#City Hall Mall | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

hier--soir · 1 year ago

Text

a lover's pinch | four

joel miller x f!reader

pairing: professor!joel miller x f!reader rating: explicit, 18+ minors dni summary: after a conference in new york, you and j miller phd take things a step further. warnings/tags: au, university professor joel, age gap [20 something years diff], ethically dubious relationship due to inherent power imbalance, i think i describe reader as having sweaty palms about 1500 times so it deserves a warning, alcohol consumption, the plight of being a woman in academia, oral [f receiving], unprotected piv sex [IN A BED ??? GASP] for you filthy animals, prone bone, a little roughness and then not much at all, uhhh pet names during sex.... uhhmm intimacy errrrrr.... soft!joel... feelings... okay bye word count: 9.3k series masterlist | main masterlist a lover's pinch playlist a/n: hey folks, thank you so much for all your patience as i took my sweet sweet time writing this. we get to know our prof a little better in this one so a fair amount of dialogue for you but yeah anyways i hope you enjoy it, and i'd love to hear what you think! [and if i Fell Off because of the depression, don't tell me lol] A WORD ABOUT THE TAG LIST: i will continue the taglist for this part and for part five, and after that i will rely solely on my notifications account @hier--soirupdates so pls follow that and turn on notifs to be told when i post writing x this is part four of ALP. you can read the previous parts here: one, two, three.

Saturday.

The conference centre is vast.

A large space that protects you from the threatening clouds that loom over New York City, and exposes you to countless dense conversations.

An NYU teacher’s assistant is glued to your hip, parading you through the centre with a wayward index finger that points out the bar, the room where the keynote speech will be given [large, with an imposing stage], and the room where you will give your presentation [less large, with a far less imposing stage].

Your presentation.

You fight the urge to pull up the email for the thousandth time while she explains how there will be fifteen minutes to set up beforehand, and advises on when the doors will open for guests, and reminds you that you have a strict allotted time of 20-minutes, do you understand?

But the email is branded on the inside of your eyelids after this morning’s flight was spent reading and rereading and rereading the words. So you nod and smile and placate her on the tour of the centre, as you run through it in your mind.

We look forward to welcoming you to NYU’s Annual Classics and Ancient History Conference. Our team was intrigued by the presentation devised around your translation study in Athens…

“Did you hear me?”

You wish she wasn’t dressed so casually.

Loose balls of lint are collected on the back of her cardigan like trinkets, weighty and threatening to fall off in a sort of bread crumb trail behind her every movement. It makes your dress feel all the more serious, all the more formal. Navy blue and a little tight, with sleeves that slant across the middle of your bicep and a hem that cuts modestly across your lower thigh. Professional, smart, sexy, but not too sexy. You and Nora spent two hours at the mall picking it out last weekend. And you can see people in suits, in blazers, in dresses, everywhere you turn, but your eyes keep returning to the TA’s cardigan. Little pills, sad morsels of broken fabric.

She says your name sharply.

“Yes,” you snap to attention, and clock her poor attempt not to roll her eyes. “You were saying?”

“It’s an open bar,” she continues from a few steps ahead, slowly back away while raising her voice to be heard over the countless others sprouting across the room. “And food is served after the Keynote.”

Finally free of her and her cardigan, you scale the edge of the hall, curious eyes glancing across faces familiar and not. You notice some other postgrads from UNE, and some professors from your alma mater. But it isn’t until three hours into the conference that you notice him.

You’re in a painfully long conversation with Professor Carmichael, an ancient history department head from Boston, when you notice them.

“Well you see,” he’s saying, slowly. “The First Roman Triumvirate was very unique. Surely you agree with me there, my dear?”

“Of course,” you nod amiably. A waiter floats past you holding a tray of glasses. You grasp one with a grateful smile, and turn back to face him with a sip of cold white wine moving down your throat. “The Big Three, it’s all very interesting. Although I must say, I am personally more interested in the second triumvirat—”

“Oh they all say that,” he waves his hand. “Everyone is so taken by Antony and Octavian that they forget about Crassus! So tragic.”

“A very tragic death,” you offer an exaggerated frown. “I agree.”

Carmichael hums, eyes narrowing as if you’ve said something wrong. Sipping your wine, your eyes float over his shoulder, determinedly trying to spot any sign of food, gaze spilling across countless faces and tables and waiters and professors until one set of people makes you pause. Wild dark hair atop a floral dress floats in your vision, her pale hand hovering over the sleeve of a tall man in a suit. You watch the backs of their heads; the way the woman tilts her chin upward to speak to the man and laughs at what he says in return. That laugh. You frown, and feel yourself take a step forward, a step in their direction.

“Is something the matter?” Carmichael asks and you halt, flash him a sweet smile and shake your head.

“No,” you rush, practically tasting the opportunity to escape the conversation. “I’m sorry, Professor, I thought I saw someone waving me over. If you don’t min—”

“Always so many people to talk to at these things,” he says in a sing-song tone of voice, smiling obliviously. “All in due course, dear. You’ll find them later I’m sure.”

It’s not until fifteen minutes later that the tap comes on your shoulder. You turn and feel relief wash over you as you come face to face with Rachel, with her tangle of curls and bright orange dress. But then a jolt shudders through your frame, for you spot the man accompanying her; the man you watched her traipse around the room with, the man in the sleek black suit—Joel, hovering a step behind her.

“Rachel,” you blink. “Joel. Hi—”

“I didn’t know you’d be here!” Rachel says. Her eyes are wide, lips pulled back into a crooked grin that immediately sets you at ease. Joel, on the other hand, looks uncomfortable to say the least. You watch him tuck his hands in his pockets and then take them out again quickly, lips pursed together in a tight line as he glances between you and Professor Carmichael.

“Joel,” she grips the sleeve of his blazer and tugs him forward to stand beside her. You watch where her hand grazes him - the ease with which she jostles him around. “Did you know?”

“No.” He stares for a moment, lips parted and eyes darting across your face, shaking his head. “No, I didn’t know.”

“I’m giving a presentation,” you explain quickly, eyes darting between the two of them, fingers tightening around your glass every time your eyes settle on him. He trimmed his beard again; the hairs are shorter, neater—almost too short and too neat for your liking. His shirt is pressed and crisp, shock white beneath the midnight black of his jacket. He’s wearing different glasses. Tortoise shell glasses. Someone clears their throat to your right, snapping you out of your reverie. You apologise quickly, “This is Professor Carmichael.”

“Of course,” Joel nods, stepping forward to grip the older man’s hand. “Good to see you again, Professor.”

“And you, Professor Miller,” Carmichael chuckles, patting a shaky hand against Joel’s shoulder. “When was the last time we crossed paths? A year ago?”

“Must’ve been a year,” Joel smiles easily. His eyes slip to look at you every few seconds. “The conference in Ottawa.”

“The conference in Ottawa!” Carmichael cheers, nodding away. A weight sinks in your stomach like a cinder block as you watch the Professor gear up to wrangle Joel and Rachel into another conversation about Crassus’ untimely demise. But then Rachel slips away, called out to by someone across the room. And before Carmichael can open his mouth, Joel is speaking again, that honeyed drawl like music to your ears.

“Excuse me, Professor Carmichael,” he smiles again. Two of his fingers grip your elbow, tugging you a step backward. “Do you mind if I steal my star student for a few moments?”

Joel tilts your body to the left, and then the two of you are veering off into the crowd, wandering through throngs of people, his warm fingers pressed against the soft flesh above your elbow.

“Didn’t know you’d be here,” you say under your breath, glancing around warily, trying to spy any curious eyes that might notice the two of you.

“Could say the same thing,” he murmurs, dragging you to a stop at the edge of the hall with his eyebrows raised. “When’s your talk?”

“At one. Overlaps with the Keynote, which I’m a little relieved about,” you smile, a pinched, tense thing. “Hopefully everyone will go to that, and I’ll have a smaller crowd.”

Joel’s eyebrows raise. You think you notice his shoulders stiffen. “S’that right?”

A persistent pang of hunger stabs through your stomach, you rub a hand over the front of your dress and nod. Curious brown eyes follow the movement.

“Here,” Joel reaches into his pocket and pulls something out. His fingers graze your skin as he tucks the shiny rectangle of foil into your palm. “They don’t put out any food until after the Keynote.”

It’s a granola bar. Peanut butter and banana. You stare at it for a moment, almost dumbfounded by the kindness of the gesture. By how attentive he is; how much he notices without you even having to speak.

“Thanks,” you say. Nestle it into your purse and give him an appreciative smile.

“Sure,” he nods jerkily. Adjusts the glasses on his nose. “I’m disappointed to miss it.”

“Oh?” you blink. Your eyes focus then, flitting downward to focus on the badge hanging from his lanyard.

Joel Miller, Ph.D.

University of New England.

Keynote Speaker.

“Oh, shit.”

“Mhm,” Joel squints at you. “Sorry if I don’t share the sentiment that everyone comes to watch me instead of you.”

“Why didn’t you…” you gape. “You didn’t say you were giving a talk?”

“You didn’t ask.”

“The Keynote speech is a big deal,” you say, as if he wouldn’t know.

“I was their third choice,” he shrugs you off with practiced ease. “First two weren’t interested.”

“Third time lucky then,” you smile, and he chuckles. Someone calls Joel’s name then, and you both spin to see Rachel across the room with a group of people, all eagerly waving him over. Something nasty curls in your chest – something bitter and unwarranted and cruel. You smother it with a mouthful of wine and a soft smile of farewell to him as he turns and walks in her direction.

A hand clasps down on your shoulder and you flinch, turning to see Professor Carmichael beaming.

“Where were we then, my dear?”

You eat Joel’s granola bar at the back of the hall five minutes before your talk and walk onstage with the taste of peanut and banana on your lips, brushing crumbs of dried oats off your fingers.

Fifteen people attend, spotted miscellaneously across the amassed rows of chairs. The slide clicker is damp in your palm, and your thumb hovers trembling over the button, awaiting each moment you need to press down.

“Working alongside some fantastic translators,” you tell them. “We focused on studying the disparities between how Greek texts are translated by men and women. Particularly, we aimed to delve into the way emotive language has been downgraded or elevated depending on the lens through which a text is being viewed.”

Professor Carmichael sits in the front row, those sun-spot covered hands clasped in his lap, offering an encouraging smile as you shift upon the stage. Rachel is a few rows back, and she nods intently whenever you glance in her direction.

“One of our main points of focus,” you continue. “Was to understand points of difficulty in translating while accounting for cultural nuances, and how the context of differing authors can impact upon this. In my next slide—”

It’s as you turn to glance at the display that you notice them for the first time. Three rows from the front, where a group of men sit. Two of them young, maybe around your age. You change your slide and watch them whisper in each other’s ears. One of them points at you. Or not you, rather—your legs.

