#AND NOW THAT LAST ONE'S BEEN TAKEN TO SOME FUCKER'S GARDEN

[ottosuricatoblog]

"Jealous."

Link to my masterlist

Author: hola! I'm so happy you guys are enjoying my fics. I'm very thankful for the support🫶🏻 It's taken me a while to write this, but I think I like how it's turned out. I decided to add prompt 51 since it went well with the story. I hope you like it! Do let me know🥰

Request: Your stuff is seriously sooooo good. Absolutely adorable and then some 🥰💘 Maybe something angsty and fluffy with [69] and [74]. Like a jealous argument that ends all sweet and happy?

Prompts:

69. desperate, needy and forgiving kisses with [character] after a bad argument/fighting.

74. “oh my god– are you... jealous?”

51. [character] get jealous because they think someone is flirting with you, but it's actually a relative they didn't know about and the two of you have re-encountered with each other after a long time.

When your father told you that your cousin Eric was visiting, you couldn't believe it. The last time you saw him, you must have been around 14 or 15. He was a Tully, not a Stark, but he stayed with you and your siblings in Winterfell for around a year. You guys had a great relationship. He treated you like a sister, and you treated him like a brother.

Now, he was visiting Kings Landing for some trading matter.

You ask your father to tell Eric to meet you by the gardens after his meeting. You're wandering along them, waiting for him, when you hear a familiar voice.

"Bug!" Eric calls you, using the nickname he gave you when you were kids. "Or should I say Lady Y/N?"

You turn around to find a handsome young man in his late twenties. His face remains the same, though, his copper hair on his face and a dimple on his right cheek.

"Eric!" You smile. "Look at you."

"I could say the same about you. You've grown, bug." He smiles as well. "Come here." He says, opening his arms.

You hug him joyfully. "Gods, I can't believe it's been so long." You hear him say.

When you separate, he keeps an arm around your shoulders.

"Let's walk." You say, smiling. "I'm sure you have many things to tell me."

Sandor enters the gardens following the Prince. He stops abruptly when he looks at his left and spots you smiling at a man he doesn't know, his arm around you. You look at him smiling, say something, and start walking with him.

It makes his blood boil. This is what you were doing while he was working? When he's decided he's going to approach you and kill that fucker, he hears the Prince's voice.

"Come, dog." He says, motioning for the opposite direction.

He gulps, trying to calm down, and follows Joffrey.

It's earlier than usual for Sandor to come to your chambers, so the knock on your door surprises you. You open it to find Sandor with a cold stare. It's not his usual angry because of Joffrey face, though. Something's different tonight.

"Sandor!" You say, still a bit surprised.

"Aye." He grunts. "Oh, maybe you were expecting someone else?" His stare is cold as he walks in.

"What do you mean?" You say, frowning while you close your door.

"Oh, you know what I mean." He says.

You stare at him, one of your eyebrows up in your forehead.

"The redhead cunt you were having so much fun with before." He groans.

You can't believe what you're hearing. "Sandor, what..." You exclaim. "Oh gods, are you...jealous?"

He doesn't answer, looking away from you.

"I can't believe you're being a fucking kid about this." You mumble, shaking your head.

"What did he tell you, eh?" He says with a cold voice. "Promised you a bunch of fucking things, I'm sure. I bet he can give you much more than me."

"I truly can't believe this is happening." You sigh in disbelief. "Do you really think so poorly of me?"

"He was fucking hugging you, Y/N." He groans. "Do you think I didn't see you? You were all smiles. Fucking walking with him. Did you tell him all about yourself? Let him fucking court you?"

You snort, truly not believing his behavior.

"You find it fucking funny?" He asks, raising his voice.

"No, Sandor." You say. "I find it fucking sad."

His face turns into confusion.

"I find it sad that you think that I would just forget about you, about everything we've been through. You don't trust me." Your voice is harsh.

"I know what I saw." He groans.

"He's my fucking cousin!" You shout. "You're here being a fucking asshole about me hugging my cousin!"

His face suddenly changes, realization hitting him.

"Your cousin?" He asks, his voice much lower now.

"Yes, Sandor. My cousin." You say, irritated. "I don't..." Your voice breaks. "I don't know what we're doing together if you're not able to trust me." Your voice had gone from angry to sad.

"Y/N..." He says, taking a step towards you.

"Leave." You hiss.

"Love.. " He tries.

"Don't." You say, sending him a death stare. "Just go, Sandor. I need to think."

He looks at you, sadness now in his eyes, before turning and leaving your chambers. You fall asleep with tears in your eyes that night.

The next morning, when you open your door, you find a set of candles, which Sandor knows you love, and a note in his handwriting.

You take the candles inside and read the note: "I'm sorry. I love you."

It makes you think about what happened yesterday again. You stand by what you said. He needs to trust you if you want your relationship to work. Nevertheless, you have to admit you don't know how you've reacted if it was him instead of you. You want to think you would have asked him about it, but sometimes jealousy can get the worst of someone.

When you see him later that day, every bit of you that was still angry goes away. He gives you his best puppy eyes, and you smile at him. You give him a little nod, and he understands what that means.

That night, when you hear the knock, you open the door with a soft smile. After closing it, Sandor suddenly throws his arms around you.

"I'm sorry, love." He whispers against your hair. "I was an immature cunt."

You hug him back, putting your head on his chest.

"It's alright." You mumble. "Just... Give me some credit."

"I will." He says, pulling back to look at you. "I love you, Y/N."

"I love you too." You say, caressing his face. "Now kiss me, you idiot."

He smiles, leaning in and crashing his lips against yours. His forgiving kisses soon turn desperate, needy.

"Sandor?" You moan.

He pulls back a bit. "Hmmm?"

"Make it up to me." You say, smirking.

He smiles mischievously, picking you up and throwing you on the bed. And gods, he does.

Taglist: @broadsdrinkwhisky @malkaviangirl if you wanna be in it let me know💖

#rory mccann #sandor clegane #sandor clegane x reader #sandor clegane x you #sandor the hound clegane

[tehri]

Meanwhile in Sweden

Me: What's in the news today?

News: some fucker dug up a redlisted protected plant, an arctic violet, in your home-county. coincidentally, that was THE LAST FUCKING ONE of that kind in your home-county, and the plant only grows in 5 places in Sweden and is SEVERELY endangered. oh yeah, this was also in a GRAVE-FIELD FROM THE IRON AGE which is ALSO PROTECTED BY LAW.

Me: ... *looks up place-name*

Me: oh for fuck's sake of course it's in [name of suburb/town by my hometown]

#Meanwhile in Sweden #Sweden #Blekinge #Arctic Violet #Pulsatilla vernalis #YES I'M MAD #WE ONLY HAD THREE OF THEM GROWING WILD IN THE COUNTY BACK IN 2017 #IT WENT DOWN TO 1 #AND NOW THAT LAST ONE'S BEEN TAKEN TO SOME FUCKER'S GARDEN

[kyun-toast]

[ATEEZ] Mafia!San - Will You Join Me?

word count: 2.9k warnings: explicit language, gun use, violence, description of death (not explicit), sexually suggestive, gets a lil steamy summary: cupid has a bullet with your name on it a/n: Y/N a little dramatic and San annoying af. I wrote this in a two hour flash at 2am, so this might be deleted after I reread it tomorrow because I’m pretty sure a lot of this is just me chatting shit.

1. Yoon, David – 12:45 Note to self: likes donuts. probs dunkin’, maybe krispy? idk just look for a man w a paper bag.

“I’ll have to warn you though, the lift is under maintenance, so you’ll have to take the stairs.” The receptionist smiled at you sympathetically. “I can get someone to help you with your suitcase if you’d like?”

“Oh no, it’s ok, I’ll just find another place to stay. I have weak knees anyway.” You forced a laugh and hoped the lady didn’t notice the dead look in your eyes.

“I’m sorry about that, love.”

Turning away with your suitcase in tow, you headed towards the building opposite the hotel and hoped that the rooftop would be easy enough to access.

It was quite irresponsible of you not to have a backup plan. It seemed that being named the sharpest shooter in the underground world had gotten to your head a little, but you argued that a bit of spontaneity never hurt anybody. Though your target would beg to differ.

Being a public building of offices, it was all too easy for you to reach the roof of the building. You found that walking with your held head high and gaze set straight ahead would never get you questioned. Who would ever stop someone with a walk so confident?

Thankfully, the rooftop hadn’t been turned into some garden space: an air-conditioning fan over here, a water tank over there. You checked your wristwatch reading 12:40 and muttered under your breath. The damn hotel lift had taken precious minutes of your time and compromised your view.

You opened your suitcase to set up your sniper, giving your little black cat charm on the side of your gun a squish. Cute.

Sitting on the case with your stock snug against your shoulder, you peered into the scope to get a closer view of the revolving doors to the bank. Oh great, there’s a lamppost in the way.

Mr. Yoon was apparently quite the punctual man, always seen stepping into the bank doors after his lunch break at exactly quarter to one and therefore, your window of opportunity was thin.

“I want it done today or you’re getting sniped yourself, Y/N.” You heard the voice of your boss yap in your head again. Blah blah blah, same old threat. You argued that procrastinating the man’s death was actually something very considerate of you to do.

You heard a familiar clatter of metal hit the floor and you turned your scope to the rooftop opposite to see a man in overalls with his toolbox open on the floor.

“Lift maintenance guy?” You muttered to yourself and wondered if the mechanics of elevators ran all the way through to the rooftop. You made sure that you wouldn’t be in his line of vision and swivelled back to your original position, cursing the man under your breath for ruining your first choice of setup.

12:44

“Come on, Yoon. Lunch time’s almost over.” Your finger lay restless on the trigger, itching to get a glimpse of the bank teller.

20 seconds.

“Krispy or Dunkin’ what will it be today, entertain me.”

10 seconds.

You saw the man turn the corner and waited for him to get a little closer for you to shoot.

5 seconds.

“That’s it, just past the lamppost and you won’t even know what hit y- what the FU-?” You shouted and quickly clasped a hand to your mouth. Mr. Yoon hadn’t even made it past the post, and he was already laying on the pavement in a growing pool of blood.

Calculating the angle in which he was laying, you spun your vision around to the hotel rooftop and saw the maintenance man begin to pack up a sniper back into his toolbox. Taking off his cap, you noticed a flash of white in his jet-black hair and just like he knew you were watching, he turned with a smug grin on his face and shot you some finger guns.

“Oh, you little fucker.” You spat, and watched the man jump down into a hatch to disappear.

You slumped dramatically onto the floor and splayed your limbs to stare blankly at the sky. Never in your life had you ever missed a shot, let alone have it stolen by someone else, and your boss had your phone ringing to rub it in your face.

“That wasn’t you, was it?”

“Listen, what if? You know, what if that was my thirteenth reason? I just couldn’t take it anymore and that was it. No more Y/N. You wouldn’t even come to my funeral, would you?”

“No, I wouldn’t because you’d be too broke to have one. You realise you’re not getting paid for this?”

“Why? He’s still dead?” You sat up in disbelief.

“Well, it turns out someone else wanted him gone too. I can’t lie to our client and say that we did it.”

“You’re oddly moral for someone that runs a hotline for hitmen.”

“I’ll call you if I find you another job.”

“Justice for freelance contract killers.” You muttered weakly as he ended the call. The faint sound of police sirens filled the air as you let out a heavy sigh and lay back on the concrete.

You pictured the man and wondered who it was that would even think to render the notorious Y/N L/N jobless. Though you did have to admit that it was a clean shot.

“Skunk-hair looking ass.”

2. Kim, Seungho – 18:00 Note to self: babysitting. easy target but kid knows NOTHING.

You were stationed by a corner window in an unfinished apartment building with a trainee by your side, setting up his kit.

Stood by the trainee, you scanned to see if everything was in the right place, checking the kid’s posture too. You had been sent by your boss to reluctantly train a young recruit and you joked if you had been demoted following your last predicament. You were never in it for the money though, you lived for the adrenaline.

The boy had potential and you saw it, he just needed to make cleaner shots because three bullets somewhat near the target’s vital organs wasn’t going to cut it.

“What’s your name again?”

“Jisung. Han Jisung.” The recruit replied, his eyes never leaving yours, in absolute awe.

“Eyes on the scope.”

“I’m sorry, nobody told me I’d be getting trained by you. The Seoul Shooter? Like wow.”

“Ew, is that what they’re calling me?”

“Yeah, well I think it’s a pretty cool name, they used to call me ‘Jitman’ in my hometown, not very creati-”

You shushed the boy and tapped his shoulder as you pointed to a small figure in the distance.

“You see him through the scope? Now keep your hand steady, never feel as if you’re being rushed. Death works to your schedule.”

“Got it.” Jisung said, following the man with his gun.

“Ok, on 3… 2… 1…”

You heard the bullet cut through the evening air and hit the target neatly through his office window.

“Bro? That was so clean? That has to be one of the sexiest shots I’ve seen in a while-” You began.

“Uhh, that wasn’t me, Y/N.”

Before you could even process what had happened, you heard the rustle of footsteps patter down the stairs behind you. Taking out your handgun, you moved towards the open door to find the same man you had seen on the hotel rooftop stop in his tracks on the landing. Clad in a fitted black sweater and jeans this time, he looked a whole lot more attractive close up.

“You again?” You exclaimed; gun still pointed at the man as he dropped his duffel bag to raise his hands.

His eyes widened, not in shock, but more with an excited glint in his eyes.

“Oh my, it’s Y/N, the Seoul Shooter.” A coy smile painted his lips as he shook his white fringe out of his eyes.

“See, everyone calls you that.” Jisung interjected from behind.

“Shut up, Han.”

“Word around town is that you’ve been unemployed for some time now,” nodding towards Han, he added, “and it looks like the rumours are true.”

“I’ve actually decided to take a break you know? Let the other kids have a chance at making a name for themselves. Bit of charity work.”

“Y/N kinda got demoted because you keep taking their shots.” Han interrupted again.

“Hey, who told you that?!” You narrowed your eyes at the boy. Han Jisung was a smart ass and you vowed then and there that you wouldn’t take on any more training sessions.

You whipped your head back around to the man eyeing your body up and down.

“My eyes are up here, sir. Unless you really wanna get shot.” You spat.

“Well, I’d die a happy man if you were the last thing I’d see.” He smirked in retaliation and studied your eyes carefully. “Well, my job here is done, I better be on my way. Got a big cheque waiting for me.” He grinned as he reached to grab his bag and carry his way on down the stairs with footsteps too light-hearted for your liking.

“Why didn’t you shoot him?” Jisung asked as you watched the man disappear into the evening.

“I don’t think killing a man for taking my shots is justified.”

“What, and sniping Mr. Kim Seungho just before he gets to feel the bliss of clocking out is?” He laughed. “Do you know what I think, Y/N?”

“What?”

“I don’t know, I’m not going to say anything.”

Han Jisung tormented you the whole drive back to the quarters.

“Y/N and Skunk Man sitting in a tree. K-I-S-S-I-N-G. First comes lo-”

Smack.

“Ouch, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I was just kidding.” He laughed as an idea struck him, “K-I-D-D-I-N-”

Smack.

3. Park, Kiha - 10:32 Note to self: bad man. bad, bad man. but big, big cheque.

Having had your last two shots stolen, mystery Skunk Man was beginning to get on your nerves. You were seething to the point that you demanded your boss give you another job, itching to defend your title of being the finest shooter in Seoul.

Laying on the floor of a rooftop hangar, the man had the gall to pop up out of the hatch to set up his station right next to you, as if you were both on some picnic.

"Nice seeing you here today, Y/N." He said, sitting cross legged to mount a scope to the top of his sniper.

Not even bothering to take your eyes off the target, you muttered, "I got here first, you better back off." voice laced with venom.

"Well I've been promised a cheque too, we're all just trying to get fed around here."

Ignoring him, you glanced down at your watch that read 10:31. Any time now, Park Kiha would be walking through the glass bridge to get to his meeting in the twin building.

Steadying your finger against the trigger, you held your breath and counted down from three, two, o-

"I like your cat charm by the way."

You pulled the trigger only for it to stray a little to the right, still hitting your target, just a little less central than you would have accepted.

You shot up from your position to face the man laying on his side, head propped up against his hand to look at you.

"Do you have something against me? Do I even know you?" You exclaimed, carding your gloved hand through your hair.

"No uhh, but I saw your face on a bounty poster once and thought you were cute." He said, attitude too blasé. "That was a nice shot though, I was going to wait a few more seconds."

"So you saw my picture, and started following me around to antagonise me?"

"Nah, I just happened to be super lucky to have been put on the same cases as you. Big bad men have a lot of people after them I guess?"

Throwing your equipment back into your bag, you watched the man proceed to roll over onto his back with his arms behind his head to look up at the sky.

The mid-morning sun cast a golden glow over his skin and though you spent most of your life working with guns, his uniform and kit next to him looked a little different, almost attractive. They suited him a little too much and you thought that if a sleek sniper were to be personified, it would look exactly like this leather clad man.

"I should ask for your number, the way you're looking at me right now, Y/N."

"Good luck, you won't get it." You turned to step down the hatch as he propped himself up again to watch you leave.

Choi, San – 15:25 Note to self: he’s kinda hot tho :/

So, we had finally put a name to the face. As your boss handed you a folder, you were slightly taken aback at the small ID picture pinned to the top of the file.

“You might be a little happy about this one.” He said, taking a sip of coffee. “He’s been recently recruited by ATEEZ as their sniper. Quite a deadly one too. He was scouted shooting pheasants down in the Namhae countryside apparently.”

“Hmm, how much?” You questioned.

“A million dollars.”

“Excuse me? A mill-?” You choked on the air and composed yourself just as quick to nonchalantly lean against the filing cabinet and look out the window, “I don’t know, he didn’t look a million dollars-worth to me.”

“He hasn’t been in the game long, but man has he taken down some big names.”

Though you didn’t necessarily feel too attached to Choi San, you did think that you were going to miss him a little. It was nice having a friend on your level to spar with.

Who were you kidding? You thought he was hot and that it would be a shame to have to shoot him.

But on second thought, you had been itching for the adrenaline in the trigger again, and the million dollars looked a lot sexier to you than some man.

“I’ll take it.”

-

San was all too easy to find. He seemed to enjoy hiding in plain sight since no common person would recognize him in the bustling streets of Gangnam. Nestled in the corner of another rooftop, you zoned in on the recognizable black and white hair sat outside on the terrace of a café.

Once you were ready, you repositioned your finger on the trigger and focused the cross hairs on the familiar head. You were steady until San lifted his head and stared right back at you through the scope, sending you a wink.

“Shit.” You muttered, his actions throwing you off and when you repositioned your aim, he had slipped into the crowd, now lost.

“No, no, no, no, no, Choi San, ugh.” Seeing that he knew what you were up to, you got up to pace around the rooftop. Your mind worked nonstop to find an alternate solution but all you could conclude was to go home, stay low and pick another day to continue.

This man had thrown you into the worst slump of your life, but you were somewhat enjoying the chase and you hated to admit it.

The abrupt sound of a closing of a door behind you had everything clicking into place.

“You pretty motherfucker, had this planned, didn’t you?” You laughed.

Upon hearing the cocking of a gun, you turned to pull out the throwing knife strapped to your thigh and pulled his body in by his collar to reach his throat. And it just turned out that San had the same idea in pushing his handgun up underneath your chin at the same time, faces a little too close.

“I like your beret.” San said candidly, jerking his brow up at the hat on your head.

“Me, too. It’s Marine Serre.”

“Nice choice.”

“I’m going to count down from three and we’re going to drop our weapons, ok? And talk this out like adults because I for one, didn’t wanna kill you.” You bargained.

“Sure.”

“Three, two, one!” The both of you pulled away for a split second in bluff only to reposition your weapons against each other’s throats again.

“I knew it.” San smirked.

“No, for real this time. I mean it.”

“Go ahead, baby.” He smiled as his gaze dropped to your lips.

“Three, two, o-”

San cut you off by leaning into your lips, placing onto them a kiss so intense, almost mirroring the violent nature of the situation. However, what surprised you more was that you let yourself melt back into him. He let his gun clatter to the floor to walk you backwards into the wall behind, hoisting your leg up around his waist.

You broke away from the kiss for air when he smiled, “I mean, it is kinda hot, but I would appreciate it if you could stop holding that knife against my throat right now, Y/N.”

“Ugh, fine.” You muttered as San leaned back in to kiss you whilst roaming his hand around your thigh, ridding you of the rest of your knives and smirking against your lips in satisfaction.

Feeling his bulge grind between your legs, you both only grew more fervent for each other as you kissed.

“Wait, I wanna take you on a date first.” He pulled away to look you in the eye.

“Are you serious right now?”

“Mhmm, to Bar 1117.” He hummed, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck.

“Isn’t that your company’s place…?”

“Yeah, they’re gonna love you.” He whispered, peppering small kisses down your throat.

“Are you trying to recruit me or fuck me, San?”

