#// surprise! bet you hoped you'd seen the last of me!

[nudesfornp]

what an angel

[freuleinanna]

trials (and errors)

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | AO3

Chapter 5: Bonds

The afterthought. Of cold creatures, scarce friends, and inevitability that comes with it.

Welp....... As you might have noticed, I suck at consistent writing. I wouldn't blame you if you have no idea what was happening in the fic before :D Maybe it's even a plus. I struggled with this chapter so much, because I think it's kind of abundant, and then it kept growing longer and longer, and I'm sorry in advance if it's over-explaining or simply not good. I like parts of it, though, so I'm posting it to have it all there. Let's have the last look at Marisa - and see the aftermath of a bloodbath that was love.

Asriel walks out of the court that day stripped of all status, lands, and money, yet still somehow a free man.

She walks out a widow and a pariah with her husband’s estate still hers, with her money untouched, and a gnawing feeling of being flung into oblivion.

The car is moving, but she sits immobile: shell-shocked in a way, staring out of the window and not really seeing a thing behind the glass. Inside her, something spreads. What Marisa initially thought to be an exhaustive after-wave of tension, accumulated up to a breaking point and then suddenly released, continues to grip her in a far less decipherable manner. Head tilted in curiosity, she’s tracking an unfamiliar presence. Come to think of it, it’s been there the whole time. The presence appears alive, conscious even, and cold – cold enough to raise concerns with little icy snakes slithering through her limbs. So much so, it makes her frown and collect herself for confrontation.

She never does confront. In a similar way, victims of a shipwreck know it’s over when the last crumbs of their warmth succumb to the glacial sea. A tragedy, yes, but also a salvation. As the same coldness crawls between Marisa’s ribs and over the devastated lands beneath, a sigh escapes her, for at that moment she starts to feel preciously,

mercifully,

less.

Parts of her resist, fighting to keep the pain. Her daemon becomes restless. There’s turning and chattering, and looking around, and clawing at air as though he senses some vague threat but cannot locate it precisely. When his little paw brushes against Marisa’s elbow, she almost cries out, so hot it gets in her chest. She thinks of volcano eruptions: mountains of earth convulsing lava out of their smoldering depths, wailing in pain. No wonder it happens so rarely. It must be terror for volcanoes to erupt.

Marisa Coulter, née Delamare, cannot afford terror.

With her bankrupt nerve, she can hardly afford anything anymore, so she invites the freezing touch further in. The monkey zings away from her. It feels like discovering breathing for the first time. No one discovers breathing and then gives it up.

Questions of right or wrong do not entice her while busy streets outside grow emptier and wider, dissolving into landscapes. Her womb still aches, and her heart does too, and she is, simply put, tired of things constantly aching. She wishes for a relief.

Then, of course, the house. The car door opens, inviting the raindrops to draw a haphazard pattern on Marisa’s dress. She hesitates, locked in her metamorphosis. Funny, how colors get darker with water. Blue grows dim, as if across her knees miniature bottomless trenches appear, like those on a sea floor. Something’s coming from them. It is rising,

flowing,

entering her,

filling her to the brim.

Water is licking embers off the ground.

And then – it spills.

‘Madam?’

‘Yes.’

Snapping out of it, Marisa draws cool air.

She steps out with flooded lungs.

Raising its mighty roof into the drizzling skies, the house looks a living creature, a nightmarish one. It opens the hungry gates to swallow her, and rearranges the corridors, and prepares for a long, long digestion. A few lit windows could pass for unevenly placed eyes, the gravel – for the voice. Exile, exile, it whispers in the rain. What the house doesn’t notice, however, is the change occurred in Marisa, for a creature that came forth within her is strong, stronger than masonry walls, and much more twisted in its nature than their elaborate floral moldings. When she walks in, a spark of indigo against the muted shadows, she’s not afraid of being consumed.

She may be stuck with the house, but the house is just as much stuck with her.

From there, it’s fast.

Whatever isolated hermit life she was leading is rushing at her from every corner. Sinking into it was gradual, but sinking back after having got out is a plunge. A dive. A jump into abyss, now dreadfully deeper if Marisa cared to feel dread.

Instead, she–

Well.

She spends her days locked up in countless rooms with a maid that hates her and acid burning her insides. She drinks, and goes insane for a while. She wears the most extravagant dresses and demands dinners to be served in the dining hall. She tortures the help into submission. Whether it’s a part of her defense or something she was born with, Marisa doesn’t bother herself with contemplations. She contemplates very little at all, but enjoys contempt in Hilda’s eyes. At least it’s a feeling, a mark of her existence. Marisa struggles to feel properly alive. At the same time, she undeniably is.

That vicious mind of hers sits right between her eyebrows day and night, always hateful, always painfully alert. She drags it around like an anvil. Perhaps, it is the tragedy of brilliant people: their mind never truly sleeps. It studies everything with a probing interest, assessing and categorizing, analyzing and synthesizing, seeing in perfect clarity all the vulnerable spots to attack, everyone a subject, including the carrier.

So Marisa wanders, and watches, and keeps silent except to wound with words. Then wanders some more. Always an enthusiast for shadows, now she downright rejects having sunlight seep through heavy drapes. Oftentimes, she forgets to eat, or eats a pick or two out of whatever feast she makes the kitchen staff come up with, so she grows thinner, scrawnier. Maternal roundness slips off of her, no more missed than food leftovers she doesn’t think twice about. It gives her a girlish look. It gives her a girlish look in a sense of there being multitudes of girls who burn their woman’s grief like fuel to keep running.

Time is stealing around without causing too much disturbance to still waters.

There’s one particular day when Marisa spends hours staring at her reflection. Not for vane reasons, and not for philosophical ones – she merely stumbles across the mirror and feels drawn to it, exploring herself as a scientist would. To her genuine pleasure, she discovers that, when she makes a little effort to hide the monsters, she still looks extremely attractive, with the kind of allure that can easily be used as a weapon.

‘Why, yes, Your Excellency, I’ll gladly resume my work,’ she laughs, training the dry cracking out of her voice. ‘It truly takes extraordinary people like yourself to look beyond the old ways and welcome the scientific potential.’

Sounds flow lighter than a melody, equal parts fluttery and charm. Marisa tries a few more phrases. They all come out just as perfect – silver bells chiming in the wind, waiting for a listener to enchant. She winces in anger, at once losing her appeal. Words are just words until she has something substantial to offer, an actual line of research, because empty-handed beggars, however pretty, receive nothing.

Her mirror self returns a heavy look. She has a weary face now. That’s unpleasant. Around her mouth the lines have deepened, etched into her skin, adding elle-ne-sait-quoi to the appearance. Something monkey-ish, it feels. Animalistic in the worst form. Marisa stands miming violence at the mirror, conjuring the most horrible expressions in complete silence, biting air, so close to the glass that her reflection all but disappears under the foggy trails of breath she leaves on the surface.

Her daemon sits nearby, engrossed in picking at a loose thread of a curtain. In his crafty fingers it slowly, but inevitably, comes out, sometimes tearing the cloth when he tugs too hard. A hole appears then, and some growling is heard. The thread is golden, shiny. Beautiful. He undoes it for however high he can reach from the floor, then jumps on the table to continue.

To Marisa, he doesn’t pay attention. An unforgiving daemon he is and a proud one, and rejected things are prouder than any. When Marisa hisses him away, the monkey chatters aggressively over his shoulder before fleeing to the other side of the room. She throws a comb at where he sat. The ivory thing bumps against the drape and falls hanging on gleaming zigzags caught helplessly in its teeth.

Where there was a crack, now is a canyon. They never speak, yet he never resists another digging into his fur: the pain is excruciating, outweighed only by its intimacy.

Marisa thinks they still look impressive side by side, which is enough for whatever purpose she might pursue – a perfect mask to hide the holes and loose threads barely keeping them together.

She thinks she’d like another daemon.

She thinks no other daemon could match her.

She thinks, sometimes, that it is yet a question to be answered: whether it’s her who flooded him with darkness, or the other way around.

She thinks – she thinks. The process never stops.

She thinks of Asriel, too. The more time passes, the more within Marisa grows dissatisfaction, vague at first, then fully-fledged and poisonous. More and more she finds herself haunted, revisiting that day in court in her memory and boiling over her own stupid generosity. Generosity – for lack of a better word, although dozens of better words crowd her mouth, she’s just too embarrassed to even spit them. That brewing keeps her awake at nights, making her grunt into the pillow thinking: Asriel got it easy. His life wasn’t shattered, he hasn’t truly lost anything.

He continues his research, Marisa learns from the Institute’s monthly print, timely delivered to her a few weeks after the trial. She reads every word about harnessing Aurora energy and shrieks like a furious cat, because didn’t they both use to agree that that kind of research lacks zest? That it’s laughable at best, below their pride? Yet here Asriel is, obsessing over scientific expansion, resource control, wilderness, witches, and, somehow, spreading the holy teachings – all at once – still managing to make sense of it. She knows that kind of writing. That kind of writing attracts serious money, grants. He’s after the sponsorship, and he knows exactly what to promise to the high and powerful to become irresistible.

Pages are flicked through until they bulge in the middle of a thin print. Marisa has to burn them to stop reading.

Her own research article, the one she fought for getting published under her name, gets mysteriously pulled the last minute. It is a minor thing, considering. Still, the unfairness is driving her mad.

She could have crushed him. She should have. Even her daemon couldn’t pick this obsession loose.

So Marisa chooses the next-best thing. She grows colder still. Where this cold was used for mere bone-structure, it now thickens. Where it sent little snakes across her veins, she now feels rivers, oceans. No temperature is too low. No depths hold little enough life.

Every day, bit by bit, the swirling pool of scorching, messy emotions inside her starts to solidify under a crust, much like a pond in winter. Frostbites spread from the edges to the center. Waters become heavier to stir. Drowning in them, everything Marisa wants to rid herself of: the longings, the painful recollections. Nothing breaks into emptiness, she learns. There are always shards to graze and cut your fingers on, and she’s a walking bag of them – so out, out with everything that hurts. North has nothing on ice settling in her blood. Radical, youth is. Never thinks about what’s going to happen, when that numbing pool is drained, and emotions, shivering, half-forgotten, claw their way back into the chest. For now, Marisa finds not feeling to be quite liberating.

Thus, on her own will, she keeps sinking.

Further.

And further.

Yielding as much of herself as possible.

Excited for someone else to take over. Someone whose rage has cooled down into calculation and pain become productive, allowing her to wait and play the necessary part.

Roaming the empty halls in the shadows, Marisa is listening to the steps. To each of her own, there is another. The sea creature is following her closely, and very soon the little pauses between their steps disappear. She and Mrs. Coulter walk as one, talk as one, feel as one, until finally, at the very end of ends, become one.

Time keeps flowing.

***

Survival, scientists agree, is an instinct. All living beings have it. There is, however, a regrettably thin line between taking drastic measures for the purpose of self-preservation and repeating them beyond reason to keep up the illusion of salvation. In simpler words, a wounded animal gnaws through its own leg to escape the trap. A wounded person, already out of the snare, continues gnawing through the remaining limbs to recreate the feeling of escaping. No research is needed to say who stands a better chance at surviving.

It could have gone very wrong for Marisa at the time. She almost reaches the coldness incompatible with any life, her own included. Her predator mind almost starves on insufficient prey. It almost eats through itself, chained to the prison walls and slowly getting used to it.

What saves her, peculiarly, is Hilda – for none other reason than her being, thank heavens, human and petty, and fed up to her neck with Marisa.

‘A visitor for you,’ the maid announces shortly, voice no softer than a stale cracker fallen on the kitchen floor and forgotten there for days.

Marisa chooses to ignore her. A rather early morning escapes her worldview. Her sleeping habits have deteriorated so, it’s a wonder she still has any internal understanding of the time passage. Nights spent reading, or sometimes staring at the pages for hours without turning them, melt into mornings of withdrawal when the help starts clanking around the house with the usual noise of steps, chores, and rare conversations. Marisa prefers to avoid them altogether.

A thud comes – the monkey lands on the back of a sofa across from her. Behind him, bookshelves tower. Anbaric lights are gleaming off two black voids where nothing reflects but vicious animosity. Instantly, the house cat daemon bristles up. Ears twitch, flattened. The monkey leans forward: his tail rises straight to the ceiling and hooks a little over his head, long fangs silently bared. He hates that fucking cat.

Marisa feels his hatred as a deformed clump in her side. It moves, pushing at her insides like an unborn child. She grimaces at the sensation.

Her daemon, the purest, physical part of her soul, a faithful friend and companion, a confidant, a keeper, screeches like a common animal. Even Hilda is unsettled. Her eyes dart to the golden creature as she takes a step sideways to protect the cat. The monkey paws at the upholstery, scrutinizing them both. He doesn’t sound like a daemon. He doesn’t even look like one with his lustrous fur dusty and dimmed to a mere memory of gilt.

He appears a wildling with no consciousness.

A deformed clump, somehow forever attached to her.

Enough!

The book is slammed shut. Around the four of them, air sizzles – or, perhaps, it’s just the humming of the lamps making itself audible. Without saying a word, Marisa looks up.

Enough. Go.

The monkey is staring at her. She knows that stare very well. The feeling of it, rather: a tingling at the back of her neck following her around the library. A rustle of careful steps overhead. Beady eyes shining in the dark. Like a twisted game of hide-and-seek all children play with their daemons, only he’s the one both hiding from her – and seeking. Oh, how he seeks her.

Her things go missing at times: a ring, a bracelet. A hairbrush with a few hairs still stuck in it. There must be a pile of treasures somewhere in the house. Sometimes Marisa wonders if her daemon sleeps among them, and if so, if he’s doing it for comfort or bites on an old earring of hers, pretending to sink teeth into her flesh.

As if catching on to her thoughts, the monkey squeals a shredding sound, then quickly turns, and the next moment he’s gone. A spot of dirty-gold flashes on top of the bookshelves, and the dusty kingdom of neglect regains its ruler.

Marisa opens the book again. A different page, not that she’s noticed. The humming continues.

Has it always been this loud?

Symbols cluster in unpredictable ways, mocking her with gibberish. She might as well be reading in a made-up language, but she’d rather die than show it. Scanning line after line of outdated research – and badly composed at that – takes a considerable willpower on her side, yet Marisa feigns utmost concentration. Something about Hilda discovering that her pastime has been reduced to staring into space feels especially humiliating. Marisa couldn’t say exactly how it happened. There’s plenty of literature to go around, she’s just lost… interest. Prospects. Purpose. Whichever makes more sense.

Every seven lines or so, the lower humming switches to a high-pitched one that continues for another one or two lines of text. By the end of the second page, that’s all Marisa can focus on.

‘Did you want something?’ she snaps finally.

The hovering figure by the door scoffs, earning itself a hostile glance.

‘Well?’

‘As I said, Madam,’ if only politeness could kill. ‘There is a visitor to see you, waiting in the East Room.’

‘I don’t accept visitors.’

‘I am well aware.’

Oh, are you.

It is a pattern they have, admittedly, fallen into. Competing species in conditions of forced coexistence always do. When the mood is right, it even entertains Marisa to poke at the maid’s patience and see what insults her bitter mouth can produce. She is a fighter, that one. Never runs out of things to say.

Tell the staff to keep quiet, Hilda, they’re giving me a migraine.

Everything is, Madam, comes the response.

Or even: That would be the brandy.

Now is no such time.

‘Send them away,’ she waves a dismissive hand.

That’s usually enough to get the situations resolved. They tend to disappear when Marisa stops looking – a useful trick she’s applying to the world. Her mind wanders to having a half-glass of something and sliding into bed. Maybe sleep will come. Maybe, sleep will last. There’s hoping.

‘I had, on five different occasions, which is neither my responsibility nor a way matters are handled in respectable houses.’ An arrogant tight-bunned head is sitting so proudly on Hilda’s shoulders, there’s no denying how little of that respect pertains to Marisa personally. ‘If you want him gone, Madam, you can tell him yourself.’

It takes some restraining to not hiss an attack. Not hiss, in general.

What a rotten inheritance Edward left her.

‘Him?’

Marisa moves in the armchair. The eyes opposite of her are steel-colored and steel-hard. She, too, can be steel-hard. Her wrists limp in perfect arches over the armrests, whereas the features of her face sharpen. It’s almost a muscle memory at this point. A grimace she learned in front of the mirror – to warn, to scare.

Yet she forgets.

‘Don’t flatter yourself. His daemon is no snow leopard.’

She forgets that her bleak, unforgiving inheritance knows her too well to be afraid.

Meteors fall. A series of steady hits, one for each word, ruptures the surface. As loud and terrifying as it is, that’s not the worst. Stones keep sinking, driven by sheer combination of mass and catastrophic speed. Then: a series of quakes. An underwater impact. A shock wave of such magnitude, it pierces through miles of breathless, half-frozen space in a matter of seconds, exploding the sea outwards. Causing hands to shake with anger.

‘You are forgetting yourself, Hilda, darling.’

Marisa presses palms together. Tsunami almost breaks her fingers. There isn’t one imperfect note in her chiming.

From the library darkness, laying an undertone to it, a distant snarling comes. The cat daemon looks up. As does Hilda, for a moment. She steps from one foot to the other, clearly cautious of the malicious creature lurking nearby. And yet it only adds to her spite.

‘I suggest you hurry,’ she nods. ‘He did mention he’d be leaving shortly.’

‘Do you have any idea what I could do to you?’

Snarling is creeping closer. This time, the old maid doesn’t bat an eye. She pulls her apron down, demonstrating a remarkable resilience. The cat arches his back at her feet.

‘The East Room, Madam. If you can’t navigate the house in daylight, just ask the help for directions.’

On that, she leaves. Well-oiled hinges purr.

Humming, humming, humming.

Marisa imagines herself throwing a book at the lamps. Then going after Hilda with a pistol from Edward’s study. Both options feel unnecessarily dramatic, although the latter amuses her– but no, no. She’d have to stand another trial. The thought rips a laugh out of her lungs. It sounds sick. She feels exhausted.

It’s pleasantly dark when her forehead touches the smooth silk of the robe, and her hair streams down. Fingers are digging softly into the ribs. Marisa presses. Bones are right there, somehow unshattered by the rippling. The other thing is there too: that un-dissect-able part she drowns, and freezes, and can never fully extinguish. It flames underwater. In a palpable, scientific reality, it takes aluminum and something else to flame underwater. Finely powdered, set afire at the highest temperatures. What was the other thing?

Smoldering pieces fly out and continue burning brighter than day.

Did she see that somewhere? She couldn’t have, not in the Magisterium. Before Marisa’s eyes, a dozen of suns are exploding at the bottom of – what, tank? She must have seen it.

Well. She doesn’t want to see it now.

Dim lights attack her eyes. Reality is slowly fleshing itself back. A visitor in the East Room. Couldn’t be Hugh, could it? She ignored enough of his letters to earn a house call, but in no scenario would he have let an old hag to turn him around. People like him don’t. Not once, certainly not five times.

Actually, none of the people she knows would. Certainly not… but it isn’t a snow leopard. The snow leopard one (don’t flatter yourself) wouldn’t come.

The sensation of being watched tickles her skin, and as soon as Marisa notices it, she also realizes it’s been present for some time. From beneath the ceiling, her daemon is peering at her. They exchange a long look. The monkey doesn’t move. He resembles a statuette, an alarming little monstrosity placed on top of the bookshelf as a practical joke on those whose eyes drift up – and then forgotten, left to gather dust. His gold barely shimmers through it.

Just minutes ago, he was a wildling. Now some clarity has settled over him, knotting Marisa’s stomach. Her soul; unkempt, unloved. She would have preferred him an unintelligent beast. Unintelligent beasts are easier. They aren’t attached to people by umbilical cords, drawn to emotions like parasites, shining consciousness from their eyes until the chest boils. Marisa jerks a shoulder. The monkey shows teeth. At least, that part hasn’t changed.

I dare you.

He blinks. Two glimmering sparks hover in the dark.

Then they disappear.

Marisa hears herself exhaling. Proper ladies in proper dresses shouldn’t look for excuses to torture themselves, but she isn’t a proper lady. She’s not even a properly dressed one, which brings her back a little. She winces.

Right.

The visitor.

Marisa rises from her chair, half-suspicious that is she waits any longer, Hilda will bring him right to the library and lock the door from the outside.

