute crawled by and while he was content with the silence, Hinata was bouncing on his feet, fingers tapping against his hips. A million questions polluted his thoughts and though his curiosity would surely destroy him, he couldn't stop himself. The Grand King and his Iwa-chan had such a bizarre relationship, he couldn't fathom how it lasted. With how absurd the two acted around each other, he could draw some parallels between theirs and his own friendship with Kageyama. Neither seemed like the type that would allow their personal lives to be analyzed, but that had never stopped Hinata before.

   “I probably shouldn't ask, but... why do spend so much time with the Grand King if he annoys you so much?”

   Instant regret clawed through Hinata as he felt the temperature drop ten degrees. An aura more threatening than any Kageyama could ever produce engulfed the seated man. Eyes snapping open, a scowl settled on the ace’s face as he pat the seat next to him. With trembling legs and a shaky smile, the future ace of Karasuno accepted the invitation. Deciding to avoid eye contact, his focus landed on the floor. Shivers shot down his spine as he felt an intense glare baring a hole right through him. It wasn't until he heard his intimidating senpai clear his throat that he looked up, the air void of all the previous animosity.

   “Sorry, it’s just people always assume things. He doesn't annoy me. Sometimes he can be a handful, sure, but… we understand each other. I love all of his flaws. Being with him is as easy as breathing, and sometimes it feels just as necessary. With me, he's different than the person he shows to everyone else. He's given me his true self, and I don't know how I got so lucky. You'll understand one day, little one,” Iwaizumi smiled and it was genuine and pure. His heartfelt confession left an overwhelming bubble of joy within Hinata. Feeling uplifted, he pulled his dark-haired friend into a rough hug. To his surprise, the embrace was returned with a small laugh. Breaking the hug, the ace stated his intention of finding Makki and Mattsun, who were without a doubt pouting about missing the store of their choosing. He ruffled the exuberant youth’s hair as he stood, flashing him one last smile before turning forward. Oikawa’s approach was marked by humming and the occasional whistle, and Iwaizumi’s eyes glistened as he intercepted his beloved.

   “Aww, Iwa-chan! You're glow-”

   “I love you, Tooru. I know I don't tell you nearly enough,” he murmured, cutting his boyfriend off with a quick kiss. His fingers lingered on his cheeks and within his chocolate locks, a thousand words exchanged within a passionate yet fleeting moment. With a nod, he took his leave to begin his quest to track down their comrades.

   Breathless, Oikawa stared after him, lost within his own thoughts. His heart pounded against his chest and he could feel his blood pulsing through his veins. The setter spun around on his heels to face Hinata, whose mouth had fallen ajar, while his fingertips traced across his lips where that chaste but intimate kiss had electrified his entire existence. His cheeks and ears were dusted rose-pink and his eyes twinkled as he swooned, “Wow, what did you say to make him so happy? He never kisses me in public, not that I'm complaining!”

   “Gra-Grand King Oikawa-Senpai! You two- you two are dating?!”

   “You really are dense, Shrimpy-chan!” Oikawa chided, shaking his head in disapproval as he threw some outfits at the younger male. Taking a moment to collect himself, he brushed some imaginary dirt off his clothes and coughed. His eyes betrayed his inner feelings, however, as they gleamed brighter than a diamond, “That's what love looks like, Shouyou.”

   Emboldened by the display of affection shared between such contrasting personalities, Hinata decided to push his luck, “Can I ask you something personal?”

   “No, we will not swing with you and Tobio-chan!”

   “What? No! I just, uh, wanted to know how you two get along so well. You two always fight, and, I-” He averted his gaze when he noticed Oikawa’s confused look, “Nevermind!”

   “As your favourite senpai, I am more than willing to give you relationship advice, Shrimpy-chan! Are you having a hard time with Tobio-chan? I bet he's a tough nut to crack, pun only slightly intended,” the setter smirked at the blush that covered the majority of Hinata’s visible skin.

   “I don't know what you mean, and we're not dating!” His face fell at the admittance, repeating the statement softly, “We’ve had... moments, but we're not dating.”

   “Why do you refuse him if you obviously want him so much? Stop pining and accept his affections already, silly!” Oikawa grinned as he nudged the distressed ball of emotions in front of him. Grabbing his wrists, he dragged him out of his chair and wrapped an arm around his shoulders, “Don't tell me you're that blind that you don't see how much he likes you? It's clear as day to everyone else.”

   “How can you tell, Oikawa-senpai? Please share your wisdom with me!” He beamed up at the setter, revitalised once more by the prospect of his feelings being reciprocated.

   “Hajime and I are brilliant and perfect in every aspect, whereas you and Tobio-chan are both thicker than concrete, so it makes sense that you two idiots haven't realised how in love you are with each other. The easiest way to tell is how he treats you. See, Iwa-chan always treated me differently than he would anyone else. When we’re alone, he's the sweetest person I could ever wish for. You think we fight, but that's just our thing. That's just what we do. That's what we've always done,” Oikawa grinned once more, staring off into the distance as he placed a hand on his lips again, “He's more than I deserve.”

   “So… because Kageyama calls me names... he loves me?”

   “No, idiot, it's because he's the happiest when he's around you! It's in the way he calls you every few hours because he thinks I'm the Devil and he’s worried about you. It's in the small things, like how he'll drop everything to spend time with you. It's in the conversations where he opens up to you and bares his soul to you,” he started picking up the clothes that had fallen onto the floor when Hinata had stood, folding each before placing them back within the other’s arms, “You said you've had moments. I don't know what you mean, and I don't really care, but if you care about him you need to man up and confess. Stop dancing around each other, and get to the good stuff. Making out on the beach, touching in the theatre, screwing in the-”

   “Thank you, Grand King Oikawa-senpai! I, uh, think I got the gist of it. I'll call him and tell him my feelings tonight!” Hinata hugged the clothes to his chest as he bowed. He was flushed and grinning like an idiot as he scrambled into a room. After the initial shock of being cut off in the middle of his advice, Oikawa stalked after the redhead with a pout.

   “Don't interrupt me when I'm offering you advice out of the goodness of my heart, it's rude!” His shrill voice resonated throughout the entire store, earning irritated gasps from the other patrons. Pacing outside the changing room, he waved to his old teammates when they strolled back into the store before turning back to the door. Makki and Mattsun shrugged in an attempt to hide their smiles but to no avail. Not only had Iwaizumi been in an elated mood, but Oikawa had a playful lilt as he lectured their kouhai through the door; nothing made them happier than seeing their friends with authentic smiles.

   “You can't confess over the phone, by the way! But don't worry, we have all week to plan the perfect date for you. Just trust your senpais!” Oikawa ceased his pacing as his three friends lined up next to him. A mischievous grin crossed his features as he turned to face the group, “You know who is amazing at that romantic crap?”