"I mean, you can kill me now and leave for that million dollars or you can come with me for a new job and that million dollar dick."

"You're unbelievable."

“I heard you were doing freelance anyway, baby.” He looked into your eyes again, a mischievous glow blooming across his face, “So, will you join me?”

-

disclaimer: San’s pie chart hair is one of my all time faves but I also can’t stop thinking that it looks a little skunk-like. In the cutest way. a/n: I've edited this a lot since I posted it and I think I'm gonna keep it

-

Mafia AU Masterlist

#ateez #ateez smut #ateez san #ateez imagines #ateez scenarios #ateez fic #ateez fanfic #mafia!ateez #mafia!san #ateez angst #ateez fluff #ateez mafia #ateez mafia au #ateez x y/n #ateez x reader #ateez oneshot #san smut #san x reader #san imagines #san scenarios #san fic #san oneshot #san drabbles #san angst #san fluff #choi san

[mickey-millagher]

The house looked pretty much how he remembered it, not that he’d been round there much. He’d sold to Lip a few times back in high school, met him at the bottom of the garden to avoid his sister or something, he didn’t really care, a sale was a sale.

He’d dropped off some stuff for Mickey once too, back when he’d moved out to stay with his mental case boyfriend. Husband now, if what uncle Ronnie said was anything to go by.

Trying the handle he found it locked, maybe those fuckers actually had something worth stealing these days, he supposed, things must’ve changed while he was in the joint.

After a couple of knocks some kid answered the door, about eleven or twelve, wasn’t exactly surprising, the Gallaghers did always seem to be multiplying, he couldn’t keep track even before he’d gone away, even after his little brother was ghetto married to one of them. Suppose his little sister was also ghetto married to another at one point. What was it about that Gallaghers?

“Umm hello?” The kid asked him

“Eh, yeah is Mickey here?”

“Who’s asking?”

“I’m his brother.”

The kids face instantly closed up, eyes narrowing in suspicion.

“What do you want with him?”

“To see him?”

The kid didn’t seem like he was going to let up but he didn’t need to, because just then there was movement within the house.

“Who the fucks at the door keeping you so long? Go back and eat your fucking fruit loops before you’re late for school.”

Mickeys paused at the doorway, eyes widening in surprise when he saw who was there. The kid looked back and forth the two brothers for a second before taking Mickeys advice and heading back towards the kitchen.

“Who the fuck decided to let you out?”

Iggy let out a short laugh, his little brother looked different than he had when he last saw him years ago, older, but also happier, less guarded than he’d looked since he was just a little kid. Also cleaner, and in some weird, army getup.

“Let out for good behavior.”

Mickey snorted at that in disbelief. “You gonna come in or just stand outside freezing your ass off all day?”

“Waiting for my invitation little bro, you know considering I didn’t get one to your wedding.”

“You heard about that huh?” Mickey asked, scratching the back of his neck as he retreated into the house, Iggy following close behind. “You were in the joint anyway so what’s it matter?”

Iggy shrugged.

“Dunno, thought you were still in Mexico til I bumped into uncle Ronnie last night. You know what it’s like when you’re on the inside, everyone in our family acts like you’re dead. Didn’t hear shit about anyone.”

Mickey rubbed at his lip, some nervous tick dad had never bothered to beat out of him.

“Yeah I know, um uncle Ronnie tell you about dad?”

“Yeah he did. Gotta say I’m surprised, thought you’d be still fucking celebrating or some shit.”

“Fuck off, I wasn’t celebrating or anything.”

Iggy laughed.

Mickey frowned. “What? You don’t care?”

With a shrug, Iggy replied. “Nah, not like he’d care if any of us died. Don’t think he even cared when mom died, why’d I care bout him?”

Mickey paused before, begrudgingly tilting his head in agreement. His face was still drawn, their dads death seemingly taken a greater toll on the youngest Milkovich brother then anyone would have guessed.

Footsteps stomping down the stairs was what drew Iggy’s attention away from his brother. And apparently onto his brother-in-law. Ian was wearing the same weird army getup as Mickey. He was obviously older now, no longer the floppy haired teenager Mickey had seemingly stolen from Mandy and moved into his bedroom. His younger siblings had attempted to explain how all of that happened but it always seemed weird to him. He supposed while Mandy was Gallagher hopping, Ian was Milkovich hopping. As none of them seemed bothered by the arrangement he didn’t get involved.

“Hey Mick we gotta get going soon we if want to ma... Iggy? When did you get out?”

“Couple of weeks ago, the house got taken and I didn’t know where anyone was til last night. Uncle Ronnie said Mickey was still shacking up with you, thought I’d check up on him, see if married life’s made him soft.”

The redhead grinned at Mickey while Mickey flipped Iggy off.

“Fuck off, I ain’t gotten soft.”

“I can assure you, he’s not.”

Iggy laughed at the face Mickey pulled.

“You can both fuck off.”

“We do actually need to get going if we’re not going to be late for our first pickup.”

“What exactly are you guys doing? Some scam?”

Mickey looked away, it was the redhead that answered.

“Uh no, we run a weed security business, deliveries, pickups, that sorta thing.”

“Ain’t weed legal now? Mickey you gone legit?”

“Fuck you, I’m on parole.”

“Uh huh.” Iggy grinned.

“Uh yeah, so listen we gotta go but you gotta number or something, we could hang out, shoot the shit.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll give you the number for my burner. PO’s got me some dumbass interview later but I’ll see what days I don’t have to work.”

He could see Ian grinning at them out of the corner of his eye but he didn’t particularly care about the redhead, outside of whatever happiness he seemed to have brought to Mickey. He was a Milkovich through and through. The only people he’d ever really cared about were his siblings, and some of his cousins, most of which seemed to have gone to the wind these days. Not Mickey though, he still had his little brother, maybe he’d even learn to like his mental case of a husband one day. Maybe.

#shameless #ian gallagher #mickey milkovich #gallavich #iggy milkovich #shameless fanfic #my fic #written in the middle of the night cause I got sad about all the missed opportunities for Milkovich sibling moments in the later seasons #this is also like the first proper non academic thing I’ve written in like a year #it feels so good to be writing again #but am a little rusty #my characterisation for Mickey is how many times can I make him swear #my characterisation for Ian is no filter #gallavich fanfic #shameless fanfiction

[meltwonu]

| 🎃 𝕸𝖔𝖓𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝕸𝖆𝖘𝖍 🎃 |

↪ ✦ sea castles ✦

this chapter pairing; yandere!woozi x reader, subtle jeonghan x reader

genre&warnings; merman!au, yandere!woozi, character death, dom!woozi/possessive!woozi, virgin!reader, overstimulation, oral(fem receiving), cheating, drugs/poisoning, kidnapping.

✖ That being said, I do NOT condone yandere-like/obsessive/possessive behaviour in real life. this is a work of fiction therefore I will indulge in it. If you do NOT like this kind of content, please just ignore it.

notes; Welcome to the first installation to Monster Mash, where we explore the strange and unusual with our monster fucker anonymous club! 👻 🎃 Let’s get spooky, bitches! As always, I just want to take the time to thank you all for the interest in Monster Mash! 😳 I was not expecting it tbh so thank you all so much!💕 also if the writing style of this seems weird just know that I wrote half of this in 2018 so some parts read different from my usual write style, in my opinion at least 😭 hehe~ anyway, enjoy this first chapter and I will see you all in the next! 😌✨

word count; ~5100

chapters; 1 - x - x - x - x - x - x - x - x - x - x - x - x

baby, why don't you see, see my sea?

make slow, get inside and pull on my sea

get inside and build your castle into me 

Jihoon’s head breaks through the surface of water, sea foam momentarily blinding him as he frantically searches beyond the jagged rocks for any sign of his human companion. His fragile hands move slowly over the rocks. She’s late again, He thinks. Nothing new. 

A sigh escapes his lips as he rests his head on one of the rocks, closing his eyes as he waits, a soft hum on his lips when he drifts out of consciousness.

When he wakes, he isn’t even aware he’s fallen asleep but the frantic thoughts that someone’s found him sends him into overdrive as his pale grey eyes sweep over the shore once again; eyes landing on a figure sitting not too far away.

“Jihoon you’ve fallen asleep on me again.” You chide. A blush forms on Jihoon’s cheeks as he ducks under the water momentarily, hoping the slight chill of the water will keep the heat from spreading to his face. “You’re late again”, he starts, “We agreed to meet here when the tower bell chimes for sun down every other nightfall, didn’t we?” There’s a moment of hesitation on his end but he wades through the water, carefully making his way towards you. 

“I’m really sorry about being late, it was Jeonghan, I--” 

Jihoon’s eyes flash a pale pink, tuning you out at the sound of his name. Jeonghan; the prince and your soon to be husband. Jihoon doesn’t like him, not one bit. “It’s fine! I’m just glad you could make it…” A pout on his lips as he picks a rock near your legs, propping his arms up onto it as he stares up at you and rests his chin on his folded arms.

“What were you up to today, Jihoonie?” You ask. Your fingers curl around the hem of your dress as you pull it further up your legs, not wanting it to get wet from the rising tide. He hums in thought, his eyes falling onto your bare legs.

“Um, well, Seungcheol-hyung and I went and checked out that sunken ship I told you about last week… There was still some stuff left inside so we brought it back to the castle!”

A smile graces your lips as you watch him talk animatedly; there was always something so calming about being around Jihoon. You fondly remembered the first time you’d met him. Scared and curious about the man peering at you from beyond the rocks, not knowing that he felt the exact same way that you did.

That had been a few months ago now and the two of you had become good friends, meeting every other night for a chat before anyone in the castle knew you were missing. He was handsome, kind and most of all, friendly.

“Hey, are you listening?” Jihoon pouts up at you, lips curling into a teasing smile when a blush forms on your cheeks.

“I’m so sorry, I was zoning out thinking about how we met. Why don’t you start again, from the beginning?”

“You’re late.”

Jeonghan’s already a third of a way through dinner before you enter through the double doors. “Forgive me, I’ve--I’ve lost track of time.”

He scoffs, rolling his eyes as he picks at his food; this was quite routine of you. “Isn’t that what you always say?” You take a seat across Jeonghan, grimacing when the wet hem of your dress touches your bare legs. “I like taking my time on my walks. It helps me clear my head.”

Jeonghan takes a sip of his wine, standing from the grandiose table as he makes his way down the length of it, to your side.

“You should be careful on those walks of yours. I’ve heard there’s dangerous creatures lurking around the edges of town. You wouldn’t want to get caught up in the crossfire, would you?”

“No, Jeonghan, I--I wouldn’t.”

“Jihoon-hyung!!”

Seungkwan swims over to Jihoon; a bright smile on his face when he reaches the older male. “Hey, are you alright? You seem upset.”

Jihoon’s pale grey eyes blink sadly, “I’m… okay. I’m just…”

“It’s that human again, isn’t it?”

It always is, Jihoon thinks. He was always glad for your friendship and your kindness, but he always craved for more. Even if the current circumstances didn’t allow it. “Well, yes. It’s just that... I wish there was a way I could get her to see me and not my… well, you know.” He chuckles sadly, watching the way Seungkwan mimics his sadness.

Jihoon liked Seungkwan. 

Out of all of his brothers, he was always the most empathetic.

“She’s going to be married, hyung. To the prince, no less. She’ll be queen eventually once the king passes and Prince Jeonghan takes his place. Need I remind you she’s human and you’re not? You should be thankful she hasn’t exposed you yet.”

The older male grimaces at the thought alone. She’d never do that to me.

“I know, I know. It’s just going to take some time, that’s all. She’s not like the other royals on land… She’s a good person.”

Seungkwan wraps an arm around Jihoon’s shoulder; lips pursed in a tight smile. “You’re in line for the throne here as well, you know? The other hyungs don’t seem to care for the throne, but you, hyung, suit it well. You’ll find someone. I promise.”

The next morning, you wake up with a sigh on your lips.

I hate it here.

The only reason why you were to be wed to Prince Jeonghan was solely because both of your respective parents wanted to have a joint rulership of the western lands and needed successors down the line, should the time come. Neither you nor Jeonghan were necessarily happy with the idea, but Jeonghan had quickly taken a certain possessiveness over you that confused you greatly. 

On most days, he seemed uncaring, even standoffish. But there were a few times since the announcement of your marriage where he seemed to have quickly taken the role of overbearing husband.

A knock at your door brings you out of your thoughts; a small ‘come in’ muttered just loud enough as an older handmaid pokes her head in.

“Miss, we should get you ready for the day. Prince Jeonghan would like your company for tea in the garden.”

That’s new.

“I’m telling you that Wonwoo is dangerous, Vernon! You need to be careful!”

Jihoon swims up to Seungcheol and Vernon in the heat of their conversation, brows furrowed in confusion. “What’s going on?”

Seungcheol lets out an exasperated sigh in return, “It’s that Wonwoo…”

Jihoon’s lips purse into a firm line. Not all mercreatures were gifted with magical abilities, but Wonwoo was one of the few that were. He granted anyone of their desires, whether the intentions were good or bad. As long as you paid the right price for it. Wonwoo lingered on the southern side of the underwater kingdom, tucked away within the giant kelp and crystal caves where most mercreatures knew to stay away from.

Although, the younger ones were always riddled with temptation.

“Vernon, what were you even doing over there?” Jihoon asks. The youngest exhales harshly, avoiding his hyungs’ piercing stares.

“I just---I was curious. That’s all.”

This time it’s Seungcheol who inquires, “About what, exactly?”

“Don’t you ever wonder what you would have to trade to be able to go on land, at least once?”

Jihoon clenches his jaw. He knew better.

He knew better.

Jeonghan waits patiently and never raises his voice.

Quite frankly, he’s not very good at it, he’ll admit.

However, what he does expect from you is your obedience and absolute loyalty to him, especially with your wedding just around the corner.

The last thing he wanted were the townspeople talking about a king with a disloyal and disobedient wife.

“You wanted to see me for tea?” Jeonghan looks up from his lap, noting you standing a few feet away with Mingyu, one of his guards.

“Yes, have a seat. Mingyu, you can go.” The taller male nods, pulling out the garden chair for you before he leaves. Jeonghan pours you a cup of warm tea, sliding the tea cup across the small table. “I spoke to my father earlier this morning before he left.” His eyes flit to you, already noticing the way the colour drains from your face at the simple mention.

“They want us to move the wedding closer. Next week, if possible.”

“I--wh--why exactly, may I ask?”

Jeonghan can hear the shakiness in your voice as he reaches for his own tea cup. “First of all, it’s not my choice. My father just requested as such and I expect you to fall in line as well. These nightly walks along the edges of town need to stop, immediately. I can’t have rumours flying around town about us. Am I clear?”

Your hands ball up into fists in your lap; tomorrow might be the last time you’d be able to speak to Jihoon.

“I--yes, I understand.”

When the tower bell chimes for sundown the next evening, you’re already waiting by the water’s edge.

You had to make it back in time before Jeonghan noticed you’d already snuck out.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

His half-hearted smile is enough to alert you that he hasn’t been having the best of days either. But you find yourself getting choked up as your vision blurs with each second; unshed tears making it hard for you to speak.

“I--I’m sorry, but---but I c-can’t come back here…” You whisper out. Jihoon’s eyes flash a pale pink as he leans up onto a rock closer to you.

“What are you talking about?”

“Jihoon, I’m---I’m getting married next w-week.”

Jihoon begs for forgiveness in his head.

Asks to be spared for the sin he’s about to commit.

He fumbles through the giant kelp; tail getting caught with each second he goes further and further into the murky depths until he comes across the crystal caves.

It would be just one time. He promises.

He finds the small opening in the cave, making sure nobody sees him when he swims in.

“Oh? To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Wonwoo’s voice is deep and matches the alluring smirk painted across his features when he spots Jihoon at the entrance. “Can’t say I’ve seen someone look so hesitant in a long while.”

Jihoon feels a sense of dread wash over him when he gets closer to the male, gulping down his second guesses as he opens his mouth to speak.

“T-to go on land. What… what would I need to--to trade.”

Wonwoo laughs loud enough for it to bounce off of the cave walls, head thrown back in absolute bliss.

“My, my. You sound more serious than the last one who came to ask.” He pauses, swimming down closer to Jihoon who backs away by nature. “You know, people offer me all sorts of things. Riches, jewels, even parts of themselves. All cliché when you think about it. And all things replaceable in theory.”

The twinkle in Wonwoo’s eyes lets Jihoon know he’s going to be in more trouble than he anticipated.

“No… what I want is something irreplaceable. Something that lets me know you really want this.”

Vernon will be missed.

But it was his fault for being so curious, they’ll all say.

He shouldn’t have asked Wonwoo.

He should’ve known better.

Just like Jihoon.

A few days have passed since the last time you see Jihoon and being castle-bound is eating away at you.

The wedding is in five more nightfalls and with each day, you find yourself more and more miserable.

“Miss, please turn to your left. We need to finish your wedding dress before the day is over.” Sighing, you do as told, facing the large mirror where you see the sadness in your eyes.

A sharp knock brings everyone’s attention to the door as one of your hand maids rushes to answer it.

This time it’s Seokmin, one of Jeonghan’s other guards and best friend, at the door. “I’m so sorry to disturb, however we have a guest. A Prince from… the east. Prince Jeonghan would like your company in the grand hall, immediately.”

Confusion crosses your features, but you nod, shooing Seokmin away as you already make efforts to get the heavy fabric off of you. It takes a good few minutes before you’re completely free and redressed in more casual attire and you all but rush down the hall, curious to see who the newcomer is.

The first thing you see is Jeonghan speaking to a slightly shorter male; a tight lipped smile on his face.

He catches you from around the corner, gesturing you forward.

“Ah, here she is. My wife, to-be.” The unknown male turns to face you and you feel your breath caught in your throat.

Jihoon? No… 

He shoots you a knowing smile, reaching for your hand as he kisses the back of it. ��It’s my pleasure. I’m Prince Jihoon. Of the East.” Your fingers feel clammy in his hold, confusion on your features even when you introduce yourself back to him in a low whisper.

“I can’t say I remember there being a Prince Jihoon from the east. Interesting.” Jeonghan comments. Jihoon chuckles lightly, releasing your hand as he turns to face Jeonghan once more.

“Yes, I’m quite sorry for my sudden arrival. You see, I never really was one for the throne or anything of the sort. No, I’m more into studies and books. However, there’s been a bit of a change in interests lately so I figured I’d come… and see what the world has to offer.” He shoots Jeonghan a smile, eyes forming crescents.

“I also do apologize, but would it be alright if I stayed here a few nights? Just before I head back to my own. I don’t have anywhere to stay and, well, I seem a little under-packed for my journey.”

Jeonghan bites the inside of his cheek, “I… suppose. Actually, our wedding is in five more days. Why don’t you stay until then. See how the town celebrates.”

Jihoon turns to you; a smirk on his lips as his eyes flash a pale pink.

“Oh, I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

Jihoon stays in the bedroom across the hall from you, just a couple doors down. 

You tell Jeonghan you’re not feeling too well and that you’ll be in your bedroom until you finally feel better; but the reality is that you slink off to Jihoon’s room when the coast is clear and the halls are free of Jeonghan’s guards.

You softly knock at his door, whispering his name until he opens the door for you; a giddy smile on his lips.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t the princess. To what do I owe this honour?”

“Please, don’t---don’t play this game with me right now. What in heaven’s name is--how are you even here!?” You whisper harshly. Jihoon tugs you into his room, locking the door behind you as he presses you against it.

“I just… wanted to try something, that’s all. I thought you’d be happy to see me.” There’s a tinge of sadness in his voice and you can’t hold back the sigh that floats out past your lips.

“Please, Jihoon, I’m so incredibly happy to see you. It’s just, I---this is a big shock and with the wedding, it’s---and your legs, how---”

Jihoon cuts you off with a kiss, fingertips under your chin as he tilts your head up to meet his.

You immediately melt into the kiss, fingertips tangling into his soft hair.

Were you always attracted to Jihoon like this?

He eats up all of your soft and quiet moans as he presses you harder into the door, slotting a leg between yours just you finally find your senses.

“W--wait, I--no, we--we can’t, Jihoon…” You push him away as gently as you can; a soft pink coating your cheeks. “It’s just that Jeonghan--”

“Please, can we not speak about him.” Jihoon grumbles, stepping away from you as he makes his way towards the bed. “No offense, but it’s quite obvious that neither of you want to be in this marriage anyway. I don’t understand why you keep trying to defend him.”

You stand by the door, eyes fixated on the way Jihoon leans back on the bed. Mental images of you in his lap, naked and in absolute bliss flit through your mind in a split second. 

“It’s---it’s not that, it’s just that... “ You’re unsure of what to say next; Jihoon was right in the fact that neither of you were too keen on the marriage but the two of you were also just following orders for the betterment of the kingdoms.

“I’m sorry, I should go, You should rest up, Jihoon. Dinner will be in a few hours.”

You turn to leave, body warm with thoughts you knew you shouldn’t have been having.

Jihoon can sense it too. The way your body craves his.

