#this was too long and i may have forgotten someone but if i did please don't hate me bc i am so sleepy and traveling is bitch and a half

[yourplasticlittlespastic]

E̴N̴T̴W̴I̴N̴E̴D̴ - Series

Part 2

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x f/reader

Warnings: Pure Fluff! Raw +18 warnings will come later in other chapters

Notes: That's right, I plan to make it a series. Not too short, not too long but enough! Benedict has stolen my days and nights and I've been daydreaming too much ngl.

WC: 3.5K

Humidity has reached its peak.

You cursed quite low as the sweat forming on your lower back created a wave of uncomfortableness and nevertheless, you were putting yet another layer of fabric. Madame Delacroix called it freshening and here you are, the third hour of trying out the fabrics of the newly imported cloth.

"Better than whalebone, is it not mon cherie?"

You looked at Madame Delacroix with the sense of cursing her too but you smiled rather sweetly "Steel you said? It is... better" You felt the structure of the corset, still very fitting and nothing different from the previous ones except for the metal strips on the side.

"Bien, we shall get it" The seamstress nodded and started working immediately and as you stood there; presence made statue and breath made a mere flow you saw people passing, your mother with her pupils dilated as the colours of fabric captured her you wondered if perhaps things could go more easily this season.

A sudden wave of hope filled you at the thought of not having Daphne around, not to confuse it with hate, you love the Bridgertons but the eldest sister made quite a chaos last time that unfortunately even if some pair of eyes landed on you, Daphne and the Duke took most for themselves.

When you returned to your house, adorned with the marble that was polished every morning of every day, you lay on your bed tired of doing absolutely nothing. Looking pretty in a burgundy dress is not a task that burns brain cells.

“Mama” you said with your head facing the ceiling and your legs swinging.

The woman who you were looking for entered the room, holding a cup of tea in her hands and a smile on her face, one that was painted so naturally, one that she passed to you.

“Yes, my dear?”

“May I go to the Bridgertons?”

“Now?” Your mother saw the agony on your face “I want you back before sunset”

“You must not worry” Your heels clicked on the ground as you got up, a smile on your face and the feeling of going to a friend's house instead of spending the day in your chambers “Finally, finally” you whispered clumsily going outside your grandiose mansion and breathing the powdery vs. Pollen of London’s air.

It was a three-minute stroll as you turned the block towards the Bridgertons; ultimately you saw the gates open and the carriage that was waiting outside.

The sun was shining as you looked upwards, the sky a shade of blue that reminded you of the ocean, the one that your father brought you to a couple of summers ago.

You knocked twice and waited for someone to open, a maid appeared and bowed.

“Miss Ashbourne”

“Morning Rose, may I?”

“Please, the ladies are-“

“In the drawing-room, I assume, as always”

“Miss Penelope is there as well"

"The more, the better. Thank you, Rose" With pose you took your dress and tried to walk inside the beautiful almost similar entree of the house but-

"Anthony?!"

You smiled at the voice and before stepping into the staircase you turned around and made your way to the other room; the one that always smelled like oils and wood.

“I believe your sight might be flawed… that or you quite meant I look like Anthony”

Benedict’s eyes lift from the painting, a smile spreading on his lips and you did the same.

“In spirit perhaps” he curved his lips “Forgive me Miss Ashbourne, the angle from this side is not ideal to see who walks around”

“Hmmm that’s alright,” you said stepping into the middle of the room, the tiles stained with long-forgotten strokes “How are you?”

“Not bad at all and you?”

“I could be better, a boring day it is but I meant if you were fine after art school and…” you stopped to see if you were not being impertinent but he seemed to put his wooden palette down and pierced his ears “I mean…”

“That’s kind of you to ask, Y/N” he shrugs “I’m dealing with it well, I’m content with what I’m doing right now and what happened there it was to be enjoyed”

“That’s good,” you said ready to leave the room “Well I shall leave you with your…” your eyes caught the painting, a room adorned with frames and curtains “Beautiful painting”

"Thank you, I'm still polishing it but thank you" He eyes you oh so slowly as he squinted his eyes “Would you like to stay for a while?”

“Oh”

“Come on, I’ve always enjoyed sharing words with you”

"Well..." You said unsure, you didn't want to leave him so fast after the kind words and the invitation, it was rude of you "I would like to"

"Good, you can sit right there" He pointed to the chair and you did what you were told, watching how Benedict moved the easel and the chair behind, you heard a bit of noise as the stool and his tools were put in a table, he sat down and looked at you

"Tell me, I know you’re a debutante this season”

You snorted that the sound made Benedict laugh in return “My days have been filled with the preparations for this season and my mama is driving me crazy because apparently, I don't know how to sit and breathe"

"What?"

“I move my chest too quickly that it looks like I’m always on the verge of an attack, that’s what she says. I never thought controlling my breathing would be a concern in my life but here we are”

How eyes had a mind of their own because they landed very briefly on the straight neckline of your dress and the mounds of your chest and he snapped only to say "She cares about you"

"I know" You shrugged “is just so… boring”

“What? Do you want some drama? Perhaps lady Whistledown-“

“Not the drama inked words can bring” you confessed “I do not know what I want from this season. Last one I was still an espectator and yet the chaos was too much to bear. This time… should I prefer quietness and routine? Or perhaps-“

“A scandal,” he said with a glint in his eyes “I would go for the latter but I'm not you"

"You think it's the right thing to do?"

"No, but I have a reputation to live up to" He smiles and you cannot help but laugh as his shoulders move in amusement "So I am the one to talk, aren't I?”

“Quite indeed you are, Benedict,” you said

“So” he smiled “can you spare some time so I can tell you how I achieved the perspective here?”

“I can spare a day or two”

“That’s real talking”

Benedict has always been keen on you. Your spirit reminded him of Anthony; how sharp and stubborn and your way of talking reminded him of Eloise; how straightforward and full of wit. Every time you found each other alone the conversation flowed like a river; the topics varied and he liked to be surprised, and you liked to surprise in return.

Today he was trying to explain to you how he was working on the perspective and the shading; you didn't understand half the things that were coming out of his mouth and yet you kept your attention on him, it was hard to do so as you saw how he moved his hand to demonstrate or the way he tilted his head with fervour.

It took a gentle few minutes for you to get into the atmosphere you always find with Benedict. The straight posture left your body as you moved your hands from your lap and made your way next to the canvas. Your nose could smell the painting and fresh oil splash on a jar. For all you know, Benedict Bridgerton, the tallest and silliest brother, had a way to make you feel yourself. Indeed with one and twenty years on this earth, you would say you have the closest for at least a solid seven with him: a good friend with good values and good lips, the former an observation you have assembled for the past two years.

“But who says that in the same painting orange and purple must avoid each other?” you asked staring at his fingers and the way he pointed at the canvas "hmmm?"

“You see, my professor said that the tones do not match and rather make the art cheap” he explained

"so" you laughed "if by any chance I decide to follow Lady Featherington's fashion trend and mix orange and purple in my wardrobe... I'll be considered cheap by your professor?"

He smiled looking down and hastily removed the curl from your side and allowed it to frame your face better "He would be mad to even think such a thing but please stay with your beautiful gowns, it makes your skin glow"

You stayed there feeling the pulsation at the back of your neck and the sudden urge to remain silent, the feeling of a blush forming and you were aware.

"Thank you" you whispered and moved away to see the painting closer, your hands behind your back.

"You're welcome" He smiled, not taking his eyes off of you and he saw how you were trying to avoid his stare.

Change the subject. You told yourself.

“Haven’t the styles changed over the years?" you asked out loud and trying very well to follow what your head was ordering "If orange and purple even join each other in the future I would be quite mad that it was not you who decided to pursue such an art transgression”

Benedict felt the most boyish with that compliment that he looked down and snorted all genuinely.

“We will see, I have several canvases ready to be corrupted and you. I mean you?” He smiled “How are your activities?”

Your smile grew large “Let me tell you about this book I’ve been reading, it has six volumes”

“I’m all ears, Miss Ashbourne”

That day apart from receiving multiple comments and opinions from Benedict about the biology books you stole from your father's library, you also received a scold from your mother alas you didn’t return when you were supposed to and you said you were encapsulated with the girls and the tea that tracking time was not good. Lost indeed between the smell of oil paintings and unfinished canvases.

And when debuting finally happened, oh so gracefully in front of the Queen. You smiled when it was over, the simple nod of Queen Charlotte alleviated any woes within your mother. You, Y/N Ashbourne a debutante with an ambitious mama by her side. The season was ready to begin.

A week was when you swore you could not feel your cheeks anymore. You have succeeded and had five suitors calling on you every day. The conversations were just a tad dry like the biscuits served by the Cowpers.

“Tighter”

Your squeal resonates only within you as your ladies tightened the corset and followed, as always, your mama’s orders.

“Tighter”

“Perhaps this is good, I feel like I might…”

“You are good my dear, tighter” your mother nodded

And the last squeal escaped your lips as you saw in the three mirror dresser how up your breasts appeared. After getting ready, with the greatest olive green beaded dress Madame Delacroix could design, you made your way to Lady Danbury’s Ball.

It was a night as expected. Your first dance was with a Viscount. He was old, not very handsome and didn't talk to you, you only nodded. The second was an Earl, you were thankful it was a waltz because it seemed that he was not keen on anything else than moving back and forth. The third much to your dismay and much to other girls’ amusement the Marquis of Ashdown stepped on your poor toes until you were destroyed not by dancing but by being in front of him.

“Quite young is he not?” Eloise said with a macabre smile

“Shush it, El. I am mostly embarrassed, he belongs in a nursery”

“And yet he is wife-hunting” she snickered “Nonetheless I must admit that if you two marry then you’ll downgrade from Ashbourne to Ashdown”

“Incredibly funny you are Eloise Bridgerton”

The night went as expected, everything as expected and nothing to be surprised about.

“Goodbye!” Eloise almost yelled that even you blinked in surprise and her quick getaway made you sense a male figure was coming your way so you turned and saw Lord Coxingworth, with his light blonde hair brushed backwards he requested a dance and finally your toes relaxed as well as your dancing skill made is debut; with such a dancer such as Lord Coxingworth.

“I may say that this has been a refreshing way to end my night” he smiled

“You are leaving?”

“I’m afraid so, Miss Ashbourne. My mother is not feeling fine”

“Oh my, then you ought to leave immediately. Give her my regards and please send me a letter once you reach home. I pray she recovers fastly and hopefully, your journey home won't take too long"

"I shall" He bowed and you smiled. “And I shall see you once this matter is settled. I shall pay a visit next week, Miss Ashbourne. You look gorgeous tonight"

You thanked him and watched how he disappeared into the crowd. It was the last dance of the night and yet your feet did not hurt as much after the success and your mother approved with a single nod.

You made your way to the back of the ballroom where Eloise was waiting with Penelope. Minutes later to what it seemed between giggles and quick banter, you saw a shadow passing and it stood quite tall beside Eloise. Benedict.

“Ah sister; mother is looking for you; something about at least being seeing for five minutes beside a man”

“I must leave too, my mother is…” Penelope distractedly said “She is… bye”

You turned to see Benedict with his pristine and flattened down dressing robe “They left me in bed company”

He acted hurt “ow how sorry I am, they left me with a good-looking girl” he shrugged “It’s a matter of perspective” he stared at the green dress “You look quite beautiful. How was the night, is it true you danced with the Marquis of Ashdown?”

“I fought a war with his feet, that was not a dance”

“Let the poor kid be, you are a fine dancer, better than anyone I know. So? He is going to pursue you?

You smiled “Only if his governess allows him”

He snorted and made a burning sound “Good girl” he sigh “What about Lord Coxingworth?”

“Oh… I think it went better than Ashdown”

“Hmmm”

“He said he ought to see me next week”

“Did he?” He sniffed “I think then you have a suitor then”

“Far from it,” you said and looked around “Before the end of this night I must go into Lady Danbury’s library”

“Are you…” he smirked, “Sneaking and stealing yet another book?”

“She once said I could take advantage of her collection”

“yes, only if you are inside the house” he debated with a laugh

“And I am not?”

“But you will not. You’ll get the book and leave the house with it”

“And…” you stood quickly on your tips “if no one sees anything… no one has to know”

He smiled and shook his head but formed an O with his mouth when he saw how swiftly you moved away from your spot. The beads on your dress shifted with you, the curls on your back bounced at the pace and he, the only accomplice in such a furtive task, joined you.

“Perhaps it is better to go back, they might be expecting us”

“Oh nonsense,” you said with the thirst for that book you knew Lady Danbury had, your hand turned the knob and your eyes sparked at the dark of the room that held the shadows of all the books “Eureka”

Benedict stood behind you, a small smile on his face as you searched for the book.

His eyes, like a thief, looked at your curves, the ones the dress did not hide and tried but also sneakily -in the theme of the night- to capture a glance of your oh-so-fast-moving chest your mother thinks you have.

“What is the book?” he asked

“A collection of poetry, not known, written by I believe anonymous people”

“Huh, controversial. Have you read other compilations?"

“Not now but if this one is good, I will try to get a hold of more… unusual editions. This one has the most beautiful cover and I can't help to imagine what it's about"

"I see" he whispered, his voice a bit deeper as his eyes landed on your face

"Do you have a problem?" You turned around to see his eyes were not on the shelves

"No, no, not at all. Let us do something. Open the book on any page and read it out loud. Let us judge it, not by the cover but by one page and one page at all”

You smiled widely at the idea and nodded, you moved around to be in front of him, your left shoulder leaning against a bookshelf allowing yourself to feel more relaxed.

“Alright then…” you cleared your throat and questioned where you could split the book, the beginning, the middle or the end. As your long fingers traced the last page, you told yourself that knowing the ending might ruin the whole thing even if it’s a poetry book “Here” you blindly said and split the book “Let me…” you cleared your eyes amidst the dark room

"In halls of opulence, where high society reigns,

A love forbidden, amidst whispered refrains.

She, a maiden of humble birth, with grace and charm untold,

He, a nobleman of lineage, with wealth and power bold.

Their hearts entwined in secret, amidst societal divide,

Forbidden love's sweet agony, where passions dare to hide.

For in their world of privilege, where status reigns supreme,

Their love is but a whisper, in a world of stifled dreams.

Yet in the hush of moonlit nights, beneath the stars' soft gleam,

They steal away in shadows, where love's light doth beam.

For in their hearts' defiance, they find a love divine,

A bond that knows no boundaries, in a world of rigid line.”

Your eyes darted up to look at him, you didn't expect his eyes to be already on you. His eyes had a certain glint, an emotion you could not pinpoint and as you waited, he cleared his throat.

“That was such a heartfelt piece” he nodded

“Very sad,” you said “I wonder if this person wrote it while going through it or wrote it as a memory of what once was”

“Knowing this world we live in, the latter”

“I enjoyed it” You closed the book and smiled at the cover, you could see the outline of the letters, “I’ll keep it for a while”

“Only if you read some to me too, if I have shared this task I shall share the prize”

You giggled “What a prize, a poetry book”

“Time with you I would say,” he said very quickly in a hoarse voice that he didn’t know he could do

Your heart did a thing, it beat hard and quick but also slow and you felt it was going to be out of your chest.

He was not expecting an answer and so he said "Let's get out of here"

"Yes, let's"

Once outside the room and with the book hidden in your dress, Benedict looked both sides of the hallway and gave you the thumbs up and you both made a run for it, a run for the stairs and to the exit door.

And there you stood, with the cool air hitting your face, with a smile so bright Benedict had to squint his eyes, the laughter came, loud and uncontrollably.

"Miss Ashbourne" He said once the laugh died, the joy in his eyes were still present "and I called myself a bad influence once did I not?”

“I learnt from you, Benedict”

It was the sound of his name coming from your mouth that made him shiver. He didn’t know how or why he felt such a pull. Such desire and such attraction. Unequivocally you were beyond what a diamond could be, the face of an angel he confessed but the natural and free aura that you radiated since he had memory is what made him be there with you at most times.

He didn’t know how it happened but he found himself quite close to your figure, under the night sky, he could see the warm lights crashing against your right side and the darkness hiding the left one.

“What is the name of the book?”

He asked such a simple question but with so much passion that if you were not wise enough to understand the tone, you would have thought he felt compelled to have the book right now.

You blinked at the soft wave of his brandy breath and saw the eyes that stared down -because of the height- and how intrigued he looked.

“Entwined”

[hazelfoureyes]

A Doe in Fall (part 5)

⟢HumanAlastor x FemaleBurlesquerReader - A Doe in Fall

Part 1 - Pretty in Red smut💦 Part 2 - Liar smut💦 Part 3 - A Tragedy smut💦 Part 4 - Enough Part 5 - Too Much Part 6 - Learning smut💦 Part 7 - Recognition smut💦

Part 5 Too Much

Actions famously speak louder than words, so what did you say, exactly, to Alastor with your actions that night? You were briefly rattled by what happened in the park but not for the obvious reasons. Despite everything, despite your fears, you found the situation deepening between you two when he suddenly invites to stay the night at his home. Perhaps he had fears of his own?

「Warnings/Promises: Human Alastor x Fem Burlesquer reader, No smut! That’s next part because this part was already super fucking long 😭 , but we do flirt our asses off and get taken by the hand, crying, panic attacks, discussions of murder, dead bodies, you really have to stop smoking, deer, adorably nervous Alastor, this man owns more than one mug you fucking know it」

19 days later… 😩 please don’t kill me. 5000 words here, Another like 6000 words are posting this Thursday, also tumblr wouldn’t let me post this for like an hour , just gave me error messages, I had to copy and paste 4 times so there may be some errors in here so let me know if you find spelling or format issues🙏

When he came to, momentarily either unconscious or just incapacitated as his brain started up again, he was frantic for his glasses. He could hear the sounds of a brutal death, the crunch of anger, the squish of rage. 

His eyes focused now, slightly askew and smudged glasses helping him see you clearly. 

Leaning over the man, hands red and face twisted in a marriage of fear and wrath, you were bringing a large rock down on the man’s unrecognizable face over and over and over and—

You flinched when Alastor’s hands delicately slipped down your arms and peeled your fingers from the rock.

Full body shaking, “He was going to kill you!” You said it too loud, too fast. “He was going to—,” Your breath got caught in your throat, “He wanted to— He was trying to kill you, Alastor.”

Wet with mud and blood and the rain still left on the grass, you were pulled into Alastor’s lap. He tucked your head into the crook of his neck with a small wince and hugged you. “He was. He almost did.” Low and slow, his chest rumbled when he said it. “You did such a good job.”

You looked down at your hands, but he pulled your face back up to look at his, “Always surprising me in the best ways.”

You’d forgotten already, how when adrenaline wanes you’re left with terrible tremors and a suddenly clear head. Alastor almost died. You hadn’t thought at all when it happened. Everything had taken place so fast, faster than your brain could process.

You had seen Alastor stop struggling against the man, his body went still and your eyes were blinded with tears, there was a horrible sound that may have come from you, and then there was nothing. A flash of running Colors. Distant muddled sounds.

Maybe you saw someone grab a rock. 

You might have hit the man on the back of the head. 

You think he fell down and something didn’t stop moving against him. 

Perhaps you thought if you hit him enough you could make it have not happened at all. If you killed him fast enough, Alastor would have been fine and standing.

But you weren’t sure. You blinked and Alastor was touching you and underneath you was a pulp of a man’s face. 

Alastor’s heart was racking against his ribs. Arms tightening around you unconsciously as his eyes landed on the dead man.

He’d gotten too comfortable. He pushed too hard. He wanted too much. He was too much.

He felt himself spilling over and staining your hands metaphorically and now literally.

You didn’t feel anything. Not during. Now you felt too much.

Your mind was filled with an echoing chorus of, ‘He almost killed him. He almost died. He almost killed him. He almost died. He almost died. He almost died.” 