And you yearn for it to be meaningless. A meaningless gesture between colleagues. Meaningless legs, meaningless dress, meaningless curves and slopes and dips and spins. But as you continue, you know it can’t be. The way they talk through your presentation, as if they aren’t bothered to be heard. The way they leer at you over Carmichael’s shoulder, grinning to each other. Your words in one ear and out the other—simply a talking point for them, a blue dress, something to stare at. Your dress feels hot, tight, and your chest feels hotter, tighter under the lights as those eyes glaze over you. You glance back towards Rachel. She gives you a thumbs up that doesn’t serve to cool your nerves.

“When translating word for word in our field, it’s uncommon,” you stutter to a stop, eyes flashing warily. “Sorry, it is not uncommon to find that narratological creativity dwindles.”

You hear a chuckle to your right and swallow down the urge to shoot daggers in the direction of the sound. “Translators struggle to maintain the in-depth imaginative expression that the original Greek text inspires. But through my discussions with Professor Samaras, we found that…”

It’s in the final minutes that you notice him. Tucked away in a back row of the room, arms folded across his chest. You pause for a moment, words caught in your throat. But Joel merely gives you a short nod. The faintest hint of a smile, of the corner of his eyes slanting upward, and it’s as if a cool breeze washes over you. Hands steady, knees lock, and you push through. You don’t look at any of their faces until it’s over.

And when it is, and scattered applause decorates the air, you can’t help but cast a smile in Joel’s direction. A smile that slips and wavers when you spot the broad expanse of his back, that sharp black blazer, as he slips out the doors without wasting a second.

The rest of your audience follows suit, a slim line that wanders out the doors without a second glance—spare Carmichael, who tells you he was quite taken with how you presented yourself, my dear.

You hear your own name and turn to see Rachel approaching, a burst of floral frock and swinging earrings. Her smile is wide and crooked, and you can’t help but smile back.

“That was wonderful,” she cheers, squeezing your shoulder. “I was so taken by how you spoke about the importance of linguistic quality assurance when translating emotive texts. Brilliant!”

Your face warms. “Thank you,” you shake your head quickly. “It was… thank you. That’s very kind.”

You glance over her shoulder, wondering if he’ll reappear – perhaps share her sentiments, maybe shower you with praise. He doesn’t.

She catches you looking. “Joel was in a rush,” she offers easily. “Lots of people wanting to talk to the man of the evening.”

“Of course,” you swallow thickly. Another smile.

Rachel stares at you curiously. “He’s very impressed by you, you know.” Her voice is warm, gentle—soft spoken like a mother who can sense the slightest flash of insecurity. You cringe immediately, feel your arms cross protectively across your chest. Don’t give the game away now. “Honestly, I think he read your comparative paper on the katabasis three times. Practically raved about it when I asked what it was.”

“Oh,” you blink, shifting uneasily under her gaze. “That’s… wow, I’m flattered.”

“He sees a lot of potential in you,” she says.

“Right,” you nod. “Well, he’s a grea—you’re both great teachers. I’m very lucky to be learning from the two of you.”

She doesn’t speak for a moment, and you fear your face grows warmer in the silence. Can feel the slick on your palms returning, the flash of heat in your chest, the longer you sit in it. You make a quick and tumbling excuse to flee the scene, spitting a mess of thank you so much and just need some fresh air, before you’re stumbling out of the hall and wandering outside on newborn deer legs. You snag a flute of something bubbly off the bar on your way, and find yourself on a secluded bench in the breezeway behind the conference centre.

You sit there alone and watch the grass, the way the light from inside shines out across the green. Feel the chill of the wind slip past you, rustling your hair and raising goosebumps on your bare legs. Sip dry Cava and contemplate how many more of these things you can feasibly imagine attending in your career. There’s a single text from Nora on your phone, asking how the presentation went. You tuck it into your purse, leaving the message unanswered.

By the time you hear the door hinges creak, the glass is near empty. You spy a shadowy form snaking its way down the path, headed in your direction.

“Mr Keynote Speaker,” you hum. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?”

“Funny,” Joel mutters dryly, knees cracking as he falls onto the bench beside you. A heavy sigh slips from between his lips, fingers lacing together in his lap as he gazes across the breezeway. You down the last of your drink and place it on the concrete by your feet. “Needed some god damn peace and quiet. All that chit chat drives me insane.”

You murmur in agreement and stare at the side of his face – the neatened beard, the thick frame of his glasses. Purposeful or not, the side of his body is pressed against yours. Thigh to thigh, shoulder to shoulder – he’s sat directly in the centre of the bench. Heat radiates off his body and it’s almost too warm, and yet you find yourself relaxing against him.

“First time at one of these?” Joel asks gruffly. He’s still not looking at you, his eyes trained on a pigeon pecking at a discarded foil wrapper on the grass.

“Is it that obvious?” you grimace.

“Only because I’ve been to twenty of the damn things,” he says. “Y’learn how to smell the nervous energy comin’ off the first timers.”

“Twenty?” you mutter. Feel your stomach curl and twist at the idea of doing this day nineteen more times.

“Somethin’ like that.” Joel glances at you from the corner of his eye. “Went to a lot during my second degree. Had to get good at talkin’, fast.”

“Ahh,” you say. “So, you weren’t always such a sweet talker then?”

He lets out a low chuckle, as if amused by the thought. “Sweet talker, huh? That what I am?”

You shrug, suddenly emboldened by him following you outside, by how close he is, by how open he seems.

“I suppose,” you say slowly.

“And what gave you that idea?”

“You here alone?” you offer a poor imitation of him, voice low and breathy with your awful take on a Southern twang. “Meet me in the bathroom.” You wink, quietly delighted by the way his lips have tightened into a flat line.

“Funny,” he says again, entirely unamused now.

Something warm shifts in your lower stomach. Something wet—a vivid memory of him on the ground behind you in the bathroom of a bar, of hands spreading you open, of his tongue pressing inside you, of The Eagles playing faintly in the background.

“You do that kind of thing often?” you ask.

“Do what?”

“Approach young women at bars,” you wiggle your eyebrows, smirking. “Rob them of their virtue in the bathroom and then hope you never see them again.”

“You? Virtuous?” Joel rolls his eyes. You can see the corner of his lip curling upward. “Must be gettin’ yourself confused with somebody else.”

“Maybe,” you smile.

“Sometimes,” he casts you a look, after a moment. “Not… often. And not young.”

“Younger,” you counter quickly.

“I didn’t expect you to be…” he trails off and shakes his head. “It’s not a thing I do, alright?”

“Of course not.”

“It’s not.”

“You don’t date then?”

He tilts his head at you curiously, eyes planted firmly on your face now. “Not for a long time.”

“Why not?”

“Been busy,” he grunts, clearly growing impatient by the line of questioning. “Spent a lot of time studying. Working.”

“Where did you study?” you press.

“This twenty fuckin’ questions?” he snaps, reaching up to rub the back of his neck. “Came out here for—”

“You came out here,” you interrupt. “Because I came out here.”

He glowers at you, but doesn’t try to deny it.

“Night classes at Texas A&M for my undergrad,” he grits out. You smile sickly sweet, pleased. “Did my postgrads part time at UT Austin,” Joel says.

Your eyebrows kick up again, the teasing pretence all but forgotten. “Sounds… unconventional?” you offer softly.

“That’s one word for it,” he agrees vaguely. “Spent the better half of a decade at school just to end up teaching at one. Ain’t that somethin’.”

“And before that?” you press.

“Before that,” he continues with a wry grin, one full of distaste and frustration and resentment. “Was a contractor for a long time. Houses, buildings.” He rests a hand against his shoulder, fingers pressing against the muscle there, as if working out a decade old knot.

And for a moment you can see it. Can almost taste it. Collared shirts and glasses replaced with hard hats and hammers and dirt in the lines of his palms. Joel carrying a plank of wood on his shoulder, wearing a toolbelt. Joel on his knees, sweat shining on his forehead while he wields an electric drill.

Your dress feels too tight suddenly. Too warm.

“A contractor,” you say distractedly, and hope he doesn’t notice how your thighs press together.

“Mhm,” Joel nods. “With my brother.”

“You have a brother?”

He ignores that. “Where did you study?”

“San Diego State,” you flash him a grin. “Go Aztecs.”

“Good school,” he hums. “You’re a long way from California.”

Only a little further than Texas, you think.

“You did good up there,” Joel adds.

Your smile dips and wanes into a scowl, uninterested in the change of subject.

“What?”

“It was…” you shake your head slowly, face warming as you glance down to your lap.

“What?”

“It just wasn’t what I expected.” You pick at a loose thread on the hem of your dress. “That’s all.”

“And what did you expect?”

“To be listened to,” you grunt. “Not gawked at by some ancient jerkoffs that were only there to stare at my ass when I turned to change a slide.”

Joel nods, quiet.

“I wanted it to matter,” you mutter. “Wanted to… fuck, I wanted to impress them.”

“I was impressed.”

“Oh yeah?” you snort, finally looking up. “You hightailed it out of there pretty quickly.”

Joel shakes his head and stares back at you, gaze heavy. His hands tighten into fists against his thighs, knuckles lightening to white as he squeezes. You shuffle on the seat—ignore the flare of heat that erupts where your shoulder nudges firmer against his.

“I guess you could say,” he speaks slowly. “I’m tryin’ to keep my distance.”

You arch an eyebrow and attempt to swallow the laugh bubbling up your throat.

“Well, you’re doing a great job,” you smirk.

Joel laughs and your smile falters, mouth going slack at the sound. How rare it is, and how much rarer to have it all to yourself like this. For all of his sharp angles, his sweet talking, his harsh words, and harsher touch—that laugh is the cruellest part.

He jostles his shoulder against yours a little. An acknowledgement; perhaps a glimpse inside. Something that says, I know, I see it, I feel it, I can’t stop either.

“You make it hard,” he says then, and his voice is soft—almost a whisper.

“How’s that?” You match his tone, as if you’re two little kids who’ve snuck outside to share secrets where no one else can hear them.

“You bein’ here,” he murmurs, eyes searching. “Startin’ to feel like you’re everywhere I turn.”

A breeze swims past and you shiver, locks of hair floating in a mess around your face until you pat them down. Joel moves almost imperceptibly, curling his side tighter against yours to shield you from the onslaught.

“I know the feeling,” you admit.

The muscle in his jaw ticks and he clears his throat, looking out across the green again. For a moment the pair of you sit in silence. Not as professor and student, but simply a man and a woman on a bench. Breathing the same air, soaking in a shared silence that only the two of you could understand. And there are so many more questions you want to ask him, so much more you feel compelled to know, but instead you settle for this—sitting on a bench together, shoulders and thighs and chests pressed side to side, two frames moulded around the welcoming shape of one another. For now.

“It gets easier,” Joel says then, jaw tense as he spares a glance back in your direction. “This stuff, these people, all the talkin’.”

You acknowledge him with a small smile, just the slightest twitch of your lip. Don’t bother saying, maybe for you. Maybe for a man.

“You know,” you suck in a breath and give him a lazy smile instead. “I think this might be the longest conversation we’ve had without ripping each other’s clothes off.”

“Mm.” He leans his head back to rest on the wall, eyes focusing up towards the sky.