“I’ll see you later, princess.”

Dinner goes on without any issues, which you’re thankful for and Jeonghan and Jihoon seem to be on alright terms despite Jeonghan’s initial concerns and suspicions.

You retreat back to your room after a walk around the grounds to clear your head, hand on the doorknob of your bedroom when Jihoon comes barreling into your back.

“J--Jihoon, what--”

“Inside, now, sweetheart.”

You shuffle into the bedroom, turning to face Jihoon who turns the lock. “What are you doing?!”

“What we both want.”

A blush coats your cheeks as he walks you back towards the bed; his hands immediately finding purchase on your waist as he sits you down onto it. “Do you think I’m oblivious to what you want?” His voice drops an octave and you feel the arousal starting to pool in your lower half. “I--I---”

“You what, princess? Tell me what you want, what’s going on in that mind of yours.”

You know you shouldn’t, you know you should fall in line with Jeonghan and what your parents say.

But the other part of you just wants to be freed of all your responsibilities and expectations.

So you make a decision, gulping when you wrap a hand around Jihoon’s forearm.

“I want y-you.”

A soft moan floats through the air just as Jihoon sinks the first finger into your warmth, your fingers locking into his hair as his tongue flicks at your clit.

Jihoon knew more than you anticipated.

He smiles against your skin as he leans in closer, flattening his tongue against you as you bite your lip to hold in your noises when he drags the flat of his tongue through your folds.

“Such a shame, princess. I’d love to hear my name rolling off those pretty lips of yours.” He teases; curling his finger into you just right until it grazes against your sweet spot. Your legs clamp tighter around his head instead as Jihoon laughs.

“We’ll have to save it for another time. When we have more privacy, hmm?”

Another time?

Jihoon sucks your clit into his mouth as your hips cant up to meet his movements. He gently adds another fingers after a few more pumps; noting the way your walls tighten around them instinctively. You can feel the pressure building up when he starts to scissor and curl them just right, a shaky cry on your lips.

“Ji--Jihoon, ah, something’s---”

“S’okay, let it happen.” Mumbling, he doubles his effort, tongue flicking at your clit harshly as he works to throw you over the edge.

A choked sob gets caught in your throat when you cum on his fingers and tongue and he works you through it with patience and adoration. He slows down his fingers as you continue to ride your high, tongue still lapping at your clit in slower strokes until your fingers loosen their grip on his hair.

“Everything okay?” Jihoon murmurs, pulling his fingers from inside of you as he pulls away.

“Mm… Mmhmm…”

Jihoon sits up, wrapping his wet digits around his cock as he pumps himself. He smears the precum down his shaft; a soft groan on his lips.

“Do you still want me, princess?”

You nod shakily, watching as he scoots in closer. He runs the head of his cock through your soaking folds as you mewl quietly at the sensitivity your body feels. “If it hurts, just let me know, okay?”

Jihoon’s soft voice is enough for you to relax under his touch and he uses his free hand to wrap your leg around his waist before he positions himself at your entrance. His eyes dance up your torso until they land on your flushed face, grey eyes searching for any sort of hesitance.

“This is your last chance, princess. You can stop me here and we can forget this.”

Your heart pangs in sudden guilt over Jeonghan, but you quickly push it out of your head. There was nothing wrong about this; You wanted him.

“I want you, J-Jihoon…”

He nods at your response, taking a deep breath before he starts to sink his cock into your wet cunt.

There’s a subtle stinging you feel, a whimper on your lips when he only just gets the head of his cock in. “Okay?” He asks, fingertips massaging the skin of your thighs. The momentary pause is enough for some of the stinging to subside so you nod, clammy hands digging into the sheets.

Jihoon lets out a guttural moan, eyes rolling to the back of his head when he bottoms out after a few tense seconds. “Oh, god, you---you feel so good, princess…”

He leans over you, kissing you on the forehead before he leans in to kiss you on the lips; swallowing up your mewls and whimpers as you get used to the feeling of Jihoon’s cock snug between your warm walls.

“Jihoon, please---please move…” Your words are muffled against his lips as he smiles, nodding when he pulls away from you.

Jihoon starts a slow pace at first; skillful hips pistoning into you. He watches you bite your lip when he angles his thrusts in a particular way, smirking when he knows he’s gotten your sweet spot.

“Look at you… So pretty underneath me, where you belong.” He licks his lips, pupils blown wide. “You know I’d do anything for you, right, princess? Just say the word and I’ll give it to you.” His grip on you gets tighter as his fingernails dig into the skin of your thighs.

“Ngh… Ji--Jihoon…” You whimper quietly as your hips cant up to meet his thrusts. “Please, m-more…”

The head of his cock grazes against your g-spot with each thrust and you can’t help the moans that bubble past your lips at the feeling. 

Jeonghan momentarily flits through your mind again and Jihoon can sense the way you seem to tense up. He bites the inside of his cheek at this, pulling his cock out of you as confusion crosses your features.

“Jihoon, wh--”

“I want you on your hands and knees for me.” He murmurs; using his strength to flip you onto your stomach.

It takes a second for you to catch your bearings, hands planted on the bed sheets as he tugs your ass closer to himself. He repositions his cock at your entrance, bottoming out in a single thrust as he starts a much quicker pace this time.

In this position, he can fuck you deeper, hips slamming into your ass as you slowly slump down against the sheets.

A sharp knock at the door a few minutes later has you gasping as you reach behind you to try and push Jihoon off. He doesn’t budge, instead, smirks at the way your pussy clenches harder around his cock.

“Princess? It’s me.”

Jeonghan.

Jihoon leans over your back, kissing your shoulder once before whispering in your ear. “You should answer him. Before he gets suspicious.” You clear your throat to the best of your ability, brows furrowed when Jihoon reaches a hand around, fingertips on your clit rubbing soft circles.

“Y-yes, Jeonghan?”

“May I come in? I’d like to speak with you.” Your heart pangs in a way you don’t expect, teeth clenched hard when you feel the pleasure starting to peak again.

“I’m, a-ah, so---so sorry, Jeonghan, I’ve already, hah, d-dressed for bed. M--maybe tomorrow? O--over tea, perhaps?” You shakily offer; hoping that he doesn’t barge his way in.

“Right. Of course, my mistake. It’s quite late. I’ll see you for tea tomorrow then. Sleep well.”

You hear his footsteps just as your second orgasm hits you; body seizing up under Jihoon as he continues to fuck you through it.

“Such a naughty little princess, aren’t you? Laying with someone else while your husband-to-be is on the other side of that door. And not only that, but taking your pleasure from someone else inside of you too? My, my.” He teases, eyes flashing the same pale pink in warning.

He pinches your clit between his fingertips, loving the way your body jolts under his touch. “Ngh… Jihoon I---I can’t…” You whine. Your body feels extremely sensitive now that you’d cum twice, but Jihoon laughs lightly as he pulls out from you yet again.

“You’ve taken your pleasure twice now, princess. But what about me?”

Jihoon flips you over yet again; a sheen of sweat on your body and his.

An idea pops into his head, smiling down at you before he, himself, rests against the pillows next to you. “Get on my lap, princess.”

You shakily get up, swinging a leg over him as you situate yourself on his thighs. He helps guide you, hands on your waist until you’re hovering right above his cock. “Stay like this.” Mumbling, he uses a free hand to guide his cock until it’s right at your entrance again. “Now sink down onto my cock, princess.”

Not really knowing how slow or fast to go, you sink down onto his cock in a single motion; the air knocked out of Jihoon and your lungs when you’re finally completely seated on his cock.

You let out a choked cry at the feeling; oversensitivity biting into you already when he places his hands on your waist again. “Mmh, okay, princess, you’re---you’re gonna raise yourself up and down, okay?” Nodding, you brace your hands on his torso, lifting yourself up and dropping yourself back down onto his cock.

The two of you share a moan as you fall into a rhythm; Jihoon planting his feet down flat onto the sheets as his hips cant up to meet your movements. You alternate bouncing on his lap and swiveling your hips, testing different ways and seeing how he reacts.

Jihoon feels his abdomen tightening as he finally feels his orgasm coming, a soft growl on his lips.

“P--princess, I’m---I’m so close.” He whispers harshly, eyes slamming shut as he chases his high. “Touch yourself for me. I want you to feel good with me one more time.”

“J--Jihoon I---I c-can’t…”

“Oh but you can, sweetheart. I can feel you already close again too.” He teases.

Jihoon takes one of your hands from his chest, bringing it to your clit as you blush. “Right here. Make yourself feel good too.” His voice is soft yet alluring and enough for you to slowly rub circles around your swollen clit. You immediately let out a cry, letting Jihoon take the reins again as he fucks up into you.

“Together, princess, with me.”

This time when you cum a few perfectly angled thrusts later, Jihoon does too; hips stuttering and a sultry moan on his lips. Your vision is blurry, tears wetting your eyelashes as you slump over into Jihoon’s chest.

Your entire body shakes; fingertips numb as you let out soft cries against his warm skin. “Jihoon…”

The two of you stay in that position for a while longer and his heartbeat is enough to lull you into a soft slumber, eyes finally welcoming sleep as your tired body lays on top of him.

“That’s right, princess. Go to sleep. You’re tired, aren’t you?” You nod gently, unaware of the way Jihoon smirks down at your head.

“I’ll get you cleaned up and make sure nobody sees you like this.”

You smile gently, warm and sated as you let the sleep take over.

When you wake, the warm sun filters through the curtains.

A smile graces your lips as you blink your sleepy eyes open and something immediately feels off.

This… isn’t my bed?

Your brows furrow in confusion as your vision focuses, taking in your surroundings as you sit up. “Where---where am I?” Mumbling softly, you move to take the covers off of you, noticing immediately that your left leg is bound to the bedpost.

Panic floods your senses; a cold sweat down your temple as you tug on it harshly. “Jihoon!? Jeonghan!? Hello!?”

“Oh, sweetheart, I wouldn’t yell so loudly if I were you. You’ll only hurt your throat.”

Jihoon enters the room with a small tray in hand, placing it on a nearby table as he sits by you on the bed. He shoots you a warm smile; grey eyes permanently a soft pinkish hue.

“Jihoon, where----where is this? Where are we?”

“Oh, that Wonwoo. You know, I traded a great deal to be here with you. But he’s just so selfish.” There’s a soft chuckle on his lips as he shakes his head in thought. “I traded him a life for a week on land. But it’s not enough, you know? He wanted more so I gladly let him have two more for a little bit more time. A month! Can you believe it?”

“J--Jihoon, pl--please, this---why---”

“But don’t worry. I couldn’t kill the Prince. No, no, no even I am not that cruel. But those bodyguards of his… Tsk, such a handful those two. They saw me leaving with you and, my, well… Wonwoo does like a good trade.”

His soft laugh is sweeter than a siren’s call; genuine happiness lacing each second.

“But---but what if they c-come looking f--for me? And---And you know they w-will, Jihoon...”

Jihoon smiles, eyes hollow as he stares out of the window.

He’d already thought of every escape plan in the book.

“Oh my, well… Wonwoo will just have to keep giving me more time with the amount of bodies that will pile up outside of our castle, princess. Don’t you worry your little head.”

“Hey, did you hear about what happened at the castle this morning?”

“Not at all. Do tell!”

“They said they found Prince Jeonghan poisoned! And his bodyguards were found dead in the grand hall!”

���Dead!?”

“Yes! Dead! They’re unsure whether or not the prince will wake… As of right now there’s no suspects or even any hint of who could’ve done it! But the poor princess…”

“What happened to her? Is she alright?”

“Nobody knows. She seems to have been taken, the poor soul. Not a single trace of her existence was left at the castle. It’s like she never existed.”

#woozi smut #yandere!woozi #seventeen smut #svt smut #seventeen fic #seventeen scenarios #seventeen imagines #svt imagines #svt scenarios #woozi scenarios #woozi imagines #jihoon smut #merman!au #merman!woozi #yandere!svt #woozi #jihoon #monstermash!svt

[novelconcepts]

Not sure if it’s Drabble worthy. What if Peter and Rebecca don’t die and therefore Bly doesn’t need a new Au Pair. Do Jamie and Dani still meet somehow?

There is a woman in the pub. Not, strictly speaking, an oddity--there are people here every night upon Jamie’s return from the manor. People with drinks and conversation, taking up space she doesn’t have the energy to deal with. 

This woman, though. This woman is strange simply because she isn’t. Because there is a look about her, too normal, too put-together. Because her eyes are too bright, and her hair too shiny, and she is--most important of all--not of Bly.

Not Jamie’s problem, either, she thinks, pushing past the woman’s table with little more than a glance.

Blue eyes, she registers. Blue eyes, catching hers for a bare moment. 

Jamie keeps walking.

***

The woman is back again. Still looking a bit too clean, a bit too bright to be allowed in a smudgy place like this. She’s seated at that same table, nursing a drink with her eyes on a book, and she is...

Just a woman, thinks Jamie, whose day has been marked by Miles’ attitude and Flora’s perfectly splendid’s, and whose head is in all honesty ringing just a bit more than she can stand. 

She could use a drink tonight. Could use a bit more than a drink, really--could use a long rest, a long break from memories of Peter fucking Quint moving about the house like he owns the place. Tonight, she’ll settle for the drink. It’s cheaper than therapy, easier than talking to Hannah or Owen about the whole business. Certainly easier than cornering Rebecca, pressing her toward sense.

Problem is, there is a woman in the pub. 

At her table.

She drinks at the bar instead and finds her eyes searching out that woman’s face in the mirror. Finds herself coming back time and time again to the curve of the woman’s cheek, the angle of her nose, the way she bites the edge of her thumbnail as she turns the page. 

Her eyes never raise, never seek Jamie’s in return, though Jamie is certain--judging by the insistent tap of one boot under the table, the fidgety quality of her fingers around her glass--she knows she is being watched. 

***

The woman, she supposes, has nowhere else to be. What must that be like? What cart must have overturned, tipping her onto the pavement of Bly, to this pub, to this dark corner of the world? 

Jamie can remember all too well what it feels like to have nowhere to be. To just stumble into whatever place will hold a person up. This woman, with her tailored blouse and her hoop earrings, doesn’t much look like Jamie had, living that sort of life. But what does Jamie know?

Blue eyes. Shiny hair. Very little else.

Jamie has taken in a drink every night this week, less for the value of the alcohol, more out of curiosity. Could the woman really be here each time she walks through the door? Could this same woman always set up shop at her table, alone, peaceably making her way through a battered paperback?

So far, survey says yes. 

And the week has been long, it’s true: Rebecca, growing agitated as tensions between Peter and the rest of them wind ever-higher. Last night, Hannah had gripped her steak knife as though considering plunging it into Peter’s thigh. Tonight, it had taken every ounce of Jamie not to take a swing with the expensive wine bottle he had produced from thin air. 

Deserve better, chick, she’d thought as Rebecca had soothed Peter’s glower with a kiss. You have to see that. 

Rebecca, predictably, does not. 

Jamie, sitting here with yet another drink, watching the strange woman at her table in the mirror, isn’t sure who she is to talk. 

***

Someone is trying to talk to the woman tonight. Someone--a bulky man in his mid-thirties who Jamie has already marked as endless trouble--is trying to take a seat at the woman’s table.

Jamie watches with hackles raised, glass poised at her lips, waiting. The woman looks like the sort to make polite conversation, to smile warmly, to find herself in a bad situation before she realizes. Not that it’s any of Jamie’s concern. Not that Jamie ought to be making noise in the pub above which she sleeps. 

The man is leaning across the table, his huge hand reaching for the woman’s book. His grin is sloppy, his eyes ale-muddled, and when he moves toward the woman’s hand, she recoils. Glances toward the bar. 

Glances directly at Jamie. 

Hell, thinks Jamie tiredly, because this isn’t the way. This is never effective, never wise. Keep to yourself, keep your bloody head to your own bloody business, that’s the trick. 

The woman’s eyes are so goddamned blue. 

“Saved me a seat, I see,” Jamie hears herself say, cocking her hip against the man’s chair with a fuck out of it smile. He squints up at her, clearly trying to piece together some bleary vestige of memory. 

“You’re,” he slurs, “upstairs.”

“Seem to be down among the locals tonight,” Jamie says cheerfully, and gives him a single jerk of the head in warning. He frowns, pushing himself clumsily to his feet. 

“Borin’ conversation anyway.”

Jamie watches him go, raises her glass to her lips, smiles when he shoots a dark look over his shoulder. She does not look at the woman, not until she hears a soft voice say, “Thank you.”

American, realizes Jamie. 

Mistake, realizes Jamie.

“Hang a jacket over the seat next time,” she suggests on her way back to the bar. “Dissuades the stupider ones.”

***

The woman buys her a drink. 

She seems, Jamie notes with some alarm, to have registered Jamie’s schedule. How Jamie seems to walk in around eight every evening, her shoulders tense with a day’s battles still hanging tight. How Jamie has long given up trying for her usual table, sacrificing it in the name of pretty blonde Americans. 

There is a drink waiting for her--her usual, though in a place like this, it isn’t hard to guess. 

“That one,” the bartender--tonight, a fiftyish woman with a smirk--says, and points exactly where Jamie expects. She glances over, finds the American with her own glass raised. Eyebrows arched. Head gesturing for Jamie to come on over.

Mistake, she thinks again, even as she’s obeying.

“Wanted to thank you again,” the woman says, as Jamie hovers beside the second chair. There is, she notes, a denim jacket tossed over its back.

“Not a problem.”

“Sit?” the woman suggests, and Jamie finds she can’t locate a reason not to. She settles awkwardly, trying not to dislodge the jacket, all-too aware of the filthy floor beneath her boots. 

“Really don’t think,” she begins, but the woman is saying something. She blinks. “Sorry?”

“Dani,” the woman says again, touching a hand to her chest. “Dani Clayton.”

It’s a bad idea, Jamie thinks distantly, because the woman is so goddamned pretty, it hurts. She’s pretty, and she’s smiling, and there’s something about her eyes that makes Jamie’s pulse do tricks she hasn’t entertained in years. 

“Jamie,” she replies, and allows the woman to clink a half-finished glass against her own. 

***

Dani, as it turns out, actually works here. 

“Just started,” she says, almost sheepishly, when Jamie makes blustery noises of surprise. “On the early shift. Just to have something to keep me busy, until I figure something else out.”

She’s in England, she says, on a sort of personal retreat. A finding myself sort of adventure, she adds with a laugh that rings in Jamie’s ears like the best kind of music. 

“Better places to do it in,” Jamie points out, “than a hole in Bly.”

Dani shrugs. “I like it. The people are nice, mostly. And it’s quiet.”

“Home wasn’t quiet?”

Dani doesn’t answer. Dani doesn’t seem to like to talk about herself all that much, Jamie is noticing. She likes, instead, to talk about the town--the strangers, the clients, the newness of it all. She’ll talk about the beer, about the book resting at her elbow, about the weather. Most of all, she asks after Jamie.

“Not much to tell,” Jamie says--a lie, if you go back far enough, but honest enough for now. “Groundskeeper, over at the big house down the way.”

“What does that entail?” Dani, unlike most, actually sounds interested. She is the oddest bird, Jamie thinks, and is startled to find a sense of light affection behind the notion. 

“Gardening, mostly. Keep up the grounds, like I said--minor repairs about the house, too. Make sure everything keeps moving.”

“You like it?”

“Love it,” Jamie says honestly. Dani smiles. 

“That’s what I want. Something I really love. Thought for a while it would be teaching, but...”

“Kids,” Jamie says. “Take a lot out of a person. That why you’re here?”

Dani thinks on it, seems to step right up to the edge of a reply before changing her mind. “Couldn’t be at home anymore,” she says instead. It’s a non-answer, Jamie recognizes. A too much truth answer. 

“Fair enough,” Jamie tells her, and doesn’t push.

***

“So--he lives there?” Dani is three drinks in to Jamie’s two, her hair falling across her forehead as she tries to piece it all together. Jamie shakes her head. 

“Nah, not most days. Hannah, she lives there--full-time, I mean. And Rebecca, she moved in couple of months back. Kids love her. Quint, though, he’s...” She can’t find a nice way to put it. Isn’t sure why she’s even bothering. “A cockroach. Hard to kill, harder yet to wish away.”

“Sound like you’ve tried,” Dani says with a faint smile. Jamie shrugs.

“Waste of everyone’s time. He’s Henry’s fuckin’ lapdog. Long as he’s pulling at the leash, we all just need to make do.”

Dani mulls this over with the interest of someone who has not a single face to put with any of these names. “Rebecca really likes him, huh?”

“Likes him. Stuck into him. Not much of a difference.” Jamie leans back, pouring the remainder of her drink into a single swallow. The idea of it, of Peter’s hands on Rebecca’s waist at dinner, still makes her stomach sour. “You ever just--you ever meet someone who is like a human pair of handcuffs?”

Something flickers in Dani’s eyes. She nods once. Jamie sighs.