There was a strange fear that Alastor had died, and any second you’d blink again and be alone in the trees with two dead men. You twisted in his lap,  hands rocketing to Alastor’s face and gripping the sides of his head. You were staring into his eyes, panting.

“You can’t die. I’ll—,” tears poured down your face in streams not drops. Your throat closed around the words. Short and fast, your breath ran wild. Hands tingling, your lips felt like they were pricked with a hundred tiny needles. 

Alastor pushed down his own mess of emotions, “One deep breath in.” His hands settled on yours,  still on his face. He could feel the familiar stickiness of drying blood in his hair. “Keep breathing in.” You coughed, shaking your head no. “You can, I promise it. Would I lie to you?”

You laughed, managing to catch your breath for a moment, “Y-yes.” 

“Well, now you’re adding insult to injury.” He made a show of rubbing his neck. You smacked his chest lightly, breathing in twice in a row.

He held both of your hands in both of his, “Name a time I’ve ever lied.” He distracted you but wounded himself. He could name a time.

You tried to think. “I don’t know. Maybe you’re just a really good liar.” Your voice was hoarse. 

Alastor nodded, “That’s true, there’s actually nothing I can’t do well.”

Another laugh, a cry, “Stop it.”

His warm, clean hands wiped your tears. “You’re being aggressive again, sweetheart. You know I prefer soft spoken women.”

The laughter helped break the cycle of hyperventilating. As your breathing finally got to a manageable speed you felt exhaustion deep in your bones.

All at once the sensations became prominent. Your knees were red and muddy, your hands bloody, your left side and back wet. You were sticky and sore and cold. “Alastor,” his legs were framing you, yours now folded under yourself and digging into rocks, “I wanna go home.” You adjusted his glasses, “Together.” 

If he had a reason to say no, he ignored it. 

“I thought I was the messy one.” He washed your hands with the water cans and settled you into the passenger seat of his car. Alastor took care of filling the trunk and cleaning the ground before sliding into the driver's seat.

He turned to you, his face dirty and clothes worse. You looked down at yourself; knees a color of wine, and blue dress now dyed brown.

“I know you have to get rid of him. So, I won’t ask you to sleep over. Just,” you felt sleepy, mind asking you to let it catch up, “let me take care of you for a little bit. Okay?”

His hand slipped onto your leg, he wanted to make a joke about sex or murder hoping to make you laugh again. But it was obvious he needed to be quiet, so he just nodded.

Alastor left the car on a side street behind your building. The man whose name you never asked concealed under canvas and red oil tins.

Luckily everything was clean in your apartment. It was small, just one room and a bathroom. The other apartments you’d seen had communal toilets and showers so you were quite proud of your space. You’d made it yours, gifted trinkets here and there, walls decorated with hanging dried flowers you'd had thrown at your feet. A shrine to your abilities.

You peeled off his clothes, tossing them in the kitchen sink and wiping off as much dirt as you could with a damp rag. 

Clothing hanging over the radiator, you both got into the shower. Cold and wet now hot and soaking,  you took his hands and sat you both down in the tub while the water ran down. Taking your time, you gently scratched the blood and mud from his hair and let it all wash away.

When fully cleaned and dried off he slipped on the only bit of clothing he had left, a loose pair of boxer shorts. You had a slip, silky and soft, to comfort you. Your mother wore silk, and it always made you feel safe. The way the fabric slid around its self and others, never catching or bunching up, was something you always hoped to emulate; smooth and cool, but always in need of a little caution and care.

A small bed meant for one, but you offered it. When Alastor motioned for you to slide in too, you didn’t hesitate.

Nose to nose, the room was quickly heating up with the radiator's help. 

You hadn’t been in a bed with Alastor in nearly two months, not since that first time. His words stuck to you like embroidered messages lovingly stitched into a handkerchief you didn’t want to lose. So you kept your hands between your thighs, still and away, to make sure he had space to exist in your bed.

“You saved my life.” Alastor whispered, one of you finally bringing up the obvious.

A hummed acknowledgment, “That makes us even.” He saved you before, you did the same in turn. A little piece of you worried the contract was done and he’d disappear.

“No, my dear. I owe you so much more.” A kiss to your cheek.

A terrifying thought took hold of you. “Roll over.” He looked confused but did. You were always asking him to turn away, always trying to hide your face when you said things that scared you. You hooked your arms under his and held tightly. 

“If I wasn’t there, there’s no one to have told me. How long would I have waited,” another torrent of tears into his back you couldn’t keep in if you tried, “at the phone booth for you to call in the morning.”

You were crying like a child, uncontrolled and with your entire body. Pathetic. 

He had never had someone to worry about those details. Everyone truly close to him was dead. Until now, of course. 

Of course.

What a natural addition you provided to him. He thought it like that it was a long standing fact.

He hugged your arms tighter to his chest. 

A shiver of fear in the warm bed as you continued, “I want to be there. With you. Always.” You gathered your courage. Shields completely down, if just for a moment, “I know there was nothing right about tonight but,” you wiped your tears off his back with your palm, reabsorbing that pain before he could soak it in, “Please. Don’t shut me out now. I’ll go to hell tomorrow for you but please don’t damn me to picking up a newspaper and seeing your name in the headlines; Learning you died in block letters for a nickel. I wouldn’t survive it.”

You didn’t want to meet his eyes, worried rejection was waiting for you there, so you’d asked him to turn so you could hide. He picked up your hands and kissed your knuckles one by one. “Please don’t say things like that outloud. Things like ‘go to hell’ and ‘tomorrow’ so close together. The spirits can hear you.” A kiss to your palm, “And I wouldn’t dare shut you out.” He couldn’t. The very idea of going back to how he was before, alone and mumbling to the dead, made his heart race with his own panic. If you disappeared tomorrow he was scared to think what would happen to him. “Plus, I know you’d just find me anyway. You always do.”

Had you not been there, he would have still tried to kill the man. Waiting in an alley or for a walk home through an empty space. You weren’t at fault. He’d been hurt before, but this was by far the worst situation he had been in. But he would have been in it regardless of your participation. Alastor pressed his lips into your hand, smelling the soap you’d washed him with. 

You hadn’t hesitated. He had thought you would run, that he’d slip away into death and you’d book it to safety. Something he never planned to ask you to do, to kill someone, you’d done it for him when it was the most selfless option. Did he mean so much to you? He wanted to ask, but if you said anything other than an immediate yes he feared he would turn to a pillar of salt and crumble.

If you both could find the courage to just look at each other you’d have all your answers. But you couldn’t. The fear still too strong. So you changed the topic for a chance at an escape.

A small confession, to turn the conversation away from death. “After our dates, your cologne always lingers on my clothes. Sometimes I just fall asleep in them. When I wake up, my pillow smells like you.” Your body formed against his back, pressing as tightly as you could. How was that less embarrassing than everything else you’d said when it was arguably more pathetic?

He was quiet. You worried you’d pushed too far. Alastor worried he’d already hurt you too much.

“If you asked me,” he spoke slowly, hands resting on yours above his heart, a deep breath, “I’d stop.” He would. 

But, “I’d never ask that of you.” You said it so quickly, like blinking or yawning it happened without you needing to think about it. Alastor did something he felt he needed to do, you saw that look in his eyes before and understood this was Alastor at his truest. And the people he killed weren’t good people. He provided a service to New Orleans that no one appreciated.

He smiled against your palm, making sure you felt it, “Why are you so good to me?”

Without hesitation, Because I love you.

After a beat of silence, “Because you know where I live, obviously.”

A huff, “And where you work.” 

“And the park where I like to get fingered.”

Finally, his unburdened laugh, “I didn’t expect you to say that.” That sound of his joy bounced off the thin walls around you both. He rarely expected anything you said or did. It was part of your charm. Normally he could predict what people would say like reading a bad story, but you were something else. Effortlessly entertaining, was that a compliment? He was sure you’d say no and make that face you always did, something between a pout and a glare, between sad and angry. 

He had been asking genuinely. Why were you so good to him? Why so patient? Why care at all? 

“Can you sleep? Or do you need to go?” 

Alastor thought about it, if he left early enough he could still get home in time to empty the trunk. He hummed an affirmative, when he didn’t move you understood it was the former. He didn’t want to go. He needed more time. He needed to feel you nearby. An odd sense that if he pulled away now the thread holding you two together would pull him apart at the seams with the distance. 

You would think nightmares would plague you after killing someone in cold blood, but no. You practically killed Tommy, when you considered it thoroughly. And while this night was not a joy, you had defended yourself and Alastor. You didn’t feel bad. You didn’t regret it. You were just scared you did a bad job. That you’d get caught. 

The kind of dreams you had were different kinds of scary. Of Alastor always leaving a room when you entered, of falling off the stage and landing too far down, of waking up to feel Alastor cold beside you. 

When you did wake, your arms were still tight around him and he was warm. Your forehead rested between his shoulder blades. You didn’t feel different this time, you didn’t feel changed like after Tommy.

Alastor always had nightmares so he wasn’t surprised to have them in your bed. He dreamt he awoke on the ground, the man was gone but you were there broken into several pieces.

Had it been a dream though? 

After he dressed, you brushing his hair over a shared cup of coffee (you only had the single mug), you walked him to his car. The sun was nearly up and luckily no one else was. You had just wrapped a coat around your slip, not exactly acceptable clothing for being in public.

A shared kiss, small and chaste, Alastor’s mind elsewhere. He opened the door but stopped and turned back to you. It was always in these moments before you two parted that he felt the most frantic. 

“I know we love talking in circles and making jokes, but I have to ask you, bluntly. You killed a man. Are you alright?” When you only blinked, he quickly added, “It’s okay if you’re not.” His expression was pure worry, furrowed brows and flat mouth. “Nothing will change if you say you’re not.”

When you started to smile, Alastor thought he had lost his mind. The sun was rising behind you, making the shadows on your face slowly shift. He took a second to take in the scene. Ankles naked with sockless shoes. To your right was a trunk full of a dead man. And you just smiling like he’d made a joke. Which he explicitly said he wasn’t going to do.

“I don’t feel like I killed anyone.” You said it with a levity that made him glance around, wondering if you’d hit your head a little too hard earlier, “I feel like I stopped someone from killing you. Which feels,” you fought to suppress your smile from growing any further, “kinda good. Like I’m strong. I’m just scared I made a mistake and police will find out. I’m terrified we’ll be seperated. But I don’t feel bad.”

A normal man would be deeply concerned. You didn’t feel bad? For killing a man with a rock? Arguably one of the most brutal ways to murder a person. A normal man would worry he would be next.

Luckily for you both, Alastor was not a normal man. He stared at your face, trying to discern any hints of deceit there before he fell into the comfort of trust.

Your pinky came out, “I’m fine, and if I’m ever not, I will tell you. Promise.” His eyes left your face to stare at the tiny digit, “If I break the promise, you get to break the pinky.”

“Pinkies are useless, we should use a finger that matters.” He offered his index. You let yourself laugh, hooking your pointer finger with his.

Smile to smile, he exhaled his stress and slipped into his normal demeanor, “No worries, darling! No one will ever know what happened to him.” He leaned beside you and patted the trunk. “Leave it to me.”

Alastor drove away with the man, ready to disappear the body and try to sleep before work if possible. A nagging still sat in his stomach, a little pull that maybe you’d change your mind. 

He asked you the next morning, on your routine call, if he could stop by the theater when he finished with work that night. No reason in particular. He’d pull into the side street, and you could run out to see him.

When he arrived, you were in your stage outfit waiting to greet the crowd. Alastor smiled, “The prettiest bird I’ve ever seen!”

“A bird? Alastor just ‘pretty’ woulda been a fine compliment.” 

He offered an apology by way of kiss, soft hands coming to your cheek as he leaned against the door of his car. “I just wanted to see you. Steal a kiss before you stole some hearts. May I return tomorrow?”

Ah, that feeling again. Stupid school girl with her first crush, her first taste of love. “I wouldn’t complain.” 

That flow of conversation eased Alastor, things felt normal already. For you, they were. A small worry remained he may begin to act differently but the only difference was he seemed to be embracing you deeper. 

After your delivered kiss, you took the stage like a woman reborn. The warmth of the light felt like the sun. Pointed toes as you moved along the stage, hips loose and smile coy. 

As you looked around the backlit crowd you didn’t search for a good mark. The times you did play a man’s attention for Alastor were different, it felt like art when you lured men into Alastor’s claws.

A shake of your feathered fans, a very controlled lowering of your head, you let a hip rock out into view. A little flash of inner thigh. Then, your favorite part. One hand gripped your fans as you them with the aide of practiced fingers. Free hand undoing your still remarkably heavy and glittering bra and handing it behind the curtain.

Surprise reveal, a naked magic trick done behind distracting whirling feathers. Arms open, fans high, you waited for the applause to die down. Deep breaths were not possible, adrenaline and the weight of your costume keeping you from hiding the heaving of your chest. 

The whistles were your favorite. You couldn’t imagine Alastor whistling but you were sure it would be flawless in its ability to capture your attention. 

“Anyone wanna smoke? I don’t want to go into the alley alone.” You asked the room, several girls glancing your way and shaking their heads no as you hurried back in from your set.

“Just take the fire escape to the roof. That’s where we’ve been smoking since Mr. Brady said it was dangerous at night.” Florence was normally a perfect smoking partner, never talking too much. The name Brady made your stomach flip though, you had forgotten about him for a second. You’d managed to avoid him until Tommy’s bloody trail went cold, but you knew he still stalked around the jazz and music district.

A dancer laughed, “Nighttime has always been dangerous for women.”

Someone you didn’t see added, “Fuck, daytimes not safe either.” 

You climbed the creaky and seemingly forgotten-about fire escape to the roof. The breeze hit your face before your feet even left the metal railing. 

It was… a roof. Grey painted floors and brick sides. Nothing special, but you could see the bowl full of discarded cigarettes near the front of the building. You looked over the short wall that edged the front, you were able to see the pigeon shit covered marquee. What an unattractive view, the lights flashing out from beneath actual shit.

There was a metaphor there, you were sure. 

Looking around, there were a few wicker chairs hidden in the shadow of the street’s lights, thankfully upside down to keep them clean from the birds.

If more people used roofs instead of alleys Alastor would be out of luck. Tommy was difficult enough with a staircase, the fire escape would have been the nail in that coffin. 

It had been a lovely night, absolutely jarring compared to the night before. You leaned back in the chair, you knew you weren’t the best at saying what you meant. Especially when the words you offered could be used to hurt you. Words of affection and love, when true, were daggers given handle-first to someone else. 

So you hoped Alastor could guess how much he meant to you. You shouldn’t need to say it, right? Actions speak louder than words. You bludgeoned a man to death for what you had thought was a lost cause. It had seemed Alastor was already dead when you first brought down the rock. 

Diamonds are rocks, you considered. The most expensive costume the theater had was peacock feathered with shining crystals. You wanted to say you felt like a peacock, spirit large and wide and colorful. But those were males. Of course they were. The animal kingdom had males compete for mates with pretty colors and lovely songs. Now ladies pranced around in painted faces and short dresses. You didn’t feel pale or small like the ‘fairer sex’ peacock.

You felt like the swan. Vicious and beautiful, not out shone by anyone.

Well there was someone you’d allow to shine brighter. Someone you’d happily let take the lead. You’d thought letting a man walk in front of you was a sign of subservience. It hadn’t ever occurred to you that there could be respect in trusting someone else to go ahead. That the act of going first could be for protection and not power.

“Hey!”

You hurried to the fire escape, “yeah?”

“There’s a man asking for you. Tall guy named Frank?”

Frank?

Oh, Frank.

You’d forgotten about him. He’d left months ago. He was a whale, rich and generous. You took a moment to consider sitting down with him, smiling and laughing at his jokes, letting his hand settle on your thigh. It had been weeks since you entertained scamming anyone, and now you couldn’t even stomach the idea of faking interest in another man. Frank wasn’t one to scam, he just liked having a pretty lady on his arm to make him feel young and wanted, and in exchange you got into private parties and were gifted jewelry and clothing.

“Tell him I’m busy and send him off.” You hollered down. You could buy your own clothes. 

“Did he leave?” Alastor asked you the next morning, you leaning against the glass phone booth in the early morning light.

Your finger wrapped around the phone cord, “No of course not! They never do. I snuck out the back.”

There was a hum, “Well my dear, you’ve offered me a wonderful transition into my next question.” Alastor was sitting at his kitchen table, nervously turning his coffee cup around in circles, “Would you like to come over tomorrow night? I can pick you up after your show.”

Like a glacier drifting away from shore, you very slowly crouched down in the booth. “To your home?” 

“No, to Alabama.” He waited a beat, “Yes of course my home. I can show you what happens after I drive away.” A cheeky smile evident through his voice.

You pressed the phone receiver into your chest, teeth chewing on your bottom lip. What happens when he drives away? So…where the bodies go. But most importantly, the biggest part of this—where he lives. So much can be gleaned about someone from their home. A bookshelf alone could make or break an attraction. You brought the receiver back to your mouth. “Lovely! Sure thing— Alastor. Yes.” you almost added on an awkward nickname like daddy-o or mister man, like an idiot, because your brain was misfiring like you’d seen him in the sunlight again.

Ah, you could see his bed. 

Where he slept.

Did he ever dream of you?

What if it was terribly dirty? Could you still love him if he was a slob? 

“I’m quite far from downtown, pack an overnight bag, okay?” He stopped fidgeting with the mug. When the call ended he sat at the table for some time, staring around the kitchen. The home was large by city standards, but it was old. His mother’s charm was evident through every part. A finger scratched at the wooden table, heavy and solid. Why was his heart racing? 

He walked to the screened back door, looking from the weathered patio steps to the greenhouse. 

No one had ever been to his home. Ever. A teensy part of him was panicking. Was this a mistake? Was he going to fuck up the budding relationship? Throw off the peace of his safest place?

Budding. Okay that was ridiculous even for him. The kind of intimacy gained through murder did not allow any union to be called budding. He’d shared pieces of himself no other living soul knew of. Your image of him was possibly even more complete than his own mother had held, even though he tried to always be the most sincere with her. Even people he did care for and consider close friends had never knew where he lived. Never heard what kept him up at night. Never learned his distaste for a random lay.

Opening the screen door with a signature creak, the sound many southerners could call comforting, he walked to the greenhouse.

The newest part of the property, the glass walled structure was built shortly after his mother’s death. Double doors: locked. Just beyond the glass was a forest of plants and potted trees. They had no need for a greenhouse, but Alastor had a need for them.

He set about preparing his home for another occupant, a task that brought him such a shock of joy and anxiety he began to wonder who he was. New sheets on the bed, extra pillows set against his wooden headboard. Large glass jar in the backyard full of water and tea bags.

It was also unexpected he was thinking so much of his mother. In a perfect world she’d be there to greet you. Though if she was alive, he wouldn’t have been in that alley that night. He made a mental note to not mention his mother, at least not as much as he was remembering her as he walked around the two story home tidying.

Would he have met you if he wasn’t a killer? 

A flicker of fear was quickly extinguished by romance. Definitely. You both ran in the same scenes. He’d seen you before that night, he just never approached you. He hadn’t anticipated how much more you were than the facade you put on. Nothing about your sweet face said, ‘I have a high tolerance for murder.’

Alastor spent the day at work physically present but mentally pacing his living room. He nodded along to discussions of who was to be live on set next, smile never faltering as he worried if he had breakfast foods. He rarely ate breakfast, did you? How had he not thought to ask. Sloppy.

The only outward sign he was feeling any stress was the tapping of his finger on his desk, which he hadn’t even noticed until the stage manager commented.  

“Alastoooor,” her voice was high, like it seemed many women’s voices were recently. Was it a trend? “Impatient? Hot date with a young lady this evening?”