   “Uh, you, Oi-” Hinata jumped as he opened the door, a small squeal escaping his lips at the unanimous shouts of ‘Mattsun’.

   “Mattsun is a hopeless romantic. He'll definitely help you get laid, Shorty-chan!”

[diamondcamefromhell]

Jaskier x fem!painter s/o

I had my first ever request but I managed to DELETE IT, lol, but I did read it, so I will try to rephrase it.

Request (by @dominique-draws ): A headcanon or imagine of Jaskier and painter s/o where she captures their adventures and victories in paintings while Jaskier does so in ballads, need for Jaskier fluff  (i AM so sorry I messed up your request, I feel so bad, hope you like it anyways xx)

Warnings: Swearing

Word Count: 1,426

I always loved to paint, ever since I was little. At first it was just mud one some old parchment, but I grew, and so did my talent. There was something about capturing a moment forever, my hand creating art before my very own eyes.

I remember when I felt creatively exhausted, just sipping ale, paint on my dress and my hands – tired of it all. Then the most wonderful voice filled the bar, waking the little kid inside of me, as creative juices began to flow. I pulled out paper then and there and began to draw the bard, with his companion Witcher.

The latter, seemed annoyed and the very existence of the bard, while the singer kept prancing around, singing ballad after ballad. I captured it all, beautifully, in a couple of panels. The bard eventually noticed me eyeing him and approached me, complimenting my ability to draw. I complimented his voice.

The rest was history. I joined their travels, and soon after, mine and bards hearts also came together in beautiful melody, the most perfect painting you could ever see.

Travelling with the Witcher, however, is dangerous, but Jaskier, as I learnt his name, made all of the days fun and full of light. He would capture the fights and the victories in songs, I would finish the picture with my paintings. We worked great together, making the continent love the Witcher.

Right now, Geralt has killed yet another kikimora, and Jaskier was trying to twist the tale just enough to make it interesting for a ballad. I started at the Witcher who was petting his beautiful horse, Roach, who was carrying kikimoras corpse, or what was left of it. We were camping. Fire was making all of their shadows look like monsters.

I picked up the paper.

“I need to capture this.” I say mostly for myself, but Jaskier hears it, his eyes landing on me. A smile curls his lips.

“Make sure to get my pretty side.” He winks at me and I giggle.

“Always.” I mutter, as Geralt grunts. “Don’t worry Geralt, I will make sure Roach looks as beautiful as she is.”

“You’re amazing.” The bard lands next to me. He loves to look at me when I draw. I pull out some charcoal and begin sketching. Geralt also sits down near the fire, staring directly at it. I capture that too, the blood on his hands and the brooding look. “He always broods in your paintings.”

“Well he always broods, not just in my drawings Jask.” I point out, not taking my eyes away from the sketch.

“Even when we are victorious, Geralt never seems to be happy.” Witcher hmm’s at that, and I smile, staring a new panel on the parchment.

“Fine, I will try to make him look happy.” I say, entertaining the idea to Jaskier, who pulls out his lute and plays a soft tune.

“Oh angry angry Witcher, will he ever smile // the joy he brings to world, rests heavy on his heart // oh dearest dearest Geralt, show the world your light // sad little witcher, please begin to smile “ Jaskier stops, waiting for Geralt to react but to no avail. The bard sighs, wrapping one of his hands around me. “I tried, Y/N, I tried!”

“Careful, I’m drawing.” I say, as I shift so I am more comfortable in his arms. Jaskier smirks, looking down.

“Oh dear.” He gasps and I finally lift my eyes from the drawing to look at the lovely bard beside me. He looks surprised. “This may be the most horrifying thing I have ever seen, my love.”

“Thanks.” I say, bitterly, but he rips the paper out of my hands, springing to feet and rushing to Geralt, who takes one glance at my sketch.

“Maybe you should never smile, Geralt.” Jaskier pulls the drawing from Witchers face, closely examining it. “You look scary.”

“Fuck off, bard.” Geralt grunts, pushing him away, as he rushes back to me. Only then he notices the look on my face.

“Oh, sorry my lovely Y/N.” He hands me the parchment. “It’s not your skill I am criticizing, it’s Geralt.”

“Fuck off bard.” I imitate Geralt and I swear for a moment I see him smirk. I gasp, turning the parchment over clinging to my charcoal. Automatically, my hand knows what to do.

“Well if you both dislike me so much, why do you always seem worried when I get hurt!” Jaskiers voice reaches me, and I smile, immediately adding annoyed bard next to Geralt.

Capturing the big victories, like the dragon fight, is always fun and challenging. It makes history, leaves a trace of all of us after we’re gone. The songs and the drawings impress people, make them feel like they were there, but my favourite are moments like this.

Where you can see true Geralt, not the mighty Witcher, but one who cares about his friends deeply, even if he tries not to show it. The Geralt who can crack a smile when he thinks we can’t see, the one who may be silent, but joins in on our conversation with his snarky comments. Not the great scary monster hunter I pain and Jaskier sings about, but Geralt of Rivia, the good friend.

And Jask too, when he gets annoyed and pretends to be upset at us. Or the way he interacts with Geralt, so unapologetically jumping to Witchers face, making fun of him. At the same time, insecure about his music. Throwing his ideas to the sky, seeing where they land. Geralt and I have heard many ballads that the world will never be blessed enough to listen to or sing, simply because they didn’t land.

And me, happy and content in this weird company. Safe, and happy.

You can’t capture moments like this with a lute and a good rhyme, trust me, Jaskier has tried. They don’t catch on, nobody wants to hear about three friends sitting by the fire. Drawings like these also get less praise and attention. Nobody cares about the hero when he rests.

That’s why I love moments like this, they are, and always will be, just ours.

I finish the drawing, putting my charcoal on the ground next to me. Jaskier stops whining and peaks over my shoulder to look too.

“This, Y/N, is a masterpiece.” He always compliments my work, but this time I can say it’s coming from a heart. He kneels to me, pulling me closer, kissing both of my cheeks. “You are the most amazing woman this continent was blessed with.”

“This would never exist if it weren’t for you.” I smile, pulling back. I lift myself to my feet. “Or you, Geralt.”

“Hmm.” I hand him the drawing as his eyes scan it. I see his lips curl up just a little. Jaskier hugs me, also looking at the drawing, smile beaming on his face. “This isn’t bad.”

“A compliment from a Witcher?” Jask steps back, throwing his hands in the air. “You say my singing is fillingless pie!”

“Hmm.” Geralt hands me the painting, looking at Jaskier. “Don’t sing to Y/N, she might leave.”

Jaskier gasps and I laugh. As he defends his singing, I look at the drawing in my hands, that even Geralt liked. It’s so simple, him, by the fire, with a smirk on his face, Jaskier, visibly annoyed behind him, throwing his hands in the air. The beloved Roach, just staring at these two idiots, and me, sitting on a log, laughing.