“That’s Quint. Fucker never met a woman he didn’t try to win--and I do mean win. Like a prize. Like women are little more than trophies to be locked behind glass.”

She watches Dani rub absently against her lips with the back of one hand, unable to tear her eyes away until Dani says, “I don’t understand.”

“It’s like,” Jamie begins, trying to find the best way to explain, “like he thinks she’s property, right? Like he thinks any choice she makes without his say-so is a fucking--”

“Not that,” Dani says quietly. “I mean I don’t understand how people can do that. To each other. When they say they love--I mean. It’s the wrong way around, isn’t it? Trying to own someone out of love? You can’t do it. That’s...they’re not...”

“They’re opposites,” Jamie finishes. Blue eyes skip up, hold hers, don’t so much as waver. Dani’s lips turn up at the corners, her head giving a single nod. 

“Yeah. Exactly. How do people mix that up?”

“No idea,” Jamie says, and swallows against the clamor of her own heart.

***

Peter tried to pick a fight this afternoon, out among the roses. Would have succeeded, Jamie thinks with no small amount of shame, had Miles not been lurking just behind him, watching everything.

She is vibrating when she reaches the pub, every motion just a little more exaggerated than she likes. She slams down into her usual seat, hands clenched into fists against the table. 

“Bad day?” Dani asks, sliding a plate toward her. Half a sandwich, carefully set aside as if for Jamie all along. 

“Not great,” Jamie agrees. She softens, looking Dani over, reading the tension behind her smile. “Look like you can say the same.”

Dani glances over her shoulder, eyes finding the mirror behind the bar and darting jerkily away again. “Hard to explain,” she says. 

“Do you want to?” Jamie asks. Dani’s eyes land on her with all the abrasive surprise of an explosion. Jamie taps light knuckles against the tabletop. “Just sayin’. If you want to get it off your chest--”

Dani shakes her head. “It’s...really hard to explain,” she says, almost apologetic. “It--it makes me sound...kinda crazy.”

Jamie has never met someone who looks less crazy. Someone who holds herself with such steadiness, though her hands are twitchy and her smile doesn’t always reach her eyes. 

“If you want,” she says, knowing she will, in a moment, let the moment slide. “I don’t mind.”

There’s silence between them, a great comfortable swell of it that shouldn’t exist in a small pub, on a night like this, between two women who barely know one another. Jamie lets it ride, taking a bite of sandwich, watching Dani read her expression with tentative interest.

“I had a fiancé,” Dani says at last, and Jamie feels something in her stomach turn over. And then a second time, when Dani adds, “He died.”

“Dani. I’m so--”

“He died,” Dani says, staring grimly ahead as though trying with everything in her power not to glance toward the mirror again, “and I had just--I had just told him I couldn’t--”

She hesitates, pressing her face into her palms. When she lifts her head, her eyes are blazing. 

“I’d just broken--up with him. Broken the engagement, broken the whole--because he wasn’t what I--and then he died. And sometimes, I...I...”

Jamie waits. Dani sucks in a ragged breath.

“I see him. Sometimes. In mirrors, mostly. In--and it’s insane, I know, but I can’t stop.”

“S’why you came here?” Jamie guesses. Dani nods. 

“Crazy, right?”

Jamie shakes her head slowly. She’s not much for ghost stories, for fairytales, for dreams made flesh. Loss, though? Grief? Missing who a person was, who they could be? Those aren’t the marks of a crazy person. Those are just...

“Sounds like a rough time,” she says, and lets herself reach across the table. Dani’s hand is soft beneath her own, and she is suddenly too aware of her own callouses, of the skid against Dani’s skin when she turns her hand over and squeezes Jamie’s fingers in return. 

“Thank you,” she says softly, and looks once more toward the mirror. Jamie watches her: the tension in her brow, the way her eyes seem to narrow. “I think I...needed to tell someone. Finally.”

She’s still holding Jamie’s hand, even as she turns the subject to the day’s customers, to Jamie’s plans for tomorrow. She’s still holding Jamie’s hand, and doesn’t even seem to notice.

***

There is a fight, but it isn’t Jamie who starts it. Isn’t Jamie who finishes it, even. 

Jamie is only stupid enough to step in the middle. 

“Your eye,” Dani says in greeting, standing briskly up from the table. Jamie, who is aware she is no longer bleeding, aware that the glass thrown could have done significantly more damage on a less-fortunate occasion, waves her off. 

“Bit, ah. Messy at the house tonight.”

Bit messy is a gentle way of putting it. In truth, it had been a horrorshow: Hannah already furious with Peter for having barricaded Rebecca in the bedroom all afternoon, Peter furious with Owen for having enlisted Rebecca’s help with dinner, Rebecca wound tight with the rising pressure of a situation primed to go bad for days. When the glass had been thrown--by Peter or by Rebecca, Jamie still can’t say; she suspects it had really slipped from a gesticulating hand, regardless, given momentum by a moment of frustration more than genuine violence--it had been the bomb they’d all been waiting for.

Rebecca had stormed off to her room. Peter, out of the house. Hannah had collected the kids, both of whom were sobbing, and Jamie had pushed Owen’s helpful hand away and cleaned her own wound. 

“Theater,” she says now, aware of Dani’s eyes on her, of the abject concern in Dani’s face. “S’all it was.”

“Not good for the kids,” Dani says quietly. Jamie sighs.

“None of this is good for ‘em. Miles, he keeps...picking up shifty habits from Quint, and Flora’s enamored with the whole rotten mess. Thinks it’s romantic.” Jamie shakes her head, winces when her head rings back in answer. “Like there’s anything fuckin’ romantic about the way he talks to her.”

Dani is quiet a moment. She reaches across the table, presses her fingertips very gently to the place along Jamie’s brow where the glass had landed. 

“Lucky it didn’t break,” Jamie murmurs, almost unaware of leaning into Dani’s hand. “Shouldn’t have gotten in the...”

Dani is gazing at her with eyes too blue, an expression too meaningful. Jamie reaches up, closes her own fingers around the hand gingerly exploring her brow. 

“I’m okay,” she says. “Really.”

Dani seems not to believe her. Dani, whose palm slides across her own, thumb working a swipe along Jamie’s skin. 

“Do you,” she begins. Clears her throat. Tries again. “Do you want to go somewhere?”

Dani nods.

***

She leads Dani upstairs, and even as she’s unlocking the door, she thinks, Mistake? This is, she knows, the kind of thing a person can’t take back. The kind of give that can’t be explained away. 

Dani has not stopped looking at her since leaving the pub. Dani has not let go of her hand. 

Dani, she is sure, feels it, too. 

She’s aware of all the bits of the flat that feel wrong when set alongside Dani Clayton: last week’s shirt tossed over the back of the sofa, last night’s cup on the counter, last month’s dust painting the bookshelf. All the little merits of a life lived alone, she thinks. If she’d known--if she’d planned--it would look different.

Not much different, maybe, but enough.

Dani is looking around with an expression Jamie can’t read. It isn’t unease, or polite interest, or even amusement; it is, Jamie thinks, genuine awe. It is, Jamie thinks, a hunger to belong. 

She’d fit in, she catches herself thinking, watching Dani walk slowly around the flat with the faintest smile at her lips. In that house, with the rest, maybe better than I do. She’d fit right in.

“This is yours?” Dani asks, not gesturing at any one thing in particular, and Jamie nods slowly. 

“Serves its purpose.”

“I’ve never had this,” Dani says. Her eyes linger on Jamie’s face, and she adds hastily, “A place of my own. It seems...quiet.”

“It is,” Jamie says, and wonders if there isn’t more to it. If I’ve never had this is reaching for more than four walls and a bed Dani wouldn’t have to share. 

***

They don’t really talk about it, as Jamie’s flat commandeers the pub’s place in line altogether. Sometimes, Jamie even finds Dani seated on her steps, book propped upon on her knees, waiting patiently to be discovered. It never feels like expectation, Jamie notes with feelings too big to look at for long. It only ever feels like Dani, warm smile and easy hand accepting Jamie’s for balance, has belonged here all along.

“D’you ever just,” Jamie begins, cutting herself off before the rest of the words can spill out. Dani, curled on the sofa with a blanket half-tucked around her, furrows her brow. 

“What?”

“Feel like someone was always there,” Jamie finishes after a moment’s deliberation. It’s too much, probably, but she walked in on Peter and Rebecca screaming at one another again, and Flora spent the whole day in a sulk, and Hannah’s got a weariness around her eyes Jamie doesn’t like. Maybe it’s just a day for too much. 

Dani doesn’t seem to think it’s too much. Dani is nodding.

“Like you don’t even have to introduce yourself, really, because you remember them from another life. Yes. Yes, I’ve...felt that.”

It’s romantic rubbish, Jamie wants to say, something out of one of Flora’s story-time adventures, but the words seem to settle along her skeleton like she needs them. Like they’re offering some kind of strength she didn’t realize she was lacking. 

Dani is gazing at her, her expression fixed and unblinking in a manner that should be off-putting, and Jamie finds herself pulled irresistibly in. Finds herself leaning across the sofa, her thigh pressing to Dani’s, twisting at the waist to face her head-on.

“I’ve never,” Dani says softly, though her head is inclining, her lashes fluttering against her cheek. 

“Don’t have to,” Jamie replies, though her blood is singing, her fingers itching to delve into thick blonde hair. 

“But we could...” Dani is an inch away, and Jamie wants nothing more than to close the gap. Wants to take something for herself, for once, something soft and warm and easier than it ought to be. 

She hesitates. Flexes her hands against her own knees, resisting the urge to grab for Dani’s shirt. 

“Dani, I don’t want to--”

Dani is leaning back, nodding feverishly. “Right. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry--”

“No, listen.” She allows herself this, one hand reaching for Dani’s fingers, unfolding the instinctive fist she’s made. “I'm not...people don’t make sense to me. Understand?”

Dani shakes her head, puzzlement spreading over her impending humiliation. Jamie closes her eyes. 

“There’s a lot to it, and if...if you want to hear it all sometime, I’ll...but for now, just know that people are hard for me. Exhaustive. Complicated. They ask too much and they return too little.”

“Even me?” Dani asks, eyes shining, and Jamie smiles grimly. 

“Even you. Even me. Everyone, understand? But sometimes I still want...”

Dani waits. Dani, who never hurries Jamie anywhere. Who never tries to argue Jamie into a corner, or tells Jamie she needs to be kinder, or sneers for Jamie to get out of her way. Dani, who only sits on Jamie’s sofa, watching Jamie with an intensity no one else seems to possess. 

“If you do,” Jamie says, almost helplessly, letting one hand brace beneath Dani’s elbow. “I want--”

***

Some people--some women--kiss to escape. To flee from their lives, to hide inside Jamie’s hands and lips and fleeting desire. Some women kiss to build up armor: to convince themselves they really are brave enough, even for a night, to be someone else. Some women even kiss to shame themselves, because the memory of Jamie on their skin will rise up at unexpected moments and make them feel something, anything, even if it’s terrible. 

Dani doesn’t kiss like any of those women. 

Dani kisses like she wants. Simple and steady and nothing more. Like she wants to be kissing Jamie, wants to be learning Jamie, wants the want of it as much as the thing itself. There is no shame, in the way Dani kisses her. There is only breathless excitement, Dani moving across the sofa to press tight to Jamie’s frame along the cushions.

“I’ve never,” she says again, only this time, she’s curling the words into the underside of Jamie’s jaw. She’s letting them spill across Jamie’s skin from within the loose grip of Jamie’s arms, her hands wound tight in Jamie’s shirt, her voice jittery with anticipation. 

“If you want to stop,” Jamie begins, and Dani is shaking her head, kissing her neck, murmuring against her in such a way, Jamie can’t help but shiver.

“It’s what I--it’s right. The right way.” She lifts her eyes, and Jamie can’t help but grin at the joy reflected back. “I’ve never done it the right way.”

Jamie wants to know what that means, what the wrong way was, but it doesn’t seem a question for now. Now is just Dani, the one golden light untouched by a bleak day, the one bright spot after a tattered house Jamie doesn’t really belong in. Dani, who sighs against her lips, smiling, like she’s never been so happy to kiss someone. 

She’s waiting for Dani to reel back, to gasp, to mention the fiancé again--but Dani only presses in closer and lets her mouth linger against the thunder of Jamie’s pulse beating along in her throat. Dani only finds her lips with such a sound of relief, Jamie can do nothing but grip at her back in response. 

Have we done this before? she thinks with feverish uncertainty. Have we been here before? Dani is new, each press and slide of fingers along her skin calling forth unexpected sounds, but Dani is also right. Like meeting someone and knowing they were meant to be in your story the whole time. 

“You’re sure?” she asks, though Dani is gazing down at her with such obvious desire, it makes her stomach clench. 

Dani, in answer, kisses her as no woman has ever kissed her, and Jamie lets herself fall. 

***

Dani is still in her bed come morning. 

Dani is still wrapped around her, naked skin and rapturous smile, and Jamie thinks, How can I be so happy, when the rest of it is falling apart?

“All right?” she asks, half-expecting the awareness of the previous night--of their slow stumble across the flat, of Dani’s shirt over her head and Dani’s hands cradling Jamie’s skin--to crash in around them both like a bad dream. Dani only wriggles against her under the blankets, face pressed to Jamie’s shoulder. 

“Yes. Are you?”

No one has ever asked that, Jamie realizes dimly. Not even the first girl she’d ever loved, the one who had taken Jamie by the shoulders and kissed her hard enough to hurt. Jamie, who had only been preoccupied with the sense memory of a moment like that, with the teeth buried in her bottom lip and the hand cupped between her legs, hadn’t much cared at the time. 

Now, though, with Dani looking at her this way, she can’t imagine being with someone who doesn’t ask. Who doesn’t trail the tips of their fingers along her shoulder, her collarbone, her neck, and smile like they knew all along they were needed here. 

“I’m glad,” she hears herself say, morning rasp tracing the words, “you stayed.”

Dani is still beaming when Jamie kisses her, the implication of I am, too buried in the gentle press of her hand against Jamie’s cheek.

“Are you going to be late?” she asks a little while later, when there’s fresh sweat on her breast and Dani is gulping air against her neck. Dani shakes her head, dusting light kisses across Jamie’s skin. She swallows, laughs, groans when Dani finds a particularly pleasant spot in the hollow of her throat and sets to exploring it properly. “Keep doing that, and I will be.”

And would that be so bad? To leave the house for a day. To pretend like it isn’t all imploding around her, a little family divided by one man’s arrogance. Like Jamie doesn’t feel, more and more each day, as though she is the odd one out, the seventh wheel amid three solid pairs.

Dani, still teasing the clench of her stomach with curious fingers, says, “Guess you should go, then,” and Jamie thinks no one has ever said as much to her with less pleasure. No one has ever sounded quite so inclined to keep Jamie close. 

“I’ll be back,” she promises, and Dani--spilled across her sheets like she was placed by some grand wish--grins all the wider.

***

Rebecca spends the day in silent fury, tears running down her cheeks. Hannah spends it trying to keep her lips pursed around I told you so-shaped phrasing. Owen spends it in the kitchen, head down, and Jamie spends it teaching the kids how to properly weed out a garden, just for the distraction of it all.

Peter, they tell her, is gone. 

Peter, they tell her, left last night. 

“Gone where?” Dani asks when she pushes into the flat that night to find her still here, wrapped in one of Jamie’s favorite shirts and a pair of shorts. She has spent the day, she says, feeling intrusive, feeling as though she ought to be somewhere. Jamie, unable to explain the ease with which she does it, only leans in to kiss her slowly. 

“Here,” she says. “Meant to be here.”

As for Peter--she doesn’t much care where he’s skittered off to. Good fucking riddance, in her opinion. 

“Rebecca probably doesn’t agree,” Dani says, folded onto one of the sparse kitchen chairs with bare feet and a worried expression Peter doesn’t deserve. Across from her, Jamie sighs. 

“Maybe he’s got the right idea.”

Dani tips her head, waiting, and it strikes Jamie that this is an already that doesn’t make much sense. Like the comfortable silences, Dani’s capacity to already understand when she needs to talk something out, when she needs to come to a matter on her own terms without being rushed along, is a thrill. 

“Been thinking,” she goes on slowly, giving voice to thoughts she’s been batting around for months, “maybe I’ve outstayed my welcome, as it were. At the house. With the others.”

“You said you loved it,” Dani points out. Jamie sighs.

“Love the work. Love the people, some of ‘em. But there’s something about it--something about being bound to the place that feels...”

Suffocating, she doesn’t say. Like trying to walk against the wind. Like a clock ticking down.

“Been thinking for a while,” she says instead, “about moving on. Traveling some. Can find good work for my hands anywhere, can’t I?”

Dani doesn’t answer. Dani seems to recognize this is Jamie’s future to parse out, Jamie’s thoughts to sift through. Dani having spent a night in her bed is not qualified to deter or convince her. 

“It can be lonely,” she says, when Jamie goes quiet. “Traveling without a destination.”

“You’ve been doing it,” Jamie points out, smiling a little, and Dani looks almost embarrassed. 

“Seemed the only thing to do, at the time. If I had to do it again...”

“You’d stay home?”

Dani laughs. “No. No, absolutely not.” Her hand slides across the table, tangling with Jamie’s fingers. “But...I don’t know that I’d do it alone again. If I didn’t have to.”

Jamie says nothing, the words revolving around and around between them. It’s too early to say it, she thinks. Even if she feels as though she’s known Dani far longer than these few weeks, these spare bundles of days spent talking, laughing, kissing, it hasn’t been long enough to say a thing like this. 

Dani is watching with serious eyes, with a strangely calm expression, and Jamie wonders if she can see it in her eyes, the thing she is deliberately not saying out loud.

***

She expects to find Peter back again the next day, but his absence is etched into every inch of wallpaper like a smoke stain. Rebecca seems to be moving in slow motion, going about the business of teaching the kids with very little investment. Hannah and Owen exchange concerned looks over the lunch table, and Jamie--who had enjoyed a languorous morning with Dani in her entirely too-small shower--finds herself thinking again of this house, how good it is at building pairs of people. How, without her pair, Rebecca seems lost. How, without Jamie around each morning, Hannah and Owen seem to be revolving ever nearer to one another. 

And maybe that’s for the best, she thinks. Maybe it’s like science, like the simplicity of an atom. Maybe without Peter holding her to the structure, Rebecca will ultimately bounce off again, vanish into a space built for, instead of around, her. Maybe Owen and Hannah will finally speak of quiet lovely truths they’ve been dancing around for years. Maybe it will all balance out. 

“Where are you off to next?” she asks Dani one night, the two of them curled close in bed. Dani, who had been drowsing against her shoulder, raises her head. 

“Kicking me out?” There’s a smile on her lips which, when paired with the genuine edge of worry in her voice, makes Jamie’s heart hurt. 

“No, I--I mean, I know it’s...early. And you can say no. Please, by all means, say no if you--”

“Ask,” Dani interrupts gently. Jamie sighs. 

“I’m going to call up Wingrave. Let him know he’ll be needing a new groundskeeper for the autumn season. I can’t...”

Keep listening to the walls breathe around me, she doesn’t say. Keep watching Rebecca mope, and the kids checking every window for Peter fucking Quint’s reflection. Can’t keep still in this place that only ever wants a person to stay the same. 

“I can’t,” she repeats solidly. “I was wondering if you’d...if you wanted...”

It’s been a week since opening her bed to Dani Clayton, and a week is nothing. A week is barely a breath, in the grand scheme of things, but there are feelings Jamie can’t bury once dug up. Certainties she can’t turn from, once looked in the eye. There is something about the way Dani exhales across her skin in her sleep, about the way Dani kisses her with open abandon when Jamie touches her, about the look in Dani’s eyes when she thinks Jamie doesn’t see. A week in her bed. A month in her life. 

Sometimes, she thinks recklessly, you know it’s worth trying for.

“If you wanted the company,” she says finally. “Not even forever, if you didn’t want--”

“Forever’s a long time,” Dani replies, though she’s smiling. Heat winds its way up Jamie’s neck, settling between her shoulder blades, at the small of her back where Dani’s hand seems always to grip tight around her shirt. 

“It is. Yeah.”

“Start smaller?” Dani suggests quietly, even as she’s pressing close, one leg sliding between Jamie’s beneath the sheets. “Only, I knew someone once, who demanded forever. It...didn’t work out.”

“Smaller,” Jamie agrees, relieved. Dani smiles against her lips, each kiss a little longer, a little more wanting than the last. “Little at a time, maybe.”

“Company would be nice,” Dani answers, and then she’s kissing Jamie for real, pressing Jamie into the sheets, and Jamie doesn’t care that the summer has been a mess of other people’s feelings, that the house is a cataclysm of old ghosts and unpleasant exhumations, that people are rarely worth the effort sunk into them. Jamie doesn’t care about anything just now except the distinct sound of Dani’s laugh in her mouth, the distinct pressure of Dani’s fingers against her heart. 