While she meant well, she always pried, always asked questions he didn’t appreciate. 

Alastor shook his head, smile strained. A perceptive person would have picked up on it, but Brenda was not perceptive.

“Oh.” A noticeable disappointment, “That’s boring.”

Actually on second thought maybe she didn’t mean well.

“I’ve had too much coffee, is all, Brenda.” He pulled his hand into his lap. “Was there anything you needed?” 

“No,” she pouted, much less endearing than you.

If he murdered purely for fun Debra would be dead before sunset. Unfortunately her only crime was being remarkably annoying.

Alastor waited behind the theater, where it was less likely any staff would see him. It was still important to avoid connecting the two of you together, at least at your workplace yet. 

He was quick to grab your bag for you.

“Not the trunk, please.” You said, it took him a second to catch the joke. He set it on the back seat after opening your door for you. You’d only been in his car a few times but he never failed to be a perfect gentleman. 

Your palms were sweating, when his hand rested on your leg while he drove you resisted the urge to hold it. Instead you slipped yours under his. Alastor asked you about your day, about work, about if Frank came back. Typically as soon as you left the theater you were in a cone of silence until your phone call with him the next day. It was kind of nice, having someone to speak to. Before meeting him there were times you worried you’d forget how to talk naturally, how to sound like yourself.

The glowing eyes of deer popped up from the side of the road, startling you. Eerie. You held your breath, would they run, stay still, or sprint into the road.

“Is it true their antlers can break car windshields?” You asked not breaking eye contact with a doe as you drove past.

Alastor nodded, “If a buck hits your car the wrong way, not even the car will make it out of the accident.”

“Are there a lot of bucks around?”

“Will be soon, as fall— wait why am I telling you this,” he laughed, “Miss Autumn Hind already knows what makes the bucks run wild.”

You shouldn’t be smiling, it was a dumb rut joke, but it felt like a compliment. 

The car lights passed over the home as he turned into the dirt driveway. Powder blue. It wasn’t a color you associated with Alastor. He was caramel, honey, midnight blue, red. His sometimes sinister smile didn’t look quite right against powder blue. But, for a home, it was lovely.

“Is someone home?” You saw a light on in an upstairs room.

Alastor reached behind you for your bag, “No, I leave it on when I’m gone. Gives the impression that the house isn’t empty.”

A minor bit of acting, Alastor opening the door and offering to bring your bag upstairs before a tour like a good host. His anxious energy was barely contained by that grin of his. For your part you played the appropriately impressed guest.

But deep down you were very impressed. An actual house. Your mother struggled to keep apartments rented. Alastor had a home. With stairs. That went to more home, not a neighbor. What a lovely thing. What did he do with all this space?

He could probably hide quite a few bodies in there.

Alastor opened his bedroom door and motioned for you to enter.

You took in every detail as shrewdly as you could. Two circular nightstands, a wide dresser with a few framed photos and a radio. One large window facing the yard, you could see the car outside from where you were standing. “Wow a man’s bedroom. I tend to avoid these.”

“What a coincidence, so do I. Bedrooms in general, really.” He placed your bag on the dresser, offering to unpack it for you. Your smile screwed up, shaking your head no. You couldn’t imagine Alastor folding your panties and setting them into a drawer. 

Well.

“Yes please.” You took a seat on the end of his bed, watching him tenderly empty the bag before beginning to put things away like you’d come home from a trip. “A bed big enough for two people. You didn’t tell me you were a fancy man. Ooh la la.”

Alastor laughed, “Your bed was quite comfortable.” He set your dress onto a hook attached to the closet door, hands running down the fabric to straighten out the wrinkles, “But I have a feeling that had more to do with you than anything else.”

The floor was clean, the rug beneath the bed a simple but pristine white. What an odd color for a rug.  

You truly did avoid men’s homes. The power dynamic shifts too much.

“Are all men so clean?”

“Oh god no. Have you really never been to a man’s home?” Without a moment of hesitancy his long fingers flattened out your underthings and neatly folded them. You could call it erotic, knowing what else his fingers could do.

A hum, you swayed side to side, “Too much risk. I don’t know where the knife drawer is, which locks stick, what windows open all the way.” 

He set the empty bag into a reading chair in the corner, “That sounds stressful.”

You shrugged, “My mother taught me to always have an escape. From situations, from rooms, from people. Not terrible advice.”

That was true, he thought. If the few women he killed had considered that, he would be less prolific. Women tended to be easier in some regards.

Alastor finally let himself look at you sitting on his bed. Were you wearing the black garters today? He liked those. He appreciated the red dress you’d worn.

Taking off his jacket and vest, he hung them up while his eyes kept returning to you. Your legs were crossed, thighs soft and pressed together. He remembered feeling them against his ears. A little cough to clear his throat and mind.

“Are you hungry?”

You werent, but you weren’t ready for sleep either, so you asked for some bread and butter. Alastor sat beside you at the table, watching you look around. It didn’t look like a killer's home. 

“Ya know, I was going to rob you. I had been wanting to talk to you, before that guy caught me off guard when I was smoking.” You said it easily. 

He smiled, “Oh, why’d you change your mind?”

“Well, you slit a man’s throat in front of me.”

“Tsk tsk, you give up too easily, my dear.”

Salted butter, soft bread. Simple. Happy. “You were so handsome-,”

“We’re?”

A snort of a laugh, rolling your eyes dramatically, “and you looked well off. I was searching the room for the lights reflecting off of your glasses all night.”

Alastor grimaced, fighting the well of his ego, and leaned on his elbows, “Is it too morbid to say I’m glad that man tried to kill you? I like this timeline more than being robbed and never seeing you again.”

“That’s very selfish. I would have enjoyed chasing you down and finessing your wallet off you.” You set the glass lid back over the butter dish, content with the snack. “Some men come back actually and confront me at the theater.”

He howled. The idea was ridiculous, “Seriously? Why not just tell the cops.”

“Men don’t like telling other men they got taken for a ride by a dame.”

Alastor stood, “What would you have done if you had robbed me and I marched into the theater demanding my cash back.” It took a second to realize he was being serious in wanting you to play along. 

You popped the last piece of bread into your mouth and stood too, “You rake!” A fake smack to his chest, “I booted you to the curb! You had more hands than an octopus!” 

Alastor tried to stay in character but his smile kept cracking through his serious face. “And my wallet? None of my hands can find it.” You took a few steps back, feigning shock at the accusation.

“Sir! You were so drunk I’m not surprised you lost it.” When Alastor closed the space between you with two wide steps and pulled you into his chest you giggled, hitting softly at him, “You should be ashamed of yourself. Trying to take advantage,” his hands wandered down your hips, making your voice catch in your throat, “of a good woman like me.”

His mouth came to your ear, “Well, miss, I think you owe me the opportunity to try again.”

You went stiff against him, the sudden turn of his voice into seduction taking you by surprise, “If you were a real mark, I’d punch you in the face for saying that.”

“But for me?” Breath against your neck.

Your hands slid up his chest and to his collar, pulling him down and into a kiss. His smile spread across your lips. 

His mouth stayed against your cheek as he pulled you into a hug, “Ready for bed?”

“Are you sleepy, hun?” You pulled away, a sincerely worried face. Two nights now you’d interrupted his normal routine.

Alastor’s eyes seemed to sparkle behind his glasses, head shaking, “No, not at all.” You felt the heat rise up your face. Wanting to avoid assumptions, you tried to temper your expectations.

His hand pulled you toward the stairs, you dragging your feet, “Did you want to show me around?”

“In the daylight.” He led you up the stairs and to the right.

“Oh okay….”, your mind was reeling, mouth dry. No dead body in sight. No blood. You hadn’t pressed him or asked for anything. Maybe he just wanted a good cuddle, or some kisses. You often enjoyed necking near the car before he would go home. Right. Let him lead.

You followed him, letting him guide you hand in hand back to his bedroom.

ᡣ𐭩ˋ°•*⁀➷ masterlist

∰ Summoning the Horny Little Deer Cult (general tag list):

@cxrsedwxrlds , @nonetheartist , @tsunaki , @janchei , @wettiny-in-smutland , @moonmark98 , @hoebihoeshi , @pansexual-opera-house , @polytheatrix , @lorddiabigmommymilkers , @backinthefkingbuildingagain , @harley2223-blog , @coffee-colored-hopeless-romantic , @poinappel , @midnightnoiserose , @spookieroz , @missmidorima , @ivebeenthearchersstuff , @downbadforfictionalppl , @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx , @sleepylittledemon , @aether-th3-enby , @dontfuckbutimfab , @breathlessaura , @aperfectidiot , @certainlygay , @jth12 , @star-kujo-platinum ,

@ivebeenthearchersstuffn, @rubyninja1 , @simphornies , @alleystore , @readergirlstuff , @berry-demon , @chirimeimei , @fairyv-ice , @olive-frog , @thonethatflies620 , @tiredkiwiii , @ilikemyteawithmilk , @whateverlololo , @psipies , @howabouticallyou , @roxxie-wolf , @ive-no-idea-what-to-call-this , @fizzled-phoenix , @fjorjestertealeaf , @phobophobular , @surusurusuru , @mariaclarade-la-cruz1 , @whateverlololo , @simplyonehellofanotaku , @xixflower , @i-am-nonbinary-bean-deal-with-it , @roxxie-wolf , @a-case-of-attachment , @multifandomfanatic02 , @watereddownmilk , @raynerrold , @crazii-saber-wolf , @valkyrie-expeditions , @bontensbabygirl , @sillyb0nez , @oo0lady-mad0oo , @jazzmasternot , @pseudobun , @fraugwinska✨, @alitaar,@straows , @alastorssimp , @angelicwillows , @b-o-n-e-daddy , @one-and-only-tay , @asleeponelmstreet , @tremendoushearttaco , @mutifandomkid , @sapphirecaelis , @itzzzkiramylove@saccharine-nectarine , @viannasthings , @looking1016 , @ultimate-duck-king-lucifer , @blakeaha , @astraechos , @reath-solia ,

🏹Alastor stalkers: @celestial-vomit , @amurtan

@faeoffaith , @sailorsmouth , @jeannyjaykaydeh , @jyoongim , @cosmic-lavender , @saturn-alone , @lustylita , @radio-darling , @kaylopolis , @dickmastersworld , @leviskittywh0re , @asianfrustration13 @alittletiredcry @sirens-and-moonflowers @alastorssimp , @angelxx7 , @katgirl05 , @impulsivethoughtsat2am , @sugurubabe , @zzzykiek , @phamtasic

[mediumgayitalian]

“I want you to have this.”

“Will —”

“Nico,” Will interrupts, voice stern, “take it.”

He fiddles with the clasp of his watch, sliding it off and holding it between them. The Celestial bronze frame has long since worn smooth, leather straps molded to the shape of Will’s wrist after years and years of use. He can even see the indent on the side of the bottom strap, where the Ace bandage Will often fidgets with has worn a groove.

“Please.”

Nico glances up to meet Will’s wide, pleading blue eyes. They’re darker, in the setting sun; almost midnight blue. Like the Raleigh reflection that colours the sky happens somehow in the tiny rings of his irises, too.

He sighs, holding out his wrist. Will’s expression melts into something almost relieved, corners of his lips turned up in a grateful smile. He wraps his warm hands around Nico’s forearm and fingertips, flipping over his arm, and presses the cool watch face the the middle of his wrist, buckling up the straps. Nico’s wrists are thinner than Will’s, and the worn-wide hole third down from the tip of the strap is skipped for the long-forgotten fifth. The watch fits comfortably and snugly, light enough that Nico almost — almost — forgets it’s there.

“It’s nothing like Percy’s,” he says quietly. His hands linger on the skin of Nico’s forearm, blunt fingernails picking at the watch’s grooves. “It can’t protect you. It doesn’t have a shield or a sword or anything like that. It’s just a watch.”

Nico hums. Gently, careful not to shrug off Will’s hands, he brings the watch closer to his face, inspecting it. There are nicks and chips, as expected for a watch Will has worn longer than Nico has known him, but there’s not a flaw in sight. It even ticks, pleasantly, a sound almost musical.

“Beckendorf?”

A tiny, punched-out sigh slumps from Will’s mouth.

“Yeah.”

“I can tell.” He taps his thumb on the face. “He did good work.”

“He gave it to me when I was eight,” Will says softly. “I used to — freak out, a lot. My anxiety was a lot worse as a kid. I’d panic if someone was late to breakfast, if I woke up late and no one was in the cabin. I didn’t like not knowing when things were supposed to happen.” Will’s lips quirk up. “Set it on the table when he walked by me one day. Didn’t say a word, just mussed my hair and smiled at me like he didn’t just fix my shit better than Xanax ever could.” His smile turned wry. “I had the hugest crush on him for years.”

It startles a laugh out of Nico, the admission, imagining Will’s motormouth trailing after Beckendorf, his bemused indulgence.

“There’s no way he didn’t know, either. I am not a subtle person.”

His shoulders shake. Gods, what a sight. He’s almost sad he missed it — he’ll have to ask Clarisse or Annabeth about it. Hell, maybe even Chiron. Will even looks like he’ll allow him, wide grin on his face, red as his ears may be.

“Not a bad choice,” Nico agrees, calming down a little. The watch feels heavier, now, knowing the significance, and he looks at it, lips pursing. “You sure you want me to take it?”

Will’s hand drags down his his arm until it rests in the palm of his hands for one, two, three seconds; glancing up at Nico, glancing down, nodding to himself. He twists their fingers together, squeezing. Nico’s breath hitches.

“You know how my energy kinda — goes everywhere?”

Nico nods. Will has more healing ability than pretty much anyone the camp has seen — and the more power, the harder it is to control. He’s got a pretty good handle on it, but if you stand near enough to him while he’s healing it’s impossible not to feel the affects; the ease to your joints, soothing of your tense muscles, pleasant warmth over your skin. Nico has been healed of scrapes and bruises just by virtue of one of Will’s beaming smiles, he’s gotten so good. Nico only wishes it didn’t drain him.

“I’ve been wearing that watch over seven years,” Will says. His fingers twitch. “The bronze is magic, of course, but that leather — that leather was living, once. Beckendorf made the whole thing with his bare hands ‘cause he saw me struggling. As far as ordinary objects go —” Will shrugs helplessly. “Might as we’ll be a sponge. It’s been absorbing my magic nonstop for nearly a decade. It’s as connected to me as my eyes, my hair.”

Almost absentmindedly, his free hand reaches out for Nico’s. He curls their fingers together, meeting them in the middle, and squeezes, hard enough to ground. Will blinks back into focus.

“I can feel you wearing it,” he whispers. “Your — heartbeat, vitals. Your life force.” He brings their clasped hands close to his chest, tapping right above his heart. “Here. I can feel you.”

Nico holds his breath. “Not just ‘cause you’re close to me?”

“No. I’ve never felt it like this before. Started the second you put on that watch. Focus for a second, can you feel it?”

Closing his eyes, he tries — imagining the click of the watch, gentle and soft, and the rise and swell of Will’s breathing. It’s in his hands, at first, every place they’re clutching Will’s, but in a second he can almost feel it pound — the ka-thump, ka-thump, ka-thump of Will’s heart, right next to his. The knot of anxiety in his stomach that isn’t his. The worry, golden and protective, spilling over him in waves.

“An empathy link,” Nico breathes. He stares at Will in pure awe. “You — you made an empathy link.”

That kind of life-force magic…you have to be deeply connected to the core of basically everything to access it. Satyrs have it easy, being nature spirits. Gods spend so long grappling with time that they can manage, too.

But mortals? Even half-divine ones?

Nico has spent a lot of time with the mythical, alive and dead. He’s met theoi from pantheons forgotten to every living soul, foreign to even most of the dead. He knows his history twice over and backwards.

He’s never heard of that before.

“Holy shit, Will.”

“Just — come back to me,” Will says. He tugs on Nico’s arms and faces him head-on, eyes now almost black that the sun has set down. “Promise me, Nico. Stay safe. Stay outta trouble as much as you can. Keep your head on straight. And —” He squeezes their hands together, to hide the tremble in his fingers. “I mean it, okay? Come back to me.”

Slowly, giving him time to pull away, Nico frees his hands, sliding them up to cup Will’s face. He pulls him down, standing on his tiptoes to meet him halfway, and lingers, breath mixing, warm, in the millimeters of space between them.

“I promise,” he whispers. “I swear it, Will, I’ll come back to you. I swear it on the Styx.”

Thunder rumbles above them.

“Good.”

Will closes the tiny stretch of space separating them, and their hearts beat in tapping harmony.

[fiction-is-life]

Congratulations on 500 non-bot followers! I just joined the ranks after reading the angstly little treat you did for @eleanor-bradstreet 🤩

I would like to request a blurb for Anthony from your prompt list. #8 - "Looks like we'll be trapped for a while."

This is so fun!

Trapped and Titillated

Author’s Note: Thank you so much for the follow, love, and for your kind words! I am so glad you liked Touchstone of Our Character!  I had so much fun writing this request; it is quite a bit longer than a blurb, but I hope that makes up for the fact it has taken me so long to write it!  Enjoy!

Summary: You are trapped with the Viscount.

Warnings: Angst, getting locked in a room, verbal fighting, steamy make out session, brotherly teasing

~

The door wouldn’t budge.  Oh, I knew when that latch clicked, I was doomed.  Utterly doomed.  And it was all his fault.

“Well, you have done it now, my lord,” I seethed, letting the veneer of polite reserve fall away.  It was always thin around him anyway.

Anthony Bridgerton had the audacity to raise one perfect, dark brow.  “I have done it?” he intoned, his voice cutting through my rising panic, reinforcing who I was angry at.

“Yes,” I hissed.  “You shut the door behind you, and now it is jammed.  It may be hours before someone comes by and finds us, and what then?”

He took a step towards me, matching the one I had subconsciously taken, bringing us closer than society would deem acceptable.  “As far as I am concerned, I have only done what was my right.  This is my library in my home, and I may shut any door I please.”

“Not when an unmarried young lady is in said library - unaccompanied.  Or have you forgotten the rules of the Ton while you were busy raking about the kingdom?” I knew I had struck my mark when I saw the Viscount’s eyes darken, his whole body tensing.

“Miss (Y/L/N), you do not know of what you speak,” he said through clenched teeth, and I shivered from the ice in his tone.  Anthony certainly did not miss it.  “I was raised a gentleman, Miss (Y/L/N), as a member of one of the most respected families in all of England, no less.”  

I scoffed and raised my chin and matched his stance.  We were practically nose-to-nose with each other.  “Well, there must be an exception to every rule, my lord, and I suppose you are it.”

I wanted to take the words back as soon as I said them, terrified at the way his features turned from red-hot anger to a cold, stony silence.  I took a shaky breath.  “M-my lord, I apologize.  I believe I am overwrought from the events of today.  Please forgive me,” I spoke in a rush, not daring to make eye contact with those dark depths again.

A long moment passed before he cleared his throat, his complexion returned to a more normal hue but his posture still stiff.  “It looks like we'll be trapped for a while, Miss (Y/L/N).  We may as well make ourselves comfortable," he spoke in a clipped, quiet tone.  For some odd reason, I wished he would have yelled instead.

He must have noticed the look of panicked confusion on my face as I alternated between staring at him and the couches near the fire.  “Do not fear, Miss (Y/L/N), I shall strive to reign in my more ungentlemanly urges.  Your virtue is safe from me.”

I bit my lip, nodding at his words.  They were what I wanted to hear.  Right?  Oh, dash it!  I had never been prone to hysterics before, but something about being this close to the Viscount was making my thoughts and feelings a muddle.  So, I did the only thing that felt safe.

I pretended to read.

