#but shadow looks taller because he wears high heels

[corriganatheart]

His Maddest Desire Pt. II (He LOVES her, but she HATES him) Jude Bellingham x reader

Synopsis: She was the opposite of what he needed; the shadow that no one noticed but him. Since the beginning, Jude had always liked Y/N, and his feelings grew every time he saw her. His reputation as a womanizer only makes her question his intention and pushes him away, but that never stops him from chasing after what he wants.

Pairings: Jude Bellingham x fem! Reader

Genre: Forbidden romance x Enemies to Lovers x One-sided love x Dark Romance

Warnings ⚠️: Cursing, and mentions of sexual contents🔞

“That’s too short. Go change,” your brother immediately says as you step into his car. You look down at your skirt and realize it is much shorter than before, meaning you’ve either gained weight or your new shoes made you taller. “I can’t; this is my uniform,” you said. Rowan looks down at your legs and then your uniform jacket. “What is the point of making y’all wear jackets if your legs aren’t covered?”

You shake your head, “don’t ask me. Ask your parents,” Rowan rolls his eyes and puts on his seatbelt before leaving the gate. He was overprotective and a bit of a drama queen.

“You know, I remember the uniform being longer when I was still in high school,” he said, still not satisfied with the length of the skirt, despite you trying to pull it down a little. “It’s very dangerous for high schoolers to wear that.” You rolled your eyes, “Oh please; the security at our school is so strict even boys are scared to say hi to us.” Rowan laughs, “Well, they didn’t catch me when I was in the closets.” You groan and make a barfed face. “Too much information, bro!”

You sighed as your history teacher explained information you wouldn’t use in the future. High school was irrelevant; the whole school system was outside because people were getting all these degrees to learn more on the job. It makes no sense that people are required to get thousands of degrees to have to teach themselves or be trained once they get hired.

“Pssssh, Y/N,” your classmate behind you whispers. You ignore him and continue to look out of the window. If your parents didn’t run the school, maybe you’ll be more interested, but knowing that the teachers are too scared to give you a bad grade makes school irrelevant. “Are you going to invite us to your sister’s birthday?” He asked. You rolled your eyes and lay your head on the table; this was your life, a spoiled rich kid.

“Hey Y/N can we get tickets to BVB game?”

“Hey Y/N! How is Rowan?”

“Hit me up with your sister’s bday!”

You walk down the hallway with a book in your hand as you try to tune out the people around you. They all had a mission, and that was to attend your sister’s birthday. She had always been popular, especially with the male audience, and there was no way she would want a whole bunch of hormonal teenagers at their party. And besides, she barely noticed you, so there was no point in inviting someone.

“Isn’t she embarrassed to be wearing her skirt so short?”

“Her sister is way prettier than her”

“I heard she has been passed around by every football player”

“Ew, I hope she gets run over by a car”

You hear a group of girls laughing behind you as you quickly escape from the crowded hallway. You commonly hear people talking trash, mainly because you get a lot of attention. The girls in school barely liked you, let alone want to befriend you. If they did, it was because they wished for your brother or wanted to get close to your sister. There has never been someone that wanted to be your friend genuinely.

You slow down your pace when you finally reach the school gate. Patiently waiting for your brother, you look down at your shoes. They were platform heels that made you look taller and slimmer. Your mother started making you wear those in middle school when she realized you wouldn’t go past 5’6.

“Omg he’s so hot!

“Ahhhhhh!!!!”

“Omg it’s Jude Bellingham!”

Your heart immediately stops, and you look up from your shoes. Standing before you was Jude Bellingham in a black turtle neck and jeans. He looked lovely, leaning against his Jaguar car and staring at you intensely.

He smirked cockily when he saw your mouth gasp. The last thing you expected was for him to show up out of nowhere, let alone your school. “What are you doing here?” You asked while glancing at the crowd that started to gather. Jude shrugged, “Rowan got holdup.” You grit your teeth, wanting to strangle your brother immediately. He knew this would be on the news, and people would speculate about your relationship with Jude. Some obsessive fans would even go as far as tracking you down. “He couldn’t have set a driver?” You spat. Jude looks at you from head to toe, and he stops at your legs. “No,” he says. You sighed and decided it was best to get in the car before everyone started to go crazy.

Jude looked happy yet content as he drove. You see him constantly glancing at your thighs before he awkwardly shifts in his seat. He seemed uncomfortable, but If anything, you should be the one feeling uncomfortable, because this was your first time in a boy’s car.

“Isn’t that skirt a little too short?” He suddenly asked. You narrow your eyes and lay your backpack on your thighs. “Ok, Rowan, number 2. I have no control over the school’s uniform.”

Jude glared at you and gripped the steering wheel. “The boys could see up your ass if they tilt their head.” Why was he getting upset over the school’s dress code? If anything, he can go to his precious mother-in-law and complain to her instead of me. “Aren’t you being a bit dramatic?” You asked. Jude looked at you and shook his head, “no one wants to see their girl getting hit on by guys.”

His girl. That is what he sees and refers to you whenever you guys are alone. And you knew he would do that in public if you allowed him.

“I am no one’s. I have told you before Jude. WE DON'T FIT.”

You see his knuckles turn pale as he grips on his steering wheel. And instead of turning towards your street, he decided to turn the opposite. “What are you doing?” You asked, panicking as you looked back at your road. “I want to take you somewhere,” he says. Your heart starts to race. If he was to get caught with you, your brother and family would go nuts, and god knows what your sister would do. “Have you ever thought how bad it would look for you to be seen with me?” You asked angrily. Jude shrugs, “I like being seen with you.”

You groaned; it was so hard to argue with this boy. “Your career, your life, your relationships are at risk. I am not the biological daughter of the L/N family!” Jude frowned and just stared ahead angrily. He doesn’t respond nor care to listen to your pleading. The last thing you needed was for your parents to ground you or send you away. You have less than a month till graduation, and you’ll be going off to a university; you didn’t need Jude’s shit. “Jude, we can’t keep going like this,” you mumbled. “I hate you, and you hate-“

“Will you look at the view,” he interrupts you.

You look ahead to see that he is parked close to a cliff, and the city view and the sunset are right before you. It was beautiful, and this was the first time you’d seen the city outside your brother’s and your parent’s car. “You see the view?” He asked. You look at him, and he smiles, “It could be ours if you just say yes.”

You gulped and looked away, scared to face him because you might have the temptation. “I know you want this to Y/N,” he said as he carefully took your hand. “You’ve nothing to worry about. I want this more than you think, and you want this more than you believe.” Your heart starts to race as he slowly caresses your face gently. “No one understands how this feels, and no one needs to. It’s just you and me, baby.” You hold the hand caressing your face, and he brings your forehead together. “I will do anything for you. I would hurt the world for you. I have loved-“

Jude pauses when you immediately cringe at the sound of your phone ringing. The ringtone was explicitly set for your brother, and your heart beats rapidly causing you to return to reality. “Hello, Rowan,” you answered, and Jude rolled his eyes. “No, we are coming,” you said and signaled Jude to start driving, which he frustratedly did. “No, I’m not doing anything weird; what do you take me as?” You asked. You hear the suspension in Rowan’s voice as he questions why the ride takes thousands of hours. “Whatever, your, not his type anyway,” your brother said casually before he hangs up. You look at Jude, who seems incredibly frustrated at the situation. You don’t know how long it’ll take him to realize that this was for the best, but a sickening part of you hopes that he never does.

It has been days, weeks, and almost a month since you have seen Jude. And yes you were counting because although you try not to be aware of him, every day you longed for him. You were terrible for him as he was bad for your heart, but still, the heart wants what it wants.

“The theme is Bridgerton,” your mother says as she passes your sister a photo. Your sister nods before she reviews the party scene. “You will be dressed as the Diamond of the season,” your mother said. You looked up from your book and stared at the color scheme. It was a bit dull for your sister’s taste, and she really didn’t want the theme to be historical.

“Rowan suggested Jude be your escort,” your mother exclaimed as she smile at the pictures on the table. Anastasia sighed and looked over the many pictures laid on the table. “But I wanted Marcus to be my escort,” she said.

You examine the way your sister nervously fidget with the pictures as she tries not to blow up. Although you never bonded with Anastasia, you knew she was going through something similar to what you were going through. She was Ms. Perfect, and she didn’t want to disappoint anyone, especially her parents. “No. You’re the season's diamond; you must be with someone in your league. Marcus is nowhere near that,” your mother harshly said.

You bite your lower lips, trying to hold back from inserting yourself into the conversation. “Mother, I think Jude would like to bring his own date,” Anastasia says. Your mother folds her arms and stares at your sister disappointedly. “Don’t tell me you have feelings for that Marcus Rashford!”

“Mother, please,” you begged as you stared at your sister’s frightening form. “Y/N, stay out of this!” Your mother warns.

You immediately shut down and stood up before walking out of the room. It was no use trying to argue with the lady of the house. If she had her mind set on Anastasia being with Jude, then that’s what she’ll get.

“That sounded fun,” Rowan pops out of his office and smirks. You roll your eyes at him and continue to walk down the hall as he follows. “Where are you going, little sis?” Rowan asked while trying to grab ahold of your arm. “None of your business, brother,” you said sternly and turned to the library. Rowan follows you into your family’s library and whistles at the numerous books on the table and floor. “You got a shit load of time,” he mumbled as he scanned the books you’ve read.

You ignored his comment and sat near the window with your current read. It was awfully quiet today due to the absence of your father and his workers. Rowan also stayed home more often than usual, and lately, he has been nosy about your life. “What do you think?” Rowan asked. You look up from your page to see him grab a couple of romance novels. “What about them?” You asked, annoyed that he was still here. “Do you prefer a one-sided crush or someone being obsessed with you?” He asked. You frown and look outside at the garden where you always watched Jude play. “I rather keep my feelings inside,” you said. “Less hurts.”

Your brother hums, and you shake yourself out of the image of Jude. He has been filling your mind since that day he dropped you off, and you wanted nothing but to see him. “Jude is taking mom’s request of having Anastasia’s hand,” Rowan says as he flips through pages. Your brain immediately stops, and your heart starts speeding like it was trying to catch its last breath. You knew this day would come, but you weren’t expecting this reaction. It was hard to think about it, and now it was happening.

Rowan also knew something was up, or else he wouldn’t have asked. Although he was an asshole, your brother was smart enough to know the dynamic between his best friend and his little sister. “And how do you feel about that?” You asked. Your brother drops the book on the table and smirks, “I like it.”

You stare at yourself in the mirror; amazed by how delicate, and elegant you looked.

Your mother picked out a beige dress for you and have you style your hair in an updo with flower decoration. She was pleased with the way you looked when she walked out of your bedroom, and you knew she had something up her sleeve, something that you’ll hate.

“We’ll don’t you look dashing little Y/N,” your brother says as he leans against your bedroom door with a glass of champagne in his hands. You rolled your eyes and look at him through the mirror, “I can assure you, it’s all thanks to mother.”

Rowan smirks and starts walking towards you, causing the hair dresser, stylist, and the other staff to giggle and whisper about how good he looks. Rowan stops a couple of inches behind you, and caress your shoulders, “tonight, you’ll be my date,” he whispers in your ear. A cold shiver immediately runs down your spine as you stare into his eyes. It looked dark, cold, and almost sinister. “Your mother would not like that Rowan,” you said sternly. He chuckles deeply, “I am mother’s dearest, she’ll like anything I like.”

You hid behind the concrete pole again as you peeked at your family, greeting the guest. Your mother looked incredibly gorgeous with her green dress and her brunette hair, which was also styled in a curled updo. Your father, who you haven’t seen in months, looked like he hadn’t aged a bit. His black locks were slick back, and his black suit fitted him perfectly. He looked intimidating, like he was ready to harm anyone who didn’t belong in this room.

Your eyes continue to scan the room, looking for a certain someone, but he is nowhere to be found. But you did spot Trent, Kylian, and Rowan, who were unapologetically checking out girls and gossiping in their circle.

“We have to stop bumping into each other like this, L/N,” a soft, husky voice said. You immediately recognize the voice and turn around to see Marcus Rashford. He was wearing a navy blue suit and looked incredibly handsome. Your heart softened, feeling relief that it was him and not someone else. “Indeed, we need to stop,” you chuckled. He smiles and glares over at the direction you were looking at, “I see your brother is still popular amongst footballers,” he says. You nod your head, “yes, he seems to attract them often.” Marcus chuckles and then looks over at your mom, who obviously did not like the woman she was talking to. “Your mother request that I don’t show up,” he mumbles, “but Anastasia would be pissed.” You glanced at the way he looked when he mentions your sister. It was a bit of sadness and loneliness and you aren’t sure what to think of his feelings towards her. “I think she would appreciate a dance with you,” you said. Marcus doesn’t respond but instead smiles down at you, like he was avoiding the subject. “I was going to ask you to save me the first dance,” he said and reaches for your hand. “If you would allow me.” You smile softly, appreciating his gentle touch, “of course Marcus.” He smiles and kisses your palm, before excusing himself.

Everyone was anticipating for your sister’s arrival as you go from one dessert plate to another. Although you really didn’t want to be here, at least you’ll get to eat food that made up for your lack of nutrition.

“What a surprise; I rarely get to see you anymore.”

You froze at the sound of the voice, and turned to see Jobe Bellingham smirking down at you with a plate full of desserts.

“Hey princess,” he says cheekily.

You smile, surprised by his presence, which is very rare.

Jobe became friends with you after his brother introduced the two of you. He also went to your school, but about a year ago, he got signed and had to switch to online schooling.

The two of you get along just fine; mainly because there was only a year age difference and because he stood up for you at school.

“Jobe, what the heck!” You exclaimed and immediately put your plate down and basically lunge yourself at him. “I miss you too Y/N,” he says and pulls you into a very tight hug.

At the corner of your eyes, you can see your brother and his friends whispering and glaring at the two of you. A couple of feet where their standing, Marcus was talking to people while also staring your way. “Your brother’s staring isn’t he?” Jobe whispered in your ears. You giggle and nodded your head, causing him let out a chuckle.

The two of you then broke the hug and stepped away from the dessert and the crowd.

"So, how is life treating you?" he asked while guiding you down the hallway where the two of you used to chase one another. "Same old same old," you shrugged. Jobe smiles and awkwardly scratches the back of his neck, "what about my brother?" he asks. You tensed up, looked down at the floor, and then glanced at the wallpaper. "He's going to be my sister's fiance," you mumbled. Jobe chuckles and shakes his head, "You know, I always wondered why you never give him a chance," he says, "but after growing up and experiencing fame, I can only imagine how challenging it must be."

You smile and stop in the middle of the hallway. You turned to Jobe, who was already smiling down at you. "I'm so happy you are back," you said, brushing your palm against his cheek. Jobe grins cheekily, and you realize how much of a difference his height was, compared to yours. He was no longer the middle schooler from years ago. "For now," he winks. You laughed, flushing from the warm and familiar feeling of childhood happiness. "I hate your stupid ass," you said and playfully hit his chest. "Nah, you love me," he shrugged.

Smiling, you were about to make a cheesy comment until the both of you heard someone clearing their throat. You turned to your right to see your sister wearing the most beautiful pink gown you have ever seen. She looked beautiful in her curled updo and light makeup. She was the definition of beauty and brain and the most elegant face the world had ever seen. "What are you two laughing about?" she asked curiously, looking between you and Jobe. "Just catching up," Jobe responded. Your sister looks at you sternly and then smiles at Jobe.

As she converses with Jobe, your eyes stare at the arms she is holding. Without even looking, you already knew who it was. You can feel his eyes on you already, examining, judging, and questioning your motives. Your heart races as you go from his arms to his eyes. The moment your eyes meet his black ones, your heart skips, jumps, aches, and all the emotions held inside explode.

It has been so long since you last saw him that you wanted to take him in. And you aren't the only one affected by this because Jude was doing the same thing. He was taking you in from head to toe, ensuring he got all the details. Although he was still, his eyes were moving everywhere, from your dress to your hair, to your exposed neck, then your lips, then your eyes, and then your lips again. He roamed everywhere, forgetting that his date was the most beautiful woman alive.

"Are you two partners?" your sister asked while eyeing you. Jude immediately looks at his brother, whose eyes widened like he was guilty. "Nope! I got my own date!"