A woman in her pub. An event built of a dozen tiny accidents, a dozen roads taken without expectation of consequence. Maybe in another life, Dani would have chosen the next village down the way. Maybe in another life, Jamie would have been too wary to meet her eyes. Maybe in another life, Rebecca would never have come to teach those kids, Peter would never have made a misery of that house, Owen and Hannah would have built a love in Paris to put them all to shame. Other lives. Other roads. 

In this one, Jamie dreams of adventure, of a soft hand tucked into her own, of blue eyes and a brave little grin, and thinks, Half the fun, isn’t it? Never knowing where you might land. 

#fanfiction #the haunting of bly manor #the haunting of bly manor spoilers #dani x jamie #damie #this was a ficlet. about 3000 words before the ending #anyway I ASSUME we are all on the same page that I can find a way to put these two together regardless of how the story goes #but certainly if it's as simple as Rebecca surviving (as she absolutely should)

[orleans-jester]

The Underground Round 2

A deal was forged.

Declan would be able to get another shot at that flat piece of ass, which was oh so fun the first time, and would get even more powerful help to do it - in return for making this girl be more in love with the beast. He didn’t ask questions why. He didn’t touch Frank to try to understand the motives. It had started off when he was just bussing home from school and a tall ass fucker made his way on and was staring at him. Didn’t recognize him at first. Declan took off one of his gloves and touched the seat beneath him and saw the approach that would be made once more people were off the bus. And Frank saw that he saw that so they didn’t even have to have a conversation on what powers the butcher managed to have, or what was wanted. Declan just stared back at Frank with a raised eyebrow. A mental conversation then. No need to be sly.

Declan would get off the bus early. Frank would get off as well. Frank would offer Declan a cigarette which Declan would take. There would be no record of any sort of conversation. And they’d go their separate ways.

And the next day, Delta would be distracting Hunchy, and Frank would be a little voice in the back of Maddy’s head, reminding her of the things that she needed. She had Pierre’s money. Why not spend it a little? Things have been awkward with her and Bastien since that night so ... buy something to make it up to him. Make him a nice meal. Take him to China like he had said in his fun. So that’s what Maddy was going to do. Why not, right? It wasn’t as if she was wanted by the police. And if she went during the day, she could avoid a lot of the people that she knew because they would be in school.

Since Bastien was doing things with Delta, she’d leave him a note, putting it on their little dining table so he’d be able to see it. She might get back before he even realizes, but she didn’t want him to worry.

She’d walk down the cliff until reaching one of the main roads, call for an uber, get dropped off downtown and do a bit of shopping. She would stop at a pharmacy and get the feminine products that she was too shy to ask the Merry Men for, she’d grab a couple of things for around their place like more pens, notebooks, some miscellanious things to make it seem more like a home. She’d even stop in at a thrift store and buy herself a few new things, some of the largest items for day-Bastien so he had variety including a pair of swim trunks, and then a couple of things for night Bastien. It felt ... almost normal. She’d walk with her bags to find a garden market, maybe buy some fresh cherries when everything goes black. She walked past the wrong damn alleyway.

She awoke again in a familiar chair. Tied down. Her vision was blurry this time. She was sore. She was aching all over. She was naked again. It made everything from the last few days feel like it was some sort of dream... and when she saw HIS face, she thought that it was. That everything she remembered about Bastien and Chip and Delta and Frank was some sort of dream.

She tried harder to fight back this time but that just seemed to get Declan more excited. He kept her dosed up with something. Some chemical in a rag that he kept putting up to her face. It made her head hurt. She kept trying to put up her barriers nonetheless, but because she was so weak, it kept making her pass out. But when she was awake, after being slapped again, after being hurt again, after being raped, and stabbed around a couple of times, she heard his voice. It wasn’t just in her head anymore.

But he was saying - nice things.

It was the weirdest thing.

She couldn’t feel sensation between her legs anymore. She hadn’t realized it after the last time but through all of the force, it fucked up the nerves in her clitoris so there was no pleasure to be had from that. No pain either, other than pressure. But as he was sliding into her, and she was trying to fight, her limp, tied arms moving like limp noodles, he was saying,

“I was wrong, Maddy.” The new name this time. It made her flinch to hear it. “He is the only one who could ever love you. You’re not as lost a cause as I thought that you were.” Knife to her throat, cutting at the skin, sliding through the layers ever so softly. Not a gushing of blood but a trickle of it. “Your hunchback, your beast, his heart will only ever belong to you. If you leave him, I see it all now, he’ll die without you. He won’t just run away and you’ll never see him again. No, he just won’t survive anymore. Have I steered you wrong before? No? So fucking say thank you.”

And with her eyes closed, tears pouring down her face, barely holding on enough to hear his words, she’d say the two ones that were near impossible to say to anyone else. ‘Thank you’.

She’d be there for a couple of hours. Not days. But she was fighting back this time. Every single time that she felt like she had the strength to, she’d put her barrier up. The longest she lasted with that was ten minutes while he just talked at her, his words coming through. Encouraging her. “Fucking hit me,” He’d laugh. “You did it enough with your former lover, didn’t ya? Fucked his head right up with all of those concussions, no wonder he’s a fucking freak who bitched you out for no reason.”

She tried. She really did. But the exhaustion -

Then the rag over her face again.

There was more, but it just ended up in her sub-conscious, rolling around in there to come out when she would eventually see Bastien. She would be dropped off in the same alley that she was picked up in. Declan would even be nice enough to dress her this time, though of course she was a bloody, dirty mess. A day of sin, sadism and debauchery. And she even had her backpack with all of her new things and her phone in it. Turned off of course, he wasn’t going to let her be traced. Maybe he was a bit of a nice guy. There was no need to get in contact with Frank that the job was done, the fact that she wouldn’t have been returned right away was proof enough that he had followed through with what he had wanted.

So there she was. Dressed in a skirt, tights and shoes taken away so she was walking on bare feet down the city streets, head hurting, confused about where she was and who she was - praying to be found so she could go back to the boy with the pretty golden retriever hair who loved her.

#Maddy HC #Bastien HC

[cornacopicimagines]

best of friends pt.2 │t.h

pairing: singledad!mob!tom holland x singlemom!reader

words: 5.7k

warnings:  SMUT, swearing, major violence, depictions of violence and blood, rough sex, oral (male receiving), face fucking, unprotected sex, dom!tom & creampie.

summary: Everything was perfect. The two-and-a-half years since they first met have been nothing but love and respect. Until, y/n comes home one night, her husband gone for the time being. It all somehow crumbles in front of her, she can't help but question it. Though this thought is nothing to what he feels in that very moment. It's pure fear and terror, a pent-up storm of worry. Their comfort zone is nothing longer alive, it was buried and left to rot. 

a/n: so. it must be said, i went through three different plots before i settled on this one. that is why this goddamn fic has taken me so long to write. This is probably the last mob!tom holland fic i'll write because bitch has a lot of other AUs that i would honestly prefer to write. enjoy! 

part 1

masterlist

━━★✼☆｡

y/n waited for a moment. It wasn't long, but it was enough she had to check the clock on her wrist. 1:37am. Although she heard the snoring of Lottie, sound asleep in her bed, y/n knew otherwise. She knew that as soon as her feet hit the carpeted floor of her daughter's bedroom, the girl would shoot straight up and whine for y/n to come back. She loved Lottie with all of her heart, like all of her kids, however sometimes the precious little angels got on her nerves. Just last Tuesday is a prime example as y/n desperately fiddling with the buttons of Tom's shirt, wanting nothing more to take every inch of him while his whole operation continued below them. Just as she had popped the last latch, James called out for his father from across the house, most likely because one of the boys got hurt again from the play fighting they insisted they do. Sadly, y/n redid her husband's buttons and let him leave her widely aroused and dissatisfied.

As she watched Lottie take in her small breaths, y/n recounted the moments. She still remembers her wedding, clear as day. It was in their garden, with the trees dressed in beautiful pink silk and the flowers somehow in full bloom. No one was around, it's was secluded and perfect. It was just them, Theo and James stood side by side, their matching suits made her heart swell. Their perfectly rosy cheeks lit up as they saw y/n make her way down the grassy aisle. Though she never saw it, Tom admits that it was Theo who smacked him on the arm to turn around. To come face to face with his bride, a blushing bride that was 7 months pregnant. It was a rush of a events that y/n never quite saw occuring so early into her life. Yet, the day she told Tom they were going to be parents, he asked her to marry him. Of course, y/n organised a typical wedding after she had given birth but at that very second, every bad thing she had to live through suddenly became a single speck of sand on a vast beach. A prologue to her wonderful life ahead of her.

The door swung open slightly, though the light from outside Lottie's room was off, y/n could instantly tell who was stepping over countless dolls and plastic cars. Tom knelt at the side of his daughter's bed, just below his wife as she softly stroked Lottie's forehead. "You need some rest Sweetness," he told her quietly, watching over Lottie's snoring figure.

"I can't" y/n stifled through a yawn. Though she greatly needed to run to her bed and pass out, she refused to leave Lottie unless she knew her daughter was absolutely deep in sleep. Tom sighed, letting his forehead hit the soft linen of the bed cover.

"You need sleep, I can't look after the brady bunch by myself," Tom joked. His hand came to draw soft circles on y/n's thigh. It was nothing if not soothing to her. He could directly make out her face in the darkness, but Tom knew his wife was smiling, a low grin painted upon her fatigued face. "I'll take this shift."

y/n reached out for his face, finding it in seconds. Her thumb now matched the pattern on his cheek that Tom was drawing on her thigh. "We made a deal," it was his speciality, but he never wanted it to get this bad. "You would help Theo with his Valentine's Day gift if I could get this one to sleep."

y/n possessed many traits that Tom adored. She was empathetic, a woman of incredible wit and intelligence, had the stamina of a bull but her stubbornness seemed to be her crowing glory. Tom knew his wife as well as he knew how to count to ten. She wasn't leaving until absolute confirmation was handed to her. "Sweetness, I would prefer if you came to bed with me," he tried, the approach was simple and usually it worked.

"As much as I would adore that, I'm not going anywhere with you mister," y/n teased. Her attention focusing back on Lottie. Perhaps it was the way her eyelids seemed to betray her, closing every few seconds or if it was simply the way the mattress felt beneath her legs. Eventually though, the mixture of all of those and her husband's head laying flat on her thighs, she began to slowly creep off the bed. The pads of her feet pressed against the floor in such delicacy, y/n doubted that she even touching it. She reached out for Tom, grasping slightly at his bare bicep as she lifted herself up.

Tom caught on to his wife's movements and made sure that the path was completely clear of any of Lottie's toys. Calmly, the pair of them tip-toed out. Every move halted by their daughter's movements but eventually, the door closed and y/n was free from the little montress's grip. y/n wishes that she was more awake, more alert because even in her half sleep dazed she could make out the tight white singlet that clung to Tom's body. She reached out for him, it was the weakest of touchs. Yet, her hand fell on his shoulder and running up to the base of his neck. It wasn't sexual in any form, instead they stood in the dim light in complete silence. Watching each other feel the affected of forced insomnia.

"How am I going to get up this morning," y/n giggled as she accepted the sudden embrace from Tom. Her head finding it's way into the same shoulder she tenderly caressed seconds ago. Tom's fingers coiled around her forearm gently as the began to quietly walk to their bedroom. "Hopefully Meg will be around at that time," she sighed as the soft breeze of their room hit her face. Meg was their nanny, a woman who has been employed by Tom since James was a baby. She was a sweet old thing, a cliché of the lovely old lady in fairtales.

"She will, sadly I won't," Tom told her, pressing a kiss to her cheek as they both hid themselves under the sating covers. y/n wanted to continue the conversation, she knew that Tom wouldn't be back at home until tomorrow night and for the first time, she would be in charge of everyone but she couldn't. As soon as her head hit the lavender scented pillow, she was out like a light. Tom just chuckled in return, pulling her into a soft embrace.

━━★✼☆｡

y/n wasn't an idiotic woman. She has been with Tom for two and a half years; married to him for two years, she immediately knew when something didn't feel right. As her fingers gripped the steering wheel, she peered in her rear-view mirror. It was something Tom's bodyguards drive around in. The vehicle was large and bulky, looking like it a take down a building with minimum amount of speed. It was painted in the midnight black, even the widows seemed to be darkened. Like before, y/n recognised the model of the car to be a sister of the cars she would frequently have to ride in if she accompanied Tom anywhere, he thought posed even the slightest amount of danger. She knew that with every corner she took, the car would mimic her turns. y/n caught onto it in seconds, watching through Lottie's car seat and Theo's mop of hair. It didn't help that when she called Tom's head guard, he told her that he had followed her orders. To let her pick up her children to avoid the never-ending shock from the ensemble of 6'5 muscular men accompanying her wherever she went.

"Do you want us to do anything about it ma'am?" he asked through the car's speaker. y/n pondered for a few seconds. While her gut was screaming at her that this was something completely out of the ordinary, if there was any ordinary being married to a Mob boss. Her mind knew that if she did say something to him now it was no doubt find its way to Tom. He would instantly assume the worst and cancel any important deal in front of him to race home. The guard's voice pulled her out of her concentration.

"Get the house under lockdown," she ordered, for the first time she felt truly in control but as all things it was slipping. "Do not tell my husband."

"Ma'am, it is imperative that Mr. Holland know of this," the guard protested. y/n had been going through quite a rough day. She was tired, overworked and constantly around wailing children. She refused to be around another. Her jaw clenched as she pulled into their street, the car still hot on her tail.

"I don't care, Tom will not know of this," y/n snapped, peering up for a final time but to her initial surprise that car had vanished. She had no clue where the fucker had gone. "It's probably nothing," she spoke quietly. The sentence was more reassurance for herself than from him, yet he had heard her, accepted her terms and hung up.

As she pulled the car into the impressively large garage, she lets her bare forehead hit top of the steering wheel. She closed her eyes for a moment, breathing in through her nose and out through her mouth.

"Mum," Theo called out from the backseat, "are you alright?" The boy's question was laced with genuine concern. It released whatever anxiety riddled grip had got a hold of y/n. She gazed up, smiling as she let all her negative thoughts leave her before turning to her three children.

"I am just really tired honey," she replied as she exited the car and proceeded to undo Lottie's buckled. "Not to worry, I think it is Boy's Movie Night tonight!" Both boys cheered in unison. The afternoon went on as usual. Theo and James spent the entire time with their faces glued to the screen in front of them. Squealing every time the supposed bad guys landed flat on his ass, jumping at every occasion that they could. Even if they lived in a mansion, y/n was positive that everyone in this house could hear their playful laughter.

y/n sat next to Lottie; her curly brunette hair clipped back into two adorable pigtails. Lottie was a carbon copy of Tom. Even next to her half-brother James, Lottie seemed to possess ever physical trait of y/n's husband. The smooth somehow flawless skin, the bouncy chestnut curls that y/n just knows will be her daughter's statement piece when she grows up and finally the pair of chocolate eyes that gets her father weak every time, she babbles up at him. She wondered how all of her children would look like when they get old enough to make their own decisions. While James doesn't have Tom's colouring like Lottie does, he has this glimmer of mischievousness in his eyes. Something y/n has loves about her boys, they all share this odd ball of high-energy. Theo looks exactly like y/n, her colouring and her features. Theo's look alikeness to his mother is something y/n feels is divine intervention. To show that, this is her son. Her baby boy and no one else's unless she says so.

"Ma'am" Meg's heavy Irish accent perks up. She's standing at the windows, peering through the curtains slightly. "I think you should see this," she advises before stepping away from the scene and running to grab Lottie from her highchair. y/n hesitantly waltzes over, she presents a cool face to her children, but she can feel her stomach crawling into her throat as she gets closer. y/n pulls the fabric back slightly, she prays that is it now in the early hours of the night and the light is off. It's the same car, it's now parked across the road from her house. Just outside of their camera’s visibility, the vehicle is camouflaged almost to perfection, she can still spot it. Its headlights are off and the car makes not a single sound. At first, y/n faithfully believes she is now seeing things, that her brain is so unfathomably tired it has resorted to petty tricks. That is until one of the car doors open quickly. She waits for a moment as does this figure in the car before a pair of fit hit the ground. Though it makes no clamour, it startles her. y/n doesn’t wait to meet his eyes as his head ducks under the car roof to fully meet the air. She turns around to meet Meg’s eyes, the women wear matching looks.

“Take the children into the spare room, go now,” y/n speaks softly as not to alarm her sons. Meg nods quickly, instantly holstering Lottie on her hips and shooing the boys away from the glowing TV.

She pauses until she hears the door close. It’s deafening. She turns her attention back to the scene, it’s worse than before. There’s at least 7 of them huddled around this car, pulling unknown bags from the seats. As the mystery bags hit the ground, the unknown men begin opening it. It’s filled to the brim with metal, the holsters of guns peeking through with the aid of the dim light of the streetlight. y/n refused to observe anymore, silently she alerts the guards in the house. She doesn’t even process the next second, it’s like nothing is working anymore. y/n knows what the sound is, she knows what is happening, she knows that in a matter of seconds the men have begun firing at her front landing. Killing anyone standing outside, she can feel the bullets entering their bodies.

It’s with that, y/n goes from a fast pace to sprinting. She rushes down the long halls to meet with her children. It’s feels like an eternity that she is opening doors, calling out for any of them. All the while, gunshots ring out like a bell, constant and terrible. Her phone vibrates,it send her nerves over the edge. y/n stops for a second to stare at it, Tom’s name lights up the screen. Instead of answering, her fingers lose all their function. Her phone drops from her hand and hits the floor. She wants to pick it up but her feet work against her and begin to simply pace herself away from her phone as it continues to hum against the tiles.

Finally, she reaches the room. Meg holds Lottie close to her chest, rocking the toddler back and forth as Lottie cries into Meg’s shirt. Theo and James are standing in the middle of the room. Both look like they are on their verge of tears and to be completely truthfully, so was she. Closing the door, y/n immediately wraps her arms around her sons. She feels the wet tears staining her shoulders. She feels their chests rise and fall drop as best they can.

“You boys are so brave,” she sooths, her palms rubbing circles atop their heads. Slowly, she peers up. While the gunfire continues to ring out, y/n stares at the people in the room with her. Not a single bulb is turned on, the area is pitch black, but she can still see how this if affecting the boys. How Meg clutches onto Lottie’s wailing body. “It’ll be over soon.”

“You promise,” James chokes out, he wipes his face of her blouse. y/n pressed a tender kiss to his hair. She lets a single tear escape her eyes.

“I swear handsome,” y/n tells him, but she’s not convinced by the sound of her own voice. The boys pull away from her, one of her hands reaches for their salty cheeks. “Everything will be alright, Mumma swears.”

She doesn’t want to; she wants to scream. She wants to burn the entire house to the ground. She wants to leave with her children and never come back. y/n has never felt this in her entire life. This is not only pure terror for the lives of her children but it’s uncontrollable rage. She’s being held together by a tearing material of a rubber band. Her limbs are coiled, feeling as though she has rusted in the rain. Her mind doesn’t stop, it runs as if it has never felt this wrathful freedom in its life. A million different thoughts threaten to take power, as if they should decide her next move. She doesn’t let them of course, y/n’s had practice at this, and she will not crack now.

“Meg, give me Charlotte now,” y/n’s voice is hoarse and breaking with ever vowel that drops from her lips. The old lady rushes over to y/n and hands her Lottie. The toddler instinctively wraps her arms around y/n, refusing to let go. Another 20 minutes go by, it's torture. The air seems to wash around y/n as she clings onto her children for dear life. Quietly, she pans over to Meg. The old woman looks as if she has turned from the humble baker's wife down the street to death herself. Their eyes lock, passing silent messages to each other.

I'm sorry, y/n pleads. She thinks if she spoke it aloud, it would travel barely above a whisper.

It's okay, sweetheart, Meg responded. Though the woman only truly meant the first part, y/n wanted to believe that she would have used the nickname to calm her nerves. Somehow it did.

The moment lasted for only seconds. A fleeting feeling of safety was ruined by the doorknob rattling furiously. At the speed of sound, y/n had handed Lottie over to Meg and told her to hide in the bathroom with the children. y/n heard everything, the door lock behind Meg and the muffled yelling behind the door in front of y/n. She scrambled to her feet, driving her to the wide bedside table. She threw open the doors until she landed on the one thing she never believes she's use. A small handgun. y/n didn't quite have time to question her morals at this very second in time. y/n wrapped her fingers around the handle just as the door swung open. Tears spilled as she pointed the gun aimlessly.

"Thank god," his familiar voice rang out. y/n sunk to her knees, the gun falling right from her fingertips. Tom rushed to her side; he didn't know what to say to her. He knew exactly what she was feeling, he knew whatever attempt he made at explaining the horrid situation would break his poor wife even further.

y/n studied his features in the dim light of the room as he got closer to her. She had never seen him in such a state. His hair flopping all over his face, hiding whatever panic was clearly evident over his features. More specifically, y/n watched as it became clearer. A large splatter of blood across his right cheek. She fell right into his arms, finally allowing herself to stain his shirt with her burst of weeps.