I believed it was working, too.  That is, until the Viscount cleared his throat again.  I wanted to roll my eyes at the realization that the smallest of his gestures still commanded attention.  I was looked over during a one-on-one conversation, but Lord Anthony Bridgerton could simply breathe in a certain way and every head would turn.

“Is there something you need, my lord?”  I asked, my eyes still blindly trained on the pages in front of me so that I missed his growing smirk.

“You must be a great reader, Miss (Y/L/N),” he said.

I raised one perfectly arched eyebrow.  “Yes, I do love a good book,” I returned, turning the page.

“You are most certainly a more avid reader than I.”

That made me look up at him, confusion wrinkling my brow.  “Why do you say that, my lord?” 

He openly smiled now, allowing me to see that little dimple in his one cheek.  “I have never mastered the art of reading words that are upside-down.”

“What?”  I looked down and finally saw what book I had picked up.  It was a tome on new farming practices, and it was indeed upside down.  

Well, I could not let him win that easily.  “I find I absorb the words much better when it is more difficult to read them.”  I looked down my nose as I had seen many women do.  “I believe it is important to challenge oneself, so one does not become ignorant and vain.”

His features twisted into a wry grin.  “Very true, Miss (Y/L/N),” he said in a tight voice.  He crossed over to the sofa I was sitting on and sat down - far too close for comfort.  “What are other pursuits that you find are challenging enough, may I ask?”

I knew he was goading me, but I simply could not back down from his challenge.  “Any activities I find rewarding, I suppose.”  I closed the book and tilted my head, staring him in the eye.  “Making sound investments, helping run the household, volunteering for charities,” I listed, not even trying to mask the smugness in my tone.  “Basically anything that contributes to society, unlike spending every night at gaming hells or with ladies of the night or -”

His lips crashed onto mine, cutting me off.  I felt positively surrounded by him as he crushed me into the back of the sofa, his strong arms encircling my waist and pulling me into him.  He smelled of bay rum and mint, and it was utterly intoxicating.  

At first, I was too shocked to react, but as his lips moved insistently on my own, I started to follow his lead.  He growled when I parted my lips, and my eyes shot open when he darted his tongue into my mouth, but it felt too good to pull away.  So, I pulled him closer.

My hands tangled in his dark locks, and when my fingers caught on a knot, Anthony pulled back slightly, moaning.  I gasped and pulled back.  “Did I hurt you, my lord?” I asked, concerned.

He groaned again, his eyes darkening further.  “Call me that again,” he growled, panting heavily.

My face twisted in confusion.  “My lord?”

“Yes,” he breathed, his lips finding mine again.  His hands wandered this time, sending pings of pleasure straight to my core.  I couldn’t hold back my own noises when his strong hands found my breasts, my nipples pebbling embarrassingly.  

I lost track of time as Anthony peppered wet kisses down my neck and over the swells of my breasts where my dress did not cover them.  He started to work his hand under the skirt of my dress when a crash was heard on the other side of the library.  

“Brother! Are you in here?  I need to get away from all of the matchmaking endeavours mother has concocted,” the voice of Anthony’s brother, Benedict, was heard.  Anthony’s head snapped up, a panicked look in his eyes.  

“Stay here.  I shall get rid of him,” Anthony whispered before rising from the sofa, straightening his jacket where I had mussed it.  “Brother.  You find me at an inopportune time.  I was just leaving,” he called out to his brother, trying to prevent him from seeing me.

“Why?  You already met with the steward this morning.  You have nothing else planned until dinner.”  Even I could hear the skepticism in Benedict’s voice as it grew closer.  

“Well, yes, but I thought I might go for a ride,” Anthony hedged.

“Wonderful!  I shall join you!”

“No!” Anthony shouted.  “I mean, I was wishing to ride out alone this time,” he finished in a more tempered tone.  

There was a long pause where I thought Benedict just may have believed the lie.  “Are you sure you want to be alone?  Because I think Miss (Y/L/N) might disagree.”  I gasped.  “I shall see you at dinner, brother, Miss (Y/L/N),” he said, a door closing behind him shortly after.  

I sat up with a huff, my cheeks flaming a brighter red than they had been before.  “I am sorry; I did not think anyone would follow me here -”

“What door did he come through?” I interrupted what was sure to be a very eloquent apology.

Now, the Viscount’s cheeks turned red and he scratched the back of his neck nervously.  “Well, um, he used the hidden entrance in the south wall.”

“Oh, you cad!” I screamed.  “Open it.  Now, my lord.”

Anthony silently moved toward the south wall, pulling a certain book back to reveal a hidden door.  I gathered my dignity about me as I fixed my skirts.  I caught a whiff of his cologne once more as I passed him, and for a brief moment, I wanted to turn back.  Instead, I held my head high, giving the Viscount one of those superior looks other ladies had mastered.  I wanted him to know I was not to be trifled with.

But I knew this was not the end of my encounters with the Viscount.

~

My Masterlist

[momojedi]

Could I have #88 and #97 with Captain Rex, pretty please...??

JUST MARRIED PAIRING: Captain Rex x GN! Reader

#88 | “Don’t panic but I think we might have accidentally gotten married…” #97 | “I want you and I know you want me too.”

GENRE: Fluff WARNING: none A/N: Since I got prompted #88 by an anon who asked for no one in particular, I mixed up your request with theirs. Thanks for requesting!

MASTERLIST | MOMOJEDI'S 300 FOLLOWER CELEBRATION

"Mhi solus tome,

Mhi solus dar’tome.

Mhi me’dinui an,

Mhi ba’juri verde."

Intense concentration furrows my brow as I massage my temples, striving to translate the unfamiliar words. "For fuck's sake," I mutter, frustration punctuating each syllable as I kick a nearby pebble with surprising strength, eliciting a muffled groan and the metallic clang of beskar as it ricochets off a distant helmet.

Two weeks may not seem long, especially when operating undercover among a terrorist faction whilst the galaxy is engulfed in war. It would probably be advisable to keep a cool head and avoid making a big deal out of insignificant subjects—such as unfamiliar phrases. However, when those words escape the lips of your longtime crush, delivered with an unexpected fervor while locking passionate eyes with you in a language foreign to your ears...

Well, needless to say, I've devoted more time to overthinking it than I care to admit.

When General Skywalker tasked us with shadowing Death Watch until the Jedi Council reached more intel, I hadn't given it much thought... admittedly, he hadn't specified that by "us" he didn't mean Ahsoka and me, as usual, but rather the captain of the 501st and myself—the very someone I've harboured feelings for since the day we met.

Nevertheless, I maintained my composure, played my part, and stayed under the radar, much like Rex, until Death Watch proposed an elaborate ceremony—a ceremony whose name I could barely pronounce, let alone understand its significance. Before any suspicion could arise, Rex quickly agreed in my place, and now here I am, entangled in some eerie ritual with a military captain whose gaze seemed entranced, so intense was his focus.

"If I had my datapad right now...," I hiss under my breath, casting blame on whoever decided I should leave my sole translation device behind. Likely Skywalker.

The crunch of gravel under heavy boots interrupts my daydreaming. I spin around sharply, only to find the very man haunting my mind approaching. "I figured I'd find you here," Rex hums as he settles beside me. "Yeah," I reply with a dry laugh, brushing the dust off my hands. "Sorry, I suppose I just needed... alone time. After everything yesterday, you know?" Rex's eyes widen almost comically, and he sheepishly scratches the back of his neck. "Oh... yeah."

The ensuing silence gnaws at my nerves, prompting me to pop the question after another agonising five minutes. "Hey, about that... what did those words mean, anyway?" "I'm not sure what you're referring to," Rex responds, avoiding my gaze. I gulp. He can't have forgotten, can he? "Come on, Rex... It seemed significant." After a moment's hesitation, Rex sighs, running a hand over his buzzcut before raising his head to face me, though still evading it. "I..." "Yes?" "Alright, fine. [Name], don't panic, but... we might have accidentally... gotten married."

...

"WHAT?"

"Shh!" Rex quiets me with a gentle hand over my mouth, his eyes darting cautiously around us before he releases me. I shake my head slowly, puzzled. "Sorry, but what?" "The, um, the words... they were Mandalorian wedding vows," he admits, his tone tinged with uncertainty. I can't help but laugh. Married? Us? "You're joking." "Unfortunately not," he replies, a slight smile tugging at his lips, before his expression shifts to sheepishness as he rubs the back of his neck. "Though I do believe you'd make an excellent partner." Suppressing a chuckle, I ignore the warmth creeping into my cheeks.

"Actually, I realized we needed a distraction when I overheard some members gossiping behind our backs. They were growing suspicious, so I thought perhaps they'd relax if we participated in some traditions." Rex sighs, examining a pebble he's picked up. I shoot him a hopeful sidelong glance before quickly looking away, feeling my heart quicken.

Force, this man is captivating.

Silence envelops us once more as we both drift deeper into our own thoughts. When I sense the gravel shifting under his weight, I raise an eyebrow. "It wouldn't bother me, you know?" A lump forms in my throat, causing a series of coughs to escape at his words. "Wh-what?" "Being with you." Suddenly, his warm yet weighty hand finds mine. Sweat prickles at my heated skin as I keep my gaze fixed ahead.

"R-rex, are you suggesting...?" "[Name]," he interrupts, turning to face me. Before I can evade his gaze, he gently lifts my chin, compelling me to meet his eyes. I run my tongue over my dry lips, which his gaze is now fixated on. "I want you. And I know you want me, too." His proximity sends shivers down my spine as goosebumps ripple over my arms and back. His newfound confidence is palpable. "I've noticed the way you look at me, how you stare. I know, [name]," he murmurs against my lips, "what do you think?"

I flush, gripping his wrist as I lock eyes with his warm gaze. "I think you're right." Rex chuckles deeply, resonating like a rumble in his chest. "Good." And before I realize it, his lips meet mine,

Time seems to slip away as I surrender completely to the kiss. Eventually, Rex pulls back, leaving me breathless, and flashes me a mischievous grin.

“So, about that wedding night…”

[fictionalwh0ree]

Hi and happy new year!

May I please make a Billie request where she and reader have been friends for years and finally start dating but decide to keep it secret since Billie's friends and fam have been bugging her for years about asking the girl out. But one day Billie forgot she invited Claudia and Zoe over for girls night, so they walk in on them.

girls night- billie eilish

summary: after spending years longing for each other, you and billie finally get into a relationship. nobody knows about it, not even her friends or family. when claudia and zoe walk in on them making out during a girls night the couple had clearly forgotten about, well, i can't say they were surprised...

word count: 1.3k

warnings: none

gif by @sweetfridays

it all started at the beginning of the happier than ever tour. you and billie had been friends for years and years, and due to the pandemic, neither of you were travelling or working quite as much, meaning you spent a lot of time together. from going out shopping, to running errands, to sitting at home and watching movies, you two did it all. so when billie’s tour began and she had to be away from you for weeks on end, she felt like she was missing her other half. finneas, who was on tour with billie, noticed how you two would spend every free moment on call, even if it was just to sleep or watch videos in silence. he noticed how billie would hide her face when you’d compliment her outfit for the show. he noticed billie’s adoring eyes as she watched you sleep on facetime. he even noticed how billie would run to the mirror to fix her hair and put on a lip tint when you asked to call.

that’s when the teasing began. at first, it was subtle. finneas would ask billie about you, waiting for the familiar blush that would appear at your mention. then, as time passed, and it got more obvious, finneas would push billie to ask you out. billie always insisted that you two were just friends. that her behaviour was just adoration for someone she was inspired by, just like her other friends, but finneas knew the truth.

soon enough, billie’s friends picked up on her crush too. they noticed how much she talked about her and how she got nervous when someone brought you up. by the time she was 3/4 done tour, there wasn’t a day that would go by without someone teasing her. claudia and finneas would share knowing looks when billie smiled too hard at your name, or when she denied her crush with red tinted cheeks.

when the tour was finally over, the first thing she did was dedicate a whole day to spending time with you. that day ended in a way both of you had hoped of but neither of you expected. from that day on, you were her girlfriend. despite every urge she had to scream it at the top of her lungs and let the whole world know, you two kept it private. she didn’t even want to tell her friends or family, waiting for a day where “i told you so” wouldn’t be the first reaction. you weren’t mad at all, liking the privacy, and also finding it kind of cute how petty she was being over this.

one day, when everyone had an evening free, billie invited you, claudia, and zoe over for a girls night. the plan was for everyone to show up at 7 pm. you also planned to show up at 7, it was inconspicuous. however, you spent the previous night at billie’s. when you woke up in the morning (afternoon), you planned on leaving right away to give yourself enough time to get home, do some cleaning, and get ready. when billie saw you grabbing your bag, she walked up behind you and wrapped her arms around your waist. she placed gentle kisses on your neck, asking you to stay for lunch between them. you said no, telling her you had to clean and get ready, that you’d be back at 7. you looked at her through the mirror in front of you, her blue eyes glistening and pleading you to stay.

“let me make you lunch,” she said.

and who could say no to her? definitely not you. so you stayed. lunch turned into dishes and dishes turned into a snack and a snack turned into a movie. before long, you had lost track of time. when you looked down at your phone, you panicked, seeing 5:30 pm written in big bold letters. you rushed to grab your things, telling billie you’d be a little late for later, but she had a plan.

“why don’t you get ready here?” she calmly suggested.

“what?” you asked, confused.

“if you leave now you won’t be back til like 8. you already have a ton of your stuff here anyway. just get ready here. zoe and claudia will just assume you were early,” she explained, chewing on some almonds.

“i- i guess,” you said, setting your bag down.

you followed billie upstairs. she had woken up before you, meaning she had a little less prep to do. you showered and wrapped yourself in a towel before moving onto makeup. you two stood side by side in the bathroom mirror, following your usual routines. by the time you were halfway through your makeup, billie was done. she moved to the adjacent bedroom while you finished up. once you were done, you changed into a pair of clothes you had left at billie’s and joined her in the bedroom.

when you walked in, her eyes immediately moved from her phone to you. she looked you up and down, smiling slightly.

“what is it?” you asked her, your face feeling hot.

“how did i get so lucky,” she said genuinely, getting up from her spot on the bed to hug you.

“stop it,” you said, placing a kiss on her lips.

she went back for seconds, leaving you smiling into what was supposed to be an innocent sign of affection. once she slipped some tongue in, you knew the direction this was going in. within minuted, you’d gone from your standing position to her lying against her headboard with you on top, making out. billie’s hands slid down your body to your lower back, causing you to arch into her.

unbeknownst to either of you, claudia and zoe had to use billie’s spare key to open the front door as neither of you were picking up the phone or answering the knocks. they stepped into the quiet house, calling out billie’s name. shark barked eagerly, tongue hanging out of his mouth as he waited to lead his friends to his mom. they followed the dog up the stairs and around the corner, right to billie’s door. seeing the door shut and knowing your car was in the driveway, the two girls shared a look. claudia put her ear up to the door. once she realized there was no moaning, she looked at zoe, who nodded. with that, claudia pushed the door open at once. you jumped off billie’s lap and into the spot next to her, the two of you looking at your friends like deers in headlights. with your lipsticks smeared across billie’s lips and the kiss marks on her neck, there was no denying what was happening.

“ah ha!” zoe said, a large smile adorning her face.

“we knew you liked her! you spent all this time denying it just for us to walk in on this on girls night?!” claudia laughed.

with billie’s cheeks were red as ever and your own cheeks hot as hell, you had nothing else to say besides, “well, you got us.”

“come here!” claudia cheered.

you both got out of bed and walked to the other two girls, who enveloped the two of you in a group hug.

“we’re happy for you,” zoe said.

“we’re really really happy for you,” claudia emphasized, causing you and billie to break out in smiles.

as you pulled apart from the hug, you couldn’t help but smile at billie’s face. your lipstick sloppily coated her own lips, making her look like a kid who had played with her mothers makeup

“what?” she asked, smiling back.

“come here,” you said, licking your thumb.

you used your finger to wipe the stains off, a smile on your faces the whole time. claudia couldn’t help but let out a little “aw” as she snapped a photo of the moment. the first photo someone had taken of you two as a couple. you couldn’t help but feel grateful for the supportive friends and girlfriend you had in your life.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Dirty Work 25

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as bullying, familial discord/abuse, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

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

Summary: You start a new gig and find one of your clients to be hard to please.

Characters: Loki

Note: last night I finished my paper... mostly. Need to format and cite.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You stare at your hand, then Mr. Laufeyson’s. In contrast, his seems so big. Emblematic of the hold he has on your life. The power you can’t resist. Even if you want to. You don’t know what you want. You don’t know if you’d ever known. You only ever did what you thought was right.

He lets you slip your hand free and you turn it over, looking down at your palm. You trace a line as you feel him watching you. He wants you to speak but what can you say? You’re confused and scared and so, so tired.

“Pet, was I not clear?” He wonders, the gentle lilt frightens you more than his deep commanding timbre.

You think he was. You think you know what he wants. Just like your father accused you. Well, what else are you worth? Not just to him but anyone.

“Can…” your mouth is dry, your eyes are itchy, your head is pulsing, and your body feels hollow. “Can I think about it?”

“Think?” He echoes, “what– how long?”

“I don’t know, Mr. Laufeyson,” you answer thinly, sinking back into the pillows, “I’m dizzy. I don’t feel very well.”

“Dizzy?” He repeats you again. He hums and clasps his hand around his knee, “when’s the last you’ve eaten?”

You shyly glance up. You slant your lips and shrug. You’re uncertain. Does he really care? It hardly matters. You can’t recall when your dad ever bothered about you being fed or happy. Even if it’s pretend, it’s better than before.

“Yesterday, I think,” you twine your fingers together, “last night…”

“Yes, last night was a bit much, wasn’t it?” He tuts, “what about breakfast?”

“I had some tea,” you offer. “I’m not very hungry, just sleepy.”

“You need to eat then, you can’t think on an empty stomach surely,” he insists as he stands, “I’ll fetch a plate.”

“Mr. Laufeyson, I’m fine,” you try to push yourself to the edge of the bed but he’s quick to stop you, catching your shoulder as he nudges you into the pillows.

“No, no, let me show you,” he squeezes then reluctantly rescinds his touch, “I said I would give you anything, yes? Whatever you wish or need. Let me show you that I can and you may better make your decision.”

“It’s really not–” you try to argue but don’t have the energy. Really, you’re too perplexed to come up with any protest. He’s being strangely… nice.

“I mean it, stay,” he orders as he shows his palms, “I won’t be long.”

You just nod. He spins on his heels and marches out. You scrunch up your lips and glance towards the window. It’s later than you thought. The window is dark and the moon shines down in a sliver.

What would it be like to have someone take care of you? Is that what Mr. Laufeyson means? You’re not that stupid. Inexperienced, yes, but he has been blunt. You know what he wants from you but you’re not sure you can offer it. 

Clothes? Jewellry? Shiny things? All those things mean nothing. He can’t give you what you truly want but no one can. And he’s right about everything else. You have no home and whatever he did can’t have made your dad any less angry than he already was.

You close your eyes and exhale. No isn’t an option. It might knot in your chest and tickle your tongue but you’re not sure you can’t utter it. What is the alternative? You’re at the tipping point. Without a job, you can’t afford that hotel bed. Even with one, you’re not sure you can swing it. And there’s all the other expenses; all the things you need and don’t have.

Your head is ready to split in two. You could never be ready for this. You never saw it coming to this. You in Mr. Laufeyson’s bed, weighing your entire life in your hands.

Your eyes roll open as you hear him. The scent of the food precedes him and your stomach rumbles loudly. His brows rise in response as he enters. He has a plate in one hand and a wooden board under the other. He nears and sets the dish on the night table, unfolding the legs of the lap table.

He places it over your legs and moves the plate on top of it. He’s careful not to lose the cutlery in the process. It’s some of the food Frigga left, but not a dish you helped with. Salmon, rice, and a colourful medley of vegetables.