You rolled your eyes at Jobe's cowardness and returned to your sister's judging eyes. "We were just catching up," you shrugged. And immediately, you saw satisfaction in her eyes before she tightened her hold on Jude's arms. "Well, the guest is expecting me, so we all should go back to the ballroom and do the first dance," your sister smiled. Jude looks down at her and smiles; he then brushes the strand of her on her face and tucks it behind her ears. You knew he only did that to cause a reaction out of you, but you weren't going to show any signs of jealousy. "Of course, I am looking forward to our first dance," he says.

You glance away from the scene, feeling two pairs of eyes on you. Jude can get into your brain and heart, but he doesn't know. He thinks you are playing hard to get and that you might actually hate him. But if only he knew how much he affected you and how he means to you. But he can never know because the two of you just don't fit. "I heard our brother volunteered to be your date sister," Anastasia said. Jude stares down at you and then glances over at his brother, who is quite entertained by the scene. "Actually, yes, Rowan is my date, but as you can see, he is nowhere to be found," you said frustratedly. Anastasia chuckles and lays her head on Jude's arm, "Well, I guess you just have to watch us dance."

Jude smirks down at her, and your heart drops from how he looks at her; it is almost like he enjoys her presence. "Y/N, maybe we should just go," Jobe steps in and grabs your elbow. "I apologize, Mr. Bellingham, but I believe Ms. L/N promised me her first dance."

Your sister's eyes widened after realizing who just spoked. Jude's jaw tenses as he stares at the person. You turned around to see Marcus walking towards you, not looking at anyone else but you. "I was looking for you," he smiles and holds out his elbow. You immediately elope your hands around his arms and smile, internally thanking him for saving the day. "Sorry, Jobe, but I asked her first," Marcus says. Jobe grins, enjoying the upcoming drama that was about to take place. "Nope, she's all yours," he said cheekily.

Without another word or glance, Marcus Rashford guided you back to the ballroom while two angry pairs of eyes were staring at your back.

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[i-mybrunettelady]

my future will listen to me

Summary: Alysannyra meets her patron goddess, Lyssa, at long last. Content warnings: None Spoilers: HoT & LWS3 Note: My piece for the @gw2-zine! Go check out the world of my lovely collaborators, and go follow the zine blog! Happy zine release day!

I 

Everyone’s dressed the same, in the same white robe. It’s designed so that it’ll never be worn outside of the ceremony and outside of this one moment in a child’s life, which makes the fine silver embroidery on it that much more meaningful. Alysannyra cannot fathom how it was made - they’d just taken her measurements one day and three weeks later, this gown appeared on their door. She doesn’t even try. Instead, she wears it with as much pride as she can, not knowing where her blessings lie yet. She wears her hair down like everyone else and she tries to not hate how it blends her in with a whole generation of eight-year olds in the watchful eyes of the high society of Divinity’s Reach. 

There are two children before her. She can feel the stares of the proud parents in the shadows of the grand church. She can’t turn, not now, because the question she needs to answer can’t be found in their expectant and somber silence. Murals cast a green light on the pale hair of a boy next to her, but he doesn’t seem unsure. Nervous, maybe, but not unsure. 

Anyone would be nervous in the presence of gods. Their statues cast large shadows in their absence. And the children are to kneel before the one whose gifts they have and go into their church’s fold. It’s no small task, but if Alysannyra knows anything, it’s that she can’t cower under the burden of it. So she stands with her back straight, in a white robe that tickles her ankles from the early morning breeze, and she doesn’t turn to her family. 

Instead, she looks between Lyssa and Balthazar, trying to chase where the feeling in her heart is leading her. So far, the pull’s stronger with Lyssa, but Nyra doesn’t have magic. She isn’t worried. She’s only eight; nobody has magic yet. But some have a better idea of what it might be than others. A child walks over to kneel before Melandru. A priest accepts the handle they’d been carrying and places it by Her feet. Green magic swirls around them and it’s done. 

A clicking sound of hundreds of little heels echoes against the stone floor as they all make one step forward. 

A choice has to be made, and soon. Alysannyra carries her head high, taller than most other kids already, and stares at Lyssa’s graceful form in the center of the Six. Pinks and purples of the vitrage behind her twin forms cast an inviting light that seems to twist and bend in strange shapes, as if to spite the harmony that doesn’t seem perturbed by them. Balthazar’s helmet feels comfortable; Alysannyra, too, will one day wear a helmet, as a member of the Seraph. Its weight feels irrelevant, necessary, part of the regalia as much as the white robe is. She can almost feel the pressure of the hot metal in her bare hands and she feels the war call to her. 

The blonde-haired boy steps forward and steadily walks towards Grenth. He offers the candle, if a little clumsily, and kneels as an unsettling magic twirls around him. Alysannyra watches when his eyes widen just slightly, feeling the magic on his skin, and that is done, too. He is now a member of the Church of Grenth, potential necromancer in the making. He moves away with that knowledge, and now it’s Alysannyra’s turn. 

She doesn’t move quite yet. The limited time she had to choose wasn’t enough, but she can’t ruin this. Her family’s reputation, at least for a season, is at stake, and that little feeling in her chest that burns every time someone calls her Lady Ainsaph, too. She takes a deep breath, looks once more, stares into the eyes of the statues, and turns right. She is a daughter of Ascalon, a daughter of war, and Balthazar would be fitting. 

She lifts one foot off the ground when something in her gut screams no. She holds her head high as she suddenly turns left and walks down to where Lyssa is, candle in hand. Clamor of the people is silenced by the determined clicking of her heels, but she feels at peace. 

Come, daughter, the statue seems to say. Part of her knows this will make people talk, but in a strange way, she looks forward to it. She looks forward to the chaos a slight movement of feet will cause, and lifts her head even higher. 

And when she finally kneels and feels the magic seep into her skin, Alysannyra knows she’s made the right choice. Let them talk, let them gawk. 

At least she’s not just a simple Lady Ainsaph anymore, even if the rebellion is as small as this. 

II

Lyssa’s Reliquary is a fucking maze. Shelves of stone that house both man and monster shaped horrors would be enough to disorient most people, and such feeling is only made worse by the little portals that pop up like zits in the most random fucking places. Nyra hates them the most, even though she’s trying to stay level headed in the face of illusions that remind her of all the bad things she’s done and all the blood on her hands. 

But portals don’t disorient her. The chaos of the reliquary only bothered her for mere seconds before she found the rhythm in this place and she’s been riding it ever since. Renira tries to keep up, visibly struggling. Nyra traverses the sacred space like she was born to do it, and maybe she was. Maybe at birth, Lyssa watched from wherever She is now and pointed Her clawed hand (because in Nyra’s mind, Lyssa’s hands have always been clawed) in her direction so she could pass through Her reliquary once she grew up. 

It’s a comforting thought, in a way. It’s the only comfort she has when she slices through a tortured, gruesome vision of Apatia, dead by Nyra’s own hand. It’s the sole thing keeping her sane when she falls through yet another portal to escape the grasp of an illusory Mordrem Trahearne. 

“Where to now? How do we get down?” Renira shouts, wiping sweat off her brow. She swallows when she looks down at the ground below, but it’s the only sign of distress she offers. Nyra’s getting just slightly better at reading her. Or maybe she just lets Nyra see. Her eyes, golden like a cat’s in the stifling, dark chaos around them, don’t betray anything but a grim determination. 

“I think I know the way down,” Nyra says. “It won’t end with us falling to our deaths, hopefully. I’m getting quite a feel for this place.” 

“Of course you are,” Renira replies. “You’re about as chaotic as this reliquary is.” She gives a small smile. “It suits you, after all.” 

“Ever the charmer, Sulver,” Nyra shakes her head. In another life, they might have developed a romance following their brief hookup in Ebonhawke years ago, and the thought of exploring this place with a lover sounds romantic until she remembers she killed her actual lover in Maguuma. Now, it's a flaring ache that makes her look away in shame. 

“You’re alright, Nyra,” Renira says, strangely gentle. She places a gloved hand on Nyra’s shoulder and though she can’t feel the comfort, she feels undeserving of such sentiment. She’s never really emoted well, but she supposes a lifetime of spying on people makes it easy to identify emotions, regardless of expression or lack thereof. 

Nyra shakes her hand off. “Let’s go,” she says. Renira simply nods. 

But before they can make a single step, a big voice booms in the wind. “That is, in fact, the correct way, Alysannyra Ainsaf! It’s taken you a lot less time than I’d anticipated, too.” 

Nyra’s heart sinks to her feet. She doesn’t need to see to know who it is - the goddess Herself, as much in the flesh as they come these days, and She sounds more than a little smug about it all. 

It takes her a moment to find her voice. “Hail, Lyssa,” she says loudly. A part of her hates how uncertain she sounds, but to make up for it, she turns to the direction of Lyssa's voice. She can’t see Her, of course; mortals can’t see gods. Nyra remembers the story of Malchor. She likes her ability to see, thank you very much. She remembers how anguished his ghost was, howling Dwayna’s name like an injured beast.

And maybe she’s like that, too, alive yet forced to walk with guilt and grief eating away at her spirit and her bones. Because she tried to jump into the sea below not that long ago. In Lyssa’s temple, her mind cruelly supplies and Nyra shivers beneath her armor.  

Can she even bear to look Lyssa in the eye now? 

“Formal,” Lyssa says. “There is no need, daughter. I think you’re right at home. Would you be so formal with your parents?” 

Nyra sits down. Renira watches, unsure of what to do, and she signals her to do the same. “If I’m at home, goddess,” Nyra says, “then I’m sure you won’t mind if I bring a guest?” 

“Your mesmer friend? She can stay. Her magic is in my domain, though her blessings are, funnily enough, not. What is your name, mesmer?” 

“Renira, goddess,” she says cautiously. 

“Illusory,” Lyssa replies. “Just like it should be.” 

Renira stiffens and digs her nails in her gloves, but her face remains calm. “Yes, goddess.” 

Nyra wants to ask what that is all about, but knows she needs to tread cautiously, too. Her head’s too exhausted and heavy for two mind games at once. Besides, she needs Renira as an ally here and she’s not stupid enough to risk it by asking questions like this. 

“Lyssa, I have a question,” Nyra says. She swears she can see the wind around them move to face her and tilt a little to the side in curiosity. “You invited me here in a dream. You spoke to me when you sensed that we were backed into a corner in our search, so it stands to reason that you know what we’re after. If I may, what information do you have on Balthazar’s whereabouts?” 

Lyssa’s laughter echoes like a thousand drums, and Nyra digs her clawed gauntlets into her thighs to not cover her ears. She can feel Renira looking at her, maybe bewildered, maybe with that ever present calm, but she doesn’t want to turn away now. A part of her knows she should be more humble, now that she has blood on her hands that will never go away as long as she’s alive, but she’ll be damned if she doesn’t answer that little voice in her head that slaps the notion away like a gnat. 

“Oh, you’re brave!” Lyssa says as laughter dies on Her windy lips. “Humanity hasn’t produced a person this fearless in a long, long while.” 

“That’s what happens when you have nothing to lose,” Nyra says. Her throat becomes tight and her eyes prickle with tears. “I tried to jump from Your temple not that long ago. I think I’ve earned the right to ask questions directly.” 

“I know you did,” Her voice becomes quieter. Of course She knows. “Your mind is still in chaos. It will be until your death. You placed any peace for yourself at the altar of glory long ago.” The wind blows forward, and a ghostly hand cups Nyra’s cheek. It’s cold and unsettling and it makes her skin crawl. She breathes out and closes her eyes tightly. Her heart feels like it wants to beat out of her chest. “Was it worth it?” 

Nyra’s quiet for a while. Tears slide down her skin, burning, yet the ghostly fingers wipe them away. She feels the heaviness of her armor, the tickling of her hair that was once a flag behind her and that now barely reaches her shoulders. Her shoulder aches from the fighting, her heart aches from the evil she’s done, all in the name of her own glory and this fucking world that she’s judged to be worthy of Trahearne’s life. She feels claws softly digging into the sweaty skin of her cheek, as sharp as the ones on her hands. 

Nyra tears light with them and makes it her own. If Lyssa draws blood, that too would belong to Nyra. 

Nyra opens her eyes. “Yes.” 

Lyssa runs a hand through her hair. “I’d hunt you down if you answered any differently,” She simply says. “I sent you that dream because I knew you would be able to stand up to Balthazar. You, daughter, and nobody else. You will either kill him or die trying.” She then lets go and Nyra catches her breath fully again, like a pressure has been lifted.

“I only need to track him down, then,” Nyra says, with a renewed fire in her chest. “So, tell me what you know, goddess.” 

III

She does find Balthazar in the end. These days, the memory of him doesn’t burn so painfully as it did at first. The scars he left on her arms and her legs and on the skin of her stomach and lower back remain hidden under clothes, but Nyra knows they’re there. 

She’s used to them, somehow. They’re her shrine to her heresy, after all. In her home chapel, his place is empty because she carries the reminder of him on her skin. And if she, in her grief-induced craze, had her way, she’d bring down every single statue of him in Tyria by hand. 

Let her be the only shrine he’ll ever have left, on a wartorn path to erase everything else. Sometimes, she remembers Lyssa asking her if it’s worth it. If she thought she knew pain then, when she stood before her goddess, she should’ve considered her answer a little more. 

But Nyra knows pain now. She knows the pain of grief, of loss, of a broken faith, and her answer remains the same. Gods have left Tyria, but this answer is the closest thing she has to a divine oath. 

It’s always worth it.

#gw2 #guild wars 2 #inspo birb has come to town #alysannyra #renira sulver #lyssa #gw2 lyssa #coyh zine #gw2 writing #gw2 fic #gw2 commander #:333 ITS OUT LOOK AT MY BABYGIRL SHE'S OUTTT #i need everyone to tell me what they think of lyssa asap #and hers and nyra's relationship #two feral women having a mother-daughter relationship of sorts #gahhh i love it sm #gw2 human #humanposting

[alexanderlightweight]

Thursday! I'm the anon who sent the kid Malec prompt and I'm totally taking you up on that offer to send another one

I was waiting for next Wednesday to send this but no time like the present.

Magnus finds out alec can walk and fight in high heels cause he taught himself to help Izzy and he goes wild

of course anon! I'm glad you did and i was super happy to be able to fill this! I hope you enjoy it. it is a part of an ongoing verse which is mob!wife alec which I hope you don't mind

<3 lumine

-

“Oh, well isn’t this a lovely surprise.” Magnus can’t help but pause as he watches Alexander from where he has one leg hanging off the bed and the other curled over his knee as he secures his shoes.

His very tall, very delightful knee-high boots with at least four inches of heels.

Alexander smiles at him, eyes softening as he puts his foot down.

“I thought if I tried your six-inch heels, I might be a little too tall.” And Alexander frowns, “I don’t enjoy ducking every time I go through a door and mundane establishments are always so small.

“Darling—” Magnus asks, breathless with delight. “Are you going to wear those for me, tonight?” There is another business meeting tonight, on the mundane side of things and Alexander has been a delightful distraction each time.

“I have to look the part.” Alexander tells him wryly, as if his boy doesn’t delight in teasing Magnus with his insistence of dressing up to mob wife perfection each time.

“Oh Alexander, I’m hardly complaining.” Magnus steps closer and kneels, smirking up at Alexander as he pulls a boot to his knee. “Let me tighten them for you, lovely.”

Alexander swallows, staring down at him in awed surprise.

It’s always so sweet, when Magnus’ boy does something as delightful as this and then doesn’t expect or anticipate Magnus’ reaction.

As if they’re going to be anything but late, now that Magnus has seen the glory of Alexander in heels.

The black leather caresses the curve of his calves and the gold buckles glint, as if threatening to pop off. Magnus tightens each strap and feels Alexander’s muscles tense under his touch.

Alexander may not have started this intentionally, but Magnus is hardly going to let such an opportunity pass him by.

“Perhaps we should skip tonight.” Magnus muses and his fingers massage through the leather as he leans forward so that his mouth is practically kissing the zipper of Alexander’s pants. “

“Isn’t tonight when someone important and new is coming to town?” Alexander manages to ask, voice hoarse as he tries to be a vestige of common sense and responsibility.