The hallway light is way more irritating to the eyes. Daylight, that is, not the flickering lamps. Somewhere in the house heavy drapes are open, the air brings sounds of the help going about their daily routine. Marisa makes it exactly till the second door on the right and has a split second of pride to enjoy, when punishment comes. A brutal tug. She sways, clawing at the doorknob. In the library, her other part presses itself against the wall and growls in pain, scratching at the wooden panels. Ancient instincts yank their hearts back to the safety of blissful togetherness, but ancient instincts have never fought Marisa Coulter and her daemon before: each angry and stubborn, each pulls in their own direction.

The next few steps are a nightmare. Her chest feels raw. Every breath swishes right through, cold as a blizzard on the open wound. Nausea comes in waves. The damned monkey resists. Without seeing him, Marisa knows exactly how heavy the risings of his chest are, how sweaty the forehead; how clenched the teeth, threatening to crush from the force. How terrified, and pained, and longing he is. She’s all that too, but someone has to be stronger.

She has to physically drag herself forward until finally, there’s a release. Threads fall loose again, stopping the horrible stretch. A squeal in the back of Marisa’s mind mixes with the rattling in the air ducts. She smirks, panting. The little demon never wins. In equal measures he can’t stand seeing her – and being apart from her, so he’s taken a habit of following Marisa around through the ceilings. A smart solution, save for the dust. Most of the time, she can’t stand seeing him either.

Her dress of choice is jade-green. The color is as sharp as she needs to be, and, by coincidence, only a shade darker than splashes of Aurora lights.

When she leaves the room, her daemon is already glooming in the corridor. He’s evidently cleaned himself. Patches of old web have disappeared. His fur breaks scarce sunlight into a ripple of glints across the wall. He is beautiful, audience-ready, except when Marisa looks, the golden elegance crumbles to reveal the same dirt-coated creature, always hissing and snarling around. They walk down the corridor together. The care placed in keeping the distance might have reminded somebody with a keen eye of a crowded room where every soul treads just as carefully, stepping and flying around paws, hands, tails and shoulders, avoiding the forbidden contact to the best of their ability. Between two beings joined since birth, it looks oddly repugnant. Unnatural, one might say.

Marisa would put it differently. She’d recall coming back to their floral-molded prison. The burning feeling she got from her daemon’s touch, the piteous cry of him recoiling when coldness sprouted. She’d call it self-preservation.

One of the hallways she walks twice. Not that Hilda could pry it out of her, that stuck-up old if-you-can’t-navigate-the-house-in-daylight witch.

The East Room welcomes them with a closed door.

Marisa pushes it, and goes blind.

The light.

Winter sun is flooding the space. There are no drapes here, no peaceful twilight. Everything is hard, bright, and aggressive. Two nocturnal creatures withdraw, seeking shadows. Something golden is flitting around the space: floor – the fireplace – windows – floor again. Something green is standing frozen, tearing up against the cold shining. The hasty getting-up and the turning of another figure escape Marisa, taking away her chance to prepare.

‘Madam,’ a voice rises to her ears. What a curious voice it is. A male one, for sure, marked with slight roughness of age. There’s a quality to it that makes Marisa hesitate. An unexpected care, almost… respect. She got unaccustomed to hearing genuine respect.

Light keeps pouring in. As does her uncertainty.

‘Allow me,’ the man says.

Promptly, and with nimbleness of step that betrays years of excellent training, he walks to the window. Sunlight seems to collect around him for a moment, as if he was the source. Then a drape slides over, cutting the flow in half. Marisa blinks the blindness away.

Her daemon stops pacing around and settles beside her. Even before the man turns, they recognize the bolding head, and a winter coat, and the sleek black fur of a pinscher daemon.

‘Madam,’ Thorold repeats with a slight bow.

His pinscher follows the example. Marisa can’t answer. Her lungs get overcome with the urge to cough up ribbons of air, thickened and shredded by at least a dozen of invisible knives. The monkey crawls forward. His golden tail is rising in a warning. There’s a flash of surprise on Thorold’s face, one he is quick to hide, but not quick enough for Marisa to miss.

Good, then. That’s settled.

She makes an effort to miss sorrow in that surprise.

‘What does he want?’ A demand, not a question.

Thorold looks up. His shoulders shrink a little, even though a minute ago he was demonstrating the perfect posture. He’s obvious in searching for words but his own thoughts, apparently, are giving him a battle too. A mixture of indecision and half-concealed sadness boils into a real suffering across his face.

‘Have you completely forgotten speech?’

A beat of pause.

‘No, Madam, I have not.’

‘Be useful, then. He must have sent you for something.’

The pinscher daemon brushes against the man’s leg. The simple comfort of the gesture frustrates Marisa. It could be jealousy. Could be disappointment, because at least with Hilda, she always knows when cruelty hits. Counterstrikes never leave her guessing.

‘I’ve come on my own behalf,’ Thorold manages at last.

‘Is that so?’

‘Yes, Madam.’

Well, a man of few words and fewer answers. Her expression darkens. She would have understood Asriel sending his servant: reasons may differ and still remain plausible – but that? She hardly knows what to make of it.

And the way he says ‘Madam’. Like he’s asking a storm not to rage, soothing waters into clarity. Despite herself, Marisa catches a shiver. People who haven’t received a lot of compassion cannot abide the warmth it brings, thinning the numbness of detachment where their hearts plunge to heal. Survival is an instinct. All human beings have it.

‘Then what do you want?’ Anger clangs inelegantly in her voice.

‘To return something of yours. If I may?’

He hesitates for permission. Marisa, frowning, just nods. She watches Thorold approach a set of sofas: there, on a chair next to them, sits a leather bag she’s seen countless times before. Its worn-out patterns haven’t changed, still keeping in themselves a mystery. A reminder of home, perhaps. Half-illegible words of a half-forgotten language breathe northern air. On the side, a flock of birds, always just about to fly off the leather on spirit-borne wings. Marisa used to admire the birds. They never flew anywhere, but they looked free.

She moves closer, her steps drowning in a ridiculously thick carpet. The golden shadow follows in a distance. His observant presence tugs at Marisa’s side. She wishes for him to disappear in the air ducts again. It is a passing feeling, but the precise thing is, she doesn’t want to feel. It gets harder when her soul is wondering around.

Thorold turns.

‘Here it is, Madam.’

He hands her a book of sorts. A smallish one, and the first thing Marisa registers is that something’s wrong about it. Her frown deepens. She takes it with caution: not exactly alarmed, just confused. Thorold lets go – there’s a glimpse of his fingers with white calloused tips. Then his palm disappears, and the mystery of the book holds no longer.

It’s badly burned, that’s what’s wrong about it. The cover’s all bulgy, melted in random places. Patches of coal-black mix with the remaining tints of color but there’s no logic in it, no structure. Just a hardened, deformed leather flesh, curled from the heat. The bottom corner is the worst. Something burned through the cover there, leaving a crescent-shaped edge with brown contours. Pages underneath are burned in the same exact fashion.

The other side is nearly intact, save for a few spots blooming here and there. It’s been burned the front side down. Besides that, the examination offers very little.

Marisa has never owned anything of the sort. She almost says as much. Then it occurs to her to look inside. She sits down, book on her knees for convenience, and tries to open the smoldered brick. Pages refuse to give in: their fire-licked edges stick to one another. It takes Marisa a minute to part them. When she does, however, realization comes at once. She’d recognize her own handwriting anywhere. Line after line is filled with it, neatly arranged statements bursting in cascades of notes on the margins. Beginnings of phrases on one side and endings on the other have disappeared in flames, but it doesn’t stop Marisa from reading a whole paragraph, tracking her own ideas and filling the gaps with words that have once been written.

She recognizes now not a book, but a research journal she kept at Asriel’s house. Sea depths heave. A sharp sensation knots her stomach. Marisa blames it on her daemon approaching, taming an overwhelming urge to kick him away. Her mouth is aching with words she can’t spill.

‘Why?’ she croaks.

Thorold takes a seat, too. His plain wooden chair can’t be too comfortable, but it allows him a space next to Marisa without the inappropriateness of sharing a sofa.

‘I thought you might need your work back,’ he simply says.

She shakes her head impatiently.

‘No, why come five times just to return this?’

‘Madam?’

The old man looks so sincere. His daemon is tilting her head in attention. Marisa catches her eyes: brown they are, but nothing close to burned paper. More like almonds, or sunlight dancing on fresh earth. Brown kissed with gold. She never knew golden things can be warm. Somehow, right now, it’s Thorold’s fault, too.

‘You could have left it with my maid.’

‘She seems a good woman,’ he nods respectfully.

‘A treasure,’ Marisa sneers.

The journal rests on her knee. Thorold glances at it, appearing again to be choosing his words. He doesn’t resemble someone to whom the trick of conversations comes naturally, least of all with Marisa, but the effort brings out a heartfelt sympathy in his eyes.

‘If you pardon my saying… Madam,’ he adds, like he wanted to address her differently but didn’t allow himself the right, ‘I thought you may want to talk with someone.’

‘Talk?’

‘Ask questions, is what I mean.’

‘Questions.’

‘If you wish to… to know of…’

He struggles finishing the phrase without letting the ghosts in. Fails, too. Unnamed hauntings surround them, as if woven out of light. The pinscher flaps her ears and yelps quietly. Daemons are intuitive like that.

From the shadows, the monkey is prowling forward, his little face twisted in a grimace of pure hate. Marisa smiles. The scent of heated metal hangs in the air. It’s going to betray her emotions for years. She’s going to think everyone can notice. In fact, there’s only going to be one person who will, probably because mothers and daughters have a connection that, in human measures, is just as sacred as the one with their daemons.

Lyra will always associate metallic scent with menace, but will never learn to understand that it comes not from steel, of which her mother, an masterful self-deceiver, deems herself made, but of fires flaming underwater, where it’s the darkest and the coldest. Where human feelings shouldn’t survive at all.

Extinguishing those fires is something Marisa will never be able to do.

‘No, Thorold,’ she objects softly, softness honed to a sharp edge. ‘I don’t wish to know. Spare me your old man sentiments. If you thought we’d be shedding tears over your stories, you’re an even bigger fool I took you for, and you never learned a thing about me.’

See? Self-deception.

That is easily the moment when Marisa finally combines both sides of the mirror: the loud, perceptible beauty mixed generously with ferocious instincts of an animal hiding in deepened lines. It will cause her few allies and all of the enemies to address her respectfully as Mrs. Coulter even in her absence, barely restraining the urge to look behind their backs in case she’s there – or worse, her spying daemon is. High Magisterium officials and children will both learn the danger of pretty gleams dancing in those wonderfully blue eyes that make you think of frostbite. Marisa is quite happy with the image. It’s got enough claws to keep her safe.

She sees a change in Thorold’s expression as he’s watching her. The pictures must not be aligning: he’s searching Marisa’s face as one does when trying to uncover familiar features, match them with something from memory, but cannot. The pinscher nuzzles against his hand. The man hardly notices. A look of regret settles over him. He’s watching, and watching, and then his shoulders sink a little, and the kindest sorrow spills all over his wrinkles.

‘Oh, child,’ he says. ‘So very young.’

Just that – just that.

And suddenly, the pool is drained.

‘Copper?’ she asks, somewhat disgruntled by the eagerness, with which a golden lightning zings around the laboratory, fetching equipment for Asriel.

Asriel glances over, so incredibly smug she wants to both kick him and watch him forever. His investment in this stupid experiment is driving Marisa insane. It’s not even science, just a… well, a party trick, at best. His beloved professors at Jordan must be showing it to a bunch of 10-year-olds to gain their attention.

He just laughs, mixing a brown-red powder to the aluminum one. When he laughs like that, new universes spring into existence.

‘Watch.’

A strip of something white goes in. Magnesium burns silver, then – then everything is bright orange, and the little ceramic pot is submerged into a tank, and the fire is flaming all hells underwater. Resilient, absolutely magnificent.

Oxygen, Marisa realizes. An oxide, that is. Next to her, Asriel, a world-class scientist in the making, is looking incredibly proud of himself for that silly amusement. He’s always doing that, showing her something she missed out on. The same is true about their whole relationship.

‘Iron oxide,’ she exhales. Then nods, ‘Beautiful.’

Asriel chuckles. He looks at the blinding, raging fire shooting pieces of molten iron to the bottom. A corner of his lips curls up, but the eyes remain serious, full of furious admiration. The one Marisa often notices directed at her.

‘There’s beauty in corrosion, don’t you think?’ he says.

Iron oxide. Corrosion.

Rust.

The second part of that volcanic combination that keeps igniting the living day out of itself until the flames eat through. No wonder her fires keep burning.

She’s made of rust.

A steel carcass inside Marisa shudders and gives way. Down below, in the pool drained of mercifully numbing waters, the longings and feelings she pushed in have re-emerged. Shards sharper than glass and pain sharper still – she can see it all rusted, layered so thick with corrosion, the blazing is going to persist for years.

A barely audible whimper catches her off-guard. Marisa turns before realizing: the monkey is standing beside her. There’s not a single wretched line on his face. His hand hovers mid-air, reaching out. In his eyes, a plea for consolation. An offer of one, too. The brainless thing doesn’t seem to understand what he’s offering.

It is terror for volcanoes to erupt. Her chest, where the damage of connection grows, pulsates with it.

Making a conscious effort, Marisa twists her heart, watching her daemon flinch. He resists for only a second, and then drops to all fours, backing away from her slowly. The further he gets, he more hunted his expression becomes, until familiar sparks stare at Marisa, and it’s the same wild, ill-tempered creature that hides behind the sofa. She wonders if he would have touched her hand. She wonders if he wonders how badly her cold would have burned him.

She wonders how people breathe without pushing away their soul. Aren’t they choking on it?

‘I am… truly sorry, Madam.’

A voice holds her in embrace. Marisa does her best to reject it. Her teeth clench. Facing kindness feels unnecessarily cruel, so she avoids looking at Thorold, staring at the journal instead. Her fingers slide across mountains and valleys of disfigured leather, tracing the non-existent patterns. Every peak is whispering its own story, and yet none of them has sufficient answers.

She imagines Asriel. Was it morning, day, night? What was he wearing? What was he thinking? Did Stelmaria try to talk him out of it? Or was throwing the damned thing away simply not enough for his hatred?

‘Why would he burn it?’ Marisa whispers.

Her eyes stay low. She’s not waiting for a reply, but when it comes treading the air, her whole body listens.

‘I don’t think…’ Thorold pauses, starts again. ‘I think he was trying to do something else, Madam.’

‘What, then?’

‘Well…’

‘Well?’

Despite herself, Marisa glances. Sharp winter sunlight falls onto the old man’s shoulders. Where it touches his coat, light seems to lose its cutting quality. Gentle streams of gold float around.

Thorold sighs. His palms open, as though he’s trying not to grip the words too hard, afraid of saying anything too much, too certain.

‘I can’t speak for him, Madam. His thinking is of heights I could never follow, but I suppose… The way I see it, he was breaking a bond.’

Words are laid carefully on the air. Elusive to the grasp as they are, their shadows are heavy and fall into Marisa deeper than she can recognize at the moment. Another pinch of rust and aluminum to burn later. She just nods, not trusting herself with speaking. There’s nothing left to say anyway – or ask, or confess. Even coarse leather stops singing under her fingers.

Was it singing under Thorold’s? His hands are still open, fingertips calloused and hard. Mostly on the right hand, Marisa realizes. The placement is so uneven, it doesn’t look like callouses at all. Pinker streaks run from under patches of thick, pale skin. Like scar tissue. Like old burns. Those permanent kisses from burning coals and melting leather, pressed to the naked skin of hands that were hurrying to salvage something they cared about.

Palms curl, hiding the injury. Marisa looks up. Thorold is looking back with an apologetic smile which only makes his eyes sadder and warmer. He doesn’t say a word. There’s nothing left to say – or ask, or confess. It’s all there, between an old man, whose heart has softened for the sea, and a young woman with sea in her name. Both of them understand it is the care she cannot afford to accept. Both of them grieve it a little.

Any reasonable timing has now passed to continue the conversation. Marisa draws a long breath. She’s never been the one to avoid the inevitable.

‘Go now, Thorold,’ she says quietly. Thorold has no idea of knowing it, but that moment makes him the last person to ever hear Marisa’s actual voice – at least, for the next twelve years. There’s no silvery smoothness in it. Just cracks all over.

‘Madam.’

He gets up, takes his bag. A flock of northern birds flies in front of Marisa’s face. Buttons of a winter coat take Thorold’s attention for a few moments as he meddles with them. Just then, Marisa remembers what Hilda said: he’d be leaving shortly. She wonders, where. Is Asriel’s research finally taking them north? She concludes so. She also concludes that Asriel must have left earlier to set up, leaving his servant to oversee the last preparations here in Oxford. Otherwise, Thorold wouldn’t have come looking for her. A strange fondness moves in her.

He stands now, pinscher daemon by his side. Two heads bow courtly. With the last exchanged look, their shared grief stings a little, knowing it’s probably a farewell. Marisa just nods. When Thorold leaves the room, the light leaves with him.

At least, it feels that way to Marisa.

She wipes the sudden tears away. The gesture is nervous, angry. Embarassed. Her breathing sounds incredibly lonely in the emptiness of surrounding space.

‘Get away,’ she hisses, sensing the clump in her side twitch as it always does when her daemon approaches.

A golden shadow stops on the floor in the corner of Marisa’s vision. Thoughts and feelings, awakened so inconveniently, are buzzing worse than a beehive. His presence amplifies them. Flooding fires with water won’t make a difference now because he who is responsible for this madness is too close.

Leave me alone.

No movement. Marisa raises her eyes. She sees the hideous creature swing his tail. A hypnotic stare is burrowing into her, reaching where threads are caught in their warlike endurance of each other. He won’t go. There’s no place for him to be except between her ribs, leeched onto humiliation that is her feelings. The truer they are, the more powerful, and the harder he’s drawn. The closer he wanders, searing Marisa from the inside by simply drawing breath. She wishes desperately to cut whatever’s sewn them together.

She throws a cushion, and doesn’t look where it lands. She senses her soul clear enough to know it’s not as harmed as she’d want it to be. Maybe then he’d learn.

The monkey only growls, when she refuses to acknowledge his attempts at connection and opens the journal again. As far as choices go, hatred is a preferable one. Better hatred than constant self-pity. Pondering over half-eaten lines, Marisa recalls that thing Thorold said, about Asriel breaking the bond. Asriel, it stings her suddenly, seems to have succeeded. In fact, while she spent months sleep-walking through wall-papered corridors, Asriel kept himself busy.

Blood rushes to her head, throbbing in such an agony, her temples all but explode. Masses thick and hot come breaking against the eardrums. They seem possessed to pound their way out, tearing the thin veins. Asriel would have laughed at her.

She bites on a nail. A stupid habit.

Another habit is cold-ing herself down as soon as she hears paws coming nearer. Her daemon hesitates. Then turns. Marisa sits peering into space, gnawing on her lip until it swells. She doesn’t want to sleep. Not anymore.

The thing is, predators are not designed for prolonged sleep. They wake up hungry. Quite newly to herself, Marisa feels hunger for something to do.

Pages crust as she’s flicking through them slowly. Hard edges cut her fingertips, hardly even shifting her attention.

She thinks.

She thinks.

The process has never stopped.

‘Breaking the bond,’ her whisper ripples the air. It tastes like something. The golden silhouette jumps on the sofa across from its human in crisping, snow-fresh Aurora color. Sunlight remembers of there being winter. Chilly coolness spreads. ‘Breaking the bond.’

Something’s stirring in her mind, though what it is, Marisa cannot fully formulate yet. The idea, however, is strangely fascinating. Her eyes lay on the daemon heavily.

She’s made of bonds. One with Asriel, another with their child – she may resist it, but it’s handwritten all over her body, and the handwriting it hers. A bond with her own soul, too. The one she hasn’t yet succeeded in dissecting in order to understand and control. Cutting it should feel miraculous.

Perhaps, if she were still a child, she muses. She’d give anything to go back and nick those annoying threads that got handed to her as a given. She remembers questioning why they existed at all – not in words, certainly not in scientific terms, but he knew she thought about it. Always digging deeper than children do in glorious self-understanding. There seemed to be the answer there. Why she was so restless all the time. Why her behavior never satisfied anyone. Why she was doing every wrong thing, why she loved Asriel, why she needed Lyra. The answer might still be there, only there’s no way of harvesting it now –   

But a child. A child could answer those questions in all their childlike innocence. Marisa could learn the answer. She could steal it.

She could learn how, where, and when to cut.