━━★✼☆｡

y/n's body was on fire. The fire was nothing but pure pain. As if bugs were nesting right under skin, desperate for a gasp of air. Even the clock ticked loudly, ever noise of the hand pressed her brain against her skull. Every joint rigid in its own specific way, damaged and tight.

"Sweetness, talk to me," Tom soothed, using the towel to clean the final fragments of blood off his cheek. Her eyes squinted at him, waiting for him to do anything other than be his normal gentle self. y/n slid herself off the foot of their bed and walked to the closed door. Flashing images of the other room crossing her mind.

"I need to check on the kids," she huffed. While y/n knew Meg was laying wide away on the floor of Theo's room as all three children slept contently, she wanted to be away from him at a moment like this. She needed to not see his face. Alas, Tom's hand gripped her wrist tightly. The touch sizzled her skin, the tension elevated for a split second.

y/n whipped around to face him; Tom felt his patience slipping from him. "y/n, be an adult," he hissed.

Tom knew he shouldn't be talking to her like this, but he was at his wit's end. A candle burning to the final wax. He mentally fucked himself over when he got that stupid fucking call. Sir, your wife has informed us of an unidentified vehicle following her, it engraved itself into his mind. Tom remembers sitting at the desk, wondering if she was witnessing the same group, he had fucked over a few months ago. Deciding it could wait, Tom told them to keep his updated throughout the night. As if whatever god was up there decided to play a tortuous comedy routine with Tom, it did begin to progress. First, the car pulling up hours before his arrival. Then the major security breach and finally as they began shooting at his house, ready to slaughter anyone they found inside. Especially his family.

She watched his intently. Waiting for a further response and yet, nothing. Her anger was bubbling over. "I am an adult," she seethed at him, her fingers unwrapping themselves from the doorknob. "I make sure that my children are safe, I make it my life's mission to ensure that I am not the direct cause of those certain dangers I wish to keep them so far away from!"

She had ripped her hand from his grasp, this wasn't something she was backing away from. It was something she could fight and to which she intended to do until the very end.

The little monologue broke Tom's heart. How could she believe that he would do such a horrific thing? How could she blame him for the events that unfolded tonight? He wondered if she truly knew this was never his intention. That he never wanted his family to come under direct attack all because he made one dangerous decision.

“You don’t talk to me like that y/n,” He grumbled. The air seemed to thicken with every word, cause more distance between the spouses. It was never like this they fought like a normal couple but never with this much venom. “I don’t deserve such criticism, especially from you.”

“Why?” she pondered, she moved closer to him. Inching closer with every second. “Is it because you question my authority? Or maybe is it because I am some silly little schoolteacher who got trouble with the wrong kind of people," she moved closer with every word of the sentence, pushing her dangerously closer. It’s a risk she must take if she wants to feel any sort of release.

“Stop being so theatrical y/n, you endured something horrible, but that is what you signed up for when you married me,” the room climbed in temperature. Tom had half a mind to strip himself just to get closer to peace, but with y/n so close to his chest, he preferred to work on her. Tom can’t pinpoint what made his mind switch in directions. Maybe it was the ever-growing heat, or perhaps it was the indescribable feeling of almost losing your wife and mother of your children. Either way, Tom thoughts were growing darker. The need to bruise y/n’s skin seemed to be the only thing he could really think about. “You wanted this,” he grunted, closing in on her. “Sweetness, you agreed to this lifestyle as soon as you sunk your sweet cunt onto me.”

The vulgarity of his words caught her off guard. Her breath stopped halfway when her back almost slammed into the wall. She wasn’t giving in so easily, even if the heat from her body had swiftly travelled to the valley between her thighs. y/n turned her head away from him in any desperation to not look at him. Unfortunately, Tom caught her actions as if he knew her every move. His fingers pressed against her chin to bring her eyes back to him. Tom was worried for an instant that she would truly be too furious with him to play into his game. Luckily, her eyes betrayed her. The big doe eyes of her stared up at him, pleaded to be fucked like an animal. Slammed into until all of her rage had slipped from her conscious.

“Screw yourself Tom,” she coughed out. She was playing along, y/n knew exactly where this was heading. A tender kiss was placed upon her lips, while the action itself was soft, nothing about the kiss genuinely was. It was the ultimate puzzle piece for him.

"You want to speak to me like a bitch," Tom chuckled, "you'll get fucked like a bitch." He kicked the back of her knees harshly, causing her to meet with the floor. "On your knees and hands behind your back." She wanted to protest, she wanted to act out the little brat but like most things, her arms instinctively pulled themselves behind her. "Now, I sincerely hope I don't have to punish you further sweetness," Tom soothed as he swiftly undid the buckle of his jeans, discarding the items of clothing across the room. His throbbing cock hit the base of his stomach with a soft slap. y/n bit her lip in instinct, it had been a while, and did she wholly miss this glorious scene in front of her.

y/n leaned forward and dragged her tongue from the base of him until her lips met with the beads of pre-cum drenching him. Slowly but surely, she wrapped her lips around him. Letting him enjoy the wet cavern of her mouth for a short time. He threw his head back in unison with a beautifully quiet moan. Her eyes never left him, as she bobbed her head gradually. If she was on her knees unable to reach out and touch him, she would at least make it fun for her. y/n only quickened her pace if their line of focus connected. As soon as Tom stared directly into her eyes, she would start her movements but if he turned away to enjoy the moment, everything would stop. It went like this before Tom had quite enough of it all. Without uttering a single word, Tom wrangle his hands into her soft hair and thrusted right up into her mouth, hitting the back of her throat roughly. She gagged loudly, making an awful sound as she attempted to regain her position. He pulled away from her, only to slam right back into her mouth. Unlike her plan beforehand, as he face fucked her, his pace begins to speed up.

y/n was now struggling to hold back her ragged gags as small tears slid out of her eyes. "Pretty girl, all worked out from my cock in your mouth huh?" Tom teased as he relished in the sounds of her cacophony of broken breaths. Just as quickly as he began, he pulled away from her complete. He dropped out of her mouth with a small pop and a trail of saliva that landed on the tops of her breasts. "Get up," to which she happily obliged. As soon as y/n had regained her footing, Tom's hands had completely destroyed her pants. The loose skirt was now in two pieces at her feet, along with her favourite pair of panties. Unfortunately, she didn't even get a second to scold him before he spun her around and slammed her chest against the wall. The pain excited her, it coursed through her torso and down into her legs, causing them to spasm slightly.

Tom looked at her, in the soft moonlight she was glowing. Ass facing him, tits pressed up against the wall. Complete ready for him. Tom gave her a small kiss on her shoulder, this time it truly was meant to be tender but in typical Tom fashion. As soon as his lips left her skin, Tom plunged right up into her. His hand covering her surprised squeal. God did he miss this. Filling her tight pussy right up to the brim. Even after everything they had been through, she still fit him like a glove. Hugged him so perfectly, Tom was worried he was shot his load right into her at this very moment. Sadly, he pushed the thought away and began rocking into her; his hand still covered over her mouth.

y/n could feel every inch of his like this. She could feel just how hard he was ramming into her cunt. Her nails gripped onto the wall in front of her as she whimpered into the palm of his hand. With every snap of his hips, her worries seemed to really melt away. All the tension built up in her body being oiled as he parted her legs to reach a nook in her that she thought impossible. “Tommy, f—fuck, oh my god,” it was incoherent garble. Nonsense talk as her eyes rolled back into her head for a few seconds. His head found the valley of her neck, peppering light kisses a major difference to the rough pace he had adopted.

“What is it sweetness,” Tom gasped right into her ear. The hot air tickling her skin. His other hand gripped callously at her hip, bruising the delicate skin under his fingers. “Come on tell me,” Tom was struggling to keep himself in check. The pure sound of skin against skin as he fucked her ass filled the air, pushing him closer to ecstasy. His hand pulled away from her lips, an immediately low moan tumbled from her lips. y/n waited for her body to response to anything, everything thrown out the window every time his dick hit her perfect spot inside of her.

“Har—harder,” she strained through strings of vulgarities and chants of his name. Tom smirked at her, she caught it before he pulled away from her. Tom started to slow his movements, observing how she swallowed him whole every time he thrusted into her tight hole.

“You really want it harder sweetness?” Tom asked, he was just as desperate for a release as she was. y/n nodded her head furiously, words seeming to fail her at this instance. “Turn around,” he ordered, she swivelled around to face him. Her once neat hair now a mess of pleasure tugged strains. Her lids fluttering shut and her cheeks flushed. She looked like a Greek statue. Tom bent and lifted her over his shoulders, earning a tiny giggle from his huffing wife above him. He frantically sprinted over to their bed and promptly chucked her on it. The force knocking a bit of wind out of her.

In a flash of actions, her face had been pressing into the mattress and her ass high up in air. Tom gave it a light smack before lining up and pounding right into her. Both of them let out a soft line of curses. It had never been this intense in their entire relationship.

The room was silent. Nothing could be heard outside but inside was a different idea. Tom brought her hips down roughly onto him, matching his tattered speed. y/n’s breaths were muffled by the cover of the blanks, her hands desperate for anything to latch onto for support as he fucks her relentlessly. It a beautiful mixture of sounds. Nothing like the soft breaths and gasps on a normal night. While those still as amazing as now, this was pure unfiltered animalistic need. No feelings, just a fantastic way to blow off incredible tense steam. Tom usually adored staring at her as her face scrunched up in pleasure but something about how every time his cock rammed up into her, everything moved with his thrusts. It was memorising, as if a painting had been brought to life. y/n had lost track of time during this, so focused on the way he was able to stretch her so wide that she had completely forgot how long she had been lying here. She didn’t dwell on it for too long before the divine familiar feeling presented itself to her, dwelling at the pit of her stomach.

“Go faster, I’m going t—to come,” she pleaded, lifting her head up for only a moment before diving right back into her muffled screams. Tom growled at this, picking up his already forceful speed. While he tried, his thrusts became sloppy and jagged.

“Come with me sweetness,” he whispered to her, his fingered rubbing cathartic circles on her sensitive clit. The sensation on her bud rupturing another last piece of sanity in her body.

With a final thrust, both y/n and Tom came. A relief as both almost shouted out in absolute ecstasy, their juices mixing together in a beautiful sense of the terms. y/n’s toes curled as she felt it all, every little piece of tension, anger and lust all combine and explode inside of her. Tom wasn’t even the slightest but worried as he had been before this had begun. His sweaty forehead lay against her spine, as his wife attempted to catch her breath. Slowly he pulled out of her, his cum leaking out of her. A sight he would love to have burned into his vision for the rest of his life.

“Feel better?” Tom asked her as he threw himself next to her. y/n turned to face him and for the first time that night an honest grin appeared on her face. A grin given to her by whatever relief she had received moments before.

“Much,” she replied.

━━★✼☆｡

#tom holland #tom holland x reader #tom holland imagines #tom holland imagine #tom holland au #tom holland smut #mobster!tom #Mob!Tom #mobster!tom holland #mob!tom holland #singlemom!reader #mom!reader #singledad!mob!tom #x reader #imagines #imagine #marvel #marvel imagines #au #mob au #actor smut #Smut #peter parker #peter parker x reader #peter parker smut #peter parker angst #tom holland angst

[bean-na-farraige-agus-foraoise]

Druids ain’t shit and here’s why.

Straight from the Pond- here’s a lesson from your friendly neighborhood historian.

It’s a long post so the history lesson is under the cut. 

Druidic “history” (or pseudohistory rather) actually begins with early renaissance politics. 

Basically Italy is dominating politics and religion by being able to call back to an ancient history that led directly into the formation of the centralized Catholic church. Surprising nobody who's familiar with European history- the German states want in on that action but they don't really have that direct line linking them to antiquity beyond their conquering by Rome- so, like any good 15th century academics, they create that link by just making shit up. 

So they look back at ancient roman writings, and see mention of druids, and also realize that they actually don't know fuck all about them, there's no records of them beyond a few classical authors- and for the record, classical authors are NOTORIOUSLY unreliable, there are entire graduate level seminars dedicated to teaching people how to read through ancient Roman propaganda, almost every druid I have ever met has taken classical authors at face value, anyway I digress, they just start making up a history of the druids, German lands used to be populated by Celts, and they create these mystical druids who serve as the direct precursor to The Church in these areas, like they forge documents and everything so when Italy goes "oh yeah since when?" they have something to hold up as a "gotcha" - they fashion statues and hide them in crypts as further evidence. It’s wild. 

So, France sees that the German states are becoming more politically popular within the HRE (Holy Roman Empire) because of these druid stories, and so they go "Hey Celts used to live in France too... we should have druids"- and they create druid stories. Scotland at the time is very close with France politically and they go "Hey us too, we're still Celts,” and then it spreads to Wales, and then England. Ireland is mostly staying out of druid nonsense- like in this period of the OG pseudohistories Ireland is like "this is disgusting we don't want druids" so like all the writings in Ireland in this period on druids are like "yeah the Church HATES druids"

Things quiet down for a little bit, because the stories are established, the cards have been played, whatever, but then Neo-Classicism and the Enlightenment- and now suddenly it's cool to have ancient history again - but like... Britain has "we got conquered by Rome" or "hey a few centuries ago people were saying we had druids?”; so naturally the more nationalistic go with druids....which is how we get, Iolo Morganweg.  Iolo's real name is Edward Williams but he insisted on going by his "bardic name"- bc druids.  Williams was a Welsh antiquarian- who is in some scholastic circles considered the father of “modern” druidry.  Williams literally named his son Taliesin after the bardic poet behind the Poems of Taliesin which is frequently in association with the Mabinogi in Brythonic texts. To pull from the wiki on this asshole: 

[he made] claims that ancient Druidic tradition had survived the Roman conquest, the conversion of the populace to Christianity, the persecution of bards under King Edward I, and other adversities. His forgeries develop an elaborate mystical philosophy, which he claimed as a direct continuation of ancient Druidic practice. Williams's reportedly heavy use of laudanum may have been a contributing factor

Yeah.... just... yeah. So not only did he forge like hella documents, which today in the 21st century, over 100 years after he was revealed as a fraud, are still more popular than the originals- but he also is the reason that ogham is like that. Williams created a ‘bardic alphabet’ based on combining Scandinavian runes and extant ogham - we are still wading through his bullshit trying to fix ogham. 

And this brings us to the Celtic Twilight...... 

To quote @liminalblessings​, “And a bunch of noodle fuckers decide "hey, we didn't bastardize the Irish enough for the last however long.... We should do more of that."” But for those of you not familiar with the term, it's a nationalistic pan-Celtic movement that wanted to like, make the Celts in vogue again? but like their idea of the Celts as "noble savage” - because the modern era was scary. At this point, Pan-Celtic Nationalism is starting to rise as pushback against British colonialism in Celtic nations. Unfortunately it's heavily reliant on the Druid myth as like.... A foundational shared cultural history between the surviving Celtic nations. The point largely is, though, "look at us. We should all be sticking together because we're the same / cousins / brothers". Which leads to a L O T of Celtic culture from various countries kind of getting.... molded into one singular idea- which is USUALLY what we think of today when we think of Celts. Basically everything gets branded as Irish because the Irish were “pure” and a “separate racial identity” as opposed to the Scots and Welsh. It took that idea of a pan-Celtic singularity, and then went ham with it mostly on Irish pre-Christian stuff, and as it occurred not too long after Williams’ fuckery, it really cemented those forgeries and psuedohistories in the cultural memory. And Williams wasn’t exposed as a fraud until after the Celtic Twilight had died down.

Now... Yeats, we all know Yeats- some people recommend his writings for learning about the fairies. DO NOT LISTEN TO THOSE PEOPLE. Yeats makes up an entire tree calendar, and also files all Scottish fairy lore under the “Irish” tab because he’s part of the Celtic Twilight and didn’t you know that everything Celtic is actually Irish? Fuck this guy. #yeetyeats

Enter... Robert Graves- destroyer of histories and all around fuckwit. Graves maked up an ENTIRE religious notion around a mother goddess and shit. And like, the irony of that is the people he supposedly went to originally were like lol dude you're a fucking idiot none of this is real. But he published it anyways and of course it got taken seriously. And then there's a lot of reverse etymology at this point which is just.... really bad linguistics. And because of Graves’ white goddess + said bad linguistics by others, you get Danu.(Danu is a whole thing, please shoot me an ask if you want a post about all of that nonsense). 

So.... Gerald Gardener.... to quote @liminalblessings​ again- “didn’t have a direct role in druidism, except he kind of did.”  See, Gardner had a good friend who was hella interested in the Celtic twilight. Said friend was hella inspiried by Gardner's "recreation" of old British trad witch traditions... But he didn't jive with the old British trad witch traditions. HE jived with Irish Druidry. So while Gardner's doing HIS thing, his friend's doing the modern Druid thing- heavily drawing from Gardner's own work but "making it more historically Druid" Except, as you may have picked up- there is no such thing as “historically druid” that can be reconstructed. Basically he can only pull from Williams, but because he had issues with with the old 15th century on stuff, up to the Twilight era (despite those being his sources) so he tries to distance himself from the earlier movements and leans hella heavy into Gardner's work as a result. Which is, if you've ever wondered, why Wicca and Druidry have such incredibly similar ritual structures and beliefs.

SO, this guy starts the Druid Order, decides that he’s gonna like pull his teachings from Williams- but he's also gonna say that Williams has nothing to do with his druidry because y'know, Williams has relatively recently been revealed as a fraud. This guy goes through the grueling process of ripping off his best bud gardner founding Druidry, right. So The Druid Order has this rebranding in 1951, that lauds the “history of the druids” as written by Williams but simultaneously rejects Williams saying “yeah we have nothing whatsoever to do with that guy.” Mix into this narrative, Gardener’s “burning times” bullshit, and now not only do we have mythical pseudohistorical druids, but a rewrite of Williams’ “the druids survived conversion” which then turned into - “The druids were heavily persecuted by the church and survived a horrible burning times but despite this there’s a tradition of continuous druidic belief.” Here begins the bullshit known as “vestiges of pagan thought”- which took actual historians not even a decade to disprove, and yet still circulates in pagan circles, because nobody picks up a fucking book.  Theoretical Folkloric archaeology became very popular at this time, which postulates (incorrectly) that all folk traditions and folklore absolutely stems from Pagan times and is 100% the Christianization of pagan practices and thoughts- which is not at all true. (Not-so-friendly reminder that Eostre? DOESN’T FUCKING EXIST. STOP FALLING FOR A JOKE MADE BY A MONK)

Td;lr so far- the druids went from 

the Catholic clergy before the Catholics existed 

to 

a religious group that survived conversion

to

druids survived an intense and violent persecution 

And now? In this our 21st century? 

Well.... druidic organizations today tend to still push these ahistorical narratives, that buy into the pagan persecution complex.... and several of these organizations also have known racists and terfs on their recommended reading lists. And while some organizations have made attempts to become more historically accurate- but the end result is usually.... bad. It tends to result in them using a source from like 1960 that’s been disproven 1000 times since by other historians to go “look a historian agrees with us!” rather than like... keep up with current research trends and academic standards. Druids also tend to be hostile to the syncretism of the Irish church which is just..... so fucking dumb. Don’t worship gaelic deities if you can’t accept that our lore are Christian texts about pagan beliefs. 

So yeah..... druids ain’t shit and I can prove it historically. I am also more than willing to send anyone links to full length books on the history of druids if you want to learn more. 

#anti-druidic rhetoric #druids #druidry #fuck druids #druidism #druid

[michiieewrites]

Dabi - So big, so small, so tearfuly

A/N: This fic is inspired by an ask that @league-of-villians-headcanons received a week or so ago. THIS IS THE ASK I REFER TO. Anyways, after looking up that song, I cried like a little baby and thus, this story was born. But holy damn! I did NOT expect for this fic to reach over 3.1k+ words. Enjoy, my loves!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Well, it happened. Waiting in the waiting room with his quirk-cancelling handcuffs. Sitting on Dabi’s left side is Mr. Compress, also with those special ‘bracelets’ made for villains. Even here at the police station the tall showman is still wearing his mask and top hat. They’re both a little torn up, though. Just like all of them, to be honest.

Who knows how that crusty trash rat they call a leader is looking now. Maybe he’s just as banged up as Spinner. The scaly man was currently in the interrogation room with two officers. Most of their members were dragged away by different officers. Toga is still waiting with them. For multiple safety precautions they had restrained her like Hannibal Lector, including the muzzle. Still, that didn’t stop the girl from trying to break free from them.

Didn’t matter, though. Dabi knows that the gig is up. The heroes had all whooped their asses in this last fight. Showing the world that the ‘good guys’ would always win in the end. ‘Cause that’s what always happens, right? The bad guys lose and the good guys win. Because they’re the good guys. And Dabi was one of the bad guys.

