#anyway my bookcase is my pride and

[rashomonss]

“These chains are to ensure that you can never leave me” this with Lucifer x F!MC please? CONGRATS ON 800 FOLLOWERS!

ty so much!! and thank you for all your support as well i really appreciate it!! ٩(ˊᗜˋ*)و ♡

i always love yandere lucifer tbh, i mean who doesn’t? haha anyways I hope you enjoy!

also if any of you would like to request a remaining prompt for this event please do so here!

warnings: mentions of manipulation, obsessive thinking/ behavior, mentions of being restrained

you’re not going anywhere

You had liked Lucifer, this was common knowledge to everyone around the two of you.

After all it’s not hard to catch the little glances you sneak his way, or the fact that you go out of your way to seek him out.

Lucifer knew this as well, and enjoyed the attention you would give him, frankly a bit too much.

As this continued the Avatar of pride found himself becoming completely infatuated with your presence entirely, to the point he began to want you all to himself.

He was never a fan of the way other demons looked at you, be it a low level runt or Diavolo himself. It pissed him off, so much so he began to think of ways to get you away from said demons.

So his first course of action was to make you his, and with a bit of manipulation and spoiling on his end he was finally able to get a solid confession out of you, which delighted him greatly.

However this possessive nature of his became worse when the two of you had begun to pass the five month period.

His brothers and even friends would mention his possessive behavior and ask if you were alright with him acting like that. You however brushed it off and joked that it was just Lucifer being Lucifer.

Little did you know, you should have taken their advice a bit more seriously.

It was the middle of the week and you had just come back from the Demon Lord's castle after having tea with Diavolo. Lucifer blew up your D.D.D with messages about where you were and who you were with, which in turn cut your visit with them short.

You made your way to his room slightly annoyed that he did that. Sure you forgot to mention Diavolo invited you to tea, but he didn’t have to get so bent out of shape about it and demand you come home.

Just as you went to knock on his bedroom door it flew open and Lucifer grabbed your arm and pulled you inside his room harshly.

“You sure took your time getting back didn’t you?”

“Look I’m sorry I forgot to tell you about my visit with Dia, but you didn’t have to blow up my phone and be psycho about the whole thing” you said giving him the same attitude he gave you.

Lucifer sighed and grabbed his face with his gloved hand. “This is what happens when humans have too much freedom” He spoke softly.

“Excuse me?” You replied annoyed.

“I should have kept you home more, otherwise I wouldn’t have had to stress trying to figure out where you were.”

You stayed quiet for a moment and looked at his unreadable expression.

“To make sure this doesn’t happen again you’re staying here from now on, where it’s safe I’m able to keep an eye on you.”

“What?! No way, I’m going wherever I want, there’s no way you’re putting me on house arrest”

“Who said anything about letting you walk around the house?” He replied. You gave him a look of horror as your heart dropped and began to run for the door.

Lucifer smiled as you tried to make an escape, it was a valiant effort, but he used a magic seal to restrain you as he carried you over to his bookcase.

He then grabbed a book and pulled it down causing the whole shelf to slide over revealing a small dimly lit room that was furnished with furniture that looked exactly like the one in your bedroom.

“I knew this was going to be useful one day.” Lucifer smiled as he brought you into the room.

“Now this is what I meant by keeping you someplace where I can keep an eye on you.”

The Avatar of pride put you down on the floor and watched as you struggled in the seal for a bit. After a few minutes you gave up trying to get free and then spoke.

“Lucifer..” you said as he loomed over your slouched figure.

“What is it now, little one?” He cooed crouching down to your level.

“Please let me go”

His face turned to one of annoyance then he sighed and began to caress your cheek. You looked at his hand with fear but soon glared back at him with whatever courage you were able to muster.

Lucifer scoffed and grabbed a fistful of your hair, then he slightly tugged you closer to him.

“Now you better listen here, because I’m only going to tell you this once.”

“You belong to me. You made that choice ever since you agreed to make a pact with me in my office that day, remember? So don’t go pulling out of a promise now.”

“Besides, the Devildom is a very dangerous place for a human, I don’t want you going out anymore and having to experience all those other disgusting demons who aren’t worth your time.”

“Instead be a good girl for me and stay here where it’s safer. You needn’t worry your pretty little head about anything else, I shall do my job and provide for you to ensure you stay healthy and comfortable.” Lucifer smiled, letting go of your hair and fixing the spot he grabbed.

“But Lucifer I don’t want to be here..!”

The demon frowned and looked at you sympathetically. After a second he stood up and began to walk to the other side of the room and mess with something in the corner. After a few seconds he turned around and walked towards you with what appeared to be metal chains.

Your face displayed one of pure horror and you tried freeing yourself from his magic.

“Now, now my love, calm down, I’m not going to hurt you” Lucifer said, patting the top of your head.

“Don’t put those things on me!”

“Don’t worry I won’t make them unbearably tight, however they might be a bit uncomfortable at first but you’ll adapt to it eventually.” Lucifer replied. He then knelt down and put chains around your ankles then placed them on your wrists.

Once the chains were on, you felt him pull them and attach them to a lock on the wall. As a result he did drag your body back slightly causing you to harshly slide across the ground.

Lucifer inspected the chains and once he deemed them secure enough he released the magic seal he was holding you with. Your body then fell limp and you suddenly felt very weak.

“What did you do..?” You asked glaring up at the first born.

“These chains are magic draining ones, so as a result you might feel sluggish at first due to being drained of most of your magic. That’s what I meant by them being uncomfortable. But as I said before, you'll adapt to them eventually.”

“Why are you going to such lengths to do this?”

Well if you must know, Lucifer said gently caressing your head.

“These chains are to ensure you can never leave me”

“I love you far too much little one, so in order to keep you safe and happy I have to make sure you’ll never be able to leave my side. Doesn’t that sound nice? Like I said before you needn’t concern yourself with trivial matters anymore, let me take care of everything, you just be happy and relax in here from now on.”

“Now then if you’ll excuse me I’m off to let my brothers know that you’ll be permanently staying in the human realm” Lucifer smiled then got up and walked towards the door.

The Avatar of pride then gave you one last glance before shutting the door, now leaving you in a locked dimly lit room chained up and tired.

#obey me #obey me shall we date #omswd #omswd x reader #obey me luci x reader #obey me lucifer #omswd lucifer #obey me yandere #obey me yandere lucifer

[softlyspector]

Every vampire post I see makes me think of Sated, especially this one that got me thinking about when Joel gets hurt and immediately brings his wounds to reader’s attention so he doesn’t waste any blood. I think you’ve actually rewired my brain Becca 😭

I looooooove the vampire and Joel, I'm so glad its invading your brain too! Loyal snack Joel absolutely brings his wounds to his vampire. Of course he does.

A bit of vampire and Joel under the cut. As a treat.

Warnings: a little but smutty, but not smut. Blood drinking and wounds.

"Did you do this on purpose?" Your cool hands cradle his wrist in the kitchen neither of you really use, an open first aid kit on the counter between you, one you'd gotten just because of him.

Gently, you slide your other hand along his forearm to his elbow where you cup your palm. "Joel?"

"No, 'course not."

And he really hadn't.

He had been working on the built-in bookcase he promised you. Decades worth of precious books in need of a home he could build them and you.

Saw in one hand, wooden board in the other, distracted because he could hear you singing somewhere else in the house and the sound of it was sweet, the teeth of the tool had caught at his skin between one moment and the next.

It had been his first instinct to find you, bleeding, and offer up the blood welling at the jagged cut between his thumb and forefinger.

Something had caught up in his chest at the opportunity. You tried to limit how much you fed from him, and lately you'd been loathe to take much at all.

But now, the blood is already there, already spilling out. It'd be a waste not to let you lick it from his fingers, drink from the already open wound.

Your thumb smears through the bead of blood that threatens to spill down his palm. "I'm not hungry," you shake your head and wipe the blood on a cloth instead, holding it tight over the wound.

“Please sweetheart,” he begs. “I’m askin’ you to. I worry you ain’t gettin’ enough.”

Your face is pinched and he knows you want to and that you hate that you want to, resistant to your nature and the way he likes to give to you.

“You promise you didn’t do it on purpose?” You ask, eyes flicking up to meet his gaze.

“Swear it.”

“Sit down. I don’t want you to fall if you pass out.”

“I'm not gonna pass out.” But he does as you say anyway.

He takes a seat on one of the kitchen chairs and pulls you to stand between his knees, watching your eyes as you unspool the cloth from around his hand again. Want is sharp in your features, though the pinch of hunger is absent because you eat so well of late.

A satisfied feathering of pride brushes the underside of his lungs, because even if you drink from someone else, no one satisfies you like he does, like his blood can. You will feed from him now because you like the taste, because he's good to you, not because you need it.

Blood slips down his hand without the cloth, across his fingers and the lined, flat of his palm.

Your lick it away, starting at the base of his hand, eyes fluttering closed when you taste him and pull back a little. The thick red disappears into your mouth, coats the seam of your lips when you press them together. Your tongue slides out, pink stained dark, to sweep across your mouth.

It's gentle, this taking, because you don't have to bite and you aren't really hungry. It's nice, even without the drug of your venom making him loose and weak. Your taking, in any way, never fails to send a shock of arousal through his body.

You meet his eyes and slide his thumb into your mouth, sucking away the blood there, twisting your tongue against his skin. "Christ," he mutters and pulls you down onto his lap. Your legs go wide, settling around his hips.

When you pull back, you smile and then laugh a little. Blood streaks red on your chin and across your cheek. There's nothing about it that's not messy, evidence always marked everywhere of what he gives. "Think it's funny, huh?"

"You're just so willing to be my food, Joel," you tease and roll your hips against his, against his embarrassingly hard length.

He doesn't get a chance to answer, because your free hand is fitted against the back of his, raising the slash of his wound to the slash of your mouth. It's gentle at first, because you don't have to bite him, then harsh and heady as you suck and drink.

Joel strokes your spine with his free hand as you feed, feels each folded breath, the strain of your neck as you drink when he presses his palm against the back of your neck.

His head falls back when you make a satisfied noise, spine slumping with the pleasure that comes with the soothing of your hunger.

It doesn't last long, just long enough for the wound to clot a little from the pressure and stop bleeding. It isn't like when your teeth pierce him, two little pricks that seem impossible to close until you've taken your fill.

"There," you coo and lick your teeth. "All better." You stay on his lap, Joel's unharmed hand against your spine as you clean and bandage the cut.

"Didn't want it to go to waste," he tells you. "Y'need it."

Your eyes go soft and sweet, your kiss salted iron against his lips. "Need you."

The correction, he supposes, makes all the difference.

#joel miller x reader #sated drabble

[unknownfacelessfanfictions]

Ours

Pairing: Hemmer x fem!Reader Fandom: Star Trek: Strange New Worlds Words: 1.3K Summary: The usually composed Hemmer is not quite so composed when it comes to putting the finishing touches to their home A/N: Just something short and fluffy. Not my best work, but I love Hemmer so much and there is not enough fics for him

Hemmer boasted of being a composed and very poised person. Grumpy, yes. Sarcastic and sometimes cynical too, but never nervous or upset. Always calm and collected. At least that's what he tried to tell himself as he paced up and down, looking rather nervous, ticking off a list of things to do on his PADD.

He knew she would tell him that was ridiculous. He knew that himself. However, he couldn't avoid doing it anyway, because Hemmer couldn't afford any mistakes this time. It had to be perfect. For them. For her. Hemmer looked around again to make sure everything was in the right place. At the moment he was in a small flat near Vancouver, in the middle of the living room.

It was an open, bright room, painted in warm beige with light ice-blue accents and carpeted in a fluffy white rug Hemmer had purchased from his birthplace. She had protested that it was too complicated, but he hadn't cared. It was worth it to him.

On the side wall, a fireplace crackled quietly, casting a warm light on the dark velvet sofa and armchairs arranged around a small coffee table, and the opposite wall covered by a huge bookcase. Hemmer's gaze slid over the room again, over the magnificent view from the window, , at least she had said it was one, and for the hundredth time he adjusted the cushions so that they lay at a perfect angle on the sofa. This was important. After all, it wasn't just any flat, it was theirs. Not his, in which he lived alone and simmered away, no.

For the first time in his life, Hemmer would be sharing a home with someone who was not his family, nor assigned to him by Starfleet. For the first time in his life, he had made it so far in a romantic relationship that it had become so serious that they would live together. In a flat. As a couple. And Hemmer just couldn't screw that up, the whole thing was too important to him for that.

He could practically hear his sisters sniggering already that their big brother had turned into a cheesy, lovesick softie, however Hemmer wouldn't have cared because he stood by it. He loved her and she deserved to have the best he could offer her. Whether she knew it, he did not know, however it was custom and an act of affection among the Aenar that one could provide a comfortable life for one's partner, that one could ensure that the other was warm and satiated. And even if she did not know this custom, Hemmer knew that it would fill him with the greatest satisfaction should it please her.

Hemmer knew that she did not know the custom because he had asked her about it once, indirectly, and she had denied it. He had been all the more surprised and admittedly delighted when they had found a flat together and, after ordering and buying the furniture and colours, she had asked him if he could furnish the whole thing. It had been noticeably awkward for her, however, Starfleet had ordered her back to San Francisco to deal with an emergency there.

Hemmer, inwardly brimming with pride, had assured her not to worry or feel bad, and when he had seen her off on the shuttle pad, it had seemed like a good idea to promise that the flat would be ready as soon as she returned.

While he still thought it was a good idea, he couldn't help but feel nervous. What if she didn't like it after all and he had done everything wrong? What if she decided she didn't want to live with him anymore and went back to San Francisco? What if he ruined everything?

Hemmer tried to calm himself down. His thought processes were illogical and not rational. They had chosen the furniture and colours and decorations together and she had been happy with everything. She had told him roughly how she imagined the furniture should stand and since he had mostly agreed, there were few changes Hemmer had made.

And even if she didn't agree with the whole thing one hundred percent, the way he had put it, they could still change it. Still, there was this small, gnawing part of him that harboured doubts and just hoped and wished that she would be instantly enthusiastic about it.

Just as Hemmer was about to go through the checklist one last time, the doorbell rang, informing him of his girlfriend's return. He quickly dropped the PADD on the sofa and hurried to the front door to open it. Although she had been given the code, she could be quite forgetful and Hemmer would not be surprised if she did not lock herself out more than once in the coming weeks. The door hadn't even slid completely aside when he felt her warm, welcome presence seconds before she threw herself around his neck to press her lips to his. Somewhat surprised, Hemmer wrapped his arms around her waist and for a moment he simply enjoyed the peace and quiet her presence brought him, even if her mind seemed louder than ever. When she broke away from him, however, she didn't let go, just pressed her forehead against his lovingly. "I've missed you." "Oh really?" Amusement resonated in Hemer's voice. " I haven't noticed." "Idiot." He could feel her grin before she pressed a kiss to his cheek and dragged her suitcase behind her, past him, into the flat.

Once again, nervousness began to spread through Hemmer and he took a deep breath before following her in. He needn't have worried, though. As soon as she entered the living room, he heard a gasp followed by a series of unidentifiable sounds. "Hemmer, this... this is..." She turned and Hemmer felt her step a little closer to him. "This is absolutely wonderful!" Again she wrapped her arms around him and pressed her face into the crook of his neck.

"Do you like it?" "Do I like it? I love it! It's perfect!" Relief washed over him, followed by pride, which he tried not to show, at least outwardly through his antennae. He had made it. His mate was pleased and seemed comfortable, which, according to Aenar custom, was the acceptance of the gift.

For the next ten minutes Hemmer followed his enthusiastic girlfriend around their small flat and with each compliment his chest swelled a little more with pride. She was content and happy and that was all he desired.

Back in the living room, to his surprise, she pulled him down again and kissed him. This time the kiss was longer and more passionate, expressing all the emotions she had to say and which Hemmer was only too happy to return. "I love you, thank you." She broke away from him and seemed about to say something when she was distracted by something Hemmer couldn't immediately identify, only to realise with horror that it was his PADD with the list.

"No, wait-" he began, though it was already too late for that. He looked down at the floor as she read and wanted to sink into the ground when she raised her voice. "You made a list?" Hemmer could not make out any emotion in her voice and nodded slightly. "I wanted to make sure it was perfect so you'd be comfortable. A bit silly, probably, eh?" Nothing happened at first, when suddenly she lunged at him and squeezed him tightly, forcing the air out of his lungs. "Silly, old, sweet, lovable Aenar. You didn't have to worry about anything like that. Either way, it would have been perfect." "But why?" He felt her look up.

"Because you did it. For us. Because this is where we're going to live together. Because this is the place that belongs to the person I love the most, and to me. Because it's ours and that alone makes it perfect."

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@bigblissandlove1 @akamitrani @moonlightshaiku @indignantlemur

#star trek #star trek x reader #star trek strange new worlds #star trek snw #hemmer #lieutenant hemmer #chief hemmer #lt hemmer #hemmer x reader #hemmer x you #lt hemmer x reader #chief hemmer x reader #lieutenant hemmer x reader #hemmer x reader snw

[hannahssimblr]

Chapter Eighteen (Part 2)

There are no family photos on the walls of this house, which is entirely different to my home. My mother framed everything, because I was the only child, and therefore everything I did and every milestone I achieved was wonderful and amazing. There’s a photo of me, eight and smiling on the day of my first communion that has pride of place on the mantelpiece next to my parents wedding photos, as though my first reception of the body of Christ (a wafer) was as important as their vow to each other. I was cute back then, but it’s easy to track my progression from cute child to awkward teenager by simply following the path of photos on the wall above the television, where I am immortalised forever in my school uniform, picture day after picture day, year after year until they mercifully stopped taking them at the end of primary school and I was free to duck away and hide my braces and acne from any and all cameras.

There are no such records in the Turner house. There are no notches on the door frames that measured the growth of the children, no ancient crayon drawings still stuck to the fridge, or, for the extra special ones, framed on the wall where visitors can see them. There’s no sad, punctured football in the back garden, or Ribena stain on the carpet, and I can’t see what’s inside the cupboard under the stairs, but I guarantee there’s no outsized roller skates or fad toy from Christmas 2002 stuffed in there either. This house is like somebody opened an interior design magazine and bought everything on the page.

Jude climbs on a chair to reach a box, way up high on the very top of a bookcase.  He settles next to me on the sofa and lifts the lid without any of the reverence or intentionality I feel it deserves, and hauls out a handful of photographs. 

“There are before me.” He says, and I don’t care about those ones. His mother is very beautiful, and when she’s young even more so, but Collette Turner is of about as much interest to me as I am to her. When he hands them to me I just leave them on the coffee table and poke my fingers around in the box with him until we find the ones from November 1991. 

“There I am.” He says, and rightly so, there he is. A tiny baby screaming in his mother’s arms as she, looking like a child herself stares bemusedly down at the pink, squirming thing in her arms. “Apparently all I did was make noise.” He says. “Nothing has changed there. I also wasn’t cute.”