Magnus rolls his eyes, getting to his feet and using Alexander’s thighs to grip as he pushes himself up. Alexander groans under him, as if the touch is hurting him but Magnus knows it’s the fact that he’s resisting that hurts his boy so much.

“Well, if you insist.” Magnus sniffs, absolutely prepared to sulk until Alexander is more than prepared to make it up to him. “Honestly, hiding the fact that you can wear heels from me.” Because Alexander is graceful as he stands and while he’s even taller now, a denizen of danger in the shadows, he adjusts easily to the height and his balance is impeccable.

“Someone had to figure out how to teach Izzy to fight in heels.” Alexander murmurs and then he frowns, “your lips are further away now.”

“Oh, I can fix that.” Magnus promises with a purr, and he changes his own shoes to something sober and tall, a heeled boot with knives in the toes. After all, he might need to kick a few mundanes away from his boy and it never hurts to be prepared.

“Better.” Alexander agrees, leaning down to kiss him without a single wobble and then his boy is gliding over to Magnus’ vanity and looking over the jewelry there. “What do you think?” He asks as he holds up a black leather necklace.

It’s very close to a collar, in fact it is one and Magnus swallows, his heart suddenly pounding louder than he can hear over.

“Sweetheart, you are making this very hard for me.” He chides, coming up to Alexander and running a hand up his neck, palming the rune he adores there. “Are you trying to make sure you don’t leave our bed for the rest of the weekend?”

Alexander simple smirks at him and hands the collar over, a dark glint to his eyes as he pretends he isn’t watching Magnus in the mirror.

“It’s a little bland,” he taps the middle of the collar where various pendants normally go. “I think your initials would fit, don’t you?”

Magnus has the leather around his neck, sealed with a gold MB that matches the buckles of Alexander’s boots and Magnus’ own.

“I am going to burn the entirety of the mundane criminal world if tonight is anything other than extremely important.” Magnus promises him, pulling Alexander into a kiss as he claims him with a promise of what is to come.

#writing wednesday #writing wednesdays #malec #shadowhunters #magnus bane #alec lightwood #lumine writes #my fics #my fanfics #my ficlets

[skippyv20]

“F” for Netflix Photo Editing Dept. Hi Skippy & Friends-Pilgrim here appaulled at the corny job done with this cut and paste. Really, it looks just like her pitiful holiday card from last year…all the same messy PinEvil moves…the edges that I highlighted in pale green are completely pixelated, easily visible to the naked eye once you hit the + (blow-up) button just a couple of times! The stock photo has the same blurred roof and strange squares in each window. The tree branch in the foreground has been removed causing blurring of the trees. The shadows cast on the lawn have been wiped off down to empty white. All of the red circles around each person show heavy black lines or very pixelated edges…JH’s left elbow is wildly done; his left waist has a serious gauge; his back collar is a straight line where this child is supposedly sitting; his right hip is a thick black zig-zag line.

The gigantic toddler has the same kind of outlines but his shoes are really wild and his hair is very blurry in the center. PinEvils’ profile is off and the top of her head is very blurry in only one section. There seems to be strange dangles in the lower right of her mop. What is the head of the Netflix film editing department thinking, allowing this amateur level of cut and paste get into the trailer?  So here she is barefoot (that bunion in an uproar from wearing those high heels?) and she is carrying this gigantic toddler who was 3.1 years old? I checked out photos of Prince George at the same age and even with his much taller parents he is nowhere this proportion in size. So we have to assume borrowed kids again…because we know they did not arrive at the Jubilee with any kids-as reported by aviation personnel.

Final Grade F- and other trailer photos all have glaring mistakes-her teeth are way off for starters. Geez. Over and out for now…

Love this…😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂

[rockyjulesxx]

the correct marauders & co. head cannons pt. 2

Lily Evans

bisexual icon. uses she/her pronouns but does not correct someone if they use something else because even though she loves womenhood and feels connected to femininity, she doesn’t really care about gender.

raging activist. this is seen through her style because even though she dresses very light in pastels and soft skirts and dresses, all of her tote bags have activist propaganda sewn onto them.

she knits all of her hats and sweaters and makes a bunch for remus too.

she loves her light cottage core aesthetic, but she also heavily delves into grunge styles.

she has long wavy red hair, styled with curtain bangs.

she’s plus sized and loves showing off her tummy.

freckles <3

she has some light patch work tattoos that aren’t very noticeable across her body.

she has beautifully sculpted eyebrows that are frequently complemented upon, and has rich forest green eyes that james won’t shut up about.

shes 5”3-5”6 in height but will stomp on you with her chunky heels.

lily is welsh and loves talking to remus in their shared native tongue.

Marlene McKinnon

RAGING LESBIAN.

loves her punk style constantly says “it wasn’t a phase mom.”

she has platinum blonde dyed hair that she purposely let’s her natural hair peak through at the roots. it’s roughly shopped just above her shoulders with bangs.

has a medusa piercing along with many others and tattoos.

wears an excess amount of rings and eyeliner.

docs everyday all day with leatherjackets she steals from sirius’s closet and decorates with her own patches and buttons.

shes 5”6-5”9 in height (constantly tries to gaslight everyone that she’s taller than sirius even though they’re clearly the same height. she refused to see it though because “she’s not the same height as a little bitch.”)

loves boobs, especially her own, and often wears bralettes as shirts.

she’s an italian immigrant and constantly tells everyone that italy is better than britain.

she’s also bipolar and originally bonded with sirius due to similar struggles he experienced with bpd. she was the only person sirius felt comfortable with telling everything about how his mental illness truly effected him.

Dorcas Meadows

unlabelled but used they/them pronouns.

they’re very spiritual and love astrology. they keep crystals on them nearly all the time.

they're black and have their hair braided (they braid their own hair and think about opening up a small business to do others). they weave castles and charms into their hair too <3.

loves wearing long skirts with crop tops. it’s their go to staple outfit that never fails.

they love walking around barefoot. they say it feels more freeing (very much daisy johns and the six of them).

doesn’t really like to be called a hippie, they think that they dress more grunge than anything.

they’re about 5”5-5”7 in height. (marlene loves that they never wear heels, she likes being a lot taller than her partner).

they don’t mind being referred to as feminine terms such as girlfriend because they believe that “feminine” words are just words and have no real meaning because societal gender ideals are fake.

Regulus Black

asexual and biromantic. uses he/him or they/them pronouns because they’re autistic and don’t really care or align with societies ideals on gender.

he has a constant frown on his face that causes his brows to pinch together (sirius always tries to smooth the line forming there, telling reg that “wrinkles aren’t pretty, what does he have to be frowning about anyways?”)

whereas sirius has high cheek bones, regulus has a strong jawline and a prominent chin that points out.

they also have a very prominent brow bone that casts a dark shadow over their eyes, making them look almost black instead of blue. this eye structure is different from sirius’ double lidded eyes (regulus hates when people say that he looks similar to sirius and constantly looks for facial differences between them- there are a lot, the two don’t actually look THAT similar).

his style is very minimal, he often wears a plain white tee with black jeans.

their hair is short, dark and curly. they let their curls fall over their face and refuse to slick it back because that’s that his father used to do.

he’s 5”8-5”10 in height (he loves the few inch difference between him and sirius because it annoys his brother to no end).

they’re also half french and east asian.

i could honestly make more for the rest of the gang, this headconnon shit is fun because i’m just so right

#regulus black #marlene mckinnon #dorcas meadowes #lily evans #the marauders #marauders era #marauders headcanon #oppsimadethemallgay #dead gay wizards

[magiefish]

Starring fuckhands mcmike and (soon to be gaslight, gatekeep) girlboss

Felt like making a cover for Mag 47 because it was a funky episode.

[Image ID: Framed slightly off centre is a doorway tilted to the right from behind which emits a yellow light. The door itself is a dark yellow with a black handle and opens out to the right, the yellow light cast on the left side of it. The background of the piece consists of rectangular hues of purple going into darker and darker shades as they move towards the edge of the piece. Coming off of the door is a path covered in green carpet that curves to the left before curving back to the centre with the implication that it continues past the edge of the piece. A stark yellow light is cast out from the doorway across the path.

Standing in the doorway is a white woman with short brown hair in a purple suit jacket, short skirt, sheer socks, and high heels. She stands defensively with her legs far apart, one arm at her side and her other hand touching the doorframe. None of her facial features are visible. Behind her is a man much taller than her who also has minimal facial features visible other than his wide smile with sharp pointy teeth. He is also white, but is paler than the woman. He has long curly blond hair that reaches past his shoulders and wears a long dark green coat that reaches down to his ankles, a purple scarf, wide dark grey trousers, and a red jumper. His hands are at his sides and are very bony, his fingers incredibly sharp and longer than normal ones. Both of them are cast partly in heavy shadow due to the light coming out from the door. They both cast shadows across the path, however whereas the woman’s shadow is normal the man’s shadow is distorted, with a longer thinner neck, a thinner torso and even thinner waist resembling the silhouette of a skeleton. His hands are even larger in comparison to stick thin arms, and his fingers are longer and sharper and jut off from the hands in odd places.

Running along the left side of the piece above the pathway and to the left of the doorframe are the words ‘Mag 47: A New Door’ coloured in purplish blues and warped to look as if they are curving along a wall, tilted at the same right angle as the door. End Image ID]

#the magnus archives #micheal distortion #helen richardson #mag 47 #original art #magieart #I haven’t drawn anything in like 6 months #and then as soon as my exams ended I was possessed by an artistic frenzy blacked out and drew this #the spiral

[mistasangel]

Some Fun With My Monster High OC’s and Orginal Characters

I just learned something interesting about Mr.Komos who I swear if you remove his horns and give him a bow tie you’ll have Jackson Jekyll, lol I write alot of fanfics and one is where the Monster High Ghouls and Mansters are all grown up with children of thier own, my one oc from the story SchoolDaze is a hybrid of a minotaur,werewolf and werecat, he has hooves but wears goth boots with a thick platform heel to help him walk right, he does this to hide his hooves and to appear to have normal feet so maybe that’s what Mr.Komos does, as I seen his feet and he wears shoes, not sure what kind, I wanna say dress shoes but can’t be 100% sure until I see the movie and get a better look as what I’m going off is the trailers seen on tv.  Jayson the son of Jackson Jekyll is very picky about his shoes and will only wear sneakers so yeah its a fight at the shoe store with him,lol he does this because he has big feet,lol I mean his shoe size is bigger then his dad’s which I want to say is about a size 10 maybe 11, so that would make Jayson a size 12-13 in shoes so yeah shoes can be used to mask feet and I have an oc from another story whose a demon but can’t take on a human apperence, he has unique shaped feet even in human form so he wears combat boots to hide that fact and so he can walk and appear like a normal human being. Also I noticed Deuce has bigger feet then Clawd who is taller then him,lol Ok Mattel what is it with you and males and giving them big feet? Deuce’s boots fit my Rainbow High/Shadow High boys where Clawd’s don’t which is why I’m saying Mr.Gorgon has bigger feet then Mr.Wolf and also Neighthan Rot’s shoes fit my Rainbow High/Shadow High boys..so again with the big feet,lol  So Mattel as a bit of big foot obesseion with males,lol well some of them as Ken’s shoes fit the female Rainbow High/Shadow High dolls rather then the boys,lol  And I know Rainbow/Shadow high is made by MGA, I was using them as a comparsion for shoes. Also in another news, got a new member of the family yesterday a Pitbull named Ozzy, my cat Prince does not like him,lol but we are working on getting them to get along.  As long as Ozzy leaves my dolls alone there will be no problem as I am willing to work with him and my kitty to help them get along with eachother.

#Monsterh High #Rainbow High #Shadow High

[winterapocalypse]

Winter Apocalypse 46

Frankie Wilde

Dennis looked at Jon defiantly, laughing out loud as he glared at him with his ice blue eyes made up with several layers of black pencil and dark blue eye shadow.

“Here he comes, the crow!” she laughed out loud, pointing at him. The other Ravenclaw boys laughed, including his friend Aegon Connington. He had platinum blonde hair colored with loose blue tips, except for a few locks that were closed in long braids of different colors, all different from each other. In her hair she wore several hairpins and barrettes, all glittered or holographic, and her transparent jacket was also holographic red and white like the color of her father's house, the Conningtons, with several glittery stickers of griffins glued on it, always in the coat of arms of Connington. Under the transparent jacket he had a loose purple and green zebra-striped T-shirt from the Intercontinental Team, specifically that of his favorite, Shawn Michaels, who he considered almost a spiritual guide. His pants were tight and patterned, cuffed over his glittery red and white zebra converse. Around his neck was a large chain with gold and glitter writing hanging on it, his MagicCloud rapper name, ¥OUNGxGRIFF. Yet, on his fingers he wore black rings inlaid with blood-colored stones, because he was engaged to Stannis Baratheon's goth daughter, the dark Shireen, who was at his side and was holding his hand. Shireen was Dennis' age and a year younger than Aegon, but she was taller than both of them, and almost as tall as her father. Furthermore, she was wearing black boots with very high heels, all full of studs and chains and belts, the length of which was unknown because over them she was wearing a long black lace dress that almost reached her feet, looking dark and heavy and with a deep neckline on the busty you-know-what (XD I can't say!!!) on her chest, half devoured by the gray disease that had struck her as a child, and reached up to her face, covered by a lace veil semi-transparent to hide the disease that had turned half the skin of his face into black marble, shiny and beautifully veined but still and cold. She had a deep black lipstick on her lips, and a very heavy black eyeshadow over her eyes. Her hair, black as the darkest night, pulled back by the tiara of black gold and yellow sapphires that she held up from her veil over her face, fell straight down her back, reaching past her waist. At her waist, she had a blue and bronze chain, depicting the house of Ravenclaw to which she belonged.

“Is he the new guy, the one who bothered you and Denny, my cute little white chick?” Shireen asked, her tone soft but harsh like her father. Aegon nodded, glaring at Jon. "Yeah. Hey, what's wrong with your eyes?"

Jon actually felt sick that day. His eyes continued to burn. He rubbed his hands over his eyes, which were still watering and burning and really hurting. When he took his hands away from his eyes, the Ravenclaws and Night's Watch jumped.

His eyes had turned purple!!

Aegon, who also had violet eyes, became furious and attacked Jon, throwing many punches in his face. Aegon was very tall but very thin and wanted to be a trapper, not a wrestler, so his punches didn't do much.

"What's going on?" interrupted Professor Frankie Wilde, the head teacher of Ravenclaw. He was a famous magic DJ and often entertained the crowds at the various concerts that took place on the city's great terrace. He was a very rich man and always wore designer clothes, and even that day he was dressed very flashily, with trousers made of large golden sequins that shone in the light of the candles hanging in the corridors and branded glittery flip-flops on his bare feet, with which he conveyed the magic of the vibrations of which he was an expert. He was wearing a fuchsia shirt open on the chest with several drawings of mythological animals drawn on it in fluorescent gold, and he had many chains around his neck under the almost completely open shirt and a lot of red hair on his chest all messed up and sweaty. The designer glasses on his nose were pure gold and he had messy reddish hair although a little thinning by now he was still very fashionable and strong looking.

With a spell from his golden wand he separated the two boys who were fighting.

"You are both grounded. However there is no class today because Professor Strawman who was supposed to hold class today is absent and we don't know where he is. Maybe Headmistress Lannister and her deputy McMahon have something to do with it.."

"But I didn't do anything!" Jon shouted, still reeling from the pain in his eyes and being attacked by Aegon. But Professor Frankie was deaf to his excuses also because he was really deaf and couldn't hear anything, he had lost his hearing several years ago.

"Royce, Baratheon, Connington and Snow, follow me." he said, and the boys followed him.

Previous Chapter

Next Chapter

#winter apocalypse #jon snow #dennis royce #aegon connington #shireen baratheon #frankie wilde

[babblydrabbly]

I'm Not Sentimental, But

[Gif]

Pairing(s): Rick Flag x F!Reader

You tried your best not to hold your breath over Rick Flag; This wasn't that sort of relationship. But after one mission in particular you realize that whatever it is you've built with him has meant just as much to Rick as it has to you. Based off this beautiful request!

Word count: 3.5k+

Rating: nsfw, angst/smut/fluff! We've got it all tonight!