The air is freezing now. The monkey is anxious. Marisa sits very-very still, like predators do. Much like an image, her fate comes to its fullest, cleanest form. It’s not a grand, heroic fate, and there’s no description to it yet, only anticipation. It is, however, going to be more befitting one for a woman, young with the cruelest of youth, with punches and heartbreak and blood on beautiful hands from hitting a wall, than anyone could have imagined.

She will spend her short life trying to break the three most powerful bonds she’s ever formed – and fail, miserably.

Marisa Coulter, née Delamare, walking to her late husband’s study with full intention of making it her own, is a long way from knowing it yet. The irony will unveil itself twelve years and a war later as she leaps off the edge of an abyss. Those three sacred bonds she could break however hard she tried, they will all weave together to save what she cherishes most. For now, she’s too enthralled by a monstrosity that will eventually lead to the silver cages, and lacks serendipity.

Youth, people say, is arrogant. It’s wrong emotions at the wrong time, it’s thinking that love can be left trampled to the ground. That love can be examined, prepared, dissected and understood. That it hides logic.

That it ceases to be if you just deny it enough.

As Marisa ravages through Edward’s old papers, three things occupy her mind. One, is that rattling air-ducts are a small price to pay for a chance to function productively instead of being crippled by emotions.

Two, is that she’s going to need a place somewhere else, perhaps in London, because these walls are making her sick.

And three, she hopes she succeeds.

After all, breaking a bond shouldn’t be that hard.

Just a simple process of trials and errors.

[zorrasucia]

❛ i’m not wearing any underwear. thought you’d like to know. ❜ carmy berzatto pls

Hi Anon! ✨

Of course! This is some established relationship naughtiness at The Bear. I hope you enjoy it! 💜

It was one of the first days of fall, and probably one of the last warm days of the year. And so, you were enjoying the weather: wearing your favorite dress and cleaning your apartment with the window open to let the soft breeze in. Your phone rang, the name on the screen read Sydney 🐻.

"Hi, Syd," you greeted her with a smile.

"Hey, uh," she hesitated, the sound of a hectic kitchen in the background. "Remember you told me I could call you when Carmy was being a pain in the ass? I know it was a joke and, you know, I'm not his babysitter and you're not either. Like, I know that. But, uh-" she had a nervous tone in her voice.

"Syd, it's okay," you reassured her. "It's Saturday, I bet things are insane in the kitchen."

"You have no idea," she let out a nervous chuckle. "I seriously wouldn't even be calling if I-"

Syd was right, that you weren't Carmy's babysitter but you could probably talk some sense into him. Besides, you didn't have work today - and they'd probably give you leftovers for your troubles.

"Hey. I'm on my way," you said. "Don't worry."

"Okay, okay," Syd sighed. "I'll, uh, I'll try to chill in the meantime."

You grabbed your keys and bag... You suddenly had a sinful idea and grinned.

~

You walked through the back door, avoiding servers and chefs, mumbling 'behind' every so often like you'd seen the rest of them do. You could make out Carmy's hoarse voice between all the noise.

"This steak is fucking dead! Refire. Chefs, wake the fuck up!"

"Hey, Carm," you called him.

He turned to look at you, eyes wide and fiery. "What are you doing here?" he rasped.

"Do you have a sec?" you said with a polite smile.

"Not really. I-" he looked disoriented and frantic.

Syd stepped in, looking determined. "I'll handle it. Go."

Carmy led you inside his office, exasperation radiating from him.

"Why are you-?" he started.

"Uh, Syd called," you replied, giving him a knowing look as he closed the door behind you.

"Fuck."

"Yeah. She said you were being a pain in the ass," you leaned on his desk.

"I- uh-" he hesitated, then covered his face, red from the heat of the kitchen but also from anger and shame. "She- she was being nice. I'm being an asshole."

You sat on his desk and sighed. "Thought so."

"Huh?" he tilted his head. You had caught him by surprise.

You gestured for him to come closer, so you could talk softer and look him in the eye.

"Listen, I know it gets super loud in your head, and you get overwhelmed and you lash out," you had seen it happen once or twice. "You need to step down when that happens."

"Syd-" he avoided your gaze. "Yeah, Syd has suggested it."

"So?" you cupped his face and tilted it towards you. "Can you do that? Can you let go for ten minutes and calm the fuck down?"

He blinked hard, stressed.

"I don't know," he confessed after a moment of consideration.

"I think you can, Carm," you encouraged him. Then, you put the second, more inappropriate part of your plan in motion. You grabbed his chef whites, and brought him closer, opening your legs to accommodate him. Then you whispered: "I'm not wearing any underwear. Thought you'd like to know."

Carmy stared at you, mouth agape.

"We're in the middle of service-"

"Listen," you gestured at the door. There were no loud bangs or screams, just the normal bustle of a kitchen; if anything it was quieter than when you first entered. "Syd is handling it. The rest of the kitchen is functioning. The sky isn't falling," you grabbed his face with both hands. "Now, will you just fuck me?"

"Shit."

He leaned down to kiss you hard, all tongue and teeth, biting a little. You ran your fingers through his hair, bringing him closer, crossing your ankles behind his waist.

"I need this to be fucking fast," he rasped against your lips.

"I know," you smiled while untying his apron and unbuckling his belt.

The mere indecency of showing up to Carmy's place of work planning to fuck him had made you wet enough to take him that very moment.

"Condoms?" he asked.

You took one out of your bag and handed it to him, palming his cock impatiently through his trousers.

"Fuck, baby," he groaned, eyes rolling to the back of his head.

He lowered his trousers and boxers just enough to pull out his cock. He grabbed the back of your knees to pull you closer to the edge of his desk, something feral about him. You bunched up your dress all the way up to your hips, confirming that you were indeed bare under it. Carmy's eyes widened.

"Shit..." his fingers touched your drenched pussy. "You planned this, the whole thing."

You nodded proudly, biting on your lip when he entered you.

"Can't believe you showed up, in the middle of service-" he murmured. "Jesus... To fuck me."

"Desperate times," you touched your forehead to his, his gaze intense. He bottomed out and you covered his mouth to muffle a whine. "See? I think you need it."

That was the tiny push he craved.

He fucked you mercilessly, forceful thrusts while he grabbed your thighs hard, keeping you on the edge of the desk, right where he wanted you. His rhythm was frantic, half out of urgency and half out of anger. You kept your hand on his mouth, silencing the tirade of curses and primal groans he was blurting. Your eyes were on him, breathy pleas leaving your lips.

"Give it to me. It's okay. Please. I need you. Please," you weren't sure if he could actually hear it all but you couldn't stop, not when you were so close to your release. Your pussy tightened around his cock, pulsing.

His grip on you faltered, eyebrows raising as he looked at you for confirmation.

You nodded, eyes half lidded in ecstasy. "Let go, baby. Let go."

He gave you a few desperate thrusts, your palm vibrating with the sound of his moans as he came.

Suddenly, the room felt eerily quiet, the only sounds that mattered were Carmy's panting and your heart's beating. You lowered your hand from his mouth to his chest.

"Shit," he closed his eyes, collecting himself.

"Mhmm," you swayed in your seat, moving his softening cock as you did so. "Better?"

He nodded, a little sheepish. "Thank you."

"Hey. Can't do this every time," you said honestly. The likelihood of you coming to fuck some sense into him on weekdays was low to none. "But why don't you think about this next time you're about to lose it?" you suggested.

"You want me to get hard while running the expo?" he chuckled. His heartbeat was slowing down.

"I mean, if that's what it takes to get you to step down and chill, sure," you teased.

While the idea of Carmy fucking his hand while thinking of you was appealing, it seemed a little impractical to do at the restaurant.

"Might just take a smoke break," he offered. "Save the fucking for when I get home."

"Deal," you kissed him and tapped his cheek gently. "Now, come on, get out there."

He got dressed and ready at a dizzying speed, taking time to rearrange your dress and kiss you one last time before returning to the kitchen. He left the door ajar, and you peeked just in time to see him give an apologetic nod to Syd and ask her to continue running the expo. It was a start. You were satisfied.

[barcaatthemoon]

home, sweet home || ona batlle x child!reader ||

your first practice back at barcelona with your mom.

you loved manchester, but it wasn't your home. the language came a bit easier to you since you were young, but it was still difficult. you had liked a lot of things about manchester, but you missed barcelona. it was obvious to ona the whole time that you just wanted to come back to spain, and for a while, she had felt extremely guilty for dragging you away from home.

she remembered the way you'd cling to laia and leila after a long day of being around english people. there were girls on the team that you loved like alessia, mary, and ella. you thought that they were fun and silly, but barcelona had silly girls who didn't make your brain remember english. and as much as you loved ella, her spanish was not good enough for more than a couple of words back and forth.

you and your mami weren't the only ones coming to barcelona from manchester. there were other players, keira and lucy. you didn't know them very well, but you had seen them before. they played for the bad manchester like leila and laia. now that they were at barcelona, you presumed that they could be friends, not like misa and the madrid girls. madrid was an evil place full of evil people, that was what your tia alexia taught you.

"alright, do you have everything that you need?" mami asked you. you nodded as you tugged on your own backpack straps. mami smiled as she ruffled your hair and pushed you along towards the door. you didn't know why you weren't taking her car, but mami had told you that you were riding with lucy to practice.

"are we staying in spain forever?" you asked. mami looked surprised for a moment. she didn't know if she'd stay forever, but you looked hopeful. ona didn't want to crush those hopes, so she nodded.

"if i can. i thought you liked manchester," ona said. you shrugged as you plopped down at your mother's feet. "what didn't you like?"

"the english, and only laia made good food. she made me food like from here." the reasons didn't seem to serious. ona tried to push the thought of you having been unhappy without saying anything from her head. none of that mattered now that you were home anyway. besides, ona was sure that you had just meant the language when you complained about english.

lucy's car was nice, and she opened the door for you just like she did for your mami. you sat in the back by yourself, but you could see mami glancing back at you as she spoke with lucy. they were switching back and forth between english and spanish, like they were teaching each other. you heard lucy say a couple of other things in a language that you didn't recognize. you didn't really know her, but you decided that you liked lucy because she seemed smart and made your mami smile a lot.

"just so you know, she is going to run ahead the moment she sees someone she knows. don't worry, it only happens at practice," ona warned lucy. true to her word, you ran off the moment that you saw someone you recognized.

"tia sandy!" lucy looked on in shock as you sprinted faster than she knew your little legs could move. you were moving like the flash until you were in the goalkeeper's arms. you hadn't seen any of the spanish girls since the last camp, which felt like forever in your mind. "look, i came home!"

"i can see that. the others are in the locker room. i bet that claudia and salma would love to see you." sandra set you down gently, and you immediately sprinted towards the locker room. you didn't care about anybody greeting and catching up with your mom, instead focused on finding your old friends. you felt like you had been away for a long time, and you were scared that they didn't remember you.

there were a handful of new girls that you didn't know, but with the help of some of your mami's teammates, you were introduced to them. you had fun making new friends and getting to see your old ones, but you began to feel a little sad as you sat and colored by yourself in the gym. this would have normally been a time whenever mary used you to do her arm curls until you were practically scream laughing and begging her in between gasping breaths to set you down.

with alexia around, you knew that there wasn't as much room for having fun during training. alexia meant serious business, and for a moment, it made you sad. you loved your tia alexia, but sometimes you wished that she was a little bit more like mary or ella. they took their jobs super seriously, but still made sure that there were moments for you to be included and play around with them. alexia didn't pay much attention to you whenever you came to training with your mami, and she got onto mapi for trying.

"hey kiddo, is everything okay?" lucy asked as she bent down in front of you. everybody had seemed really busy, so you were surprised that lucy approached you. you thought that she'd be like tia alexia and too focused on work to check on you. you couldn't explain why, but the moment that you looked up at lucy, you started to cry a little. "hey, no, it's okay. don't cry, please don't cry."

"i miss my manchester friends," you sniffled. lucy sat down across from you and placed her hand out for you to set yours in.

"i miss my friends in england too, but there are new friends here. and this is your home, your family is here. that's pretty special, but maybe when you miss your manchester friends, you come find me or keira and we'll give some of them a ring, okay?" lucy offered. you really liked the sound of that, and even if they couldn't get a hold of anybody, you were sure that keira and lucy counted as manchester friends too.

just to test the waters a little, you shuffled onto your knees and hugged lucy. she was a bit awkward, but eventually hugged you. you liked hugging lucy, she was big and strong. reluctantly, you moved away to let lucy go back to training, but she stayed right by your side until everybody else was finished and ready to head out for lunch. even during lunch lucy didn't stray too far away. your mami seemed surprised by your sudden closeness to lucy, but you could tell that she didn't mind. if anything, she was happy that you made a new friend.

[thatgenericwriter]

THE BET || GREGORY HOUSE

Paring: Gregory House x gn! reader

Summary: reader is a mortician at the hospital and gets into a little bet with House

Warnings: House (no explanation needed) and some swearing

Word Count: 1.1k

P.S. based on the request by @ryoiii (I'm sorry this took me so long to do I'm trying my hardest)

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

Life was pretty mundane at your new job as a mortician at Princeton Plainsboro's Teaching Hospital. Being new to the city and hoping for a fresh start was fine, but man was it boring. Just you alone with your thoughts down in the basement of a huge hospital.

Until one day you met House in the cafeteria. He was sitting with Wilson, the doctor that Cuddy had assigned to show you around on your first day. You two had grown close over the two weeks you had been there. You would hang out in his office when there was nothing for you to do. And you guys would have lunch together most days. You saw him as the only friend you had made so far.

So it was no surprise when he called you over to his table after you got your food.

"Hey y/n, come sit!" You smile at Wilson and make your way over, taking note of the grumpy looking man, whom you assumed was Wilson's friend Dr. Gregory House. Which was made certain when you saw his cane leaning against his chair.

"Wilson! Paying to have your "friends of the night" visit you at work? That's low even by my standards!" Wilson slaps House's shoulder and scolds him before turning to look at you apologetically.

"It's okay Willson. House is just jealous because he knows he will never be able to afford me." You revel in the questioning look on House's face and the shocked look on Wilson's as you sit down on the chair next to him.

You open your yogurt container and take a bite before looking between House and Wilson questioningly.

"What? Can't handle the truth?" House smirks at you while Wilson sighs loudly beside you.

"Great another House. Just what I needed." Wilson shakes his head solemnly from beside you as you lean back in your chair eyeing the man across from you. 'This is going to be fun.'

.........

Ever since your encounter with House in the cafeteria a few weeks ago, you two have become inseparable. Whenever you don't have a body to tend to in the morgue you're in House's office. His fellows have become accustomed to seeing you in House's yellow chair tossing his ball around or doodling on his whiteboard.

They have also come to learn that if House is nowhere to be found, he is most likely down in the morgue with you. Which is where they found him today. But instead of finding him in deep discussion with you, they walk in on the two of you fighting.

"You can not have one of the bodies! Especially not with the intention of shooting them in the fucking head!" You went along with all of House's stupid ideas (that's what made him fun), but this was crossing a line. A line that put your job on the chopping block.

House was acting like the man-child he is, actually stomping his foot at you and crossing his arms like a toddler throwing a tantrum.

"But mommy please!" He had the audacity to stick his bottom lip out at you and that was your last straw. You look at him blankly and walk past him to the doors.

"Do whatever you want. I don't care anymore." You swiftly walk past his fellows who look at you with pity written all over their faces. You paid no mind to them and continued to the elevators. The last thing you saw before the doors slid closed was House staring at you with a look on his face that you'd never seen from him before. Remorse.

..........

That was about an hour ago. Now you are sprawled across Wilson's couch in his office chatting with him about the most random stuff. That was until the door slowly opened and House walked through.

You turn and face away from him not ready to talk to him quite yet. However, that didn't deter him from talking to you.

"I just came to say that I talked to Cuddy and made it known that anything I do should not affect your job. And that I will take responsibility for anything I do that involves the morgue." This was a surprise to you, and also to Wilson according to his face. When you still didn't turn to face House he continued.

"I also wanted to apologize to you for trying to make you do something you didn't want to get involved with." At this point, Wilson was sure he was having a stroke and you were sure that you had completely fallen for House.

You had been fighting the idea of having a crush on House since the very first week of being with him. Hearing about his lack of emotions and empathy for others strayed you away from pursuing a relationship with him. But after him taking responsibility for his actions and apologizing to you, how could you stay away?

You turn to him with the coldest look on your face that you could manage. "You think you can just come in here and give some half-ass apology and believe that I would forgive you just like that!"

You relish in the confused expression on Wilson's and House's faces before bursting out in laughter.

"Of course I forgive you ya goof!" You jump off of the couch and grab his hand pulling him out of the office.

"I bet ya his head explodes!" Slowing down to a speed that House can keep up with comfortably, you start to pull your hand away. House stops you, however, by interlocking his fingers with yours.

"I bet you he doesn't scream no matter what happens." House pushes the down button to call for the elevator with his cane before looking at you. You smile back at him and bump your hip with his slightly.

"That's not fair he's dead!" He smiles at you and bumps your hip back. The elevator dings and opens to reveal all of his fellows who walk out informing House that their "patient" is ready to be scanned. You watch as their jaws drop when they notice your intertwined hands.

You giggle and follow House into the elevator waving goodbye to his fellows as the doors slide shut.

"They are never going to stop talking about this." He looks at you and smirks.

"I guess I'm just going to have to hide out in the morgue more often. I wonder if there is someone alive in there to keep me company?" You smile at him pretending to ponder on his question.

"I think I know someone who works there that might be interesting to talk to." The elevator dings and the doors slide open. You pull House once again and start making your way to the MRI lab.

"Enough sappy stuff! Let's go kill a dead guy!" You look back at House and he just shakes his head at you affectionately.

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

Author's Note: Guys im finaly done with school! (at least for the summer) and I'm planning on writing a lot more! please leave some asks and be patient with me as I am trying my best here😭😭😭

[clairecrive]

Hey there, I got an idea for a request Alfies secretary is a quiet girl and Alfie is always flirting with her he loves to make her cheeks blush red. And one day she finally becomes brave and says something flirty back to him and he gets all flustered first as he wasn't expecting it and then he's like "fucking hell" with his cheeky grin and makes his move while he has the chance and gives her the best kiss of her life💖

A/n: Hello everyone!! It's been ages since I last wrote anything, let alone for Alfie. However, lately I 've been right down obsessed with him again and couldn't fight the urge to write for him. I found this in my inbox and I'm so so sorry it took me this long to write this!

I'm not going to tag anyone because I don't even know if there's still anyone reading this blog lol. but let me know If you want to be tagged.

MASTERLIST

"Cat and mouse"| Alfie Solomons x reader

"Hello, luv."

"Hello, Mr Solomons."

"Ah, pet how many times do I have to tell ya, eh?" You had been working for Alfie for a while now. Enough time to make you a trusted employee. Even more than that actually. if his relentless flirting was enough of tell.

By now, you were on first name bases. But even though Alfie was quite outspoken about his appreciation of you, the only way you told him it was somewhat reciprocated was by flushing furiously whenever he flirted with you.

It wasn't enough. Not anymore. And while Alfie was patient and respectful of your shy nature, you were done with this cat and mouse dance. You wanted him. You're just waiting for the right time to go for it.

"There's Mr Shelby waiting for you in the hallway, should I let him in?"

Alfie groaned at the name. You knew it was only to keep up his burly grumpy man persona he got going on. Deep down, you thought he didn't mind Tommy's company much.

"Only if you come in with him, pet. I need something beautiful to look at to survive that fucking bore, right?"

Blushing at the insinuation you nodded before going to let Mr. Shelby in and retrieve pen and paper. This was actually part of your job description. Alfie's request was more because he was a flirt and he liked to see you flush.

Nothing but charm in his vein, let me tell you.

"Ms. Y/N will be with us so she could take notes and whatnot, I hope you don't mind Tommy but to be fair, I don't give a fuck if you do, right?"

"She always does Alfie." Tommy drily pointed out while lighting a cigarette.

"Yeah well, I like to be surrounded by beautiful things, don't I?"

"So do I, Alfie. So do I." Tommy agreed

"Alright gentlemen, if you could stop flirting with each other and move onto business please. Mr. Solomons. has a packed schedule, as I'm sure you have as well Mr. Shelby." Rearranging the papers and documents in front of you, you dressed the two men. You knew that they could go on for while like this. Especially alfie had a way of talking for hours without actually saying anything. It made for a perfect business strategy but you knew that he actually needed to settle things with Tommy.

The brume acknowledged her with just a light tilt of his lips while your boss sputtered in shock.