“I like it,” you say quietly. Hear how vulnerability chimes in your voice – a wobble that begs to be ignored and understood all at once. “It’s nice… talking like this.”

Joel’s head tilts towards you, dark eyes locked on yours. He doesn’t say anything, but you can see that wariness in his eyes. The same wariness that poured out in flecks of brown and amber and gold in the light of your bedroom a week ago, when he told you he was fifty. A hesitant curiosity, an incessant suspicion, a bark of disbelief. You feel the desire to pluck the feeling out of him and swallow it whole. To lock it safely inside yourself and make it so he never has to feel it again.

So you lean in a press your lips against his. Painfully soft, just a whisper of two mouths slotting together. Chapped and dry from the wind, he tastes like bitter sparkling wine. You sigh into him, uncaring. Hook your ankle around his, place your hand on his thigh, and sink closer, deeper.

He pulls back an inch, mouth still hovering over yours, the tip of his nose pressed into your cheek.

“Shouldn’t do this here,” he warns quietly, eyes still closed. His breath is hot against your face, and you inhale the taste of mint and Cava and Joel.

“I know.” You grip the lapel of his blazer and kiss him again. Firmer this time, grazing your tongue along the seam of his lips until he welcomes you inside to taste behind his teeth. The frame of his glasses presses into your nose, your cheeks, and you smile into his mouth. Rough palms and lazy fingertips graze the skin of your bicep, your neck, until they find a home at the nape of your neck. His thumb presses against the hinge of your jaw, hot wet tongue working your mouth open until you’re whining, teeth nipping at his bottom lip and fingernails digging into the meat of his thigh.

Only when you move to press a hand beneath the collar of his shirt does Joel pull back again, this time to stand and take a step away from the bench. A tinge of scarlet creeps its way from the hollow of his throat to the apple of his cheeks. He clears his throat and glances over his shoulder, towards the door. When he looks back, there’s something new there. Some dangerous that flashes in his eyes and lingers when his gaze dances down the curve of your body against the seat.

“Where are you staying?” you ask, breathless.

For a minute he doesn’t answer. Simply stares, contemplating, broad chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. The lenses of his glasses are fogged, and you watch them slowly clear.

Then— “The Pendry.”

Joel reaches into his pocket and retrieves something small and laminated. You take it from his outstretched palm carefully. “Fifth floor.”

You stare at it for a moment. Turn it over in your palm once, twice. Read the room number printed on the key card before tucking it safely into your purse. When you look up again, Joel is already walking back inside.

It’s nearing midnight by the time you arrive at the Pendry – a high rise in Manhattan West, the kind with a fancy lobby and a doorman in a neat black suit. The polar opposite of the hotel where your suitcase lies unopened across the city. You feel out of place in an instant, but you’re still in your dress, and the staff don’t bat an eye at your presence. The key card he gave you is hot where your fingers curl around it, plastic damp and foggy with the sweat from your palms. By the time you reach his door you have to wipe it on your dress before the sensor will recognise it.

A hollow beep echoes through the hall, and his door presses open with a soft hiss.

The room is enveloped in darkness. Moonlight shines in through a slim gap in the curtains, highlighting vague edges of the space. A desk against the wall, a large bed on the left of the room. For a moment you consider that he isn’t here—that he got caught up at the conference, sweet talking into the midnight hour with other professors and alums. You can hear sounds from the street, music and car horns blaring, even from the fifth floor. But nothing else. No Joel.

Tentatively, you take a step inside the room. And then another. Kick your heels off and feel rough carpet hairs sift between your toes. Holding your hands out into the darkness, fingertips ghosting the wall for support, you venture further into the room, only pausing when your shin thumps against the corner of something sharp and sturdy.

You spit a surprised curse and stumble into the wall, hands falling to grip your leg where it throbs and smarts.

“Jesus fuck,” you hiss, smoothing your fingers against the already forming lump.

A lamp flicks on, and the room lurches into view, tinged in a soft yellow light. You jump, eyes squinting against the sudden brightness. Bed sheets rumple and shift, and Joel is frowning at you from his place amongst the pillows, a hand raising to drowsily scratch his chin.

“The hell are you doin’?” he rasps.

Heat flares in your face as you straighten up, mirroring his frown. He moves slow, a sluggish stretch out of bed, wearing nothing but a pair of boxers and a t-shirt, and he looks almost concerned. It gives you pause for a moment, eyes unsure of where to settle, as you note just how much of his body you’ve never seen before. The soft muscles in his legs, the dark hair over tan skin. You can see the slight round of his stomach through the thin fabric of the shirt.

“Were you asleep?” you accuse.

“Thought you weren’t coming,” Joel mutters, and the sound is a fractured medley of words and yawns. You feel a dull pang of disappointment in your chest as you watch him rub sleep from the corner of his left eye.

“Were you hoping I wouldn’t?”

He doesn’t respond.

“You gave me a key.”

“I know,” he sighs.

“Of course I was going to come.”

He nods. Yawns again, hand snaking upward to cover his open mouth.

You turn your back on him slowly. Take a glass from the little kitchenette and let the faucet run a cool burst of water into it. Little specks of water splash up, dotting against your hand. Your feet ache from wearing those damn heels all day, but you wilfully ignore the pain, gulping down half the glass while staring at your reflection in the splashback. Blue dress, hair tucked behind your ears, charcoal smudged around the curve of your eyes.

Joel’s fingers wind around yours, peeling the glass from your clutch so he can steal the final few sips. He discards it on the counter and leans against it. You try to make out his expression in the shadowy light, wiping your water-dotted arm against your side.

“S’a good dress.” He looks more alert suddenly, eyes sharp and focused, wide shoulders squared.

“Yeah?”

“Mm.”

“Didn’t say anything about it earlier.”

“Was tryin’ not to think about it,” he says plainly. “And how badly I wanted to take it off.”

Your hand stills. That misplaced disappointment slips out of the room, an unwelcome third party, and you grin at him. A sleazy, sleepy smile, and walk backwards in the direction of the bed without taking your eyes off of him.

“So take it off,” you challenge.

Your heartbeat is a steady thrum against your breastbone as he crosses the room. Badoom, badoom, no less than three strides and he’s there, gripping your waist to turn you so his chest is against your back.

Your zip is a low whir in the air, spinning downward slowly, slowly, from the nape of your neck to the sloping base of your spine. Deft hands trace skin, grazing every mark, every freckle as they are revealed to him, until the material of your dress is a gaping smile across your back. You shiver as the air rushes to meet your bare flesh, and then careful—cautious—you feel a pair of lips press against the top of your spine, soft pink against steely vertebrae. You say his name, low and surprised, and he doesn’t say anything. Those hands push the dress down your arms, and you watch it tremble and fall, a mess of blue at your feet.

You can hear his breathing; the way it stutters and jumps as he traces the clasp of your bra, the arch of your spine beneath it.

“Take it off,” you say again, and feel a sharp scratch of desperation that perhaps this time he won’t deny you this. This something that you’ve not experienced even once, and yet you find yourself missing.

The idea of his skin against yours is something prophetic, something inevitable, something divine—something determined far before the two of you met in that bar. It’s out of your control or his, irrevocable—a beast bred from desire that claws and snaps at the bars of its cage, calling you kicking and screaming into each other’s arms.

His fingers pluck at the clasp, and you smile. Sigh in relief as your bra hits the floor and the weight of your breasts are borne to the increasingly warm air. Joel is still behind you, still not seeing you. But broad palms splay across your back, massaging and flexing into your skin as they roam your sides, your stomach, up your front to cup your breasts. You gasp, eyelids fluttering as he squeezes softly, palms warm and solid against the stiff peaks of your nipples.

“Fuck.” Joel’s nose buries itself in your hair, his forehead against the back of your head. Your legs shake, and you lean back into his chest, your body a soft and tremulous thing that would surely float away if he weren’t here to hold you up.

His hands are on your breasts, sweet and tender and finally, and you wonder how long this wanting will feel like burning. Like nicks of flame that gloss over you and spit embers at anyone who dares to get too close—at him, sparking and sputtering as they collide in a spitfire symphony. This man who lives set ablaze in his own right. This man who welcomes your flame every time—swallows it whole, and lays kisses against the back of your neck with lips still warm.

Calloused fingers roll and circle your nipples, playing gently, listening for every gasp, every sigh, before diligently repeating whatever it was that called the sound forward. Your underwear is all but ruined, already damp and clinging to the slick skin between your thighs. And you can feel him against your lower back, albeit unmoving—not grinding against you, not pushing you down onto the bed, but waiting – for what, you can’t be sure.

You turn around faster than he can stop you. Hook fingers into the band of your panties and drag them down in a swift movement before straightening, holding his gaze all the while. And Joel—

He looks in pain. Dark eyes lock onto on your face and don’t stray. Don’t dip downward, don’t glance around the room. His hands hang by his sides, palms facing upward in a dejected fashion, jaw slack as he just—waits.

“Why won’t you look at me?” you whisper.

“You don’t….” he shakes his head. “If I look, I won’t be able to forget. And I—I can’t—”

There’s a flash of that memory again. Sweating in the dark bathroom of a bar in Portland. Joel wiping stained lipstick from your chin. The words I’m gonna remember this dripping from his swollen lips.

You take a step forward. Feel your nipples graze the soft material of his shirt. “And what if I don’t want you to forget?”

He says your name quietly, shoulders tense. But when you grip the hem of his shirt, he doesn’t stop you. Rather, he lifts his arms and lets you drag the fabric over his head. You marvel at the bare skin, eyes dancing across jutting collarbones and the soft swell of his stomach. Watch the way his chest rises and falls as stilted breaths flurry inside him before spilling into the air between you. Admire the trail of dark hair that rests between his bellybutton and the soft band of his underwear. His eyes don’t leave your face as you push the boxers down his legs.

“So handsome,” you say and Joel exhales, hands hovering a hairsbreadth from your waist. The weight of the moment hangs heavy between you. This moment of more. To be with him like this feels like more. To be naked feels like more.

You grip his hand and raise it to your breast again. Squeeze your fingers over his. His thumb flicks across your nipple and you gasp. His eyes darken, nostrils flaring as he fights to restrain himself.

“Joel,” you whisper. “Look at me.”

Finally, he does. Those brown eyes flickering downward to rake in the sight of your body.

He’s on you in a second, mouth slanting desperately against yours while his hands drift aimlessly across skin, untethered in their access. Fingers pinching and grabbing and squeezing, teeth searing at your lips, and you gasp as his cock presses against your stomach. The long, thick weight of him, drooling and needy. Your fingers slip around him, rub softly over the underside of his head, the vein on the underside of him. Joel grips your wrist and pushes you backward a step, his lips leaving yours with a wet smack.

“Sit on the bed,” he orders firmly.