“Something to drink?” He offers.

“Um…” you look at the plate then furrow your brow at him.

“Don’t look at me like that. What would you like?”

You blink. This is strange. It should be you asking him. It should be you running around. It’s backwards. All of it.

“Water is fine.”

“Hm, yes, water, I shall return,” he declares and once more pivots on his heel.

You focus on the food as he goes. You poke the long grains of rice, then a baby carrot. You push it all around before you dare to take a bite. It’s good, very good. Better than boxed macaroni and canned soups.

Mr. Laufeyson appears again. He has a tall glass, weeping with condensation as a lemon floats on top. He sets it on the night table, sure to slip a marble coaster down first. You taste the food intensely, pushing your tongue around as he backs up. He hovers just before the foot of the bed.

You continue to eat. Tediously so. Little bites as you delay the inevitable. He won’t allow you much longer than it takes to clear the plate to give your answer and you’re filling up fast. You still the fork and swallow. You rest the silver on the ceramic rim and take a sip of water. The cold flow gives a small kick.

“What did you do to him?” You ask, voice trembling even as you fight to control it.

He tilts his head and a line ripples above his brows. He cheek dimples as he grips one hip, “whatever do you think I did to the sickly old brute?”

You frown and he puts his head straight. He drops his hand and flutters his fingers. He huffs and paces around the end of the bed, then back again.

“I only gave him a fright,” he grumbles, almost bashfully, “I am somewhat above assaulting an elderly man.”

You stare, not saying a word.

“What? I am,” he snaps, “I only told him to keep his hands to himself. In more words than that.”

You don’t know if you believe him. You want to only because you wouldn’t want to be the reason your dad gets hurt. Even if he’s the reason you are.

“Promise?” You ask.

He clasps his hands together behind his back, “sure. Yes, I swear that I didn’t touch him, right? Just a bit of ominous implication.”

You run your finger along the edge of the plate.

“Tell me you’re not lying, please?”

He’s quiet. He huffs again and taps his toe.

“Why do you care so much? He doesn’t care for you.”

“Just…” you are wilting, you feel your strength dwindling. “Tell me the truth and I’ll say yes.”

He shifts to sit on the bed, just by your legs. He looks at you in the face. You meet his gaze and he doesn’t flinch, “I did not assault him, though it crossed my mind. He had that tube under his nose and wouldn’t stop coughing. It hardly seemed a fair contest. I merely warned him that the next time, I wouldn’t restrain myself.”

“Next time?” You murmur.

“Which there won’t be,” he assures, “because I told the truth, so that is…”

He waits and points at you. You turn your head away. You believe him.

“Yes,” you mutter. “I accept, Mr. Laufeyson…” You bat away another singe of tears, the voice in your head whispering what you won’t say aloud, ‘you win’.

✨

Mr. Laufeyson clears away the dishes and folds up the small table. He leaves you for a time, stirring on the lower level as you listen cautiously. You feel a little better but your eyes are still puffy from crying and your head still has a dull tick. 

You slowly stand, careful not to cause your head to ring, and move around the bed. You slip into the hallway and into the study. Inside, you near the desk and lift the bag onto the chair. You search within until you find your phone, the mostly neglected flip.

You open it and stare at the keypad. You want to call your dad and make sure he’s okay but you know you shouldn’t. You can’t. He wouldn’t answer either way. You know that. The more you think of what he did, the worse it is. Why hadn’t you realised before? There was no way to ever go back home.

“Pet?” Mr. Laufeyson startles you and you shove away the phone. You face him and lean on the corner of the desk. “I made some tea… it’s much too late for work.”

“I know, I…” you still aren’t used to this. It’s so unusual. Mr. Laufeyson’s isn’t a place of leisure or carelessness, it’s for work. “...was checking the time.”

“Late, yes,” he affirms, “chamomile, my mother left some behind.” He raises the steaming mug, “you should lay down.”

“Mmm, yeah, I…” you look away. It’s not so different as it was, is it? You’re still supposed to obey him. He might be gentler but he isn’t asking.

“Would you like a book to read? You may peruse to your pleasure,” he offers and crosses to you, close as he puts the cup on the desk, “I might have a few you may enjoy. Are you fan of Shelley?”

He takes your wrist before you can react. He leads you to the shelf near the middle of the wall as you blink and peek up at him. This is strange. You’ve never seen him like this. Almost excited, as much as he has ever been.

“Poe, of course, I’ve some Lovecraft but I find him repetitive,” he goes on, “perhaps this isn’t an evening for horror.” He’s thinking aloud, “I might have an Austen or two that you may handle. The first editions, I’m afraid, cannot be touched.” He hums as he lets you go and hovers his fingers over the row, “Mansfield Park… hm?” 

He looks at you and you shake your head. You don’t know. You read the same books you read as a kid. The Secret Garden, The Little Princess, and that illustrated version of The Hobbit, the one your dad used to…

“Maybe tomorrow,” you offer, “my head hurts.”

“Fair,” he agrees, “as I said, you should lay down.”

“I know,” you murmur and back away, “I’m just… restless.”

“So drink your tea.”

“Thanks,” you return to the desk and lift the mug, blowing over it as the steam continues to furl above it, “I will.”

“In bed,” he insists.

“I wouldn’t want to spill it–”

“Well certainly you can’t have it near the books,” he reproaches, “so come.”

That’s a command. His tone hardens and you recognise him again. Oh yes, things aren’t so different after all. He’s still in charge.

You nod and do as he says. You carry the tea into the hallway but hesitate at the threshold. Can’t you just go downstairs? No, you’re tired. You continue to the bedroom and place the mug on the same coaster where he’d put the water earlier.

You fold your hands nervously and back away. You approach the window and look out onto the estate. You remember the night you rushed over here, when he’d triggered that alarm. The way he’d been so undone, how he’d grabbed you and babbled those senseless words.

He moves behind you, shifting open drawers, and shuffling around. He doesn’t say a word as your vision blurs the shadows to a sea of uncertainty. The world is distant as you struggle to believe in it. It still feels like a horrible nightmare.

“Pet,” he slithers as he comes up behind you. You flinch as he rests his hands on your shoulders, standing almost flush to you, “your tea grows cold.”

You nod and sidle away from him. He relents, a hand dragging down your arm as he sighs. He watches as you go to claim the porcelain cup. You sit on the edge of the bed and sip. It’s pleasant, not stale like the old tea bags in your own cupboard. Well, that’s not yours anymore.

You wiggle your nose, ready to cry again. It’s like your morning yourself. The old you is dead yet very much sitting there, just as powerless as ever.

“Thank you,” you say as you cradle the cup against your hand, absorbing the heat until it hurts.

“I’ve found some clothing you can sleep in,” he nears and pulls the folded fabric across the bed. A plain button-up and a pair of cotton shorts. “I’m afraid I’m not furnished for you just yet. Tomorrow we will rectify that.”

You thank him again and drown your nerves in the yellow tea. As much as your eyelids tug and your shoulders slump, as heavy as you feel, you’re not sure you will sleep through the churning in your chest. You twitch as he brushes a finger against your cheek and your sight narrows on him.

You don’t say anything. He doesn’t either. He caresses down to your chin and tilts it up. He considers you. You feel him appraising you, his eyes drifting away from your face. For a moment, his grip on you firms and his hand slides back so the crook of thumb and index frame your throat. You gulp as he bends over you. He presses a kiss on your forehead, lingering as he inhales your scent.

“Patience,” he mutters as he parts, though you don’t know if he girds you or himself.

He draws away and fixes his posting, rolling his shoulders as he turns sharply. He goes back to the dresser and focuses on the contents of the top drawer. He clucks as he snatches out garments.

“I suppose I should dress for bed too,” he drones flatly, “no doubt…” He snaps the drawer shut, “a long night.”

[tomriddleslove]

Forgotten once again.

✩Tom Riddle x Reader

Summary: The one where Tom isn’t capable of love, but you thought you could change that. Alternatively: Possesiveness and Love become the same thing.

A/N: I really enjoyed writing this one because Tom’s character is sm fun to write. It’s interesting because despite my delusions I couldn’t ever imagine him being capable of loving someone, and if he did it would be like this. Also this is probably the last time i’ll post for the next three weeks!

Warnings: Toxic Relationships, mentions of manipulation, violence (towards others). Generally about a very toxic and unhealthy relationship so please do not read if you’re triggered by anything to do with this! My inbox is always open if you ever need someone to talk to 🫶🏼.

Songs: Leaving Tonight - The Neighbourhood

Spectre - Radiohead

Tom Riddle was many things.

For one, he was ambitious. He would achieve whatever he so desired. If he had the means to do it, it would be done immediately. If he did not, well...

He would find the means to do so. Because Tom Riddle achieved whatever he so desired.

He was also charismatic.

Tom had a natural charisma that drew people to him. Whether through his charm, intelligence, or a combination of both, he had a magnetic presence that captivated those around him. This charisma played a significant role in his ability to influence and manipulate others to further his ambitions.

Tom Riddle was brilliant. Gifted with a sharp mind and a keen understanding of magic, he excelled in his studies. His intelligence, coupled with his ambition, allowed him to delve into dark magic and ancient mysteries, seeking knowledge and power that others might shy away from.

Tom Riddle was many things, but there was only one thing he lacked.

Perhaps it was karma, some form of divine intervention, his hamartia, that it was this very thing that would be his downfall in the years to come.

Tom was many things, but loving was not one of them.

Tom Riddle was not loving. No - he was not capable of love.

Tom Riddle, was incapable of experiencing genuine love due to being conceived under the influence of a love potion, not true love. The circumstances of Tom’s conception were marked by coercion and manipulation, as his mother, Merope Gaunt, used a love potion to attract and bind Tom Riddle Sr. to her. It was artificial and devoid of true affection. This was a concrete and inexplicably tragic detail that meant Tom Riddle simply was not physically capable of reciprocating love.

Key word, reciprocating. For, it was very much possible for someone to fall in love with Tom. A cruel thing it would be, for one cannot simply love Lucifer himself and expect to be loved in return. Tom Riddle's incapacity for reciprocating love stemmed from a profound emotional void rather than an inability to elicit affection from others.

This fact was a cruel truth that you only chose to accept once it was too late. One does not simply get involved with Tom Riddle, and come out unscathed.

Tom never cared for love, really. To him, it was just some sort of transaction or tool, something to be manipulated for his own benefit. Love, in Tom Riddle's eyes, was a means to an end rather than an intrinsic value. It was a sentiment that he observed in others but never truly felt himself.

Love, however, seemed to be the most raw, human thing in existence. It was everything we hated, yet also everything we loved. It unravelled our deepest insecurities, it brought things to the surface that we had long pushed to the side. It required us to lay ourselves, bare, for the other to see. Love made us tolerate the very worst of things, love made us hate the very best of things.

Many things can be complementary in life. Love was not one of them. It was overpowering, consuming. It changed who you were.

Love was the beginning of life and the end of it. Love was part of being human.

Tom lacking this fundamentally crucial aspect of the human experience may have been the very thing that led him to despise his humanity.

When Tom had met you, it was slightly different. A puzzle piece that didn't quite fit but intrigued him nonetheless.

You were undeniably talented, a mind that had its worth. You had this air of arrogance, and whilst Tom hated unbacked arrogance, you had the means to justify it. You were self-assured, and he found it to be somewhat refreshing compared to the other people he knew (who unashamedly sucked up to him.) You didn’t fall for his tricks immediately, which made him all the more agitated, and intrigued. Rather, you seemed to enjoy being with Tom most when he’d drop the ‘perfect and polite’ facade he had. You valued honesty and bluntness, two things Tom did not do (After all, how would he gain the trust of others if he truthfully told them he planned on using every single one of them?)

However, the more time he spent with you, the more he found that he fed into what you liked. And somehow, to his dismay, he found some sort of sick satisfaction in it. He enjoyed seeing you actively seek out his presence, and as much as it went against what Tom believed, he liked the validation of having people want to be associated with him. It was a testament to how he longed to be known, to be admired. He observed, learned, and dissected your intricacies, seeing you not as an individual but as a canvas upon which he could project his desires.

He soon grew very used to you, and he didn't absolutely loathe you. As the days unfolded into months, and the months unfolded into years, a semblance of tolerance took root. He played the part, masking his true intentions beneath a veneer of charm. Tolerance morphed into a twisted form of acknowledgement — an acknowledgement that you held a role in his future ambitions, his ultimate goal.

After all, that's all he ever did anything for, right? His goals, His desires. His needs.

The evolution was subtle but insidious. What began as a detached fascination transformed into a possessive need. Tom, driven by an insatiable hunger for control, found satisfaction in manipulating the threads of your existence. Obsession seeped into every crevice of his thoughts. Your every action became a challenge to him, something for him to understand, something he wanted to have control over. His infatuation stemmed from a desire to have control, to claim your very being, to possess you like some sort of artefact in his prized possessions.

Whilst you may have been immune to Tom’s charm when you first met, you certainly weren't without your weakness. After all, Tom always got what he wanted, and if he didn't have the means to do so, he'd find it.

He became fluent in his ways of understanding you, observing every little thing you did. He dissected the very core of your being till he was sure there was nothing he wouldn't know. Casual conversations about schoolwork in the depths of the library turned to confessions about your life as the hours passed. Tom preyed on your vulnerability, sowing seeds of doubt into your mind.

He agreed with you when you expressed your frustrations at your friends, he encouraged your rash actions. He told you what you wanted to hear, and made it seem as though it was the most obvious thing in the world.

As everything he did, each word he spoke was carefully calculated, a thread sewn in the fabric of your fucked up relationship, binding him inexplicably closer to you without even realising.

He pointed out things, seemingly from a place of concern, making you distance yourself from your friends. He highlighted instances where your friends might have let you down, carefully framing himself as the only steadfast pillar in your life. Tom was everything you could have needed; he understood you, and he made you feel seen.

He was selective about what he let you know. He let you know he had grown up in a children’s home, and that his mother had died. Trust was a two-way thing, and you were smart enough to detect when it wasn’t being reciprocated. He let you see what he wanted to see, for no human was perfect, and he needed you to see he had his imperfections if he wanted you to trust him.

He needed to make it seem as though you made him feel seen too.

Tom had been sitting in your room, working with you on a transfiguration assignment you both had been set. Cross-legged on your bed, he still remembers how you had sat down next to him, visibly frustrated.

Tom, ever attuned to you, asked whether you were ok because that's what someone who cared for you did. He didn't care greatly though, not in a selfless way. Rather, he needed you to know that he was the only person who knew you, the only person you needed.

You opened up about what had happened, explaining how your friends had betrayed your trust, and how they seemed to misunderstand you, leaving you feeling isolated and vulnerable. Tom, feigning empathy with expert precision, listened intently, absorbing every detail like a sponge. You began crying because it all became too much.

You never thought Tom would comfort you. You believed he'd perhaps pat your back, or assure you it was all fine. What you didn't expect, was for Tom to draw you in, to wrap his arms around you, and pull you into his chest. You didn't expect him to soothe you, and rub your back as he uttered words of comfort into your ear, seemingly shielding you from the emotions that had been weighing you down.

You didn't expect to feel safe, to feel protected. If only you knew the only thing you needed protection from, was Tom himself.

You felt special. You knew it was not in Tom's nature to do so. You had no idea how vile of a person he truly was, but you understood he was avoidant of sentiment or affection. For him to have been so tender, made you feel loved.

It was only ever bound to go downhill from there.

It was only natural that you had fallen in love with him. From there it all somewhat became a blur. In between the lines, the illusion of love was beginning to waver. Graduating from Hogwarts, you no longer held those ambitions you once had. Your plans seemed now to be a distant memory, a past life. You had Tom, and that was all that mattered.

Tom had gotten his job at Borgin and Burkes. You moved in with him. You ignored the pleas of concern from those who were near and dear to you, who Tom hadn’t managed to isolate you from.

Tom convinced you that they did not have your best interest in mind, that they didn’t like him because he was a poor orphan, working a salesperson job. He had earlier convinced you he had his insecurities about his past, and he used that to make you believe the people around you were prejudiced, that they didn't care for your happiness but rather their status being affected by who they associated with. No one would want to be acquainted with the girl who loved the charity case.

You believed him. You couldn't fathom why they didn’t like Tom. You shut them out.

It was rather terrifying seeing how quickly Tom could snuff out your fiery flame, and reduce you down to someone who became dependent on him. You rarely left the house, your life revolved around what Tom wanted, and how Tom felt.

He left you teetering on the precipe of unhappiness, fulfilling your needs to the point where you couldn’t complain for fear of seeming ungrateful, unloving.

He would neglect you, coming back from work to lock himself in your bedroom, pouring over books and writings. He wasn’t who he used to be, caring, affectionate, loving.

Shame on you for assuming you could make Tom capable of love.

His neglect pierced your soul, and when you mustered the courage to voice your needs, he snapped at you for bothering him. Tom's transformation into an emotionally distant stranger left you in a state of perpetual uncertainty.

At times, you resolved to leave him, but Tom had a knack for sensing your unrest. As though he could read your mind, he returned with offerings and apologies, painting himself as the troubled victim and casting you as the ungrateful perpetrator. Guilt became the shackle that bound you, and his apologies only deepened the wounds.

Tom, in those fleeting moments of remorse, would momentarily embody the man you had fallen in love with. You cooked dinner together. He’ d play with your hair as you read, and he fucked you as if he truly did love you. Yet, the morning after, the bed would be empty, and the reality of your entangled existence with Tom would once again sink in.

He began leaving for work earlier and coming back later. You began to doubt whether it was because of work, the day he came back reeking of dark magic.

You were undeniably clever, after all, that was what had sparked Tom’s obsession with you in the first place, and so it didn’t take long for you to connect the dots. Tom’s friends back in Hogwarts seemed more like devotees than anything else. This, coupled with him spending countless hours reading through books he wouldn't let you see, and his sudden late hours suggested to you he was dappling in dark things.

You weren't wrong, per se, but Tom was far beyond dappling in dark things. He had become the image of corruption itself.

The cycle persisted, a disheartening repetition of highs and lows that left you questioning your worth and the authenticity of the connection you had with Tom. His intermittent displays of affection, punctuated by periods of neglect and manipulation, became the norm. The more you yearned for stability, the deeper you sank into the quicksand of your toxic relationship.

You couldn't pinpoint exactly where neglect turned into heated words. Arguments turning more and more intense. Slammed doors became broken porcelain, yet the remorseful embraces remained the same.

The outside world, once filled with friends and dreams, now seemed like a distant echo. Tom had successfully eroded the foundations of your past life, isolating you from the support systems that could have provided a lifeline. His poisonous whispers had convinced you that only he truly cared for you, painting the rest of the world as indifferent or antagonistic.

The empty mornings and hollow apologies continued, and you slowly began to realise the love you once believed in had become a warped caricature, and the person you had fallen for had let his obsession manifest into your relationship, seeping through the feeble foundations.

The crisp air of Hogsmeade offered a welcome escape from the suffocating atmosphere of the shared home with Tom. As you strolled through the quaint village, a familiar face caught your eye – Elizabeth, your closest friend from Hogwarts. A twinge of nostalgia mixed with apprehension as you approached her.

"Hey, Elizabeth," you greeted, attempting a smile.

Her response was guarded, her eyes revealing a mixture of concern and wariness. "Hello. Long time no see."

You sensed a tension in the air as you tried to engage in small talk, but Elizabeth's words soon cut through the facade. "Look, What happened? You dropped off the face of the earth, and it's like you vanished after graduation. In our last year, you completely ignored all of us."

A knot tightened in your stomach as you fumbled for an explanation. "I... things have been complicated. I've been busy."