I roll it up, knowing I will treasure it forever. I go to grab Jaskiers hand, immediately calming him down.

“Come on, buttercup, you know he didn’t mean it.” I say and I can practically feel Jask melt in my hands. He loves his nickname.

“I’m just playing with you.” He grins, letting go of my hand rushing to his lute.

No matter how much he loves me, I feel like he loves his lute more. I sigh and sit next to Geralt, as bard begins to entertain us with another one of his creations. I can already tell this one will only stay between the three of us, but I enjoy it. Even Geralt doesn’t ‘angry grunt’ at it.

“This one was for us.” Jaskier winks at me. “Not for the world.”

“Just like my drawing.” I point out and the bard beams.

Roach neighs, as if to agree, and Witcher let’s out one of his kinder hmms. This moment seems perfect.

But kikimoras body kinda stinks.

[perlukafarinn]

Love your stories should be really grateful if you could fill this prompt in: Destiel AU, where they’re already an established couple and they get into a fight, could be about anything. Some heated words are exchanged and later on Dean gets hurt or sick, cue an angry and worried Cas (preferably human) who wants to both fuss over/ fight with Dean but wants to look after him anyway. (There’s just something about Cas dealing with explosive emotions which makes me super happy!)

It starts when Cas leaves his dirty dishes in the sink.

Dean snipes at him about it, which Cas thinks is unfair. He was going to wash the dishes later and he tells Dean as much, but Dean replies that it’s bullshit and that he’s always the one who ends up doing it. 

Cas snaps. He’s sick of Dean treating him like a child, like he doesn’t trust him to take care of himself since he became human. 

“Well, maybe you are a child,” Dean replies derisively. “You can’t even pick up after yourself!”

Anger rises in Cas’ throat and he wants to shout at Dean - wants to fight him, give this uncomfortable feeling some outlet, but he knows that if he does Dean will only take it to mean that he’s right.

He leaves instead. He takes one of the bikes in the bunker’s garage and drives for a while. It does a lot to help that restless anger but once he gets back to the bunker in the evening, he finds that he’s still mad.

He sleeps in his own room. It’s empty and cold, and the mattress in his bed isn’t nearly as comfortable as Dean’s, but he’s not going to sleep next to someone who doesn’t respect him.

The next few days are uncomfortable, filled with passive-aggressive snipes and frosty silences. Cas waits for Dean to apologize, since he was the one who started this fight, but he doesn’t. 

In the end, Sam is the one to crack. He finds a hunt not too far away and asks Dean to join him, telling Cas that he can take the time off and do something fun for himself.

It’s nice to have some space to himself but the bunker feels huge and unwelcoming without the Winchesters there. Cas busies himself with reading, trying out new recipes (although he defaults to eating grilled cheese most nights), and holding desperately onto his anger.

He’s alone for four days. Sam keeps him updated on the hunt but Dean doesn’t send one message. Cas keeps his phone on hand constantly, wondering whether he should be the one to break the silence between them but he can’t bring himself to. Dean is the one who owes him an apology, not the other way around.

Finally, they return. Cas is in the kitchen when they arrive, making toast and scrambled eggs. He gives Sam a polite greeting and is fully prepared to pointedly ignore Dean when he notices the cast on his arm.

Before he’s even aware of having taken a step, he’s across the room, grabbing for Dean’s arm. “What happened?”

Dean yanks it back, wincing at the movement. “Nothing. I’m fine.”

“That is not fine,” Cas says. “What happened?”

Dean shrugs with one shoulder, not saying anything.

“The ghost threw him at a tombstone,” Sam says.

Dean gives him a betrayed look. “Dude.”

“Is it just your arm?” Cas asks, looking over Dean, frustrated that he can’t just pick out every injury in a second like he could before.

“That’s the worst of it,” Dean admits reluctantly. “Got a couple of bruises too but I’m fine, really. And your eggs are burning.”

Cas turns and indeed, there’s smoke rising from the pan. He strides over and turns off the stove, removing the eggs from the heat. They don’t look too bad, fortunately.

Dean, who has approached him and is peering over his shoulder, seems to disagree. “Did you forget to add the milk?”

“No,” Cas lies. “I prefer them without it.”

“I’ll make another batch.”

Cas grabs Dean’s elbow before he can move. “You are doing no such thing, you’re injured.”

“I’m-”

Frustration wells in Cas’ chest. “Say fine again and I will lose it.”

Dean’s mouth snaps shut. “...I thought you weren’t talking to me.”

“I’m not,” Cas says. “Now sit down. Are you hungry?”

“I don’t need you to take care of me,” Dean says petulantly, but he sits down.

Cas feels another surge of frustration. Having Dean back, still stubborn as ever and still not apologizing, has reignited his anger but seeing him injured makes him want to let go of it. He isn’t sure which instinct to follow.

“Even if you don’t need it, let me,” he says. “For my peace of mind.”

Dean looks up at him. For a long moment, they just stare at each other, then finally he relents. “I could eat.” He makes a face, and adds, “But not your rubbery eggs.”

Cas draws in a deep breath, ignoring his impulse to tell Dean where he can shove those rubbery eggs then. “Fine. I’ll make grilled cheese.”

He expects Dean to make some snarky comment about how all Cas can properly make is grilled cheese - which wouldn’t be wrong exactly - but instead he just nods. “Okay. Thanks.”

Cas turns back to the eggs on the pan, scraping them onto a plate for himself. They don’t look appetizing, he has to admit, but Dean has taught him never to throw out food.

He’s about to head for the fridge to get the ingredients necessary for a grilled cheese when Dean grabs his wrist. He looks at him and Dean ducks his head, blushing a little.

“I’m sorry, by the way,” he says, so quiet that Cas can barely hear him. “I didn’t mean it.”

Cas blinks. The expected joy at hearing Dean finally apologize never comes. Instead, it’s just relief - that he doesn’t have to hold onto his anger anymore. That he won’t have to sleep alone. 

“I’m sorry, too,” he says. “I won’t leave dirty dishes in the sink again.”

Dean snorts. He tugs at Cas’ arm, pulling him in for a one-armed hug around his waist. He rests his head against Cas’ stomach and Cas feels in that moment absurdly, over-the-top in love. He thinks that if Dean leaned on him more, literally and metaphorically, he wouldn’t mind one bit.

“Hey,” Dean mutters, voice muffled by Cas’ shirt.

“Yes?”

“When did Sam leave?”

Cas blinks. Looks around the kitchen, empty except for the two of them.

“I’m not sure,” he admits.

[manikas-whims]

Messing with Her

Pairing: Shouto Todoroki X Momo Yaoyorozu

Words: 1711

Rating: T

Read on: AO3 | FFnet

One. They are supposed to share just one lesson with the students of class B every week and yet somehow it has become the least bearable thing for Shouto. Although he isn’t much of an extrovert, he can bear with a few new faces but this doesn’t mean he’s ready to share seats with said new faces. And as if this isn’t enough, fate decides to play a dirty trick on him by giving him the worst possible seatmate for this particular class— Neito Monoma.