You wander backward, stumbling onto the edge of the bed when your calves collide with the heavy wooden base. He watches you, hand drifting to wrap around the base of his cock. He strokes himself gently, black eyes tracing vigilantly over every inch of your body. And you expect him to push you down, to crawl on top of you. Instead, you watch with bated breath as Joel drops to his knees in front of you. His knees crack as they bend but he ignores it, nudging your thighs apart so his broad frame can fit between them. Hooded eyes gaze between your thighs, roaming across all of the bare skin on show. Slowly, he lifts a hand and rests it gently on your mound. Calloused fingers stroke over the dark hair there, stroking through the short curls. You sigh and cant your hips up, but Joel only grunts, his free hand squeezing your thigh to hold you against the mattress.

Before you can process it, he’s leaning forward, nose nestling in your hair as his warm tongue parts your folds. You groan in unison, your fingers carding through his curls to hold him against you. He murmurs something that you don’t quite catch over the roaring in your ears, but you don’t care. Too caught up in a smooth slide of his mouth slotting against you. The flat of his tongue glides up and down your sex, smearing a mess of slick and saliva in his wake. You gasp as it flicks sharply across your clit, your jaw tensing at the harsh sensation. Joel notices—pulls back.

“Tell me,” he urges.

“Slower,” you say quickly, voice feeble and desperate.

“Slower,” Joel repeats with a nod, and he massages your thighs as he licks into you, fingernails scraping your skin as his grip tightens and loosens and tightens and loosens. He traces slow circles around your clit with the flat of his tongue that have you gasping and bucking against his face. And when his tongue presses inside of you, you moan, fingers twisting in his hair and tugging.

“Fuck,” he growls into you, and he likes that. You do it again and his eyes flick open, pupils blown, gaze darting wildly across your stomach, your arms, your breasts, your face – watching, admiring, taking in every detail of the offering that you’ve laid so generously at his altar. The tip of a finger curls inside you and he grins when your thighs tense around him. He rears his head back to watch how you welcome him inside, eyes locked on the way your weeping cunt clenches and drips around one of his fingers, and then another.

“Yeah,” you sigh, nose scrunching at the slight stretch. “Yeah, like that, fuck.”

“Look at you,” he mutters. “Christ.” And then the cut of his wet red mouth is back on you, lips parting to suck against your clit until you’re crying out, voice a hoarse shout as you speed rapidly towards your end.

“Shit, Joel,” you gasp. One of your legs kicks out straight and his hand drops from your thigh, one set of fingers working you open while the other comes up to part your lips, giving himself more access. As he lathes wet kisses against you, the coarse hairs of his beard scraping your inner thighs, you can feel it. That liquid heat that coils and stirs in the base of your stomach.

“Joel, I—ohh—I think I’m gonna come,” you whimper, hand shooting out to grip his shoulder. Your nails dig into the tense muscle there, using the leverage to rut your hips against his face.

He groans into your sex, fingers moving faster, unforgiving against that spongy spot deep inside that sets you alight. His teeth graze against your clit, the lightest brush, and your stomach is tensing, every muscle in your body locking up.

“Give it t’me,” he says gruffly. “That’s it, come on, baby.”

A choked gasp falls from your lips and then you’re coming, twitching against his face, pussy bearing down on thick fingers that stoke you through the high. Your hand leaves his shoulder to grip the back of his neck, holding his face against where you’re aching for him still. Joel moans, a low sound from deep in his chest, dragging his fingers away so he can drink down every heady drop of your orgasm.

Baby.

The word rings in your head, bouncing inside your skull, a fierce ricochet. Baby.

Trembling fingers feather across the cowlick at the crown of his head, twisting and petting soft wayward curls as his mouth pulls back, a wet drag across the skin of your hip. You catch a glimpse of his cock, heavy and throbbing between his thighs.

Joel’s teeth nip at the sensitive skin of your thigh, a sharp pinch that makes you flinch. Tired muscles tensing, face twisting up as he sucks and licks, hot tongue soothing over the stinging red mark. He breathes your name, mouthing the sound into your flesh once, twice.

“I’ve been tryna remember this,” he murmurs. “Only ever had it for a second.”

You whimper as he licks into you again, slowly. And you’re so sensitive, and maybe—maybe—it’s too much, too soon, but he doesn’t care. He grips your calf and tucks it over his shoulder. Holds it there in a vice grip.

“Wasn’t enough,” he says. Dark eyes look up and you’re rapt in them—bound and boneless simply from having those eyes on you you you nothing but you all he sees is you and he loves it, you can tell. Thrives on the way you melt beneath his rough fingertips, the wet drag of his tongue. “Remember that first day in my office?

Remember, remember, remember, how could you forget? I’m gonna remember this this this.

“Yes.” Your leg trembles against the side of face, the coarse hairs of his beard scratching your skin. The tip of his tongue lathes slow circles around your clit. A cruel, leisurely slip of flesh on flesh that has you gasping and twitching beneath his hands.

“I wanted this that day,” Joel rasps. “Needed it. But you were gone so soon, ‘n’ I couldn’t help myself.”

“What—oh fuck—” He flicks his tongue faster, hot swipes from side to side that have your thigh clamping down against the muscles in his neck. Your mind is a blur, eyebrows furrowed as you try to make sense of his words.

“Fucked my fist the second you left,” he growls. “My fingers in my mouth, the taste of you—Christ, couldn’t stop thinkin’ ‘bout it.”

“Joel,” you gasp, impatient. “I—get up here. Please, just—”

Strong hands push you up, push you back, further onto the bed until your head hits the pillows. His hair is a wild fray around his head, knotted and mussed from your fingers raking through it.

“I don’t have anything,” he says.

“I don’t care,” you say.

His knees press onto the mattress on either side of you and his eyes glance down your chest before he grips your waist and he’s turning you. Your stomach meets the sheets and you move to arch your back, to tilt your hips up towards him, but a firm hand rests on the small of your back, and keeps you down.

“Like this,” you hear him say. “Trust me.”

His chest is flush to your back, and you can feel him there, knuckles brushing the flesh of your ass, spreading you apart so his cock can press inside. The pillow swallows your wet gasp, and your eyes pinch shut against the stretch as he sinks deeper and deeper. Every delicious inch splits you open wider, further, carving out that space that’s just for him, and it’s more. Your vision blurs and you clutch at the sheets, fingers tangling in linen as Joel’s breathy groans fill the air.

“God,” he grunts. “Always so fuckin’—tight.”

You cry out as he begins to move, pressing you further into the mattress. The stretch of him is so broad—so deep—it has hot tears pricking in your eyes. Your legs are straight, almost clamped together, leaving the smallest gap for him to break through. His chest melts against your back, sweet sweat sliding from skin to skin. And his stomach is soft against the base of your spine, but his teeth are sharp where they nip and smart against the skin of your shoulder, your neck. He sets a pace that has you biting down into the pillow to muffle your groans. It’s almost overbearing how good it feels, how he surrounds you. Flat against the mattress, there’s nowhere to hide from the pleasure, no way to twist or curl your body away from how good it feels. A choked moan is muffled by the pillow.

And then his fingers are in your hair, dragging your head up.

“What are you fuckin’ doin’?” he grunts. You gasp, eyebrows furrowed and mouth ajar as you take take take. He pulls your hair harder when you don’t respond, presses his chin against your shoulder, lips curling against the skin of your neck as he speaks. “Don’t do that, not here. No more hidin’, I wanna fuckin’ hear it.”

He grips your hips and drags you upward so you’re on your knees, bracing against your forearms, and then his hand snakes around the front of your body, fingers dragging between your thighs as he begins moving again.

“Oh fuck,” your eyes widen in surprise, jaw hanging slack as he rolls his finger in expert circles over your clit. “Fuck, fuck.”

“Yeah?” he gasps.

“Fuck,” you repeat, mewling every time one of his thrusts sends your face forward into the pillows. “Yes, oh god.”

“Yeah, you fuckin’ like that.” Each word is punctuated by a thrust of his hips. “That’s it, lemme hear it.”

“Joel,” you cry out, voice cracked and broken. “So good.”

“I know, baby,” he grunts. “I know.”

“You’re so—deep,” you gasp.

“I know,” he soothes.

“I missed this,” you babble, mouth moving faster than your mind. “Missed you.”

“Christ,” he spits, pulling you up until you’re leaning against his chest. His fingers are a blur against your clit, cock a fast wet shift in and out in and out.

You tilt your head back against his shoulder, mouth hanging open as you press your ass back into him.

“Missed me?” Joel says, and his cheek is warm against yours. Wet. Your face is wet. “Gonna show me how much?”

“Yes,” you moan. His free hand grips your breast, squeezing and pinching.

“Need to get my fuckin’ mouth on you,” he growls.

“No,” you beg. “Joel, don’t—fuuuck, fuck, don’t stop.”

“Wanted to,” his hips stutter against you, losing momentum for a second. “Jesus, wanted to take my fuckin’ time.” You snake a hand behind his head to grip his hair again, to press his face into your neck. His mouth latches onto your skin, spit mixing with sweat where his teeth and tongue trace your roaring pulse. Your thighs are trembling, knees weak and wobbling against the mattress as he pistons into you, unrelenting, unforgiving.

“I’m—” your eyes start to roll back. You can feel your back arch and twist against him, toes curling into the sheets. “Oh my God.”

He says your name in a panicked hiss and pulls out.

You gasp at the loss, eyes flying open in alarm. He moves your body, not wasting a second as he lowers you down onto your back presses inside again, hands gripping the underside of your knees, holding them against your chest. Practically bent in half, you tremble in his grasp, eyes blurred and wet as you sob his name.

“Lemme have it,” he goads you, voice a dull vibration against your chest. “Bein’ so fuckin’ good for me, yeah, just like that.”

And it feels like something splinters within you as heat floods your senses, vision whiting out until all you can see is the soft edges of his curls against your chest, the wet smear of his tongue over your nipple. All you can hear is the words he speaks against your skin.

I’m close, he warns, and you say yes, say please, say I want it, because you do.

“Where?” You call the shots.

And you say, Inside, say, I want it, because you do.

Because you want everything. Everything he has and whatever dark matter is left after that. And everything is a naked thought, a stark realisation, a frighteningly bare streak of madness that zips down your spine and melts in your belly, and you can feel yourself tightening around him with the enormity of it. Can feel your body squeezing and sucking and holding it holding it holding it and with black eyes, spheres of a night sky’s pitch, he stares at you. Unruly eyebrows pinched tight. Mouth slick and swollen and snarling, white teeth grit like prison bars, keeping everything contained inside himself, just out of your reach.

“Fuck,” Joel spits, pleading, desperate. “Don’t—”

But his hips are bruising against yours and you relish in the ache. The jut of bone amidst the softness of his skin, a reminder of the coldness in him, the determination, the impatience. And you know that you can only have so much softness until there is stone. But you cannot understand don’t, you never have with him, so you grind upward. Meet him thrust for thrust, and shiver in delight as a tortured expression passes over his face. And when you come again he curses, broad palms bearing down on you, holding your frame into the mattress as he pushes you through it, prolonging that naked thought, that fearsome idea. You only hope that he cannot see how your own everything spills. How it cools and congeals around him with its palms spread open, longing to receive as much in return.