“You weren’t.” I agree, but I like the photo anyway. Even in these first minutes of his life there’s something furious and uncompromising about him, all clenched fists and red face. He’s so tiny. My heart swells for him. 

“I did get cute though.” He says, putting another photo into my hands of him at maybe two years old, wearing nothing but a nappy and a pair of cowboy boots. He’s standing on wobbly little legs on some dirt path, while sandstone pillars and jagged rock formations soar up into the sky behind him. It’s the kind of landscape that you only see in cartoons. 

“Did you see the road runner when you were there?” I deadpan. 

He smirks. “That’s Bryce Canyon. My great aunt brought me along on a trip with her kids. I think I was two.” He flips it over to where Sept. ‘93 is scrawled in blue biro. “Almost two. Her kids were in college at that point. I think there’s photos of us all.” He has a quick shuffle through the stack and withdraws several more from Utah, mostly of him being held, or cuddled or kissed on his chubby cheeks by four twenty somethings who look like extras from Seinfeld. Looking at their faces, their patterned jumpers, their floppy haircuts brings back a sense-memory of what it felt like to exist in the nineties. That pervasive smell of cigarettes and the old, brown plastic ashtray on my uncle’s table. The cuffs of light wash jeans and the creases in my cousin’s white sneakers as I tied and untied his shoelaces beneath the kitchen table, and Paul Simon’s Obvious Child, and our old TV that spit out white noise and wobbled until someone banged it with their fist to set it right again. I feel as affectionate towards those snippets of memory as I do about this tiny, cowboy boot wearing Jude, perched high on his cousin’s shoulders.

“Is that your great aunt?” I wonder, pointing to a ruddy cheeked woman in her early forties that crouches down with her arms around him at the base of a sandstone pillar. 

“Yes, Maureen.” he’s mentioned her before in passing. I know that her husband was in the military, and that they lived all over the world for years. When he retired they settled in New Mexico, and she and her family were in the picture a lot when Jude was a child.

“When’s the last time you saw her?” 

“When I was fifteen, but it’s not always easy to find the time anymore. She calls me every Christmas and on my birthday, and sometimes she sends me gifts.” He brushes his thumb thoughtfully over the photo. “You know, I miss her. She was kind of like my other-mother for a while.”

“Maybe you should go and visit again.”

“Yeah, I’d really like to.” He digs through the box and pulls out a more recent one of them both from 2007. They’re standing in her kitchen with their arms around each other, and she’s short and round, and he’s so tall and gangly with a wooden beaded necklace on, and they both have the biggest smiles. “Maybe I’ll go in the autumn.”

“Definitely! I think that’d be amazing.”

“It’s just weird because it’s hard to know where I’m going to be then, you know? Now that I’m graduating from college I’ll have to, like, look for a job.” He says it like it’s a dirty word, and there is the tiniest twinge of anxiety in my belly.

“Something will work out.” I say passively. I’ve tried not to think about what’s going to happen after college, and whether or not he’ll decide to move back to Ireland again once he finishes his final project. We’ve just avoided the conversation, even though sometimes during our long talks we bring us right up to the knife’s edge of it before we stealthily change the subject, but I soon have to acknowledge the elephant in the room, and it’s that we don’t know where he’ll be in six months. We don’t know what things might look like between us, and neither of us knows yet what he wants. 

“Yeah, definitely.” He says hopefully, and I take the photo of him and Maureen so that I can take a closer look. 

“2007.” I murmur. “You were so dreamy. I wish you’d seen what I looked like in 2007, it’d be like a jump scare.”

He chuckles. “No way, Evie.”

“I had cystic acne and braces,” I confess. “I was so ugly.”

“You haven’t even brushed up against ugly in your entire life. And I had braces once too, believe it or not.”

“Oh I’d believe it.” I feast myself on the view of his immaculate teeth. “Did your dad do that?”

“He did, and funny you should mention him, because he’ll probably be home soon. Do you want to endure an awkward, socially inept conversation with him or do you want me to take you home?”

“Oof, tough choice.” 

Jude takes all of the photos from my lap and from the table and taps them gently into formation before stacking them back into the box where they’ll no doubt sit there unbothered for another few months or years, dusty and forgotten atop the bookcase. 

“Let’s get moving.” 

Jude’s car idles outside my apartment for half an hour, because every time I try to get out I look over my shoulder at him and feel compelled to kiss him goodbye, just one more time. 

“Jesus Christ, you’re a great kisser.” I say as his lips slide from my mouth to the curve of my jaw, and his fingers caress the nape of my neck. “Where did you learn to do that?”

“Back of my hand.” He murmurs. “Glad you’ve noticed, I’ve actually never kissed a girl before.”

“Oh shut up.” I snicker. 

“You know, if you think I’m good with my mouth you should see what else I can do with it.”

I breathe out a laugh, and my body shivers so intensely from head to toe that I have to twist out of his grip. This is full-on dirty talk. I don’t know how to do that. I should probably give him a slow, seductive smile and say something like “Well why don’t you come upstairs and show me?” But I obviously don’t. I say “Oh.” and then laugh way too loudly which completely dissolves the sexual vibe and he goes from looking flirtatious to amused. “What?”

“I mean, you can come in if you like, I know I owe you one but full disclosure I haven’t shaved in days.”

“Are you trying to lure me in with handjobs and hairy legs?”

“Feeling enticed?”

“You bet.”

I lean back against the passenger door and wrap my arms around myself. “Well, whatever you want to do is fine.”

His expression is funny as he takes me in, my body language, the metre of space I’ve managed to carve between us, and his eyebrow twitches sceptically. “I don’t want things that you don’t. You know that?”

I nod. 

“When you want me to come in, I’ll come in, but you don’t have to do things for me just because you think you owe me.”

“I will want to.” I say. “Just later.”

“Well lucky for you I’m busy the next while. I’m in the last weeks of my thesis and I really need to buckle down, so if we’re fooling around it will probably not do wonders for my concentration.”

I pout. “But I’ll still see you?”

“Of course, I’ll always make time for you.” He pulls me into him by my wrists and kisses me one last time, and I’m starting to  wonder how I’ll ever be expected to kiss another man again when he pulls away from me. “It’s time for you to get out of my car. I’m wasting diesel.” He teasingly shoves me away and I scramble for the handle and scurry out onto dark streets wet with rain as he springs forward to smack my arse.  

“Later, alligator.” He says, and I shut the door behind me with a thunk. 

Beginning // Prev // Next

#lucky girl part 3

[semperama]

I was tagged by @jouissants to answer these book questions. Thanks, friend!

An estimate of how many physical books I own: Too many and somehow still not enough! My guess is somewhere in the ballpark of 150? 200 maybe? Probably no more than 200.

Favorite author: WHO can pick a favorite. My usual answer to this is Wally Lamb, but it's been so long since I've read one of his books, I'd have to think about whether that's changed.

A popular book I've never read and never intend to read: Pretty much any blockbuster YA novel, but to pick something theoretically more in my wheelhouse: One Hundred Years of Solitude. After white-knuckling my way through Love in the Time of Cholera, I just can't do it again.

A popular book I thought was just meh: The Night Circus. That book was all concept and no execution, to me.

Longest book I own: Probably either The Stand or It, not sure which is longer. Stephen King loves to put out a crazy-long book.

Longest series I own all the books to: Stephen King's Gunslinger series, which I actually still haven't read, oops.

Prettiest book I own: My mom just bought me an edition of Anne of Green Gables that has a really pretty illustrated cover.

A book or series I wish more people knew about: Ummm I don't know, I'm so bad at ~discovering niche books on my own. Most of the time I'm reading books that are either classics or well-reviewed or talked about a lot. I guess one book I really enjoyed that I haven't heard many people talk about is The Inn at Lake Devine by Elinor Lipman. I think I saw it on a list somewhere as a recommendation for people who like the movie Dirty Dancing, and it ended up being so unexpected and really, really great.

Book I'm reading now: Just finishing listening to Lie With Me by Philippe Besson on audiobook, and I checked Weyward by Emilia Hart out from the library, but I haven't started reading it yet.

Book that's been on my TBR list for a while but I still haven't got around to it: So many, because I'm very slow at reading lately. I've started reading East of Eden approximately 20 times and never managed to finish it, so let's go with that.

Do you have any books in a language other than English: I have many, because my husband and father-in-law buy me books in other languages whenever they travel somewhere out of the country. I have the first book in The Witcher series in Polish, the first three Harry Potter books and Alice in Wonderland in Hebrew; Pride & Prejudice and Jane Eyre in French; and The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe in Japanese.

Paperback, hardcover, or ebook?: When I buy a physical book, I prefer hardcover, because it bothers me how beat-up paperbacks get so quickly. These days I almost exclusively read ebooks though. It's just so much easier to have them in my phone, and I'm out of space on my bookcases anyway, ahaha.

tagging: @psicygni, @apeacebone, @boxboxlewis, @blamemma, @veryspecificfantasies

#about me #books

[drifting-pieces-blog-blog]

Complications and Solutions: Chapter 6

Complications and Solutions: Chapter 6

Summary: Layla causes anxiety as she makes changes around the apartment. She has her first real tiff with Steven.

Pairings: Marc x Layla. Steven x Layla. Jake x Layla.

Warnings: SEXUAL CONTENT. A slightly glossed over depiction of sexual intercourse. It's not explicit, but it's there with implied deeds and some depictions. (Let's call this one 18+)

Word Count: 5,159

Previous Chapter HERE

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It had been a solid week and Layla had not seen nor heard from Jake. 

Life went by as normally as it could for all parties accountable. She enjoyed time with Marc, slowly repairing a relationship that had been ripped apart by lies and secrets. 

It was easy enough to fall in love with him again. His secret smiles meant just for her still made her heart flutter like the first time she had met him. Perhaps more so, now that she knew the true soft heart that lay behind them. 

Marc and Steven were still working out how to share time and Steven was always eager to pop in to greet her any chance he got. She found him utterly adorable each time he gave her that large goofy grin and looked at her the way he looked at anything about ancient Egypt. 

She took great pride in knowing that nothing else could ever pull his attention from Egypt like she could. She was learning how to flirt with him and found it freeing to let her go of her normal reservations and simply have fun. 

Yet still she couldn’t help but feel that she was missing something. 

She started to do small things at first. She organized their closet into three sections, getting dividers for their hanging section. Marc owned about three of the exact same shirts and one jacket. Steven had about twenty colorful button down shirts that Marc found utterly appalling. 

It was easy to find Jake’s clean pressed shirts and coats. She took them to the dry cleaners herself and hung them up with care.  

She cleared off a space on the table by the front door and set out a dish for Jake to toss his keys into so they wouldn’t get lost in Steven’s clutter. She even found a hook for him to hang up his cap next to Marc’s Cubs cap. 

Marc teased her that she was acting like a bird trying to build a nest to impress some potential mate. 

She muttered that she was only trying to make room in the mess that he called a home. It was too embarrassing to admit that he was right. Somehow she thought that if she made room for him, that maybe he would feel comfortable enough existing in it. 

She had her first argument with Steven when he caught her trying to move a bookcase on her own. 

“What are you doing?” He stood in the open doorway, a bag in his hand. “Oh no! No! You don’t need to move that!” 

He set the bag aside and ran to her. 

“I got it. I just need to move it a little to the left. No sense in it just jutting out like it is into the doorway here.” She gave it a nudge with her full weight and it groaned as it moved a few centimeters. 

“Layla!” He looked utterly stricken. “I wish you wouldn’t do all this alone. What if…What if the case fell over on you?” 

“I’m being careful.” She gave him a look. “I wouldn’t pick it up and move it to the other side of the room without help. It’s just a little nudge.” 

Steven clutched at his sweater and looked around the place. “You’ve been moving a lot of things.” 

“Just trying to clear some space. Is that alright?” She looked at him cautiously. It occured to her that she had asked Marc about changing a few things but not actually talked to Steven. 

“Uh huh.” He answered automatically and continued to look around at what she had considered to be small changes. “Peachy.” 

“Steven, if it bothers you, I want you to tell me. I shouldn’t just be moving your things without asking.” She sighed. 

“Well they aren’t just my things, are they?” He gave her a weak smile. “I’m sure Marc is fine with it. He hates all this clutter anyways. Bit of a neat freak I think.” 

“I want your opinions on things too, Steven. You live here. You take up space! Here, you have such a nice desk over here. Do you need a better lamp?” 

Steven looked over at his desk, suddenly stricken with being faced with a decision and change. “Uh… No, it’s fine. I can see alright.” 

“But you’re straining your eyes all the time!” She walked over to his desk. “It’s so dark over here.” 

“I mean, Howard Carter didn’t have light when he opened the tomb of Tutankhamen, did he? No. All by torch and what not.” He nervously rushed to his desk and lay a hand on it as if he could prevent her from moving it too. 

Layla stared at him, as always bewildered and pleased by his random use of deep facts that hardly anyone else would understand. She took his hand gently. “But you are not Howard Carter and you have the use of modern light. Maybe I want to do something nice for you. As much as I think you look like a refined gentleman in those glasses, Marc refuses to wear them and he squints all the time.” 

Steven looked down at her hands and flushed. “I just… It’s a lot.” 

“A lamp?” She frowned. “Or all of it?” 

He wouldn’t meet her eyes as he glanced around then stared firmly back down at her hands. “A bit. A bit of all of it.” 

“Okay.” She nodded. “It has been a lot, hasn’t it? A lot of change? With Marc and then Me and Jake and well… Everything?” 

He nodded and his eyes landed on something across the room. “Did you move my books?” 

She followed his gaze in confusion. “You mean these?” She went to a shelf that had been mostly stacked with fallen over books. She had straightened them back up and organized them on the shelf. 

“One’s missing.” He quickly glanced over the other shelves, taking stock in where everything was. “I have them just how I like them. I can find the ones I need very quickly if I know where they are. I’m missing the one on cuneiform. It’s small and yellow.” 

“Oh. I don’t remember seeing it.” She moved over to look at the shelf with him. “Maybe it fell to the back?” She reached out to move the books and he stepped in her way, hands already moving the books gently as he looked. 

She frowned as he blocked her and searched. “I don’t see it. Did you put it on a different shelf?” He started searching the other shelves, leaning up and trying to get a better look without disturbing anything. 

“I didn’t move anything. I only straightened them.” She crossed her arms, annoyed now by the implication. 

“It’s not here.” He moved some books to the side now, organizing as if everything was suddenly thrown off and in the wrong spot. 

“I swear I didn’t touch anything else, Steven.” She huffed and moved to another shelf, looking for a small yellow book. “Are you sure it was there? Maybe it’s on your desk. Did you use it recently?” 

“No, I didn’t bloody use it recently. Why would I use a book on cuneiform when I’m looking at Babylonian?” He snarked. 

“Then maybe Marc moved it.” She deadpanned back at him as she moved to look at the stack on his desk. 

“Why on earth would Marc be looking at a book on cuneiform?” He looked back at her. 

They stared at one another for a hot moment and his face suddenly went bright red as she held up a small yellow book she had found under the mess on his desk. 

They were silent and he fumbled with his sweater nervously. He opened his mouth to start gushing apologies and she gave him a look. 

“You assumed the worst of me.” 

“I didn’t mean to. I just… I must have forgotten to put it back and it fell behind things…” He looked down. 

“I would never move your things like that without asking. Maybe I’ve organized a few too many things of yours, but I never outright moved them.” She sighed and set the book back down on the desk. 

“You’ve just been doing so much for Marc and I know he complains all the time about my things…” He glanced around. “And this is his place but all this is mine and I take up so much of his space. I thought…” 

“You had an irrational thought that we were trying to get rid of your things?” She put her hands on her hips. 

He gave a weak nod. “Sometimes those irrational thoughts get a little loud.” 

She walked over to him. “We all get irrational thoughts, Steven.” 

“Even about me?” He peaked up at her, his face still red. 

“I get them about everyone. Every time Marc doesn’t text me back I think he’s disappeared again. Every time I see you with another woman I worry that you’ll fall instantly in love with her and won’t need me anymore. I found a very passive aggressive note you left for Marc the other day and worried that I had somehow crossed a line and upset your delicate balance!” She sighed. “I’m always worried I’m going to upset one of you and then you’ll all leave me. It’s irrational. I know that isn’t the case. I know that you and Marc love me. I know that even if I piss one of you off that things will be fine.” 

Steven fidgeted. “I think I’m a third wheel. That I ruined your marriage. That Marc left you because of me and you resent me for it. Sometimes I think you are disappointed to see me because you could have had time with Marc. That I don’t do enough to help the system. That if I wasn’t here than Marc would be healthy and normal. That you might try to get rid of me so that things can go back to normal.” 

She wrapped her arms around his waist and pulled him close, resting her forehead against his. “But we both know that those fears are irrational, right?” 

He nodded. “I’m sorry.” 

“I’m sorry too.” She leaned up to kiss his cheek and he turned to quickly capture her lips in a soft kiss. It was not as sloppy as their first kiss, but still rushed and no less desperate. 

Layla smiled and slowly took charge, sucking on his lower lip lightly then moving to deepen the kiss as she guided him. She felt his hands slide down to her hips, unsure where to put them. 

He was still so new to everything. She pulled back and smiled up at him. “You know… You got a little cheeky with me back there for a moment.” 

“Did I?” He gave her a nervous smile. 

“Sometimes I forget how sassy you can get.” She slipped her hands up under his sweater and traced her fingers down his spine slowly. 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to mouth off. Always a bad habit of mine. I speak before I think.” He shivered under her touch. 

“That’s what I like about you.” She nuzzled his neck gently. “You speak your mind.” She moved her hands to his fly and started to unbutton it. His eyes widened as the zipper came down. She paused, waiting for his approval. 

He looked down at her and swallowed hard. “I don’t know what I’m doing.” He admitted in a rush, apologizing. 

“Good thing that I do.” She parted the fly and slipped her fingers past the jeans to feel him through his boxers. 

His lips parted and he made a sound that ignited a fire inside her. It was everything she could do just to control herself and not jump him like she could have done with Marc. She needed to go slowly. She needed to move carefully. This was Steven. Steven was a sweet and kind and gentle soul. 

He slid his hands up under her shirt and pulled her close, stealing a kiss, this time mimicking what she had done earlier and exploring her. He was a fast learner. 

They stumbled back into his desk and he lifted her, sitting her on the edge as he kissed down her neck slowly, leaving feather light kisses across her collar bone. 

She tilted her head back as he gently sucked on the crook of her neck for a moment, leaving a red mark. “Ah…Steven…” 

Her hands reached back for their prize, feeling him through his boxers as his arousal grew quickly. 

She knew this body. She knew every part of it. Yet she did not know what Steven liked. This was new and exciting territory. Steven didn’t know what she liked either. Yet his hands moved eagerly, ready to figure it out. 