Elizabeth's expression softened, and she sighed. "Busy? More like completely consumed. We all missed you, you know? But you acted like we don't even exist. What happened to the person we used to know?"

You frown, crossing your arms. “Missed me? I only stopped talking to you because you all acted weird around me.” You respond, defensively.

“No, we didn't. You got angry at us when we told you we were worried for you. You rarely went out with us, you were always too busy elsewhere.” She corrected, and you felt a frustration bubble within you.

“No, it didn’t really seem like that. You all isolated me and the only person I had left was Tom. It was only natural that I wouldn't want to go back to being friends with you after that.” You snap.

Elizabeth's eyes widened, sympathy replacing her earlier frustration. "Tom? Are you serious? He's the one who isolated you, not us. We've been worried sick about you. You're not the same person anymore."

Who did she think she was? She knew nothing about the two of you, let alone what your relationship was like. Tom was right, these people had it out for you. They didn't care for you, not at all.

“You don't know what our relationship is like Elizabeth, so I suggest you stop making assumptions.” You hiss, glaring at her.

"We cared, but you pushed us away," Elizabeth explained gently. "You were so wrapped up in whatever was going on with Tom that you stopped caring about anyone else. It's not healthy, and we were genuinely concerned."

Elizabeth reached out to comfort you. "Listen, I know it's tough, but you need to reevaluate your situation. Staying with Tom isn't healthy, and you're not alone. My door is always open if you need somewhere to stay or someone to talk to.” She says, fumbling around in her pockets. She pulls out a receipt and hastily scribbles down an address, thrusting it into your hand. She gives you one last look of pity, and you feel enraged. You immediately apparate back home, you didn't have time for this foolishness.

You apparate back home, the confrontation with Elizabeth leaving a bitter taste in your mouth. The hastily scribbled address clutched in your hand feels like an unwanted invitation, an intrusion into the carefully constructed reality that Tom has woven around you.

As you step into the shared home, the atmosphere is unsettling. Tom is hunched over a dark tome, his eyes flickering up to meet yours as you enter.

"Where have you been?" he questions, the softness of his tone belying the underlying intensity.

You toss your coat aside, frustration boiling beneath the surface. "Out. I needed a break from all this," you retort, the words laced with the anger that has been building up.

A dangerous glint enters Tom's eyes, his composure slipping. "A break? Is that how you see it? Is it a burden to you?"

"Yes, Tom! I don’t know what’s gone wrong? One day you’re fin and the next you’re acting as though i’m a nuisance to your being," you snap, the resentment in your voice cutting through the room.

His posture stiffens, and a quiet threat laces his words. "Oh really?"

Your anger flares, a defiant fire pushing back against his dominance. "Guess who I saw today, hmm?" You seethe, venom lingering in your tone.

A momentary confusion flickers in Tom's eyes. "Who?" he questions, wondering how this could be relevant to the conversation.

"Elizabeth," you declare, watching his reaction closely.

Tom's expression darkens, and a cold tension settles in the room. "What does she have to do with anything?" He retorts, stepping closer to you.

"She told me a few things, Tom. About how I've distanced myself from everyone, how they were worried, and you know what struck me?" you press on, your anger finding a new target.

His eyes narrow, a hint of defensiveness in his tone. "What?"

"That I believed it was my friends who had abandoned me, but in reality, it's been you isolating me all along," you accuse, the realization fueling your rage. You jab your finger into his chest as you speak.

Tom's composure wavers, but he quickly recovers. "I've been protecting you. You can't trust them. They're trying to pull you away from me."

"Stop. Stop it, Tom. Have the decency to acknowledge I'm not that fucking stupid. I know what you're trying to do,” You say, voice cracking. You resist the urge to shield your ears, his words burrowing their way into you as he attempts to trivialise your worries, making you out to be the irrational one.

Tom frowns, and the sight of you beginning to doubt him had bile riding in the back of his throat. H reaches out, hands holding onto your shoulders as he urges you to look at him.

“They’re lying to you. They’re trying to pull you away from me again! Can't you see this? Why do you believe them over me?” He says, voice pleading with you in fake desperation, the lengths he was willing to go to to ensure he could continue to possess you were unthinkable.

“Enough. Im fucking done. You’re so fucked up, Tom. You never loved me, did you? You only ever wanted to own me, to control me. Tell me, was it worth it? Was it ever fucking worth it, spending 5 years of your life weaving this tapestry of bullshit just so you could keep me locked up in here?” You snap, grabbing your coat.

Tom's pleading expression transforms into a cold mask, and a sinister calm settles over him. "You think you can just leave? You're mine, and you'll stay. I won't let you go." He utters.

The realization of his true nature, the toxicity of the relationship, fuels your determination. "Watch me,” You hiss.

As you move toward the door, his grip on control slips further, and an unsettling mix of rage and desperation flashes in his eyes. "You'll regret this. You'll come crawling back. You always come back." He says. You take a single look at him before slamming the door and walking off.

One cannot simply dance with the devil, and change him. He always changes you.

Tom Riddle was far beyond the devil.

You wondered if for once in your life God had been on your side when you had that chance encounter with Elizabeth. Despite your harsh words, she had accepted you into her home with open arms. The weight of the past five years settles heavily on your shoulders, and the enormity of what you've lost becomes painfully clear. You were young, so damn young, and you’d been living as a glorified prisoner, trapped by the very thing that was meant to liberate you.

But love was ugly, wasn't it? It made you tolerate the bad, it made you irrational. Love could bare its teeth into your neck, and you'd let it, for love was ugly.

It was ugly, but it was not macabre.

Tom knew where you were. Tom always did. It was already established that Tom always got what he wanted. He wanted you, and he found a way to ensure that.

At first, he did not bother you.

He believed you would come back to him, as you so often did. But when a week had passed and you had not reappeared as you always did, beautiful face flushed red, eyes glossy with tears as you wordlessly stepped in and fell back into normality, he began to worry.

If it came to any relief to you, which it might have, Tom believed he loved you. What you had was a far cry from love, an echo of what it should have been. But in the mind of he who cannot love, this is what he believed it to be. One could only wonder whether everything would have been different if he actually knew what love was. But he didn't, and he never would, so he was left with some sort of fucked up obsession that he believed was love.

Tom felt a gnawing emptiness that only intensified with your departure.

Again, he loved you, if one could call it love. It was a sick, twisted version of affection that demanded ownership. In his distorted reality, your existence became an extension of his own, a possession he couldn't bear to lose. The mere thought of you breaking free ignited a desperate panic within him.

He needed you like a drowning man gasping for air, clinging to the last vestiges of sanity.

Schopenhauer believed that the will, a blind and irrational force, dominated human behaviour. Love, according to Schopenhauer, was an expression of the will's desire.

Tom felt this indescribable gap in his life without you there, as though he simply wasn’t complete without you. The old him would have hated to admit it, but he needed you, and his need for you grew from a sickly infatuation to a desperate yearning. Love, in his distorted reality, meant ownership, and he was losing his grip.

It was a rather bleak evening, and you had a horrible feeling in your stomach as you sat on the sofa of Elizabeth’s living room, where you had been presiding for the past week.

How cruel it was, that you and Tom were so attuned to one another.

You somehow knew it was Tom without needing to see them.

As Tom had resonated with the words of Schopenhauer, you had resonated with the words of Plato. For you, love could not be controlled. Instead, it was a divine madness that took hold of individuals, transcending rational thought and choice.

You had often thought that was a beautiful thing. However, when it was love that was causing your demise, it no longer felt beautiful.

Elizabeth comes down the stairs and raises a brow when she sees you perched on the edge of the sofa, staring blankly off into the distance. She eyes you apprehensively as she opens the door.

That voice. It simultaneously sent dread coursing through you, and butterflies erupting in your stomach.

“Come back now. It's been far too long.” Tom says, his voice oh so tempting.

“Seriously? You think you can get her back with that bullshit?” Elizabeth snaps, standing at the door.

Tom, however, remains fixated on you, as if Elizabeth's words were mere background noise. Ignoring her comments, he continues, his eyes piercing into your conflicted gaze.

"Stop this. Come back. It's where you belong," he urges, the words carrying a persuasive weight that had once held you captive.

Elizabeth's frustration peaked as she turned to face you, pleading in her eyes. "Don't listen to him. He's toxic, and you don't need that in your life. You deserve so much more."

Tom's eyes bore into yours, his tone silky but insistent. "You don't belong in our business, Elizabeth. You’re as meddlesome as you were in school. She knows where she belongs."

You remain silent.

"He's killing you. Can't you see that?" Elizabeth's voice held a mixture of concern and frustration.

But Tom's voice slithered through the air once more, persuasive and relentless. "Come to me.” His words echoed a twisted sense of possessiveness, yet held such allure, spoken tenderly, enough to convince you it would be fine.

You clench your fists, nails digging into your skin. You stand up, letting out a shuddery breath. You walk towards the door.

“Fuck, stop! You don't need to go! Don't act like you have nowhere to go! I've given you my home, I’ve let you stay. Stop going back!” Elizabeth says, frustration laced in her voice.

How easy it is to claim you simply need to just “stop”, and it would all be fine.

It was never that simple. Tom's presence was poison, yet it was also the air you breathed. You had only known Tom for what felt like aeons, and you had shut everyone who questioned you out. All you had was Tom, all you ever would have is Tom.

He was home, a twisted kind that keeps you warm while slowly suffocating the life out of you.

As you walked back into his outstretched arms, a sense of numb acceptance settled over you. The outside world ceased to matter; the only reality was the one with Tom.

It wasn't love as the poets wrote or the philosophers pondered. Yet, in its ugliness, it was the only reality you knew.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, wrapping his arms around. Like a serpent, his embrace constricts around you, possessive and suffocating. You lean into him, feeling the coldness of his touch seep into your skin. It's oddly warming though, as paradoxical as it seemed.

"Where else would you go, my love?" he whispers, the sweetness of the endearment masking the toxicity beneath.

The serpent and its prey, bound in a perverse waltz of dependence and decay, disappear into the shadows, and the world outside is forgotten once again.

[the-masked-ram]

Fics for Gaza

Here I am taking the plunge. I'm a small blog but fast writer even when it comes to my slower times. So might as well put it to good use.

Planning on joining this fundraiser run by @ficsforgaza and help make everyone happy with some content in the process. Here is my plan of action for my wip and donation costs.

To participate- please make a donation to a vetted fundraiser and send a screenshot/proof of your donation to me in a DM. PLEASE MAKES SURE TO CENSOR ALL YOUR PERSONAL INFORMATION. (internet safety and all that jazz). In the message also let me know what fic you are donating to and I will adjust expected word counts. These screenshots are merely for keeping things as honest as possible and will be shared with @ficsforgaza

-I obviously will not be taking the money myself. Please send it to one of the vetted fundraisers mentioned in the link below.

$5.00 per 800 words or a full drabble series installment

Link to vetted places to donate here!

As soon as 50% of any of the fics are sponsored I will automatically start on them.

Drabble series-

Sweet and Sour- Ren Kaji x Fem Reader Drabble Series

Your the new girl in the city. You are tough, sassy, but don't know a lick about the gangs, and if your honest you couldn't care less. But something about Ren Kaji catches your eye. He may snap and bark like a feral dog, but you can see through it and he knows it too. Slowly, you become his sanctuary even though you are the one person he's most afraid won't accept him. And he thought he was past all that. (NSFW) 5.00 for full installment

Read Part One here!

False Immunity- Hiei x Fem Reader Drabble Series

Where Hiei learns the ins and out of human courtship. (NSFW)

Find Part One-Six on my masterlist here! 5.00 for full installment

Multichap Fics-

Flawed Hope- Astarion x OC (BG3)

Brit was a paralegal, someone who had a normal life and enjoyed what she did for the most part. Yet, the only true excitement she felt lately was when she played Baldur's Gate Three. A simple video game brought her more joy than her friends or fleeting romances. One night as depression crushes her she wishes to live one day in BG3. Her wish is granted, however the world of BG3 needs her far longer than her wish had originally intended. And the worst part? She does not get along with her favorite vampire in the slightest. (NSFW)

Read the first four chaps here! WC: 558/4000

Falling for Frogs- Sebastian x Fem Reader (SDV)

You are game developer about to make their debut into the market. The world you are about to venture into isn't exactly friendly to those of the feminine persuasion and as such you have flown under the radar using a masculine alias online. After a complete mental break down at a very important convention in Zuzu you realize you need to get away from the city for a bit so you can finish your game. Your best friend who runs a farm in Stardew Valley invites you to come stay with her. However as you stay there and get to know the locals, you realize the cute boy you saw at the con is her neighbor. What's even worse is he remembers you and just to add salt to the wound, he's one of your Kickstarters. (NSFW) WC: 0/3000

Read the first three chaps here!

The Unseen and Those Forgotten- Dabi x Fem Reader (BNHA)

The age of the Greek gods is long past. Dabi is one of the few left, his name in the ancient days had been Hades. Now he skulks among the humans, as a deity at half strength. With the old gods dying, the new ones have taken control of the humans’ feeble minds. There is a storm on the horizon though, quite literally, the end of days is nipping at mortality’s heels and the key to unlocking Kronos’s resting place, the only creature strong enough to put a stop to the apocalypse, is you. Sadly you have no idea what part you will play, after all, you are just an office worker who has an affinity for plants.... WC: 0/2000

Find the first three chaps on my masterlist here!

The Hellebore Rift- Hayato Suo x Fem Reader (Wind Breaker)

The town of Makochi has changed and so have all the gangs within it. Gone are the days of allies and rival schools. Gone are the days of delinquents battling for top spots and coming home with happy smiles from good fist fights. Now the world has been ripped apart by rifts that tear the very dimensions in two, spewing forth gigantic blood-thirsty monsters. It has forced the gangs to protect only their parts of town from everyone. Even the civilians, even those they once called friends. With those rifts and monsters, humans were gifted with powers, yet everything good always comes with a fall out. You are one of those few, blessed with the ability to Guide, to save those Espers from the toxicity that their own powers created within themselves when they protect their parts of town. You live in a small section Makochi outside any of the gangs control with a scant few Espers to call your own… or well you did until the day Hayato Suo found you. WC 0/2000

(no chapters yet)

Oneshots-

Dog Park with Megumi (no title yet)- You don't have dogs but you find yourself at the dog park everyday because you can't have pets. That's where you meet Megumi Fushiguro (NSFW)WC: 0/15000

A Bouquet of Deadly Thorns- Hanahaki Soulmate Gojo x Fem Reader

The world now is riddled with the phenomenon known as soulmates. You don't know yours but before you can even think about finding them, you must get rid of your growing feelings for Satoru Gojo, the only problem is they've grown suffocating and you've started coughing up blood and flower petals. (NSFW) WC: 3098/8000

Tetsuro Kuroo bar night (no title yet)- The first night you meet Kuroo he was celebrating with his friends who'd just won their volley ball game. You were drinking away your sorrows yet again from another shitty date. Fate had a funny way of making you forget things when he gets dared to make a move on you. (NSFW) WC: 0/10,000

Single Drabbles- 5.00 for a full drabble

Jo Togame festival day (sfw) - fully sponsored

Jo Togame the baths (NSFW) - Link

Nobara/fem! reader (jjk) (NSFW) shopping day, in the dressing room

Himuro tatsuya/male! reader (knb) (NSFW) pining, street ball rivals

Seishiro Nagi/gn!reader (blue lock) (SPICEY (not full nsfw)) comfort, lazy day, reuniting after long distance for a while

Sebastain/fem! reader (SDV) (nsfw) phone sex

Astarion/male!reader (BG3) (NSFW) dry humping, semi public sex

[lavouredior]

Would you be willing to do Alastor x Shy!Bunny?

Like she constantly gets flustered easily around him and he enjoys making a game of it? Please and thank you!

i have been DYING for someone to request alastor & bunny!reader so i am going to be LIVING this one up !!! might do a part 2 of this one tbh

warnings: cannibalism mention, murder mentioned, reader is referred to as prey

“oh and who would this be?” a demon you’d never need before asked charlie who was touring you around the hotel as you were their newest resident. you didn’t make eye contact with the demon. you were small to begin with and one thing you knew from the demons you had met on the street is eye contact is a bad thing to make.

“our newest resident!” the cheery hotel owner replied. the taller demon nodded. “let me continue the tour with the little bunny charlie, i’m sure you have more important things to do.” charlie nodded excited that alastor was taking charge for once.

once charlie left alastor grabbed your chin to make you look up at him. “you know little bunny it is indeed rude to not make eye contact with someone.” you just stared back at him. too scared to say anything causing a static laugh to come out of him. “oh dear, little prey like you would have never made it alive out on the streets good thing you came here. although i do love the taste of bunny.”

his last comment scared you. “b-but you’re a deer? aren’t you prey too?” he took a deep breath at that comment. “i may be prey animal but you will find that i’m quite capable of holding my own unlike you.” he let go of your chin causing you to look back at the ground. “my i must’ve forgotten my manners. i’m alastor. the radio demon.”

your heart practically stopped at the last comment. although you are already dead so it was stopped to begin with . . . you had heard about the radio demon from many different places, specifically some tv demon named vox who was very angry about the demons return.

“oh don’t look so frightened my dear! i am not planning on harming you for now!” you chose to ignore the last part of his sentence. “now i must ask what did a little bunny like you do to end up in hell hmm?”

you just stared at the ground playing with your fingers. “i stole food once for my little sister.” your response caused the demon to let out another chuckle. “how pathetic! no wonder you’re a bunny.”

he wasn’t wrong. you lived a pretty pathetic human life and being a bunny in the afterlife caused you to be even more pathetic. your nose twitching at any sense of fear, like now. you just were scared at pretty much everything.

“why are you here?” you questioned, stupidly. “why i had killed a few people, ate a few as well.”

his response caused you to back up a bit from the demon. “y-you killed people?” he let out another chuckle this time crouching down to your height so you couldn’t fight eye contact with him. “oh my dear, don’t be scared.”

that’s when alastor got a specific idea in his head. you were horrified of him, he could use it to his own advantage. have a little fun with you and your pathetic self. make a deal with you so he owns your soul before ultimately forcing you to have some sort of usefulness to him.

alastor eventually toured you around the entire hotel before leaving you in the living room for the beginning of charlie’s “team bonding”

alastor had sat on a couch opposite of you, he watched you. even though you looked everywhere but him. a tap of his microphone on the ground and your attention was immediately to him. his smile grew as he saw your face start to turn red and you pull your knees to your chest for comfort

once the team bonding was over he motioned you over to him. “quite a shame you don’t hop around.” you just looked at the floor as you stood in front of him. “oh you pathetic little bunny. how long were you out on the streets before you found yourself here?”

“a couple months . . .” he nodded. “they were horrible weren’t they?” you nodded back looking up at him for a second before turning your gaze back to the ground. he shook his head at your refusal to look at him before pulling you onto his lap.

“you know i could help you. make sure you’re protected and safe.” your ears, which were usually flopped against your head perked up, causing alastor’s smile to grow again.

he set you on the ground before extending his hand. “you sell me your soul, i protect and keep you safe?” you just stared at his hand. “why my soul?” he chuckled “because hell is no place for a shy little bunny, my dear.”

[unactive-shroom]

VALENTINES EVENT ♡

Hey guys! So, as a thank you for being so patient while I was inactive for exams, I've decided to hold a Valentines day event! To request, simply head to my ask box, say what character you want it for and what prompt you want with it.

PLEASE CHECK HERE IN CASE YOUR PROMPT AND CHARACTER HAS ALREADY BEEN REQUESTED: HERE

Normal rules apply! see here for fandom list <3

Examples:

"Hey! Can I get Eren Yeager with prompt #5?"

"Hii, could I get Sally Face with prompt #14?"