Joel comes with a shout, hips dragging backwards so his spend can spill across your stomach and the puffy lips of your sex. He grips his cock, milking himself for all he’s worth until wet ropes of his come are smeared across your thighs too. You gasp and writhe against the bed, trying in vain to keep your heavy eyelids open, not wanting to miss a second. The shine of your slick on his thighs and lower stomach is clear in the dim lighting, and you smile at the sight of it – your claim on him. Chest heaving, he follows your gaze, fingers swiping across his skin before sinking into his mouth. He groans around his fingers and you stomach lurches as he lowers his chest to the bed, mouth drifting between your splayed thighs.

You cup his jaw and hold him still.

“I can’t,” you murmur, and your voice is cracked and broken. “S’too much.”

And he agrees, tracing the marks on the inside of your thighs with his mouth until your eyes drift closed.

Time passes slowly after that. You don’t open your eyes for a while. Too fucked out, too tired, too tender.

There’s a warm glide of something soft and wet over your stomach, your thighs, between your legs—Joel cleaning up his mess. You almost wish he wouldn’t.

“Sorry,” you mumble a few minutes later. “I’ll go in a second.” But your eyes are closed, and the sheets smell like him.

You feel the mattress dip beside you. Hear a soft click as he turns off the lamp, and darkness swells around you once more.

“S’okay,” he says, and his voice is so close, as if he were whispering against the shell of your ear, breathing the words into you. “Don’t have to go.”

And it makes sense not to go. To stay, to stay, to stay. To sink deeper into the hotel mattress, and let the sounds of his heavy exhales lull you further to sleep. He doesn’t touch you. Doesn’t come any closer. But you can smell him. Can feel his warmth, a radiating sun that shines across the side of your body closest, and you sink deeper still.

You think of the katabasis - the hero’s journey spiralling down into the underworld. Of Orpheus seeking the safe return of Eurydice, his love lost too soon. Of Odysseus, guided by Circe to discover Teiresias on his quest for homecoming. Of Aeneid, venturing downward to meet his father and hear his true destiny. This descent into the afterlife, into the realm of the dead, wherein upon return our hero is irrevocably changed. But to stay, to stay, to stay. So warm it is here, you think, so lovely and warm to descend wholly into this wanting, this burning, this everything.

“Is this a good idea?” you murmur, voice a drowsy call into the darkness. “For me to stay?”

Joel doesn’t respond.

tags: @lovely-ateez @nana90azevedo @stevie75 @evyiione @dameron-grant-spector @brittmb115 @ashhlsstuff @casa-boiardi @bbyanarchist @hopplessilse @joeldjarin @anoverwhelmingdin @bluevxnus @kelp-dreaming @prettyinpunk85 @spacelatinos4life @iluvurfather @mrsquill @sarap-77 @sunnywithachanceofjavi @alleyy-katt @zeida @mendessi @love-the-abyss @myrealmofchaos @a-roving-woman @punkshort @gracie7209 @whichwitchwanda @fellinfromthetop @bitchwitch1981 @suzmagine @@lmariephoto37 @harriedandharassed @cumberpegg @tonysttank @ourautumn86 @my-tearsricochet @shotgun-shelby @5oh5 @psychedelic-ink @what-is-your-wish @sugadolly @elissaaa @nobodycanseeinsidemysoul

thank you for reading! x

#my writing #fic: a lover's pinch #professor!joel #ALP #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller #joel miller smut

2K notes · View notes

st4rbwrry · 7 months ago

Text

━━━ ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑡𝑠 & 𝑤𝑖𝑟𝑒𝑠 ♱ t.f

warnings 𑄽𑄺 4.6k. fem reader, lowercase intended, she/her pronouns, black coded, university setting, violence i.e fighting, readers obsessed & it's lowkey giving omega/alpha trope lmao, public sex at a skate park, running from police, oral [ m.], riding, titty sucking, praise, minors aren't allowed!

━━━ ꒰ 𝑚𝑜𝑐ℎ𝑎’𝑠 𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑡𝑡𝑦 𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑔ℎ𝑡𝑠 .ᐟ ꒱ ; this is a repost of one of my old fics so enjoy!

blood. it's seeped into the pearl white t-shirt of the man walking down the hall past you, dripping from his mouth, the look in his eyes careless as he held onto the strap of his backpack on his shoulder. to this day it felt like you were seeing him in slow motion. you could still hear how fast your heart paced, the intense eye contact between you two, your sneakers squeaking against the university's floors, hallway empty other than you, and the professor beside him.

his other hand was buried into his jean pockets, strolling with his chin up as if he wasn't phased by his injury, like he barely felt it. the dark-haired man burned his eyes into you, side-eyeing you and your skimpy cheer uniform, wanting to smirk at how entranced you were by him but couldn't given the pain on his face. for some reason you wanted so badly to ask if he was okay. clearly, he wasn't. the man had just been in a brutal fight where a student cut the side of his mouth with a switchblade. this you found out later in the day at lunch. people wouldn't stop talking about it. fushiguro, they called him. it was only his last name, simply because that's all people would refer to him as.

there was no explanation for your sudden infatuation for him. it was nonsensical. you never felt anything like that before, and you've only looked at him for literally no more than ten seconds. it was even more intense the moment you walked past each other, both of you looked back to catch another gaze for a few seconds, only you were too stunned, eyes widening and quickly whirling your head back around. he was suspended. why? he wasn't even the one to start the fight. since he had a reputation, it was easy for the school to see him as the bad apple. you actually despised the fact that the culprit who started the brawl was back in school only a week after while fushiguro remained absent.

i want to see him again. he's all you could think about. this town wasn't too big, so it's odd that you haven't gotten even a glimpse of him the entire two weeks he's been gone. not while walking the streets, not the mall where every person in town visited—then again he didn't seem like the type to do that. not the tattoo shop you worked at part time . . . nothing. friday comes around and you're stuck at work, the usual. since the shop you worked at didn't close until 2AM, your manager decided to let you out an hour early just to rest up for the weekend, thankfully off.

for some odd reason, you weren't tired, even after working a full week on top of dealing with courses and mastering cheer routines. balling the plaid black and white flannel your hands created sweater paws with tighter in your fist, you stroll peacefully down the sidewalks looking at the pretty city lights, blasting rock music until coming into view with an overnight bodega, wanting a few snacks for the night since you knew you were going to be up reading on your phone until possibly five in the morning.

you're greeted by the owner, smiling and waving, making sure to turn down your music to listen in on your surroundings. grabbing mostly chips and beef sticks, you hold all of your junk to your chest while making your way over to the refrigerators, needing a real drink since you haven't had one since jesus invented the calendar. trailing your fingers across the cool cans, you scrunch your face up at any budweiser, yards, or bud light. beer? hell no. wine sounded more like it. as you go to reach for a bottle, you catch a glimpse at a buff man at the front counter; midnight hair, all black clothing, knu skool vans, and a skateboard clutched between his right underarm hand. his items are being rung up, but you can't stop staring, squinting your eyes knowingly towards the stranger. why does he look so familiar?

"see you around, fushiguro," the man waves off, your eyes widening at the name, nearly tripping over a rack full of peanuts as you watch him nod once and exit the store, seeing the side of his face where his recent scar laid.

he's already out the store, and you rush to the counter, checking out after having to show your i.d. for the wine, saying goodnight as you snatch the clear plastic bag with a 'thanks!' and rush towards the mysterious man halfway down the block. he has his airpods in, so he doesn't hear how loud you're breathing or the thuds of your sneakers hitting the gravel. you practically bunny hop beside him making the insanely huge man jump a little, thick brows scrunching with annoyance at the inconvenience beside him. he pauses his music, never stopping his tracks as he continues to walk with you beside him.

"hey, stranger," you cheekily grin.

"hey," his voice is gruff, slightly scratchy. you clear your throat, ignoring the whiplash you were just given. "what are you doing out this late? pretty girls should be home around this time. it's not safe."

wow, protective already. you raise your brows at his sentence, slightly shocked he didn't tell you to fuck off—at least with that wording. wait, he called me pretty?!

"pretty girls have adult responsibilities. i just got off of work. besides, shouldn't reckless students be on house arrest around this time?"

he ignores you, so you come up with something else. "how's your scar?"

"it's a scar," he sighs.

"when will you be back in school?"

"not sure."

"in my opinion, i think that jackass dick sucker should get his shit kicked in. what fucktard cuts someone in the face?"

the man stops abruptly, causing you to let out an 'oof' as you bump into his side, the man giving you zero attention as he drops his skateboard on the ground to use, stepping onto it and begins to stroll away.

you drop your mouth open. "rude!"

"why are you talking to me?" he doesn't even have to yell, his voice is deep enough for you to still hear him. huffing, you jog towards him, trying your best to keep up with him.

"i like you!" you groan, irritated that he was being so ignorant, and that he was making you run in a goddamn skirt.

fushiguro laughs, and the reaction stuns you, as if he wasn't capable of such an action. "you don't know me. we go to the same uni, that doesn't make us friends."

"i'd like to be your friend, though, asshole."

"i don't need any friends."

"a girlfr—"

"no," he shuts down sternly, stopping at a walkway, looking both ways before crossing the street. you roll your eyes, chewing your inner cheek when you notice he's heading to a skate park just across the road, dark and empty, a few street lights illuminating just enough light for him to see the cemented ramps.

like he's getting away from talking to me that easily. you let a car pass by before rushing behind the muscular man, fushiguro seeing your presence once more and releasing an exasperated sigh. he just wanted to be alone. "guessing 'no' isn't in your vocabulary," he scowls, taking a seat at the edge of a ramp.

"no," you say, a cocky smile following.

he scoffs, digging into his grocery bag for a pack of skittles and a green apple flavored vape pen, laying on his back on the gravel to stare up at the moon, blowing out the vapor he sucked into his mouth. you pout your lips, taking a seat next to him, reaching into your bag for your wine, knocking a few sips down in silence.

"what's your deal?"

"i just find you interesting."

"no one talks to me. so why are you?"

"not even pretty girls like me?" biting your lip, you scan over his face, and it remains the same; stagnant. "i know there's women bowing at your feet to fuck you."

toji rolls his eyes, a habit. "whoever i fuck is none of your concern."

"so he's not a virgin, duly noted," you whisper to yourself.

"name."

"[♡]."

"cute," is all he says before standing to his feet, taking one more puff out of his pen before grabbing his skateboard and positioning it on the ledge of the ramp, steadily dropping his foot and falling down. you watch him with fascination as he skates, laying your chin in your palms with your elbows on your knees, leaning in like an attentive child. he looked so pretty under the moonlight.

this daydream ends when you notice a group of four men far behind bushes, titling your head to see them clearly. one of them, lanky with shoulder-length blonde hair, is seen handing the person before him a clear bag with tablets in them, and in return, gets cash. they're dealing drugs. minding your business, you turn your attention back to fushiguro whom notices this, and easily you can see the anger flash in his eyes as he jumps off his skateboard and lands on his feet beside you. it's not until the group of three approaches the two of you that you see why he's mad.

the guy dealing drugs just so happened to be river, aka the asshole who slashed his face. he stalks closer with a nasty laugh, clicking his tongue as he keeps mainly his attention on the big man beside you. "fushiguro!"