"Fucking hell, pet. What the fuck are ya on about, eh?" He looked at you, and you could see that other than the shock for your outrageous implication, there was actually surprise in his eyes. And then a pleased glimmer.

You only raised an eyebrow at him to silently suggest to just get on with the meeting.

"Fucking women, eh Tommy? Wild creature they are, I tell ya. You never can guess what's on their fucking mind, can ya."

"If you'd get on with it, then maybe you'll have enough time this evening so that I can tell you over dinner."

You had never seen Alfie Solomons speechless. Hell, you had never seen him be silent for more than one minute. You bet that he talked even in his sleeps.

Well, would you look at him now. Eyes wide and mouth almost open. If you hadn't just taken a huge leap out of your comfort zone, you'd find this situation funny.

Tommy Shelby probably did.

"You know what, Alfie? I'll come back tomorrow." And with just a tilt of his head in your direction, the brummie was off and out of Alfie's office.

Meanwhile, Alfie was still looking at you. Which was making you nervous. And when you were nervous, you tended to rumble.

"What? Is it such a preposterous idea?" you said being defensive.

"Fucking hell, pet. Didn't know you had it in ya."

"You're not the only one who can flirt, you know." You mumble, suddenly shy.

"Of course, not. And I fucking hope you're not going to stop either." He smirked at you. Pushing away from his desk he turned so that he was completely facing you.

"Now, why don't you come here and show me exactly what's on yer mind, eh?"

Burning. Your cheeks were burning red by now. But you did exactly what he said. You got up and you walked so that you were now facing him.

With him sitting down and you standing in front of him, you were almost the same height.

You didn't know what to do with your hands, with yourself really. That sudden burst of courage was long gone now.

Taking you in, Alfie could see that as well. Smiling, he gently pulled you even closer to him.

"We could wait 'till dinner and even after that, pet y'know? There's no rush, yeah?" He softly promised. He had been flirting with you for months after all, what's a few more weeks or however much you needed?

"I don't want to wait anymore, Alfie. I just don't know what to do." You looked at him under your lashes, all bashful and cute and Alfie could barely restrain himself.

"Then let me show ya, right?"

Gently cradling your face, Alfie leaned in. He let his nose touch yours in a gentle caress so that you had time to pulled away if you wanted to.

Then, when you didn't he finally kissed you.

It was gentle and soft and, in your opinion, the best kiss in the world.

[hoshigray]

i’m not sure if you’re currently writing for ushijima but if you are/will, could u write something smutty about reader telling him that they have an oral fixation 🤞 (i haven’t really seen any of your works for ushijima so i’m quite curious about how you write him. love your toji works, btw! <3)

Mouth on Body Experience

Oml you're my first HQ!! request, noonie! :00 Tbh with you, I never posted any of my HQ!! works because it was during a time when I was on and off with writing (not to mention it was chara x chara stuff bc I wasn't into x reader stuff back then), so this surprised me when I saw it in my inbox, lol. But I love Ushijima sm, like he's so cool and is definitely one of my top characters in the entire series!! Hope I did him justice in my writing since it's been so long, ty for this prompt! o(≧▽≦)o

Also, s/o to my wonderful mootie, @cu7ie, for helping me out with this!! I hope your day is going swell and wish nothing but good vibes your way~~ ☆ mwah-mwah!!

Cw: Ushijima x reader - explicit content; minors DNI - oral (m! receiving)/blowjob + handjob; implied first time giving him a bj - teasing; biting/sucking on the body (reader exploring Ushi's body with their mouth) - humping + grinding - tiny overstimulation for Ushi - pet names (baby, love) - kissing/makeout session - minor ball worship - Ushi is a bit confused but supportive - will proofread later :P. Wc: 2.6k

You peek through the door to the bedroom, taking the silence into account despite knowing someone is occupying the space. He prefers silence anyway, so it's no surprise that the television isn't even on. The only things that bring life into the room are the warm colors of the sunset painting the walls and your boyfriend sitting on the edge of his bed.

Having Wakatoshi Ushijima as your boyfriend is one of the many mysteries to the world and you. As many outside observers would think, being in a relationship with the guy has been quite a journey. Not to say that is a bad thing, though. If anything, it's been going rather well.

Going into the relationship knowing you'd be dating one of the world's Olympic powerhouse volleyball players was intimidating enough. Yet, it's a different story actually meeting and talking with him in person, his fierce aura adequate to suffocate you then and there. But as the days go by and things calm down, you two slowly but surely feel comfortable in each other's presence. You start acting like a couple and expressing your love naturally.

You knock on the door, waiting for his permission before proceeding inside. When you hear his voice call to you, you move past the entrance and enter his room.

On the edge of the bed sat Ushijima in his usual comfortable house wear comprising of a plain white tee and sweatpants. His eyes focused on the item in his hands, a book that his eyes diligently skimmed from page to page. His concentration doesn't hinder until he notices you walking up to him, his face lifted slightly to look at your figure entirely.

"Hey," you greet him, to which he returns with an incline of his head. "What're you reading?"

"It's the book you left here last night," his deep voice still has you hard to believe, but it's become a welcoming timbre in your everyday life and is now something you love to hear. "I saw the reviews on the back and it had me interested."

You lift a brow. "You read the reviews on the cover?"

He lifts a brow in return. "Are they meant to be ignored?"

The giggle is stifled, trying to exit your lips. So thorough. "No, no, you can read them. Most people will read because of a cover or if the writer is their favorite." Your boyfriend watches you sit beside him, leaning against his shoulder as he returns to his reading. I bet he's gonna read the author's notes at the end when he's done.

You chuckle at your own joke, but Ushijima doesn't pay any mind, just putting an arm around your waist to keep you close to him. The two of you relish in each other's company; the warm hues peeking through the window blinds cover your backs with an imperceptible blanket of warmth.

With the rise and fall of his shoulder, you bask in the sun's dying glow while your breathing syncs with the man next to you. This moment almost fills you with peace, embracing the domestic feel within this space between you and your boyfriend.

But, again, it almost does the job. Because you remember why you even came into his space in the first place and the butterflies in your stomach party to your dreadful dismay.

You peer up to look at Ushijima, who keeps reading until you call for his attention. "Hey, Toshi?" His olive eyes flicker to you when you use his nickname, and your heart skips a bit when he immediately shifts his engagement to you. "C-Can I kiss you?" You don't know why you stammered around your words; it was a simple request, nothing too extreme. It's not like you two have never kissed before, but the idea in your head makes it nerve-wracking.

The tall man displays no reaction outside of a slight lift of a brow, but no words are needed when he places the book down by his side and his hand rest on your soft cheek. Your eyes instinctively close when his face decreases the gap between you, and firm, smooth lips land on your plump own. Just when you would sink into his touch, he withdraws himself from you, leaving a tiny whimper to exit your mouth.

"Can..." Your hand finds its way to the big one on the side of your face, his thumb stroking your cheek's surface. "Can I have another?"

Again, he doesn't use his words, just inclining his head towards you to kiss you. It's a few seconds longer than the last before he removes himself again, only for you to grip his shirt to restrict him. "Another, please..." your voice dials to a whisper, and a soft moan is shared when his lips return to yours. He retires again. "Anoth—"

Before long, Ushijima shushes your pleas with kisses without further approval. His hands bring you closer to him, and — before you know it — he's now on his back to the bed with you straddling him. Large palms roam around your waist and hips while you kiss him back, slowly venturing further down with each hump of the hips to gently grasp your ass.

There's no point in restraining the moans that naturally flee out of your mouth. This is what you wanted; this is what you came to the room for.

Well, to be specific, it's leading to what you came here for.

Throughout this relationship, you have yet to disclose your oral fixation. Perhaps it's because being with a man like Ushijima still intimidates you to share your sexual interests with the man. Nonetheless, it's something you've been longing to share with him. There have been instances where it would sneak in through your intimate moments, yet you choose to stop yourself and not ruin the atmosphere with your boyfriend.

So you've resorted to relinquishing this craving with activities to keep you busy: the usually chewing gum, biting or sucking on your tongue, or chewing on your nails.

Regardless, today is the day you try to initiate this part of your being with Ushijima. You've been dying to have your mouth on his body for the longest time — especially with how attractive and well-built the man is has been driving you crazy.

It all excites you, enthralls you. However, you snap back to reality when you hear a hot groan from the man you're straddling, realizing you're still kissing him. To your horror, finding yourself sucking on his tongue, you quickly exit off the bed. Heavy pants from the two of you fill the bedroom, and your wide eyes look into his hooded dirty gold ones.

"I-I'm so sorry, Toshi!" You're quick to throw apologies his way. "I got a little ahead of myself!"

"Mmm. It's fine." He nonchalantly reassures you, wiping the spit on his lips with the back of his hand.

Yet, you continue to ramble on. "No, really, sorry about that! I got a little carried away. I was thinking too much..."

"Thinking about what?"

Oh shit.

Now why the hell would you put yourself out like that? "Huh?" You try to play dumb despite understanding it won't work on him.

Ushijima exhales through his nose before hoisting himself up from the bed. "It's pointless to back out of something when you're the one who's done it." His blunt words hit like knives to your figure, internally groaning as he stands up in front of you. "What's on your mind, Y/n?"

Oh fuck, I've done it now. There is no way out of this; you'll have to tell him what's been troubling you recently.

"I...I wanna—Okay. So, I have this thing with my mouth, right?" You can tell the expression on Ushijima's face doesn't coincide with the supportive nod. "It's like...It's a habit of mine where I use my mouth on stuff to stimulate myself?" At this point, you don't know what the fuck you're talking about. Just get this over with, me! I can't take it!!

"So, I've been thinking of...you know," your mind and gut are doing gymnastics, toying with your uncomfortableness to this entire situation. "I want to use my mouth...on your body...."

Olive brown brows furrow and you quickly sprout more nonsense. "Th-That's unless you're okay with it! If you don't think you're okay with it or you feel discomfort, then I won't be hurt in any way! It's totally up to you because I can just—"

"Y/n." Your rambles are muted by the use of your name, his brows still scrunched with an indistinct expression. "I'm not following: why would you want to use your mouth on my body?"

"Well, because," your face gets hot by the second: not just from you revealing your secret, but also your boyfriend asking questions. "I like your body, Toshi. Especially with how nice your physique is, I just kinda want to...play with it a little? Make you feel good..."

Ushijima's facial expression molds to a softer tone when you confess to him, and his eyes drift to the side as if he's searching for the right words to say. It makes you anxious with how in-depth he's taking this into heart, so you squeak when his goldish orbs return to you. "Is it something that I can help with?"

"Umm, yes, yeah!" Confirmation stammers out your lips. "I mean, as long as you're up for it."

He places his hands on your waist to bring you close to him. "I am."

He looks at you with hooded eyes, and the romantic tension from before fills the room. "Yeah?" Your voice winds down to a murmur.

"Yeah." His voice lowers as his head comes down to you, and your lips once again welcome the feel of his.

And with that, Ushijima finds himself back on the bed with you on top of him. You carry more confidence than previously as your kisses become more passionate and hot, teeth bumping into each other and you nibbling on his lip, resulting in abrupt groans.

Your hands venture down to the hem of his shirt, hesitantly raising it inch by inch. And Ushijima notices your desire for access, and a big hand engulfs yours and lifts the shirt to reveal his abdomen and pectorals.

Kisses from the mouth trail down to his neck and clavicle, and he tries to stop himself from moaning to your sweet touches. Your lips pepper all that's exposed to you, quick licks onto his pecs, and gentle bites on his nipples. It's evident now that the man is enjoying your actions, limiting the pleasure in his voice while his hands stick to your waist as his hips rock with yours.

Your hand sneaks down from his well-defined abs to his pelvis, fingers intruding under the band of his sweatpants and brushing against the soft material of his briefs that shield his now erect cock from your mere fingertips. Ushijima hums with his baritone voice, large palms dare calm down to your butt and knead the flesh, and you purr to his firm grasp.

"May I use my mouth?" It was a tiny suggestion, yet there was a distinct connotation. You haven't ever given your boyfriend a blowjob before, so this was new waters you were treading cautiously with. Nevertheless, he surprises you with a nod, egging you on to resume. A feeling of giddiness corrupts your senses, placing chaste kisses on his nipple down to his abs, and Ushijima has his hand on your head the further you go to his lower region.

You're now on your knees on the floor as you pull his sweatpants and underwear to his thighs, and the image of his erection springing out in front of your eyes has you practically drooling in anticipation. Every crevice, every dent, and every vein of his dick is mesmerizing to the eyes, and your curiosity gets the best of you when his body jerks at your hands grazing his balls. How vulgar.

"Hmmm, Y/n, love," he calls to you with whimpers — a rarity to hear but beautiful to the ears. "Go easy on me..."

And you just give him a lovely smile before you move a hand on his cock, stroking the length in a slow but firm motion. He jolts to your grasp, throwing his head back and sinking into the mattress as your palm slides up and down his limb. It gets worse for him when he feels your tongue flicks on his balls, sucking on his sack prompts moans of bliss to substitute the silence of the room.

The summer sun continues to descend, the waning heat losing its touch in the room. But the warm sensation of your mouth on his shaft has Ushijima's skin hot to the touch, his hands gripping the comforter beneath him. And he hisses when he senses the work of your tongue on the tip of his couch, lapping on the sensitive glands while simultaneously stroking him and massaging his sack.

Your cheeks go hollow when you take the head to your mouth, relaxing your jaw as you gradually suck all of him at your own pace. Your boyfriend has to bite on his lip and try to not buck his hips toward you. But it feels so fucking good when the velvety walls of your throat accommodate his girth and size; your wet muscle on the underside of his dick sends electric waves every time it brushes up and down from your bobbing gesture.

As for you, it feels like you're under an ecstatic spell as you work your way to the base of his cock with every suck. The cockhead hits the back of your throat at a delicious angle that you mewl on the member, eyes shut to fully enjoy the experience and commotion between your lips. Tears start to prickle, spit and drool coat his shaft, and your brain goes foggy when his musk blocks your nostrils. The throbbing sensation between your legs gets unbearable by the second, and you grind your thighs together to ease your lust.

Ushijima has done well trying to maintain his steel composure; however, no matter how he tries, he soon succumbs to the warm and pleasurable feeling of your throat when he thrusts into your oral cavity at a reasonable tempo, going faster and faster when the notion of his release crawls up within him.

"Haaaah, ahhhh—Mmmph!" Moans fly out from his mouth, no longer attempting to keep this from escaping. "Dove, I'm about to cum in your—Hnnngh!! Ahhh, shit, shit," and he grabs your head to keep you steady as he ruts into your throat. The orgasm hits the both of you, and a few deep strokes result in him shooting his load inside you, forcing you to drink all he gives you.

And you happily do so, waiting for his thighs to stop jerking as you take in every bit of his essence. Once he's done ejaculating, you slowly remove yourself from his sock, a soft pop evidence of you two no longer connected. You swallow and gulp any remainder of his load before climbing back onto the bed to lay beside Ushijima, who turns to his side to survey you thoroughly with half-lidded eyes.

You sigh with a smile. "Enjoyed yourself?"

While his hand caresses your cheek, he hums as his response. "Did you?"

"Yes, very much so. Thank you, Toshi." You start to feel drowsy as the room becomes dark, the warm colors of the sunset dulling as the moon sheds light.

"Of course, dove."

[tojigasm]

girl 😫 your jake sully stuff is TOP TIER. best characterization for him i’ve seen so far, and the dialogue 🥵 WHEEEWW

i can’t get brat-tamer jake outta my head. can you imagine 🫣 maybe you do something he’s specifically told you multiple times NOT to do. or maybe it’s just back talk, whatever you want. either way, he’s not having it. gotta put you in your place, naturally. just don’t let him know you secretly enjoy it all 🤭

Thankyou thankyou, anon!! I hope you enjoy! <33

"Cut it out."

You can hear the heat of his growl, teetering into a low groan when you look up, meeting his narrowed glance.

Usually, the look on its own, followed by the fevered warning was enough cause to rethink your attitude, and today you'd been testing his limits since he came back from a hunt early in the morning.

"Kid, I'm serious. M'not in the mood." Jake growls lowly, turning back to whatever he'd been working on.

But you were in the mood, and he'd been neglectful for the past week or so. Leaving you to settle and savor your own pleasure, and with the hunts becoming more frequent with winter nearing, you'd found yourself far more bratty than usual.

"Can't tell me what to do." You mumble.

"Excuse me?" The hiss of his voice should warrent and apology, and usually, it would, but with the hiss follows his sharp canines pearling under his lip and heat floods your core.

You don't answer him, resorting to huffed pout before standing up and walking away.

You don't get far before you're pulled to the ground, forcing you onto your knees. The ground bites at your skin and sends bursts of shivers up your thighs.

Jake grabs your jaw from behind you, tipping your head back to meet his eyes again. And you can tell, just by the way his ears plateau and his eyes soften gently that he's about to give you a second chance.

Before he has the chance, you bite at the inside of his thigh, earning a hiss from the older na'vi.

"Y/n," he warns through a groan, digging his thumb past your lips to rest against your tongue. The calm doesn't last long before he's pressing your face against his swollen cock.

"Don't be a fuckin' brat." He heads, wrapping both hands at your jaw, leading you up and down the length of him.

You swallow around him and run your tongue up and down the base of his cock, circling your small hands around the girth of his hilt.

You feel dirty. Covered in the filth of his vulgar words and the sight of his cock shoved down your throat so deep that drool dribbles down your chin and neck.

"Why can't you just fuckin' behave?" Jake groans, pulling you off for air. He half expects you to reply and half expects you to look up at him with your pretty lidded eyes and take his cock back into your mouth.

He's not surprised when you bite back at him.

Wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, you sneer up at him, "You can't tell me what to do." You repeat.

Jake's brows furrow at that, and his eyes fall relaxed, and you know you're in for it.

"Wanna bet?"

[shogunish]

𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗴𝗼𝗷𝗼𝘀 & 𝗶. [𝟬𝟳]

synopsis. you were his mama.

words. 784

warnings. none

note. surprise! bet you thought you'd seen the last of me ✨ i didn't forget about tumblr, just had really low motivation bc i got a new job and it sucks the life out of me. but i hope you guys enjoy this chapter even though i disappeared for so long 🫠

previous || next || masterlist

tossing and turning in bed like a fearful deer, sleep didn’t come easily to little megumi.

even with the moonlight gently filtering through the curtains and casting a gentle glow upon his childish self and the plushies he surrounded himself with, it brought him little to no comfort. every time he closed his eyes, nightmares would haunt him. gruesome images of monsters hunting him down, the blood of his family long spilled and devoured while he was running.

running, running, running.

until megumi would fall into the abyss and wake up with a gasp, his spine straight as a candle and his palms clammy with cold sweat. his breath came out in labored huffs while his heart was pounding against his ribcage and about to break through the bone of his sternum to make a run for it.

it was just a dream, megumi realized.

“papa..?” the kid called out gently with a voice as shaky as a house of cards.

of course no one would answer. it was in the middle of the night and his dad was likely blissfully asleep in his own bedroom, snoring away like dads did.

with a teddy bear clutched in megumi’s hold, he almost silently padded along the wooden floors of his home – in case any monsters lurked in the shadows and kept their ears wide open for any sound the child might make. shaky hands opened the door to satoru’s bedroom where it was comfortably warm. it was a little too dark for megumi’s liking but it was bright enough for him to find his dad rousing from his slumber and the sleeping figure next to him.

“had a nightmare?” satoru whispered gently as the wind and wore a sleepy smile on his face as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes to see his own son better in the darkness.

megumi crawled onto the mattress, quickly burying himself underneath the sheets that satoru held up for him. the kid was about to tell satoru all about the horrifying things his mind had made up in his sleep when he was stopped by you stirring right next to him.

the words megumi wanted to say died on the tip of his tongue.

“are you having a sleepover?” megumi whispered quietly as to not wake you.

cerulean eyes gazed over at your quietly snoring self, hair disheveled and hugging a good portion of the blanket to your chest. you were so adorable – even if a bit of drool slipped past the seam of your pretty lips.

“yeah, we’re having a sleepover buddy. wanna join us?” to that question, megumi eagerly nodded his head, snuggled into the sheets and let his head hit the soft pillows underneath him.

the combined warmth of his dad and you enveloped him and managed to seep through megumi’s clothes. it reminded him of warm, familiar honey that he never used to like but now that you were in the picture..