There was a loud crash as everything on his desk hit the floor. She glanced back, worried that he would be upset as his things lost their place. When she looked back up at Steven she found him standing shirtless and in the process of kicking his pants off. 

“Oh…” She leaned back on her elbows and watched him strip. His eagerness making his hands fumble as he struggled a moment to get his shoes off then he looked up at her with sudden self consciousness. 

She smiled as he stood before her in his boxers. “I’ve never, you know… Been exposed before.” He blushed deeply. 

“Best not to think about it.” She eyed the bulge as he shifted on his feet. “Here. Let’s get on even ground.” 

She pulled off her shirt then slipped her own pants down and off, sitting on his desk in her bra and panties. 

He looked at her with large eyes, taking her in. “You’re so exquisite.” 

It was her turn to blush. “You’re pretty hot yourself, Steven.” 

He made a dismissive sound and reached out to delicately slide a bra strap off her shoulder. First one, then the other, his fingers running along her arms then back up to trace over her collarbone gently. 

Leaning in, he nuzzled her and reached back to find the clasp. “I never want to forget this moment. Like seeing the stars in the night sky for the first time…” 

He gently lifted her bra away and dropped it off the side of the desk then slowly slid his hands down her sides and hips. His fingers hooked into her waistline and her panties slid down easily as she lifted her hips slightly. 

Stepping back, he gazed at her with utter wonder and love. 

Layla suddenly felt shy as he drank her in. She looked up at him, bashful for the first time in ages as he stared at her vulnerable body. 

“My stars…” He whispered. He reached out a shaking hand and lightly touched her hip, following it down to her thigh. She slowly spread her legs, giving him access, chewing on her lower lip with a shy smile. 

It was all the permission he needed. His boxers slipped to the floor and were kicked to the side. He pulled her in and his desk creaked as he eagerly explored every part of her. Finger tips stayed light as he traced every curve of her body. Each time she responded positively he worked his way back, curious to see what made her tick. 

Lips soon followed his fingers, brushing across her skin and leaving gentle marks each time he found a spot that made her gasp. 

All thoughts of leading and having her way with him left her the moment he sank to his knees and demonstrated his newly found kissing skills between her thighs. 

Her fingers gripped his hair tightly and she let out strangled cries as new sensations rushed through her. “Steven!” She gave herself to his explorations and arched back on the desk, urging him on as she pushed and pulled at his head. 

When she thought it would all be too much he nuzzled her thighs and stood back up, looking at her with a cheeky smile. “Can I?”

Layla’s head was swimming as she looked down at his very eager erection. “Yes…” She reached up for him, wrapping her arms around his neck to pull him close. 

He moved slowly. Taking his time to feel every part of her and making sure she was comfortable. He didn’t need to worry, but she appreciated him all the same for it. She wanted him to know her body as well as she knew his. 

His hips jerked, unsure on how to set the pace. He was suddenly very much aware of her small delicate frame and seemed concerned that he might somehow hurt her. 

“Stop thinking so much.” She kissed him softly. 

He shifted and the desk creaked then gave a worrying groan as both their weights settled onto it. 

Steven shifted, suddenly concerned for the structure of the desk. “Oh!” 

They both rolled and landed on the floor, Layla now sitting on top of him and staring down at him with wide eyes. Now here was a position she knew. 

“Are you alright?” He tried to ask her as he looked up at her in concern. 

She laughed and gave him a mischievous grin then rocked her hips. All thoughts left him as she took control. His hands gripped her hips and he watched her move, gazing up at her in absolute wonder. 

It wasn’t long at all before they were both worked up, drunk on each other's passion. Fingers stroked over bodies and lips locked as they tested one another, reaching for the perfect moment until at last they both found it and rode the waves of pleasure that rushed over them. 

Collapsing on top of Steven, Layla rested her head on his chest, feeling it rise in deep shuddering breaths as he calmed down slowly. 

“Wow.” He got out at last. 

A giggle escaped her and she looked up at him with a grin. “Steven Grant… There is a lot more to you than I thought.” 

He smiled at her and stroked her hair softly. “It was alright?” 

“Mnh.” She flushed. “It was perfect.” 

His smile hesitated a moment and he shifted under her then winced. “I think I’m laying on a stapler.” 

“Oh!” She looked around at all the things that had formally been on his desk. “Your papers!” 

He let out a breathy laugh and sat up, reaching behind him to pull out a stapler and toss it aside. “Don’t worry about it. About time I cleared things off anyways. But…Maybe next time we should aim for the bed.”

“Mnh. I don’t know.” She kissed him softly. “Having sex on your desk and research felt pretty good.” 

“I’m going to need a sturdier desk.” He swallowed hard. 

She laughed, hugging him gently. “Come on. Let’s get cleaned up.” 

They took turns in the shower before coming out to search for their tossed aside clothes. Once they were comfortable enough, they settled on the couch and snuggled into one another. 

“Does this mean we’re, you know… a couple now?” Steven looked at her curiously. 

“We were a couple before.” She looked up at him. “It just means that now I don’t have to worry about it anymore.” 

“You were worried about it?” He frowned slightly. 

“A little.” She stroked his hair gently, pushing his curls out of his face. “I’ve only been with Marc for a long time now. I had a lot to worry about.” 

He nodded, thinking it over. “Were you worried that it wouldn’t be as good?” He blushed but there was an honest question there. 

“Not at all.” She hugged him gently. “I knew that anything I did with you would be completely different. I think that scared me a little. Not knowing what it would be like… What you would be okay with.” 

“I think I’d be okay with anything you did, so long as it was you.” He looked up at her with utter trust. 

“As much as I appreciate it, there has to be a little more than that.” She sighed and rested her head on his shoulder. “I need to know if you don’t like something… If something bothers you… Not just when it comes to sex, either. Daily things. Me moving your things, for example. Sometimes you let things build and you let people walk on you. Don’t let me be one of those people.” 

He nodded and took her hand, working his fingers over hers gently. “I promise. I’ll do my best to tell you if I’m upset if you promise not to treat me like a child.” 

“Did people do that to you a lot?” She wove her fingers with his and held his hand tightly for a moment. 

“Yeah. I get upset and they think it’s trivial. Like a kid having a tantrum or pointing out something stupid. I get dismissed a lot, really… I try not to let it bother me but…” He let out a deep sigh and shrugged. 

“Steven… If you ever feel like I’m not respecting you like I should, tell me. I think sometimes I get so caught up in situations that I forget that there are others around me that might not feel the same way.” She remembered one of the many fights she had once had with Marc. How desperate she had been for him to just talk to her that she had failed to see how much it hurt him to try. 

He nodded and squeezed her hand gently. They sat in silence for a moment then he nodded and glanced to the side. 

He shifted back in the seat and sat up a little before looking over at Layla in surprise. “Hey.” Marc grinned. 

She looked up at him and smiled. “Hey yourself.” 

Marc stretched then continued to grin. “My back hurts, I have a few new bruises, and I feel like I was laying on rocks. What did you two get up to while I was out?” 

Layla blushed then smirked and ruffled his hair. “Steven and I got dirty on his desk. Was I too rough on your old bones?” 

Marc snorted and glanced at the desk. “Didn’t think he had it in him. What did you two do?” 

“I don’t kiss and tell.” She crossed her arms and continued to give him a grin. “But I will tell you that he is a fast learner and you have some competition, mister.” 

“Oh really?” Marc raised an eyebrow then laughed. 

“You aren’t jealous, are you?” She tried to keep it light but the worry was there. 

He smiled at her, a real and soft smile. “No. I’m glad you two finally did it. Maybe now he’ll loosen up a bit. And maybe now you’ll stop dancing on eggshells.” 

She gave him a nudge with her elbow and snuggled in closer as he wrapped an arm around her. 

She was quiet for a moment then looked away. “I’m sorry.” 

“Sorry? For what?” Marc blinked. “I told you I was fine with it.” 

“For every time before when I yelled at you for not talking. For not telling me how you felt.” She took his hand and held it tightly. 

“That was the past.” He shrugged. “I’m sorry for all the things I didn’t tell you.” 

“I didn’t need to push you on it, though.” She looked up at him. “I thought that I needed to know everything and that you not telling me was because you didn’t respect me. I get it now. It was never about me. I should have respected you more.” 

She watched his face tense for a moment as he struggled with an emotion, his jaw clenching and his eyebrows drawing closer together. At last he forced out a whisper. “I should have trusted you more.” 

“We both fucked up a bit, didn’t we?” She clung to his hand, afraid he would pull it away like he had so many times before. 

“I suppose we’ll have to get better about all that, won’t we? Try to be less fucked up?” He glanced at her, unsure if he had said the right thing. 

She smiled and patted his hand gently. “We’re working on it, aren’t we? I think we’re on the right path.” 

He relaxed a little and squeezed her hand back. “I hope so.” 

Marc glanced around the room. “You guys really trashed the place. What kind of hot passionate sex am I missing out on?” 

Layla smirked. “Steven has got some amazing moves.” 

“Amazingly messy moves.” Marc got up and stretched, rubbing his backside a little. “Next time find a softer place.” He went to the desk and stared down at the mess all around it. 

“You’re just upset that you didn’t get to bend me over a desk first.” She waggled her eyebrows at him and moved to start picking up the mess. 

“It’s still early.” He picked up a stack of books and set it on the desk in a neat pile. 

“Not on this desk you aren’t.” She smirked. “Not as structurally sound as it looks. Steven requests we invest in a better desk. For the future.” 

Marc eyed the desk. “Noted.” 

They picked up the mess, Marc organizing it and setting it gently on the desk in little piles that Steven was sure to dig through the moment he got the chance. 

As they worked, Marc seemed a little distracted. At last he stood up and looked at Layla fully. “Jake wants to know why you insist on putting his things out in the open.” 

She stopped and looked at Marc for a moment. “Maybe he should come out here and ask me himself.” 

Marc frowned. “Don’t antagonize him.” He paused then his frown deepened. “Don’t antagonize her!” 

She blinked at that. 

Marc ran a hand through his hair. “You two really get to one another, don’t you?” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She crossed her arms. “He hardly ever even talks to me.” 

Marc laughed. “He has the same sentiment. I’m not going to play telephone with you two.” 

Layla tapped a foot for a moment then shrugged. “Maybe I put his things out in the open because I feel like he needs to have his own space. He exists too, doesn’t he? No sense in keeping it all hidden. We know he’s there.” 

Marc looked down and shook his head. “I think he likes you.” 

“Bullshit.” She huffed. 

“He isn’t a man of many words but when you’re involved he can’t seem to shut up. I need to brush up on my Spanish.” Marc shrugged and put the last of the items back on Steven’s desk. 

Layla gave Marc a look then shook her head and looked away. “Coward won’t even tell it to me to my face.” She went to the kitchen and angrily started to make coffee. “If he has something to say to me maybe he should just come out and say it and not slink around all the time.”��

She turned around and was startled to find Jake standing there, eyes narrowed and lips pursed in irritation. “Gracias. For the pressed shirts.” 

She stared up at him, unsure what to do or say. “You’re welcome.” She continued to stare until the coffee maker sputtered to life and started to fill the pitcher. 

He glanced at it and reached around her to pull down a mug for her then set a thermos down next to it. “I need to go to work.” He looked over at the clock on the stove. “Are you staying here?” 

“I had planned on it. If that’s alright with you.” She glanced around. “I suppose eventually I’ll move in fully. No point in keeping two places.” 

“You plan to move in here?” Jake looked around as if wondering where she was going to put everything. 

Layla shrugged. “I’m going to have to discuss it with Steven. I don’t want to mess up his things more than I already have.” 

Jake gave her a curious look. “Steven will appreciate that.” 

She watched him head to the closet and gather together a few things before putting them into his duffel bag. 

She eyed the bag. “Why do you always pack for work? Why not change here?” 

He glanced down at the bag. “Sometimes things don’t go as planned. It’s good to have backup.” 

“What do you do for work?” 

“I drive.” He glanced at the coffee maker as it finished and moved to pour her a mug then put the rest into his thermos. “It pays well enough.” 

“Like a taxi or chauffeur?” She was surprised by that. 

“Something like that.” He added milk to his coffee then put the lid on. He pulled on a coat and hat and headed to the door. “I’ll return them to you late tonight. Steven wants to sleep next to you.” 

She blushed at that. “Drive safe.” 

He paused, hand on the door. For a moment she thought he was going to say something then he just shook his head and left, letting the door click quietly closed behind him as he slipped out. 

She stood there a moment with her coffee. “Can’t shut up, huh? Bullshit.” 

She went to the window and watched below as Jake stepped out onto the sidewalk and crossed the street, heading down the block and out of sight. 

She waited a moment, wondering which car that went by might be his. When it had been long enough that he was surely gone, she went to sit back on the couch and sipped her coffee. 

She wondered if Jake would like a better coffee maker or if he liked the taste of cheap coffee. 

He was low on milk. She’d start there and maybe later ask Marc if he knew what Jake liked. 

She was halfway to the door with a grocery list in her hand when she suddenly stopped. “Oh no.” 

She let out a string of curses and closed her eyes. There was stubborn pride, urging her to ignore the realization. He was short tempered and utterly aggravating. So why did she care about what he thought so much? 

She wanted to believe it was because of Marc and Steven. If she could just make Jake accept her then things could be easier between them all. But he had accepted her to a point. He allowed her to exist in their world and know their secrets. 

She already knew that it was possible to be with Marc and Steven without Jake in the picture. He was hardly there to begin with. So why did she keep trying to include him? Why did she wish he was more visible in the picture? 

“Damn it.” She didn’t want to think about it. For now, she would keep making space for him until maybe there was room enough for them all. 

#Moon Knight #Moon Knight Fic #Marc Spector #Jake Lockley #Steven Grant #Layla El Faouly #Can't gloss over them all #She's having an 'oh no I care about him' moment

[belltrigger]

I know you already did one of these but if you're still doing the promts could I suggest "surprise" and unrequited"?

-Send me a “Surprise” and I’ll write a drabble about one character discovering something surprising about the other -Send me a “Unrequited” and I’ll write a drabble about one character longing for the other

No problem Anon! I. I have been in a mood lately. So this ended up extremely spicy. It also became long. _(:з)∠)_

"Blankship Midnight Train" is going to be my tag going forward for this level of spice or higher. Please, ah, don't click through the readmore if you are not 18 or over.

Title: A Seed of Doubt Word count: 5,497

When they had first moved into their apartment, they spent a good deal of time together carefully selecting both shared and personal furniture. Most of their living space was going to be shared, after all, so determining what was most comfortable for them both was absolutely necessary. The only place in their home that was supposed to be separate was their individual bedrooms. Emmet, for the most part, followed Ingo's lead on what furniture should go everywhere, including their rooms. As with most of their things, Ingo's room décor was mostly black with white details, and his were white with black. The only difference of note ended up being Ingo got shelving for his models, while he got bookcases for whatever he felt like. Any number of things lined his shelves: books, little stim toys, the keychain plushies of them he'd found, photos of them that he especially liked.

Although it was mostly a two-way conversation, there was one thing Ingo would not be swayed on. He insisted they both have a full-length standing mirror in their rooms. It was important, he had said, for making sure they always presented with propriety and professionalism - you had to make sure you were dressed perfectly from top of your head to the tips of your toes. Even when they were dressed in casual clothes, just going out as themselves, not Subway Masters, it was essential to make sure they looked just right.

Ingo had always been the more fastidious of them. Although he understood the usefulness of the mirror, and wanted to maintain the crispness of their appearance, Ingo wasn't here now. He almost removed it when Ingo went missing, because he kept jumping at the sight of himself, mistaking his reflection for Ingo. His heart rate spiked in excitement every time, and it had become exhausting. The only thing holding him back from either getting rid of it entirely, or placing it in storage, was the fact that Ingo himself had picked it out.

Now, he was glad he hadn't removed it. He could never manage to compose himself enough to do this in Ingo's room.

Wrapped in Ingo's coat, black hat tipped down slightly to shadow his eyes, he stared at the image he made as he stood facing the mirror. Tugging on the gloves was an afterthought, but useful for what he had planned. None of the rest of the uniform was necessary, but he put it on anyway, tip to toe in Ingo's clothes.

Their Boss coats were immensely important to him, a sign of the responsibility they held. It was impossible to describe how proud he felt when he wore his, a mirror match to Ingo's. They needed to carry themselves with pride and composure whenever they wore them. As such, it was always treated with the utmost care, always layered over a fresh, well-tailored uniform.

But, this coat still smelled faintly of Ingo, and the pride was replaced with a low burning shame at how merely putting it on made him feel warm and wanting. The detergent and cologne Ingo used was the most obvious, but underneath, having stayed in Ingo's closet as a spare, it undeniably smelled like him. As if to confirm, he held the sleeves up and rubbed his face against them, taking a deep inhale. He held it in until he had to cough, holding the fabric against his mouth. After composing himself, he lowered his arms, and stepped closer to the mirror. Less than an arm's length away, he placed one hand against the mirror.

Schooling his mouth into a frown like Ingo's, he tried to keep the expression firmly on his face as he slid the fingertips of his free hand firmly down his chest. With the same face as his brother, the image in the mirror was close to what he wanted, though Ingo probably wouldn't have such a heavy blush. It was as if Ingo was appraising him. The thought alone sped his pulse, stuttered his breath. He took a deep breath, measured his thoughts, and spoke in a carefully practiced and near-perfect mimicry of his brother's voice.

"Look at you." Staring at his mouth, Ingo's mouth, added to the illusion created by the voice. "Barely touched by your brother and yet, you're already so excited." Ingo would whisper the last word into his ear, make a shiver run through him. Maybe he would chuckle next, amused at how weak Emmet already was at just a few words. "Do you think about this even when we're at work? Do you daydream of me bending you over one of the seats?"

"Y-yeah," he said in his own voice. Just for Ingo, he would put a little whine into it, let his big brother hear the eagerness in his voice. Admitting that he thought about this at work too was absolutely-

"Filthy." Chastising, Ingo would put a little more pressure into his touch, punish him for having such thoughts. "Not an ounce of shame in you." Still, there was a tone of fondness in his voice, because he was still Ingo's precious baby brother. Ingo, carefully watching his expression in the mirror, avoided anywhere that was too sensitive, veering the moment his breath caught. "My precious brother, you're so sensitive. Have you been waiting for this?"

Lifting his hand away from the mirror, arm wrapped around his own waist as if Ingo had pulled him back, he straightened up. Ingo would wait, just a moment, so he could appreciate the anticipation vibrating through him. He would wait just long enough for soft, needy complaints to start slipping out. After all, he needed confirmation on just how impatient Emmet had been. The hand previously on the mirror came up to caress softly at his chin before sliding one finger up to brush across his lips.