Not only does the blond hold some kind of personal grudge against class A but he is also nearly deranged. His obsession with annoying people is seriously worrisome. Negativity is known to eat away one’s inner conscience, deprive the person of liveliness and joy yet this boy thrives in chaos. Disaster fuels him like no drug can ever. And Shouto is extremely disgruntled to have to share a seat with him for a whole year.

He doesn’t pay heed to the crazy boy’s taunts and focuses on Sir Cementos, who is explaining something about strategizing which they’ll have to apply later on in test missions. His eyes glance ahead, stopping upon the back of a girl with silky, black locks next to an orange haired girl from class B. He sighs. It was his lovely, dark haired, seatmate herself who had suggested this new seat arrangement by drawing lots so as to help the two sections become more accustomed to one another and to make some new friends. Well he certainly does not need new friends. He is content with having her, Midoriya and Iida.

“Ohh so Mr. Cool Guy here is now ignoring me.” Monoma speaks, feigning a hurt expression.

Shouto finds the nickname funny, considering how hot-headed he gets when having to deal with idiots like these. But just like the rest of his classmates, he’s promised his class representatives that he’ll try to learn from this experience, not pick fights. And so, he tries to concentrate on what is being taught right in front of him.

“Is it your class rep, you’re thinking about?” Monoma says, his eyes now fixated on Yaoyorozu.

“Oh I know..” Monoma clicks his fingers, as if he’s discovered Shouto’s deepest, darkest secrets. “You’re thinking you’d rather sit with her than having to face a genius like me.”

Shouto huffs, cracking his neck to diffuse the annoyance building up within him. He has to! He promised Iida and Yaoyorozu.

“You think she’s better than me?” Monoma asks haughtily. This guy doesn’t know when to give up, does he?

Shouto ignores him.

“She is intelligent, I’ll give her that. But isn’t her kindness off-putting? I dunno, she almost seems too good to be true. Hey! Maybe she’s faking being nice to-”

“Fuck Off” The words escape Shouto’s lips before his rational mind can stop him.

It is only when the whole class turns towards him, some gasping in shock whilst several others hooting in approval of the possible incoming argument that he realizes he’s said the curse words loud enough for everyone to hear. He looks away, unfazed by everyone’s undivided attention on him. He only swears if it is to humiliate his bastard of a father. But people like Monoma press the right buttons, pushing him to lose his composure. It would’ve been fine if the arrogant boy had kept his snarky comments limited to him but he tried to insult Yaoyorozu, someone whom Shouto holds very important in his life, just like his other friends. He assures himself with that thought but wonders if he’d actually reacted the same way had it been Midoriya or Iida. Anyways, he couldn’t have just sat there and let the guy say whatever.

Sir Cementos puts down the chalk in his hand and opens his mouth to berate him for his language but Yaoyorozu beats their teacher to it.

“Todoroki-san! How could you?” she stands up, disappointment clear in her voice.

How could he? Normally, he would’ve simply told her that this stuck-up class B student just badmouthed her. But with an audience around, he can’t. He just knows that’ll hurt Yaoyorozu more than Monoma’s false remarks. So instead of stating the truth, he decides to lie. “Because he deserves.”

From the corner of his eyes, he can see Iida itching to chide him but is stopped by Midoriya.

“Swearing is wrong!” Yaoyorozu emphasizes, her hands resting on her hips. “Whether or not a person deserves it, is not as important as you spoiling your tongue by using such foul words.”

Here it is, her ‘good girl’ speech. Although she’s right, she can’t force everyone to stop swearing. And he’s already not the most ideal boy in his class. He is kind of a brooding, no-nonsense, cool sort of guy but that doesn’t mean he’s not bad. It may not be apparent but he’s just as handful as any other teenager. He doesn’t answer much to his sister and he treats his father like trash (which the man actually is). Oh! And not long ago, before the sports festival, he used to be pretty rude and uncaring about others. Its surprising that she and the rest of his classmates collectively decided to forget all of it as soon as he started opening up. So yeah, he doesn’t really care if swearing is wrong.

“It’s my tongue I’m spoiling, so you don’t need to worry.” He says with a shrug, earning some collective ‘oohs’ from the other students.

Her expression darkens at the nonchalance in his words. “I’m not worried. I just want you to apologize.”

Shouto’s eyes widen for the fraction of a second before returning to his stoic demeanor. Apologize? Him? To this jerk? And that too for cursing at Monoma because the blond was mocking her kind character? Not in a million years. If asked, he can share his soba with her but he will definitely not ask for this obnoxious boy’s forgiveness. He cocks his head to the side as he responds, “Or what?”

His words ensue a set of gasps, hoots and snickers. Even Bakugou quirks a brow in amusement. The sassy intonation in his words, makes Shouto question himself too. Crude words are one thing. But where is this coming from? He doesn’t remember ever speaking like this to anyone. Especially, since he had only meant to decline her request. Somehow he ended up saying these..challenging words!? He’s not in the position to challenge her for correcting him. So then, how did he let such words slip out of his mouth? Must be due to his time spent in the company of Bakugou and others at the provisional training.

Or is it because he enjoys messing with her? He knows she’s genuinely too sweet to scream at him for his words. Plus, he has noticed her always blushing cutely when he says something unpredictable. He isn’t sure why she reacts the way she does towards some of his actions but he likes it. He likes getting under her skin. He wants to witness how much she can take until she finally snaps back at him and takes action.

“Or..” she begins through gritted teeth, “I’ll never talk to you.”

His brows furrow immediately. The last time she stopped speaking to him was a disaster. Yes, he had talked it out with her. But he doesn’t have the energy to repeat that because he knows most of class A will be eavesdropping on them like the other time. He balls his palms into fists, the temperature rising on his left side whilst decreasing equally at his right. This isn’t fair. He didn’t expect her to be this strict on him. He isn’t saying that he’s special but she always does make him feel so. Wishing him good luck during tests, lending him spare stationary material by actually using her quirk to create it for him, offering him her expensive variety of tea and so much more. It’s just that her little gestures make him feel warm and happy..make him feel special and loved.. So now that she’s the one reprimanding him, it’s disheartening. Still, he cannot apologize to Monoma. He just can’t.

“It’s okay, Yaoyorozu-san.” Fortunately, the orange haired girl from class B intervenes. Kendo right? She’s the one who keeps her classmates in line. “I know Monoma is a bit provoking in nature.” She says sheepishly. “So there’s no need to say sorry to him. I think a written apology to your homeroom teacher will be better.” She suggests, looking awkwardly between Todoroki and Yaoyorozu.