“is [name] my mama?” megumi suddenly asked, staring at his dad with big, dark eyes that resembled a doe’s.

satoru appeared to be taken aback for a second before he managed to catch himself and hugged his little boy to his chest like he always did after the kid had a nightmare. “do you want her to be your mama?”

megumi glanced over at you. it was you who tended to his scraped knees, brought him sweets after going grocery shopping and made up stories for him to fall asleep to. sure, his papa did the same for him but with you..it felt different. it felt like he was your own flesh and blood and not the child of a woman who left her family for whatever reason.

“yes. i want her to be my mama and you my papa.” megumi answered after a beat of silence.

a smile rested on satoru’s lips. knowing that his son got along with you, the woman he loved and adored, made his heart soar the skies like birds did. megumi might not have been your biological son but you acted like it. and maybe, that fact was lost in the sea of the past because neither of you three cared about it anymore.

without realizing it, you had become part of their family and satoru was happy it was you.

he was happy it was you who had rung the bell that day with a batch of cookies in your hands and shyly asking him if everything was alright.

he was happy that it was you who he had kissed in the park.

he was happy it was you who had taken the role of megumi’s mother and hopefully..someday..satoru’s wife, as well.

taglist. @torusmochi, @cinnamonmon, @risuola, @ayanominitrash, @lordbugs, @phoenix666stuff, @hotvinimon, @stevenknightmarc, @sukunasleftkneecap, @erigaur, @lu-lynds, @staryukis

[sailortongue]

Sweet Tooth

pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

wc: 4.5k

summary: spencer finds himself frequenting a local donut establishment for more reasons than one. his sweet tooth isn't limited to just pastries and he bets you'd taste delicious

cw: oral (fem receiving), fingering. pls pls pls let me know if i missed smth but i think those are the only major things

------

It was widely known that Spencer was fond of overly sweet coffee, but his sweet tooth was not limited to just his morning pick-me-up. The team had recently wrapped up with a rather grueling case, and he thought he’d surprise them all with donuts that morning. So there he was, in the local donut shop, staring at what must have been the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. The way the early morning light shone in through the windows and illuminated you was truly breathtaking. Try as he might, he stumbled over the order, embarrassing himself in front of you and surely ruining his chances of you liking him.

You could tell he was flustered, so you did your best to suppress your giggles. He was cute. Very cute. This was the first time you had seen him come into the store, and you were hoping it wasn’t the last. He paid for his order and you boxed it up, receiving a shy smile from him as you handed it to him. “Thank you,” he said, before turning and walking out quickly, the bell above the door chiming.

It was a little over a week before you saw him again. He greeted you with a “good morning” as he walked in and approached the counter.

“Good morning!” you said back cheerily, glad to see that he had returned. He scanned the selection of confections before selecting a chocolate donut with sprinkles.

“Huh, I thought you’d be more of a donut hole kind of guy,” you said, trying to make conversation with the handsome man.

He laughed a bit and shook his head. “No, chocolate and sprinkles are definitely the best. They've been my favorite since I was a kid.”

“Oh yeah? I think if I was to pick a favorite it would have to be the apple fritter.”

Not missing the chance to learn about you, even if it was just your favorite donut, he asked, “Why that one? Not that it's a bad choice, but most people seem to prefer the chocolate and glazed.”

You laughed and Spencer swore his heart melted right then and there. “Well, they're my dad’s favorite. And every time he had one he would split it between us. So not only is it delicious, but it reminds me of my childhood.”

He smiled at your wholesome reason and before he could stop himself he said, “That’s really cute.”

You blushed, consumed with the thought that he considered something about you was cute, even if it was something so minor as to why your favorite donut is what it is. God, you didn't even know his name and there you were, developing a crush. Your eyes met his, and you were awestruck at how warm and inviting they looked. He had these expressive brown eyes that you could get lost in if you allowed yourself to. You shook your head from your thoughts, realizing you were probably freaking him out. He was just here for a donut and here you were staring at him like some creep. You hadn’t even bagged it for him yet. Pull yourself together you chastised yourself internally, finally breaking eye contact and doing your job like a normal person.

When you handed him the bag he briefly glanced down at your name tag. “Thanks, Yn,” he said, giving you a small smile. What a pretty name, he thought.

“No problem, have a good day…” you trailed off, hoping he would introduce himself. It was only fair since he knew your name.

“Spencer,” he filled in for you.

“Spencer,” you repeated. “I’ll have to remember that for next time.”

–❀– 

Next time turned out to be three days later. You were back in the kitchen, not expecting a customer to be there so early until you heard the bell chime. “I’ll be right there!” you called out. You quickly rinsed your hands and were still drying them on a towel when you walked out to see a familiar mop of brown hair. “Spencer! Good morning!”

He chuckled, “Good morning, Yn.”

“Chocolate with sprinkles?” you asked, remembering his favorite.

“You remembered?”

“You’re beginning to become a regular, and I make it a point to memorize those orders.”

Spencer’s smile dropped a bit, somewhat disheartened that it was something you did for all customers and not just him.

You didn’t notice the slight change in his expression and continued, deciding to take a chance. “Plus, it’s hard to forget the cute customers.”

Spencer’s face instantly flushed crimson, all logical thought leaving him. So much for his high IQ. His mouth opened and closed again, desperately trying to formulate some sort of response. But Spencer couldn't even think straight. His thoughts were in a flurry and every single one was about you.

Seeing his reaction, you backpedaled as fast as you could. “I’m sorry. That was too forward of me. I don’t know why I said that. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable—”

“It’s perfectly alright.” He cut off your frantic apology. “You didn't make me uncomfortable at all. I’m actually quite flattered that you find me as attractive as I find you.”

It was your turn to be speechless. When his words fully sunk in, you couldn't stop the wide smile and giggle that bubbled forth. This man was going to be the death of you. “So, uh,” he started nervously, rubbing a hand on the back of his neck, “I was wondering if I could get your number?”

You beamed at him. “Yes, of course!” You went to the register and rang him up, writing your phone number on his receipt before handing it to him. He dialed it into his phone, and you heard your phone ringing faintly from the break room where you had left it. “There,” he said. “Now you have my number, too.”

–❀–

Your morning rendezvous with Spencer quickly became the highlight of your week. He was always dressed professionally, and you finally decided to ask him where he worked. The two of you talked about nearly everything under the sun, so you were shocked when you came to the realization that you didn't even know what he did for work.

The next time he came in, you practically ambushed him with your question. His eyes widened in surprise, “Oh, I’m an agent with the BAU. Did I not tell you that?”

“No, you did not. What’s the BAU?”

“It stands for behavioral analysis unit. It’s a department of the FBI. We analyze the unsub’s-”

“Unsub?” you interrupted.

“Unidentified subject. So what we do is analyze the unsub’s actions and behavior and create a profile to better understand how and why they do what they do. This is what allows us to determine the identity of the unsub and arrest them.”

Your jaw had dropped open during his explanation. The guy you’d been casually talking to turned out to be an FBI agent. Cute and badass.

Becoming shy from the attention, he changed the subject to something he’d been wanting to ask you. “So, Yn, would you be interested in meeting somewhere other than here? When you're not at work and I don't have to go to my own job?”

Your face flushed with heat, and your heart pounded in your chest. “Like a date?”

Trusting that your hopeful expression was a good indication, Spencer nodded. “Yeah, like a date.”

The bright smile you gave him at his confirmation would live in Spencer’s mind for the rest of the day.

“I’m free this weekend,” you suggested.

–❀–

And just like that, it became a routine for Spencer to visit the shop at least once a week. He began to find himself getting up earlier and earlier each day just so he could stay and talk with you for longer. The physical attraction was instant from the first moment he saw you, but now that he was truly getting to know you he was falling and falling fast. You had this light about you that Spencer couldn't put into words, even with his impressive vocabulary. 

Reid’s highly observant coworkers were quick to notice his frequent morning donut runs. He never ate them at the shop, choosing to use that time to visit with you. Instead, he waited until he got to the office so he could enjoy the sweet goodness with his daily cup of coffee. And today was no exception.

“All those donuts are going to catch up with you one day, Reid,” Prentiss teased. “You can't be skinny forever.”

“So be it. She's worth it,” replied Spencer, taking another bite, sprinkles falling onto the napkin he’d placed on his desk.

“She?” Morgan raised his brows, a grin spreading across his face as he turned in his chair to face the young doctor.

Spencer’s eyes widened and he nearly choked on his food, trying to figure out a way to take back his slip of the tongue. “I meant they. They’re worth it. The donuts.”

“Uh-huh. Sure. So what’s her name?”

Spencer sighed. “Yn.” That was all he said as he pulled his paperwork towards himself. No point in denying it when they were already certain. 

“Woah, woah, you can't just leave it at that! Tell us about her. What's she like and how did you meet? Spill everything.” 

Spencer merely took another bite of his donut, a smug smirk on his face for withholding the information his colleagues were so curious about.

For the rest of the day, Morgan and Prentiss attempted to convince Spencer to divulge his sweet secret. After another failed attempt, it finally hit Morgan, and he had to admit he felt very silly for it. He waited until Spencer left on his lunch break before he approached Emily’s desk.

“Hey, what’s up?” she asked.

“What’s up is that Hotch should probably reconsider our positions on the team,” he joked. “The donut bag. It’s in Reid’s personal mini trash can under his desk. All we have to do is look at it real quick and we’ll know exactly which shop he goes to!”

Emily laughed, amused how it took so long for one of them to think of that. “Then what are we waiting for? Let's go dig in the doctor’s trash.”

They both stood and went over to Spencer’s desk. Morgan reached under and pulled out the small trash can, plucking the crumpled bag from the top. As he flattened the bag back out, a voice startled the two of them and they spun around in unison, like two kids that had been caught with their hands in the cookie jar.

“Why are you two digging in the kid’s trash?”

“Reid has a girl in his life and if he wont tell us then we’re gonna find out ourselves. She’s either a regular at this place—” he held up the bag, displaying the logo for Rossi to see, “—or she works there.”

“Hm. I see. Carry on, then,” was all he said before continuing on his way.

The younger agents turned their attention back to what they were digging for. “Meche’s Donuts,” they both read aloud.

“Pretty sure that’s close to Reid’s place. Y’know, I think some donuts tomorrow morning would be great, don’t you?”

“Now that you say it, yeah, donuts would be good. Meet you there at 8:00?”

“You bet.” He recrumpled the bag and replaced the trash can as it was.

When Reid returned, he didn't notice the look his friends exchanged and was none the wiser.

–❀–

The next morning, both Emily and Derek got up earlier than usual and met in the parking lot of Meche’s. They approached the building, and Derek held open the door for Emily, the bell chiming to notify you of a customer’s arrival.

“Good morning!” you greeted like usual.

They returned your greeting as they neared the counter, both of their sights narrowing in on your name tag: Yn.

“Has a guy named Spencer Reid been here today?” Morgan asked, never one to beat around the bush.

“No, do you know him?” You asked curiously.

“Yeah, we’re friends of his. We noticed that his sweet tooth has been getting the better of him lately. Lots of donuts,” he smirked, gesturing down to the transparent display. “Pretty boy had a bit of a slip up and told us that it was because of a girl, but wouldn’t tell us anything else. So we decided to do a bit of sleuthing.”

“And here we are,” finished Emily. “I’m Agent Emily Prentiss and this is Agent Derek Morgan. Promise we’re not creeps, this is just the first time we’ve known him to have a crush on someone and we wanted to know what you looked like. He’s got good taste at least.”

You laughed good-naturedly, “Don't worry about it. We have a date scheduled for this weekend actually.”

Emily ooohed like a schoolgirl. “You don't have to tell me if you don't want to, but I’m dying to know. What is Spencer’s idea of a date? Bet he takes you to a bookstore.”

“Or a foreign movie,” interjected Morgan. “With no subtitles, so he can whisper the translations in your ear.”

–❀–

Saturday

You were getting ready for your date with Spencer when you heard your phone ring. The caller ID told you that it was Spencer calling and butterflies erupted in your stomach.

“Hello?”

“Hey, I was just calling to let you know I’m on my way.”

“Ok, perfect! I’m almost done getting ready. You remember the address?”

He laughed. “Of course I remember. There’s not much I don’t remember.”

“Oh, my bad Dr. Reid. We can't all be super geniuses with an eidetic memory.”

The two of you talked and joked with each other until Spencer told you that he was parking and would be up in a moment to meet you at the door. All you had to do was quickly slip your shoes on and you were ready.

Three sharp raps sounded from the door, and you peeked through the peephole before unlocking the door and swinging it open.

He seemed stunned for a second, just taking in your appearance. “Wow,” was all he could think to say. “You look beautiful.”

“And you look very handsome,” you returned the compliment. And he did, as always. He was probably the only guy you knew who could pull off a sweater vest. He may dress like an old man, but damn did he make it work.

Turns out that he picked out some hole in the wall diner you’d never even heard of. But he swore by their food and claimed it was some of the best in town. Also that they made a mean bread pudding. A broad smile overtook his features when he saw your eyes light up at the mention of the dessert. He’d recalled from a previous conversation that it was your favorite and had made sure to choose a restaurant that had it on the dessert menu.

The meal was spent indulging in a lively conversation about all of your favorite books. He even suggested a book exchange; he’d load you his favorite, and you’d loan him yours. Though you did warn him that you might have to pick up a new copy first, as yours was particularly old  and practically on the verge of disintegrating in your hands.

“I’m sure it’s not that bad,” he said.

“No, it is!” you insisted. “The last time I read it I looked down and there were a bunch of particles on my lap from the pages.”

After picking up the check at the diner, Spencer informed you that there was a movie he wanted to take you to. “It’s a Russian movie, and I’m not sure if there’s subtitles or not, but I can whisper the translations for you. But I definitely think you’ll enjoy the plot.”

You thought back to what Morgan said when he and Emily visited you. Morgan: 1, Emily: 0. 

Turns out, there were, in fact, subtitles. However, Spencer claimed those weren't very accurate to the tone of the movie and chose to give you his own translations anyway. In order to not disturb other movie goers, he had to lean in to whisper, so close that his lips would occasionally brush the shell of your ear. If not for the fact you were already sitting, you thought your knees would have given out. The low timbre of his voice traveled straight from your eardrum all the way to your core. You tried to pay attention to the movie, you really did, but the gentle rasp of Spencer’s voice in your ear had you beyond distracted. He was so close. Between the close proximity and his voice, your panties were quickly becoming uncomfortably sticky which led you to squirm in your seat occasionally. 

Spencer, the hyper-observant profiler that he was, noticed your pitiful attempts to adjust the way you were sitting. “Are you ok?” he asked, interrupting his translation mid sentence.

“Yes!” you answered hurriedly. “Yeah, I’m fine.” You cleared your throat nervously and hoped he would let it go. You could see a slight frown form on his face before it looked as if a metaphorical lightbulb went off over his head.

He resumed his position near your face, once again whispering to you, but not translations this time. No, this time it was as if a switch had flipped inside the sweet man you’d become so fond of. “If I didn't know any better, I’d say you like having me so close to you. Isn't that right, Yn?”

The way he whispered your name so sensually had your heart beating out of your chest and your breath hitching in response. His laughter came out as a huff, trying to stay quiet. “Think you can wait until the end of the movie?” he asked with a suggestive lilt to his words.

You both knew the answer, but you pretended to think about it in an effort to spare at least some of your dignity. “No,” you answered with your head down, almost ashamed at how easily Spencer had riled you up.

“‘No’ what? Use your words, sweetheart.”

To hell with your dignity. “No, I can't wait. I want you now.”

He grabbed your hand and pulled you up from your seat as he stood. He led you out the doors and to the parking lot, heading straight for his car.

“Where are we going?”

“My apartment.” he answered swiftly as he put his hand on the back of your seat to back out of the parking spot. 

The ride to his apartment was spent mostly in silence, both of you tense for all the best reasons. At one of the red lights he’d made the bold move to relocate one of his hands from the steering wheel to your left thigh, rubbing his thumb back and forth and gently squeezing it every now and then. Every squeeze sent a bolt of electricity to your center and you were getting needier by the second.

–❀–

As soon as his apartment door shut behind him, his mouth was on yours, lips crashing together in a heated kiss. With both hands on either side of your face, he licked the seam of your lips impatiently, wanting nothing more than to taste you. You obliged, and his tongue snaked its way into your mouth, intertwining with yours. He groaned into the kiss, unable to get enough of you. Pulling away from your lips, he kissed down your jaw and neck slowly, deliberately. Taking his time to leave dark marks in his wake. He took a deep breath in through his nose. “You have no idea what this perfume was doing to me at the movie. Could barely even translate for you,” he mumbled into your skin.

“Bedroom?” you asked, near breathless with anticipation but not particularly wanting to get fucked in his entryway.

He led you through his apartment to his bedroom where Spencer wasted no time reconnecting his lips to yours, backing you up until the back of your knees hit the edge of the bed, prompting you to sit. Before you could lay down, his hands tugged on the hem of your shirt. “Let’s get this off of you, hm?”

He made quick work of the cloth and tossed it aside “God, you're so pretty. Lay down for me, sweetheart,” he said. You flushed and did as he told you, scooting yourself higher up on the bed before laying your head onto his pillows. He removed both his sweater vest and shirt before eagerly crawling atop you. He propped himself up on his elbows, his face aligned with yours. You impatiently leaned up to kiss him again, and you could feel him grinning into the harsh kiss before kissing you back. His hands wandered across your body, settling on your breasts. You moaned into his mouth and pressed your chest further into his large hands, your hips bucking up, seeking the friction you so desperately wanted. 

He chuckled, removing his hands from your breasts to your hips and holding them down, preventing you from moving them and eliciting a whine from you. “Patience, sweetheart. I’ll take care of you. Promise.” His voice was low and gravelly, his lips pressed against the skin just under the skin of your earlobe. He suckled the skin lightly as one hand came up behind your back, unclasping your bra and giving it the same treatment he gave your shirt. He pulled back and groaned at the sight of seeing you half naked beneath him. This felt like a dream come true to Spencer and it was taking everything he had to not throw his inhibitions out the window and ravish you right that second.

He groped your bare chest for a moment before leaning down to lick a stripe between them. He placed feather-light kisses across your skin, his hair falling over his face and tickling you where it brushed. His trail of kisses led him to one of your nipples, which he took in his mouth, sucking lightly. You gasped when he used his teeth to pull on it slightly. “Spencer!”

While his mouth was busy with one, he had a hand on the other, tweaking the bud between his nimble fingers. You raked your hands through his hair, holding him in place. The tug on his roots had Spencer groaning into your chest and increasing the intensity of his ministrations and suckling you more and more fervently with each tug of his hair and sweet moan from your lips. Satisfied, he released your bud with a slight pop and switched to the other side, determined to make you squirm and beg for him before he touched you properly. The hand that wasn't on your breast lowered from your waist to your hip, massaging the supple flesh.

“Please, Spencer,” you begged, needing so much more than he was currently giving you. You were aching for him, panties soaked with evidence of your want.

He released your nipple and tilted his head to look at your face, both of your pupils blown wide with lust. He cooed at you, “What does my pretty girl need? Tell me, and it’s yours.”

“You!” you cried. “I want you! Please, Spencer!”

He groaned, the sound low and guttural. “You already have me. I was yours from the first moment I laid eyes on you.” Your eyes softened from his words, and you watched him as he tilted his head back down, tracing his nose down your abdomen as he lowered himself further down the bed, his hands caressing your sides as he did so. He placed a chaste kiss just above the waistband of your bottoms before hooking his fingers under it. “May I?”

You nodded frantically, and he placed another kiss in the same spot as he pulled your shorts and panties down together, tantalizingly slowly. Finally seeing you completely bare before him had him nearly cumming in his pants on the spot. You were so perfect and he wanted to make you feel so good that the only name you knew was his. He ran his hands up your thighs and settled his head between them. “You're absolutely dripping for me, sweetheart.” Spencer was practically panting from the lust flowing through his veins. He placed a chaste kiss to your clit before tentatively licking your cunt. You let out a strangled moan, his hot tongue not providing near enough pressure.

“Don’t tease me, Spence,” you mewled, your hands weakly trying to push his head back down where you needed him.

“Savoring, baby, not teasing. I don’t want to forget a single moment of this.” With that said, he licked a broad stripe across your pussy, much more confident than the first time. He wrapped his lips around your clit and sucked harshly, groaning into you. You cried out his name, grip on his hair tightening. “Fuck, you taste so good,” he said breathlessly before diving back in, slurping at you like a man starved. He hummed with bliss as he continued to eat you out, the vibrations adding to the stimulation. “So sweet, baby, oh my God,” he praised. He lifted your legs and placed them over his shoulders, pressing himself further into you as he wrapped his arms around your thighs.