Warning(s): Language, mentions of blood/violence, alcohol, Post-The Suicide Squad (2021) Spoilers, but also canon divergence obvs. Fix-it fic.

[ A/N: ok, just ahhhhhhh!asfgkhl. WOW. It's not too long in retrospect, but this is officially the longest fic I've ever written for this blog! Emotional Rick just makes me feel so SOFTTT <3 Also, I took my time with this one because I knew the second I read your request I was going to have so many thoughts about it ;_;]

His text message lights up your screen after midnight.

Can we meet?

Just seeing his name is enough to wake you up. Before you can ask where he is or how he's doing, you get another message— an address.

---

It had become your usual arrangement. You'd had your reservations about Rick when you first met; He was kind, but secretive. You'd assumed that there was another woman. Maybe a wife. In a way, he was married— To a job he didn't like to talk about.

The two of you met in a hotel bar. As your friends celebrated a milestone birthday, you kept to the outside of the circle, self-conscious in your blouse and tight bottoms. You had a shot or two in you, but you decided to nurse a beer as the night went on later than you tended to stay out. The din of the chic room kept you distracted— Everyone seemed to be toasting or cheering for something that night. Eventually, you peeled yourself away from the cluster of couches and low tables and wandered over to the bar. It was freer now that it was late; You leaned with ample room on the mahogany surface as you waited for your drink.

"Celebratin'?" Came a curt but pleasant drawl.

You looked over to see a man on his own, a beer of the same brand as yours in his palm. Even sitting down on a stool, Rick was taller than you. He wore a baseball cap that obscured some of his face, but you could see the hint of five o'clock shadow on his angular jaw. His arms, large and straining against a simple v-neck shirt, rested comfortably on the bar a few inches from you.

With some rare liquid courage in your veins, you smiled over at him, "Yeah," You started, gesturing back to your friends. "Big birthday this year."

"You?"

"Oh, no—"

"Kiddin'." He said, and he returned your smile. He glanced over at you then. You were startled by a pair of hazel green eyes. "I'd take a guess at the gal wearing a tiara 'n sash."

You forget to return to your group for awhile. You wanted to know what someone as approachable as him was doing all alone— In a bar known for big bashes and parties upstairs no less. He shrugged, removed his hat to reveal a head of light brown hair and asked if you'd like to take a seat. You did.

He offered an explanation: He wasn’t from around here. Only stopping for some rest before returning to work (But he won't say much else). He does share that he has a military job, and he arches a brow when you can't keep yourself from making a face.

"Sorry," You said, flushing, "I, um— I guess I'm not familiar with that sort of life."

But instead of taking offense, Rick asked you what sort of life you had. You admitted that tonight is a bit of a miracle, that you wish you'd worn sneakers instead of the ridiculous shoes you had on now. You liked your friends, but this was definitely not a normal occurance.

Rick chuckled as he glanced down between the two of you, knocked his boot into the side of your high heel gently. He reassured you that this bar isn't really his kind of place either. You let him stay there, let your ankle graze coyly against his beneath the bar. His southern drawl runs right over your skin as you continued exchanging small pieces of each other— Those little bits of information that drew you a faint picture of this stranger.

"I'm [y/n], by the way." You managed to remember after an hour or so. He's resting his chin in his hand, looking at you with hooded eyes. He contemplated his answer, rolled his own name around in his mouth before he says it in that voice that’s tipping you over a ledge—

"Rick."

Rick, Rick, Rick.

You say it into the crook of his neck, dig your nails into the firm muscles of his back as he pants in your ear. He's staying in one of the rooms upstairs; You told your friends you were abandoning their city crawl— And they wanted to see who has tempted you into something so sordid.

But you keep Rick separate, just as he does you. It becomes a feral secret, your own private need. Rick was your secret, and you didn't doubt you were his secret as well. When he's in the area, he drops you an alias, an address, a new place more often than not. They're never seedy hotels, never somewhere in town you'd second guess your safety.

In fact, you feel safe whenever he opens the room door. When he invites you in with that heavy gaze and locks it behind you. The bathroom is usually warm with steam from a fresh shower, the television on a music channel, or something low and soft. He picks quiet places, ones with quiet bars— Your ritual.

And you stay, all night. Sometimes hardly getting any sleep at all. You don't ask about work; Though you start to decipher when he's just coming from somewhere or just about to ship out. There's a difference in the way he fucks you then. When he's about to leave for somewhere far away, he's less keen on drinking and more interested in bringing you upstairs; Throwing you onto the bed like it's the last time he'll see you, and you push away the inevitable thought that one day, that may very well be the case. Whether by choice or not, Rick always came into your life on temporary terms, leaving in a whirlwind just as quickly. Uncertainty was part of your game.

But there were times— A few times— When he'd ask you to meet him down in the bar, late at night with few people around. He picks a booth, your drink waiting for you. He presses you warmly into the corner almost all night until last call, asking you to tell him about how your days had been while he was away. How life was like in a world like yours. He seemed to revel in the little things; You could tell him about fucking traffic, about your house, your bedroom—tempt him with whispers about how you lied in bed these past few weeks, thinking about him— but never breaking the spell by asking him over.

You also don't ask about the bruises, the black eyes, and on one occasion, a deep gash freshly stitched from his elbow all the way down his outer arm. You had looked down at it worriedly all evening, to the point where Rick asked you if you wanted to call it a night. If it was too much to look at. He looked sullen then, drawing his arm off the table — Whatever it was he kept to himself, it gnawed away at his mind. Distracted him despite his effort to maintain his usual, warm self. You pulled his fingers off the bottle in his hands then. He trailed behind you without a word, your feet guiding him back upstairs to the room.

Whatever his world was, whatever yours— Inside that room, for one night, you shared something you didn't have to explain to another soul.

---

So you drive in a hurry, park on the street outside the new hotel that had just cropped up downtown. You bypassed the lobby desk in a simple pair of jeans and a sweater, your hair still a little tousled from sleep.

When you reach the quiet hallway, you pause in front of Rick's door, stopping your wrist short before knocking.

Rick yanks it open anyway, like he's been waiting at the foot of the bed for even a whisper of you outside. Your eyes fly up and down him, checking for something— You're not sure what. You expect new bruises, maybe. Butterfly bandaids stuck somewhere over his skin. Your mouth falls open when you see it.

Rick is standing without a shirt on, a ghastly slash grinning at you from his bare chest. Its healing over, but its also no where close to old. Behind him, his sparse belongings are strewn about the floor instead of tucked carefully away in a corner like they usually are. And in the bathroom, you hear the shower running, the steam curling out into the room as it must have been for awhile now.

You take a cautious step inside the room. Rick backs away, lets you close the door as he avoids your gaze with a dazed looked somewhere through you.

"Rick?" You breathe. You reach a hand up to push his matted hair from his face. He leans into the touch, his hand swiftly catching yours to keep it there, keep you cupping the side of his face; You feel the grime of sweat and dirt mixing together on his skin. Like he just crawled out of that hole he calls his world and back into yours.

He swallows thickly. You watch the press of his lips tremble for a moment.

"Hey," He tries.

But you only shake your head.

You lock the door, then draw him toward the bathroom. Without a word you slip out of your jeans, your sweater, coaxing Rick to do the same. He lets you push him into the shower first gently, drawing the glass door shut as you join him. Immediately, the hot spray of the water on Rick's back gets his taut muscles to relax.

He doesn't say a word as you reach on your tip toes to run some shampoo into his hair, a lather of soap over his skin. You avoid the wound on his chest— you suck in a breath as he flinches when you brush some soap over a black and purple welt mapped over his hipbone and down his thigh.

Eventually, as if thawed from sleep, his hands begin to move, brushing the suds and water along the rest of himself as he turns to face the shower head. Carefully, you wrap your arms around his waist as the two of you stay like that for awhile. For a minute more under the warm water.

You open your eyes against his back when you hear the faucet turn off. You listen to his breathing as he stands there with his hands pressed to the tile in silence.

You towel Rick off outside of the steaming bathroom for him on the bed. The cool air of the room soothes his flushed skin. He watches you wring out your hair, and you leave your clothes on the bathroom floor, crawling into the bed beside him. The light from the bathroom at your back casts you in a dim shadow and his face in a golden light.

"I quit." He whispered.

It's such a simple way to put it— You wonder if it could really have been that easy. But you can't presume to know a damn thing. This was the arrangement— The not truly knowing.

And before you can discern why, your eyes are welling with tears. You grip his face. Whatever did this, whatever pierced Rick had clearly broken off and left itself wedged inside him. Your grasp moves down, hovers shakily over the angry wound on his chest, afraid to touch it.

Rick's face falls at the sight of your crying— The first time you've ever let anything like it happen in front of him. And fuck, he wants to take it back. The words, his scars— He breached the pact; The not letting the outside come in through that white hotel door.

Then, you're kissing him. Crushing your lips to his, passing your tears from your cheeks to his. Rick scoops you over into him, runs his hand over the cleft at your thigh to hitch your leg around his hip. Your tongue prods at his chapped lip, parts his mouth open to taste him. You want to spread your fingers over his chest— You grip them into tight fists, keeping them away.

He's hurt. Cut open. Damaged goods. Rick refuses to bear the thought that you can't touch him; He reaches for your hands and pries them open, guides you down his abdomen, his sides. He kisses you with a wordless plea: Don't be afraid. Don't be afraid of me now.

Still, he grunts as your leg digs into the bruises. You reel away from him, the look on your face tearing him up. Rick sits up and stares at your deer in the headlights look.

With a slow hand, Rick pushes you back carefully, and you relax down into the comforter, unsure.

"It's alright, [y/n]." He says. You want to burst— You're the one who should be telling that to him. Rick kisses you again; He trails them down your throat, across your neck. You frame his crown with your hands as he travels down between your breasts. He laps a searing hot stripe over your nipple, then moves over to the other to do the same.

The muscles in your body begin to relax one by one as Rick takes the time to map kisses across you. Over every stretch of skin. He laves at the light marks that decorate your lower belly, the crevices that join to meet at your soft mound. Rick sucks at the skin there, nips with light teeth at the flesh. You arch your back and let your legs spread out around him, frame them timidly around his tanned shoulders.

Rick moves past your lips, lowering himself to give some attention to your inner thighs. He nips you again, firm bites sending a jolt up you every time. The stubble of his chin scratches satisfyingly with every move of his jaw. His tongue lashes out, lapping at your folds, circling to dip around your swelling clit.

---

Rick ignited a hunger in you. The elevator doors closed, and both of you closed the gap between you. You met in a first kiss that makes your head spin. He holds the card up to the hotel door behind you as he pins you there in the hallway. Your fingers rake through his hair— You laughed, embarrassed, when you knock off his hat. Rick chuckled and kicked the cap into the room as he backs you into the foot of the bed at the same time. You dragged him down with you, eager to feel the weight of him pressed down onto your body. But he held himself up courteously, careful not to crush you beneath him. You pulled away from his lips, stared up at him.

"You're beautiful." He noted— A simple statement of fact.

He ventured down your waist, and you asked him if he wanted to turn out the lights first. His lips pursed, as you looked down at him, your face flushed and your hair spilling out over the sheets.

"Darlin’, I wanna see every inch of you tonight." You were always safe with him.

---

He’s pushing your thighs apart further— You suck in a breath as his tongue delves between your folds, tasting you. He curls it deep inside your cunt. You release a shuttered whine.

Rick knows you. Knows just when to push his fingers into you, thrust two of them inside you. You arch your back, tilting your hips up to meet his face. Your tight walls stretch around him.

You feel your skin getting hotter, every stroke making your breath quicken. He keeps at this steady pace— spreads your lips apart to lave and swipe at your exposed clit until you're panting. He always brings you over the edge so easily, but tonight you tug at his hair, tell him to wait.

Rick grinds his arousal into the sheets, groaning as he laps you up. You reach down, cup his face until he's pulling away to look up at you.

"Get up here." You purr. You pull at Rick's arms, get him to make his way back up the bed until he's lying down beside you. He has the gall to feign a put out look.

"I was liking those sounds, baby." He shoots you a lopsided smile, his lips and chin shining. You huff, kissing him and tasting yourself.

Tentatively, you trace your fingertips down his chest, leaving a wide path between your hand and the wound in the dead center. You take his nipple between your fingers, giving it a knowing tweak, and Rick's head falls back as you lean down to take it in between your lips. You suck until the skin is pulled taut, trailing open-mouthed kisses down his abdomen until Rick is lying back, laying down for you.

His cock laid hard against his lower stomach. You take the head into your mouth, earning you a groan. Rick slips his fingers around the nape of your neck as he says your name.

You take Rick deep in your throat, your grasp wrapping around the rest of him. You hollow out your cheeks until you're releasing his cock with a soft pop with every other stroke. Rick's chest heaves as he shutters.

There's an older scar— Faded and pale now— Just above the dusting of hairs that trail up to his belly button. You splay your free hand over it, try to will all of his marks to fade and leave themselves far in the past where they can't reach the two of you here.

Rick's hips stutter, rolling up to meet the back of your throat. You moan around him, and the sound reverberates, flies straight up into him. He draws you off of him quickly, before he's tempted to come right then and there.

You sit back up to straddle Rick, your legs bracketing his pelvis. He runs his hands up your thighs— Rough calluses catch on your skin, familiar and comforting. "Rick," You say, canting your hips. Your mound, still slick, presses over his thick cock. His hands cup the back of your thighs, pull you closer until you're seated over his length but not yet penetrating you.

His jaw is clamped shut. You frown as you see him grind his teeth down over words he's mulling over.

"I fucking hate leaving you." He whispers.

You lean down. Your damp hair brushes over his chest, his face, as you press a kiss over his frowning lips. "So don't."

"You... You'd be alright with it if I stayed awhile?" He tries, blinking up at you through the locks of your hair, and you want to laugh at the bizarre question— If he stayed? Hadn't you made it pitifully clear you never wanted him gone?

You look down to see a face that says that's exactly what he's thinking. That this arrangement, these evenings within these walls— The fear that this is all you've ever wanted from him— Has been his reality too.

How many nights had you kidded yourself with stray thoughts of something more? Of that dangerous path, where you imagined lingering in bed until morning turned back into night again— Of one day after the other with him still here— in your world. You weren't the sentimental type then; After awhile, you had gotten the hang of pushing the thoughts away.

"You're really done?" You asked with awe now. His hands slide up to hold your waist, his head nodding against the pillow. You have so many more questions; The door you kept shut between you and Rick is threatening to open.

"I don't have to hide you away anymore." He offered without explanation. But you think about his aloof nature, his refusal to blur the lines.

"The hotels..."

"I didn't want certain people knowin'... Knowing where you lived, where I went. I was tryin' to..."

Keep you separate. Keep you to himself. This one thing— God, let him have this one thing.

Rick's brain had wracked with the thought of you as Dubois spoke to Waller for the last time; If she ever came after him, after any of them— Even Rick— Waller would pay. Even with pints of blood missing, his heart still raced on the helicopter back to the States with the surviving members of the squad.

She was going to leave them alone. There was leverage in this world to keep you safe now. And he was done— With ARGUS, with Waller.

"Stay." Your voice pulls him out of his storming thoughts, pulls him back up out of the waves. It echoes, putting bullets in every worry he's carried from Corto Maltese back to you. Stay, stay, stay.

Rick grips you tight as you move atop him. Your breath mingles together, exchanging the same air as he thrusts up into you. You whimper, drag your lips over his chin and jaw. Cup his face so that it never disappears again. You dare to hope he never disappears without warning ever again.

---

“...What?” You murmured. Grey light had begun framing the drawn curtains. Had you actually just stayed until morning? In and out of sleep, you lied facing Rick, this stranger who felt familiar now. He was smirking softly at you, a lock of your hair weaving between his fingers as he lied before you on the bed.

You draw gentle patterns across his war ravaged skin, thinking he had finally fallen off to sleep when his eyes open. You stared.

"...Wasn’t gonna tell you my name." He finally admitted — curiously— Like you had surprised him, like you were the one who pried the thought from him without his even knowing. Rick had made simpler plans for this night. The easy kind. But your laugh had ensnared him, your gaze drawing him in— Wiped his memory. Your clothes, all around the room, looked too good to pick up off the floor.