At just the slightest insistence from the gloved digit, he opened his mouth, allowing it to slip in. His eyes fluttered half closed but kept his gaze riveted on the mirror as he closed his lips around Ingo's finger, greedily sucking it into his mouth. He would be so good for his brother, show just how enthusiastically he would do anything he wished. The feeling of the fabric on his tongue was unpleasant, but if Ingo wanted it, he would swirl it around and around, forever if necessary.

Pulling the fingers out suddenly, Ingo's voice was edging on breathless. "Are you that desperate for a part of me in your mouth?" His own whine got caught in the question, and he focused harder on Ingo's frown in the mirror to keep his brother's voice coming out of his mouth. "When did my innocent little brother become so wanton? Are you like this for everyone?" The hand that had held onto his waist slid inward, to play with the zipper of the black slacks. It lingered, with just enough pressure that he had to confirm it was even there in the mirror. Once Ingo noticed his eyes were on it, the pressure increased. "Or just for your twin? Do you like your own face so much?"

Desperate, his own voice argued against it. "n-No! To all of it!" But the hand was insistent, reaching inside the now opened pants. His hips bucked reflexively at the touch, and he shuddered out a light moan. The urge to bite the glove of his free hand to muffle his cries was ignored; it would have blocked his mouth, Ingo's mouth, and it wasn't as though anyone else would hear. No one else was around to judge him.

He coughed again, throat itching, but pushed through it. Swallowing, and clearing his throat, he forced his brother's voice out again. "What would your fans think if they heard you talk like this? Unless they already have." He began to stroke, squeezing as he emphasized the last words. "Can you even carry yourself properly anymore? Do you debase yourself for challengers who defeat you, now?"

"I wouldn't. Not for anyone else."

"Hard to believe."

Overwhelmed, he leaned forward, hat falling away as his forehead pressed against the mirror. He struggled for words, something to convince the Ingo that wasn't even here of his feelings. Huffing, trying to force through the doubt, he began to move his hand again, bringing his eyes up to the mirror. "Nii-san... Ingo... I love you. Only you. No one else." He bit his lip to stop the pants that punctuated each word. He was getting close.

"No one else? What has possessed you to think I would even entertain such a thing?" His entire body winced as if struck, and tears prickled at his eyes. Both hands released their contact on his body, as if Ingo had harshly pulled away. Anguish gripped his chest and his lungs burned. He doubled over, coughing, hands suddenly full of purple tinged white petals, blood droplets spattered across the flowers. His eyes widened, and the pain of falling to his knees was dulled by the clawing sharpness of long stems winding up his throat

As he choked out more petals, he pulled in on himself, the length of the black coat spread around him. His eyes burned almost as much as his throat, and he whimpered Ingo's name in between sobs. Dropping his forehead to the floor, his vision watery with tears, all he could see were the blurred shapes of petals everywhere.

-----

The flowers overwhelmed him whenever he thought too deeply about his feelings for Ingo, almost as if a punishment for his taboo feelings towards his twin. The first time it had happened, he'd ignored it, thought it only an extremely vivid and unsettling dream. Even cleaning up the mess of petals and spittle, he convinced himself it was just a hallucination, a side effect of his despair at losing his brother.

When it happened again, in front of the mirror, it had scared him enough to actually admit it happened. The reasonable part of his mind knew he had to find out what was happening to him, or else he wouldn't be able to find Ingo. During any time he had that wasn't allotted to work or hygiene, he would switch between following leads for his brother's disappearance and searching for info on his strange new condition.

There were surprisingly few sources of information on it. It would have been helpful if he could find anything explaining what the disease was, but everything was written as though it was a well-known and understood phenomenon. One of the few botany entries he found mentioned having to identify the flowers so you could translate their meaning. It was possible, the texts said, that someone could have "Hanahaki disease" without realizing why. Unfortunately, flora that was not also a Pokémon was outside of his expertise.

Flowers came from the ground. Clay knew ground pokémon. Using this logic, he went to the gym leader that Ingo often spoke with. Their discussions were boring, so Emmet barely listened in, but he knew Clay was verrrry knowledgeable. Ingo trusted him. So Emmet would too. He took the most identifiable flowers, even if they were a bit messy. It was simple enough to explain away that one of his pokémon had gotten sick from it.

When he met up with the gym leader, Clay had tipped his hat while saying something about how dedicated he was for still looking for Ingo, despite the odds. People always brought it up to him, but they were twins - would others not bend themselves in half backwards for their own siblings? Since Clay was Ingo's friend, he just sort of hummed pleasantly as an answer. The gym leader seemed to catch on, and continued with the conversation as if it were a normal day, even if Clay was used to them both being there.

Turned out that Clay did not know flowers, which surprised him, but Clay did know someone. Together, the spoke through Clay's X-transceiver, and Emmet found the plants to be Phalaenopsis orchids. Instead of asking if the expert knew about flower meanings, because he couldn't take the chance on revealing his feelings, he asked for their contact in case he had future questions. For his Pokémon. Because he was a responsible trainer.

As he left, Clay wished him well, and let him know that they were always welcome to visit. He wouldn't, not until he found Ingo, but it was a nice gesture anyway. He said he would.

Armed with the knowledge, he began to look up flower meanings with the hope that would give some context to the disease that had flowers blooming from inside his throat. The plan to stay up all night for information was thwarted when he stumbled on his first result for the flower: "Brother love."

Guilt and fear shot a bolt of ice down his spine as surely as a vanillite attack when he read those words. He choked slightly, the scratch of a stem nagging at the back of his throat; he could feel buds beginning to form. Shakily, doing his best to ignore it, he scrolled through more meanings. Every other entry was so innocent, full of things like "respect" and "purity," but his mind kept circling around how the flowers really were a punishment.

He dressed as Ingo again that night, debasing himself in front of the mirror, covered in tears and petals.

-----

It had been about a year and a half since he first coughed up flowers, and about two years since Ingo had disappeared without a trace. People told him plainly to move on past his grief and to give up on finding his twin again. That Ingo must certainly be dead or not wanting to be found.

Despite the guilt that the latter possibility evoked, he never gave up hope. However, wearing Ingo's uniform had moved from their apartment to the public eye. He didn't do it everyday, just when he was feeling particularly lonely. Seeing himself in Ingo's uniform in the various shiny surfaces of the Station helped sometimes. Other times, he would whisper under his breath in Ingo's voice, chastising himself for pausing just an extra moment to stare at the movement of his hips in the black coat.

His coughing had gotten worse, but he hid the worst of his symptoms by carrying around a pocket handkerchief. Petals would accompany the shame he felt, but he stuffed them away in a pocket for when he could dispose of them discreetly. The depot agents were quick to forgive his coughing fits, blaming it on pushing himself too hard for too long. A few times, Cloud would defy his authority and send him home.

He would have been verrrry angry with him if he didn't then spend a week in bed every time Cloud refused to let him work. Relying entirely on their pokémon felt wrong, but Garbador dutifully removed the petals and anything else that came with them. Archeops and Excadrill brought him food that he didn't have to cook to regain energy that the petals drained from him. Gavantula kept him warm when he shivered in his sleep. But it was one such day that he got a call on his X-transceiver to tell him Ingo had been found.

Jolting up in bed so hard that he fell out onto the floor, he'd furiously gotten dressed in casual clothes and then run almost the entire way to the station. His brother, his twin, the man he felt empty without had simply reappeared in the tunnels during a routine safety audit. Ramses had warned him that Ingo looked 'rough', and recognized no one, not even Cloud. It only made him run harder, despite his body's protests.

Once he laid eyes on his brother, for it was most definitely his brother even with all the changes he couldn't even begin to register, his legs gave out. Having collapsed to his knees, Ingo had to close the distance, hands hovering over him in hesitation. Ingo looked over him, torn between keeping his distance and touching. The hesitation dissipated when he lifted his arms weakly, Ingo falling to his knees to hug him back.

In the month since then, just how much Ingo had lost came to light. Most of their life together had vanished, but Ingo was optimistic about regaining it by spending time with him. He nearly cried when Ingo smiled at him, reaching out to cover his hand with one of his own. Ingo's wonderful, desperately missed smile slipped when he began to furiously cough, desperately trying to hide the buds that fell into his hand.

Insisting he needed rest, Ingo had determined he needed to take time off from work. Far be it for him to refuse his older brother; more than anything, he wanted Ingo to be happy with him, proud of him, and confident that he would do anything for him. Although he wished they could spend time as if nothing had happened, it wasn't bad having Ingo take care of him.

Over and over it repeated. Hiding the hanahaki symptoms went smoothly for a few months, and then he would be bedridden again. Ingo, who had gained much of his memories back, began to press him on what he knew of the sickness. His brother had given him a very stern, quite unimpressed frown when he said it was just something like to seasonal allergies. It was different from the one he had been giving himself for two years. There was still fondness in it, like how it used to be.

"Emmet," Ingo had said, at the tail end of his week long bedrest, removing the tray his lunch had been on. "Are you sure you do not wish to go to the doctor? Surely, we could find out the cause and save you from having to spend a week in bed so often." Setting the tray to the side when he shook his head, Ingo sat in the chair he'd been keeping by the bedside. His twin recounted the few times he'd checked on him in the middle of the night to find him feverish and murmuring as if suffering a nightmare. Keeping the chair there would allow him to watch over his younger brother through the night should he need to.

Trying to hide his fear, he asked Ingo if his brother had found anything unexpected when he checked on him then. Ingo had just given him a confused look, which he waved off with a laugh and some half-hearted excuse that he didn't even remember.

"It's only exhaustion," he said, even though lying to Ingo was a betrayal of its own. The entirety of the situation couldn't be revealed; it was already hard enough hiding his feelings. "I just have to take better care of myself!" Ingo looked unconvinced, but where usually he would let the topic drop, he just looked more determined.

"I do not believe it to be 'only' exhaustion, Emmet."

A nervous chuckle had escaped his mouth before he could stop it, and he gripped the blanket of his bed. "What else could it be?" Ingo watched him quietly for a moment, before reaching into his pocket. Producing a small, purple flower bud, he held it out in his palm to Emmet. Flicking his eyes up from Ingo's hand, a sweat broke across his forehead as tried to come up with a response, feeling pinned by Ingo's gaze. "W... What's that?"

Ingo's brows furrowed, and he held the bud up, inspecting it against the light on the ceiling. "It would appear to be a flower bud." Lowering it and looking to Emmet once more, his expression had softened into sympathy. "I found it on your sheets the last night I checked on you."

Mind racing, he was distracted by an awareness settling in Ingo's eyes. Surely, he could find some way to feign ignorance, or an excuse for why such a thing would be there. If only they had a grass pokemon with such flowers. "I. don't know. where that. came from." The words tangled in his throat and he bent forward, coughs rattling through the petals that suddenly littered his bed.

Ingo had jumped up to place a comforting hand on his back, rubbing in small circles to soothe the spasms wracking his muscles. "Hanahaki." He sat up so fast that his head almost knocked into Ingo's jaw. At the fear in his eyes, Ingo gave him a reassuring look. "It's not fatal, but why have you let yourself suffer this way?"

"What?"

His twin continued to rub his back, reaching for a napkin from the tray. Accepting it gratefully, he wiped at his mouth. There was no point to try and hide the flowers now. "Who is it?" The question went in one ear and out the other, and he tilted his head to the side in confusion. "Who would possibly not return your love for them?" Ingo rolled the bud between his fingers, staring at it in disapproval, as though the flower would speak the answer to his question.

He must have died. That was the only explanation for this. One of the worse coughing fits had torn his throat to shreds, and he had died from blood loss. There was no other way that he could have his brother back, asking him who he loved as if it were the most innocent question in the world. "What do you mean?" he asked feebly.

Another revelation played on Ingo's face. "Have you struggled with this all this time without knowing how it comes about?" He shrugged, because although he knew exactly why he was being punished, it was not something he could change. He would not stop loving his twin just because of a punishment. Ingo meant too much to him. It was painful to think this punishment might force Ingo to take care of him, but he would make it up to him somehow.

Ingo sighed, and brushed back some of his bangs. He swallowed painfully against the leaves that tickled the roof of his mouth. "Oh Emmet." Fingers continued to caress through his hair, touch soft, gentle. A flashback to the few times he had pulled his own hair with Ingo's voice as a companion pinged his senses, and he jolted at Ingo's touch.

"I'm sorry." His voice wobbled, and he dropped his chin to his chest, vision starting to blur. Ingo's hand didn't leave his hair, a comforting weight that just made the urge to cry worse.

"For what?" his brother soothed, trying to calm him. "It is not your fault. Have you tried to tell them? It would surely relieve your symptoms, if not cure it." He shook his head vigorously, and Ingo moved in closer, voice low and soft.

"I can't." He wasn't sure why admitting to it would change anything. Ingo spoke like he knew what was consuming him, but his tone was so loving, so accepting. If he actually knew, he would never speak this way.

"Would you tell me? Perhaps I can rally your courage to speak to them." He felt as though they were having two different conversations, like they both had information they weren't sharing. But his hidden information was so much more destructive than anything Ingo could have been hiding.

At the same time, he was being so kind, asking him as if it was something that could be fixed. "You'll hate me." His voice was so small, so pathetic, so unlike what a Subway Master should be like. But all the same, Ingo wrapped his arms around him and hugged him so tightly.

"I could never. The very idea is simply ludicrous. You are my precious brother, whom I was separated from for too long. There is nothing in this world that could make me hate you." With his face tucked into Ingo's chest, he felt his mouth fill with petals, but he forced them back down. It halted his sob even as he pulled back. "Emmet, please tell me."

Rubbing at the tears in his eye with the heel of his hand, he gripped his blanket so tightly with his other hand that his knuckles turned white. He wanted desperately to believe his brother, that admitting to it would remove the symptoms, that he could never hate him. There was no reason to not believe what Ingo said was true. Gaze averted, mouth cleared of petals, he thought maybe he could actually admit to it. If it went badly, then at least Ingo wouldn't have to worry about him anymore, wouldn't have to stay up late to care about him.

Gripping the hair over his ear with the hand that had just rubbed at his eye, he didn't look at his twin. "... I love you." When silence greeted him, he couldn't bear to lift his head, but it was like a dam had been broken. "You're so important to me! You deserve so much. I deserve to be punished--" He couldn't finish, having been tugged back into Ingo's arms. Distantly, he thought about how strong Ingo's arms had become while he was gone. It flustered him almost as much as the close proximity.

Ingo's voice was choked up, a whisper in his ear. "Foolish." His heart dropped, but was quickly scooped out of freefall as Ingo kept talking. "How could you believe I wouldn't reciprocate your feelings." It wasn't a question, not demanding an answer. It was if Ingo thought himself guilty of something. He felt faint, sagging in Ingo's arms, held up solely by Ingo's strength. He must have been dreaming.

"But-"

"Were you suffering all this time, wanting to tell me?" Ingo finally released his hold, only to take his face in his hands. Brushing away the tears that were falling with his thumbs, Ingo leaned in to press a kiss against his forehead. His twin's mouth moved to press more kisses along his face, one at the corner of each eye, one to the tip of his nose. "May I kiss you?" he said, close enough that he could feel Ingo's breath on his lips.

Still reeling, he laughed wetly. "Haven't you already been?" Affection warmed Ingo's eyes, and he shrugged with a little smile as if unrepentant. But it seemed his older brother was intent on getting his answer, because he just watched him attentively. "Yeah, you can." And their lips met, relief washing over him, and his lungs feeling truly clear for the first time in years.

----

"So, you have a thing for mirrors, hm?"

Ingo's breath was right at his ear as he stood behind him, chin resting on his shoulder. Heat burned his face red, but he nodded, locking eyes with the reflection of his brother. A warm chuckle into his neck was followed by a nuzzle, and he leaned back into Ingo's chest.

"Look at you." His twin's voice was breathless, admiring. Arms slid around his hips from behind, holding him tightly. It was superior to his fantasies in every way. The weight of arms around him couldn't be replicated by his own, the pleasant rumble of Ingo speaking against his back an unexpected sensation never appreciated in his daydreams. "I suppose I can't complain. I can touch you everywhere and still truly enjoy your expressions."

To demonstrate, he released Emmet's hips with one arm, sliding a hand up to tweak at a nipple through the dress shirt. Gasping and instinctively pressing back, he was rewarded with a pleased murmur from his older twin. He couldn't admit to Ingo that he'd been wearing his coat when doing this, but what could be pulled out of him was an urge for them both to be in their own uniforms. Ingo had not questioned it, almost as if he'd been just as eager.

"So excited. I've barely touched you, and yet you're practically thrumming with energy," Ingo said, hand drifting to give his other nipple similar treatment. He could never truly mimic Ingo, this tone causing him to melt under his ministrations. What he could do, however, is buck his hips back against his big brother, pulling a moan from him. "Cheeky."

"Can't let you have all the fun." Ingo nipped at his ear in response to the smile that spread on his face, and pulled his hips back to grind against them. Any further teasing got stuck in his throat, coming out instead as a whimper. "Ah, Nii-san!" The response must have quite appreciated, because Ingo did it again to earn another huffed out 'ah!'

"Are you watching yourself? You're making the cutest face." He didn't know about cute, but his face was definitely radiating heat. The hand that had played with his chest gently turned his face back to the mirror, causing him to blush harder. Rolling his hips against him from behind, Ingo seemed truly excited to watch him squirm. "My precious baby brother. Don't ever show these faces to anyone but me."

Overwhelmed with the urge to be good, he wriggled his hips against Ingo. "Never! Just you!" The end of 'you' kicked up in tone as Ingo's free hand finally cupped the bulge in his pants. He had trouble standing straight, leaning forward and catching himself on the mirror. Shifting his hands lower so as to not block too much of their reflections, he relied on Ingo's hands to keep him steady from the other side.

"Good boy." Ingo's voice was deeper than he'd ever heard it before, offering the praise he'd never allowed himself before. Shivers ran wild across his nerves. "You've done so well, keeping everything together as you waited for me. I'm so proud of you." It felt so much better than whatever he'd been convincing himself Ingo would say to him. He whined his excitement, Ingo's hand keeping his face towards the mirror. Ingo's eyes in the mirror narrowed, pleased, drawing another round of eager sounds.

"N-Nii-san-!" It was getting harder to talk, no longer due to flowers choking him, but because everywhere Ingo touched and every word he said sparked along his entire being.

"Ah, perhaps I should stop teasing you, hm?" The sound of the front of his slacks being opened almost pulled his eyes from the mirror, but he wanted to be a good boy. He kept his gaze firm, sliding his eyes down to take in the view of Ingo's gloved hand tugging him free from his pants.

Vibrating in excitement, he bucked into Ingo's hand, letting out a soft, begging "Please."

Ingo nuzzled at the side of his neck, giving him a little nip. "What a good sound." Ingo being happy with him was more euphoric than any touch, but Ingo was not about to be outdone by his own voice. Long, firm strokes mixed in with teases at his tip, and he wondered if Ingo was touching him the way he would touch himself. Were they so identical that they both felt good the same way? His twin was clearly applying some sort of prior experience, and the idea of Ingo touching himself to thoughts of him caused his hips to stutter, release painting the mirror.