It was all you could do to keep from screaming his name as he continued to lick and suck at the most intimate part of you. You thrashed in his hold, overwhelmed with the pleasure he was giving you. He tightened his hold on your thighs, holding you open so he could continue to drink you in. He swore he would never be able to get enough of you. If this was the last thing he ever did then he'd die a happy man.

“C’mon, sweetheart, cum on my face. Give it to me. I want it,” he grunted. Without warning, he plunged a finger into you, causing you to cry out. He added a second finger shortly after, and he relished in the way your walls were squeezing around his fingers. You were so close and it was all because of him. With his fingers thrusting in and out of you and his mouth on your clit, you were finally pushed over the edge, cumming with a scream of Spencer’s name. He didn't stop until you were practically shoving him away, the overstimulation becoming too much. His face was covered in your juices, and you watched with rapt attention as he licked his lips before wrapping them around the two digits still covered with your wetness, sucking them clean and groaning at the taste as he did it.

Yeah, Spencer Reid definitely had a sweet tooth.

[leviathans-watching]

You know your "kiss the prettiest in the room" ? Would you ever write what Raphael would react like if you wanted to kiss him instead of any of the others? My apologies if you don't write for him. - ⛓️

"kiss the prettiest person in the room" with the side characters

includes: thirteen, raphael, mephisto x gn!reader (no pronouns mentioned)

wc: .8k | rated t | m.list | pt 1 | bonus

a/n: i bet yall thought you'd seen the last of this series LMAO. anyway, i don't typically write for these characters so i hope i did okay with their characterization. my inbox is open to chat, req, or leave feedback so come say hi!!

please reblog (& check out the other parts in this series!)

diavolo is holding another sleepover, and you’re all crammed into one of his living rooms, sitting in a rough circle, with some on the couches, some in chairs, and some on the floor

you’re on one of the smaller couches, sharing it with solomon and when the sorcerer gets this glint in his eyes you know he had something up his sleeve

“let’s play truth or dare,” he suggests, and though you suspect the game will devolve into chaos, many of the brothers are quickly on board

the game goes a few rounds before solomon calls on you. “mc, truth or dare?”

you balk; the dare will no doubt be something intense and possibly humiliating, but choosing truth would probably be much worse. “dare,” you say, as confidently as you can

solomon grins wickedly. “kiss the prettiest person in this room.”

you gape at him even as various protests are raised around the room.

“no, mc does it or gets punished for chickening out,” solomon insists, and you recall the punishment, which is to buy a dinner next time you’re all out, something your poor wallet really can’t handle.

“i’ll do it,” you say, and a hush falls over the room as they all wait for you to pick.

thirteen hold back a laugh as she watches the stunned look on solomon’s face get more and more incredulous. seves that slimy sorcerer right! honestly, she hopes will make him trip up and fall into one of her traps.

you tap your chin as you look around the room, and when your eyes meet hers she grins, looking at you through her lashes. not that she expects you to pick her when there are several other people in the room, even if she is the prettiest. 

but you surprise her by standing, approaching even as you hold the eye contact. 

“you said prettiest, right solomon?” you ask, turning to look at him over your shoulder. “not handomsest, or even most attractive?” 

solomon swallows, clearly regretting his word choice. thirteen smirks at him. 

“yes, he said prettiest,” thirteen confirms, and you turn back to her, eyes sparking. 

“oh, well, then that’s perfect! can i kiss you, thirteen?” 

“you know you don’t have to ask,” she teases. you laugh, then lean down, giving her a short, impersonal peck on the lips. it’s one of the most chaste kisses she’s ever shared and as you pull away, she can’t help but wish for more.

raphael blinks as he takes in the scope of the dare is that even allowed? is it even appropriate?

you don’t seem to be having such qualms, scanning the room with intent. honestly, he feels more like he’s watching a car crash than a dare, and can’t help but wince imagining the impact.

except the car crash is now headed towards him with frightening speed.

“rapheal, you can totally say no,” you begin, taking a deep breath, “but honestly, you’re like really pretty, so can i kiss you?”

“me?” he echoes, stunned. “i’ve never been called pretty before.”

“really?” you squint at him. “well you totally are. but if you don’t want to kiss me that’s totally fine, i can choose the second prettiest.”

“nope!” solomon calls with glee. “that wasn’t the dare!”

“you can kiss me,” he says quietly. bravely too, if the glares he’s receiving are any indication. “i don’t mind.”

“you sure?”

he nods and in an instant, your close. like, really close. you give him one last chance to back out, but in another moment of bravery (or stupidity), he closes the distance between you. it’s been some time since he’s last kissed someone, but he hopes it’s enough to fulfill the requirements of the dare.

“whoa,” you say, hands on his shoulders as you look up at him. is that good or bad?

mephisto sighs. he can’t believe he was convinced to come to such a juvenile gathering! they haven’t even been talking about anything juicy enough to use in the newspaper!

but maybe this dare is his chance. romances among the most popular people in the school are always hot topics. he suposes he’ll just have to embellish the story behind the kiss, depending on who you choose.

“mephisto, come here,” you call, and he looks up sharply.

“surely you cannot mean–”

“oh, i mean,” you say with a grin. “as long as you’re willing, that is.”

juicy scoop or a chance to kiss you…?

oh, screw it. he’s on his feet in an instant, crossing the room to get to you. you don’t give him time to talk or anything, just grabbing the front of his shirt and pulling down.

the lasts a tad longer than it needs to, but mephisto can’t find it in himself to regret his eagerness, especially since you seem to be equally invigorated.

“okay, okay, break it up!” solomon eventually demands, and you pull back, laughing. he laughs too, suddenly not regretting attending at all.

leviathans-watching's work - please do not copy, repost, or claim as your own

[oliveisme533]

My dad’s neighbor is a dilf

Chapter 4

Joel Miller x You

Summery: You had decided to spend your summer in Austin with your dad. You used to spend almost every summer there, but hadn't spent a summer there since you were a teenager. Which means you hadn't seen a certain Joel Miller in years..

Warnings: abusive ex is back. Verbal abuse and physical violence (not against reader)

You roll over in your bed with a groan and stretch your arms. Grabbing your phone you check the time 10:03. Early for you. You decide to hop in the shower before your dad can ask you to help pick up fallen branches in the yard from last nights storm. You let the scolding water hit your body and you draw in a deep breath. Tomorrow was Monday which meant your dad would be back to work and you wouldn't have anyone to talk to or hang out with until 5 o'clock. Rinsing the soap from your face you contemplated just what to do with tomorrow, in fact you were beginning to wonder how to make use of your summer in general. The last couple weeks of doing nothing had been a much needed reprieve from your busy life, but you were starting to get a little stir crazy. You turned off the water, still deep in thought when you heard your phone buzzing. You tiptoed over to your bedside table and saw Joel's name lighting up the screen. "Why is he calling me?" You pick up the phone ...

Hello Hey sweetheart didn't wake ya did I? No no I've been up...for a few minutes (Joel chuckled) Well hey listen, one of my coworkers was looking for a sitter for tonight. He and the Misses are going out and their regular girl can't make it. Any interest in an easy job for the night? Oh yeah I can definitely do that. God know I've got nothing else going on. Okay I'll send you the info! Thanks darlin'

Obviously he wasn't calling just because he wanted to chat with you. It was a stupid thing to even hope for. The rest of the day went by relatively slowly, but when 6 o'clock rolled around you put some snacks in your back pack, a phone charger, and a book you had been trying to finish for several weeks now. The babysitting was easy. It was one kid, she was four years old and for the most part did whatever you asked. The parents told you they would be out late so when 11:45 rolled around you weren't surprised they hadn't come home yet. The house was quiet...too quiet. You never much liked this part of being a baby sitter. It was different when you did it for Sarah. The millers house was always warm and full of life. Those nights when Joel did get home a little later you felt safe curling up in on his couch with the TV on. Most of the times you would fall asleep like that and Joel would drive you home the next day after making you and Sarah breakfast. You smile at the memory. The sounds of the house settling are enough to snap you from this daydream down memory lane. "Fuck I really don't like this huge, quiet house. What if I call someone to keep me company. Dad will be asleep, so would mom and my sister. I bet Joel Miller is awake..." you stare at your phone and contemplate this next move. "Fuck it" you mutter and tape his name. The phone only rings a couple of times before you hear Joel's husky voice. A twinge of guilt shoots through you as you fear you've woken him up.

Hello? Everything okay? Hey, yeah I'm so sorry did I wake you? I was just restin' my eyes that's all. I ain't in bed yet. Well I just- I really don't like being in these houses all by myself. It sounds stupid but it's kinda scary I guess. 'S not stupid. You want someone to talk to-keep ya company? Yeah... and I figured you'd be awake still, but I guess I figured wrong You're all right honey, I really don't mind. I needed to get off this couch and sleep in my bed any how. But how 'bout you tell me about your day? My day was pretty boring honestly. I played with the cat, ate some ice cream and watched TV Wat'd ya watch? Love island What in the hell is that?

You laughed and proceeded to tell him all about the show. A little while passed and then you heard the lock click and knew the parents were home. You told Joel you had to go to which he responded "alright let me know when you get home safe. Can call me if you want." Back home you pondered whether or not you should call Joel. It was late and you were feeling tired, but you wanted to talk to him. After slipping into your pajamas you felt like you could hardly stay awake much longer, but you were determined to take advantage of this invitation from Joel to call him. So you tapped his name and watched the phone ring. You put it to your ear and your heart sank with each unanswered ring. When it went to voicemail you resolved that he had likely fallen asleep and you decided to do the same.

The next day you woke up early (ish) at 9:00. Your dad had already left for work. You roll over in your bed to check your phone and your heart pounds.

Missed call from Joel Miller 36m ago

You're hoping he's not at work yet and call him back quickly. "Hey sweetheart" he picks up within a few rings. "Sorry I missed your call last night. I ended up falling asleep and didn't hear the phone." It was so nice to hear his voice first thing in the morning. "Oh you don't need to apologize. I didn't really need anything, I just like talking to you" you could almost hear Joel grin as he said "well I like talkin' to you too sugar" you had walked down to your kitchen to put on a pot of coffee at this point when you say "hey why aren't you at work?" "Waitin for some parts to come in for this current job. Until they do there's nothin else I can really do. But the parts are supposed to be here by noon... so I'll get my ass to work in a couple hours" you notice a note taped to the fridge as Joel finishes saying all this. "I completely forget" you mutter to yourself, but apparently Joel hears. "What'd you forget?" "My dad left me a note reminding me that he's gone on a business trip and won't be back until Thursday." "Oh that's right. Your dad did mention that. Told me to keep an eye out for ya." "Did he really? "Yeah I mean you're going to be by yourself in that big house for almost 3 days" "I'm a grown ass woman though!" Joel chuckled. "No ones sayin you ain't, darlin. Dads worry and that don't change from when you're 5 or when you're 25" "I guess that's fair enough" you shrug. "I should get my day started here... might go on a run and catch up on laundry" "Well if you need anything the next couple of days just hollar" You hang up the phone with brief goodbyes and run your fingers through your tangled bed head. You groan as you massage your temple. "What the fuck am I doing?? I'm catching feelings for Joel fucking Miller. What's worse is that I'm flirting with him too"

Against your better judgement you decide to text Joel later in the day Hey what time you get off tonight? I should be wrapping up by 7...Why? You want to swing by for dinner? Nothing fancy. I'm just bored and I don't love being here alone in the evenings for long periods of time lol. Well I ain't gonna turn you down for some dinner. I'll see you at 7:30. Can I pick anything up at the store for ya on my way there? Well if you're offering... maybe some ice cream? And a bottle of rosè You got it

The rest of the day went by slowly. 7:30 couldn't get here fast enough. You were hoping for something to happen tonight with Joel, but you weren't sure what that would be. You hadn't decided if the lingering glances from him were just something you were imagining or actually happening. Around 6:30 you decide to hope in the shower and of course shave...because you never know right? After your shower you settle on wearing a simple, linen dress that's super comfortable and not all that fancy.  At exactly 7:30 you hear the doorbell ring. You jump off the sofa to answer it, your heart in your throat. But when you open the door, you're afraid you might be sick. It's not Joel Miller who stands there, but your toxic ex boyfriend ...Ben.

"What the fuck are you doing? You need to leave" Ben smirks. "Aren't you a delight. I just wanted to talk to you, and since you've block my number I had to take matters into my hands." Your heart was racing. Ben had never shown any physical violence against you, but you didn't know what he was capable and you didn't want to find out. "I thought I made myself really fucking clear that we are over" you said with a shaky voice. "Baby I just don't think you get to make that call. I mean I've done so much to make this relationship work. You can't just throw all that away. You know you're never going to find another guy who puts up with your shit." That was it. Something in you snapped. Something that had been brewing for literally years was about to come out. "No fuck you!" You shoved him in the chest with both palms and he stumbled back just a step, caught off guard by your motion. "Screw you! I don't need a guy to put up with anything about me, you asshole. You act like you're some fucking hero for tolerating the fact that I struggle with my mental health and stuff!" Ben was fuming now. You had never laid hands on him and you could tell the shove had lit something inside him too. "You have issues you know that?! You have fucking issues in your head!" He screamed at you getting up in your face and grabbing your arms tightly, pinning them to your sides. Out of the corner of your eye you saw Joel's truck coming down the street and pulling into your drive way. Ben was now shaking you and yelling "YOU'RE SUCH A BITCH.." he didn't get to finish his sentence because a firm hand grabbed him by the shoulder and yanked him backwards.

If looks could kill...you had never seen such an expression on Joel. He looked like he could tear Ben to pieces right then and there, yet he maintained a calm composure. "I suggest you get the fuck off this porch and don't come back, son" Joel said in a low voice. Ben scoffed. "Get out of here, old man. This ain't your business" Ben spat. "Son, we can do this the easy way or the hard way." Ben let his head fall back and let out a chuckle that sent a chill down your spine. "Is that so?" Without warning Ben threw a punch and Joel and narrowly missed "Ben!" You shrieked. Ben straightened up sent another punch. Joel grabbed his wrist, mid punch and yanked him in close. Joel towered over him. "Do not make me repeat myself again. I said get the fuck off this porch, or things will get ugly." At this Joel shoved Ben forcefully away, causing him to stumble backwards. Ben still looked angry, but now there was a hint of fear in his eyes too. He gave you one last glare and then jogged back to his car.

As soon as Ben's car sped off. Joel sun around. "Are you okay??" He asked, grabbing your face in his hands. "Um yeah" you managed to squeak. "I mean that fucking scared me tho." Joel looked like he might be sick. "I am so sorry wasn't here at 7:30. If I got here on time- " "Joel come on you don't need to do that. It's not like either of us had any idea Ben would show up here. I'm glad you came when you did though." Joel massaged the bridge of his nose. He looked stressed and was probably imaging what would have happened if he didn't show up at all. He shook his head and squeezed his eyes shut as if trying to rid himself of the notion. "Joel look at me I'm fine!" You said pulling his hand away from his face. Joel took your hand in his and stroked it with his thumb. "Okay" he said softly. "Did you get my ice cream?" You said trying to change the subject. A smile tugged at his mouth. "Yeah I did, baby"

You had made spaghetti for dinner, about one of the only dishes you were confident in preparing. You and Joel sat at the table in silence and you watched as he pushed his food around. "I'm sorry I'm not a chef...if you want we could just order a pizza?" You suggested. Joel looked up at you seemingly caught off guard. "No no no it's not that! The meal is delicious. I guess I just don't have an appetite. That's all." You pushed back from the table and the chair scraping against the hardwood made Joel jump slightly. "Baby I didn't mean to offend you it's just" you laughed as you reached for the shelf above the stove "Joel I'm not mad I'm just looking for something." Joel slowly walked towards where you were balancing on a stool trying to get the top door of the cabinet open. "Um...what's that?" You grunted as you finally got hold of what it was you were looking for. "My dad's red wine. It's gross too me, but he always says red wine gives you an appetite." You hopped off the stool and thrust the bottle into his chest. "Where's the wine you got me? I would like to get into that like asap." Before waiting for a response you went into the other room where the grocery bag still sat with the ice cream and wine and dug out the bottle. You hastily removed the top and began drinking. "Y/n...slow down what are you doing?" You removed the bottle from your lips and wiped your mouth. "What does it look like I'm doing?" Joel's face was laced with concern. "Okay that's enough. I'm calling your dad, you can stay at mine until he gets home. I'm sure he'll book the first flight back when he hears.." you didn't let Joel finish. He had tried to grab the bottle from your hands "no, fuck off I'm a grown woman. I don't need you calling me dad to tell on me or whatever." Joel placed both hands in his hair and squeezed his head "sweetheart you're clearly not okay! And for good reason... will you just let me help you? I'm worried about you. This shit wasn't in any of the parenting books I read before Sarah.." "you're not my dad!" "No no I'm not saying that I just" ... "is that all this is? You want to fill the void of not having your daughter at home this summer. So you come over here to parent me because my dad's not here? I don't fucking need that Joel I don't want you to see me that way."

...to be continued

[spidervee]

edges (tangerine x reader)

a short little something that's more feelings than plot 🌻 18+ for language, blood/injury, and mentions of drinking and sex

After Istanbul, you hoped you'd never see Tangerine ever again. Mind, that likely meant also not seeing Lemon, but such sacrifices had to be made.

And then, after Lagos, you swore that if you ever laid eyes on that moustache again, there weren't enough bullets in the world with which you'd be able to express your distaste for the man in the golden rings and designer suits.

And then, in Toronto, you very nearly decided to just throw a grenade (quite literally) on your entire mission when you heard that smarmy fucker greet you. In fact, had Lemon not very astutely put a glass of wine in your hand, you may have not been made it to be here.

Here.

Here, in Ho Chi Minh City with a cold bowl of phở on the tiny desk of your cramped hotel room and a profusely bleeding gunshot wound in your right arm. The soup bothers you more than the injury, but neither bother you as much as the man knelt in front of you, his knees buckled in the threadbare carpet as he leans into you from between your legs, his large hands surprisingly delicate as he changes your bandages.

"That fuckin' bullet was meant for me, you fuckin' muppet," Tangerine frowns, deep lines etched into his forehead as he runs a towel over your arm, the scratchy fibres coming away stained red. "Shoulda never fuckin' been here but you can't stop getting in my bloody way like some goddamn—"

"Oh, for shit's sake, shut up." Finally, after biting your tongue so hard you can nearly taste the metallic twinge of blood, you speak. "Last time you were shot, you nearly fucking died—" He glances up, seemingly shocked that you know this, but even if Lemon hadn't told you, the scar on his neck is story enough.

Tangerine opens his mouth to respond, but, to your immense and immeasurable surprise, simply closes his lips into a tight line with a heavy sigh, returning to the task of bandaging you up.

Your eyes follow his movements until you start feeling a little woozy and need to let them close, tilting your head back to rest on the hard wooden edge of the chair you're sat in. Fuck Tangerine—he's all hard words and sharp edges and yet he'd managed to snag your interest, catch you on those pointed boundaries of himself—it might qualify as affection, even, though you'd rather take a shot of arsenic than bloody well admit that. It's why you hate seeing him here, why you hate that he's helping you and not running his mouth about what a tosspot you were, jumping in front of him back there.

Because after Istanbul—after he'd first kissed you—the threat of intimacy had overwhelmed you and it was easier, a safer bet, to tap out than to go all in.

And after Lagos—after he and Lemon had swooped in to save your ass and you'd all celebrated with too much expensive liquor until Lemon fell asleep and Tangerine fell into your bed—you actually dared to hope the next time he texted you would be about something other than theft or murder. It wasn't.

And in Toronto—after the two of you had watched the sunrise over the city, a sizeable sum newly deposited into your respective bank accounts—you had kissed him goodbye; you had a plane to catch for home. He was bound for Tokyo.

And in Tokyo, he'd very nearly died. Lemon had told you as much. You'd seen as much, when the calmer twin had asked you to fly in to visit and you weren't sure if he was asking for company at Tangerine's bedside or for your face to be there if his brother woke up.

In Tokyo, when you weren't fetching shitty coffee (for yourself) and admittedly excellent tea (for Lemon), you'd sat beside Tangerine, not daring to speak lest he could somehow hear you in his comatose state and know that as you kept vigil there, your hand clasped in Lemon's, you cared. By the grace of some god, you'd managed to fly out of the country before Tangerine opened his eyes—before Lemon could convince you that his brother cared just as much as you did.