You blinked, lips curling upward. “Did you want to take it back?” You craned your neck and glanced back at the glowing clock on the stand behind you. “I think I only said it about…. A hundred times in the last five hours.” When you turn your head back again, his lips are there to meet you, pressing a grin onto the corner of your mouth.

“Nah,” He muttered, drawing you against him. Rick wanted to do this another five hours, another ten. You wrapped your arms around his warm torso, tangled your legs in his beneath the sheets. “I want to see you again.”

"Yeah?" You smiled, visibly pleased. It was like a weapon, the way you endeared him with a single word, with that open face.

"I uh, can't promise when that'll be." He said, watching your reaction fixedly. The night's miracle had faded back to reality. You couldn't deny it in yourself— He was magnetic. You were stuck. Though you knew it would end, you had hoped he'd offer something more.

"What d'you think?" He prodded. Waited. Outside, the world was waking up; This was ending, he thought— dreaded. He put the detonator into your hands.

You stopped your minstrations over his tattooed skin, shrugging softly. Warmth floods him as you lifted that smile to him. Gave him some hope he didn't know he still wanted in another person.

You shrugged, unaware of everything to come.

"I don't mind waiting."

You really didn't.

#rick flag x reader #rick flag x you #rick flag fanfiction #rick flag smut #dceu smut #dceu fanfiction #the suicide squad #the suicide squad 2021 spoilers #mywords* #smut #rick flag #requests

[perrys-place]

HUh? Who’s that? General Galeforce? Oh, nononono... I think you mean Captain Bailfalse. Yep! That’s guy. While General Galeforce is a very good leader and a respectable figure. Captain Bailfalse is sly, up to no good bad bad BAD GUY! A real doozy, a poopypants. He even has a long flowing cape so you can tell he’s evil.

He’s also wearing heels because yeah lol. It makes him taller so he can look down upon people he calls peasants. he’s even smoking a big fat blunt. he’s just that tall and high 

Charles doesn’t want to be involved so he’s got a 😒 look on him.

I’ll only be showing a body shot with maybe a sneak peek of his face, other than that, you’ll have to wait... hehehehe

(below the cut is a bloody version so beware)

personal note: I feel like the grey and red lining look so much more eviler. meaner. But I don’t want it to look edgy... even though it is edgy... ah, the dilemma of red and black characters. It’s such a good color scheme even though it’s cliché. It can really immediately show that a character is dipping in the forces of evil, like shadow the hedgehog or the cool aid man.

Plus, since Galeforce’s original hat color was green, the opposite of green is red. Yadda yadda you can probably see where I was going with this logic.

#Hubert Bailfalse #Hubert Galeforce #Charles Kelvin #Charles Calvin AU #even though its not about him 🙄 #jkjk #Henry Ventriloquest AU #Henry Stickmin Au #henry stickmin collection #my art #doodle

[fruitcoops]

I was wondering if I could request something? Maybe Sirius' first night at the Dumais' place and Dumo can straight away tell that somethings wrong. Sirius makes polite conversation and it all looks so painful until he retires for the night and Dumo passes by his room and he hears Sirius crying maybe? Because of what his mother said, and maybe because he has trouble adjusting to new situations? Just an idea that popped into my head :) Only if you want to write it <3 Thank you

Yes, I can! I love writing Dumo, but for some reason I don't do it that often--his and Sirius' dynamic is just so wholesome and wonderful. SW credit goes to @lumosinlove!

TW for implied child abuse and broken glass (no injury)

The first thing Pascal Dumais noticed about Sirius Black was how quiet he was. At only eighteen years old, Sirius was taller than most of the other Lions, with broad shoulders and gangly limbs. Yet he moved almost silently, padding along the wood floors in his socks and speaking only when spoken to. It was…honestly, a bit unsettling.

Dumo had expected a rambunctious teenage boy, still high on the thrill of being drafted to the NHL—instead, he found himself the guardian-slash-landlord of a ghost. Sirius unloaded his meager belongings with little fuss and accepted no help, his pale eyes never lingering on either of them for too long.

Celeste poked her head into the living room in the early afternoon when they returned from the grocery store; Sirius was sitting ramrod straight in the smallest chair they had with a thick book in his hands. She knocked gently on the doorframe, and he jumped. “Sirius, would you like some lunch?”

“I don’t want to be any trouble,” he said in that unusually soft voice.

“It’s no trouble,” she assured him.

“I can make myself a sandwich if you have other things to do. Really, I’m alright.”

“When was the last time you ate?”

Sirius blinked, as if he hadn’t expected her to ask, then glanced at the clock on the wall. “I had breakfast at seven and a granola bar on the plane.”

“Sirius, it’s almost two.”

“Is it?”

“Come with me for a moment, oui?” She ushered him into the kitchen; Dumo wasn’t sure he would ever get used to seeing someone so physically imposing walk so small.

“Papa?” Someone tugged on the hem of his shirt and he snapped out of his daze, leaning down to lift Adele into his arms with a smile.

“Bonjour, mon chou! Did you have fun outside?” She nodded, wiggling a little in her excitement, and put her hands on either side of his face. Dumo’s stomach sank. “Why are your hands wet?”

“I washed them!”

“Why?”

“Because we played with chalk!”

Both the boys were at day camp, and Katie was down for her afternoon nap. Dumo wracked his brain. “Who were you playing with?”

“Sirius!” she giggled, then held the front of her shirt out. Wasn’t she wearing a different one this morning?“An’ he said chalk stains, so he lifted me up so I could wash my hands and helped me get my new shirt on when it got stuck and let me braid his hair! Can we keep him? Please, Papa, I wanna keep him forever!”

Dumo kissed her forehead as a wave of emotion tickled the back of his throat. Less than six hours in their home, and Sirius was already connecting with his children. “Oui, we can. Did you say thank you?”

Adele bit her lower lip. “I don’t remember.”

“Sirius?” Dumo called. The clanking in the kitchen stopped. “Can you come here for a moment?”

There was a beat of silence before he appeared in the doorway, looking paler than before as he walked over to them. This boy needs to eat more, the parental part of Dumo’s brain thought instantly. Slate-grey eyes flickered between them. “She—she had chalk on her shirt. I’m sorry, I should have asked.”

“It’s alright. What do you say?” Dumo asked, turning to Adele.

She turned a beaming smile on Sirius. “Thank you!”

His whole face softened in the blink of an eye and he smiled back, giving her a light fist bump. “Pas de problem, petit papillon.”

-------------------------------

Sirius opened up a bit over lunch; Adele perched herself right in his lap with her peanut butter sandwich to his clear astonishment, but his smiles came easier after that and Dumo treasured each one. He was already grateful that Sirius did not seem like the type of asshole player that Dumo remembered from his high school years.

Marc and Louis returned to the house just as they finished, and though Sirius offered to help wash the dishes—the boy was a blessing, really—they shooed him off to play with the kids for a while. It would do them all some good to get out in the sun.

“Quiet, isn’t he?” Celeste remarked as they stood side-by-side at the sink. Her tone was casual, but Dumo saw the worry in her eyes.

He hummed in agreement. “He’s probably just nervous, mon amour. They can take a while to warm up.”

“Pascal, I don’t think—”

The sound of shattering glass echoed from the other room. The house held its breath. “Is everyone alright?” Dumo called, drying his hands on the nearest towel as his pulse picked up. “What happened?”

Hushed whispers floated out, followed by the pitter-patter of little feet. He hurried down the hall with Celeste hot on his heels. “I’m so sorry,” Sirius said as they entered the room. He was kneeling on the wood floor, gathering fragments of a small water glass in one palm. “It was my fault. I hit it with my elbow.”

Celeste frowned. “Boys? Adele? I know you were here.”

Dumo didn’t miss Sirius’ hard swallow, nor the sudden nervousness—no, that was fear—on his face as the three kids crept out from around the corner, looking guiltier than anything. Adele stepped forward, but Sirius stood in a smooth, instinctive motion, keeping her behind him. “It was my fault,” he repeated. Dumo’s heart sank.

“Adele, is that true?”

She looked up toward Sirius, who kept his broad hand ever so slightly in front of her shoulder. Celeste raised an eyebrow. “Adele Marie, tell the truth.”

“No,” she said.

“Come here, please.” Dumo watched Sirius’ breaths go shallow as Celeste beckoned to Adele, but confusion took its place when she crouched to her level. “Thank you. What Sirius did was very nice, but we don’t let other people take the fall for our mistakes in this house, Adele. We accept responsibility. Who broke the cup?”

“I was chasing Marc and we both bumped into the table,” Adele confessed, toying with the hem of her butterfly-patterned shirt. “It was an accident, I promise.”

“Did anyone get hit by the glass?” Dumo asked. All three shook their heads. “Sirius?”

He cleared his throat. “No, Mr. Dumais.”

“Marc, Adele, I want you to find the broom and dustpan so your mother and I can clean this up. Thank you for being honest. Sirius, there’s a trash can in the kitchen, but be careful of the sharp edges. And please, call me Pascal or Dumo.”

But he didn’t stop thinking about the visible alarm on Sirius’ face when Celeste brought Adele forward all afternoon. Something was not right.

--------------------------------

If it wasn’t for the baby, Dumo would not have heard it.

Katie woke around midnight with a quiet whine, which devolved into whimpering, and finally into full-out sobbing for over half an hour. He carried her downstairs so she wouldn’t wake the others and gently rocked her, humming lullabies under his breath until his throat was dry and her tears abated. “There’s my good girl,” he murmured, drying her pudgy cheeks with his sleeve.

The last bits of sleep faded away as he set her down in her crib again, and he sighed. The season didn’t start for more than a month, but he had been looking forward to a few consecutive nights of solid rest before then.

May as well check on the others, he thought, wandering down the hallway in his thickest socks and bathrobe to stave off the nighttime chill. Marc and Louis were each out cold; he took the open book splayed across Marc’s bed and set it on his dresser, turning the lamp off as he left. Adele was curled into a tight ball around no less than four of her precious stuffed animals and he tucked the blankets back over her shoulder.

Dumo’s feet carried him down the stairs before his brain fully caught up, and he paused—Sirius had been in their house for a single day, and already he had the urge to look out for him. The thought should have made him feel silly, but instead he felt…peaceful. He felt right. There was a lost and near-silent boy in his home, who protected his kids within hours of knowing them. Of course Dumo was going to make sure he was alright.

Summer wind rushed past the wide windows as he headed toward the basement. It was warmer there, and he took a moment to mentally pat himself on the back for remodeling two years prior. Hopefully, Sirius would be comfortable.

A soft sound broke through his thoughts. Dumo stopped on the last step.

There was a harsh breath, then a sniffle, as if the person inside was trying and failing to keep their tears in past the point of no return. He heard a few shaky, weak inhales, then a choked noise that cut off abruptly with a gulp.

Dumo closed his eyes to hold back tears of his own and knocked lightly on the bedroom door.

Everything went silent with a rustle.

“Sirius?” he whispered, raising his voice just enough to be heard through the door. “Are you awake?”

There was no answer.

“Can I come in?” he ventured.

An unsteady voice answered. “Ouais.”

The door creaked a little as he opened it and stepped into the dark room. Sirius was nothing more than a clump of shadows on the far side of the bed, squished tight against the wall with all his blankets wrapped around him. “What happened?”

“Nothing. Je vais bien.”

“Can I sit?” Dumo fully expected Sirius to tell him ‘no’, to make an excuse, to pull some arrogant teenager nonsense.

Instead, he tucked his legs up and made room near the foot of the bed with another sniffle. “Did I wake you?”

“Non. Katie was crying, and I thought I’d check on everyone.” He settled down and scooted until his back was against the wall as well—Sirius was still hiding in a cocoon of his duvet, but his hand came up to wipe his face. “Do you want to talk?”

“About what?”

“You seem upset. I know the homesickness is hard for the first few days, but—”

“No.” The vehemence of Sirius’ answer shocked him into silence. “No. I’m not homesick. I just—so much has happened, and I—it’s—this is everything I wanted, right here, and—”

He broke off with a wounded noise that broke Dumo’s poor heart right down the middle. He moved closer until their shoulders touched; to his surprise, Sirius leaned on him and shivered. “How can I help you?” Dumo asked quietly.

“Your family…” Sirius shook his head and drew the covers tighter. “You have a beautiful family. You should be proud of them.”

“I am, every day.”

“Your kids love you so much.” It was barely more than a whisper.

Dumo sighed through his nose. “I know.”

“No, you don’t, they—you’re their hero. And not because of hockey.”

That was Dumo’s dream, laid out right in front of him. If someone he hardly knew could see that, then it must be true. The impact was greater than he ever could have imagined; his lungs felt tight. “Thank you. Is it alright if I ask you something?”

Sirius stiffened slightly.

“You’re not in trouble, and you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to. I’m just…worried.”

He felt Sirius shift. “This is about the glass.” It wasn’t a question.

“Oui.” Dumo searched for the words and scrounged up any sliver of tact he could find. “Sirius, do you—what happens when you break a glass at your house?”

Sirius’ breath rushed from his lungs in a near-silent sob. Dumo gathered him close in his arms and held him, letting tears dampen his shoulder as he murmured soft reassurances in French. “I’m sorry,” Sirius croaked, though he did not move away. “I’m sorry for—for intruding, and for ruining your shirt—”

“You have nothing to be sorry for.” Dumo gave him a light squeeze of comfort and felt him go a bit boneless. “And you are not intruding. We love having you here with us.”

“Really?”

He sounded so unsure. So young. Dumo wished he could take away whatever horrible things had been said to ever make someone so kind feel so small. “Yes. Adele, especially.”

“She’s so…colorful.” Fondness dripped from every word.

“She is,” Dumo agreed. “She came running up to me, and went ‘papa, papa, can we keep him?’”

Sirius laughed a little at his imitation and straightened up, drying his eyes on his hoodie sleeve. They sat quietly for a while until the shaking stopped and his death grip on the comforter loosened. “Thank you, Mr. Dumais.”

“Call me Pascal, or Dumo if you like. ‘Mr. Dumais’ makes me sound like a grandfather.” They laughed together, then fell silent once more. “And you’re welcome. Any time you need help, you can come to me. I might not be your father, but—”

“You’re better,” Sirius interrupted, wiping his nose. His shadow turned to face Dumo in the dark, and though he couldn’t see his face, he could picture the earnest expression. “In every way. Please don’t tell anyone about this, though.”

“It never even crossed my mind,” Dumo answered honestly. “I should let you sleep now. We have some busy weeks ahead of us, eh?”

“Bonne nuit, M—Dumo.” The name carried new weight and he let it sink in as Sirius laid back down and kicked his blankets back into place. Something told him this was the beginning of a very interesting story.

“Bonne nuit, Sirius. Welcome to our home.”

#fanfic #my fic #sweater weather #lumosinlove #sirius black #pascal dumais #celeste dumais #dumais kids

[rfaromance]

"How are you feeling?"

Saeyoung cast a curious glance at the young woman standing beside him, gazing down at him with concern. He wasn't accustomed to looking up at Ariella, but she enjoyed wearing high heels to social events, and she ended up a solid 5 cm taller than him when she did that. He kept threatening to wear matching heels to retaliate, but after she threatened to make him sleep on the couch any time he did that....

She compromised by allowing him to slap on a pair of elegant heels as soon as they returned to the bunker.

As they were leaving the C&R banquet and heading home, however, Saeyoung's current height was the least of his worries. He was far more fixated on the expression behind his lover's green eyes.

"I'm fine, kitten. What makes you ask?"

"Well, I know you aren't always comfortable in public or around large groups of people," she explained simply. That wasn't inaccurate; the hacker did tend to feel a bit of unease when he felt... exposed. An entire lifetime of shadows and secrets, whereby his existence in and of itself was somewhat of hush-hush matter, could account for that. He wasn't used to being allowed to just... be.

Ariella was the one who showed him he had more to offer, that he had a life worth protecting and preserving and celebrating.

He was still working on believing that, but she made it easy with her constant smiles that shone like a beacon, like a lighthouse in the night.

But why did those eyes that usually glowed like a sunlit meadow look more reminiscent of an overcast, gloomy, thick forest that absorbed any light that dared try to pierce it?

"Are you purrrrojecting, honey?"

"Hm?"