Yaoyorozu bites her lip as if contemplating if she should agree or not but then relaxes visibly. “Fine then. Todoroki-san, please write an apology to Aizawa sensei.” With that said, she turns around, a frown still etched on her face to express her disappointment in him.

He watches the others turn back to Cementos, assuming the matter is over. But not for him. For some inexplicable reason, Shouto can’t get enough of this. He knows this isn’t a competition and that she wasn’t serious when she said what she did. He knows. Yet..

“Or what?”

“Or..I’ll never talk to you.”

The statement echoes in his head. He can’t believe that she shot back to his pugnacious words.

Shouto knows that it’s unnecessary and he’s being childish. But he can’t help himself from wanting to have the last word in this silly, one-sided argument with her. Maybe it’s his adolescent hormones kicking in but he wants to spite her, test her some more..

“Well then you better keep an eye on me or I won’t be writing that apology letter.” He drawls out but he doesn’t get to wait long. He sees Yaoyorozu instantly push her chair back with a noisy screech. In a few quick steps, she stomps towards him, glaring Monoma to get her message across. The blond boy immediately vacates the chair for her and she sits down next to Shouto, passing him a fiercer glare. He smirks, relishing in the hooting that follows anew as a result of his playful words.

Seriously, if all it takes is a few swear words and silly comebacks to make her sit by his side, then he’ll gladly do it all over again.

A/N: Amongst class A students, i think Shouto is the most badly behaved one. He's rude to people he doesn't like or doesn't respect, regardless of their age. There's so much I've noticed about him that I feel like he is the Bad Boy type right next to Bakugou 🤭

Well, I hope you guys enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing..

OH, I'M OPEN FOR REQUESTS NOW

If you have a scenario, AU or just sn idea about todomomo and you want me to write it, please comment about it here ☺

[growingstronglikeahighgardenrose]

The Christmas Miracle

Pairings: Charlotte/Sidney

POV: Georgiana

Prompt: When those blue snowlakes start falling (12 days of Sanditon challenge hosted by @sanditoncreative​

Synopsis: 'You’ll come to regret ever setting foot in Sanditon’, Esther had said. Four months after her departure, Charlotte was indeed wondering if the adventure had been worth the pain, but Esther, Georgiana and Lady Susan are determined to invalidate Esther’s statement. Never underestimate four girlfriends when one of them has been hurt by a man.

Also available on AO3

Georgiana hated the English climate.

It was cold.

It was wet.

It was windy.

And not a single beach or park could ever compare to the natural splendour of her country of origin.

And right now, she considered England the worst place on earth.

It had never been a good place to begin with. She was shipped to it like some kind of slave, forced to live and perform in England. The only difference was that her cage was a gilded one, but she had about just as much say in her life.

No, the unfairness was that over the summer, she had started experiencing joy and moments of happiness with Otis and Charlotte, and come Autumn, both had been ripped away from her.

The first by his own mistake, her heart still ached too much to pity him, and the second all by the fault of her brother.

Because Georgiana didn’t know a lot, probably not half of the story, but she didn’t need to. Sidney was a brute: he was moody, antagonistic and rational to the point of being heartless.

Yet, for some reason beyond her comprehension, Charlotte had decided to be interested in him.

And coincidentally, or rather by no coincidence at all, her best friend left shortly after news of his engagement to the blonde rat who wore a constant scowl.

Georgiana had actively avoided the woman, only seeing her during the wedding of Lord Babington and forced dinners, but she had a calculating look in her cold blue eyes, and talked in a contrived London manner she instantly detested, and then there was the barely concealed disdain in her words whenever the topic of Charlotte Heywood or Sanditon was broached.

And whenever she talked to Georgiana, Georgiana felt treated like a little girl. If she had an opinion, it was amusing, if she said something sharp, she was addressed with the nickname girl, and when she took a stance, she was often put down for simply being unknowing.

Just as the wretched Lady Denham had finally taken notice and calmed down, a new enemy entered her social life.

Was there to be no end to the endless list of awful people in England? Surely, she’d met many unpleasant people in Antigua, but this was on a whole other level.

The only good thing during the Autumn season were Charlotte’s letters, in which her dear friend told her, upon hearing of her bad encounters with the blonde serpent, how she’d belittled Charlotte on the day of the regatta as well.

Georgiana felt bad talking about the serpent and Sidney to Charlotte, because she knew it hurt her. It was visible in her writing. Charlotte almost never reacted to statements considering Sidney, and the comments about the snake got comforting and supportive replies. She didn’t know why it pained her friend. She herself wouldn’t mind getting weekly letters about how poorly Otis fared after he’d hurt her heart.

It would serve him right, literally gambling away their happiness.

Just as it served Sidney right that he looked to be completely miserable with the serpent. He chose her for her money, not for her character, so it served him right that she didn’t possess a single redeemable quality.

At the end of November, Lord Babington, who had stayed in Sanditon for Sidney, had to go to London because the prince regent requested it, and parliament would pick up soon. Mrs. Campion wished to go as well, since she missed her London friends, wanted a London dress for the wedding and wanted to show off her fiancé.

Georgiana’s fate was uncertain, but Sidney seemed disinclined to take her with him, since she: ‘Was able to cause enough problems in Sanditon, and managed to cause problems from Sanditon to London.’

But then a letter of Charlotte arrived, in which she said Lady Susan had invited her to visit London with her.

Leave it to Georgiana to make a scene and hold a pity party if she thought there was something to be gained from it. In the end, Sidney gave in and allowed her to go to London though Mrs. Griffiths and her other charges were to go as well.

So all went to London, and on the day of their departure, the first snow greeted them on their way to London.

 ☼☼☼☼☼

Though there was no chance Charlotte would set foot in the Parker residence, Georgiana got an invitation for tea at Lady Susan’s almost immediately. She delighted in only telling Sidney of her plans over dinner, since dinner was almost always had with Mrs. Campion, so he was never able to ask about Charlotte or show his emotions when Georgiana announced she was visiting again.

One time, Mrs. Campion, jealous of the time Georgiana spent in the presence of one of the most famous and esteemed ladies in London, asked why she was not invited. To which Georgiana gleefully, and with the same haughty tone, with all the pretended innocence Mrs. Campion showed when she made a nasty remark, replied that she didn’t feel secure enough to ask anything of Lady Susan, since she was such a busy and esteemed woman and her table was always full, since she wished to see every acquaintance worth having. She’d always cleverly left out the fact that most meetings were only in the presence of Charlotte.

The reaction was instantaneous, Mrs. Campion pulled back from the table she’d been leaning on, her face paling. Little black Georgiana worth having every couple of days, Charlotte Heywood living with her, but wealthy Mrs. Campion who had already known and greeted Lady Susan on numerous occasions wasn’t worth having.

She could see her struggle with the fact that she herself wasn’t wanted by Lady Susan, and that Lady Susan preferred the two girls she so clearly disliked.