He sagged in Ingo's arms, but stubbornly kept his hands against the mirror. Brain fuzzy from pleasure, he smiled at Ingo's reflection. "Nii-san 🤍" Pressing kisses to his neck, Ingo released him long enough to turn him around, back now against the mirror. Closing the distance, Ingo kissed him deeply, and he wrapped his arms tightly around his older brother. Moaning into the kiss, he felt Ingo's own excitement nudge against his groin. He broke the kiss with a deep breath, Ingo sucking in his lower lip as if trying to stop him from pulling back.

"Are you tired already?" Asked against his lips, he could feel Ingo's teasing smile without seeing it. Hands grabbed at his ass, making sure he couldn't move away as Ingo rolled his hips against him.

"I couldn't call myself your brother if that was all it took."

"Mm, quite right. What do you say we have a bit of a stamina challenge?" He's not sure why he never imagined Ingo to be competitive in the bedroom. It was an absolute oversight on his part, and he chastised his younger self for having ever doubted his amazing brother. They were perfect rivals throughout their entire lives; it only made sense.

But. "I'm gonna wear you out, old man." An obviously fake gasp as Ingo leaned back just slightly, ready to insist he was only a few years older now, hardly an old man, but he didn't get a chance to say a single word. Emmet sealed his promise with a kiss, intent to pull Ingo's breath out of him the way he had been doing to him. He'd see just what sounds Ingo could make for him.

Maybe, next time, he'd make Ingo wear his coat in front of the mirror.

#blankshipping #blankshipping prompt fic #anon ask #hanahaki disease #Blankship after dark #Blankship Midnight Train #degredation kink #unrequited! ... except not at all. I'm sorry I can't seem to write true unrequited oTL #solo mirror #Bell Fic

[pocket-luv101]

First Impressions // Chapter 6

Fandom: Servamp Ship: LawLicht (main), KuroMahi (side), Tetsono (side), Jekuni (side) Characters: Hyde, Licht, Kuro, Mahiru, Mikuni, Misono

Summary: After Licht meets the wealthy bachelor, Hyde, she was certain that she could never be friends with him. Their paths continue to cross and she slowly comes to know him. Licht wonders if she judged him too quickly. (LawLicht, Pride and Prejudice AU, Fem Licht)

Ch.1 // Ch.2 // Ch.3 // Ch.4 // Ch.5 // (Ch.6) //

Licht walked through the library and she glanced down each aisle for Hyde. He told her that he enjoyed reading so there was a chance they would meet. As much as she wanted to claim that she didn’t want to see him, she couldn’t deny the confusing mix of anticipation and nervousness in her stomach. She pictured him reading in the dark with a candle illuminating his face. His red eyes were mischievous but his kind smile was genuine when he suggested a book for Misono.

When she realized that her thoughts had wandered to Hyde once again, she quickly tried to shake him from her mind. Her family decided to take the rare trip into town after Mahiru fully recovered from her cold. Licht decided to take the chance to return the book. A part of her hoped for something more yet she couldn’t name what that was. She was a straightforward person so it was strange that she didn’t understand her own feelings.

Voices near the back of the library caught her attention and her brows furrowed. Even though they spoke in hushed and angry whispers, she was able to easily recognize Mikuni’s voice. Licht crept closer so she could see who she was fighting with. She didn’t know what they were arguing about but she would defend her sister. She looked around the corner and she was confused to find that it was JeJe. He was her assistant and they appeared to be close.

“Mikuni, please consider my offer. You will be able to keep the house and the family business. You’ve worked harder to grow your business than any man I know and it is rightfully yours. Even someone as stubborn as you must see that this is the best solution.” JeJe said and Mikuni ignored him. Licht wondered what his plan could be for Mikuni to reject it so coldly. She turned her back to him and she reached up for another book.

He gently placed his hand over hers and he tenderly squeezed her hand. JeJe towered over her but she felt safe in his embrace. He whispered: “Please, Mikuni, think about it. You’re an intelligent woman but it will be difficult for you to find a way to keep the house before Haruto’s arrival. He will ask for one of your sisters’ hand in marriage. If you accept my offer first, none of your sisters will have to marry him. My family will ensure that they’re all well cared for as well.”

“Don’t bring my sisters into this!” Mikuni turned sharply to face him. Her brown eyes were a storm of emotions and they screamed louder than her even tone. She made an empty laugh and retorted: “You would put a snake to shame with that tongue of yours, JeJe. The next time you try to save me with such a deluded plan, I will fire you and you can return to your family. You will be happier there anyways.”

Mikuni walked around JeJe and she intended to march out of the library alone. Then, her heart dropped when her eyes met with Licht’s. She hadn’t noticed her sister and Mikuni silently cursed herself for being so careless. Their father’s will and the possibility of losing their home loomed over them. However, Mikuni didn’t want to worry her sisters and she tried to find a solution on her own.

“JeJe, collect the books I listed and take them to my office.” Mikuni didn’t look at him as she gave him the order. She forced a confident smile on her face and she walked to Licht’s side. She hooked her arm around hers and she gently tugged her out of the bookcases. “What are you doing here, Licht? I thought you were watching the play with Mahiru and Misono.”

“The play ended an hour ago. Mahiru, Misono and Sakura went to the shops to browse for dresses. I wanted to return this book before I joined them.” Licht explained and Mikuni nodded. While she responded with a thoughtful hum, she appeared distracted. She couldn’t stop herself from asking: “What was JeJe’s plan to save the house?”

“You’re such a direct woman, my dear sister. An admirable trait but this isn’t something to be discussed in public though.” Mikuni laughed. She let go of her arm so she could hug her sister. Licht could feel her arms trembling around her slightly and her concern grew. She adored her older sister and she was the one to inspire her to be independent despite the pressure of society. Mikuni let out a heavy sigh and whispered: “JeJe asked me to marry him.”

“I didn’t know that he was courting you.” Licht wasn’t shocked by the proposal because she had watched the way they blushed and smiled around each other. Her sister was often focused on their family’s ranch and the only ones who could convince her to take a break were her sisters or JeJe. That small fact was significant and highlighted the trust Mikuni had in JeJe.

“He is not.” Mikuni’s answer was full of sadness and longing. “Only a man can inherit the house and stables. Father doesn’t have a son but he can pass the estate to one of our husbands. JeJe promised that he won’t take control of the estate if we marry and we can continue as we are. However… A proposal made of pity isn’t something I can accept. He would eventually grow to resent me if we marry for that reason.”

“I don’t think he can resent you for anything.” Licht reassured her. JeJe had worked for them for years so she trusted that he had the family’s best intention in mind. On the other hand, she understood Mikuni’s feelings and her doubts. She leaned her head on Mikuni’s shoulder and she smiled up at her. “You’re an angel, Mikuni, and you should only accept a proposal with endless love and confidence.”

“That is reassuring words from an angel.” Mikuni squeezed her sister in her arms before she let go. “When you first came home ranting about that Servamp for disrespecting Mahiru, you called them snakes. You don’t know how perceptive you are, Licht.”

Her words left Licht with numerous questions. Did she know something about Hyde and the other Servamps that they didn’t? Licht thought of the many contradictions Hyde had— from her first impression of his roguish nature to the different sides she had seen since then. She knew how protective Mikuni was and she would tell them if it was serious enough.

“I have bought six new laces for my gown. Mahiru, you must sew these onto my skirt so my new dress will be ready for the ball. The Servamps have finally set a date.” Sakura said excitedly and she placed her hat box in the carriage. The coach was already densely packed with things that she had purchased on their trip. Mahiru smiled warily at her sister but she nodded in agreement. She was certain that her little sister spent her entire allowance that Mikuni had given them that month.

“Sakura, I know you’re excited for this ball but maybe you should buy one perfect dress rather than the first six dresses that caught your eye. You will only be wearing one, afterall.” Mahiru spoke in a gentle and motherly voice. She loved her sister but she knew that it was better to teach her not to be too indulgent. “Mikuni works hard to provide us with money and we shouldn’t be wasting money.”

“Wasting money? Mahiru, these dresses are an investment. Wearing such a fine gown, I will catch the eye of every gentleman at the ball.” Sakura argued and she turned up her nose at her sister’s chiding. “Once I marry a rich man, we will not have to worry about anything. The money we spend on these dresses will be nothing but pennies compared to my future dowry. I wish you would have as much confidence in me as mother does.”

“You know that’s not what I meant.” Mahiru huffed but she didn’t continue to argue. The outing was supposed to be fun so she didn’t want to ruin the atmosphere by fighting with her sister. She closed the carriage door after she helped her place the last box inside.

The street was crowded with people shopping or watching the military parade through the town. Mahiru hooked her arm around her sister’s to keep her from falling into the crowd. While Sakura pouted at her motherly nature, she followed her down the street where their family was waiting for them. Sakura said, “You have not chosen a dress for the party, Mahiru. Are you so confident that you would win the favour of the Servamps? Wouldn’t a military man be a better match for you?”

“Win their favour? Sakura, you’re talking as if you see the Servamp’s ball as a competition. I only want to go to have fun and I hope you will as well. You don’t have to let Mother pressure you into finding a man.” She said and she lightly patted her head. Honestly, Mahiru was looking forward to the ball and the possibility of dancing with Kuro. “I was planning to wear the dress Uncle Toru gave me for my birthday. Mikuni offered to help me adjust it for the ball.”

“When I get married, you will have all the dresses you want, Mahiru. You only need to introduce me to the Servamps at the ball. Oh, I will help you meet a military man right now. I have the perfect method. I will throw my napkin into the parade and a gentleman shall return it to us.” Sakura took out a napkin from her pocket. Before Mahiru could stop her, she tossed the napkin into the air.

Licht watched her sisters from a distance but she couldn’t hear their conversation. When she saw her napkin fly into the sky, she assumed that Sakura had done so by accident. She walked towards the marching man so she could retrieve it for her. The napkin fell a few feet from the sidewalk and she waited until there was a small gap in the parade.

She stepped onto the road and she knelt down to pick up the napkin. In the corner of her eyes, she saw sand rising from the dirt. She gasped sharply when she realized that a horse was approaching her quickly. Her family trained horses for a living and she knew that the person wouldn’t be able to stop the horse before it trampled her. She stumbled backwards to escape its path.

“Licht!” She could barely look over her to see who had called her name before she felt herself being pulled backwards. Everything happened so quickly that she was a little dizzy. A hand fell over her cheek and it was oddly soothing and comforting. Licht looked up and her heart fluttered the moment she saw that it was Hyde who rescued her. He held her protectively as if he were afraid that the horse would turn around and threaten her again.

“Are you okay, Licht?” Misono’s frantic cry pulled Licht out of the moment. She was standing close to Hyde and people would question the position even if he only intended to save her. Hyde must’ve had the same thought because he let her go and then he placed a respectful distance between them. Licht was confused by the slight disappointment she felt. She wasn’t able to ponder on those feelings when Misono stopped in front of her. She was breathing heavily from the short dash.

“I think I should be the one to ask if you’re okay, Misono.” Licht said and she rubbed her back to help her breath. “I’m fine so don’t fret. God knows that Mahiru and Mikuni will already do that once they come. An angel can’t be hurt so easily.”

“She’s right. Your big sister is an angel and she would’ve simply flown away from that horse.” Hyde played along with her claim and he patted Misono’s head in a brotherly gesture. “Luckily, Kuro and I were going to visit our brother when we saw you. I played the role of the hero quite well, didn’t I?”

“I could’ve saved myself, Shit Rat.” Licht glared at him. She brushed his hands away from Misono and then she smoothed down the hair he had tousled. She wanted to thank him for saving her yet her pride told her that it would only make Hyde more arrogant. “I’ll let you return to your brother. Misono and I should go back to our own family.”

“I’ll walk you back and protect you from any runaway horses.” Hyde offered. Licht had to admit that she was a little tempted to accept and she debated what she should choose.

“Pardon me, did you drop this napkin?” A tall man interrupted their conversation and he approached them with a napkin in his hand. The pink fabric had a cherry blossom sewn into the corner so it was the napkin Sakura dropped. From his uniform, she knew that he was a soldier. She assumed that he was a part of the parade and he stopped to return the tissue to them. He smiled sheepishly and said, “I must apologize for almost crashing into you earlier.”

“This belongs to my sister so you have our thanks for retrieving it.” Licht stepped forward to take the napkin he held out. She didn’t expect for Hyde to stop her by wrapping an arm around her waist. He held her protectively and she could feel his body trembling in anger. With his free hand, he gripped the sword on the soldier’s belt.

Hyde didn’t draw the sword but it was clear that he wanted to stab the man from the hatred in his red eyes. His voice was low as he spoke. “I thought I told you that I would cut you through if you showed yourself in front of me again, Sasuke. Has the military tricked you into believing that you can beat me in a duel?”

The crass words and threat made Misono gasp sharply. The moment she heard her sister’s distress, Licht pushed herself out of her Hyde’s arm so she could go to her side. Hyde continued to glare at the soldier and the air became tense. It was as if he were waiting for Sasuke to provoke him into a fight. Licht had never seen him this angry.

“Hyde, you’re going to get yourself arrested.” Kuro stepped between the two and he placed his hand on his brother’s chest. His presence de-escalated the situation and Hyde dropped his hand from his weapon. While he stopped the fight, he gave Sasuke a quick glare. “He isn’t worth the trouble. Doubt Doubt is waiting for us at the library too.”

Hyde clicked his tongue in frustration but he relented. He grabbed the pink napkin from Sasuke’s hand and then he walked to Licht. The moment he saw Licht’s confused expression, he realized that he had made another terrible impression on them. He relaxed his shoulders and he handed the napkin to Licht.

“I’m sorry for raising my voice. It wasn’t very gentlemanly of me. I wish I could stay and speak with you more but I must be leaving.” As he passed the napkin to Licht, he leaned down to whisper into her ear. “I know I made an ass of myself but you should know that he is far worse than the demon I am. Don’t allow him to woo your sisters.”

“What do you mean?” She asked. Licht reached out to stop him from leaving but he slipped from her fingers to disappear into the crowd. He left her with more questions than the first day they met.

#servamp #lawlicht #greed pair #servamp hyde #licht jekylland todoroki #kuromahi #sloth pair #jekuni #envy pair #fem licht #fanfiction

[lionheartslowstart]

Moved In (Again)

The last month or so has been pretty hectic and definitely stressful. My boyfriend "Thomas" and I finally moved out of the horrible apartment we were living in. While I initially liked the idea of moving back to the city, it was just so not what we thought it was going to be.

Obviously, the main issue was finances. Living in the city, really any of the five boroughs, has become exponentially more expensive than it was when I lived there seven years ago. And the type of job Thomas has requires a lot of commuting (which also adds up after a while), so it was just not a sustainable situation. On top of cost, I realized that living in the city is just not what I want anymore, which honestly makes me really sad. Several years ago, I thrived in New York. I loved living in that kind of apartment and joining in on the hustle and bustle every day. The only reason I left was because my POS ex forced me to. Maybe it's because I'm older, or because I have different needs now, but I came to the hard realization that, while I adore Manhattan, it's just not the kind of environment I can thrive in anymore. It does kind of make sense, when I think about how attached I've become to LA, and the kind of lifestyle that's over there, that I would in turn end up floating away from the NYC lifestyle. But I'm sad anyway, because I'm still losing something. And I can't help but be angry at my ex for that too. Just something else he stole from me.

But I digress. Funnily enough, we were able to move back to my old apartment building, though it is (thankfully) a different unit. I always had a good relationship with the management team there, so when I reached out to them to let them know we were moving again and ask if they had any availabilities, they were thrilled! They told me I was a model tenant, and they would love to have me back. I'm lucky I had an in, because they only had ONE apartment available and they weren't even advertising it online.

Thomas and I fell in love with the apartment as soon as we saw it. It's almost one thousand square feet, bigger than any apartment either of us had ever lived in. It even has a cute little den area where we keep the desk, the bookcase, and all of our witchy things. The living room is spacious, with enough room to put up the pole, and the bedroom is perfect: not so big that it feels weirdly empty, and not so small that you have to squeeze around the furniture. The layout is fantastic, and there's tons of room for our various art, with still plenty of wall space to spare! Unfortunately, due to the model of the unit and its layout relative to the rest of the building, we had to give up the balcony, but we mutually decided that was the right call. Again, ours was the only available unit at the time, and we wanted to pounce on it before anyone else could snap it up. But even if there were other units available, we probably still would have gone with this one. I can't explain it, but it just feels so..."us."

The application process was super smooth. Management even agreed to put our applications in a few weeks early, because they really wanted us to be the people to get it! Then it was just cleaning the old place, packing all our stuff, moving our furniture and things, unpacking our stuff, and (my favorite part) organizing our stuff. Those few weeks were the most stressed I'd been in quite some time. But now, we're finally more or less settled. We just have to finish hooking up all our gaming systems, do some cleaning, and then there's just a few odds and ends here and there (like figuring out where the heck to hang the Pride flags), and we're all done!

We've only been officially living here for just under a month, but we're SO much happier than we were in Brooklyn. It's such a great space, and we're both familiar with the area. I'm familiar with the area because I grew up not far from here. Thomas is familiar with the area because he did live in my old place with me for a couple of months before we moved to the city, and that man has the memory of a steel trap. Additionally, we're only about 40 minutes from my parents now, when we used to have to drive almost two hours to get to their house! Of course, we're still pretty far from Thomas' folks, but you'd be surprised what a difference an hour makes when you're driving long distance. We're also not too far from the city. The commute using public transport is easy and not terribly expensive, so it's there when we want to go visit. But we also happen to be sandwiched between a small city and a large town, both of which have great restaurants and fun recreational activities available. So it's really a win-win. We'll have fun no matter where we go!

I'm so excited to start a new life here with the person I love. The energy in this space is so much brighter, warmer, and happier than it has been anywhere I've lived before. I may not want to stay in New York forever, but this finally feels like home.

#personal #moving #life #growth #change

[dumai-of-ipyeda]

I was in New York City a few days ago and I visited this bookstore called Strand which is basically a big bookstore which really high bookcases and it feels like you're in an old library. As a sucker for old stuff, the creaky floor was a nice added bonus.

Anyway since I went there during pride month they had some queer displays which I went to and looked for what I could read next. These three girls come into the queer section and I am getting giddy because hi yes I am queer woman as well!!!

They go through the books while I'm sitting there pretending NOT to listen as one of them picks up Gideon the Ninth. At this point I am vibrating out of my skin waiting to introduce myself and maybe talk about the book, but the girl says:

This book is bad, I didn't really get it. There were too many characters, the plot was going nowhere and it was hard to read. There were too many words I didn't know.

All my excitement was snuffed out and I left.