"toji," he corrects, not fond of people using his last name. toji, you repeat in your head. hot.

"good to see you all healed."

"healed is an understatement."

awe shit, you just know some shit is going down. you gather yourself, standing nearby but not too far behind him.

"the fuck do you want?" toji snarls, and you swallow your own lips, barricading an inappropriate sound.

river holds up a few clear zip lock bags stashed with drugs from his hoodie pocket, jangling them with a grin. "selling the goods. do you want some? ohh, wait. that's rude of me, i forgot you lived in a household full of mentally unstable people who feen for drugs."

you couldn't help but fix your posture and stand in front of toji before he beat the asshole to a pulp. by all means, don't hesitate. but, you wanted your turn first. toji doesn't allow it to phase him, since he's heard similar things a million times. what's funny is that this kid barely knows him, yet he seemed to acquire so much intel on his life.

"watch your fucking mouth," you seethe, face close to his and fists balled up. "before i cut your tongue out, then what will you have to talk shit?"

"out the way, bitch," river snarls, his hand wrapping tightly around your arm to yanking you to the side. "none of this has to do with you."

murder could sum up the stone cold stare in toji's eyes, the man inhaling before kicking his skateboard away, emerging forward with his head slightly cocked to the side. until you make this direct back to you by standing back in between again, scowling up at river who's ready to strike you this time, but, doesn't have the chance as you ball your fist and punch him hard across his jaw, not once either. the second hit is an uppercut. then comes the finale; kneeing him in the dick where he stumbles to the ground with a strained grunt.

toji stares down at the back of your head with an impressed raise of his brow, an ounce of his anger sufficing.

"last thing i am is a bitch. i'll fuck you up if you say some stupid shit like that to me again. the fuck," you're not even half done, marching forward until toji grabs your forearm and stops you, whipping your head around to catch his gaze, telling you to chill out without saying it. really, he's amused. but this isn't your fight.

he crosses around you, crouching down to river's level, latching his hand around his collar and dragging him to his feet without any emotion implanted on his face. it's all in his eyes. he's pissed that he insulted you. furious that he scarred his perfectly imperfect face. the nerve.

"the only reason you're alive is because i couldn't kill you on school grounds. don't think you're getting away so easily after what you did to my fucking face."

punch. the hit is so hard it makes you jump, practically hearing the bones in river's nose crack as toji hits him again, and again, again. all in his face to make a point. he's bleeding excessively, his so called 'friends' waiting until he's half beaten to try in step in.

"step back unless you wanna get fucked up next," he points, voice ravenous, making the two men freeze nervously. you shift in your spot, pushing back the acknowledgment of dampness between your legs.

"like i was saying," toji sniffs, ducking when river makes a lousy attempt at throwing a punch, toji grabbing his wrist, balling it in his palm as if it were a piece of paper, twisting his arm as river screams. toji pins it behind his back, shoving him down on the ground where he then presses his right shoe on the side of his bruised face. "don't look so tough without your knife now, huh? you're stupid to even try that on someone you just met. you don't know me. you don't know where the fuck i'm from."

"fuck. you," he spits out blood over toji's vans. you hold a hand over your heart dramatically, upset about him ruining his shoe. not so much about the fact that he's brutally assaulting a freshman, a kid. a kid whose also old enough to know right from wrong. he stepped into the wrong territory like an adult, so now, he'll get his ass whopped like one. he's lucky toji didn't press charges.

should i kill him? he wanted too, badly. the kid ruined his face, a scar impossible of fading into nothingness. it's there for life. he's an idiot kid. besides, he couldn't traumatize you like that. actually, he's scared you've seen worse. sighing, he picks the boy up once again and shoves him in the arms of his friends who weakly support him. river's sight is barely there, heaving over the gravel.

"i advise you not to cross my path, since i'm back tomorrow."

you gasp, catching everyone's attention. "you are?! oh my god."

toji's eyes widen the moment you squeal happily and jump into his arms, wrapping your legs around him. he's stuck, hands instinctively going to your waist, watching one of the guys before him turn beet red and quickly divert his attention to a tree. toji now realizes your skirt is riding up your ass, rolling his eyes and turning the other way, setting you down and tugging it back in its position with a clench of his jaw.

river stands from his feet, shoving away his friends and holding his gushing nose while staring dead at his partner who was beginning to grow a boner. he scoffs, disgusted. "tomato, quit acting like you don't jerk off to porn every week. it's just an ass."

"a nice one," the other says, boldly.

toji folds his arms across his chest, you mocking him by doing the same, waiting for the group to disperse. river, their wonderful leader, steps up to toji who ups his chin, ready to clock him, as if what he had gotten wasn't enough.

"this isn't over."

"yeah, they all say that. just make sure you take that advice seriously if you'd like to see another day," toji grits his teeth, river holding back his tongue, letting out a small 'tsk' before stumbling off with his posse.

"bitch ass," you mumble.

"enough," he snaps his finger in your face. you swallow, his hard stare and sudden closeness makes your stomach do backflips. fuck, he's so hot. "you're stupid for attacking him. he could've hurt you."

"stupid for standing up for myself? nah. as for him hurting me? you wouldn't have let that happen."

"says?" he sassed.

"i can see it in your eyes," toji's eyes divert to your plush lips, watching you move closer until you're chest to chest, feeling your hardened nipples graze him through your lace crop top. "you want me, therefore, you gotta keep your prize clean."

the sound of a switchblade catches him off guard, seeing you pull the weapon from your back, grabbing the bottom of your skirt and shredding off a long piece straight across.

"what are you doing?"

"your knuckles are bleeding," you say, tucking the blade away before grabbing his hand which he's stubborn on releasing strength before finally relaxing his hand, letting you bandage it. when you lower your lips to his palm, he feels his chest warm up, your teeth locking onto a piece of the fabric to pull the knot you made tighter. "all done."

you stroll away from him, taking a seat in your original position, wine and his skittles in your hand.

"hey, didn't you but your own shit?" he growls, stomping near you, the barbaric man so intriguing to toy with. he snatches them from you, sitting down and popping some into his mouth.

"share atleast." you pout.

he sighs. "hold out your palm."

giddy, you do as he says, toji pouring the contents into your hand, swinging your legs as you happily enjoy them.

"prize."

"huh?"

"it's what you said earlier. that i have to keep my prize clean. is that your way of saying you're rewarding me?"

"i think you're a cool ass person underneath that cold," you poke his chest. "quiet exterior. i salute you for not taking shit from so many people that look at you like a threat instead of a person. maybe i'm exaggerating, maybe i'm delusional, but . . . i feel like i see myself in you. or at-least the person i'm trying to become."

"vacant?" he jokes.

"admirable," you correct with a tiny smile, toji blinking. finishing your drink and tossing your head back, you hum contently from the feel of nighttime breeze. "from what i've heard, you deal with a lot, so i admire you for still being you aside from, you know, bullshit."

"that was sweet, i'm disgusted."

you hit his shoulder, sucking your teeth as he laughs wholeheartedly. he sits up, dark eyes hunting you like prey as you run your fingers through his straight hair, leaning closer to press a gentle kiss to his healing scar.

"i'll kill him for this," you fume silently, highly upset that a human being could do this to another. you knew it hurt like hell that day, he just didn't want to show it.

"it's nice to have someone care, i've never had that."

"me neither," those single pecks of kisses turn into multiple, the alcohol in your system giving you the balls to direct the situation, holding his face still in both your hands before gently kissing him. "let's care for each other."

toji grabs the back of your neck and pulls you in, opening his mouth to slip his tongue over yours, moaning through the pain on his face and deepening the kiss, free hand groping your ass over the thin black skirt you wore, thighs covered in fishnet stockings. you exhale, disconnecting your lips, licking them to relinquish the taste of him, desire fueling you completely. you sit on your knees, ignoring the pain of the concrete, deciding to shrug off your flannel and bundle it up beneath you; substitute for a pillow.

he's gawking at you like a hawk, groaning as you trail your lips over his neck, kissing, sucking, all while unzipping his jeans and pulling his heavy cock out, brick hard for a good minute now. it rose when you told him you'd kill river just for cutting his face. couldn't help it.

"been thinkin' about you all week," your head lowers, and his skin prickles with heat the moment those full lips encase his cock. you whimper with satisfaction before wrapping your dainty fingers around, barely fitting.

"me fuckin' too," his jaw drops, tossing his head back while leading his hand to your head to gently guide you, hissing once he easily hits the back of your throat that compresses around him salaciously. he hasn't gotten head in a while, almost forgot how good it felt. so much better than his hand. you moan from the approval, gyrating your hips in the air after feeling how soaked you were. your head bobs and your lips glide to his exact desire.

his thigh twitches the more you gag or swallow him down, a lewd pop sounding the empty park as you kiss along the underside where a prominent vein pulsates, sensually kissing at his tip, slicking the point of your tongue between his slit which makes him gasp, the sensation ticklish. you took pleasure in giving men head, making you drunk off it every time.

"ooh, fuck," toji throws his head back, slowly thrusting up into your mouth, hearing him hit into your throat, pupils flipping white. you moan when he whispers 'baby' or whimpers out a 'stay here' before holding your head down for a second or two, keeping that warmth around his cock a little longer, letting you go and to his surprise, not coughing.

you leave your tongue to drool over his tip, licking your swollen lips before hiking up your skirt, toji holding the back of your thighs as you arch above him, chest in his face, gasping as he latches his mouth over your nipple through your shirt. tearing open your stockings, imbedding his fingers into your skin, so fucking soft it makes his dick jump. you smelt nice, you looked pretty, you made him feel good . . . a prize indeed.

arching your back, you keep your left knee to the ground while your right foot remains flat, leg bent as you lift your ass and slick your entrance over his timid head, biting hard on your lower lip as you sink yourself down, clenching tight. the burn is pleasurable, so fucking thick you weren't sure if he'd even fit.

"you can do it, be gracious. aren't you rewarding me?" toji drags his teeth over your neck, behind your ear, clasping your hair once again. he's right, you totally can. it's just been a while since you've had anything remotely close to his size. you slowly work your hips to accommodate him, shuttering the lower you reach, taking a minute until he's somewhat in.

"feel that? how deep i am?" he taunts, hands gripping your hips to sink you down entirely, closing his eyes in bliss. you cry out.

toji finds it amusing that you're so fussy and talkative while engaging in conversation, but when he's smacking your ass and grunting by your ear each time you drop your ass down onto his jean covered thighs, grinding on his cock pruriently, you're not much of a shit talker. instead, you're sensitive, extremely. he rushes his fingers over your clit; you're crying. he pulls your hair; you're whimpering. he tongues your nipples over your top; you're screaming. he couldn't think properly. he's done this plenty of times, many women. with you, it's different. is it because there's an actual connection? he's fond of you. how the fuck was that possible after being in your presence for only two hours?