‘But y-‘ She was like a fish on dry land, her lips forming words but her vocal chords weren’t producing them. She wanted to say it. Georgiana could see how she tried to ask why such a lady would want Georgiana and Charlotte, but she could also see the stern look that Sidney was giving his fiancée.

He knew, Georgiana realized.

He knew that she wanted to make a mean-spirited remark. And he hated her just as much for it.

Just ditch the bitch, please.

‘But how unfortunate. Does she know I am in London?’

Clever, a most clever save… But a bad one.

‘I believe so, I’ve mentioned dining with you… And we’ve already been to a ball she was present at’, Georgiana replied, the last comment with an innocent smile saying: how could you have forgotten, you poor silly thing.

Bested in her own game, Mrs. Campion could only stare with an open mouth.

‘Oh, I understand. She must be busy then, perhaps at the next ball we might talk.’

‘Perhaps.’

 ☼☼☼☼☼

The next day proved uncommonly cold as Georgiana went towards the Babington residence. She’d never really cared or interacted with Lady Babington before she got married, she’d always seemed cold and quiet, but during their first ball in London, she’d lost Charlotte for an hour, and found her red eyed but with dry cheeks at the refreshment table with Lady Babington. Apparently, Charlotte had a run-in with Mrs. Campion and Sidney, and as Lord Babington had gone after Sidney, he’d alerted his wife that Charlotte might be in a bad state as well. She’d escorted Charlotte to a private chamber, in which Charlotte had admitted that indeed nothing good ever came of Sanditon. Afterwards, they’d talked a couple of times and though she didn’t form a natural friendship with the woman, she could at least agree that they both cared about Charlotte. She was as snappy, snarky and opinionated as her, but as always, two people similar in character had trouble connecting.

A maid let her in and showed her to a green drawing room upstairs. Lady Babington and Charlotte were already present… As was Lady Susan, unexpectedly.

‘I called you all together, because, through our combined knowledge, I hope to find a solution to our problem.’

‘Our problem?’ Georgiana asked.

A maid came in bringing tea and biscuits, and the red haired woman waited until the maid left again.

‘Yes. Our problem. Now, I know I was a bit preoccupied with my own problems this summer… And any potential friendship has suffered under it, since you rightfully avoided my brother, Miss Heywood. But lately, I’ve come to a conclusion that many people seem to be bothered by a particular problem. And since men are too stupid to tackle the problem, and are to occupied pitying themselves, it’s up to us. I won’t beat around the bush any longer: our problem goes by the name of Mrs. Campion. I’ve asked Charlotte if it was alright to discuss it beforehand, and it is. Mrs. Campion is a mean cruel creature and the thing standing between Mr. Parker and Miss Heywood.’

Georgiana refrained from telling Charlotte to just pick a better, less crappy person, and continued drinking her tea.

‘The information I’ve collected thus far is the following: Charlotte and Mr. Parker are in love. Charlotte and Mr. Parker were about to get engaged, until something happened that lead him to engage himself to his former fiancé who’d left him for a rich man. This we all know, by knowing Charlotte. Now, my husband strongly believes in privacy and wishes to keep the secrets of his friends. So the past few months I’ve only managed to notice that Mr. Parker was faring badly. James stumbled home late, or drunk and late a lot, and the person he’d entertained was always the same: Mr. Parker. Now, I’ve also met Mrs. Campion a lot and she’s an upright bitch. Of course, Mr. Parker could just have developed a bad taste, or decided that personality isn’t important in a woman. Yet, if her personality didn’t matter, he had no reason to be so miserable.’

Georgiana found herself becoming interested in the story. These were all things she had observed herself, yes, but she was curious what this was leading up to.

‘Now after the first ball, I’ve started paying more attention. Why, if both Mr. Parker and Miss Heywood are unhappy, and nobody likes Mrs. Campion, is he engaged to her? There had to be a reason. And I thought that if I found the reason, we could treat the reason. If there’s no reason for him to be with her, we can split them up and fix things… Alright now fixing it won’t mean everyone can go straight back to being happy… That’s not how feelings work…’

Lady Babington seemed a bit lost in thoughts as her eyes wandered across the room. Georgiana coughed, which managed to snap her out of it.

‘Right… So though it still may take a while for things to be actually fine, things can at least start getting better once she’s out of the way. Happiness is still possible.’

‘I’ve listened with my ear pressed to closed doors, I’ve played the part of worried wife – which mind you I am – when James came back home drunk and down because of Sidney’s misery… And I’ve talked with James when he was sober. I’ve found out the following, of which I’m not sure you are aware. When those buildings burned down, Sidney discovered that Tom didn’t pay for the insurance for the same reason he always pays his workers late, skimps out on spending money on new material and so on: he’s broke. He has an incredible amount of loans, his debt is ginormous. But he keeps thinking that once Sanditon catches on, he’ll make the money back. However, the amount of money invested in the houses, was large, and he needed to sell or rent those buildings with great urgency. All Parkers knew Sanditon cost a lot, they knew he depended on Lady Denham’s financial support, they knew he’d asked Sidney to ask for loans in London, they knew he needed to get Sanditon on the map. But when he told them how much he owed his debtors, they knew they couldn’t pay it. Even if my aunt had died and all the money had gone to Sanditon, he’d still be in trouble. His debt was bigger than all the money the Parkers possessed, plus the money of my aunt. They needed new money and couldn’t lend it.’

‘So he asked for the bitch’s hand’, Georgiana concluded.

Lady Babington nodded.

‘So the reason is money.’

‘Only money. Not even for his own benefit, purely for Tom’s. Mrs. Campion wanted Mr. Parker back since her husband died, and her money only becomes his after the marriage, so he complies with every whim. She sometimes uses it to make him do things, because, despite claiming to want him, she has no problem threatening to break off the engagement if he doesn’t do as she wishes. And though he dislikes her, he does hate marrying her just to use her money. He feels miserable being with her, and he hates having to use the only benefit marrying her brings.’

‘That makes.. Sense actually’, Charlotte muttered. ‘I always told him how he should make more of an effort to support his family… But I never meant this… I never thought… To trap two people in a loveless marriage just to help Tom… Oh poor Sidney, poor Mr. Parker.’ Her eyes were filled to the brim with tears threatening to overspill any moment.

Were they to all suffer because of money? She a bird in a cage because of it, her engagement ruined because of Otis’ debts, Lady Babington suffering through money troubles and having to comply with Lady Denham prior to getting engaged, Sidney’s engagement being broken off because the serpent wanted to marry a wealthier husband, and now Sidney and Charlotte both being miserable because of Tom Parker’s money trouble.

‘And his family, he’d go straight to debtor’s prison, and his wife and children would be in a lot of trouble. And the other two brothers as well, since they too wouldn’t be able to pay off his debt.’