I understand that not all books are for everybody. I understand that we are allowed to have different tastes. But to call a book BAD because your vocabulary has the range of a teaspoon? I didn't get some of the words either but that's what DICTIONARIES are for. You will never know ALL of the words EVER invented. It's the beauty of learning.

Anyway, as I was leaving I thought you would not survive Harrow the Ninth.

[giacofmanytrades]

Camp Cottonwood

First chapter droppin’ of my book about plants, lesbians, plant lesbians. Something like a Gravity Falls meets Over the Garden Wall meets Seanan McGuire’s Wayward Children books, taking place from 2009 to 2019. Tara Ayala’s almost packed. Her particle board bookcase, stuffed to bursting just a few days ago, now slumps from phantom weight. The contents of her desk have been dumped across her hand-me-down mattress. She’s sifting through bone dry pens and stumpy erasers, on her knees in the carpet to divvy up the important documents from the looseleaf.

She’s put it off long enough. If she doesn’t have her bedroom packed by Friday, she’s not going to make it in time for orientation.

Not that she has to be there for orientation. She’s twenty now, two years into a degree in communications. She’s not invested much in the learning itself. Communications just sounded vague enough on paper to possibly be worth something when she graduates.

With two years of community college complete, she’s ready for a transfer. Goodbye Del Bosque, goodbye rainy northern California, goodbye apartment she grew up in and could never convince her parents to move away from. They used to move every couple years when she was growing up, but now they’re adamant on staying planted here, even with the leaks and cracks and shitty complex management.

    She stuffs the salvageable office supplies into a plastic grocery sack. Next week, she’ll be in Eugene, Oregon. It’s expensive to attend, but her parents just so happen to have enough from a fund they’d forgotten they put aside. It has enough to cover her tuition for the next few years, on top of what she’s scraped together through financial aid.

    Tara’s not going for the prestige. Not even for her parent’s pride that she’s the first to go to university, instead of just trade school or community college. University, they say, bittersweet somewhere in their tone.

    Her father Tomas was a mechanic before he got injured. Her mother Rebecca has been a medical assistant since before Tara was born. Her brother David is extremely, painfully fifteen and pretends he won’t miss her. Her brother Alex is thirteen and has his heart on his sleeve for all to see, clinging as she crosses off calendar days and crams clothes into garbage bags.

He stands there on the curb and watches her load up her thousand dollar Nissan. Pieces of her life fill up cardboard boxes stolen from the grocery store she cashiers at. He stares, unsure why he’s so down about her moving six hours away.

Tara knows. She’s tried to tell him before, and David, and their parents. Nothing’s stuck. Her parents will make a big deal of it, only to let it slip their minds within a week or so. David and Alex were five and three at the time, too young to recall anything anyway. They’re all affected, she’s learned, in these small moments. They’ll be frozen, grasping for a milestone or holiday that’s there, right there, then gone.

Someone else should be packing for university right now. Someone else should have been getting crushed in hugs and cried over, ordered to call daily, to have fun but not too much fun, yeah? Tara can’t wait to get out of here, so she won’t be reminded every day what’s been taken.

Just the desk to go. Tara opens the bottom drawer, emptying its contents onto a heap of drained markers and crunched receipts she should have tossed months ago.

She braces against what’s inside. A cheap, ruffled flower crown from Cedar Fair. Crumbling rocks and shells from the coast, still sandy. Three sweatshirts, pilled from daily use, half the size she is now. A box made of uneven wood, clunking when it collides with the other offal on the bed. 2009 has been scribbled in Sharpie on its side. She swats it off of the pile.

The box rattles to the floor, knocking against a peeling bedpost on its way down.

Tara stares at it. She opens it. Inside, a hemp necklace knotted with plastic beads. Photos. A stack of letters, all but one unopened. She lets her thumb arc over the address.

She closes the box. She stomps down the stairs.

Alex is talking to her, asking about someone he sees outside. We live in an apartment complex, Lex. There’s going to be strangers outside their house. Don’t you remember the time that kid from 204 was running amok with a steak knife last spring? Just stay inside and keep your head down.

He peers out the blinds as Tara makes her walk to the dumpster. The box is smaller than a loaf of bread, heavy as lead between her hands. The wood grain burns into her palms. The unopened letters, preserved in the dark of the drawer, shuffle across each other with each step.

Tara reaches the dumpster. She wrinkles her nose. Stinks. Is she really going to condemn the box, for all its sins, to such a fate?

She’s got the lip propped up.

There’s a hand on her shoulder. She flails.

A girl is standing at her side.

The box clatters to the concrete. The girl recoils.

She’s no older than eighteen. Her skin’s the brown of dry dust, her russet hair bound in a tousled bun, her chestnut eyes blurred with tears as they search Tara’s own. An oversized shirt and khaki shorts hang off her skinny frame.

Tara wants to sink into the sidewalk.

“Tara,” breathes the girl, taking Tara’s shoulder like a cliff’s edge. The girl smears her arm across her eyes. She sniffs up snot. “Sorry,” she says. “You have to remember me, don’t you?”

Tara hears her family’s van rumble up the lot. The Ayalas have pulled up from their monthly grocery trip.

They shout for the boys to unload the trunk. Where’s your sister? Heaps of bulk pasta and rice, bags of frozen vegetables, a box of popsicles that their mother insists the kids can only eat one of per day. David doesn’t even acknowledge the girl at Tara’s side. Alex smiles an apology and follows to help heave a chuck roast their dad will butcher into the kitchen.

Tara watches her family. She turns to the girl, Leah Ayala, who hasn’t been seen in ten years.

Leah lets go of Tara’s arm. She jogs across the lawn. Tara just stares after her sister.

Tomas Ayala hefts a box of Costco chicken onto his knee. He cocks a brow at the girl running up to him.

“Dad?” Leah asks, grasping her father’s arm. Her nails bite into Tomas’s tattoos. It’s the same sleeve he’d had when he’d married their mom, the ink having since run his roses and skulls into barely decipherable smudges.

He wrenches away. Their mother, Rebecca, calls after the boys to be careful with those eggs. Seeing Leah doesn’t even register for her. She mutters after Tomas. Tomas just grumbles about weird kids these days. Maybe this is a new Tiktok challenge he’s not hip to?

The van’s empty. The trunk closes. The boys and their parents stay inside the apartment where Tara lives in a room much too large for just one kid. An apartment where there are pencil marks on the doorframe that no one can claim, because they’re taller than any Ayala child in memory had ever been.

“It didn’t work,” Leah says.

She hunches in. She shivers.

Tara feels Leah’s eyes rake over her, head to toe, taking her in.

“I know,” Tara gets out.

“I thought it might work.”

“I know,” Tara repeats. Tara has always known. She’s the only one who seems to be able to know.

She takes her sister by the elbow. She walks her to the overflow parking.

Tara climbs into her Nissan. Leah collapses in shotgun, crumpled among everything Tara’s shoved under the seat for her drive to Oregon.

On their walk she’d picked up the box marked 2009, now splintered on one corner.

Leah’s index traces the numbers. Tara takes the steering wheel, her Nissan idle.

Tara had almost made it out. Maybe she’ll never be free from what happened, but she could have driven far enough away that it couldn't reach her anymore.

Instead she’s still in Del Bosque, an hour’s drive from Camp Cottonwood. Instead her sister, who she’d last seen as a counselor at that camp, shudders out silent sobs and chugs a stale water bottle from Tara’s center console.

Their parents are peeking through the kitchen blinds. They begrudgingly accepted Tara when she informed them she’s a lesbian. The thought of them arguing whether this supposed stranger is her secret girlfriend makes her want to spit out the car window. She does so.

Her mother’s eyes vanish behind the plastic slats. David and Alex need supervision when they put away groceries. Tara does not. Tara’s an adult now.

Not that this means her parents don’t insist she can stay home as long as she likes. Her parents can’t bear to part with her, though she doubts they can tell her why they hold on so tight. That’s what she’s learned over the years. They can’t remember or see what’s missing from their lives, but they can still feel the hole.

Leah digs a bandana out of the glove compartment. She blows her nose. She drops it to the floorboard.

She sniffs. “It’s fine,” she manages. “I’m just glad you didn’t move. I can’t believe you’re older than me,” she chuckles. Her eyes are red and puffy from crying, but they’re clearing up. Tara never saw Leah cry much. “So 2019, huh? This is the future?”

Tara nods.

Leah laughs, voice thick. She’s got the same bray belonging to their mom, to Tara herself.

Tara sighs. She squeezes her eyes shut. “How are you back?” she asks. “How are you… you?”

Leah’s not listening. Leah’s opening the box.

Tara reaches over to stop her, but too late.

Leah twirls the hemp necklace over her fingers. She looks at the photos, a ten year old Tara glaring goodnaturedly at a ginger girl in glasses. She squints at the letter’s address. Bug Nursery. 1315 Dianthus Drive. Bonny, California.

Tara presses into the scratchy seat cover. She can’t meet Leah’s eyes. Can’t accept she’s real, not yet.

She really thought she’d get out of this. She really thought she’d be able to put this all behind her, regret in the rearview as home shrank away in her wake.

She did it before. Look how that’s turned out.

The name above the address turns Tara’s stomach.

“Tara? Where’s June?” Leah asks.

#camp cottonwood #rose ramblin #writing #novel incoming ohhhhhhhh yeahhh

[cheshiresense]

My last thingamajig from discord, I don’t think I posted this over here yet?? Hopefully not. It’s just another dead-end idea I had for a future arc AU.  Ends right in the middle of the start of a conversation too lol, I think I got derailed talking about some other headcanon. It was probably hec’s fault. Anyway, might continue it one day, might not, who knows, definitely not me.

-0-

What if the whole future plot was never a thing? What if Lambo's bazooka was just malfunctioning again, dropped on Tsuna, and took him to the future where he wakes up in his future self's coffin? And doesn't return him after five minutes?

Tsuna wakes up underground, in a box that won't open. He panics and calls for help and pounds on the lid, and then he fights it all down because he's already wheezing for breath. Desperation makes him think. Desperation makes him strong. The flames that burst out of him slam right through the heavy stone lid, shattering it to pieces that rain to the floor. His nails are torn and bleeding, and he's shaking as he hoists himself out, but he's alive.

It doesn't take a genius to understand the X on the fancy slightly dusty box and what waking up in it means. There are other coffins all around him, set in groups of seven. His is alone.

It's been more than five minutes, and Tsuna knows something's gone wrong. He doesn't even have his gloves with him so he's relieved when a flickering flame sparks at his fingertips upon command. It wasn't a one-time thing so at least he's not completely helpless. Another thirty minutes pass, nobody comes to investigate the noise, and even Tsuna has to admit that staying here won't do him any good. So, reluctantly, shivering a little from the cold, he makes his way towards the stairs and cautiously ventures out of the crypt.

He assumes he's on the Vongola estate. The crypt was kind of a giveaway, and the large mansion aboveground is a pretty big clue too. But the whole place is empty, that becomes clear pretty quickly. Of living people at least. But there's scorch marks on the lawn and crumbling wood and stone and plaster throughout the house, and Tsuna has to crouch in a corner and breathe through a panic attack after the first time he stumbles across a corpse.

Eventually, he finds what he assumes is the boss' office. His office, and something about that - the knowledge that he became exactly the thing he doesn't want to be, and it obviously got him killed not even ten years down the road - makes something in him ache and burn at the same time.

Three hours later, he's all but torn the place apart. Several trial-and-error flashes of his flames unlock two hidden safes and a hidden room behind one of the bookcases that his Intuition points him to. They're filled with everything from weapons to books to money, and most importantly, they contain accounts - diaries of sorts - of Vongola Decimo's reign, written in Tsuna's own hand.

And he reads. He reads about Reborn and Timoteo and Iemitsu pushing and shoving him into the role they dictated for him until Tsuna broke and conceded. He reads about how enthusiastically Gokudera and even Yamamoto took to this life, how Ryouhei was happy with the fights he got, how Lambo was still a child in many ways, how Hibari was constantly unreachable and only turned up if Tsuna could bribe him with a decent fight, how Chrome withdrew more and more and never received new organs because there was always something more important, how Mukuro remained in Vendicare to this day. He reads about the decisions and concessions he's had to make to appease the Varia and appease the elders and appease his famiglia, and he sees the way the line in the sand gets pushed farther and farther back until it disappears entirely - no turns into no, except this one time turns into no, except these few emergencies turns into it's fine if my famiglia's lives are in danger turns into it's fine if my famiglia's pride and reputation is threatened turns into for the good of Vongola, it's fine.

Tsuna reads about himself, about this stranger he no longer recognizes, and he doesn't think he's ever met anyone whom he feels so disgusted by and so sorry for as much as he does this sad dead man.

Tsuna tries not to dwell. He has bigger problems at the moment than crappy future career choices, namely - if his future self can be believed - the disaster of a mafia war spanning the globe right now. The events that led up to it is like a train wreck - dying arcobaleno, guardians scattered all over the place as they try in vain to keep Millefiore's influence from spreading, and even a final assault on the mansion that Vongola almost couldn't fend off, prompting Tsuna to wave a metaphorical white flag and meet with Byakuran for negotiations for a ceasefire, only to never come out alive again.

Well, Tsuna could've told him that. Talking's all well and good, and Tsuna's the last person who would want violence, but this Byakuran guy seems to have no problems with killing and find it particularly fun to pick off Vongola piece by piece. He was very obviously winning, and in Tsuna's experience, people who have fun when they prove to be more powerful against their targets aren't all that interested when their targets beg for mercy. It just makes them bored. Tsuna learned that lesson with his bullies before he even hit his teens. Learned it too in the way Hibari never stops until his "prey" is unconscious or gives up on trying to run away entirely.

The fight, the struggle, is what thrills those kinds of people. And when they lose that, they lose interest, and while some are fine with simply walking away, Byakuran isn't a schoolyard bully, and Millefiore and Vongola were at war. Why Tsuna's future self thought that meeting would end any differently, Tsuna honestly has no idea.

There's no point frustrating himself over it now though. He can't stay here forever, even if it does feel safer than leaving the compound, despite the dead bodies. Obviously, there's no account of it, but the evidence is clear - after Tsuna's death, there must've been at least one more attack on the estate, and that one definitely breached the walls once and for all. He doesn't know how many people were part of the Vongola Famiglia but it seems a good chunk of them were killed, and the rest were either taken hostage or they were forced to go on the run.

It's probably been at least a few months since then. He found the kitchens earlier and most of the food's gone bad. There's dried blood and dust everywhere, and it smells pretty terrible too. Staying here isn't an option, no matter how tempting it is. He needs to find a way to go home, and while staying put and waiting for the bazooka's powers to run out or for someone back home to figure out how to switch him back sounds good in theory, his luck's never been that great, and he'll probably starve to death before that happens.

He's careful about packing. He's probably not coming back, and Reborn's lessons are at least good for something. Non-perishable food, weapons, money, a couple changes of clothes that won't stand out - essentials only, and one bag, as light as he can make it so it won't hamper his movements. He has less food than he likes but hopefully he'll be able to buy stuff along the way.

It's a little skeevy, looting the dead, but desperate times.

Once he's as prepared as he thinks he can get, he ends up sneaking out the back. His Intuition tugs him away from the broken front gates so maybe Millefiore is monitoring that somehow. Nobody ambushes him as he leaves, and Tsuna doesn't look back as he picks a direction and starts walking.

Tsuna doesn't actually have any more of a plan out here than he did back in Vongola. Don't Get Caught, of course - even ten years younger, people who know him will probably recognize him, so he keeps his hood up and tries to walk like he's exactly where he's supposed to be. He makes his way into a town, and it's maybe a bit too quiet for comfort, it's citizens keeping their heads down like him even as they go about their day. It's probably not a good idea to linger so he only passes through. By the time night falls, he's in some stretch of forest again, and again, he - grudgingly - sends up thanks for the survival training Reborn put him through as he goes about gathering bits of wood and starting a fire, and then - grimacing - kills a bird for food. He doesn't really want to dip into the non-perishables if he doesn't have to. There wasn't a whole lot of it to begin with, and he couldn't take all of what there was anyway.

He thinks as he eats, pulling out one of his future self's secret leather notebooks that he found alongside the diaries. It's a list of Vongola safehouses around the globe, and there's even a couple maps tucked inside. He supposes he could continue hiding and wandering through Italy until the others fix the bazooka but... it's been over half a day and he's still here. And the longer he stays in Italy, the more danger he'll be in.

There is apparently a safehouse - three safehouses actually - in Japan, one very close to Namimori. His first instinct is to go there but... what if the airports are monitored? It's why he's avoided buying things so far. Reborn's warned him more than once that people have ways of tracking transactions. Paying with cash is best but that's not really going to help him if there are cameras in the area or even actual people stationed there.

Besides, even if he manages to get to Japan, then what? What if the safehouse is empty? He doubts he'll just be able to walk in, and whatever passcodes he'll need haven't been written down. Even worse, what if he gets there and the place has already been compromised? Namimori is known Vongola territory after all. If it was Tsuna, he'd probably at the very least keep a close eye on the place.

So on one hand, if he heads for Japan and actually makes it, he'll at least be in a country where he won't be foreign, and the language would be familiar. On the other, he's never actually been out of the Namimori area so if the safehouse there has been compromised, he'll be stuck in the same situation as he is here - wandering around and avoiding civilization. It doesn't seem particularly smart to risk the trip just for the possibility of dubious safety.

Besides, there are safehouses right here in Italy too, and as far as he knows, nobody's aware of his presence yet. So, alright, he'll stay here, make his way to a safehouse that hopefully will be either empty or filled with allies who would recognize him, find a way inside, and then just stay there until he's taken back to his own time.

Easy.

(Yeah, right.)

But it settles something in him, to at least have a semi-concrete plan to work towards now.  As he rolls out a thick blanket and settles down for sleep though, his thoughts turn - not for the first time - to his... friends. Guardians. To be honest, they sounded more and more like subordinates  the longer his future self was boss. If he's honest, he's not that surprised that Hibari never really came to respect him. He's too passive and meek, he doesn't like fighting, and in a straight-up fight without his Flames, he could never stand on equal footing with Hibari, let alone defeat him. Maybe his future self can, but if bribery is still the only way to get future Hibari to listen at all, then obviously nothing much has changed in ten years. Maybe it even got worse. At least his time's Hibari would help out if their home was threatened, and he was willing enough to see the entire Varia confrontation through to the end when he didn't necessarily have to. Future Hibari doesn't even live in Italy most of the time, and he only takes Tsuna's calls when he wants to.

Then there's Gokudera and Yamamoto and Ryouhei and even Lambo. They respected his title and followed his lead but... only when he acted like the mafia boss that Gokudera has always expected him to be. There was something terribly distant and lonely when his future self wrote about them, about the blood and bodies that piled up under their names, about Lambo's age which had never stopped troubling him.