He had to lose. That’s what bad guys do, they lose the fight. Good guys like his dad, they win. Good guys like his dad give people hope. Good guys like his dad were there to help control the chaos. Good guys like his dad are praised by the public for protecting them from bad guys like himself. Good guys like his dad always strife for perfection. Good guys like his dad would destroy their own families to save the public people. Good guys like his dad would do anything to keep the public people safe. Good guys, just like his dad.

So that’s what Dabi’s dad did. He protected the public from harm. He strived for protection, he destroyed his own family. Even if it meant nearly killing his eldest son for a second time. All because his dad is a good guy, right?

‘Should’ve burned that shitbag alive when I had the chance,’ Dabi thought to himself. ‘Instead of burning my own damn self. Just burn that fucker to a crisp.’

But no amount of ‘should have’s’ were gonna change the current situation.

Dabi tried to go up against his old man, the great flame hero Endeavor and got burned. Not that it would matter anyway. He himself did a pretty good job of that in the past. By letting his emotions get the better of him. Trying to impress Enji so he would leave his youngest brother alone. So his little brother would have a chance of a somewhat normal childhood. So that maybe, his father would be proud of him for once.

But Dabi couldn’t have been more wrong. Because of his mother’s genes his body wasn’t able to keep up his flames for a long period of time. Not long enough for Enji to matter, anyway.

The moment he pushed young Touya aside, right into the wall was the moment Touya died. His anger and hurt no longer kept under a lid.

Dabi doesn’t remember much from that moment of his past life. He knows the sky of their garden became engulfed by his blue flames. The heat unbearable and scorching away his skin, inch by inch. He looked as his father tried to reach him, only to be pushed back by the sea of blue. There are nights where Dabi can still hear his mother scream for him to stop before he could hurt himself. Echoes of her pleading for her child’s safety.

And yet here he sits, incarcerated and forgotten by his family. Well, not entirely. He had waited for the perfect moment to reveal himself to his past family again, this time as Dabi. He had to wait for years before the timing was right. But the pure look of terror on his old man’s face was worth every single day he had waited.

‘And by then you already had my chest beneath your boot, just like poor little Shouto once was,’ he snickered to himself.

Luckily for him, Shouto was only a couple of feet away from them. For it was to save Shouto that Enji had attacked Dabi. Fighting together, the two Todoroki heroes went up against the flame quirked villain. With his years of experience it was Endeavor who overpowered Dabi. And as he contained him, Dabi had looked up at him and said:

“What a way to welcome back your dead son, father.”

He had seen the way everything clicked in Endeavor’s head. Every little piece of the puzzle fell into it’s place. The weight of his sins intensifying by the second. He knew Shouto was putting the pieces together for himself too. The boy may look dense, but he certainly isn’t stupid.

But before either of them could come to their senses and ask any questions, the fight was over and Dabi was taken away. Only to be kept waiting here in this shithole of a waiting room, guarded by others, heroes and-

“Ma’am, I have to ask you to-“

“No, get out of my way, now!”

Muffled voices sounded from the other side of the door to Dabi’s right. He turned his head, interested in hearing more of the commotion. Multiple hurried footsteps are coming closer.

“Todoroki-san, you are not allowed-“ the officer outside says.

“I don’t care, I need to see him.”

Todoroki-san? He clearly hears, what he assumes is an officer refer to a female voice. But what business would a female Todoroki have at the station?

The door bursts open and a group of five people come flooding in the waiting room. The guards standing around the remaining League of Villains-members put their attention on the newly entered people. All the heads turn in their direction. His fellow villains are also startled by the commotion. Dabi’s world freezes.

He knows these people. Well, four of them, at least. Or used to know, to be precise. They were the ghosts of his past. The people he tried to desperately to forget. The people who once loved him. But why the fuck are they here? Why the fuck would they be here to look at his sorry ass?

A woman, the oldest of the two females, pushes the officer that tries to stop her out of her way. Her pewter grey eyes are overflowing with tears as she rushes over to Dabi’s recoiling form. She throws her arms around him and pulls him tightly against herself. She sinks to her knees and pulls him along down with her. Her chin rests on his shoulder as her cries grow louder by the second.

“It’s you! It’s really you, Touya. Oh my boy, it’s really you!”

Touya. She called him ‘Touya’. His old name rings in his ears. Too shocked to look at the other worried faces of his siblings, his cerulean blue eyes slowly glance over the woman holding him. The woman who has held him so many times before in his past. The woman who carried him for nine whole months with her every second of the day. The woman who blew all his scary nightmares away with a kiss on his head at night when he was a child.. The woman who had mourned for years after her husband told her their first born son had passed away.

His mother Rei is finally holding her son after all these years.

“Wh-what are you do-doing here?” he manages to get out. His breathing becoming rapid and shallow. Hyperventilation setting in as Rei refuses to let go of him.

“Shouto told me, he told me how you fought with him,” she cries, “He told me how you-… how your… he told me you were alive!”

Her tears are slowly wetting his entire shoulder. Her hands tremble as they desperately hold onto his soot covered coat. Her entire body shocking with her sobbing.

Then he finally looks back at the others. The guards are trying to hold back a tall, young man with the same show white hair and pewter grey eyes as their mother. The young man doesn’t budge a single step, a furious look on his face. Behind him a young woman, no younger than a year or two than Dabi himself. Her hair white like melting icebergs with some lava colored tips and her charcoal grey eyes. Scared, but determined she tells the officers that they all have the right to see their brother. He knows they are Fuyumi and Natsuo, the younger sister and brother Enji never bothered to care for.

A familiar mop of half white-half read hair is a little farther behind them. Shouto looks down at the floor and Dabi can’t tell if it’s because he’s angry, or hurt, or ashamed. Hell, it could be all three.

But none of the other people in the room mattered. He tunes out the questions of his comrades, the arguing of his family and the guards, the fast and heavy beating of his own heart. All he can hear now are the strangled cries of his mother.

Softly, so softly only Rei can hear, he asks: “How did he figure it out?”

Sniffing through her words, Rei says: “After they took you away, Shouto confronted your father. He demanded to tell him the truth. Eventually he told him everything; how the fire department didn’t find your body in the ashes of the fire. How he lied to all of us, saying you were too badly burned to see. How he always wondered if your ashes were among those of the garden or if you got away.”

Her grip loosened slightly. She leaned back and took a good look at him. His terrified eyes looking back into her own. He’s terrified that this is all just another nightmare. That the warmth of his mother’s embrace will be ripped away again any second.

Her hand comes up to his face. Gently wiping away one his falling tears. Tears? He doesn’t even realize they are rolling down his cheeks. Despite both their quirks, the feeling of her fingers tracing over his scarred skin are hotter than any of his flames ever felt. He can almost feel the love and sorrow in her touch. A love only a mother can give to her son.

Never in all these years he spent apart from his family would he ever dare dream of seeing her again. Because he knew what happened after his supposed ‘death’. He knew that Rei finally broke over all the neglect and abuse their family had to endure at Enji’s hands. Their family was ripped apart, torn to shreds. Even if they did stitch all those pieces back together, he had accepted the fact that he would never be a part of the Todoroki-family again.

But here they were; the members of his past family he used to love so much. They were standing here in front of him. Demanding they get to see him, Dabi or Touya, that didn’t matter. They were standing up against all these guards and officers just to see him.

His hands try to reach out and hold his mother the way she is holding him. To feel her presence in his hands again. But he’s reminded of the cuffs around his wrists. He tugs at them, trying to break out of them. But these wretched things are keeping his hands locked together. His struggles become more desperate. He just wants to hold Rei.

He whips his head to one of the guards and yells at them. “Get these fucking cuffs off of me!”

“No way, villain,” the guard curtly replies.

“JUST LET ME HOLD MY MOTHER, DAMMNIT!”

Hands cover his own and he looks back at Rei. “Ssh, ssh… It’s okay, I’m not going anywhere,” she gently coos at him.

Slowly, she lifts his hands over her head, so that he can hold her now. His body stiffens once again. This really had to be a dream, right? There was no way in Hell he’s able to hold his mother again. It couldn’t be. As far they all knew, he was dead. Todoroki Touya was dead. Dabi was just another villain. And no one would ever know the secrets he keeps locked in his heart. He knows that giving in now would mean that dream would come to an abrupt end. He didn’t want it to end.

But the look in Rei’s eyes is real and so is the rest of her. Realizing this, he immediately clings onto her. A little clumsy, but he’ll take it for now. Even if it’s just for this moment, all he wants to do is to close his eyes and his mother embracing him back. And so she does.

The air is getting hotter. Heavy footsteps are coming closer. Natsuo’s voice calling out: “What do you think you’re doing here?!”

Both Rei and Dabi are looking to see who Natsuo was talking to. The feeling of a sweet reunion quickly slips away and is replaced by a building rage. But before Dabi can make a move towards Endeavor, who’s stepping into the room, he’s held back. Back by the arms of his mother.

The tension is cold. Rei’s staring daggers at the father of her children. Natsuo moves in front of his younger siblings, also held back by Fuyumi. Shouto stands in front of Enji to block his path. Endeavor, with all his power, dares to give Rei a sympathetic look. He tries to speak before one of the guards cut him off.

“All right, that’s enough! All of you people! Out!” They move closer to the stand off between Enji and Shouto.

“Rei, listen to the guards,” Enji calmly says, “this is out of our hands. They need to handle this from now on. There is nothing we can do-“

“HOW DARE YOU! HE’S OUR SON!” Rei yells back.

Her words hit a nerve. Enji extends his hand towards his wife.

SMACK!

She smacks his hand away. A sharp intake of breath from Fuyumi follows. The scene before her eyes; her mother holding their older brother, shielding him from their father. The fury rising in Rei’s eyes hold a force so strong it scares her. Not even Enji made her feel this scared before.

“Don’t you dare touch our children again!” Rei screams out. “Keep your hands off of Touya! Haven’t you hurt us enough?! Our family is torn to shreds by your hands, Enji! MY CHILDREN TAKEN FROM ME BECAUSE OF WHAT YOU DID TO ME!”

Shouto carefully tries to calm his mother down. “Mom, please. Try to calm down.”

“No! For too long I’ve let him destroy our family, let him hurt you! He-…. Because of him…. HE MADE US BELIEVE TOUYA WAS DEAD! DEAD! HE TOLD ME WE HAD LOST OUR CHILD!”

She can’t stop. Not anymore. After all these years Rei couldn’t hold back all the pain Enji had caused her. The pain he inflicted on their children. The way his behavior broke her. It had made her hurt her youngest son too. The neglect by his hands had made it impossible for her to see her children properly grow up.

Calmer now, she continues: “Of all the things you have done to us, I don’t know which one is the worst. But I do know one thing. And that’s that you can’t keep me from my children any longer. You will no longer stand in the way of my children’s future.”

The hate she directs to Enji… It was clear to him that she didn’t want him around any of them. Maybe just for now. Maybe forever. In trying to face his past, he accepts this outcome.

His shoulders sag and he turns around to walk out of the door.

“Everyone, you need to get out-“

“I will not leave my son,” Rei interrupts the guard.

They look at her and the young man she’s holding close. They sigh and tell her that only she is allowed to stay here. All the others still need to leave the waiting room. Toga and Mr. Compress will be taken to their interrogation rooms. One guard will stand outside of the door. For now, they respect her wish to be alone with Dabi.

When the door is shut close, they both look at each other. Unsure of what to say next. The loving look Rei gives Dabi makes him feel all different kinds of emotions.

Ashamed, for becoming a villain. Vulnerable, ‘cause he feels like she can see right into his soul. Angry at himself, for not coming to visit her in the mental hospital sooner. Relieved, for only a mother can see past all the shit he’s done in his life and still love him.

“I’m sorry, I guess… For not showing up these past years,” he says as he looks down to the ground.

“Don’t be. I understand,” she says.

Her hands cup his face and pull him up to look at her face. A sad smile decorates her lips. Fresh tears forming in her eyes.

“All that matters right now is that you’re back. I missed you so much, my sweet boy. So much, you can’t even imagine.”

But he could. In his dreams he would see her, with all his siblings. Even Enji would be there, only in Dabi’s dreams he was the loving and kind father every child wants and needs. In his dreams they were a happy family. He has longed for that family for as long as he can remember. He still does. Somewhere deep inside of him there’s a part that wants nothing more than to erase all that has happened and just start all over.

He missed Rei just as much as she missed him.

Throwing his face in the crook of her neck, he lets out a forceful and loud cry. “I-I missed you t-too, mom! I missed all of you! I’m so sorry for everything, mom! Please, believe me!”

Her hands comes up to softly pet his hair. Making reassuring sounds to calm down her crying child. His body now completely on the floor with hers. Gently rocking him back and forth.

“I believe you, I do.”

“Please don’t hate me! Please, I’m so sorry! Mom… please don’t leave…”

“I’m not going anywhere. You may be all grown up now, a handsome and strong man. But you’ll always be my sweet little boy, Touya. I’ll never leave you again.”

Her words are a binding promise. A vow to Dabi, a vow for him to regain the name Todoroki Touya. Filled with love and protection. Never would she hurt her children again, any of them. Rei will fight for her family. Starting with the crying man in her arms.

They stay right there. In this world that felt too big for them, they felt so small. A small space for a mother and son to hold each other close.

She’ll always be there for her family.

Tagged: @reinawritesbnha / @mrsreina @thots4daze / @kzombi3 @aizawascumslut @hipster-merchant-of-death @strawbirb @ravenfeet222

#bnha angst #bnha #bnha fic #bnha dabi #bnha touya #touya todoroki #dabi is touya #rei todoroki #shouto todoroki #natsuo todoroki #fuyumi todoroki #enji todoroki #endeavour #bnha endeavor #bnha todoroki #angst #michiiee writes #dabi angst #touya angst #fanfic #angst fic

[pigtownchronicles]

Chapter 1.4 - The Crow’s Nest

Dennis was left behind, as he’d expected he would be. If you’d pinned him down on it, he would have even admitted that he wanted to be abandoned, that it would confirm for him that this was somewhere he didn’t belong, and where he didn’t want to be. He sighed--Barry had promised him one drink, but he could already tell that he’d have to drag him out of here in a couple of hours. He could be such a child.

He started looking for somewhere that he could wait, preferably somewhere quiet and away from the noise of the dance floor, but most of the nooks he found were largely taken up by guys in various states of making out or full blown sex. One thing was for sure, when he was out of here, he’d be dropping an anonymous tip to the liquor control board and the health department, because none of this was acceptable to him, and everyone here should be ashamed of themselves.

Dennis had grown up the son of two doctors, with well entrenched class interests that neither had done much to examine. Dennis’ homosexuality had been a minor wrench in their family, but quickly smoothed over. An anecdote, real or not, that Barry had heard many times at many dinner parties, was that his parents would have been more scandalized by him not going to medical school, than the fact he was gay. His parents’ orthodoxy hadn’t entirely rubbed off on him, but he’d imagined that the sort of debauchery all around him now was beneath gay men, as a culture. They could get married now! They were on TV all the time. This sort of thing just wasn’t necessary, or at the very least, could be kept more discrete. He found a set of stairs leading up. They weren’t cordoned off, but no one seemed to be on the upper level that he could see. On the stairs, someone had spray painted the words “Crow’s Nest” along with an arrow pointing up. A bit curious, he climbed them and found himself on a set of narrow walkways suspended over the warehouse floor. Entirely unsafe, and most certainly another violation of some sort. He’d always kind of enjoyed being a snitch.

The view gave him a good view of the place. There was the dance floor where he was sure Barry and Samuel were still satisfying some of their baser urges. He looked around for where the hell knew where that shady fucker and the meathead had gone, but soon lost interest. He polished off the beer, and set the can off in a little cubby on the wall, and leaned over the railing by the entrance to the bar, deciding to just spend his time looking at the flow of guys coming in, as something to do.

It was after about twenty minutes, when he was contemplating going down and beginning the process of extricating Barry from the place so they could go home, that he saw a trio of younger guys enter the bar. Obviously underage--not surprising, since the bouncer didn’t seem interested in checking ID. They were looking around nervously, tittering a bit and huddling together, before they headed for the bar to get a drink. As they passed under a light, though, Barry realized that he recognized one of them--Kyle Hendricks, a son of one of their neighbors, who they paid to watch their cat, Misty, while they were on vacation.

And so, the snitch in Dennis was torn. On one hand, he loved the idea of getting someone in trouble. On the other hand, Kyle was a good kid, and he’d always taken good care of their home and Misty for them. Besides that, there was the issue of Kyle’s father. It didn’t surprise Dennis to see Kyle here--Barry and him both had sussed out the teenager’s preference rather quickly after their initial introduction. What had concerned them both, though, was the cold treatment they’d gotten from Kyle’s father ever since they’d moved in. He seemed like a garden variety homophobe. He could tolerate Dennis and Barry in his neighborhood, because at least they were respectable, but Dennis didn’t think he would be as accommodating with his own son somehow. There was also the matter of what had happened last summer, but Dennis avoided thinking about that in the moment. What was there to tell anyway? He’d offered to pay Kyle in exchange for helping with cleaning out the garage. Sure, there had been some flirting, maybe. Just some play, really. But then Kyle had kissed him, and Dennis had kissed him back, nothing more, but he was thinking about it now, he knew better than to think about it. Best to bury things like that deep down, and never tell a soul. It was safer that way.

The three young men moved deeper into the bar, and other two kids started making out, while Kyle kept drinking--classic third wheel, then. Maybe he’d come along just to keep them company. Maybe he didn’t even want to be here. The two disappeared into the dance floor not long after that, leaving Kyle alone--and Dennis felt a certain camaraderie, having been abandoned in these sorts of places often, including tonight. If he went down, he could offer him an escape hatch at least. He’d probably be thankful for it. There was no way a good kid like him wanted to be somewhere like this. Kyle finished his beer, and Dennis thought he’d probably just be a good wall flower and stay put, but he didn’t. He was looking around at the other men around, then pushed off from the table, and headed towards...well, Dennis found his theory full of holes already.

Kyle slid closer to the object of interest, a leather clad bear smoking a cigar (indoor smoking, another violation) who was easily twice his age, if not more than that. Older than Dennis, surely. The man looked Kyle over and gave him a nod, the two of them started chatting, and it wasn’t long before the man slid an arm around him and pulled Kyle closer. Dennis wracked his head, trying to remember exactly how old Kyle was. He knew Kyle was eighteen (though he’d been seventeen the summer before, but Dennis definitely wasn’t thinking about that). He was too young to know what he was getting into, what this place was, who that man was and what he was into. Finally feeling a solid moral ground, he headed down to the main floor, and pushed towards the dance floor.

The club had been only moderately packed when they’d entered, and now was beginning to feel crushing. Dennis hadn’t been this close to so many men in a very long time, but rather than exciting, it was just frustrating him. By the time he’d reached the tables around the dance floor, he saw the bear and Kyle had moved from heavy petting to kissing. Dennis walked over, grabbed Kyle by the shoulder and hauled him away from the older man. “Kyle Hendricks, what the hell do you think you’re doing here?”

Kyle’s eyes went wide in the dark, and he tried to bolt, but Dennis kept a firm grip on his upper arm.

The bear got up, “Hey man, what’s the deal, this your boy or something?”

“He’s my neighbor, and he’s underage.”

The bear laughed, “Come on man, this is Pigtown--everyone who’s here belongs here, don’t you know that? The kid came onto me, anyway. I was gonna be gentle.”

Dennis gave the bear a glare, and pulled Kyle further away from him. Kyle was a scrawny kid, with long hair that tended to fall over his eyes, something he liked to hide behind. “If you bolt, I swear to God, I will tell your dad what you were doing tonight, and where you were doing it.”

Kyle’s eyes went from startled, to legitimate terror at the threat. “Mr. Case, you--he’d fucking kill me, come on, I just...my friends wanted to come out, and I...I didn’t really want to, I...”

“Yeah yeah, you just wanted to get all up in some leather bear’s grill, huh? I am going to firmly suggest that you are probably too young to know what you actually want.”

“I’m...I’m eighteen, it’s legal.”

“There’s a distinction between legal and right. Now, Barry and I are going to take you home, and if I catch wind of you doing anything like this again, I will have to make an issue of it with your father, do you understand?” He stood Kyle next to an empty table. “Now, I have to find Barry, and then we’re leaving. You do not take your hand off this table, do you understand me?”

Kyle nodded, and watched as Dennis slipped into the throng of bodies on the dance floor, looking for his husband, surprisingly satisfied to have both the moral high ground, and an indisputable reason to leave this place. Kyle heaved a sigh, trying to get his heart to stop pounding in his ears, and looked back over at the bear a few yards away. The leather bear was looking back at him, with a rather pitiful look, and that just made Kyle angrier. He hated pity. His friends pitied him, for his asshole family. He pitied himself, because he was scrawny. He’d been the one to suggest this place, anyway, not that Dennis needed to know that. He looked down at his hand, still on the table where Dennis had put it. He could let go--he knew that. He could go back over to that bear, he...he could say fuck it. Who cares if his Dad knew, anyway? He’d figure it out. But he didn’t pull his hand away--he just waited, feeling like the child he mostly was still, and hating himself for it. 