‘So they need money’, Lady Susan decided.

‘And they need it before the marriage takes place’, Charlotte replied.

‘So, we need to find money’, Esther explained.

‘Or find ways to make it’, Georgiana decided.

‘Yes. Anyone ideas?’ Esther asked as she sat down with a notebook in hand.

‘Either we need to find a way to make sure Sidney wouldn’t be harmed by Tom’s trouble’, Georgiana sighed.

‘Or we need to find a way to make Tom’s trouble go away’, Esther agreed.

‘So Sanditon needs to become a thriving town, within half a year?’ Lady Susan asked.

‘Or the Parkers need a lot of additional funds so that Tom can focus on paying back the money, instead of spending for new stuff’, Georgiana concluded.

Charlotte looked around the room. The Babingtons, Lady Susan, Georgiana…

‘I can’t ask this of you. If it was about a little amount, it would be kind and I would know they’d give it back to you, but I doubt that would be the case. No.’

‘We can, of course, always poison her shortly after the marriage’, Georgiana suggested.

Lady Babington smiled but the other two looked reserved.

‘What? Then we wouldn’t have to do anything. They’d have the money and Sidney would be free.’

‘Except that murder is illegal’, Charlotte said.

‘Only if they find out.’

‘Hold on, she might be on to something’, Lady Susan decided.

‘Murder might not be the answer. But as long as they get married, the money is his. Now I’ve seen many marriages dissolve in my time… Perhaps, we only need to find a reason for divorce.’

‘Good luck with that,’ Esther huffed, ‘a marriage is practically a lifelong contract. The only legal grounds are if the husband almost beats his wife and children to death or if a party, but most frequently the woman…’

‘Commits adultery.’

‘But, that doesn’t make it possible for Mr. Parker to remarry’, Charlotte said.

‘It does… if you take it to Parliament’, Lady Susan explained.

‘But doesn’t that only happen a handful of times a year?’ asked Esther.

‘Yes, because it costs money to take it to Parliament, and since it doesn’t happen a lot your name and reputation might take quite a hit. Most who have the money are society people, but it frequently leads to them being shunned… Luckily, I doubt that would be the case, since I, Lord Babington, Mr. Crowe and other very influential people would make sure his reputation would remain good enough. We’d make sure it would be known that he’s still welcome at parties attended by the Prince Regent. That really sends a sign. If he, as a divorcee, still moves in the same circles as the Prince Regent, no one will dare close their doors for him.’

‘But Mrs. Campion…’

‘Now most divorce cases I know are awful things. And the wife ends up a poor outcast, not allowed to remarry and not receiving the alimony she should. But I’m sure that Mr. Parker would allowed her to remarry, and would pay her alimony.’

‘So what you’re saying is: we should make her cheat with someone with enough money to take her on in case of a divorce, despite the serious social repercussions.’

‘Yes.’

‘It’s, a lot… Though… To put her through. I don’t like her, and she’s definitely mean, but she’s only about thirty, this could impact her the rest of the years of her life. And we are already assuming she would commit adultery.’

‘Someone doesn’t have to commit adultery, there are bad men who have divorced their wives with no real proof of anything.’

‘But let’s just pretend she at least has to be a bit guilty, otherwise she isn’t deserving of such a punishment.’

The woman all grabbed their teacup to drink and collect their thoughts.

‘Lady Susan, you managed to get a lot of people to Sanditon this summer. Perhaps, it could happen again, if Sanditon hosted more events’, Charlotte asked.

‘It could, perhaps with even more people, my going was a last minute decision.’

‘But would that be enough?’ Esther asked.

‘I doubt it.’

‘If I marry, the money will go to my husband, I’d much rather spend it on that damned sandy place if it helps you. I care more for having you as something as close to a sister as it could get, than having more money than I’ll ever need in the possession of a future husband.’

‘I doubt Sidney would allow you’, Charlotte sighed. ‘And neither would I want you to.’

Esther stood up and walked about the room, coming to a standstill in front of the window. Georgiana noticed it had started snowing again.

Lady Susan and Charlotte took the paper and started noting down ideas for future events and ways to get people to Sanditon.

Georgiana sighed in frustration. All these tactics would take months. Not knowing a lot about making money, she started imagining ways to murder Mrs. Campion.

Stupid horrid woman, why did she have to marry him?

Why, after all these years, did she suddenly want him?

‘Wait, when was the wedding again? I never paid attention to the date’, Esther asked. She turned away from the window. Her lips were a flat line as she looked at Georgiana.

‘They were going to marry on the day they got engaged all those years ago, somewhere around the beginning of July… But, she’s been asking for a date at the end of January the last couple of weeks. Since the bans would already be read by then. She wanted a London wedding and claimed to not want to wait until the summer season.’

‘That soon?’ Charlotte asked in panic.

‘Oh, interesting. She doesn’t seem the type to suddenly change plans.’

‘She isn’t she’s a control freak.’

Esther walked away from the window.

‘How many weeks ago did she say that?’

‘I don’t know, the week before we left for London. Mrs. Campion had been visiting Sanditon since the ending of July, but always returned to London. She had already wanted Sidney to go because she was going to spend the entirety of the season there. Sidney wasn’t planning on going, but since you and Lord Babington and Mr. Crowe went, he felt inclined. Then Mrs. Campion returned and demanded he go, because she wanted a London wedding “where everyone could attend, and it would be such fun, perhaps there might even be snow.” And stuff’, Georgiana said, mimicking Mrs. Campion’s airs as she spoke the words.

‘Interesting’, Lady Susan concluded.

Esther’s eyes connected with those of Lady Susan.

‘I think, perhaps, our initial suggestion might not be so unfair to Mrs. Campion.’

‘Death?’ asked Georgiana with amusement.

‘Adultery… Miss Lambe, we need you. Please, try observing her as well as you can over the next few weeks’, begged Esther.

‘Look how she responds to food. Does she get ill, nauseous, refrain from eating certain things… Check how often she feels faint-headed, or says she’s indisposed or ill.If possible, try to determine whether her face is getting rounder, or the silhouette of her dress is changing’, Lady Susan instructed.

‘Why?’ asked Charlotte, who just like Georgiana, didn’t know what the married women were aiming at.

‘They’re signs of pregnancy.’

‘You think Mrs. Campion might be – that?’

‘Why would a woman, with more than enough money to provide for herself, want a husband beneath her in rank and wealth? Love, one might say, good enough. But why suddenly love a man you haven’t spoken to in years, and were able to give up years ago? Why suddenly marry half a year sooner than planned, if she herself suggested the original date? Perhaps she’s been in a relationship for months, and wanted Sidney as an insurance that should she become pregnant, there’d be a father and no scandal, but it could have already happened, and now she has to speed up her plans.’

Esther and Georgiana were smiling now.

But Charlotte wasn’t faring too well.