"yes, yes, yes," the deluge of whines makes the black haired man spellbound. your nails are forming crescents into his shoulders the faster you bounce, the two of your breaths mingling in the air, panting quicker.

"fu—fuck," toji's brows curl, paying close attention to the lecherous noise of your pussy taking him, dripping down his lower half like a faucet. "i'm getting fucking close."

"fuck me back," you plead, shifting forward as a way of telling him to lay down. he sighs shakily, your voice so goddamn venereal it's killing him. he tells you not to stop, laying on the gravel and bending one of his legs he uses to push up into you, getting rougher, bruising your flesh as he fucks you hard until you salivate, tongue sticking out and pupils scrolling back into your skull.

"good girl, cum for me," he hovers his hand inches away from your ass before hitting you over and over, your small hands compared to his balling up the black shirt on his chest, hips buckling and downright filthy moans leaving your throat as you cum to his command.

"the hell are you kids doing?!" a flashlight shines over the two of your faces, and you swear your heart falls to your ass. it's a cop. shit. gasping, you hide and hop off of him without hurting him, toji laughing as the two of you scramble to gather yourselves.

"go, go!" you yell, yanking his arm as you both run out of the park, toji being sure to snatch up his skateboard, leaving everything else behind. sprinting, the two of you rush past bushes, cars, and streets until you come in contact with a dark alleyway.

"fuck, we got caught," you laugh as you check the corner of the graffitied passageway in search for the cop you're almost sure didn't have the patience to chase either one of you.

a rough hand grabs onto your cheek, turning your gaze back to him, eyes sparkling under the dimly lit street lights. a solemn looks paints his features, fingers digging into your cheeks to make your lips pout. he traces his thumb over them, and you can tell what he wanted, reading him so well. he pushes you down to crouch before him, snagging your hair to lock you still while pulling his aching cock back out. by docility, you spread your lips apart, welcoming him with pride. he wastes no time, sliding his dick as deep as he desired and pounding until he's satiated. keeping that hand in your hair, the other resides below your chin, cupping it gently while fucking your mouth savagely.

"baby, fuck," he's spent, knees bending as he cums with a breathy moan, head resting on the wall behind your body. it's a lot since he's still sailing through his orgasm, slowly rolling his hips. you fall back, gulping before sucking him clean, making sure to hollow your cheeks, giggling when he whines. he's glaring down at you, always, dark hair dismantled over his forehead. you kiss his tip, licking your lips before tucking him back into his jeans and zipping him up.

toji helps you to your feet, wrapping his hand around your neck before kissing you tenderly, melting in his hold.

"good girl," he slips his tongue in your mouth, squeezing any part of you he liked. everywhere, basically.

good girl. it has you throbbing all over again. his praises felt warm. made you feel submissive, small, obedient. "wanna come to my house?"

toji nods, smiling shyly. "sure."

"can i tony hawk my way there?!" you ask excitedly.

toji raises his brow, shrugging with a chuckle. "okay?"

#toji fushiguro #jjk toji #toji x you #toji x reader #toji x black reader #toji smut #toji fushigro x reader #jjk fushiguro #toji fushiguro x you #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #anime smut #jujutsu kaisen toji #𝜗ৎ ˚⋅ 𝖘𝖙𝖗𝖆𝖜𝖇𝖊𝖗𝖗𝖞 𝖈𝖆𝖛𝖊𝖗𝖓 𝖔𝖋 𝖉𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖒𝖘.

535 notes · View notes

padawansuggest · 1 year ago

Text

Okay so on Coruscant there are very few people that don’t actually go out into the streets (I’m thinking politicians and Jedi might be some of the few who don’t have to go outside very often if at all because the senate and the temple are both the size of a small city) which means that 1: they NEED to have vitamin D lights on the streets of Coruscant because otherwise everyone would be depressed like in the deepest winter at all times. And 2: that means I think the Jedi temple and the senate themselves also are just full of Vitamin D lights.

Also y’all need to stop writing fics where kids are afraid of ‘getting caught sneaking around after dark’ or something because the temple is literally so full of species that you have no idea of that kid is nocturnal or whatever. They very well could be. Tbh I wanna write a fic where someone catches Obi-Wan sneaking around at night to play a prank with Quin or something and he’s all ‘bruh my eyes glow in the dark I’m obviously meant to be awake at this hour’ and no one can argue with him. Stuff like that.

Also I think the temple neeeeeeeds multiple healing halls (once more. It is the size of a small city) one in the aquatic center of the temple (which canonically exists) one in the temple main (which should span over like four levels and act as it’s own building okay) and one in the creche. This is the MINIMUM amount of healing halls I think they should have.

A tram system should be inside the walls. Places in the temple that act as sideways lifts and also a subway system because believe it or not, there are species in the temple as small as one foot tall, and I’m not just talking about Grogu, I’m talking about others like Kushiban and others similar. Once more. It is the size of a small city. They should have both subway type stations (that take you certain places like the main healing halls or the biggest canteen or the supply sector of the temple things like that) because oh my god imagine how many hours the commute to your workstation could take if you didn’t have that shit. Annoying af.

They gotta have names for all the different canteens okay. Like ‘meet me in the cafeteria’ in a temple the size of a small city is bullshit cause even in the books they have multiple cafeterias.

A… let’s call it a Mall Section of the temple. A place where you can pick up groceries (the temple makes their own food and I assume most of it is cooked in careens but also not letting people cook their own food is a recipe for a Jedi starving to death on a mission lmao) but they also have a salon (skin care and hair care are very important and if you let all these babies cut their own hair they gonna turn out like me no one wants that) and a clothing ‘store’ where you can get certain size clothes and robes from, or even undercover mission clothes. There need to be Jedi in these places too!!! Imagine going to the salon with your master and having a gossip talk about your new lineage member!!! It’s important to society!!!

A Jedi movie theater where the masters send their kiddos on the weekend so they can enjoy a glass of wine and not be sneezed on for three hours.

I’ve actually seen a few mentions in fics and posts about tea salons so that is def also a thing. It’s the Jedi version of a cafe. I think people who like baking take turns working there and everyone chips in for tea selections and stuff.

Droid Ubers. They need to get somewhere but feel sick as heck and it’s not near any good lifts or the subway trams??? Call a droid Uber lmao. It shouldn’t be unusual either lol just grandmaster on his way to bother his kid while not aggravating his hip after hip surgery.

Remember that Jedi who are like 10 foot tall also exist so remember there ARE apartments in the temple that could fit Kenobi’s Dino-Horse girl Boga.

There should also be apartments with like 10 bedrooms and bathrooms (or even one giant communal bathroom) around a singular living/cooking space!!! Let Jedi live in communes!!!!

The aquatic levels of the creche are def the cutest place in the temple you can’t argue with me on the idea of water babies swimming and cuddling under water.

On another note to the fact that species like Kushiban exist???? Imagine tiny doors and corridors that used to be used by mouse droids but they became so useful to tiny Jedi so they got taken over. Just imagine that.

Bartering markets where Jedi trade things, mostly things they get on missions or are given to them as gifts, nothing goes to waste so they find a proper place for all gifts and extras here.

Cooking classes. Obi-Wan has been kicked out of all of them his cooking is so bad. Anakin claims bullshit he loves Master’s cooking! But then, he also eats worms…

Anyways. Y’all too single minded with this shit. It just be all ‘cafeteria, living quarters, healing halls and archives’ with you guys. Where is the culture. Where is the acknowledgment of multiple species all living in the same area taking place in a culture of peace and galactic exploration???? Give them a liquor store idgaf.

#star wars #obi wan kenobi #clone wars #the Jedi

690 notes · View notes

autisticphineas · 5 months ago

Text

reasons why roger doofenshmirtz is more evil than heinz could ever be:

1. added greatly to greenhouse gas emissions by making paul deliver an empty box to him despite the danville mall being located next to his workplace at city hall.

2. embezzlement

#for punchline reasons I did not explain the second one #but canonically roger spent tax payer funds to restore a piece of artwork that he destroyed that was made by heinz #supposedly a nice gesture but knowing roger it is DEFINITELY a cover up for misappropriation of funds elsewhere #anyways this was supposed to be a joke post because i was watching delivery of destiny #and then it just became real #if roger doofenshmirtz has one hater it’s me #if he has no haters I am dead #phineas and ferb #heinz doofenshmirtz #roger doofenshmirtz #mars won’t shut up #pnf #dwampyverse #(-1 evil point for the box cause it was for his cat and I support cats but I do not support roger doofenshmirtz)

197 notes · View notes

adrixivy · 12 days ago

Text

I can imagine Peter using his enhanced hearing to hear other people’s gossip. And whenever someone’s bored, they’ll walk up to Peter to hear the most wildest gossip he has ever heard from people that he doesn’t even know.

Natasha and Clint are with Peter in the mall. They’re undercover and they’re just simply waiting around for the suspect or criminal to appear. Natasha notices Peter concentrated on something. He seems to be straining his ears but he’s looking around too for the criminal

Natasha: Pete, what’s going on?

Peter looks up at Nat for a moment then smiles.

Peter, relaying information as he hears it: I’m hearing from a pair of guys in the mafia about their boss who is the son of one of the most powerful mafia dons in the city and that he accidentally-no idea how he accidentally did that-kidnapped the daughter of someone who owns one of the most famous hotel chains in Italy. The guy is now secretly dating the daughter and they’re hiding their relationship from her parents for a month now. Oh she’s pregnant with his child too-

Clint and Natasha, dumbfounded, staring at Peter like what he said was something completely made up but knowing Peter and his enhanced hearing, it’s probably not. And they’re intrigued.

Natasha clears her throat after a moment: Continue.

They nearly lost track of the criminal but Peter’s spidey sense tingled and he groans before he points the duo to the criminal that just spotted them and pushing through people to run. Clint whines as he runs after the man and Natasha is already ahead of the two

Clint, honestly disappointed and wanted to hear more: OH C’MON I WANTED TO KNOW WHAT HAPPENS NEXT

Peter also disappointed but the mission comes first: MR BARTON, NOT THE TIME!

—————

Peter comes back from school one day and enters the lab, seemingly thinking of something and he’s not caring about his surroundings. He drops his bag and he’s pacing around and it suddenly turned to him walking around on the ceiling when Tony turned his back for a moment. Tony is immediately concerned. No matter how many times Peter sticks to the ceiling, he’s still worried he’ll fall

Tony, looking up at his kid on the ceiling: Can you come down and tell me what you’re thinking up there?

Peter, jumps down and lands on his feet and looks up at Tony for the first time: I think Flash is gay for me.

Tony’s brain just short circuited and he’s staring at Peter blankly as Peter continues. The kid that bullied his kid?? Is gay for his son?? Huh?