The bear just shrugged, and took another drag on his cigar. The boy would have to grow up sometime, after all. Besides, he was pretty sure he’d be seeing more of him soon enough.

***

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#pigtown #bear #cigar

[vampiresuns]

The Stories Of Dead Kings | Prologue, Part 3

✴︎ THE STORIES OF DEAD KINGS ✴︎

4.5k words. In which the Palace continues to bring out things long ago buried within Anatole, the investigation commences and he makes an unlikely friend. CWs: Memory loss, death penalty.

You can read the rest of Anatole’s apprentice timeline series here.

Antu did not like the white dogs. A shame, because Anatole loved that breed — he had only seen pictures of it, drawings in books and a couple of paintings, but he thought it was a fantastic one all the same. They looked so funky and given his preference for raccoons, it was no surprise he favoured fuzzy, slightly funny looking but beautiful animals. He’d pet them later. 

Antu liked the voice that called to Anatole even less. While he didn’t like it either, Antu reacted with a viciousness Anatole had never seen before.

Stay back! You’re not wanted! He threatened, his voice echoing in Anatole’s mind as he bared his teeth at the open air.

No! We don’t like it in there! You can’t make us go!

With the dogs pulling him through his clothes upstairs, he had to hold onto Antu for dear life, fearing his familiar would launch himself at the dogs. It made him a blur of hands, fur and hair. 

“Ouch, Antupillán, don’t scratch me!”

As soon as they’re in the dark hallway, the dogs vanished, but Antu did not seem any more calm. Still in Anatole’s arms but ready to jump if needed, he was still growling at nothing and every time Anatole tried to make an advance, trying to walk down the hall to explore the room by the end of it, Antu tried to bite his hands. 

“Fine, fine, fine, Antupillán, you win.”

When the ghostly voice purred behind them, Antu climbed over his shoulder before Antole could stop him. Of course his raccoon threw himself at an apparition, because demanding fair trials out of the Countess of Vesuvia wasn’t excitement enough for the furball he had for a familiar.

✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎

Anatole tried very hard not to growl at Portia when she brought him breakfast, but the Palace kept hours that were too early, even for him, who had become a relatively early riser out of habit — waking up at dawn was too much, what had happened to seven AM? At least she had come with coffee, coffee he chugged while he listened carefully at her.

He had no clue about how to feel about the clothes, though the shirt was a dream come true. Cross-tied and with a V neck opening, big bishop sleeves, and matching, deep emerald green pants and a sleeveless long coat. The coat had a gold embroidered trim, and it reached his ankles, It would flutter deliciously as he walked down the hallways, the clack of the black boots with a golden plate shoe tip against the marbled floors.

Everything was miraculously his size; he didn’t still comprehend nor trust the Countess’ motives for giving him clothes, especially when he had brought his own. Anatole might not have a personal tailor, but he was very dedicated and careful about his clothing. He always strived to be well dressed, so what was the reason for it? Ease him after his opinions last-night? That felt too much like trying to buy him into the Countess' good side. However, while it was true he didn’t know how to feel about her, he felt it was unfair to automatically assume the worst. This required further analysis. 

Portia left his room and he looked at the clothes with a sigh. He examined for a minute longer as he ate another pastry. He looked at Antu, who was still pretending to be an angel after jumping from his arms to fight a ghost out of all things. 

He was eating some grapes. 

It’s pretty.

“We don’t accept gifts from people we don’t trust.”

Who’s we?

“Oh, is that how it is?”

You have never been very good at lying to yourself.

“And you’re awfully insightful this morning, huh?” 

Antupillán continued eating his grapes, this time in silence. He had a point, Anatole supposed. It was a gorgeous outfit but he hadn’t been lying to himself when he said he didn’t accept gifts from people he didn’t trust, and after last night, he wasn’t sure he was on the best terms with the Countess, even if she did seem civil enough afterwards. He couldn’t wear this, even if he really, really wanted to. It would be wrong, it would betray his principles, it would—

It would have to do because when he turned to check where he had left his clothes, he realised the Palace’s staff had taken all of them to laundry them. When Portia had mentioned that, he had assumed they’d only take the clothes he was wearing last night.

“Fuckers.”

He hated people rummaging through his stuff. He was very, very close to deciding to throw all caution and professionalism to the winds and be contrarian as could be. It was a bad idea, but there was a part inside himself which had been kept dormant for the most part. That part made him want to remind people he wasn’t trapped somewhere with them, they were trapped somewhere with him.

Perhaps another time.

✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎

The Palace’s library was one of the most gorgeous places he had ever set a foot in. From its doors to its high shelves, with the high windows with stained glass and the plants, Anatole wished he had the entire day to get lost in it, explore every section, even the ones he wasn’t interested in. He wanted to ask why was the library locked up under so many keys, but he didn’t know if he’d get an answer, or if Portia knew, or if the Countess would be up to more of his really incisive questions about things she would deem out of Anatole’s range of incumbency. 

If you asked him, Libraries should be public.

Despite how they left things last night, the Countess seemed to be in a great mood, complimenting his looks and treating him amiably. Anatole detected no deception nor flattery in her words; it threw him off for reasons he didn’t have the time to decode right now. Perhaps he had become too used to people shading half a light on things for reasons bigger than Anatole himself, perhaps the reason was another. It’d have to wait to be pried into. 

“You told me you read.”

“Constantly, as long as my brain lets me.”

Silence fell between them. Well, this was starting to get awkward. 

“Thank you,” the Countess said.

“What for?”

“You are very genuine,” she said. Anatole didn’t know what to do with that. Taking his silence as encouragement, the Countess continued. “Reading is a wonderful gift, shared by all citizens where I come from, but it’s woefully uncommon here.”

He hummed, squinting back at the Countess. He took a sharp breath as he made himself count to ten. He had felt the same need to speak without knowing what he would say as before, but this time he could anticipate it would be something angry. He didn’t need to know where these things were coming from to know he was about to ask the Countess whose fault was that, and then he’d be really, really done for. 

He kept his mouth shut this time — Antu biting him softly (but strongly enough to make him hiss) helped. Time and place. He was better than this, he was taught better than this. 

Wait, what? Taught what? By whom?

“Concentrate, for fuck’s sake,” he muttered between his teeth.

“Did you say something?”

“That this is truly a wonderful collection.”

“Anatole… you are my guest, if you wish to return here, you need only ask. But for the moment I would have your undivided attention here.”

There was something deeply intimate about prying into someone organisational systems. How they cluttered, why they cluttered, the organisation methods employed, the thought process behind it and what you could infer of it by looking. The way documents were studied and how and where notes were taken. In that sense, Dr. Devorak’s desk teemed with information.

It might have felt like prying a little too deep into him, but Anatole thought it was a fair exchange after he broke into his house. An eye for an eye wasn’t the best justice system, but hey, a little pettiness couldn’t hurt, besides, investigating the murder was his job now. 

His musings were tampered by the mention of Asra working for the palace during the Red Plague. He didn’t remember living through it, though he had always assumed he must’ve been present for it, given their earliest memory was of a post-plague Vesuvia. It had ravaged everything. Plagues were like wars, they seldom discriminated. Not that Anatole knew of war beyond books. If that wasn’t the case this was, once again, nor the time or place to second-guess himself.

Do you know what an explosion sounds like, Asra?

After promising the Countess he would meet her for dinner, he set himself to work. Anatole loved few things more than a good puzzle without a solution, and once he grew determined he did nothing half-ways. 

Lacing his fingers together, he stretched them, a waft of satisfaction dawning over him as his joints cracked. 

“Let’s figure you out, Julian ‘Magic Cards’, hm?”

He didn’t expect his search to lead him back into the city, but with Antu in tow he’s determined to follow the trace his magic had cast into its streets. Vesuvia was a wild thing, a glimmering thing in the lowlights of dusk making Anatole wonder why hadn’t he insisted in seeing more of it, wondering how much memories of it could he be missing. What used to be his favourite spots? His favourite streets? His favourite garden? 

He wasn’t one to dwell in the past, living in the past was no way of living, but that didn’t mean the past didn’t matter. He just wanted to be able to reclaim it, to say ‘this is mine, this took me where I am today, this made me myself, just like who I am today will make me the myself of tomorrow’. He looked at the past not with wistfulness but searching for an explanation.

The area he found himself in was crowded, urbanistically speaking, shabby, probably in need of repair, and while he didn’t stop chasing that trace something in his heart (and his temple) pulsed. Something unknown and caged, something which begged to be let out, something he couldn’t make out what it was. He hated not knowing, he was getting tired of getting all these feelings, these knowledge, these looks and these visions without any sort of explanation. This time he didn’t file it away for later, and yet whatever he felt, eluded him.

The word he was looking for and failed to find was Love. A word which would continue to escape him for a little longer, as Julian Devorak himself manifested out of an open door. Finally, he thought, throwing hypothesis and chasing them was starting to give him results. 

Falling into a barrel and stepping on Antu’s tail were unforeseen outcomes. So was falling face first into Julian’s chest after he helped him out of the barrel, both of them looking at each other like deers startled by light.

After Julian let him go, he held Antu, petting him as a way to apologise for stepping on him by accident. 

“I have a name, you know? Shopkeep isn’t it,” he said as he looked at the Rowdy Raven’s sign.

“Dare I ask what brings you to this neck of the woods, Not-Named-Shopkeep?”

Anatole caught himself smiling, but as he tried and failed to find a way to explain what had happened the smile faded from his face. Words eluded him and he had to admit he was very grateful for Julian taking it in stride. Because how could he explain any of this without giving away his new-found position? Or at all? He couldn’t find it in him to articulate such a thing — not to mention the glint in Julian’s eye as he turned to him was much more exciting.

It tied neatly to the trace of Anatole’s magic, like a master key he had been desperately looking for. 

“Rumour has it you’re working for the Palace,” Julian sneered. “What happened to not being a snitch? I’m sure— well, by now— you’ve heard some interesting stories about me.”

“As interesting as you’re prone to not explaining yourself, though both of those might be gross understatements. And I take great offence in you thinking I’m a snitch. Don’t you think that had I told anyone you’d already be found?”

“I’m very slippery and you don’t know where to find me.”

“I found you now.”

“By accident I’m sure, not to say you aren’t talented and magnificent and all those things the rumours say… but you haven’t heard my side of the story.”

“Julian?”

“Yes?”

“Stop assuming the first thing about me and how I do things, will you, sweetheart?” 

Julian’s cheeks went as red as his hair. Anatole let out a pained whine. Wherever that had come from, Anatole didn’t want to know and he expected it to not come forward again. He apologised; Julian, having composed himself, thought teasing him was a good idea but Anatole levelled a look at him that convinced him otherwise. 

He sighed. Julian was right: he’d only heard things from the Palace and muddled rumours. A wanted poster was a statement of capture, not an absolute truth and it was obvious to him there was some sort of power imbalance playing against the doctor. So when Julian said he could get him a drink, to get the story and to pay him what he owes him from the reading, Anatole found it difficult to say no.

“I don’t usually accept trading payments unless previously discussed, or the party is in need, but you know what? I think I’m willing to do an exception for you.”

“Oh, please, you work for the Palace now, I think you’re set on the money.”

“You know, I haven’t discussed fees and wages with the Countess, do you think we’d be cell mates if I did?”

Julian laughed. One drink couldn’t hurt, right?

✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎

The flurry that erupted after the caw of the Raven would be etched into Anatole’s mind forever, becoming part of his daydreams unsanctioned. It was the kind of chaos which brought the familiar thump of an inconclusive memory. The Doctor might not have told him his part of the story, Anatole was well aware, but he did give him some insight into his circles and his person. Not anyone who was wanted by the Palace would shield the Palace’s investigator in the shadows so they didn’t get in trouble for hanging out with said wanted person. 

As he vanished after an awkward and unfinished thank-you-for-not-being-a-snitch, Anatole turned to make his way back to the Palace, only to be met with Ludovico, who introduced himself and tried not to stare at him while he hailed a carriage for Anatole. 

Anatole paid no mind to the staring. Whether it’s leftover staring from the day before, or staring driven by having found him in such an odd quarter of the City, he chose to ignore it. His apology for summoning a carriage for him despite him being the one who said it was a bad idea to leave the Countess waiting, was another thing altogether. 

It was true Anatole didn’t particularly enjoy carriage rides, but why would a Palace guard would know such a thing? Did it have to do with how he felt yesterday when crossing the gates? As he stepped into the carriage he tried not to think about it, afraid he’d overthink his way into a migraine. 

Relieved as he realised he was in time for dinner, Anatole took in the exquisite smells of what is definitely too much food. He was too hungry to think about the quantity for now, perhaps he could inquire about it after he ate something. 

His appetite seemed to hold itself back at the mention of the Courtiers, almost evaporating altogether. He still forced himself to eat, he needed it after such a day in the City, while he listened with rapt attention to the Countess' words. He dabbed his mouth with a napkin before taking a drink from his cup, doing the same afterwards. That he didn’t have any issue distinguishing the cutlery from one another somehow didn’t call to his attention like his next words did.

“I know, and I promise you I’ll be careful.”

“You already know my Courtiers?”

“Oh no, no such thing it’s just—”

“One can never second-guess one’s intuition, is it not right Anatole?”

For the first time in two days, when he smiled at the Countess it was genuine. “Exactly.”

Just like he knew the painting, the gardens, that other version of himself walking through them and his opinions on subjects which required more education than the one he thought he had, he somehow knew the Court — being equal times prepared to brace himself for meeting it, and unprepared for whatever he may find.

He knew deep inside he could trust the Countess to have his back on that, however. It’s the way the word ‘Courtiers’ felt from her mouth: she didn’t trust them. 

The mention of Julian’s hanging brought him back from wherever place of commodity his mind had gone into. The faraway look in the Countess’ eyes almost eluded him. Almost.

“Countess…”

“I am thinking about what you said last night, Anatole, but I expect you to understand I must seek to tend to my people’s needs.”

“And you think they need executions?”

“I think they need to see justice done.”

While restricted and mild, Anatole couldn’t help to look at her with some semblance of disappointment, his unspoken question dancing between them.: And is this justice? Is justice confession and punishment? 

She truly must’ve given it a thought to not react with the same impetu as last night. Instead she changed the topic with a weary sigh, claiming such were tomorrow’s matters and stating having questions for him — not of his day, like Anatole had feared, but of himself. Being surprised at the change of disposition the Countess had shown today didn’t cover it. Bewilderment might. 

At the mention of friendship, bewilderment fell short too. Sensing his apprehension, she smiled at him invitingly, jovially, exposing her hands to him in a gesture of trust. 

“I am afraid I do not have many friends, nor know enough people who fear not my position in order for them to tell me what their true opinions are.”

Anatole sighed. “Countess, I do not wish to antagonise you when I say those things, I find it hard to help it, that is all. I’d like to think if I was in such a position the responsibility was so heavy I needed council, I would wish it was sincere. It’s not up to us how history remembers us but that doesn’t mean we have no choice in the matter. I believe our choices make us who we are, whichever those choices might be.”

“You are awfully impertinent,” the Countess said with a playful tone, “which must surely give you an advantage at life.”

Anatole laughed with his mouth open, his head thrown back. “No, but it does give me a strong personality. Tell me Countess, what do you wish to know about me?”

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Out of all the things he found about the Countess, perhaps finding out she too understood the feeling of homesickness for a place you could no longer return to — because one couldn’t or one didn’t wish to — was the least expected out of them all. Anatole knew he had been born in Bgraz, Balkovia, but that’s all he remembered of his hometown. He didn’t even remember how he had ended up in Vesuvia, though the more he thought about it, the more he suspected he had some kind of relation to the City beyond his deceased Aunt having a shop there. 

He didn’t tell the Countess as much, not even sure of how to word it aloud but it was refreshing to find someone with whom he could talk about these things.

The night was welcoming and cool. The stars were visible in the inky night sky, making Anatole wonder how they would look in Balkovia, that unknown homeland he couldn’t remember. The Countess’ words about Anatole not being quite like she had imagined him, or the intrigue she felt towards him pulled him away from his thoughts.

Anatole wondered if she, like Julian, was also a victim of the rumour mill. Word in town was she was a tyrant, yet she didn’t seem malicious — malice was something Anatole’s language filter picked up with incredible ease and it left a feeling in him hard to ignore. It didn’t just make him immediately stand on edge, it also felt like tarr on one’s skin. Hot, icky and venomous. The Countess felt lost, not malicious.  Someone with good intentions and not enough turn out, as he had previously felt.

“Tell me, Anatole… Why did you come to the Palace? Why did you agree to help me?”

“I believe I said it was a matter of justice, last night.”

“You did, but when I asked you to come, you didn’t know what for.”

She got him there. The offer of trust from the Countess would not last if he wasn’t honest with her — perhaps if he was, he would be able to convince her to reconsider the way in which the Devorak affair was being conducted.

The answer was obvious, wasn’t it? 

“Because it felt right. I knew that whichever answers I’ve been seeking, I would find them here.” Anatole existed in the liminal space between his heart and his head. They were extensions of one another. Living a full life required both. 

When the Countess asked him if he had any questions for her, reassuring him he could speak freely, Anatole already knew what to ask and in his defence, the Countess shouldn’t have taken it as a vague question, because it wasn’t. The claim was just an excuse to elude the topic; the stage they were in, of whatever it was she, him and whatever else bigger than them had sent in motion was looking at them in the eye and avoidance would help exactly no one. 

“You know I mean the murder investigation. The Count has been dead for years, so why now?”

“Ah, that is a right question to ask. Vesuvia is in dire need of help. Order needs to be restored… and I am in the unique position to restore it. However, I intend to lead by example, not fear. I must show the city I am capable. I have so many plans for Vesuvia. I was to see this city flourish… Perhaps you’ll be able to help me with those plans, Anatole. I could use more competent people on my side...”

Her loneliness was heavy, almost too heavy, the feeling pouring into her speech and threatening to cover Anatole under a heavy blanket, merge with his own unattended loneliness and trap him in place forever. Seen and unseen, craving connection and something more he couldn’t name nor grab, no matter how hard he tried to.

“It’s funny,” Anatole said, a knot in his throat. “I did not expect you to be as lonely as I am. I never allow myself to admit it out loud, let alone in front of someone else. Yet here I am.”

“You already know I won’t do things whatever way. I want to find justice, and I do not believe justice lies in a hanging. You are right, your position is unique, but it’s also risky,” Anatole paused to take the Countess hands in his. His next words came from the same unknown place as they did all those times he felt compelled to speak, though they were much kinder this time: “When we know something is not right, we do not settle. People like us, whatever that means, were not thrusted into the world to settle. Power wielded without reason, without justice, without kindness, without knowing the subject you must serve will always lack. I will not tell you what to do, you are capable enough, Countess, to figure that out on your own, but I will tell you this, as a friend: truth is the only thing worthy to be built on, and when we find that truth we plant ourselves in front of whomever dares us to move and we say they move. The truth can’t lead you astray, as unpalatable or hard to accept as it might sometimes be.”

Out of all the things he expects the Countess to tell him that he’s sweet is not one of them. He’ll take it.

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Just between you and me… I think Count Lucio had a lot of enemies, too. Alone in his bedroom, having returned from exploring and chatting around with her, Portia’s words swirled around him, letters formed by a light orange haze, forming and evaporating in front of his eyes. Portia’s words came from rumours but they were enough to cast reasonable doubt about what might have transpired that night. It was kind of her to look after Anatole, so the least he could do was to take her words to heart. 

Originated in rumours or not, Portia was right. 

Going out with her was as strange as it was enlightening. He was sure the Chef, Hestion, had said something to Portia along the lines of how he expected Anatole to remember his way around the kitchen, only he had called him ‘Secretary Radošević’. Perhaps it had something to do with the investigation, but it made Anatole feel odd. 

The servants in the Veranda had been very welcoming, but almost too welcoming and he was sure he had caught a couple of them speaking about him —not as if this was his first time in the Palace, but as if this was him returning to it. Speaking of returning, someone had congratulated him for becoming the main investigator for the case and how it was nice to have him back. Ignoring the way his vision splotched as best as he could, Anatole had only thanked them and turned back to Portia feeling lost and ill. 

Normally, Anatole paid no mind to out of place comments. If someone demanded something of him he couldn’t remember, he tried to remove himself from the situation as fast as possible, but these felt different, the words staying with him even though his and Portia’s nightly adventures had finished. 

What weighed him down the most, though, was the Countess wanting him to join them for the announcement tomorrow. It made sense, but he had a terrible feeling about it.

Antupillán was nowhere to be found. Anatole hoped that he had a good reason to be missing at a time like this. 

#the arcana #the arcana mc #the arcana oc #the arcana apprentice #julian devorak #doctor devorak #the arcana julian #julian the doctor #julian the arcana #nadia satrivana #countess nadia #the arcana nadia #nadia the arcana #portia devorak #pasha devorak #portia the arcana #the arcana portia #count lucio #antu the raccoon #aelius anatole #apprentice anatole #my writing