Saeyoung narrowed his eyes slightly at Ariella, who immediately began to flush a deep scarlet. She was easily flustered, without the slightest bit of a poker face; he found it charming, but he knew how much it aggravated her.

Because he never missed out on an opportunity to pounce on her for it.

"I appreciate you worrying about me," he continued, "but anxiety is rolling off of you I waves, Ariella."

Her cheeks as puffy and red as apples, she muttered, "I... I'm fine. You saw me talking to their in-house counsel, right? I was excited to learn about Korean corporate law!"

As the brunette began her spiel comparing how one might pierce the corporate veil for liability in the United States, her home country, and how that compared to practice here in South Korea, Saeyoung took a long, single stride forward until he was standing directly in front of her, his lips ghosting over her chin. He was subconsciously aware that this move would have been more effective if he were taller than her right now, like he normally was when she wasn't strutting in 11-centimeter-tall death traps, but the sudden approach seemed to catch her off-guard, because she immediately began sputtering.

"S-Saeyoung!" she stammered. "I'm... I'm being serious! I'm oka--"

"Kitten, I can tell when you're uncomfortable," he murmured, and he could practically feel the heat rolling off of her face in waves. "You were fiddling with your napkin. You were tapping your foot. Your voice was higher pitched than usual, and when you spoke, it was at a speed that would put a hockey commentator to shame." She smiled half-heartedly at that; she'd been dragging him to watch a variety of American sporting events at all weird hours of the day, and even though he wasn't nearly as invested as she was, he did pay attention to every detail he could, because he knew these things made her happy.

And he paid attention to every detail about her, which was how he was able to tell when she was acting... off.

"Was I... that obvious?"

Her shoulders slouched and she lowered her head as she began to fold in on herself. "You... you know I get really bad anxiety in unfamiliar social situations," she murmured. "I do my best, and I can usually play it off, but sometimes...."

"It's hard to wear a mask all the time, kitty cat."

"Yeah."

"But you don't have to do that around me, right?"

"... Yeah."

They stood in silence for a moment, and as soon as Ariella's face began to return to its natural color and she seemed calmer, Saeyoung raised his arms and gently pulled her into his embrace.

He began to gently pat the back of her head as she sniffled.

"I think this calls for an extra-big sundae. Seven scoops."

The redhead felt a smile reach his lips as he heard a soft chuckle. "I don't think we have that much ice cream."

"That's the problem? Not the fact that no mere mortal should be able to eat seven scoops of ice cream by herself?"

"Bold of you to assume I'm mortal. Bow before me."

"Ah, how foolish of me, my space princess. But in all seriousness, should we buy some ice cream on our way home?"

"It'd make Saeran happy."

She began to wriggle in his grasp, signaling that she was ready to go, but he tightened his grip a little before whispering in her ear:

"You never need to hide your feelings around me, okay? I am 707, Defender of Justice... and defender of your happiness, for now and forever."

#Cmc #Ariella #saeyoung choi #mystic messenger #mysmes #mysme #707 #luciel choi #SELF-INDULGENT SORRY #anxiety is bad today

[baronesscmd]

@anubis-005 has graciously allowed me to continue writing her sinfully delightful Nene’s Inferno Au, so I bring you the next installment. I hope you enjoy, and thank you. And go check out all her artwork; its absolutely amazing and deserves all the love!

AH! DISCLAIMER! CONTAINS SCENES OF SEXUAL INNUENDO/REFERENCES/SITUATIONS!

 He dropped himself to the ground, pulling her flush against him. One hand curled around her arm as the other caught her chin, bringing her gaze directly to the smoldering golden stare that was attempting to burn her alive. 

Nene's face flushed as he leaned in, tongue flicking over the sharp fangs in his mouth as he tipped his head so the heat of his words brushed against her lips. 

"You won't be needing those clothes."

**

“EXCUSE ME?!!”

Nene felt her pulse stutter and pick up double-time as the demon leaned closer, claws pricking at the soft curve of her cheeks as her whole body burned from his implications. She tried to push away, tried to get as much space between her and the demon before her; he wasn’t having it. The hand on her arm slid around her waist, pinning her tight against his chest as he smirked. 

“Oh yes, my sweet little Angel; that uniform just has to go.”

She felt those claws curl into her sash and tug, and before she could even make a sound, before she could try and push herself away; he moved. His hand slid from her waist to cup her bottom and squeeze, and she shrieked as he hauled her up and over his shoulder. 

He spun on his heel, whistling as he headed deeper into the maze as she tried to get loose. Nene beat her fists against his back and kicked her legs, trying to ignore the sharp curve of his shoulder as it pressed into her belly.

Harder to ignore was the hand hooked around her knees, and the thumb that was making tiny circles against her thigh. Worse than that though, was the hand still on her butt. She struggled harder, flushing as he patted the soft curve of her cheeks. 

 "PUT ME DOWN! AND DONT TOUCH ME!"

Nene let out a sound somewhere between a whimper and a scream as the demon chucked, pinching her as he nipped at her hip through the fabric of her dress.

"My my, aren't you a feisty one! You'll be great fun. I can already tell. But you have to behave, my Angel, or your new Master will punish you.

"And while I can guarantee you will not enjoy it, I shall have a delightful time."

She continued to struggle against him until the band around her finger began to burn. She yelped and folded, her chin bouncing into his back as she curled her hands together. 

It hurt, more than anything she had ever experienced. Like something was trying to claw at her soul, to tear her open and lay her bare. She watched through her tears as the demon's tail looped around her wrists, and as suddenly as the pain had come on, it vanished.

"Ah, fun little bit about that Bond, my Angel." 

She stiffened in his grasp as he drew a claw down her thigh before his fingers crept back up to pinch her.

"You cannot disobey me."

Cold stole through Nene's limbs and she went still and silent. The demon laughed, the echo of it reverberating through her own chest in a hollow imitation of joy. The tail squeezed her wrists, and she swallowed back her tears. 

Beneath them, the grassy maze gave way to cobblestones, and she planted her hands against the small of his back as he spun around. 

"Welcome to your new home, Angel."

Nene lifted her head, biting back a gasp at the palace before her; she had not expected something so elegant of a design in Hell. It rose from a tangle of wild roses like a crouching beast, sweeping up into the skyline like nothing she had seen. 

In Heaven, the buildings had been white, and gold and silver-toned. It had felt like walking through a dream, with open shutters and friendly hellos as she passed. This was quite the opposite. 

This was a nightmare of brick, wood, bone, and glass. Shadows hung from the twisted black iron of the balconies like discarded clothes, the stained glass depicting demons in different throes of lust. 

Ivy twisted it's way up the cracks of the black stones, twisting around marble statues carved in obscene positions. She averted her eyes as they passed a set of skeletons, entwined together, forever frozen in the moment of completion. 

And the arch of the grand doorway, before the demon carrying her turned on his heel to march her under it, was carved in stark white bone with the twisted limbs and slack faces of those who had given in to the Sin of Lust.

The inside was as hauntingly beautiful as the exterior, with dark walls and black marble floors. Golden lamps spilled light in fleeting puddles, and Nene saw more than one alcove with the entwined forms of sated bodies. 

He hauled her through the dining hall, whispers rising as the few demons who happened to be awake caught sight of them. Painted mouths disappeared behind razor-tipped nails as she knew they began to gossip, and more than one pair of hungry, hooded eyes raked over her form, leaving her feeling filthy. 

Nene tried to remember the twists and turns he took so she could attempt an escape, but when they passed the same low table with a couple half-concealed beneath it again, she knew he had purposely misled her.

Each path was more confusing than the last, some with high, vaulted ceilings that the light could not illuminate, and others with low curving beams that pulled the shadows close enough to touch. 

And the paintings! Nene could look nowhere and find a patch of wall that was not hung with obscenities. Even what she assumed were flowers, painted in soft brush strokes, resembled a part of her own anatomy that the demon's hand was much too close to.

He took them down a long hallway, the doors at the beginning doing little to conceal the moans and cries of the pleasure-seekers within. She flushed and tried to raise her hands to cover her ears to block out the sounds, but the tail held her fast. 

They turned again, and this hallway was silent but for the echo of his footsteps. His hand stroked from the curve of her waist to the back of her knee before he kicked a door open. 

Nene watched with increasing panic as the heavy wooden doors fell shut behind them, lock sliding into place as her heart sank. She was trapped, completely and utterly. 

She had no time to admire the room, richly decorated in swathes of black and red satin as the demon fisted his hand in the back of her dress and dumped her onto a bed.

It took her a second, as she was consumed by tangled scarlet silk and plush pillows as dark as a raven's wing, that she was not in just any bedroom, tumbled onto a sinfully soft bed. 

Nene was sprawled across the sheets in the bed that belonged to the Lord of Lust, locked in this den of depravity and debauchery. 

She watched with horror as he set a knee to the bed and dragged her closer, pinning her beneath his lithe form as she tried to get away, even though she knew it was useless. His mouth nipped at her throat, tongue sliding up her skin before he sucked a bruise into the tender flesh as he groaned. 

"You taste like innocence and divinity. And I am going to enjoy corrupting you."

He shoved her knees apart and settled against her, and before he could side his hand from her waist to her breast or between her legs, Nene threw her arms against his chest with a cry. 

She wasn't sure who was more surprised as he was tossed back, his black eyes lightening to amber as they both watched the pale gold band form around his tail. She scrambled from beneath him, not getting far before he hooked his hand around her chubby ankle. 

He didn’t draw her back to him, which she found odd, but he seemed more preoccupied with the sharp flicks he made to try and fling the ring off. The swing of it was rather hypnotic, and Nene gasped as his claws bit into her skin as he yanked her down the bed. 

She drew her knees up as he loomed over her, and she watched as his eyes flickered rapidly over her face, as if there was something hidden in her own gaze that would explain what had happened. His mouth split into a wicked smile and he hauled her up, locking one arm around her as she thrashed in his hold as he snapped his fingers. 

Seconds later, three scantily clad demonesses hurried through the door, all wearing the same outfit of a black and white maids uniform, and dipped into deep curtsies. Nene paled as he shoved her forward; the tallest demoness, who had ripped the front of her blouse so that her very generous bust could be seen through the heart shape, caught her by the arm before she could hit the floor. 

“Dress our little Angel in her new uniform; she’ll be joining you in your duties starting today.”

Nene whipped her head around as another of the demoness’ hurried away, the ruffles of her dress barely touching the top of her thighs. He couldn’t really mean to put her in something so revealing, but the sly smile as their eyes met showed that he absolutely did. 

She shrieked as the demons pulled at her uniform, trying to bat their hands away to no avail. The taller one unsnapped the buttons on her collar as the other pulled her sash free, and she could do nothing as the third came back with her arms full of fabric. 

They stripped her quickly and efficiently, though their touch lingered on her skin like a burn. She clung to her thin shift as they tried to pull it off, even as they knocked her off balance to remove her sandals. They couldn’t take her shift, she’d be naked; no one had ever seen her naked. The demoness caught her hands in a bruising grip and bunched the fabric in her free hand.

“Let her keep it.”

They all froze, turning to the Demon Lord reclining on his bed. His grin was as filthy as it was seductive, and Nene tried to draw her hands down to cover herself as his eyes raked over her, his tail flicking lazily against his thigh. She may as well have been completely bare before him with the way his gaze smoldered. 

“Yes, M’Lord.”

She didn’t struggle as they pulled the fabric over her head and harshly tugged her braids free of the collar, didn’t comment as they shoved her into the neat black shoes, muffled a gasp as they tied the bow of her apron with enough force to nearly drive the air from her lungs.

The demons hurried out as he snapped his fingers, one poking back in briefly to drop a mop, broom, and bucket inside the door with a cruel grin before it closed behind her. Nene kept her eyes shut as he crossed the room and curled his hands around her hips. 

There was nothing she could do as he twisted her from side to side and then turned her, trailing his claws across her belly as he pressed his face into her hair. She could feel the curve of his smile against the shell of her ear before he pulled away.

“You might as well look, my little Angel. You’ll be seeing yourself in it for the foreseeable future. Unless you’d like to clean in the nude.”

Nene snapped her eyes open as heat flooded her cheeks, and was surprised to find herself in a uniform that, while still inappropriate, covered much more than she was expecting. The puffed black sleeves left her arms bare, and the dark ruffles of her skirt at least came to her knees. It was actually cute, with the frilled overskirt and pink and white heart over her chest. 

“By the grace of providence we had one in your size.”

She glared at him as he chuckled as he floated behind her, magicing the bucket, mop, and broom into her hands. Providence, as if; more like limitless lechery, she thought as he adjusted her headband. She truly was stuck here, this wasn’t just an elaborate nightmare. 

Nene jumped with a scream as his hand smacked her bottom, cleaning supplies flying as he caught her up in his arms. That damned tail wound around her leg as if it had a mind of its own as he pinned her hands to his chest so he could twirl the ring around her finger. 

“And, my little Angel; a few more things.”

He bent her nearly backward as he slid his knee between her own, the tension in her spine the only thing keeping her from sprawling back over the bed. The ring on her finger seemed to burn with the same intensity as the one tapping against her thigh.

“You will be my personal attendant; you will wake me, bring me meals if I do not dine in the hall. When I do dine in the hall, you shall serve me. Ah ah, I’m not finished,” his finger pressed against her lips to silence her protests, “You will help me bathe, and dress, and cater to any of my whims.”

His hand slid down her back to cup her bottom and bring her hips flush to his. The hard lines of his body settled against the soft curves of her own with a familiarity that made her flush. 

“And I shall allow you to keep your innocence; for now.”

The press of him to the intimate place between her thighs made her whimper and tremble, and he only smirked. 

“Also, you shall address me as “My Lord” or “Master” when you speak to me; is that clear, my Angel?”

Nene dipped her head and mumbled as he shifted against her, his tail tightening around her thigh like a demonic garter. 

“I didn’t hear you, Angel.”

She lifted her head, meeting those blazing eyes with her own as she curled her nails into his chest and watched him wince. 

“Yes, Master.”

He dipped his head, mouth a breath from hers as he pressed their bodies closer together. Heat flooded her at every point they met, and she let her eyes flicker down to his lips worriedly.

“Good girl.”

And then he was gone. 

Nene sank onto the edge of the bed as he swept his hand out and the cleaning supplies disappeared with the spilled water. He pulled open the door of his room and gestured into the hall.

“Come along, unless you wish for me to take you now.”

She shot up from the bed and hurried to the entrance, shuttering as he laid his hand on the small of her back to guide her. 

“You have much to see before you help me tonight, and I don’t tolerate tardiness.”

Nene felt despair sink into her soul as he led her back down those twisting halls. There were more demons now, peeking from doorways and corners as they headed to the servants quarters. Eyes followed her every step, and the whispers hung in the air like a death sentence. 

The Lord of Lust had an Angel for a plaything, and wouldn’t he have fun with her? 

Her master’s hand slid lower as his tail lashed against her with every step, and she bit back her tears. This was her own fault, she had gotten herself into this mess. And she would have to be the one to get herself out. There would be no Divine Intervention to save her; the Angels did not listen to the cries that rose from Hell. 

If Nene wanted to escape, she’d have to do it herself.

And @anubis-005 Thank you SOOO much for this again! It is, as always, an honor and pleasure to work with you!!! <3 :3

#Nene's Inferno Au #anubis-005 #jshk #tbhk #hananene

[babbushka]

A December To Remember

Lawyer!Kylo Ren x Reader 

4.1k, cw: Possessive behavior; name-calling; unwanted advances from another man; NSFW (Rivals/rival relationship/enemy lovers, PIV, fingering, semi-public sex/office sex)

Available on AO3

                                              ------------------------

When the elevator doors open, Kylo has to physically brace himself. He had heard the music blasting from seven floors away, his discomfort only growing bigger and bigger as the elevator ticked up up up to Gwen’s lobby. His hands clench into fists in his leather gloves, refusing to take them off.

He wasn’t going to be here long, he promises himself as a conga line of santa hats nearly steps on his Allen-Edmonds; he just needed to show his face, have a drink, and get out. The office is all geared up for Christmas, Kylo walks through the winter wonderland of flocked trees decorated in white and gold, garland wrapped around support poles, big faux presents arranged nicely. There’s a live band and although they played well, the music is a bit much, as are the people singing along. Kylo tunes it out to the best of his ability, on a mission, a hunt.