‘She’s using him again. Leaving him and taking him depending on what’s useful. Are we to let her marry him?’

‘She’d be cast out if she became pregnant whilst unmarried, no matter her money. It practically makes no difference, the scandal would be as large as it would be if there was a divorce… The only thing which would be different, would be who the money belongs to.’

‘But to have Sidney go through a wedding and a divorce…’

‘She has to marry someone or she’s ruined, and he’s so desperate for her money, that it wouldn’t matter if he discovered about her condition shortly before the marriage.’

‘So she has to marry someone, and Sidney will take her on out of loyalty for Tom.’

And then.

Like a snowflake falling out of the sky,

Twirling in the wind,

A thought formed,

And slowly solidified as it floated through her head,

Until it hit her.

‘She doesn’t have to marry him. If our guess is right, she wanted Sidney because he was wealthy enough and she liked him. She also knew he needed her money and would take her back. It was a good situation for her, if she got pregnant, the child would be born within a marriage. She’s known Sidney before and she knows that Sidney would be too good a man to go through the trouble and humiliation to divorce her, should he discover her relationship. But she hasn’t taken into account that he loves someone else. She hasn’t taken into account anyone discovering before it happens. We can blackmail her. We can inform her that we know. There’s no time left to entrap another husband. She has to marry. But she has no choice as to who she marries. We can force her to marry into the family, that way her money is ours, but she gets to keep her social life, and her child won’t have to grow up in poverty, its name forever coated in scandal.’

‘That still means they have to marry.’ Everyone was visibly confused.

‘No, she has to marry a Parker, not that Parker in particular. It doesn’t matter which brother gets the money. There are two single Parker brothers, and they’d both willingly give the money to Tom.’

‘You mean we should put… Mr. Arthur through a marriage to that woman?’ Charlotte asked.

‘Yes. That’s exactly what I’m saying.’

‘That would solve our problems… But it would force him to be with that woman for the rest of his life’, Lady Babington sighed. ‘It doesn’t seem like the best solution.’

‘Actually, the more I think of it, the better I think it would be. I have an advantage none of you have. For some reason, he has taken it upon himself to befriend me, grumpy and unwilling as I was to make friends. Now, I might be betraying his confidence, but it’s essential that you know. If you know, you might understand why I think he would agree.’

All other women were silent as they looked at her, hope, interest and confusion written in their eyes.

‘Firstly, Arthur Parker would do everything for his brothers. Secondly, he’s a happy go lucky guy, even Mrs. Campion’s awful mood wouldn’t be able to break his spirits, rather, his spirits would annoy her and she’d have to live with him for the rest of her life. Thirdly, he loves children, no matter whose they are. Fourthly, the changes of Arthur marrying were already quite slim to begin with. And the chances of him marrying and procuring children even slimmer. This would actually be a solution to his problem, since it would give Arthur and heir, and she’s possibly the only woman who’d agree to marry him. She has no choice but accept him.’

‘Why?’

‘Arthur Parker doesn’t like women. He never has. Not in a romantic way. If he were to marry, it would be a marriage from which no children would come, few women would agree to that. But Mrs. Campion has no choice, and has a child on the way.’

‘Oh my.’

‘Heavens.’

‘The chances of such a thing…’

‘Are you sure he would agree, it’s still Her?’ Charlotte asked. She was the least surprised of the three.

‘I believe so, I could write to him?’

‘Shouldn’t we wait until we know she’s with child?’ Lady Susan asked.

‘It’s snowing. Post will be slow, and we have to act fast. We have to know of her pregnancy and the youngest Mr. Parker’s willingness by the middle of December, so that there’s enough time for the bans to be read and the preparations to be made’, Lady Babington replied.

All women stared at the snow twirling past the window.

‘So… If we are lucky, we have found a solution?’ Esther asked.

‘’It seems so’, Lady Susan replied.

‘Charlotte, we don’t want to encourage you to hope, but we just want you to know that we’re here for you. To listen, and to help should you wish.’

‘Thank you all. The last months have been… Certainly something… Thanks for going through the trouble. I’m not hoping for a magical solution, I think I’ll only believe there to be one when I see it happening. The past year has made me realize that I’ve been overly open and overly trusting and optimistic. I’ve quite lost that spirit now, which I believe is a good thing, but still, it would be nice to have the guarantee that some things could get better.’

☼☼☼☼☼

Hugs and support were given, and by dinner time all left for their homes. Georgiana asked Lady Susan whether there were particular foods known to agitate a pregnant woman, which there were, and lo and behold, the next day when Mrs. Campion arrived for dinner, it didn’t even take a full ten minutes for her to scowl and stare at the soup, which she didn’t eat a lot of. Then came the first course, and her face paled further as she subtly held her hand in front of her throat. When Mr. Parker asked her whether she was alright, she smiled sweetly and claimed to have been feeling bad all day. But the real spectacle came during the main course, when a very red piece of meat was served, barely cooked.

After the two previous courses, she’d already gotten pale but when the servants lifted the lids of the main course, she didn’t need more than a sniff to jump upright and run away.

Georgiana couldn’t explain her laughter to Mrs. Griffiths or her brother. A laughter that didn’t disappear by the time she went to bed. She didn’t want to report back to the ladies because of a single event though, so the next couple of days she kept looking and testing, until, after three dinners had gone by during which Mrs. Campion had become unwell, and two cancelled dinners because Mrs. Campion was “indisposed”, Georgiana felt certain enough in her observing to report back. She asked the ladies over for tea, and as she reported her findings, a letter arrived for her. It was by Arthur Parker.

He agreed, that if it were the case, he would gladly assist.

☼☼☼☼☼

By the middle of December, Arthur arrived, Sidney was informed, and Mrs. Campion was confronted. She was shocked at having been found out, and surprised by the suggestion of the Parkers. But she found herself, as Georgiana had predicted, unable to refuse. And on the 24th of December, the bans announcing the wedding of Mr. Arthur Parker and Mrs. Eliza Campion were read. It was more of a Christmas Miracle than any of them had ever experienced or read about.

And, when those blue snowflakes started falling again on the 1st of February, they were wed. Sidney and Charlotte had a lot to sort through, her trust and heart had been broken, and if it hadn’t been for Charlotte’s friends, he’d have been stuck in a loveless marriage. But, the love was still there, through it all. It took time, for Charlotte to grow comfortable with her feelings again, and she and Mr. Parker spend a lot of time rebuilding and solidifying their bond, which had always been tumultuous, but by the time the winter left their country, their bond was blooming and an engagement was announced.

And Georgiana, despite her initial reservations, had to admit that Charlotte had managed to bring out the best behaviour in him. She had even succeeded in mending the bond between Georgiana and Sidney.

And truth be told, if Charlotte smiled so much, and Sidney was so desperately in love he couldn’t even pretend to be gruff anymore, Georgiana could only be happy for them.