And then there's Mukuro, and Chrome. Chrome, who technically should've been living in the Vongola mansion but made herself scarce half the time, only showing up to hand in her reports, never quite one of them, never quite accepted by the other Guardians. And Mukuro, who carried the brunt of Tsuna's infiltration missions (infiltration missions for fuck's sake) and - after the first handful of times when future Tsuna wrote about his plans to trade with the Vindice for Mukuro - was regarded with more and more detachment and indifference over the years than any kind of genuine care, more a resource by the end than friend or Guardian or even ally, held at arms' length because nobody in Vongola trusted him or wanted him, just a necessary evil they had to put up with because he was good at what he did, and eventually, because Tsuna was Vongola, he stopped seeing Mukuro as a person too.

To be frank, Tsuna honestly doesn't understand how he managed to become this ten-year-later version of himself. He had an entire mafia family under his command, Vongola Decimo, the capo di tutti capi, and undoubtedly more powerful than Tsuna is now, but...

But all Tsuna can think as he recalls everything he read is this man was weak. Even weaker than me.

It's a bitter realization, but Tsuna thinks his future self stopped fighting a long time ago. He may have been killed ten years down the line, but perhaps the death that had really mattered had already happened years and years ago.

Either way, he doesn't know where his future Guardians are. They probably haven't been captured or killed. At the very least, Lambo will live to at least twenty-five, and the very idea of Hibari kicking the bucket is foreign to him, plus he was probably in Japan when Tsuna's future self was killed and when the Vongola mansion was attacked. And Mukuro is technically still in Vendicare but - if he hasn't jumped ship yet - he's also possessing someone in Byakuran's ranks. With Tsuna's future self dead, Tsuna's not sure why Mukuro would still be following orders, but then Tsuna's also not sure why Mukuro's followed orders for the past ten years, so what does he know?

As for Chrome and Gokudera and Yamamoto and Ryouhei - hopefully they made it to somewhere safe. Maybe they regrouped with Hibari in Japan since Italy's obviously no longer safe for them.

There's no telling for certain though, so the best thing for Tsuna to do now is to get some sleep and then head for a safehouse. With any luck, maybe the bazooka will transport him home before trouble finds him.

-0-

Fast forward a week or so and Tsuna is settled inside an underground safehouse in the middle of nowhere that he only found because of his Intuition. As it turns out, the locks are apparently keyed to his Flames somehow so it didn't take more than a few minutes to get in. The place is empty but well-stocked, and there are more weapons, training rooms, meeting rooms, and more computers and other tech than he can count.

First order of business - a hot shower.

Then, while he devours an instant meal of mashed potatoes and chicken, he goes about learning the functions of the safehouse. It takes him a while but he doesn't stop until he's figured out how to bring the security up to maximum level. Hidden sensors five miles out will warn him if anyone breaches that perimeter, and the entire defensive system is ready for the apocalypse.

Tsuna has learned that there is no kill like overkill in the mafia.

-0-

Over the next month, Tsuna doesn't leave the safehouse. The place is fully stocked with frozen packages of food, more toilet rolls than he knows what to do with, and even everything from books to board games to office supplies. His English is only passable and his Italian mostly consists of numbers and colours and weather, so with nothing better to do, he sets about bettering himself in both.

He honestly doesn't expect to still be here after a month. A month. A week, maybe two tops. But a month? How have they not fixed the bazooka yet? Can it not find him anymore because he left the crypt? But that's not how it works - Lambo ran around all the time when he was switched.

Did they give up because they couldn't figure it out?

Tsuna's tried not to worry because he has a bad habit of stressing himself out and overthinking things, and if he lingers too long  on his situation, he starts feeling queasy and stupidly lonely.

But a month passes, and even the music collection he found can only stave off the silence and anxiety for so long.

There are surveillance cameras connected to the safehouse. Five of them monitors various parts of the Vongola estate, and it was apparently a very smart move to get out while he still could because once a week like clockwork, a patrol of mafiosi dressed in white - Millefiore men - sweep in with weapons in hand, making sure Vongola hasn't come back. It's a good thing Tsuna put the office back into place before he left.

There's another two cameras at the Varia mansion, and while parts of the place are in dire need of reconstruction, Tsuna has seen the entire Varia core - minus Mammon - coming and going. The security is as tight as Tsuna's safehouse, and the place looks more like a fortress than a sprawling estate. Tsuna considers contacting them, the computers here could do it, but an unknown number might not get through, and Tsuna wouldn't know what to say anyway. Please come save him? Even if the Varia agreed, which Tsuna is rather doubtful of, their relationship with his future self was little more than mutual distrust and grudging tolerance, they'd probably take him back to their mansion, and he'd end up doing whatever they wanted. Majority rules after all. He's fine for now, just a little bored and increasingly concerned by the day, so unless it's an emergency, he'll leave the Varia alone.

Two more cameras take him to Japan, not to any of the safehouses but to CEDEF headquarters, which Hibari apparently insisted on moving to the outskirts of Namimori. Future Tsuna obviously agreed, as if he could stop Hibari anyway, and Tsuna at least has confirmation now that Hibari - and Kusakabe - are alive and well and even drinking tea. They're in hiding but not in any immediate danger. Gokudera, Yamamoto, and even Ryouhei have all passed through a couple times so they're all alright too, even if they looked tired and stressed on screen.

Tsuna very seriously considers contacting them. Hibari would probably refuse but the other three would probably jump on the first plane to Italy to retrieve him, even if they weren't exactly close friends anymore in this future, they were loyal, and that's the problem. Tsuna doesn't want them putting themselves in danger when he doesn't really need them. Better for them to concentrate on protecting themselves than be distracted by the news that their dead boss' younger self is on his own and stuck in the future.

So, in the end, there's little he can do but stay put and check in on the people he's semi-familiar with when he can.

-0-

In the end, it's Chrome who changes the status quo. The alarms start blaring early one morning, and Tsuna is trying to hop into some pants and run to the surveillance room at the same time. His shirt hangs open and his hair is even messier than usual but if he's about to be attacked, there are more important things. At least they didn't catch him in the shower.

He pulls up the screens and sees... nothing. But something tripped the flame sensors, and after a minute of fiddling with the flame detectors, he catches a Mist signature making a beeline towards the safehouse from the right.

Shit.

Even though a part of him wants to set off the traps dotting the area, he can't help but wonder if maybe whoever approaching is an ally. His Intuition isn't warning him of danger, and if he does set off the traps, it'll be noisy and might draw attention. So instead, he decides to wait and see if whoever it is will be able to pass the Flame key on the safehouse entrance. There's a bunch of other locks in place now so even if they get past that, they still won't be able to get in. And if they start trying to force their way in, Tsuna will know it's probably an enemy.

Still, he goes and fetches a gun. He still feels safer with fistfuls of Flames, but he's also been training himself in other weaponry over the past month, and holding a gun doesn't feel quite as awkward as it did before he arrived in this future.

Boredom really is the mother of productivity. Or something.

He keeps an eye on the screens and watches the shapeless blob of Mist stop right in front of the entrance. If nothing else, whoever it is obviously knew where this place is. A moment passes, a flash of brighter indigo briefly lights up the screens, and... yes, they're keyed in.

They try to enter, and of course, the safehouse doesn't let them. Tsuna makes no move to let them in. They may be keyed in but he still doesn't know who it is.

The Mist blob wavers, and then turns to look directly at one of the cameras trained on them, and their Flame cloak slides away, revealing-

"Chrome," Tsuna says out loud, and he's reaching to unlock the door before he catches himself.

But what if it's just another Mist pretending to be her?

Ugh, the mafia's made him paranoid. But the question stands.

When the  entrance still doesn't open, Chrome seems to at least guess what the problem is. She frowns a little, then closes her eye for a long minute, and then-

A familiar feeling jolts through Tsuna in the next moment, and he knows what he'll see even before Chrome's eyepatch fades away and both of her eyes open to reveal mismatched red-and-blue. It's still Chrome's face and Chrome's body instead of the usual full takeover Tsuna is used to but there's no doubt who's behind the driver's seat at the moment.

"Tsunayoshi-kun," Mukuro says mildly, and something about his automatic smirk is more forced than normal. "I do believe at this age, you still recognize my Flames. Be a darling and let my Nagi in, would you?"

Tsuna's already tapping out the sequence to unlock the doors, and then he's racing off towards the entrance to meet them. He skids into the right hallway just as the last lock whirs open, and then he's lunging forward to catch his adult Mist Guardian just as she- he- they pitch forward, completely out cold.

Chrome is pretty light (too light, she's obviously not been eating enough). As an adult, she's an inch or two taller than Tsuna now but it's still easy enough for him to carry her to one of the empty bedrooms. Her clothes are dirty and slightly tattered but Tsuna figures it's better to just wait for her to wake up and change herself than for him to do it. He can always wash the sheets later, and at least it doesn't look like she's bleeding from anywhere.

It takes two days for Chrome to wake up. Tsuna alternates between pacing, flitting in and out of Chrome's bedroom, and pointlessly checking for the umpteenth time that he has drinks and meals ready for when she needs them. So the second her eyes flutter open, Tsuna has a pitcher of water and a full glass on the nightstand while he tries not to hover.

Chrome sits up with a quiet groan, one hand pressed to her head like she has a headache. Her single eye glances up at him, then she makes a grabby motion at the water. Tsuna hastily hands over the glass, and she downs the whole thing in three gulps.

"If you want a shower," Tsuna tentatively suggests. "I can have food ready when you come out?"

Chrome looks at him again, still silent and closed off, but she nods after a moment, and Tsuna is just thankful he can do something for her. She's not injured but she's still practically skin and bones. You'd think after ten years, someone would've put her on a better diet.

Then of course he remembers his future self never got around to finding actual organs for her, and that might have something to do with her lack of healthy eating habits, and he winces.

By the time Chrome finds him in the kitchens, hair damp and dressed in a new white shirt and suit pants because that seems to be the only outfit choice around here, Tsuna has the table laden down with food but he also pushes the chicken broth in her direction first. Hopefully that won't be too heavy for her.

To his surprise, Chrome actually sends a small fleeting smile in his direction before digging in, and Tsuna finally relaxes enough to cautiously pull up a chair across from her.

"So, um, how are you feeling?" He asks once she's finished most of the broth. "And how's Mukuro? What- What happened? And how did you know I was here?"

#khr #sawada tsunayoshi #rokudo mukuro #dokuro chrome #myscrap #headcanon #when your future self is more of a disappointment than you verse

[bluesfortheredj]

Just One Night.

A/N: Part of @queenandborhapevents 3 years of Bohemian Rhapsody fic exchange event.

His slender fingers walk their way idly along the spines of books on the shelf, taking in none of the titles as his eyes wander around the rest of the bookcase instead, “so, how are you settling in anyway?” he asks, noticing the small gathering of ‘new home’ cards above.

“Yeah, not too bad thanks,” you smile, handing him a drink, “still need to get a proper bed, but the sofa is surprisingly comfortable.”

“I can attest to that,” he nods, clinking his glass against yours, “congratulations again (Y/N), you’ve worked bloody hard for this.”

“Thanks,” you sigh, “couldn’t have done it without your help though, could I?! You’re now my official handyman as well as a good friend.”

“Well, thanks for the promotion!”

“You should tweak your business cards now... Ben Hardy; actor and handyman.”

He laughs, “I’ll probably get more consistent jobs from that to be fair. Where did you put that beautiful photo I so kindly gifted you on moving in day?”

“Ah, it has pride of place in the bathroom.”

Ben places his glass down carefully on a coaster before raising his eyebrows, “then that’s my cue for a bathroom break. Promise not to stink it out too much,” he winks.

“There’s a can of air freshener in there now so you’d better use it!” you call after him with a chuckle.

You let out a contented sigh as you look around at your surroundings; your settee that is exactly where you pictured it when you were planning the layout of your flat, the fridge that sits perfectly in the corner of the kitchen, the small dining table that is just big enough for two people to sit at, and you smile as your eyes finally land on large window that overlooks the stretch of green outside your block of flats. Finally you had a place to call your own and you certainly wasn’t lying when you said you couldn’t have done it without Ben, he was there almost every single day for the first two weeks of you living there, and you had to physically push him out of the door a couple of times to get him to go home.

“Can I open your post?”

“Huh?” you ask, his question nothing more than a mumble to you.

“Too late,” he grins, “ooh, wedding invite!”

“Hey!” you frown, snatching the piece of card from his hands.

“Your cousin?” Ben probes.

“Yeah, she’s finally tying the knot,” you reply unenthusiastically.

“What’s with the face?”

You roll your eyes before handing the invite back to him so he can read exactly why both your face and stomach have dropped, and he grimaces as he too realises why your mood has changed so quickly.

“Ah. Bit pushy isn’t it?”

“She’s always made it her mission to ‘help’ me with my love life, always trying to set me up with someone, but this, this is ridiculous. I’m basically being threatened to find someone or else I’ll be put with one of her fiancé's single mates and I have no say in which one.”

Your eyes widen as the words you’ve just spoken sink in, and you laugh to yourself at how utterly unreasonable she was being.

“Sounds like a bridezilla to me,” Ben mutters as he gets his phone out and his gaze flits from the invite to the screen, “well, I have a solution. Looks like I’m free on that day.”

“Oh no, I couldn’t subject you to that. It’s honestly fine, I’ll just put my foot down.”

“I don’t think she’s the kind of person to take ‘no’ as an answer is she?”

You huff, blowing your hair out of your face, then hum in a reluctant agreement to his question.

“Then it’s agreed; we’ll play up to it so much that people will think it’ll be us getting married next, and you will be free from threats like these,” he states, waving the card up and down before chucking it over his shoulder with a disgusted expression.

“You really don’t have to.”

“I really don’t have to go to a wedding with free food, hopefully some free drink, and an overnight stay at a posh hotel with one of my best mates… yeah, I know, but as if I’m gonna pass up that opportunity.”

A smile creeps across your lips as Ben outstretches his arms before gesturing for you to come in for a hug and you gladly step into his comforting embrace that you’d grown to love; his hands rubbing your back gently as you grip onto his shirt for ultimate support.

“You do realise that this means you’ll have to put into practice all those acting skills I’ve taught you over the years though, right?” Ben informs you as he pulls back a little.

You laugh and nod in response to his question.

“We need to make this convincing enough that she gives up her master plan for controlling your love life; you think you can pretend to be that in love with me?” he asks.

You lean back further from his arms to meet his gaze and you inhale sharply before smiling and nodding to confirm that yes, pretending to be in love with him would be no problem whatsoever.

-

The two of you had managed to sneak up to the hotel room unnoticed thanks to the hustle and bustle of the imminent wedding, and you look out of the window just in time to see the groom and his best men staggering across the lawn to go and get changed into their suits.

“Looks like they had an eventful night last night,” you chuckle, nodding towards the unsteady group of guys.

Ben joins you and lets out a laugh just as one of the men leans over with his hands on his knees ready to vomit, “he’s going… he’s going… and… he’s gone. Oh wow, how the hell is he going to get through the ceremony in that state?! He’s going to have to be benched surely?”

“Well, Joe has got two other best men, so one going missing wouldn’t hurt too much I guess, especially if there’s a spillage risk.”

“More like a flood risk by the looks of that,” he grimaces.

You stick your tongue out in revulsion then head over to the bed and dig your outfit out of the bag before waving it at Ben and gesturing to the bathroom to let him know you were going to get changed. He nods and moves away from the window to check out the rest of the room, along with the mini bar, then you hear the television turn on and the channels being flicked through while he waits for you to appear again.

The door to the bathroom opens and Ben looks around with a relieved sigh, “well it’s about-” he stops before the last word, his mouth staying ajar as he takes in the sight of you exiting the bathroom, then after a few seconds he manages to continue, “time.”

“Sorry, couldn’t get the frigging zip done up. Had to hook a hair pin in it to wriggle it into place.”

He shakes his head from side to side, “no, no, it’s fine. I would have… you could have asked for help if you wanted it.”

“I’m sure you’ll get your chance later when I need to get this thing off,” you chuckle, “let me know if you need any help with your tie.”

A smile makes its way across his lips at your first comment then he nods at you as he grabs his suit bag and gives you a swift kiss on the cheek as he passes you to head into the bathroom. This must mean that the pretend dating starts now, right?

Ben re-emerges around ten minutes later with his tie in hand which you gladly take and carefully tuck underneath the collar of his shirt before pulling the ends to be equal and wrapping it into a neat loop within a handful of moments, “perfect!” you grin.

“You ready then?” he checks.

“I think so,” you nod.

He takes your hand in his, slipping his fingers between yours so naturally that it didn’t feel out of the ordinary for either of you, then you head downstairs to the other waiting guests and make your way through the crowd to some familiar faces from your family.

“There they are!” your mum calls out, notifying everyone around her, “we all knew it.”

“Glad to know I’m so predictable,” you sigh with a smile.

“Well she had to get Sarah off her back somehow,” your dad laughs, “no offence Ben.”

“None taken,” Ben assures as he gives your hand a squeeze.

You turn your body into his and place your hand on his arm to put him at ease, then everything just seems to flow from there. The two of you are so completely swept up in one another that you barely register what is going on around you both and it’s as if there hadn’t been a plan to pretend you were together in the first place. Kisses are shared, longing looks are exchanged, gentle touches are given to one another, and there’s such an air of authenticity that it seems like you’d been together for months.

“Was this really meant to last for just one night?” Ben asks as you sway from side to side in a quiet corner of the room.

You look up at him and delicately place a hand on his cheek, “no, I don’t think it was,” you whisper.

#ben hardy #ben hardy imagine #ben hardy fanfic #ben hardy x reader #ben hardy fluff

[cafeacademia]

Love Between The Pages | Chapter 2

Blaise Zabini x Reader

Part summary: Blaise spends his second meeting with the book club and begins to get to know you more while he decides that perhaps book club isn't so bad after all

Warnings: None, just fluff, one use of the word "mudblood", but not in a malicious way, some light teasing/banter, this is turning into an "everyone is friends AU".

Word count: Approx 2100

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A/N: Hi loves! I hope you enjoy this part, I had fun writing this, to be honest this series has been really lovely to write in general! I'm really looking forward to writing the next part, I have some fun things planned for the next chapter!! Enjoy! 💕💕

“She’s a mudblood Ravenclaw.” Draco hissed at his friend. “Muggleborn.” Blaise pressed, though he did not glance up from his book as Draco tried to emphasise how much he didn’t like that fact about you. “It doesn’t matter. Why do you care for her attention anyway?” Draco asked. “Perhaps it’s because she’s quiet.” He ground out, Draco looking at him rather shocked as Blaise tried desperately to finish the last chapter of the book he had borrowed the previous week during his first book club meeting. Of course, it had been for punishment that he had to attend and not even for a fault of his own, but Blaise had to admit to at least himself that he was rather enjoying himself.