One thing he can at least appreciate, was that this was a cocktail party, which meant everyone was dressed up nicely. Kylo loves an excuse to bring out his expensive suits, Burberry sitting nicely on his broad shoulders. No one could say he didn’t try to be festive – he had put on a black tuxedo made of soft mohair wool, that happened to have a saucy lapel of black satin for some holiday flair.  

As he walks through the crowds of attorneys who Kylo has never seen laugh and smile so much in his career, someone hands him a peppermintini. It’s not long before he feels a tap on his shoulder, and he nearly spills the cocktail by whirling around, thinking that at last, he’s found you.

He has half a mind to smile, but whatever he had thought of saying goes out the window when he sees it is not you, but rather it’s his friend Gwen. She’s gorgeous in a silver slinky number that dips down her muscled back very low, and Kylo leans in to press his cheek against hers in greeting.

“Well well well, look who actually decided to show up.” Gwen nearly has to shout to be heard over the volume of the party.

He rolls his eyes at her teasing, takes a sip of the offending holiday cocktail – where the fuck could a guy get some whiskey around here?

“I was invited, wasn’t I?” Kylo replies, even though he’s not really looking at her. Gwen is probably the only person he knows who is as tall as him, and tonight she’s wearing heels which make her actually a few inches taller.

“Yes, but I’ve seen the stack of unopened invitations sitting on your desk.” She snaps her fingers in front of his face, drawing his attention back to her for the time being as she raises a platinum blonde brow, “Let’s not you and I pretend that you’re here because you want to enjoy the cheer of the holiday.”

The both of them exchange a little huff of laughter, because really she was right. Kylo is here because he had heard through the grapevine that you had RSVP’d, and there was nothing that could have prevented Kylo coming to see you if that were true.

“I’ve been informed that it is appropriate to make appearances now and again, even brief ones.” He sighs into his drink, nose crinkling at the sheer minty-ness of it.

“You can’t leave you just got here!” Gwen groans, “Stay for a little while, there’s some people who want to talk to you.”

“Whether or not I stay is contingent to one thing.” He shakes his head with a grimace, and at this Gwen’s sharp eyes sparkle with the light of knowing his secret.

“I last saw her over by the buffet.” Gwen sips her own cocktail, speaking lowly enough so that only he can hear, not like anyone is listening.

“I don’t know who you mean.” Kylo’s palms immediately begin to sweat inside his gloves, and he fixes the wall a hard stare to avoid that knowing look in her eye.

“Between you and me, I’m surprised she showed up just as much as I am that you did.” Gwen scoffs, and that at the very least was something Kylo understood.

As difficult as it was trying to pin Kylo down for something as unsavory as a Christmas party, you were notoriously hard to convince to come to anything for the holidays if you didn’t feel like it. It was one of the things that Kylo appreciated about you – not that Kylo liked you, or anything.

He shakes the thought away from his head.

“But you’re sure she’s here?” Kylo asks, an intensity to his question that has Gwen laughing.

“Yes – and do try not to make a scene.” She pats him on the back, before sauntering away to go entertain.

“What’s a Christmas party without a little scandal?” Kylo mutters to himself, trying to figure out which way the food was.

He recognizes people from six or seven different law firms as he tries to cut his way through the party. Gwen hadn’t been joking, about a dozen men in suits shake his hand and introduce themselves, congratulating him on winning his most recent case. Interns have stars in their eyes when he passes, and Kylo tries his best not to be such a grinch to their faces.

At this rate, he’s starting to get frustrated and irritated, he still hasn’t found you. The peppermintini was long finished, and he didn’t ask for a refill when he passed the bar. The entire outing was shaping up to be a waste, and Kylo is about ready to give up when he finally catches a whiff of your perfume.

“…That’s nice.” He hears your disinterested voice pipe up from a spot on the other end of the lobby where he has wandered, and Kylo lets himself be led to you, using his height to search for you in the jovial crowd.

Some schmuck is trying to herd you in the direction of where a big sprig of mistletoe has been tied under a doorframe, and the minute Kylo sees it happening, jealousy and rage simmer up straight up his spine.

“Isn’t it? I got the sonofabitch off a ten-year sentence. He was absolutely guilty but, that’s not my problem anymore.” A handsome pretty boy with perfectly straight teeth that are practically fluorescent from how white they are tries dazzling you.

“Uh huh.” You sound like you could not care less, and that for some reason only makes Kylo angrier – couldn’t this boy see that you weren’t interested?

Kylo tries to say his excuse me and his pardon mes, as he winds through the lobby on his mission to you. It’s difficult, because you won’t stay still for fucks sake, so every time Kylo thinks he’s just about gotten to you, you take a sharp turn to try and lose the boy’s unwanted attention.

“So anyway I was thinking to celebrate, maybe you can come back to mine after this shindig gets wrapped up.” He says, slipping an arm around your waist.

Kylo’s blood boils.

“Excuse me?” Your tone shifts dramatically, from uninterested to offended at his presumptions. Your body stiffens up at once, and that arm drops from your waist like he’s been electrocuted.

“I brought my own car and everything, we don’t even have to take the subway.” The boy tries to impress you, but you’re having none of it.

“I don’t think so, I have no intentions on going anywhere with you.” You shut his advances down, “Tonight, or any night.”

This angers the boy, which in turn makes Kylo see red, and he doesn’t even realize that he’s literally shoving himself in between happy couples and groups of cheerful friends to close that last bit of distance between you and him.

“Well then what the hell have you been doing this entire time, leading me on like this?” The boy reaches out to grasp harshly around your wrist when you try and make your leave, “Hey – !”

“She said no.” Kylo’s voice is dark and dangerous as he appears behind the boy, who drops your wrist at once.

“Kylo?” The sound of his name on your lips is enough to keep him from killing this boy in a blind rage, and his eyes flick to you in a very curt greeting.

“Listen to me -- and listen to me carefully.” Kylo looms over this lesser attorney, casting a shadow over the boy’s face from the sheer breadth of him, “I am going to close my eyes and count to three. If you are still here bothering this woman when I open them again, I will reach down your throat and rip your lungs out through your mouth and I will make it look like an accident. Understand?”

“Y-yes.” The boy stammers out, nearly chokes.

“Yes what?” Kylo sneers, jaw clenched.

“Yes sir!” He squeaks in terror -- Kylo doesn’t even have to close his eyes before the boy is scrambling away, and everyone around you is snickering at how he’s gone bright red in the face as he leaves the party entirely.

Now that that was taken care of, Kylo holds a hand out for you, which you take automatically. He would never admit to it, but the feeling of your palm against his has him calm almost at once.

“You have to stop doing that, you know.” You say, as Kylo leads you away from the crowded party of the lobby, and out towards the big balcony.

It’s cold outside, the past few days bringing a light dusting of snow, but you don’t seem to mind. You’ve got a fur stole wrapped around your shoulders to keep you warm. Even out here has been decorated to match the Christmas spirit, with twinkling lights covering every available surface.

“Oh but it’s so fun to watch them squirm.” He smiles, pulling you close to him as the two of you rest against the railing.

“No, not that,” You shake your head, “I mean rescuing me. I can handle myself.”

“I know you can, but again, where would be the fun in that?” Kylo only winks, and you lightly smack his arm.

You’re about to say something, when you notice that dangling above both of your heads is a bit of mistletoe, tied together with a red velvet ribbon. It spins ever so gently in the slight breeze from being so high up, and you nudge Kylo’s hand on the railing with your own.

“Look.” You whisper, and Kylo looks up too.

“Now who put that there…?” He grins smooth as ever, as he ducks his head down and kisses you.

Kissing you was rapidly becoming one of Kylo’s favorite pastimes. It was too bad you were such a fucking pain in his side most of the time, if you weren’t so stubborn and difficult, he’s sure you’d spend a lot more time kissing each other.

But then again, you are stubborn and difficult, and you have no intention of stopping. Kylo hates that about you, hates how upset it makes him. No one gets under his skin the way you do, and so he pays you back by giving you the best kiss of your life – that’ll show you.

Your mouth parts for his, eyes closed. Your breaths come out in little sighs, and Kylo feels his body reacting to it. He hasn’t been able to get a good look at you all evening, but when he does, he loves what he sees. You’re wearing a dress in a color that perfectly compliments your skin, in a shape that fits your body exactly how you like it to.

His hands grasp at your hips a little too tightly, making you nip at his lower lip with a teasing smirk.

Christmas has never been something Kylo cared remotely about, but he’s big enough to admit that the lights really do wonders for making you look like a goddamned movie star. You both pull away enough just in case someone were to look out the window or come onto the balcony and see – neither of you could really have that, it was bad enough that there were bets about you through the different firms, the last thing you needed was to let any one side win.

“It’s criminal, how good you look.” Kylo tugs on the fabric of your neckline, “Someone ought to do something about it.”

“Hmm, like what?” You play along, your hand reaching down down down and grasping a hold of Kylo’s cock, ever so briefly, giving in a squeeze.

“Bend you over and fuck you hard, just the way you deserve.” He presses his mouth against your ear, he can practically hear your heartbeat picking up.

“Too bad you scared off poor Mike,” You say with a tsk of your tongue against the roof of your mouth, “I bet he would’ve loved to do the honors.”

Mike, that was the schmucks name? Kylo had almost forgotten entirely about him, about the way he had put his hands on you without your permission. He would make a couple calls, get the kid fired.

Or demoted, at the very least.

He wasn’t sure yet.

“You want to get me mad, is that it? And here we were having such a nice time.” Kylo looks around again, makes sure no one is seeing anything that’s happening out there on the balcony as he snakes a hand up up up your thigh.

“Maybe I like it when you’re mad, maybe I know you’re going to show me a real good time.” You smirk, and Kylo is reminded why he hates you so much, you’re so spoiled, getting whatever you want whenever you want it.

“Such a fucking brat.” He snaps, hand reaching for your and tugging you back through the doors with a, “Come with me.”

Kylo is faced with the party once again and is trying to find the best way to get the fuck out of there, when you pull him in a different direction.

“No – I know a spot, this way.” You bite back a pleased grin, and Kylo has to roll his eyes, letting you lead the way.

Deep deep deep in the bowels of the office, far away from the lobby and all the festivities, the music sounds a million miles away. You’ve tugged Kylo into a conference room with big glass walls and a glass door, like a little zoo enclosure. It’s nearly pitch black, none of the lights are turned on. The only illumination is from the city outside, the ambient glow of New York beginning their celebration of Christmas. The Rockefeller tree shines brightly a few blocks down the road, a perfect view from this conference room.

Fleetingly, Kylo has half a mind to ask you to go ice skating, but then you’re hopping up on the table and spreading your legs, the skirt of your dress hiked up around your hips. You’re not wearing any panties, a pair of thigh garters holding up your stockings – and Kylo’s mind goes blank.

“Aren’t you cold?” He asks, immediately pushing you farther up the table, wanting a better view of your pussy as your thighs rub together from being so exposed.

“Yes,” You admit licking your lips, “But you’ll warm me up, won’t you?”

Kylo groans, bites off his gloves with his teeth, wastes no time in trailing his fingertips through your folds. You squirm at the touch, wanting to be filled by him, any way you could get it. He dips them deeper between your legs, nothing but the sound of your breathing filling the quiet of the room.

“Slut, god what a fucking slut you are – look at you, pussy already wet for me.” Kylo grits out between his teeth, his cock filling out in his expensive trousers, straining against his briefs.

His fingers seek the wet heat of your cunt, and he pumps them in and out slowly while he tries undoing the buckle of his belt. Your hands help him, your legs falling open farther as his fingers bury themselves in your pussy. The stretch is beautiful, and you moan, leaning back until you’re resting on the table fully.

“Are you going to talk? Or are you going to fuck me?” You challenge from your spot on the table, your hands rubbing up and down your stomach, hips lifting so he can finger you a little faster.

“Both, I can do both, fuck you’re sexy.” He huffs, unbuttons his suit jacket, shucks down his trousers and briefs enough to pull his cock out and give it a good few strokes with the hand that’s not thrusting in and out of your cunt, blunt nails dragging against your walls.

“I know.” You’re full of yourself – full of Kylo – and you moan from the thought, “Hurry up, someone could catch us.”

“No they can’t, I locked the door. It’s just you and me sweetheart – thaaaat’s it.” Kylo replaces his fingers with his cock, your folds swallowing him down, oozing and dripping slick all over your thighs.

He shoves in roughly once he’s got the head in, pushes into you in one fluid motion that has your back arching. Kylo grabs at your legs, is careful of your heels as he pins your ankles together and tucks them against his shoulder, your body pressed together as he begins to thrust in earnest.

“Yes! Fucking finally,” Your palms smear sweat on the polished wood of the conference table, and before he knows it, you’re pulling one hand up to lightly smack at his arm. “You know I’ve been waiting here for you for two fucking hours, you asshole.”

Only you could give him such an icy glare while also pushing your tits up for him to play with. Kylo reaches out to pinch hard at one of your nipples, and you whine, your thighs trembling just a little from being held up like this.

Kylo’s big fat cock stuffs you full, your pussy even tighter from having your legs pressed together like this. Normally he likes to look down and watch his dick disappear into you, but he can barely see your face as it is in the dark of the room, so he doesn’t mind. Besides, he can feel you – can feel the way you throb and pulse around him, how you flutter and clench, and it’s enough.

“If I had known – damn you’re tight – you’d be here – fuck (Y/N) – I would’ve come earlier.” Kylo latches himself to your neck, bending you nearly in half as his hips speed up, his balls smacking against your ass as he pushes you up up up the table.

“I – ah Kylo be careful,” You warn him when one of your shoes falls right off your foot and lands on the wood with a thud. He rips the other one off and throws it to the floor, leaving your legs in nothing but the stockings and garters. Your hand tangles in his hair as you press him back down to your throat, where he sucks and bites at your skin. “I don’t know why you couldn’t just fucking call me back. We – oh yes, yes harder come on – we could’ve avoided all this bullshit.”

“You’re the one who hung up on me last time!” Kylo pulls himself more upright, scowling down at you as he grabs your face, gives your jaw a little shake.

“Oh!!” Your body tenses up unexpectedly, his cock accidentally slipping out and pushing back in wrong.

Kylo fumbles just a little bit in the dark, lets your legs fall as he tries to fix the angle, tries to get himself back inside your pussy as quickly as he can. It just feels wrong to not fuck you, it feels wrong to not be joined with you as completely as possible. Even when you’re scowling at him and he’s glowering right back at you – maybe especially then.

“Relax for me?” Kylo strokes your hip with his thumb, and your body gives way for him once again, your legs wrapping around his waist as he pushes back in and continues fucking you exactly like you like it, “There we go, anyway you wouldn’t have answered me.”

“Could’ve – faster Kylo, you could’ve left a voicemail.” You hiccup, and he hates that you’re right.

He hates it as your body opens up for him, takes him, takes the fucking. You’re such a fucking princess you make him do all the work with a big smug grin on your face before he shifts his hips just right in a way that’s got your eyes rolled back into your head, mouth dropped open. He grabs your jaw again and makes out with you, wants his tongue on yours, wants your teeth scraping against his.

“Sure – fuck you, ugh fuck, I’m – ” Kylo can barely get the words out, kissing you and fucking you in the dark and quiet like this, while everyone enjoys the party just beyond the locked door of the open floor plan of cubicles.

“Me too,” You nod, desperate for him, wanting to come so badly that you twine your fingers into his hair and tug sharply, voice breathy and high and panting as you demand, “Kylo more – !”

He gives it to you, plows his cock into you so hard that he pushes the table askew, makes the chairs on their rolling wheels move all over the place from the effort of it. He bites down hard onto your neck and rubs your clit, rolls it between his fingers while his cock forces itself as deep as it can go, shallow thrusts to fill you up all the way, pushing right up against your cervix, making you yelp out your orgasm.

Feeling your cunt throb and gush for him, Kylo comes soon after, pumping himself in and out mindlessly, the both of you reveling in your pleasure. With a weak shaking hand, you tug down the sleeves of the bodice of your dress, let it fall away from your breasts. Like a moth to flame, Kylo is drawn to your cleavage, and he wastes no time pulling one of your tits out of the pretty lacy bra you’ve got on.