"Hello! May I request Hobie Brown with prompt #13? Thanks! "

PROMPTS:

Prompt #1: Love Letters ♡

"Coming home one evening to your empty apartment... It seems your partner has left a neat stack of letters for you on the kitchen counter, tied with a pink ribbon..."

Prompt #2: Jerk ♡

"'What kinda Jerk breaks up with their partner on Valentine's?' It seems your friend has some very vocal opinions on your partner ex. Maybe they could treat you better..."

Prompt #3: Love Language ♡

"What's your partners Love Language? How does it change throughout your relationship?"

Prompt #4: Proposal ♡

"It seems like someone has a very important question to ask... and what better time to do it but on Valentine's night?"

Prompt #5: Jealousy, Jealousy ♡

"After receiving a few anonymous Valentine's, it doesn't seem like your partner's too happy about it..."

Prompt #6: Gifts ♡

"What did your partner get you for Valentine's day? What did you get them?"

Prompt #7: It's a Date. ♡

"Looks like someone's worked up the courage to ask you out for Valentines...!"

Prompt #8: Trouble in Paradise ♡ (Specify Angst/fluff, please!)

"You and your partner spent the day before Valentine's arguing and yelling. Will you make it up before Valentine's is through? Or will this years Valentine be the worst yet..?"

Prompt #9: Meet me at the lakes...♡

"Seems like someone has sent you a valentine! They're asking to meet you... Who could it be?"

Prompt #10: Forgotten ♡ (Specify Angst/fluff, please!)

"Your partner seems to have forgotten all about Valentines... or maybe, just forgotten about you."

Prompt #11: Ready ♡

"Getting ready with your partner to go out for Valentine's! Is your partner used to dressing up? How long does it take to get ready with them?"

Prompt #12: Help from a few friends ♡

"Your partner has planned the best surprise for you! Of course, they needed the help of a few friends though...Let's hope there's no third wheels!"

Prompt #13: Double Date! ♡

"You, your bestfriend, their partner, and your partner, are going out for a double date! Will both of your partners get along? Or will the night end in a dairy queen parking lot, scolding your partner for their behaviour? "

Prompt #14: Hand in marriage ♡

"Valentine's has to be the best day to get married on... right? or is this a spur of the moment, Hollywood-esque marriage? Or, maybe you and your partner simply don't have the time to waste." => aimed alot at aot characters... marrying them before they (or both of you) go to war... :(

I'd also like this event to acknowledge the expansion of fandoms I write for, In particular, I am reopening requests for Attack on Titan, Percy Jackson (From Heroes of Olympus +) and Jujitsu Kaisen, and I will now write for SHADOW AND BONE/SIX OF CROWS, HARRY POTTER*, and SPIDERMAN: ACROSS THE SPIDERVERSE.

That's all! Hope you enjoy :P And happy Valentine's Day !!

[bymarara]

Will and the Boys Don't Cry.

Remember the picture when we were first shown Will on his birthday? In case anyone hasn't noticed, there were headphones in the picture and let's think, who else was wearing headphones and under what circumstances? Uh, Max! Max wore them so that she wouldn't fall under the full influence of Vecna and become his victim, music helped her so called survival.

Now let's get to why Will carries them around. I have two suggestions.

Everyone on the team has headphones now just in case Vecna decides to face someone.

Will is scared. Will himself realizes that he can feel Vecna's presence, in addition he will probably hear him, his voice and his thoughts, which will be very frightening to Byers. Because of the fear, he may choose his favorite song and walk around with headphones on at all times, so that if anything happens, he won't be influenced by Vekna and Vekna won't take over Will's mind. I also think that there will be a similar situation as with Lumax, that Mike will have to turn on these headphones in case of anything, I think Will will warn him alone about it all, thus trusting Mike.

Now something I've been thinking about very, very hard. Most people, and I think or thought that Will's song would be “Should I Stay or Should I Go”, but if you notice the details, you can see the poster in Will's room! “Boys don't cry”, this song references Will in a lot of ways, and if it's in season 5 in his headphones, it will be very symbolic, and will show the meaning of everything we've seen.

Let's take Max as an example. She has “Running Up That Hill” in her headphones. The lines from the song literally refer to what Max is feeling and it also shows how she feels about Billy and how she regrets what happened at the end of season 3 and how she would take it all back. The chorus from her song, literally speaks to Max's morale and what she wants. -And if I only could, I'd make a deal with God, And I'd get him to swap our places, Be running up that road, Be running up that hill, Be running up that building. If I only could, oh These lines literally refer to the fact that if Max had known what would happen, she would not have stood still, but would have tried to help her half-brother. She would have been ready even for the same death as her brother, as long as he did not die. Also, there are very interesting lines like.

“You don't want to hurt me,but see how deep the bullet lies.” which refers to their relationship while Billy was alive. The guy hurt his sister, which she hasn't forgotten, and that deep down inside of her, she wished him dead inside of her, which she now regrets.

What about Will? I know most people have already figured this out, but for those who haven't and don't know the context - this song is about the inner thoughts that guys have when they're going through an unpleasant/transitional moment in their lives. It's also popular in the LGBT+ community. Let's go through the parts that I find most interesting and start from the beginning. -I would say I'm sorry, If I thought that it would change your mind. But I know that this time, I have said too much. Somehow it reminds me a lot of Will helping Mike with his relationship with Al, while ignoring his feelings and even confessing his feelings while hiding under his sisters name. Also, I think there's a season five reference here. I mean, Will could talk about the painting and the speech, but not say what he meant about his feelings! And the lines “I would say I'm sorry if I thought that it would change your mind.” show that Mike could have left with some anger and it left a mark on Will and that he can't even apologize now, and that apologizing won't change anything. (Yes, I know I sound creepy, please.) Now let's get to the chorus. -I tried to laugh about it,

Cover it all up with lies. I tried to laugh about it, Hiding the tears in my eyes. Cause boys don't cry. Boys don't cry. Sounds like Will's confession to Mike to me. He's not showing his real feelings, he's hiding everything under the “Al” mask. and underneath the mask, he keeps his feelings hidden, not showing them. He himself, quietly crying, quietly suffering, realizing for himself that his feelings will never be reciprocated, that he will have to live with it and come to terms with it, and he buries it all by himself and tries to cope with it all by himself. -I would tell you, That I loved you, If I thought that you would stay. But I know that it's no use, That you've already, Gone away… Again he says that he has buried all his hopes and feelings, he sees Mike pulling away from him and as if he is walking away from him, so talking about feelings, about declarations of love is useless in his opinion. Literally the whole song shows Will, shows a guy who in his opinion has already missed his chance, he realizes that he can't change anything and hides himself and his feelings only deeper into himself.

I hope that Will will have this song in season 5, but I will also say that there is a possibility that in case of anything, Mike can play this song, so much in this song refers to Mike.

[rin-fukuroi]

𝐎𝐟 𝐟𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐩𝐞𝐨𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐩𝐚𝐲 𝐚 𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐞… 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦 [𝐁𝐥𝐚𝐝𝐞]

Please do not translate or publish my works without my permission.

The originals of my works can be read here

Fandom: Honkai: Star Rail

Pairings: maid!Blade??? x fem!reader

Warnings: NSFW, oral sex, spanking, cokworming, delaying orgasm.

Note: English is not my native language, so I apologize if there are errors in the text qq

It just so happened that today is my birthday, so I decided to please both you and myself with a little yummy. I may have been on Tumblr not so long ago, but in fact I have been writing for quite a long time and it will never cease to bring me pleasure, so I'm incredibly happy that I can now share my creativity with others. This is the best gift I can imagine ( 〃▽〃) I hope my texts in english are at least a little closer to what I write in the original, and you don't experience discomfort while reading. Bon appetit!<3

— Everything is absolutely honest! We had an argument, or have you already forgotten? — you smile slyly, poking Blade's nose into his sad and bitter defeat.

He clears his throat, seemingly confused, looking at the menacingly red inscription «Defeat» on the screen of his smartphone.

— When did you learn to play so well?

— Ahem! — you're pouting. — How dare you, I always beat you. Well, almost…

— Did you play with the Silver Wolf?

Your lips open before you find something to say. His insight is so annoying sometimes.

— I-it doesn't matter! The main thing is that now you can start fulfilling my wish, as we agreed.

Blade sighs resignedly, throwing the phone on the table and crossing his arms over his chest.

— Just don't be silly.

— Hey! There was no such condition, I can wish anything I want.

Blade's lips pursed, his eyes closed, as he mentally cursed the minute he signed up for this stupid argument.

— Just don't even think about shirking your obligations anymore, justifying yourself by saying that your wounds haven't healed yet. I fell for it once, but it won't work twice! — you pout your lips and put your fists on your sides, giving your offended expression on your face a bit of severity. — So, I want to…

✧ ✧ ✧

— Where did you even get… this?

Blade discontentedly lifts up the hem of a long black dress along with a white apron, looking with disgust at the mesh tights hugging his legs while you are messing around from behind, helping him tighten the black satin bow on his back. You could have chosen anything as punishment, but he couldn't even think that you could ask for something so humiliating as to make him wear that ugly maid dress and tights that make him feel like a whore on call.

— I used to have to work part-time in a maid cafe, — your voice seems to darken from unpleasant memories. — I wanted to throw away this form, but I think I found a better use for it! — only Blade wanted to give you an understanding silence, but instead he lets out another exasperated sigh when you are overflowing with enthusiasm again.

Out of the corner of your eye, you notice how Blade lets go of the hem of the dress with displeasure, again hiding his legs from your field of view. In fact, all this time your gaze was riveted to the muscular calves covered with mesh fabric. It seemed to you that… Sexy?

— And now what? — Blade turns around, angrily crossing his arms over his chest and seemingly looking away in embarrassment. If someone else were in your place, this person could have lost his head the second he voiced this humiliating request. But it was you. In fact, he is too greedy for your puppy dog eyes, constantly begging him to commit absolutely senseless follies, to which for some reason he continues to agree.

— Hm-m, actually, I wanted to arrange a real photo shoot for you, so that after sharing this treasure with Kafka and the Wolf! — you're really testing his patience. — But…

You stumble over the words when the image of his sexy legs, perfectly covered with vulgar tights, pops up in your mind again. It's ridiculous even for you. Initially, your request was just a way to tease your amazingly patient lover once again, but now you are desperately trying to fight the heat that treacherously spreads through your body every time you look down, unconsciously continuing to touch his back even when the satin bow has long been tightly tightened, elegantly emphasizing the curve of Blade's waist in an already tight dress. You glance cautiously over his shoulder, noticing how the black fabric hugs his chest, threatening to tear to shreds as soon as he takes a deep breath. However, you've always wondered how his own raincoat holds that muscular chest with the help of two pathetic buttons trembling with tension, but you weren't completely sure if your old uniform could withstand such pressure.

— But? — a low velvety voice, permeated with impatience, pulls you out of your thoughts and seems to bring you out of a deep trance when you notice how your fingers are gently pressed into the fabric of a tight dress.

— Damn, — you sigh softly, sitting down fatally and clinging to the hem of a lush black skirt.

Blade warily turns his head in your direction, watching you straighten up again, pulling the black fabric up to his waist and exposing a humiliating picture hidden under a skirt that he would like to never see again.

— What are you doing? — he wants to turn around and finally put you in your place, hoping that this will accelerate the approach of the long-awaited moment when this stupid outfit will leave his body forever.

But he remains motionless.

As if paralyzed, he sharply exhales air from his lungs when he feels your palms slide up from his shins, lingering on his muscular thighs. Tiny fingers press into tense muscles and Blade feels even more confused and annoyed. You're groping his body so brazenly, making him feel vulnerable, as if he's being blatantly harassed right now.

— I never would have thought that this dress would suit you so well… I'm sorry, I can't help myself, — you say breathlessly, while your fingers continue to possessively squeeze, massage and stroke his thighs through the stretched threads of tights. The tips of your fingers playfully slip under the thin mesh to feel the warmth of his body even more and explore every soft scar covering his legs.

Blade is distraught. Although you have always been the one who clearly dominates him morally in your relationship, physically he has always taken over, controlling everything that happens within your bedroom, and sometimes outside it. And now you've made him numb from the symphony of opposites raging in his chest. He wanted to grab your cheeky wrists and turn around, pressing your body into the wall behind, he wanted to dig into your lips with a rough kiss and remind you that it's his hands that should master every curve of your body, but he also wanted you not to stop.

Blade's chest heaves, threatening to tear the fabric stretched to the limit, as a heavy sigh escapes from his throat. One of your palms abruptly switches to his groin, groping for a surprisingly firm erection. His cock twitches in your palm, and your lips stretch in a smug grin. Blade remains silent, but if you could see his face now, you would be able to capture in your memory the most delightful aggressively embarrassed expression. He is literally shaking from the fact that his body reacts so treacherously to what is happening.

— I feel that you had to like it, but it should have been a punishment, — you rise on your toes to reach his neck, pressing your lips into the throbbing curve, leaving a wet kiss on the skin heated with embarrassment before pulling away.

Blade was almost ready to whine at the way the warmth of your hand left his hard organ, but instead his jaws close and he growls, turning around to you just in time for you to kneel down, climbing under the hem of a full skirt and pulling tights over his legs. He would have almost staggered back if it weren't for the grip of your hands, now pressing into his tight thighs again. Blade's lips open, threatening to pour out on you all the discontent swirling on the tip of his tongue, but he immediately swallows any curse that pops up in his thoughts when the warmth of your mouth envelops his needy cock. You dig into him so greedily, squeezing the throbbing flesh with soft lips, swallowing him deeper and deeper with each new movement of your head, ignoring any vomiting. For some reason, right now, seeing Blade like this, a passionate desire has awakened in you to make him moan sweetly to the wet sounds of your lips sliding over his hard erection.

It's so hard for him to breathe. The thick fabric tightens his chest tightly whenever he holds back another velvet growl escaping from his throat. He's so damn mad at you for making him feel so insecure and pathetic, but your narrow throat squeezes so deliciously around his girth while you recklessly take him whole, desperate to please him, that your persistence even amuses Blade. Right now he just wanted to see your face under that irritatingly long skirt, blocking him from any view of what was happening under it.

— Damn… remember that you brought it to this.

The muscles of his chest are straining to the limit, tearing the fabric that was desperately held to the last, finally allowing him to breathe and move normally. Blade pulls down the hem of your skirt, grabbing you by the hair and forcing you to your feet. His eyes meet yours, blinking in discouragement in response to his fierce gaze, as if you are a little guilty kitten who was picked up by the scruff of the neck.

— It seems to me that this stupid outfit has misled you that you can have any control over me.

— Ho-oh, wasn't it like that when you got turned on just because I squeezed your thighs? — you finally regain your former confidence by fearlessly mocking him. — By the way, although I have never worn these clothes, it was not necessary to tear them! – you look with sadness at the fabric that has parted on his chest, sadly realizing the fact that next time you will not be able to get him to wear this dress again. But your disappointment did not settle in your heart for too long when your gaze fell on the heaving voluminous chest, strewn with scars, which did not cease to cause this sweet heat in the bottom of your stomach, no matter how many times you had not seen it before.

— Shut up. You're going to pay for the fact that I had to wear these disgusting things at all, — Blade literally spits out these words before turning you around to face the wall, still painfully winding your hair around his fist. The air is knocked out of your lungs as soon as your chest and cheek meet a hard surface, and you gasp at the unexpected change of roles.

Your underwear instantly descends to your ankles, and the miniature skirt lifts up, revealing to Blade a view of your ass, the flesh of which instantly turns red from the lashing blow of his heavy palm. You flinch, and a cry of pain bursts from your throat when his blows are repeated over and over again, while his other hand releases your hair just to tinker with the fluffy skirt of a ridiculous suit. You can only hear the rustling of the fabric and the light ringing sound from his earring, swaying with each new blow. Burning with irritation and animal excitement, scarlet eyes notice the shiny moisture flowing down your trembling thighs. You've always been so greedy for any manifestation of his absolute dominance over your body that it's even touching.

The unnerving fabric rolls down on his belt and his hips immediately move forward, forcing you to press into the wall even harder from the delicious feeling of stretching and fullness when his hard cock easily plunges into your insides. Any hint of disobedience leaves your thoughts as soon as his hips begin to whiplash against your ass, forcing you to jump from each painful blow of his penis entering you all the way.

— Next time you'll think twice before forcing me to do something equally humiliating, — hoarse moans come out of Blade's chest as his strong fingers dig into the soft flesh of your ass, holding you in place, tightly pressed against the wall.

You feel the knot at the bottom of your stomach trembling and tightening, bringing you closer to the edge of your pleasure. His cock tirelessly stretches your walls that are contracting around his girth, ruthlessly cutting into the cervix every time his hips move forward, making you feel a hellish mixture of pain and pleasure that drives you crazy. You can almost see the bright light blurring your eyes when his movements suddenly stop with the last deep thrust, leaving his throbbing cock in the depths of your walls spasming in the coming orgasm. The blood is wildly accelerating through the veins that wrap around this divine member, which cruelly stopped all movements, forcing you to feel pleasant pulsations that keep you on the edge of the abyss, but not allowing you to step forward.

— B-Blade, please!.. — you whine, sobbing softly and making pathetic attempts to move your hips, which are immediately stopped by his stone grip on your buttocks.

— What is it? — Blade's voice is laced with annoying complacency. — Are you uncomfortable? Do you want me to continue?

— Yes!

— Then I guess you'll have to ask properly.

His chest rises and falls with each heavy sigh. He can see tears of despair welling up in your eyes as you squirm and squirm in his grip, trying to regain at least a little stimulation.

— P-please…

— What? I didn't hear you.

His heavy palm meets your ass again, pulling a pitiful cry out of your throat. You sob, transparent beads of tears roll down your cheeks.

— What is it? Are you speechless already?

One more blow and then his free palm wraps around your throat, forcing you to tilt your head back to meet his gaze as Blade looms over you, gazing intently at the mixture of despair and pain painted on your face.

— Please, Blade, please! I want so much… I want to cum, please…

The moment of his silence, while he reveled in the way your voice cracked, breaking into sobs, lasted like an eternity.

— Good girl.

You didn't have time to realize that, it seems, Blade finally heard what he wanted, as his hips again set the same ruthless pace, crashing into you at breakneck speed. His earring swayed with a soft tinkle from each sharp push, merging with the sounds of his hoarse growl and your stifled moans of pleasure. Blade could feel your walls squeezing his cock tight again, resisting every violent movement tearing your insides apart. His movements became careless, the rhythm lost, turning into a blind pursuit of his own pleasure.

This sweet feeling overwhelms your body again and your nails are pressed into a hard wall in despair. You could feel his cock swell and shudder inside, and the hoarse growl breaks into quiet moans. With the last careless but hard and rough thrusts, Blade tightens his grip on your buttocks, immediately leaving bruises on your skin under the pads of his fingers before bursting out of your insides, leaving you to spasm around emptiness as an intense orgasm covers you. Your ass, red from blows, as well as the hem of the skirt crumpled on Blade's belt, are splashed with sticky hot streams of sperm. You go limp, kneeling on the floor, when he finally lets go of your throat and hips, catching his breath after his climax.

Both of you are breathing heavily, trying to come to your senses again. You lazily rest your palms against the wall, trying to get to your feet, and finally turn around to Blade. When you came up with such a humiliating punishment for him, you could not even think that you would ever see something as beautiful as what now appeared before your eyes. The sweat-damp strands of Blade's long bangs stuck to his forehead, misty fiery eyes stare at you from under heavy half-closed eyelids, his chest rises and falls in time with his ragged breathing, peeking out of a torn black fabric and a crumpled white apron that has slipped off one of his shoulders, and the skirt is still pulled up at the waist decorated with white spots, exposing to you a view of his semi-hard penis, slightly trembling in his palm, trembling legs and stretched mesh tights, concertina gathered at the level of his ankles. Now you are literally speechless, finding this sight so beautiful that it will forever be imprinted in the subcortex of your memory.