Books were his quiet escape. He found things he did not in his day to day life. He found functional families with fathers and a stable mother, of which he did not have himself. He found romance blossoming in the most poetic of ways. Oh to experience the nuances of love. And perhaps most importantly, books were his escape. Blaise was a stoic, quiet person and he was a loner at the best of times. As much as he enjoyed his friendship with Draco, because whether others believed it or not, the pale blonde was not as bad as he appeared to be on the outside, Draco did have a gift of pulling everyone else into his messes. Blaise just wanted to be left alone so he could fully indulge himself in the worlds of the books he read and the little stories he wished he could be a part of too.

“If you’ll excuse me, I want to read the end of this book before the club meeting starts.” Blaise said, Draco still staring incredulously at him. “Suit yourself, I don’t care, I’ve not even read much of my book.” Draco replied matter of factly. “For someone who doesn’t care,” Blaise paused, looking up from his book to give Draco a pointed look. “You’re awfully early to the meeting.” Draco glared at him, his fist tightening as he stood up as tall as he could in front of his friend. “Shut up, Zabini.” He said it, perhaps meaning it in a more angry tone than it came out, but despite his best efforts, it came out as a weak little whine, Blaise looking up to smirk at him and getting a snort of amusement and a lopsided smile back from Draco. “So dramatic.” Blaise rolled his eyes.

“I don’t see the problem.” Cho said as you walked along the corridor towards the library for your book club meeting. “The problem is that he’s a Slytherin.” Hermione huffed. “Oh stop it, you only don’t like Slytherins because of Draco.” You rolled your eyes. “Well, Draco-.” “Is Draco, not the entire house.” You said, Cho giving an approving look around you at Hermione. “It’s just because that Zabini boy asked you to read with him.” She huffed. “Mm, and you’ll continue to read with Draco just like last time, will you?” You teased, Cho unable to stop herself from giggling, because whilst the pair had squabbled the entire time last week, they had actually managed to read in each other’s company too. “That was different. He wouldn’t leave me in peace.” Hermione scoffed, but all three of you knew she could have very well gotten up and moved somewhere else in the library. Hermione had a habit of making sure others knew they were disturbing her, whether she meant to be a little bit brash about it or not.

With one last knowing look between you and Cho, the three of you entered the library together.

Ginny had arrived only moments beforehand and was pulling her robes off to sit more comfortably, while Neville was likely running a bit late, which was usual on a Thursday afternoon after Herbology. It was so often that he would spend a little bit of extra time in the greenhouses, forgetting the time completely, he’d even missed a couple of meetings because of it, not that anyone minded of course.

“Ah there you are. A bit late are we?” Draco announced as he walked out into the main part of the library. “We are perfectly on time.” Hermione rolled her eyes. “Where’s Theo?” Ginny asked, receiving only a shrug from Draco before he went off to squabble with Hermione.

Walking up to an empty chair, you pulled your school bag off your shoulder and placed it in the seat before you wandered off to find your book for this week. It was a few minutes later as you began to explore the shelves that you peeked around the end of the bookcase to clock Theo and Neville walking into the library together and you wondered if they had been in Herbology together.

It was then that your fingers grazed over the back of an old copy of Sense And Sensibility, your eyes catching the subtle glint of the gold gilding of the title pressed into the spine. It was a hardback, bound in a deep blue cloth with gold and white detailing. Stepping up on your toes to get a better grip on the book, you reached up for it, but someone took it before you could. Deep toned fingers gripped the copy of Sense and Sensibility, carefully lifting it off the shelf for you. “What are we reading?” Blaise asked softly. Turning a little to see him, you saw him looking down at you with a hint of a smirk on his lips. He wasn’t standing too close to you, but he was close enough that you had to really look up at him.

“Sense and Sensibility.” He read out loud. “Romance?” He asked, garnering a silent nod from you in response. “I thought so.” Blaise smirked. “Romance is often in your hands.” He said, his conversation making you feel flustered already and you wondered if you were good enough at hiding the effect he had on you or if he saw what his confident, mostly stoic demeanor did to you.

While Blaise was usually the quiet one, he knew you were more shy than he was, so he hoped that by speaking to you in small bursts wouldn’t be so intimidating, especially as just a week beforehand, you had looked at him, Draco and Theo with fear in your eyes when those fireworks had hit your table. He’d never forgive himself for not stopping Draco.

“Any suggestions for fiction?” Blaise asked. “Yes, actually.” You replied softly, your cheeks instantly warmed by the courage it had taken to respond and the surprise that the words had left your lips. Taking a few steps down the aisle, you crouched down to a little nook near the bottom where a purple and floral patterned copy of Pride and Prejudice perched. You carefully pulled the book free from the shelf before standing up straight, Blaise holding out the book he had been holding onto for you while you held out the one you had picked for him. “It’s a good read.” You told him as you took the Jane Austen novel from his gentle grip as he took the book that you held out from him. “I’ll just have to trust you then.” Blaise smiled softly at you.

Sitting down at a table, you smiled when you saw Blaise settling down beside you, his gaze landing on yours for a moment before he opened his book and began to read. Glancing over at your friends, Ginny and Cho were both giving you knowing smiles as they looked up from their quiet chatter together, Hermione happily sitting beside Neville with Theo on the other side of him as they discussed the books they had read last week. While Draco seemed to try his best not to look like he was interested in anything, he was paying an awful lot of attention to their conversation.

You became more relaxed next to Blaise as you read, losing yourself in the pages of the book you had chosen, enjoying the setup of the story and the feel of the book in your hands. There was nothing quite like calm, quiet company while you read a good old hardback book with pages that smelled like an old library, the smells of candles wax sconces and the distinctive wood polish the tables were buffed with each week.

It wasn’t long before a good half an hour had passed, though it only felt like mere minutes had passed by when you looked up from your book. Blaise considered it for a moment as he looked up from his book, his fingers poised at the corner of the page, ready to turn it over. Glancing to his side to see you, he wondered for a moment, hesitating to speak up. Feeling his gaze, it warmed you as you turned to look up at him, meeting his soft eyes, his lips curving up into a barely there smile, but one that you could tell was genuine. You couldn’t hold back the bright smile that the soft look Blaise had given you had elicited.

“What is it?” You asked softly, his smile widening as he fondly shook his head. “Sorry, I was just wondering,” Blaise paused as he considered the thought on his mind. “Why is it that your club never seems to read somewhere else?” He asked. “It’s always the library, why not a quiet spot by a tree or…” He trailed off. Why had you never thought of that? Going to sit out in the grounds on a warm spring afternoon to enjoy the fresh air and the nature as you all indulged yourself in books and discussion about various authors and their writings. “Do you have a quiet spot by a tree?” You asked, barely above a whisper, Blaise giving you a little smirk. “I think I do, actually.” He nodded. “Then, why don’t we all read there next week?” You asked, the warmth in Blaise’s smile becoming softer and brighter and you almost melted at the way he looked at you, gentle and sweet and captivated on every word you had to say. It made you feel shy in the best way, your stomach floating with butterflies and head light with an almost whimsical warmth, giddy and flustered. “I would love that.” Blaise said, leaning back in his chair before looking back down at his book and turning the page.

Blaise already held a fondness for you, he had for a while, but now he was starting to realise that it wasn’t just a little school crush, his feelings were telling him there was something much more to that attraction than just something as simple as a crush.

By the time the clock tower bell rang again to signal the turn of the hour, even the boys that had been the least liking of the book club just a week ago seemed to be disappointed it was over. Theo had been sitting with Neville nearly the entire time, somehow the two of them getting into a conversation about The Secret Garden, which Neville had suggested he read. All while Draco had gotten himself so stuck into a book that he looked disappointed when the low toll of the bell sounded to tell the hour.

“Enjoy yourself?” Blaise asked as he approached Draco. “Of course not.” He scoffed in response, but there was no heat behind his words. Blaise knew just from the tone he had used that Draco had in fact enjoyed the hour, even if he wouldn’t openly admit it. “Neville’s lent me his copy of The Secret Garden.” “You mean Longbottom?” Draco asked, though he couldn’t help but give the faintest of smiles when he looked up to see the pure joy the book in Theo’s hands had brought to his face. Perhaps this book club business wasn’t so bad after all.

“What’s going on with you and the mud- muggleborn?” Draco asked, correcting himself mid sentence as he, Theo and Blaise began to pack their things away while you chatted with Cho. “We just read together, she’s sweet.” Blaise smiled to himself as he pulled his bag onto his shoulder and rested his hands in his trouser pockets. “You like her.” Theo grinned, Blaise chuckling softly before he took a few steps away from his friends. “I’ll see you at dinner.” He told them over his shoulder as he made his way over to you.

“Can I walk you to your common room?” Blaise asked as you picked up your books and tucked them under your arm, his words making you feel warm and like you wanted to hide away out of the shy, excited feeling you got when he spoke to you. “I’d like that.” You replied quietly, the Slytherin smiling as he took to your side with his hands tucked comfortably in his pockets, looking down at you as you walked towards the exit together.

Perhaps Draco getting him into trouble wasn’t so bad in the end and hopefully next week, Blaise could enjoy the warmth and comfort of spring outdoors with you and your friends.

Blaise Taglist (OPEN):

@paintballkid711 @megantje123 @chaotic-fae-queen @slytherinwh0re @frecklesandfirecrackers @starofthedawn @mingyuahjumma @dracosaccount @90smalfoy @fuckingdraco @loving-life-my-way @cpetrova @miraclesoflove @struggling-bee @weasleywhore @little-me204 @dreaming-about-fanfictions @ur-local-reality-shifter @wh0re4blaise @cherie-draco @lazypeachsoul @sistheselenophile @sw33tgirl

#blaise x reader #blaise zabini x reader #blaise x you #blaise zabini x you #blaise x y/n #blaise zabini x y/n #blaise zabini #blaise #blaise zabini imagine #blaise zabini fanfiction #blaise zabini fluff #blaise fluff #hp imagine #harry potter #hp #harry potter fanfiction

[crackinwise]

[part 1]

This is how I picture their whole house-building journey would go:

After graduating Hope's Peak, Taka goes to a prestigious college to major in political science. University of Tokyo is touted as the best and it's where his government goals are anyway, so I say he gets in on a scholarship. But this isn't about his college adventures.

Mondo gives the Diamonds over to Michi and seeks out a carpenter apprenticeship. With bosozoku taking pride in their country, he'd likely want traditional Japanese carpentry with a sukiyadaiku (teahouse & residential carpenter, but they can also crossover for work on shrine & temple building--miyadaiku). Naturally, being former leader of the largest gd biker gang in Japan gets you connections. Turns out a member is the granddaughter of just such a master carpenter, and that man is a former rebel himself and grateful the Diamonds drink 100% Respect Women Juice.

It is grunt work at first. For a month, Mondo is tested by just sweeping, hauling, and running every errand. He loses his temper many times, but never quits. His master kind of expects to never see him again after each fit, but there he is at dawn the next morning, bowing in apology and blinking tiredly. Having proved his determination, Mondo begins to be taught the trade.

And oh man, he's gonna learn cool stuff. Ya know those satisfying videos of wood pieces fitting perfectly together without nails or screws? That's "joining" and is Japanese carpentry's whole deal.

After 3 years, he's still apprenticing but Mondo has a solid foundation of experience to get started on Taka's house. He puts feelers out to gang members and old schoolmates for land, and is given the perfect spot close by for a deal. Let's say a residential area outside Tokyo like in Hinohara or Sano or Tochigi city. Does it matter? No. Did I look up seemingly nice places by distance anyway? Yeah.

His master lends a hand or guidance now and then, and some gang members with laborer experience are eager to help with heavy lifting, but Mondo insists everything be done by himself where possible. Any bit of time off from his apprenticeship is spent building the house. He basically lives with his master by now; it's not like he sees whatever home he had before anymore. (Michi stays there, it's fine.) He cuts his own trees for lumbar and uses salvaged materials from other jobs with permission.

Taka visits when on breaks from both university and working for local politicians he believes in. He cries each time he sees the house and shouts how proud he is of Mondo. Mondo just worries they're gonna get kicked out of the neighborhood before he can even finish. But he's become an expert at cutting off Taka's loud adulation with food, drink, his lips, or--in emergencies--planting the man's face into his chest.

Taka always really enjoys watching Mondo work, and taking pictures (of the work for a portfolio; and of sweaty Mondo for... himself). The work pictures shared with friends got Mondo and his master jobs for Sakura, and for Sonia & Gundham.

Because Mondo can only work on the house between jobs and he's responsible for his own materials, it takes him around two years. He tries to give Taka everything he may need. There's multiple bookcases, a display case for past & future accolades, a dojo for kendo practice, a full kitchen to perfect whatever food Taka wants to next, an office with a big desk, and a spare bedroom for Takaaki visits.

When the house is completely done (Hiro had even had it blessed), Taka meets Mondo outside the front door. Taka takes a rolled up welcome mat out from under his arm and lays it down inside. On it reads "Ishimaru - Oowada Residence" in kanji.

Mondo only stares and Taka misunderstands his silence. "Ah! I-Is that alright? I went back and forth on the name order so many times so I just decided on alphabetical! I can change it!"

"Taka. Hun," Mondo pulls him close to calm him back down. "Are ya sure ya wanna live with me?

"Why wouldn't I?"

"Ya... I built this for you, damnit. Ya don't have to share outta pity or obligation or anythin. You're gonna be runnin for office yerself soon, and if they find out ya live with a man--with a man like me-"

Taka holds his face gently between both hands and moves in until their noses nearly touch, eyebrows meaning business. "Mondo, if I didn't want to be with you, why would I spend all my free time here, for years? Have I ever worried about being seen with you? Does that doormat seem like pity?"

Mondo swallows hard, mumbles, "No."

"I love you so much. You are... magnificent! No, don't go!" Taka laughs, getting a firmer hold of Mondo's head to keep him from retreating in embarrassment.

"Look at me." Taka waits until eyes meet his again, and sees the other's uncertainty is still visible. "You've built me a wonderful house. But you will always be my home. Stay with me."

Mondo smashes their lips together, mostly because he really needs to after that, but partly to keep Taka from seeing his eyes tear. He pulls back enough to speak, emotion making him slightly lose control of his volume, "I am gonna fuckin kiss you on every single surface I've made!"

"Shh! Now who's going to get us removed from the neighborhood!?" Taka chides, but smiles as he closes the distance again.

#i researched apprentice sites in japan aimed at americans then japan real estate then some govt things #if anything is wrong i'm deeply sorry #ishimondo #mondo oowada #kiyotaka ishimaru #danganronpa #does this length need a cut? i couldn't decide

[peakascum]

Bury me (Pt.2)

Oh shit. am I doing three part fics now? how and why am I writing so much dialogue? anyway, feedback is aaaalways welcome!! if you do want a third part please tell me so!! it does motivate me to hear what you all think or suggest. if not it can totally end here!! |  Part 1  |  Part 3

It was hard to attribute a specific name for the state in which Arthur Shelby found himself in. For drinking his weight in whisky; dancing unceremoniously to his own shadow to scratching records; for silent screams that ripped from his airways at night, a specific misfortune for an already broken man: melancholia.

He felt as if he finally got what was always coming to him. For all the men he took away from their wives and their children, he was finally paying in his own grief and loss. I feel their souls, he would say to Polly, I can feel their grip on me heart Poll, and they are angry- angry like me. She, much like everyone else, could only console him in small doses; for inner wars could only be fought to such an extent before they too would be inclosed by it.

In time, Arthur began to parade a familiar glimmer that he only got when you were around. A certain shine that brought flushing pride to his cheeks and skip to his step. The whole family grew concerned at his antics, because Arthur only wore black now, almost as if he took pride in being a widower- well, your widower. 

*

“Look at this,” Polly thrusted the papers in front of Tommy’s face. He examined them with a furrowed brow, not expecting any sort of trouble at such an early hour.

“Are these-“

“Letters. They are letters to her, Tommy. To a fuckin’ corpse!” She quickly lit up her fifth cigarette despite it being a quarter to nine. Tommy pinched his brow and sighed in defeat.

“Are there any replies? Is someone replying? It could be her, there’s no corpse.”

“You saw the body Tom-“

“Burnt to the crisp! We still don’t know.”

“There was a plan, a threat, and a corpse. She’s dead-“

“Are there any replies?” He yelled impatiently. She nodded slowly and presented him with a plethora of replies signed by your name.

Polly paced the office with a far off look and ticked off brows whilst Tommy only scanned the letters for clues, any indication that it was you- well, apart from the fact that he recognized your handwriting in a second. 

“Does he know you have the letters?” He asked. She responded with a small shake of the head, “Good, good. He doesn't need to-“

“Gonna keep more secrets from me now brother? Eh?” Arthur interrupted their plotting, something he pat himself on the back for. “Last time a plan was made my wife was taken from me.”

“Since when have you received these letters?” Replied Tommy.

“Two weeks ago.”

“And you never cared to tell anyone?”

“No-“

“You could be in danger. Could put us all in danger for keeping stuff like this.” Tommy grew more agitated. 

“I don’t care Tommy. You broke my family for your business-“

“Our business-“

“Your business Tommy. You call the shots ‘round ‘ere. You knew she could never deny an opportunity like that to-to prove herself to you, to everyone!” Arthur took long strides towards his brother despite Polly’s pleas for him to stay put. 

“It could be a trap-“ Tommy got cut off by Arthur slamming him against a bookcase. 

“You wanted me erratic? To lose my fuckin’ mind? Yeah? You got it, you finally did it! I’m rabid now brother, I’m fuckin’ angry!” He unfastened his gun and pointed it at Tommy’s chin. 

“Arthur,” Polly’s voice shook, “put the gun down.”

“Listen to Polly, Arthur, put the gun down,” coaxed Tommy, as calm as ever, yet with a small hint of fear in his eyes.

“I won’t stop until I find her-“

“And I will help you-“

“I love her Tommy. I love my wife a-and- and I will find her.” He rasped.

“We will find her. If that’s her- if she’s alive and writing, we will find her. You have my word.”

Arthur shoved the gun back in his pocket and sniffed his tears away. His hands shook as he exited the building, leaving a dumbfounded Polly and a very determined Tommy.

“I will find her Poll, but I have a feeling he won’t like what he find.”

Polly nodded solemnly in understanding. People that would go through gruesome troubles to fake the death of a wife of a notorious gang member would surely have a good reason to do so. She shivered at the thought of your fate, the things you had surely seen. Her fingers ticked in nervousness at Tommy’s words, they would find you but you wouldn't be the same.

#arthur x reader #Arthur Shelby #arthur shelby imagine #Arthur Shelby x reader #Arthur Shelby fanfic #peaky blinders imagine #Peaky Blinders #peaky blinder #Peaky Blinders series #peaky blinders tommy #thomas shelby #thomas shelby fanfic #thomas shelby imagine #the garrison #angst #peakascum #polly gray #polly gray imagine