He sucks and kisses at your flesh as his cock pulses and spills more come into you, the both of you trying to catch your breath. He spares a glance up to you, pleased to see you’re fucked out nicely, eyes closed, lips parted and drooling just a little onto your cheek as you’ve got your face turned to one side. Kylo lets his eyes close too, mouths at your nipple until he’s sure he’s emptied himself inside of your wanting cunt.

Then, when he pulls you to sit upright on the table, instead of helping you with your clothes or even cleaning up the mess between your thighs, he stays buried inside of you and fishes his phone out from the inside of his jacket pocket.

“What are you doing?” You ask with a nosy frown, trying to lean around his big hand and see what he’s pulling up on his phone.

Kylo just kisses you quiet, dials the phone and puts it up to his ear while it rings.

“Calling the car to come pick us up and take us back to my place,” He murmurs against the corner of your mouth, before cracking the joints in his neck and grumbling, “Unless you’d rather mingle with a hundred boring nobodies like Mike instead.”

You just scrub a hand down your face with a smile, try to start fixing your hair back to something less mussed.

“I’m starving, can we pick up takeout on the way?” You stretch, wincing when Kylo finally does pull out of you, the feeling of being empty making you grimace just a bit.

He chuckles and kisses you again, lets your arms slip around his neck without any protest.

“Whatever you want.” Kylo kisses your cheek, diverting his attention to the phone call once his driver picks up.

Though the holidays had you at one another’s throats like rabid vicious dogs most days, Kylo wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world. Because for all the bitching and bickering, there were moments like these. Moments in the dark where you both let yourselves have what it was that you wanted.

And who knew, maybe the new year would bring about a whole new set of opportunities and possibilities, you’d just have to wait and see. One thing was for sure though, Kylo thinks as he helps you off the table and you both search for some tissues or something to wipe up the mess you’ve made, it certainly was a December to remember.

#kylo ren x reader #kylo ren/reader #kylo ren/you #kylo ren smut #kylo ren fanfiction #adam driver fanfic #adcu #my writing #modern kylo ren #lawyer au #lawyer!kylo ren

[aaetherius]

@cxffexngel:

[ cxffeexngel ] modern AU!! || because this has been in my mind for days sFÑKDSFDf have soft time!

Unlike the pouring rains of an announced storm and a message sent in a whim. Sandalphon’s invitation fell on a calm day, with pillowy clouds dusting the canvas of the stretching blue skies on a quiet afterwork hours of sundown. A confession made in days passed and an evergrowing bond with stolen gazes and lips touching whenever extra eyes did not pry over them. Sandalphon adored kissing lucifer, adored those warm welcomes whenever Lucifer was the one already first thing in the morning for their shared shifts, or taking that mantle himself and welcome the taller with cups ready in their favorite spot under the gaze of the sun filtered through the windows adorned in flowers that never had ceased coming as offerings and all the more secret words his voice couldn’t hope to whisper to the other. The you g man resided now during one of those free days closing the flowershop, dusting off tables and leaves, changing pots and moving those that needed extra hours of sun before the evening would claim the rest of the day thorough. The slightest tinge of anxiety clinging behind his mind, after mulling for hours to pour just exactly which words to type over the phone and let Lucifer know he could come over if he wanted to, having deleted the message over and over until settling with the simplest ’ I have nothing to do, feel free to come over if you want ’ only to be replied within seconds with the most adorable message, if not perhaps a bit formal considering Lucifer’s tendencies if not to how he adorned his texts with cutesy stickers the young man failed to not blush for or ever not find them less than endearing when they were between sheep, drawn cats happy with sparkles and very colorful animated ones. Ah, he really finds ways to fall in love with this man everyday, isn’t he? With the flowershop properly locked, and turning over the ’ Open’ sign to seal it for the day, the young barista and shoopkeeper is done for the day, the welcoming aroma of freshly brewed coffee permeating every inch of his home as it rests in idle silence, if not by the gentle song of water heating over the stove not too far from the main room - and the open bags of beans and cups ready to be filled. For now, Sandalphon only attempts drowning every voice about how anything could go wrong, his coffee going acid, the temperature not being right - thinking too much like Gran often liked to poke fun at the cranky barista those days the young man inadvertently broke into his house somehow despise having checked each of his locks twice or even trice just to ensure that the pest the other adored to make himself out to be couldn’t get in. Always futile because it seemed like no lock was match against Gran’s lockpicking and his indestructible will to simply invite himself into Sandalphon’s home. Sometimes even with the girl in blue who made it even easier for the barista to simply cave in and let them stay and steal his food. - those memories are enough to ignore the impending doom that could brew should he mull over the little details about this and that. A soundless sigh slips past somewhat dry lips, tired eyes blinking calmly when attention flicks towards one of the windows as gentle breeze blows curtains into a serene dance matching leaves of branches and leaves outside, palm over his cheek scratching aimlessly any tension left that arises as spontaneously as it leaves. Only finding light within the autumn scarlet within his eyes when spotting the familiar shine of opal locks shimmering behind the blurriness barely transparent curtains of white could offer casting a shadow over that form that Sandalphon could arguably recognize even amidst a crowed street. His body moving before he could think towards the main door, and fingers curling tightly over the handle to twist it and push the frame open for the other, a sheepish smile drawn all over dusted rose pale features, sporting Lucifer’s borrowed hood and black legging the young man often wore whenever there was no work to be done, and the always needed pair of heeled boots rarely Sandalphon took off. “A-Ah! Welcome, Lucifer! ” Sandalphon almost wanted to visibly wince at how drearily hoarse his voice comes despise his initial joy - but he doesn’t, instead clearing his throat with a small cough over his palm. “ Please come on! I’m readying our cups, feel free to choose any seat if you’re tired. ” Continues, while stepping to the side giving the taller enough space so he could finally step in, and their time together start and go along however it takes - ah, how feeble his heart is that the thought alone of Lucifer in his home makes it leap into his throat, and rob any coherent thought or even the plans he mulled over the whole morning about everything.

    Sandalphon’s text had kick started his heart after he had returned to his apartment to try out a handful of new coffee recipes he had written down in his journal when he hadn’t been attending to customers this afternoon - something that had become a less frequent habit of his following his confession as the slow hours were typically spent with his attention fixed on the barista instead of a notebook these days. He’d texted the other back before thinking much about his response - he could never deny Sandalphon’s company, and he had tossed off his work clothes to change into something a tad bit more casual in a matter of minutes as well…only to pause as he was slipping out of the door with a mildly displeased Ellie seated comfortably, he thinks, on the plush cushion nestled inside of the feline backpack strapped safely around his shoulders. After all, he couldn’t leave her alone for the night - that would be downright criminal when she’s spent a night on her since he had rescued her. His unwilling companion (who would have been perfectly content to romp around the apartment unattended) aside, he had realized that he hadn’t prepared anything to give to the other. Perhaps it was a somewhat trivial notion, but despite all of the flowers and beautiful poems Sandalphon had gifted him with, he hadn’t done much in return for the other. His own knowledge of flowers had come from the barista himself, and he had little talent when it came to writing out meaningful poems. Even Michael, who had known him nearly his entire life, struggled to follow his notes. Neat as his handwriting naturally was, he had a terrible habit of jotting down notes in a manner only he could truly understand. Ah, and bringing flowers to a flowers hop didn’t seem like a suitable gift either. Sweets wouldn’t do wither, Sandalphon favored bitter and savory foods, much like how he preferred his coffee. So, quickly, the smile upon his features had faded as he lingered in the doorway of his apartment, smiling softly at the various neighbors that walked past him. A low hum rumbles in throat for moment as he strokes his chin absentmindedly before turning tail back into the apartment, gingerly removing a handful of things from the cluttered bookshelf and carefully tucking them away behind Ellie so they weren’t terribly apparent before he slipped outside to a day distinctly unlike the one he had mindlessly invited Sandalphon over on when it had been storming dreadfully.

    The walk to the flower shop is a short one, yet, despite that, he checks his phone constantly on the way. He had memorized the address when the other had sent it to him, but the rush of joy that had held his heart tightly enough that it made his chest throb was enough to make that information leap to the very back of his mind. He had never been to the barista’s home before, and he hadn’t been aware of the fact that he owned a flower shop until very recently - to say he was delighted would be an understatement when he feels something akin to excitement for the first time in years; perhaps for the first time since he had dabbled in coffee that fateful say more than a decade ago. And his hand comes up to press firmly against the center of his chest as if doing so would somehow quell the swan song of his heart as every step brought him closer to the one he loves most. For so long, truthfully, he had felt numb - the emotions he harbored had been tucked deep within him, unable to break free from the constant guilt and sense of melancholy that hung over him. He had forgotten what feeling excited was like - what looking forward to something could be like, and he had thought, for quite some time now, that he was incapable of feeling something so unbridled. But Sandalphon brings him more joy than he could have ever dreamed of experiencing, despite the pain that comes alongside it, so he can only tighten his hold around the fabric clumped between his fingers as he exhales in the humid air, and allows his gaze to wander upwards towards the clear sky. Its color paling now that the better part of the day had come and gone, but it still casts a gentle, blue shadow onto his pale features as he stops in front of the flower ship, and Sandalphon’s home. Pearly strands of hair absorb the colors cast upon them, and reflect them back with a gentle shimmer that almost makes it appear as if wayward strands of his hair are glowing in an array of dazzling colors. Sometimes, he’s reminded, the world can be a beautiful place. But, truly, he’s always found the sky to be something remarkable - something free; something wondrous, and grand. As a child, he used to dream of reaching his hand up high enough to touch the clouds despite knowing all he would come away with were damp fingers. Even now, a small part of him is still drown to the vast blue, and the gentle, creamy clouds that float through it without a care.

    The click of the door draws him away from his thoughts, and he quickly loosens his hold on the white shirt he’s wearing before trying, and failing, to smooth out the wrinkles he’s formed in the fabric before trying, and failing once more, to cover them with the light blue sleeve of his hoodie as an impossibly warm smile spills onto his rosy lips. Their hue nearly the same shade as the color that dusts over Sandalphon’s features, though the utterly fond look stretched across Lucifer’s visage doesn’t quite match the other’s sheepish one. And it brightens all the more once he realizes the barista is wearing the hoodie he had borrowed from him. And that, too, makes his chest ache, but in a different way than the anticipation that had crept through his bloodstream a moment ago. Love is a strange thing, he thinks, it’s not a singular emotion but rather a collection of so many complex feelings he can’t place individual names to that he hardly knows what he’s supposed to feel at any given point in time. “Good evening, Sandalphon,” he offers, his voice gentle and soft and full of affection. And the sound of the other’s name appears to be all it takes for Ellie to meow loudly from her bubbly, lavender prison upon Lucifer’s back as she tries to crane her neck around to curiously peek beyond her owner’s shoulder at the younger man - her keen eyes narrowing into a glare once she spots that familiar nest of auburn hair. Lucifer, for his part, seems entirely unaware of Ellie’s struggles when he’s utterly captivated by the sight of Sandalphon dressed in his hoodie alongside his typical leggings and heels. “Thank you, and thank you for allowing me to visit you. I’m looking forward to tasting the coffee you’ve made, and – ah, I have something for you, as well, when we have a moment.” It’s hard for him to focus when he’s still awestruck by the sight of the homely flower shop that doubles as the barista’s residence. Something about it seems magical to him, perhaps if only because it’s where Sandalphon lives. And he can’t imagine a place he would rather be than beside the other, yet, even so, stepping into the smaller’s home is a strange mixture of comfortable and wonderful. His eyes wander everything and anything for a moment before he shakes his head gently to snap his attention back to Sandalphon. “I’m grateful you invited me over, and I’m so very happy to see you, Sandalphon.” Slowly, he reaches out his hand to push a few strands of auburn hair behind the other’s ear - his fingers gently gliding over the other’s skin as he leans forward to place a kiss in greeting upon the top of the smaller’s head before withdrawing again at the sound of another meow echoing against the rounded window of the backpack Ellie is still seated in, and he can’t stop the hoarse chuckle that falls from his lips. “Forgive me, I may have brought an uninvited guest along. She has never been left alone, so I’m afraid I didn’t have the heart to leave her behind today. I’m certain; however, that she’ll be on her best behavior. She’s rather fond of you after all.” Fond is not the word most people would use to describe Ellie’s feelings towards rival, and it most certainly wasn’t how the feline felt to the man she had dubbed an intruder in her quiet, and peaceful life, but, well, Lucifer, for whatever reason, was convinced they got along wonderfully.

#cxffexngel #| ☩ i would bend the skies; realign all the stars in space; just to be with you ☩ (cxffexngel: sandalphon) | #| ☩ to meet with you again ☩ (verse: au - modern) | #| ☩ thread 100: sandalphon: cxffexngel ☩ | #{ Thank you for sending this! } #{ Okay so I got hit with the new post editor finally and I am attempting to use my old man brain to figure out #how to works and what the heck I am doing } #{ so if I post this and it looks like a hot mess I'm sorry GFDJKHJBFCGKHD } #{ I am not afraid to admit that I have not a single clue as to what I am doing but I am doing it anyway gfdfjghjdkhjsf } #{ Lucifer 100% has one of those cat window backpacks no I do not accept constructive criticism bvfghfdkgjfvd } #| ☩ and once again the sky rises; sincere and melancholic ☩ (ic) | #{ Oops forgot that one fghdjgfjkd tungle ate all of my tags with the update ;u.u; fdjghjdhsj }

[sunpopp]

hi!! when and if you have the time, can i request a kard reaction to you being tall? tysm! ♡

A/N: yeeeees of course, sweets, and sick username 😩

Geared towards: femme!reader

Taehyung ♡:

• doesn't really show it but man loves tall bitches 😩

• he said "may I get that to go pls"

• first time he saw you, he literally couldn't take his eyes off you

• was enamoured with how you held your head up high, looking like a beacon in the sea of people you stood center of, and almost parting everyone away from you as your presence demanded any and all attention

• he's so grateful that he had the balls to approach you that day

• adores when you wear heels, because that makes you even taller, pretty much hovering over him depending on the height of the shoe

• makes him feel powerful, actually

• ya know?

• like if he walks into a club with you, you make him stand straighter; his strides are more confident, and you beside him gives him a type of support he didn't know he was missing

• you make him even better when you do the same for yourself

• like two halves :)

Matthew ♡:

• I think he'd be intimidated at first

• manz is 6'1 so he's very used to being the tallest one in the room

• and to see you maybe a couple inches from rivaling his height if not already there?

• bro- he'd be i m p r e s s e d

• and, Imma be honest with you, he usually doesn't go for tall people

• because he's BORING and TASTELESS 👹

• AND HE DOESN'T KNOW THAT THE BIG BITCHES ALWAYS HAVE SOMETHIN TO OFFER

• but you?? He... He wasn't expecting you

• shout-out to the people who get my crusty ass references 😩

• so he slid up on your cute ass and now he literally can't get enough

• "Your Highness. Get it? Cuz-.. cuz Highness, and you're tall? >:D"

• god he makes me so mayad

Somin ♡:

• Somin never really cared about height

• all she wanted was someone who was a sweetie

• but you were a bonus package so she couldn't help but notice

• you put the 'oh' in oh maybe I do care 😌

• if you give her piggy backs/put her on your shoulders, she'll literally get so happy it's hilarious-

• "Yeaaaaaaaah here we go 😈"

• feels very safe with you around :))

• also uses your shadow to cool herself down if y'all are out in the sun JSHSJSNA

• "Could you just stand- yeah, much better"

• when you're used as shade 😞💔

Jiwoo ♡:

• literally in love with you

• finds your height so sexy, because it means she can show you off

• like "look at my Amazonian lover, amirite?? Haha omg 🤭"

• finds it even better when you wear heels

• cuz then it's like- omg it's such a good contrast

• Jiwoo's lil ass next to you, looking mean as hell and then you, a lampost either like 🥰💖🌺✨ or 🖤😼⚡🔪⛓️

• we love to see y'alls duo 😩

• overall, very much a turn-on for her

#answered #kard jiwoo #kard bm #kard somin #kard jseph #jseph #kard taehyung #kard reaction #kard reactions #kard #kpop reactions #kpop imagines #kpop fluff #kpop scenarios #kpop x you #kpop x reader #idol x reader #kpop idol #reactions #requested