And now, here. In Ho Chi Minh City with your cold phở and your bleeding arm and Tangerine in front of you it's all you can do not to scream.

You thread your fingers through his hair and pull his gaze up to meet yours. "Sometimes," you mutter, the bones in your free hand cracking as you flex your fingers—a nervous habit you've never quite grown out of— "Sometimes, I think I never want to see you again because it'll hurt less when you eventually do something fucking idiotic and die."

Tangerine blinks at you, big blue eyes a little wider with surprise. Then the bastard has the audacity to smirk before he's hooking a finger under your chin. "That's fuckin' stupid, love. Think of how much time you've bloody wasted."

You let out a stuttering breath, again caught on the edge—of his teasing words and his soft touch. "I'd rather fucking not, thanks."

With a short bark of a laugh, he presses himself closer into you—led, you'd like to think, by the tug you give to his mussed curls. His grip on your chin becomes firmer as he leans in to kiss you.

And here, in Ho Chi Minh City, you realize that maybe you'd like to see a lot more of Tangerine.

[gladerwolfstarkimagines]

Other Parts: Part One, Part Two, Part Three (short version).and Part Four.

Luckily the first few days after the visitors got back were manic so you didn't have to think about how your life had changed. You shut yourself away with Johanna and monitored everything about her condition. You slept at the foot of her bed, fetched her meals, helped her walk to the bathroom and just basically let your life revolve around her in a similar way as you had with Finnick. You supposed you had a pattern of throwing everything into fixing someone's life when you felt your own was falling apart.

Your sister was smart though and knew something was up. She'd asked you how you'd been but you only gave vague answers. When she mentioned you to other people they looked away and she was beginning to think you'd done something horrendous based on the reactions. She was so proud but getting a little tired of all the secrecy. She'd finally managed to convince you to take her on some walks so she could leave her room and her hope was she'd see someone who would actually be honest with her about what was happening. So she was ecstatic when you bumped into Finnick, you not so much. "There he is!" Johanna said "the real-life merman, where have you been I've hardly seen you!" Johanna said as Finnick walked into the infirmary. He jumped at her voice and you seemed just as nervous. "Johanna we should go get you sat back down" you said but she pushed your comments away and looked to Finnick, expecting a reply. "I've just been busy" he said awkwardly and Johanna smiled "oh yeah with Annie? I bet you're having fun being back together?". You felt your cheeks go bright red and Finnick wrung his arms out of the sheer awkwardness. He shrugged at Johanna and looked right past her to you.

"Y/n" he said softly "please can we talk?". "Sorry we've got to go, Johanna's late for an appointment". "No I'm not, what's going on?" your sister asked but you just looked at her and in your best big sister voice said "Johanna, come on!". She could see the fear in your eyes so she nodded to Finnick and followed you out.

"So" Joanna said after you'd gotten her back into her room and finally stopped chattering on about random stuff in a failed effort to distract her from what she witnessed "are you going to tell me what that weirdness with you and Finnick was or am I going to have to break out of here and ask him?". You shook your head, you'd managed a few days pretending it hadn't happened and she'd hear it sooner or later so better it came from you. "The two of us had a thing" you shrugged and Johanna grinned. "Alright Y/n! He's a total upgrade from that last girl you were into! So how did it happen? Did you go for it first or him? Is he as good in bed as we all think". You blinked "I'm not sure I want to answer any of those questions" and Johanna could see your expression and knew you were upset. "What happened?" she repeated "you said you had a thing, how much of a thing". "We were dating" you admitted "publically, everyone here knows or I guess knew". Johanna's brows furrowed and then it clicked "until Annie came back". You nodded "Finnick thought she was dead, that's the only reason he was with me". Johanna shook her head "not the only reason, he's not like that". You shrugged "well what does it matter? She's back and I'm dumped". "Did he actually say that?" Johanna asked and you shook your head "no, he's been trying to talk to me since she got back but I've been avoiding him. I already know what he's going to say so what's the point?". Johanna hit you with surprising force and you moved your arm away from her. "Ow!" you cried "bitch". "Well bitch is better than coward! Go speak to him! You don't know, he might still want you". You shook your head "he won't she's the love of his life. I know his decision, it's pretty obvious and I just don't want to hear him say it to me". "You won't be able to face him until you do" Johanna argued. "Who says I want to face him?" you asked "honestly, I just want to forget that Finnick Odair ever existed".

You meant that 100% but your sister also meant what she said and she knew you'd regret not talking this out with Finnick, or so she thought. So she came up with a plan to make you face him. Basically, she told Finnick she desperately needed to talk to him about you. Then when he arrived she popped out to nip to the toilet, waited for you to come for her "check-up" appointment, watched you go into her room and locked the door. "You're not coming out until you talk to him Y/n!" she yelled.

You really hated your sister sometimes. It was just like her to ignore what you'd said and do what she thought was best. She was so stubborn too and you knew there was no way she was letting you out until she did what you said. "Johanna!" you grumbled under your breath before turning back to Finnick "okay fine, you want to talk so talk but I have some rules. No apologising, no telling me how great I am or asking if we can stay friends. Okay?". Finnick blinked just as surprised by this situation. He'd wanted to speak to you for days but now you were in front of him, he was a little nervous. He nodded, taking in you and your rules and the words came easy to him because he'd been thinking over them for the past few days nonstop. He still felt so much emotion when he looked at you though so he needed a few breaths to compose himself. "Well I just wanted to say I never meant for this to happen and that I'm...you got me through everything this past year and I wanted to thank you for that. You meant a lot to me Y/n and nothing will change that, I will always care about you and every moment we spent together was real for me okay?". You nodded "got it, we done?". Finnick couldn't think of anything else he could say to make this right so he nodded "okay". "Great, see you around!" you said and banged on the door "Johanna he says we're done" and Finnick yelled for her to let you out. "That was like 20 seconds!" she complained and you nodded "I told you, here's nothing left for him to tell me" and you stormed off to sulk.

You refused to speak to Johanna after that and you suspected she sent Katniss after you. The Mockingjay appeared at your door and asked if you wanted to talk a walk outside. You walked through the rubble aimlessly before stopping by some trees. Once you sat down it began.

"I'm sorry" Katniss said and wanted to choke her but considering Peeta just did that you thought it might be a bit harsh. "It must be difficult" she said, unaware of your inner monologue "to have someone appear and take everything away from you". You knew she was speaking more through her own situation so managed not to get annoyed. "How are you coping?" you asked her "have you seen him since...?". Katniss nodded "a few times, it's still the same". "Well if someone did that to him it can be undone. It's just like computer programming, they'll work out a way". Katniss didn't look convinced and you weren't really good at comforting sad people. So you did what just felt natural. You rested your head on her shoulder. Katniss stiffened and you wondered if you'd overstepped but then she leaned back on you. "Thanks Y/n" she whispered and you nodded "no problem" and just sat in silence.

You first saw Annie a few weeks later. You were eating in the dining hall and went to put your plate away as she walked in...with Finnick. You of course stopped like a deer in headlights and stared at them. Annie noticed you after Finnick and her gaze turned icy which made sense. Everyone here knew about you and Finnick, it couldn't be a nice welcome to receive. Everyone at District 13 was used to you and Finnick so even though Annie was with him first, it was like she was the new one in their eyes which anyone would hate. The whole room went silent as she walked in and stared at the three of you which didn't exactly help. You had no idea what they thought was going to happen. You and Annie weren't going to start fighting or having a slanging match in the middle of lunch. There was nothing to fight about, she had him and you didn't. End of story. The situation was so tragic it was like a soap opera and you didn't do tragic. So you raised your head, pretended neither of them was there and walked right past them.

You felt quite proud of how you'd handled yourself but not everyone did. Finnick followed you out and when you wouldn't respond to his calls he ran after you. He quickly caught up with you and you couldn't pretend you didn't hear him anymore. "Y/n come on it doesn't have to be like this!" he said and you rolled your eyes "like what? Were nothing Finnick". "I know and that's the problem! I don't want to pretend you don't exist" Finnick said and you sighed "well we can't exactly go back to how it was before so this is our only opinion" you replied. "But why is it?" Finnick asked "is there really no hope of us being friends or at least acquaintances who say hello to each other". You raised your eyebrow at him. With as much malice as you could muster you spat "grow up Finnick" and walked away.

He didn't follow.

After that Finnick didn't try and talk to you again. He and Annie avoided you, if you passed them on the corridor, they'd look away. He started training in a different space and moved his room away from yours. You told Johanna you were over it but that was a lie. It hurt every time you got a reminder of them and you had no idea why the pain wasn't going away. Nearly two months had passed and you still felt as shitty as the first day you realised you lost him. You weren't sure how much more you could take and then one day you found Finnick waiting outside your room. "I need to tell you something" he said and you didn't even have the strength to fight it. You figured the sooner he started the sooner he could leave and regretted your actions almost immediately.

"Annie asked me to marry her" Finnick started and a reaction literally burst out of you without any control. "Jesus christ Finnick!" you yelled "why are you telling me this? Why did you think I should hear this personally? This is exactly what I want to hear right now, this is just what I want. Did you really think I'd prefer it over Johanna telling me what day to stay in my room and avoid the ceremony? I know you think you're helping but you're really not!". "No see that's the thing!" Finnick said "we're not getting married! I told her no!".

You had another long rant ready but that threw you off guard "no? Okay...so why tell me?". "Because it made me realise how different my mind and Annie's are. It made me realise I don't feel for her like I used to...I'm not in love with her anymore. I'm in love with you".

You blinked your eyes several times but Finnick didn't go away so you just asked "I'm sorry?" and Finnick smiled. "Y/n I'm so sorry for all of this and that it took me this long to say it but I want you! I miss you so much and I'm at my happiest with you. I don't want to marry Annie, I want you. So will you please take me back?". "Take you back?" you asked "but Annie...she's you're soulmate, you're the Katniss and Peeta of District 4. You saved her!". "She helped save me too but she's not my soulmate, that doesn't exist and I don't love her that way anymore. My feelings for you are stronger than my feelings for her and I can't hug or kiss her without wishing it was you. I tried to press on at first but it's not fair to anyone. I know I've hurt you a lot but can you consider it" Finnick asked "I need you Y/n".

In retrospect, considering all Finnick knew about you he should've expected you to throw a punch at him. However, he didn't and you caught him on the jaw.

"You need me?" you yelled throwing a punch and Finnick groaned in pain. "You need me? Are you joking! What do you think this has been like for me?". "You needed me? I needed you Finnick" you said choking up and he nodded also tearing up. "I know I'm sorry, Y/n I'm so sorry" he said and hugged you. You melted into his touch and cried as he held you tightly against him.

Even after you'd calmed down, Finnick kept his arms around you and you didn't mind. You'd missed him so much you didn't want him to ever let go. "I'm not going to be able to sleep tonight" you told him and he looked at you with a frown "why?". "Because I'll wake up and this will go away, it will have been a dream". Finnick shook his head "this is real Y/n, I'm not going anywhere...again" and for good measure he pinched you. When you jumped he smiled "see, not dreaming". You were going to push him when you saw the red mark on his face.

"Shit I did that didn't I?" you asked and Finnick worked out what you meant "yes you did". "Does it hurt?" you asked and got your answer when Finnick jumped as you touched it. "I'm so sorry, let me get an icepack," you said and ran from the room before Finnick could respond.

You returned quickly after and Finnick let you lay him down and apply the pack. "I'm sorry for hitting you but that really came from nowhere". Finnick frowned "well it wouldn't have if you'd have let me talk to you". "You didn't want to talk to me at the start, you still thought you wanted Annie". "Did I though?" Finnick asked "you never gave me a chance to tell you otherwise. The second Annie got back you ran away from me and wouldn't speak to me". "True" you agreed "but what was I meant to think? That you'd choose Annie over me? If I'd have come to you and told you I didn't want to lose you that night she got back, would you really have considered me over Annie?". "Yes" Finnick said without hesitation "100% and I think part of me was desperate for you to" he admitted "I wanted you to tell me you wanted me so I could say it back".

Your jaw dropped to the floor. "I had no idea I had that option" you admitted "I thought I couldn't hold a flame to her". Finnick shook his head "Y/n, you're the person who saved me after I was rescued. You were the reason I got out of bed each morning and the reason I'm still alive. I think the day I left the capitol the old me died and here I became a new one thanks to you. I was happy with you and so when Annie appeared it was surreal. When you retreated I tried to carry on as before but I couldn't because I was different. The truth is I'd accepted her death and I'd moved on. I will always care and love Annie but it's so different with you. With Annie, it came from our shared experience and trauma...which was important, I needed that but I didn't realise there could be more in a relationship. I got that from you. We had shared trauma but it wasn't dependent or dishabilitating, being with you made me strong" Finnick smiled "you made me feel so powerful and valuable as well as feeling so loved and supported. I wasn't a victor, a District 4 golden boy or a mentor, it was almost like I was the pre-games Finnick. You made me feel human again and helped me forget. You're...pretty special" he finished and you smiled. "Finnick I..." and you paused. You'd never told anyone you loved them before. Even Johanna and you didn't say it often so you were scared to say it to Finnick. You thought you were in love with him but didn't want to make yourself so vulnerable. Finnick seemed to sense this and he took your hands "it's okay Y/n, you don't have to say anything" and he hugged you. You settled against his chest and closed your eyes.

Finnick said you held a candle to the love of his life! Maybe one day, you could be his new one. Maybe you were already on your way there?

"So do you guys have to make an announcement retracting your breakup or something?" Johanna asked the next day "or do you just announce you're together again?" she asked. "I think neither" Finnick said and you nodded your head "they've had enough fun with our private life". "Yeah but how will they all know you're not with Annie anymore?" Johanna asked. "Well considering I moved out of her place, settled back into Y/n's and we've been seen pretty much everywhere together I think they'll get the message". You nodded "they have, I've had quite a few girls smiling at me today". Finnick laughed "maybe they were just being friendly?" and you and Johanna both shot him a look. "No, it wasn't a casual smile it was like a well-done smile. A you got the prize smile". "You got the prize?" Finnick asked "do you need me to wear a little bow or something from you?". "Maybe if that's the only thing you're wearing" you agreed and Finnick grinned "evening plans". "Eugh, I didn't realise how gross this was going to be, can you two stop undressing each other with your eyes while I'm sat right here?". "No" you and Finnick responded at the same time and Johanna stormed away. "You're way too sweet and cute you know?" she called and you smiled "we know".

"Were you and Finnick like this from the start?" Johanna asked later when Finnick had left and it was safe to be in the room again. You smiled "like what?" and she rolled her eyes "all gross and all over each other. So happy and horny". You went to argue before realising you didn't have a leg to stand on and nodded "yeah actually that's a pretty accurate description". Johanna shook her head "I just had no idea the two of you would work so well together, I mean I knew you were attracted to one another but this is something else". "Wait go back, you knew we were attracted to one another?". Johanna nodded "duh! The first time you saw Finnick you couldn't take your eyes off him and yes he was half-naked but it was different. You were looking at him how you used to look at Sophia Grey back home". You smiled at the memory of her and shrugged "that's probably accurate, I still think Finnick's the hottest man to ever exist but you said you could tell he was attracted to me too?". Johanna nodded "yeah he liked your charisma and charm. People usually got tongue-tied around him but you were the belle of the ball and he was attracted to that. Not to mention you were a pretty young female who had just won her games, I didn't think Finnick would do anything because he had Annie but I still wanted to separate you so others didn't get any ideas". You nodded "Finnick mentioned that, I never realised how much you did for me, how you've been protecting me even since I got out of the games". "And now you've got Finnick to take my place" Johanna said not hiding her bitterness and you smiled "I'll always need my big sister. Plus we're Masons, from the womb to the tomb!". You could tell you took Johanna by surprise with that one and she burst out laughing "what the fuck is that? Where did you hear it?". "It's good right?" you asked and she shook her head "it's fucking terrible!".

"Now back onto the topic of you and Finnick because I still have questions" Johanna said "how did that even happen? Especially if he thought Annie was dead". You explained how you cared for him and became friends that way. "There was always an attraction there and then one day he saw me naked. He stared and was pretty obvious so I came to his bedroom at night and asked if he wanted to have sex". Johanna laughed "you just went up and asked?" and you nodded. "I'm impressed" she smiled "and I bet Finnick was too". You nodded "he seemed it. From there we spent more time together, bonded, emotions got involved, Annie came back from the dead, Finnick came back to me and boom. Present day". Joahnna nodded "and he makes you happy right?". You smiled without even thinking and nodded. "Good" Johanna said "and if he ever hurts you again I'll kill him".

The war really started speeding up after that and before you knew it Katniss was spotted in the capital. When you heard, Finnick sat up straight in his seat and you could tell what he wanted to do from the look in his eye. So the two of you were on the next ship out to join Katniss. Johanna couldn't come because of her injuries and you refused to help smuggle her out. She claimed she was never going to speak to you again but hugged you tightly before you left. "Come back" she told you forcefully and you nodded "I will, we both will" but felt like you'd cursed yourselves the second you'd said that. You got a horrible sinking feeling and realised you'd rather not come back at all than come back without Finnick.

Things weren't too bad at first when you got to the capitol, you used Bogg's tracker thing to safely navigate your way through the capitol but then everything went wrong. Bogg was hurt and died in seconds. Then one of the soldiers triggered a trap trying to get to her sister. A black tar-like substance began to pour down and you were one of the first to react. You grabbed Finnick, pushed him in one direction and headed for the girl who couldn't walk. You and her sister were carrying her to a house when you heard Finnick shout and go back. "Finnick!" you yelled and wanted to go after him but you couldn't abandon this girl. "I'm okay. We're here!" you heard him yell a few seconds later and you breathed out in relief. You broke your way into a building and carried the girl upstairs. The substance was getting closer and you realised there was nowhere else to go. You put the girl down and began to assess the area. You kicked open one of the doors and began moving her through there. The others followed you and that was when you noticed Finnick had Peeta in a tight grip. "What happened?" you asked and then you saw the body hanging outside. "A bit of trouble" Finnick told you before smiling "but we're fine, especially now that stuff has stopped". He was right, the tar was retreating and draining away as if it had never been chasing you.

You moved to a new building where you found out you were all dead! Finnick laughed at the death announcements until yours appeared. That sobered him up but you just smiled "wow they remembered my name? I'm famous!". Katniss rolled her eyes at you and Finnick, who still didn't like you talking this way, passed you some food and sat next to you. You all ate and rested before working out the next steps. You realised after that the streets were a no-go and decided the sewer was a better bet because nothing bad ever happens in the sewers!

You navigated your way down the tunnels and then stopped to sleep in an alcove that seemed safe. You and Finnick woke at Lieutenant Jackson's shout at the same time. You grabbed each other's stuff and were out of that tunnel first. It was antagonising, walking through those tunnels while hearing animalistic noises and having no idea if they were getting closer or further away. Gale led in front with his gun and you were behind him, helping pass on Pollux's directions. You could tell something bad was going to happen, you could almost feel it in the air and so did Finnick. When the two of you climbed through the tunnel, he subtly grabbed your arm and pulled you away from the group. He was already backing away when the first swarm appeared and killed Lieutenant Jackson before she could even scream. Gale opened fire and you worried Finnick might try and go back to grab Peeta but luckily he didn't. He had a hand on Pollux and was practically dragging him with you as he ran. Pollux pointed and Finnick would yell the direction to you urging you to go faster. You could hear the others behind you and were glad they were still alive. You felt a little bad for not checking they were okay before you ran but survival skills are a bitch and the only thing you wanted from this was for Finnick and hopefully, yourself to survive.

You reached a ladder and pushed Pollux to the front, the others appeared closely followed by those things. You finally got a good look at them and you were horrified. So much so you were frozen to the spot until one charged at you. You threw an axe at what you assumed was its face and then threw two more as others took its place. It was chaos, you saw Cressida go up the ladder and were looking for Finnick to tell him to go next when you were tackled by one. Its jaws were horrible and it was trying more than anything to bite you. You just had an axe ready when its neck was slit was a trident. "Come on you're next up!" Finnick cried yanking you onto your feet and pushing you to the ladder. "Not without you!" you said and he shook his head "I'm right behind you" so you started to climb. You made it up and realised Holmes was up here too. You could hear more of those things down there and tried to see what was going on but it was a mess. A figure appeared and you got hopeful until you realised it was Peeta. You yanked him up and then climbed back down the ladder. "FINNICK!" you yelled and it took you a few seconds to spot him. He was further away than Katniss and Gale who were right below the ladder. He was alone and the obvious one to be left behind unless something happened now!