Blade sighs heavily before lazily sinking onto the sofa behind him.

— Now this disgusting costume is finally ruined, what a pity, — his lips slightly stretch in a barely noticeable smile.

His words seem to bring you out of deep hypnosis, bringing you to your senses again. You straighten up, shifting your gaze from his hips to his smug expression on his face.

— It's okay, I'll buy a new one for next time, especially for you!

Someday he'll just strangle you while you're sleeping soundly.

[dekusheroacademia]

Nicholas Light: using homophobia to be cancelled for clout

This is not a call out post, I don't care about that. This is a summary of events that I decided to write because I know how fandom works and behave.

I am tired of seeing people's "The MHA fandom is so toxic!" for events that never happened, and given this youtuber already revealed he is looking for followers through "being cancelled" (as I'll explain), I have no intention of letting the shitshow that happened be forgotten.

So here we go.

Small disclaimer: This is the sequence of events as I remember, with screenshots to add. Please do not harass anyone. Not even Nicholas Light, as he clearly does not want to be involved with the MHA fandom anymore. Block him only and leave him alone, I am serious. The point of this is showing what happened, not confirming his idea of how disgusting mha fans and bakudeku fans are.

Another small point: If I said anything wrong or incorrect in this post, let me know and I will fix it. While I strive to be unbiased, I am only human.

1)Initial tweet

All of this happened in the span of a few hours, the 9th of May 2024, middle of the night at central europe time. All the tweets have since be deleted as Nicholas Light erased a full month of tweets and went private to do so.

Nicholas Light is an anime youtuber with a twitter account (of about 40k followers, this is important later). He posted this tweet:

I saw it on my tl a couple of times, mainly people saying that he should not generalize and people wondering how come someone who has watched MHA for so long does not know about Bakudeku. This tweet per se is kind of bait-y, but nothing too wild.

A lot of his followers were answering to this tweet with homophobic comments like:

And Nicholas himself then wrote he was throwing up under a bakudeku safe-for-work chibi fanart gif that someone reposted:

At this point there were a few comments saying "It is not too bad, Bakudeku has grown a lot as a ship" or "I just saw someone posting Endeavor/Uraraka", and fanart of other ships with an adult and a minor. Nicholas did not reply to any of them, seemingly only focusing on the bakudeku comments.

Here are some examples I managed to recover, as you can see no answer from Nicholas, he was only interested in bakudeku:

2) The video

At this point, a twitter user replied to Nicholas' main tweet with this:

As you can see, the user is very calm and even says "come across as homophobic", so definitely more diplomatic than what I could have managed. Nicholas replied with "Stop with the your queer audience", to which the user revealed that they ARE one of his audience.

As you can see Nicholas repeats that he doesn't want that queer follower in his audience, and that "I SPEAK MY MIND". Keep this in mind, the irony of it, especially, given he has erased everything.

The queer twitter user was the only person he addressed, and immediately after them he wrote this and immediately posted a youtube video:

You can still see his youtube video up, by the way.

This youtuber saw one user replying to him and immediately posted a "I got cancelled for this" youtube video, and a rant of multiple tweets telling his audience "I AM UNAPOLOGETICALLY ME AND I'LL FOREVER SAY WHAT I WANT". He posted another tweet too but I did not screenshot it.

After depicting himself as a victim of being cancelled because one person asked him about how his tweet could be viewed some bakudeku users reacted.

The first to go was the tweet of the video:

The second was this tweet that was written in reply to his main "i don't want a queer audience" tweet:

the tweet is still here.

As you can see if you click on the tweet, the problem expressed is that he built a queer audience to earn money, but is now trying to appeal to homophobic anime audiences to be "cancelled", and earn some followers and money. How do we know this?

Because of this tweet:

This screenshot was taken that same night, so this tweet about "earning from being cancelled" was posted 6 days before he decided to actually try it.

And it is not over. The user andy (the one who revealed about Nicholas' only fans) was immediately blocked, and they were the one finding this "being cancelled= money" tweet and posting it. Imagine what happened: Nicholas immediately deleted this reply from 6 days before. Which meant that he was checking what this bakudeku user was posting to cover his tracks.

3) Lolicon is fictional, but bakudeku is a disease and the fans need therapy

Now let's go back to Nicholas' main tweet in reply to that queer user. You can see how people from his following reacted:

And this was his answer:

You can see that he immediately decides to call the user weird because the characters are "little kids", so the user needs to seek therapy for looking at fanarts of bakudeku kissing.

Except that this is when bakudeku fans and non bakudeku fans found his old tweets in defense of lolicon, fictional pedophilia and people like Mushoku:

Now, the point here is the hypocrisy and double standard.

On one side "loli and fictional children are fictional and cannot be associated with actual crimes", on the other side "gay teenagers being shipped are disgusting and comparable to real life crimes". People were quick to point this homophobic messy double standard.

Nicholas Light himself started to notice that people were finding out his old stuff and he was replying to no one. He first deleted the tweet with the only fans retweet, probably making sure his current homophobic fanbase would not find that, and then replied this to one of the bakudeku fans showing his hypocritical behaviour:

This was the last tweet before he deleted everything. Calling someone an ableist slur, then saying he was watching movies with his girlfriend and then spending the next hour deleting

every

single

reply

and tweet.

And then he went private and when he came back... he had deleted every single reply and tweet of this mess, and he had deleted every tweet that people had screenshotted around, and every tweet he posted in the previous month:

He scrubbed his whole account.

We are not sure what happened to him "being unapologetically myself", apparently his strategy to make some cash from being homophobic and harassing small acounts while pretending to be cancelled did not succeed.

And the reason why I wrote this post is because there is the possibility that he might try this again in the future, maybe even with the same fanbase and strategy. So keep an eye out, do not let him fool you.

[mitch-the-silly]

(Left under the Lucifer one-shot!)

AND I SHALL DELIVER!! Just had to think where I was taking this, but I think I'm satisfied with this part 2!! I absolutely adore throwing biblical canon into the Helluva verse. It rejuvenates me!

Had to put on "He Is" for this one. You know the Lucifer content gon' be good when I tune in to Ghost-

Lucifer and gn!Fallen Angel!reader

Scenario!

"Brother in Falling" Pt.2

Part 1

You stared at him as he spoke. It had been so long since you’d seen Lucifer. Matter of fact, you’d far forgotten what he was like. You didn’t really interact with him much during his time in Hevaen and it had been years since Heaven banished him. He seemed so… gentle. This was the “bringer of evil” that Heaven so warned you about. Drinking coffee, talking about his daughter and how he wanted to be more involved in her life. You felt lied to by heaven. He was just a guy, a nice one at that.

“What about you, you got anyone? Or had…?” He asked, hoping he wasn’t picking a any unhealed scars.

“Me? Well… I had a couple of friends, sir. But they turned their heads to me when I fell.” You replied, taking a sip from the coffee he’d made you. It was quite good if you said so yourself.

“Oh, you don’t have to call me that. I’m not really your sir… But uh… What did you do when you were in heaven?” He spoke, curiously posing query.

“I was just a measly guard at the court… Nothing too important… But you… you were The Moring Star! I mean, I owe you that respect. You were once God’s favorite.” You replied.

“Well, what can I say? I did what I could! Guess they thought I was too revolutionary for them, but joke’s on them! I’m not doing half as bad! Haha!” He laughed, somehow giving off the vibe that he was forcing himself to feel this way.

“They wasted your talent. You’re a great person, Lucifer.” You spoke sincerely.

“T-thank you… I… I haven’t heard that in some time…” He chuckled, oddly proud to have received that compliment.

“No problem!” You smiled softly.

“H-hey uh, I know I mentioned presenting you to my daughter, Charlie. But, There’s protocol in place in acase of another fallen angel. It’s just been… eons since someone else has fallen… I know I’m technically The Only One, but I was an archangel, they just undermined the six the followed me down here.” He explained, huffing at the end.

“Protocol? What do you mean by that?” You asked, lifting your guard just a little bit.

“Well, Uh… techinchally when a new angel falls, we need to hold a meeting because you’re uhh… a new powerful force in Hell. Even more than any naturally occurring being in any of the Seven Rings. We didn’t do it with Vaggie, because she was an exterminator, and they’re sort of at the bottom of the chain. When I found out she was a fallen angel, I just advised her not to point the weapon at everyone that crosses her path. Not like she actually stopped doing it, but eh, bureaucracy. Regardless, you’re a first choir angel, an uhh…” He stared at your form for a moment scanning for any sign on of what class you belonged to. Unable to tell, he blushes in embarrassment, feeling that he came off as weird for staring at you. “Sorry, uh, what class are you?” He asked, looking away in embarrassment.

“A Throne. I’m a throne… Or was…” You replied in a mumble.

“No no, it’s ok. You don’t have to deny it if you don’t want to. You can be whatever you want, I’m sure not gonna tell you anything, and I’m sure not gonna let anyone tell you anything.” He chuckled. “But yeah, You’ll find some of us have rejected or kept our respective titles as we’ve pleased. I mean, shit, I may not be in heaven, but I’m still a Seraph!” He laughed, giving you a sympathetic smile.

“Thank you, Lucifer.” You replied. You were already more welcome here than anywhere else in Heaven. It warmed your heart that you were somewhere where with beigs who appreciated you.

“Either way, you’re a Throne and that might throw off the power balance Hell has, considering that unlike sinners, you can go wherever you want in Hell and, shit… you’re more powerful than some of the Sins… But that’s besides the point! The point is, there’s a bureaucracy I have to follow when it comes to this. It’s just a brief meeting about uh… what was it again…? Uhh… well, your place in Hell and the denizens of your area… oh but all the rings are… full uh… welp! That’s what the meeting’s for! Just to uh, determine your place in the hierarchy.” Lucifer explained, giving you a weak smile. He wasn’t too sure in himself, and you could tell. Seemed like he was going through a rough patch.

“Right… uh… but hierarchy? I don’t… well, I’d be lying if I sad I didn’t wanna, but I don’t think I’m uh… suited to just be put into a leadership position in a hierarchy that has existed for eons and eons. Are you sure about this…?” You asked, clutching your coffee mug.

“Well, the meeting is to figure all of that out! You should bring that up when it happens.” He explained. “Excuse me, I have to make a couple of phone calls…” He added, letting out a small chuckle, getting up from the chair that he sat in. He walked off to a corner; you could hear all of his conversation anyway, but at least he made the effort to politely move to the side.

“Hey! Mammon! So, I’ve got some news! A new angel fell! Uh… We need to hold a meeting and- Yeah know your time is money, but unless you want me to really make you pay taxes as you should be doing, you’re gonna make this government work!… Yeah, Good to know you’re coming, I’ll text you the schedule when I get everyone on board. Yeah, bye to you too.” He sighed, hanging up, and dialing another number.

“Satan! Hey, so uh, I have some crazy news. A new angel fell, and we need a meeting as soon as possible. You’re busy? You missed the annual meeting earlier this year, you’re not missing out on this one! It’s an emergency, don’t make me threaten you like I did Mammon a minute ago…. No I’m not telling you which of the three Choirs they belonged to until we set foot in that meeting room…Good, I’ll get you the schedule when I have it. Yeah, yeah, you grumpy bastart.” He sighed.

You stared at him in confusion despite knowing exactly what he was doing. You knew he was invoking the other 7 Sins to the meeting. You simply sat there uncomfortably, sort of fidgeting with the mug. He noticed this, and before dialing, he walked towards you, giving you a gentle smile.

“Hey… It’s ok. If you think you’re being a burden, you’re not. This is a grand occasion! Charlie, went and stirred up Heaven. You being here is a victory for a new and better world!” He reassured you, continuing the dialing of the next phone call.

“Hey! Ozzie! Yeah, I know I rarely call you anymore, but guess what?” He began.

You couldn’t help but wonder what everyone else had become. You’d seen these seven virtuous angels fall and become the Seven Sins. Of course, they were all driven by their own desire to pursue their respective sins, but it seemed Lucifer’s pride was more on his work. He didn’t seem to have bad intentions either way…

“Yeah yeah, thanks Ozzie, you’re great! Bye!” Lucifer smiled as he hung up. “He’s the only one who never misses out on meetings. The real problem is getting Beelphegor to attend… He is the sin of Sloth…” He joked at you, looking for the next number to dial.

You continued to drink your coffee thinking of what was to come. When Lucifer was done with all the phone calls, he turned to you. “So, I haven’t given them a meeting time, but I’d rather give you some time to adjust. Uhh, in two days sounds fine?” He asked, ready to put it in his calendar.

“Oh, uh, s-sure…” You replied, brushing the feathers on your wings. Wincing at the broken appendages.

Lucifer gave you a slight look, frowning at the sight of your small show of pain. “Hey, if you wanna, I can take you to the hotel now. You need some rest…” He suggested, putting his phone in his pocket.

You nodded gently, “You must be annoyed with me saying thank you, but… You’ve been nothing but kind to me since I got here… And I… put a hole through your roof…” You sighed, pouting in a bit of frustration towards yourself.

“I already said you’re not a burden… Plus, us fallen angels have to look after each other.” He smiled.

It wasn’t long until you two arrived at the hotel. He refused to fly and show himself publicly (not to mention you couldn’t fly anyway.), so the limo it was. The car ride was full of chit-chat between the both of you. A warm feeling overwhelmed you as you spoke to him. You hadn’t spoken to someone this genuine in a long time. Perhaps being sent here was the best thing that happened to you…

[certifiedcodbabygirl]

To Whisper Your Name pt.1

Konig x Reader Roman Goddess AU

Warnings: Violence ( minor character deaths), Roman deity inaccuracies, history inaccuracies, talks of SA 

Reader is loosely based on the Roman Goddess Felicitas (Goddess of good fortune and luck)

It is not rare for minor gods/ goddesses to go unthought of. Some rise to fame as others are forgotten. Not many remember the deities of flowers, trees, or other smaller things. They remember Jupiter, Neptune, Venus. The greats, the Gods. Smaller gods go about their lives enjoying the few who do remember them. The small alters the mortals create for them, adorned with what is associated with said deity. They get offerings, praise, songs sung in their name.

Others are forgotten. Some deities share common rulings and the more famous deity gets the praise. They get the offerings, the songs, the alters. They get the memories. The smaller deity is left to watch humanity progress, knowing they are nothing to them but a passing face. Some grow depressed, heartbroken to be forgotten. Some grow mad, killing those who pray to the more famous deity. Most are unhappy or indifferent. They are too out of touch with humanity, differences between God and mortals being too many to connect with one another. 

Despite all, you connect. The goddess of good fortune and luck, or as I should say, the small goddess of good fortune and luck. Throughout time, as you were forgotten and Fortuna rose to fame, you assimilated with the mortals. The fascination overtaking the grief pushed you to live among them. You aren’t well known among your village, just a simple face that passes by occasionally. Your home resides along the lake, a small and hidden house, property of an old man you met years before. You became like family to him, knowing who you are, he did his research. He offered you home, community, he offered you the human experience. 

It was a quiet life, predictable, quaint. You go to the fishing grounds, bless the unsuspecting fishermen. You do the same to the cloth weavers, the doctors, the children playing. None may know, but fortune is on their side. It was a simple existence, a comfortable one. 

A change happened at nightfall. Taking a late night walk was common, having no need for sleep. You’d walk a few miles, stay in a tree, maybe take a swim, then head back to your home. Tonight was no different. You opted to stay in a tree in a nearby forest, taking in the night sky, constellations seeming to taunt you with an unknown reason. Memories of when you were among the other deities fill your mind, a bittersweet taste left in your mind. Shouting and the crunching of twigs below rip you from your thoughts, whimpers from women below causing the hair on your arms to stand up.

Below, you see a small group of women with their arms shackled to a long chain. There are 2 men, daggers glinting in the moonlight. There’s no torch, no lantern, to light their way. It’s clear they are trying to be unseen, to steal these women. They adorn Roman clothing, as do the women, and seem to be heading away from the village. 

“Please I’m begging you, I have children! They have no father and no one to look for them” A woman begs shakily.

“Then we will be back for them. I know someone who would pay bronze for youth like them” A man cackles and shoves the woman for her noise.

“Oh Gods, Please save us, if you can hear me” A woman whispers, kissing her hands and raising them to the sky.

Her voice is so broken, as if she's unable to conjure hope. Heart aching for these women but unable to physically intervene, you bless them.

“Luck be upon you” Falls from your lips in the form of a whisper.

As they are almost gone, a branch snapping catches the men's attention. Heads whipping in the direction of the noise was their first mistake. A soldier in Roman attire sneaks behind the leading man, dagger cutting through his throat as if it were simply fat. 

The other three men turn and draw their weapons, preparing for attack. Their stance resembles that of a cornered, angry cat. One other soldier emerges from the dark. His towering frame, only being able to be described as a giant, unsheathed his sword from his holster. The glare from the moonlight shining off his sword gives an eerie and unsettling feeling in an already disturbing situation. 

“Give in and come willingly, or face the same fate as your foolish leader” His voice is higher pitched than expected, yet still effectively intimidating. His accent is foreign, sounding from the north. 

Ignorance clearly being their strong suit, the smugglers charge at the giant, only to be met immediately with a blade. The first one falls and seconds later, the other one is ripped through, practically in half, blood spilling like a never ending prayer. The men are ripped through like a tarp, eyes widening and dulling over.

 The last man remaining drops his weapon, falling to his knees like a worshiper to their God. The giant stalks towards him, gripping his hair and tilting him back. You can feel the fear radiating off of the smaller man's body, most likely praying to the gods as the women they stole did. 

“Your incompetence fails you. What were you planning for them?” He demands, gesturing to the women. They cower under the man's gaze.

The man remains silent, his mouth gaping like a fish, in search of words.

“Have mercy, please!” He begs, tears seeming to form.

The giant chuckles in an unamused manner, “Were you to have mercy on them? The gods have turned their backs on you. Now I will ask you again” He grips tighter, voice low and in a low growl, “What. Were. You. Planning? Who is your superior?”

The man refuses to answer and is swiftly met with a blade, as he serves no purpose. The giant and his partner turn their attention to the women, moving to remove their shackles. The women seem more frightened of them than they did the men that stole them. Perhaps it's because these men are soldiers, making it easy for them to be overpowered. 

“Where are you from?” The giant asks a woman as he removes the shackles. The woman says she was visiting her family in a nearby village when the men came. The other women say something similar.

“It seems they had a type. Easily able to make them disappear if they only have a couple connections in a different village.” The other man states, the giant nodding. 

They move the women to the same town you live in, keeping them in a new location until they find the leader of whatever ring they were getting sold into. You climb down the tree and quietly follow behind. The women are escorted to a separate cluster home and the men head to what seems to be a military station building.

Before the giant walks into the building, he looks behind him out of habit and spots you already looking at him. You quickly turn and walk away, not trying to attract unwanted attention. You make it to the lake before you hear a twig snap, someone being with you. Knowing who it is, you don't even bother to turn around, staying still. 

“Why did you run?” He asked in an accusatory tone, walking up to you. His frame towers over you, his shadow overtaking yours. You turn towards him, finally meeting his eyes. His face is covered in a cloth, his eyes being the only exposed area. His gaze is stern, like that of a king. 

“I've never seen a soldier like you before” you lie seamlessly, appearing innocent, “When you saw me, I worried I would possibly provoke you. Some soldiers around here hate when we stare”

He looks down at you, head slightly tilting. In mock or curiosity, you can't tell. There’s a long pause of silence, neither of you moving.

“Sir?” You ask quietly, “May I go back home now? I fear it will worry my family if I am out too late”

“You will meet me in the town square tomorrow at dusk,” He states, turning to walk away, “I will find you if you fail to come. Do not make that mistake, flos”