"Finnick!" you cried again and Katniss looked up at you but Gale just pushed her towards the ladder and she started to climb. Gale called to Finnick but didn't make any moves to get him. He was going to die. Katniss had nearly reached you and was yelling a you to climb but you couldn't. There was no way you were going up that ladder without Finnick, so you let go.

Katniss tried to grab you as you fell but luckily she missed. You managed to grab one of the bars near the bottom to slow your fall but still hit your knee on the way down. Pain exploded in your leg but you didn't care. It could've been broken and you would've forced yourself to stand. The creatures were trying to swarm Finnick and you threw yourself, literally, into them. You knocked two down before decapitating another two with a spear Finnick had dropped. You kicked one into the water and buried your axe in another three. "Y/n what are you doing? You were up and out!" Finnick cried as you fought your way towards him. When you were near he grabbed your arm and pulled you beside him. "Yeah but you weren't!" you replied "we both get out or neither of us!". In the middle of all of that, Finnick smiled at you "Katniss and Peeta who?" and you couldn't help but smile back.

You worked together fighting side by side and were doing well but they just wouldn't stop coming. "We need a way to stop them or slow them down" Finnick panted and you nodded "but how?" when something came to you. "Finnick throw the trident!" you cried and he locked eyes with you and got it. "Duck!" he said and threw it into the larger tunnel, pressing the button that would make the whole thing explode. It was similar technology to Katniss' arrows but as Finnick's trident was bigger than her arrow, the explosion was also larger. The whole tunnel collapsed, killing all of those creatures down there. One down, one more to go you through as more came from the other side.

The blast had destroyed the concrete leading to the ladder so there was no way you were escaping that way and you stopped trying. You and Finnick were both injured, covered in water and these things blood but neither of you stopped and finally got to a lul as Finnick killed the last one. "Come on, we've got to push forward" Finnick said taking your hand and running through the tunnels. It was fine for the first few seconds and then you heard sounds of more. "There's too many of them for us to kill one-on-one we need to get somewhere high!" you told Finnick "Somewhere out of the water and I can deal with them". Finnick looked at you and got it "I think I saw somewhere on the map" and you nodded trusting him.

You ran for what felt like forever and you spotted the ladder at the same time you heard the creatures. "Come on let's go!" Finnick yelled and you both started sprinting. When you reached the ladder Finnick literally picked you up and tossed you halfway up it before scrambling up after you. You could actually hear the creatures' footsteps now and their claws reached the ladder just as you got up. You immediately turned around and yanked Finnick up. He fell on top of you and you pushed him onto the floor. "Finnick stay down!" you yelled and activated your own weapon, lobbing it down the hole, right past the creatures on their way to you. However, instead of staying down, Finnick leapt up and rugby tackled you away from the hole and used his body to cover you as the electrified axe exploded. You both cried out as the electricity hit you too but Finnick had shared the charge with you and after a few seconds you could breathe again.

You heard screams of agony as the creatures were basically fried alive, as well as everything close in the tunnel. The sparks lit up the whole space and the stench was awful. You could taste metal in your mouth and you both kept spasaming as some extra electricity escaped you but you were alive. Finnick had saved your life and to thank him you leaned over and kissed him. Finnick jumped at the contact but soon relaxed at the sensation and when you broke away opened his eyes. "Thank you" you told him and he shot you his beautiful smile "you said it Y/n, both of us or neither of us" and he took your hand and ventured out of the tunnels.

You and Finnick climbed higher and ran through some more of the underground tracks. You came across a few peacekeepers but managed to take them out easily. After the monsters you'd just dealt with humans were easy. You got one of their guns which solved your weapons running out problem but you couldn't hold the whole capitol off indefinitely. "We need to find the others" you said and Finnick shook his head "no we need somewhere to hide". You didn't ask where because there would be no point in that, so you just nodded and kept going. You didn't want to spend any more time underground and even though it was a risk, you and Finnick followed a tunnel above ground. You began gathering rocks to throw to test for any traps but stopped when Finnick began to laugh. When you asked what was going on, he picked you up and swirled you around in a hug. "We're going to make it" he smiled "come on, I know where we are". You didn't have any follow-up questions and followed Finnick as he carefully led you to a house.

Finnick knocked on the door heavily and on the second time it opened. Finnick wasted no time forcing his way inside and dragging you inside. You slammed the door shut behind you and blinked to see an older man staring at you. He was in a bright pink dressing gown with feathers on the collar. "Finnick?" he asked and Finnick smiled "don't tell me you forgot your most profitable worker?".

"You worked for him?" you hissed when you and Finnick were alone "as in he let people do those things to you and actually encouraged it?". Finnick nodded "yes but believe it or not, Feather was one of the good ones. He always tried to protect me and made the clients treat me...well not nicely but to a standard. He also helped me escape it all and return to my district". That did sound better but you still put a hand on Finnick's arm when the man, Feather, returned.

"I can't see any guards but it's still best I hide you but I can only hold you for a few hours". Finnick nodded "I know, if we could just rest for the night that's all we need". Feather sighed "you're lucky you were my favourite" he said and then spotted you glaring at him. He smiled "friend of yours?" he asked Finnick, looking down at how your hand was clamped over Finnick's arm and you'd angled your body so you were in front of him protectively. "Something like that" Finnick smiled "do you have any supplies? We're a bit banged up". Feather nodded "of course, let me grab some things and I'll show you to your room. I'm sorry to stick you in the basement but it's the safest place". You tensed at the idea of going underground again and struggled when Feather opened a trap door that led to darkness. You weren't sure if you could down it but Finnick took your hand. "It's be okay" he told you and taking a deep breath you went down the steps.

The basement was small, cold but filled with things so at least it didn't look bleak or scary. There was a sofa in one end which Feather placed his supplies on. "So this is your bed for the night. It's my old one, nothing wrong with it I just had to move it once a stain got on it. Velvet is so hard to get stains out of!" he complained and you blinked. You couldn't tell if you were more annoyed that he was genuinely mad about stains in a world that killed children or more disgusted about what the stain might be. Luckily Finnick was a social butterfly.

"Thank you so much Feather, this will be great". Feather nodded clearly fond of praise "I will go get you some blankets, I've given you some warm clothes but it is awfully chilly down here. Be back in a few!" and he disappeared cheerily up the steps.

"Right okay so lets assess your injuries" Finnick said turning to you expectantly with his hands on his hips. "I'm okay" you said and Finnick shot you a "really" look making you roll your eyes. "Fine, I hurt my knee earlier and think it could swell, I also rolled my ankle and it's still bothering me a bit, my hip also took a knock and I'm missing two fingernails that were ripped off". Finnick nodded "let me take a look at your legs first". You nodded and Finnick peeled off your trousers before wincing. Already your hip had a nasty bruise on it and your knee was swelling. "Yeah there's no way you're walking tomorrow" Finnick winced "good thing I've got experience carrying people". You shook your head "no way! It leaves you exposed! I'll walk just fine after a bit of rest". Finnick shook his head "maybe with a wheelchair yeah because by tomorrow this ankle will be huge and painful. There's no use arguing over it, I saved your life remember so you owe me". "I mean technically by jumping down that ladder I probably also saved your life so aren't we even?" you tried to joke but Finnick wasn't in a joking mood.

He grabbed you and kissed you sharply and passionately. When he separated he didn't let go. "I am not losing you Y/n, we just got through the craziest night of our lives and I am not surviving all that to lose you tomorrow. Don't do that to me" he demanded but it sounded more like he was begging. His eyes were ablaze with anger and sadness and you immediately backed down. "Okay" you agreed "okay, we'll work it out tomorrow" and you cradled him to you. Finnick buried his head in your neck taking some deep breaths before nodding and pulling away.

He sat back and nodded to you "now let me help you get cleaned up". Finnick cleaned the cuts and wounds you had and then helped you get changed. He bandaged your ankle the best he could and put some soothing gel on your hip and knee before helping you get dressed. You then switched and did the same for him. His body was okay but he was covered in scratches and bruises. Some of the scratches were quite deep and you disinfected them hoping they wouldn't need stitches. Finnick was just getting changed when there was a knock at the door.

"Delivery service!" Feather called "so I've got several blankets" which he tossed to Finnick "and also some food". "Feather you're amazing!" Finnick gasped grabbing a bowl and passing it straight to you. "Oh it's nothing! Just some soup and bread my chief made. I figured it might warm you up". "It will thank you" Finnick smiled sinking next to you and Feather smiled. He genuinely seemed pleased to see Finnick again and you supposed there must be some good in this man deep down despite the things he did. He waited for you both to finish your soup which didn't take long and then took the bowls.

"Right so it's mandatory lights out in 10 minutes do you guys need anything else before I lock you in". "Lock us in?" you asked panicked and Feather looked at you "It's a trap door I can't just keep it open! If the peacekeepers break in they'll find you straight away and we'll all be dead. The safest way is to hide the door completely and yes lock you in". You still didn't like the idea of it but Finnick touched your arm "that's fine, we'll be fine. Thank you again". The man nodded "see you in the morning" and left. Seconds later the sound of a sharp click told you, you were sealed in.

"Hey Y/n it's okay" Finnick said reaching out for you and pulling you into his chest "we're fine, we're safe and we're not in the sewers". You buried your head against him and he repeated this a few more times before you stopped shaking. When you lifted your head you realised it wasn't exactly pitch black. You could see some outlines of things and Finnick. You played with his hands and nodded "we're okay, we're alright, we're safe and have somewhere to sleep for the night". Finnick nodded "exactly" and kissed your head "and I know this sounds horrible but I'm so glad you're here". You chuckled and Finnick laughed too "I just mean, if I could have anyone here with me I'd want it to be you". You nodded "yeah I get that, even though it's terrifying I feel better because you're here". Finnick nodded pressing his face into your hair. "We'll get through this" he said "we'll survive it and when we do, you and I are moving far away from all this and just living". You smiled "tell me more about this great escape we're going on". Even though it was dark you could tell Finnick was smiling.

"We'll move near the ocean" he told you "we'll live just off the beach and spend our days fishing, surfing, swimming and doing whatever the hell we want. We'll spend our evenings sitting around a campfire, listening to music and we'll have the ocean to lull us to sleep every night. You'll see the most amazing sunsets and sunrises and have the most amazing beach make-out sessions. Trust me beaches are the best places for that". "You've had lots of experience with that huh?" You asked and Finnick shushed you with a kiss. When you were too breathless to speak he continued "we'll workout on the sand, build sand castles, float for hours on end and the best part? It will be just the two of us and it will be perfect" he told you. "I like that" you whispered "I want that, especially the nobody else being around part...but we'll probably have to have a spare hut for when Johanna gets bored and decides to appear at our doorstep". Finnick nodded "oh yeah there's no way we're keeping your sister out". "She'd come through the door with an axe like that old movie, here's Johanna!" you said and Finnick chuckled. "Well as long as you're there too I think I can handle your sister". You smirked "those are bold words, I'm related to her and I can't even handle her" and Finnick laughed. "We'll double team it there, figure it out together" he turned you to face him and you could just make out his eyes in the dark, "Together" you agreed and pressed a soft kiss to his lips. You separated and lay tightly together, praying the sun would never rise.

[selkie-tea]

SURPRISE DRAGON BOOK GANG I BET YOU THOUGHT YOU'D SEEN THE LAST OF ME!!!

BUT NO I COME BEARING ANOTHER CHAPTER OF WHAT I CALL THE 'we haven't had a book in a hot minute so I thought I might as well write one myself' PROJECT!

Preview:

Sychorax Ferrouhg’s office was not what Hamish had expected it to be. From his overall impression of her, he figured she would be the type to keep her space barren and cold, like those showrooms at furniture stores that had about the same amount of personality as a dentist’s office; so when she opened the door and gestured for him to step inside, he was surprised to find the space to be rather whimsical. The walls were plain white, but they were peppered by shelves of potted plants, books and trinkets of all shapes and sizes littered about the place. Rows and rows of jars encasing bones and feathers were stacked at against the wall, and Hamish spotted more jars tucked into the corners of bookcases all over the room, ones that looked like they contained dead animals suspended in clear liquid. “Please, sit,” Sychorax gestured to a seat in front of the desk. Hamish sat. “Wait here, I will be back in just a moment, she said. And with that she left the room. You’re just going to leave me here unsupervised? Hamish had no intention of doing anything that might get him into even more trouble than he was already, but he felt like on principle, leaving a teenage student alone in a private office was generally not recommended.  A flutter of movement from the corner of his eye.  Hamish looked up. In the back corner of the room there stood a wide cage. In it, a large white parrot perched. It cocked its head to the side and raised its feathered crest. Hamish looked away instantly. Those eyes glittered with an unsettling kind of intelligence. Okay, maybe I’m not entirely unsupervised, he thought. He sat up straight in his chair and whistled a tune in a way that he hoped seemed absentminded. It probably didn’t...

also no I totally didn't retcon the spelling of Sychorax's surname wtf are you even talking about

[synnamonroll666]

Who's Your King?

Prompt 2: Role Play/Role Reversal & Bondage Pairing: Syzoth X Fem!Reader Description: You give up your royal title as Outworld's queen for the night to your boyfriend, not realizing that he is more than committed to filling it as the dominant king you'd hoped he would be... Warnings: Bondage, Dom/Switch!Syzoth, Sub/Switch!Reader, Bratty!Reader, Small Amount Of Thigh Whipping, Use Of Vibrator, Praise, Slight Humiliation, BlowJob (Male Receiving)... Word Count: 1.5k A/N: Something about Syzoth usually being a sub, but occasionally switching and surprising you with how well he can dominate you gets to me. I dont know why but i just love it! 🤤 I hope you all enjoy the fic! 💚 Main MasterList: 🖤 Kinktober MasterList: 🖤 Synny's Angels: @lorebite, @mornandil, @queenkhepri.

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I chewed my lower lip as I impatiently waited for my lover to finish weaving the rope around my wrists. Syzoth was a patient man, and it would take literally hours if that's how long it took to get it right. It was something I always admired about him. Though as time went on, that burning desire that caused my body to hunger for his touch grew more and more intense, making it nearly impossible to be patient.

"Is it done?" I groaned while shuffling the best I could, uncomfortably on my knees.

"Don't be a brat; it will be done when I'm good and ready for it to be." He scolded me firmly. Despite not being able to see his expression, I could tell from his voice that he was more than committed to his dominant role.

After so long of letting the power I held on the streets of Outworld take hold in the bedroom as well, I finally decided to let my lover take my role for a night so he could see what it's like to be in my shoes. At first, I thought Syzoth would fail—since he isn't usually too dominant unless it's mating season—but I was beginning to realize that I was greatly wrong.

A few more minutes later—casual whispers of swear words in his native tongue slipping past his lips as he tried hard to focus—Syzoth stepped away from my bound form and rounded my side to stand before me. He stood with his arms across his chest, looking down at me with a firm and dominant gaze. I smiled up at him—not taking it too seriously due to knowing it's only an act. But one thing I should have kept in mind about Syzoth was that he is always willing to prove himself better.

"What?" I asked innocently as he stared daggers into my soul.

Surprisingly, Syzoth pulled a whip out and struck my thigh. It wasn't too hard, but it still gave me a nice little sting.  A startled gasp parted my lips and after the shock thawed from my brain, I wondered how I had never seen the object in his grasp.

"Silence!" He snarled through gritted teeth and I dropped my teasing expression to stare up at him with wide eyes. Pleased by my sudden change in demeanor, the corners of Syzoth's lips turned up into a proud smirk. He gently caressed my cheek and chin with his free hand—petting me like I was some kind of kept animal—before whispering in a low and soft tone, "Good girl."

He raised the whip in the air again, and just when I thought that he was going to strike me, he threw it aside. I peered up at him, confused by his actions, and he simply smirked and walked away from me. My eyes followed him as he walked over to my dresser and opened the top drawer. Only seconds later, he turned around and approached me again before holding something up to my face that made me flush with embarrassment.

"W-Where did you find that?" I asked as I reluctantly glanced up at his smug expression before my eyes fell back down to the long, pink object in his hand.

"I was in here last night when you were having your little party for one. Did you get this during your last trip to Earthrealm?" He chuckled darkly as he watched my fearful and embarrassed expression. "It's big—not as big as me, but I bet it's still pretty effective. And it's forked too! Just like my tongue."

'Dammit!'  I mentally kicked myself for not being more careful. I felt like I was being watched that night, but my mind was just too fogged by pleasure to care. And now, because of that, I was in this lovely predicament. But still, I chose to downplay my nerves with my usual cockiness.

"I doubt you even know how to use it." I scoffed with a roll of my eyes. But that act was quickly shot down with a flick of a switch at the side of my toy. The lewd-shaped object hummed to life, and I stared up at my man in disbelief as he flashed me a knowingly wicked grin.

"Remember, pet: I was there all night. I seen all."

Before I could even begin to think up another sentence—before I could beg for mercy—Syzoth bent down to place the toy inside, forcing a cry to tear from my throat as it bruised my sweet spot and my clit instantly. It was a toy for the best of both worlds. I could barely comprehend the fact that he would be cruel enough to put it on the highest setting right away, but I should've known. After all, Syzoth does not disappoint.

I squeezed my eyes shut as my body began to shake from pleasure. I stayed in a moment of orgasmic bliss—jaw slacked, chest heaving heavily, heart beating rapidly, tears forming from my sealed eyes—until he placed both hands on each side of my head, making my eyes crack open slightly with curiosity to see what he was up to.

I was shocked to see his member out and ready for action. It hovered just barely an inch away from my face, twitching with need as its flushed tip leaked pre-cum like a faucet. As I let out a shocked and startled gasp, he took the opportunity to push his length into my mouth and down my throat until I felt my gag reflex kick into gear.

Wasting no time, Syzoth gripped my head hard—fingers tangling deep into my hair to pull at my roots—and began rocking his hips back and forth at a rather fast pace. The salty taste of pre-cum already filled my pallet, telling me that he needed this just as badly as I did.

I knew that by being bound up tightly with a vibrator against all my sensitive spots, I had barely any power—but I still had a tiny bit. I made sure to wiggle my tongue against the big dorsal vein at the bottom of his shaft to tease him the best I could in my state, and he sure did react to it. His head fell back onto his shoulders as he let out a strained moan due to my actions. All well his hands trembled within my locks, and his hips faltered for just a second as he struggled to maintain his dominant demeanor. My man was always so sensitive and would always crumble when I would hit his weakest spots.

But unfortunately, he knew of my plan. As quick as ever, his tail lashed out and wrapped tightly around my neck. My eyes broadened as I quickly became lightheaded from the pressure building in my head and around my throat. I didn't expect this move of his, but I sure wasn't going to complain. It only added to the burning arousal I felt within, which was begging me for release.

Writhing against my restraints, I felt my end drawing closer as his tail tightened around my throat. No matter which way I would move, the vibrator would only push deeper within me, making me painfully close to my climax. My cries were muffled by his member, but the vibrations of my voice did plenty of damage to him as well. His thrusts grew sloppy and his voice grew higher as if to subconsciously tell me that he was close as well. And despite being trapped in an intoxicating high, I was more than capable of helping him get there; all I had to do was sing for him.

Finally, I fell over the edge and into pleasurable heaven. As I screamed through my orgasm and around his length, Syzoth's member began to twitch violently as his hips jerked into my face much faster. Though being in a post-orgasmic daze, I was still able to squeeze my throat around him and tighten my lips to milk every last drop from him as his climax broke free with a wail escaping his throat.

After coming to, Syzoth pulled his cock from my mouth and he looked down at me with a dopey expression—accompanied by a big, dumb grin. I smiled up at him sweetly as he began petting my hair again, helping me forget about the dull pain I felt in my scalp from him pulling my hair and the overstimulation I felt between my legs from the vibrator for a few minutes.

"That was amazing!" I gasped between ragged breaths as his eyes watched over me with a slight hint of pride within them.

Instead of speaking any words to tell me how well i did or how much he enjoyed our little game, Syzoth leaned down to place a loving kiss to my swollen lips. After the sweet moment, he pulled away, and I was shocked to see that his tired expression was replaced with what seemed to be a more sinister one. At this moment, small part of me knew that I wasn't getting off as easily as I had hoped. And unfortunately, his words confirmed that suspicion...

"Oh, my sweet girl—we are nowhere near finished tonight."

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