Peter: Well not me me. I mean Spider-man. I heard from people as I walk down the hall that he has Spiderman as his wallpaper on his phone. His room is apparently covered in Spiderman pictures that people take online. He has a framed selfie of Spiderman on his desk that I posted on my Instagram account just two days ago. And one of the girls said he has made a fanfic of Spiderman x Reader on wattpad and it has tons of votes. Should I be scared?

Tony, taking a few minutes to process the information before he grabs Peter’s shoulder: I’ll put a restraining order on him for you.

Peter is the go-to person when heroes want blackmail or gossip about other heroes because he ALWAYS happens to overhear or know something about it. Sometimes they don’t even have to approach him and he just dumps the information onto them. Like you want information? Peter ‘Always Hearing’ Parker is the person you go to.

Wade is seating with Peter as they both eat their nightly meal after patrol together. Wade strikes a conversation about Daredevil all the sudden and Peter’s attention is immediately piqued

Wade: You know Daredevil just busted my job the other day? I was going after this group who steals priceless artifacts to be sold on the black market and I needed a certain ring that my client wanted. Then that shithead just came in, knocked the guys out that I was about to kill and steals a necklace and goes away. Thank god he didn’t steal what I needed-

Peter out of nowhere: He’s dating Felicia that’s why he took the necklace. To impress her.

Wade nearly drops his chimichanga but catches it and looks at Peter in shock as he gasps dramatically.

Wade: How would you know that, baby boy!

Peter: Overheard them together. Saw things. If I wasn’t dating you, that’ll be the start of my villain arc-

Wade is immediately asking what else Peter knows about the other vigilantes or heroes and Peter spent an extra hour in patrol just to tell Wade the things he heard and Wade thinks it the wildest shit he ever heard. More wild than the fanfics people post about him and his baby boy. But he loves those fanfics and he is definitely using the knowledge he just gained to his advantage.

Yeah he knows about the fanfics guys. A03 or Wattpad.

He knows. And love it. Keep up the good work

#marvel #marvel cinematic universe #marvel universe #peter parker #spiderman #spideypool #deadpool #wade wilson #black widow #natasha romanoff #clint barton #hawkeye #tony stark #iron man #irondad and spiderson #the avengers

132 notes · View notes

starbabyg · 1 month ago

Note

Can we get a part two of smutty thoughts for jackieeee pleaseee

yes ma’am 🫡🫡 NSFW under the cut

He’s such a horn dog 24/7

Likeeeee he just loves being intimate with you as much as he can

Literally just loves to touch your pussy

You’ll wake up and his fingers are just playing with your folds

Sometimes it’s not even sexual just a comfort thing

Morning sex with him is an almost everyday thing

Which you aren’t complaining about because it’s just pure bliss

Like ohhh its so sweet and sensual

Sounds like Coffee by Miguel

He always wakes you up with soft kisses, whether on your bare stomach or cheeks

Hands under your shirt, he goes straight to fondling your breasts

I feel like I have so many versions of smutty Jack in my head omg

Frat boy Jack lovessss to fuck you in empty lecture halls, or in your TA office across your desk while you try to read papers

Mobster Jack (y'all seen him in that sweatsuit omg) loves to fuck in his Cadillac

ex highschool sweetheart Jack loves to fuck anywhere you two had done it before; the football field, that one view your city was known for horny teenagers, his childhood bedroom ofc

Jack is such a lingerie boy

He loves seeing you in baby doll gowns and matching sets

It's become a hobby of his to find pretty lingerie for you

every time he's on the road and there's a day off, he definitely goes to the mall to get you something for when he comes back. Think Agent Provacateur at Brickell Centre in Miami (one of my faves)

Definitely has a box full of flashy polaroids of you

Lingerie shots, cheeky photos of his fingers in your mouth, maybe even one of him sucking your tit

and most definitely has an old school camcorder with hours of footage of you

i loveee to think Jack is so fucking freaky

#starbabyg #jack hughes smut #jack hughes one shot #jack hughes headcanon #starbabyganon #starbabygasks #starbabyg anon #hockey fic #hockey smut #jack hughes fic #jack hughes imagine #nhl smut #starbabyg masterlist #starbabyg smut #starbabyg jack hughes #jack hughes list #smut canons

112 notes · View notes

apocalypse-shuffle · 5 months ago

Text

JASON TODD | RED HOOD (batman:under the red hood | canon divergence?)

—

“Co-opt #1 - Fire Escape Rendezvous 1/?” (Jason Todd x Fem!Reader)

| You’d thought the man you were talking to was just uninterested and biding his time. That is until one thoroughly fucked up Red Hood falls from the sky early one morning and becomes a more pressing issue.

| SFW, serious injury, drugged & mentally compromised, late night conversations, idealogical debate, canon typical violence, mentions & descriptions of death/killing, -panicked!reader

| pics via: Batman: Under The Red Hood tpb

| content apart of the co-opt series

| 2k+ words

Beg. NOTES: This first chapter is a lot of establishing the universe and background information, so yeah.

‘I officially live in hell,’ you think idly over the crackle of the television and the almost imperceptible sound of your electric kettle boiling water.

One emergency evacuation of the mall, a slew of bomb threats, city wide shelter in place, and a mandated curfew had surely elevated the power struggle between Black Mask and the Red Hood to the top of the Gang War Hall of Fame.

If such a cursed thing existed, anyway.

“In recent news the fight seems to have traveled from the docks to the outskirts of the Narrows. Unfortunately there is still no sign of Batman and our eyes in the sky have once again lost the two battling criminals.”

Great. The man let you all take a collective breath a year after fucking off to who knows where just to restart the clock right after the final exhale. There was always a bomb - metaphorical or otherwise - about to go off in the city anyway, why not add another?

Your teeth worry at your lip. You haven’t heard anything yet, no gunshots or yelling - like Gotham herself was holding her breath in wait for the destruction they would wrought - so you’d been able to ignore the anchor trying to lodge itself in your gut, but now that you knew they were close?

Your teeth leave an indent in your bottom lip and running the top of your tongue over the bite mark only serves to make the area pulse more, not soothe it. You make a low sound, eyes rolling.

Honestly if you had done what you were supposed to last week you likely wouldn’t even be up to worry yourself to death currently. As it stands you’d had an assignment due roughly fifteen minutes ago, so from the second the telltale siren of the Gotham Emergency Network’s warning sounded from your phone you’d been hyped up.

Watching it buzz on the table beside your laptop had made your stomach drop. Like the split second where you start thinking up your funeral rites after missing a step on the stairs.

Even now, looking out at the wayward streaks of moonlight peaking through your curtains to splay onto your living room floor, your mind twits itself where it doesn’t belong.

Admittedly, a split second after the first buzz, right before your phone cried out that the city was once again on fire, you’d thought it was the guy you’d been seeing. Heavy emphasis on ‘been’.

Rising panic aside you’ve been throwing little looks at it for hours now. The colored bubble around your words hasn’t left your head; it meets you seared on the underside of your eyelids every time you blink.

You:

Hey we haven’t talked in a hot minute and I was trying to call to tell you this btw but I'd like to break the whole arrangement we have now off. We don't want the same shit I guess.

You’d gotten nothing short of the ‘unseen’ marker under your message changing to ‘seen’ for your effort. So, now here you were worrying over ten hours later about a guy that couldn’t even be bothered to respond to you breaking up with him.

“Well that’s enough of that,” you sigh, turning off the tv and walking over to your kitchenette. Did you still have anything left over in your fridge that you liked? A pick me up sounded good, especially if you were planning on worrying yourself into an early grave all night.

It was uncouth honestly. At least Batman contained his messes. Hood had managed to knock crime down in The Alley by 60% the last time he was at large, you’ve seen the reports, but starting a city wide dick measuring contest with Black Mask was only dragging everybody through their shit. You couldn’t exactly say you endorsed his current plan of action.

Now to the fridge. The contents of which make you frown.

Fan-tastic.

Swooping down a little more to catch a possible glimpse of anything other than the food stains clinging desperately to the floor of the bottommost fridge shelf, your eyes narrow. Your tongue clicks harshly in the quiet when you thump it against the back of your top teeth.

If you really let yourself think about it, the fact he hadn’t even bothered to answer grated like a snagged scab. Oh!

There was some leftover spam that’d been pushed back into a corner of the middle shelf — bad as it was for your mood you couldn’t help but pick at his lack of answer. Etching away at your thoughts on the man in tiny barely noticeable increments — you’d only missed the meat on your initial scan because of the box of leftover pancake mix shamelessly in front of it. You snatch up both items, shoving them into the bend of your non-searching arm.

Another click of your tongue; more picking.

There was no way he could just leave you on ‘read’. You broke up with him, that’s not just something you leave somebody on goddamn ‘read’ for.

Only a nanosecond’s worth of pain, of worry for what uncovering more could make come pouring out, before the rush started to fade and you couldn’t help but pull on the scab harder. Till you felt your brows furrow all over again.

What were you? Just a way to pass the time?

A dog's rapid fire barking sounds from outside and your head pops up, looking over the fridge door, head on a swivel and eyes wide. The way rabbits go; blood frozen and breath held.

A beat passes where you just listen. When no signs of further disturbance occur though your blood warms, your air puffs out of you, and you can move again.

If you ever saw Red Hood you’d kick him in the dick (except you really wouldn’t, you weren't crazy). You snap open the bottom drawer only for your lip to instantly curl, unfortunately not cause of the game of hide and seek your fridge was playing with you. Hood would deserve it though, and so would another man that was embarrassingly still on your mind tonight.

Peppers. How did you forget you had those? They join your arm stash with a few rough movements.

Maybe you shouldn’t even be surprised. Jason was great - a little testy, but who in this city wasn’t? He was definitely still the best person you’ve dated since high school, though only so far as he was paying attention to you.

The constant “work” calls he had to excuse himself for you’re half convinced were actually his main woman calling or some other jumbled theory. If there was one thing you could do it was reach, but it was more so just the real world applications of creativity in your opinion.

Point was Jason was - had been - nice to call yours for however brief a moment. Even now thinking about him had your body doing an odd combination of being close to legitimate tears over an eight month relationship and the nonstop tremble that tended to come with the hot sensation of shame crawling up your neck.

Was it embarrassing to be this hung up on a white boy you’d barely known for a year?

Kind of, yeah.

Eight goddamn months and you were so caught up on the man you couldn’t snatch the random ingredients out of your fridge without a slight tremor in your hands, and an incessant barrage of curses that weren’t gonna stop going through your mind anytime soon that was for sure. That fucking asshole.

It wasn’t even like you actually cared anyway, it was whatever. Jason was whatever.

With a heavy sigh you straighten from your crouch and move to drop everything on the counter.

Jason was cool enough half the kids in your complex flocked to guilt him into giving them some cash when he came over, and he’d play along like he himself was getting paid for it every single time. He volunteered all over the ‘rougher’ parts of Gotham, and he was from The Alley so he got the city - plus you were a sucker for that Bowery accent, what could you say? Sounds good right? Downright perfect? Yeah well, Jason also didn’t talk, but not in the way that meant he couldn’t hold a good conversation.

You grin a little, unaware of the action, while walking over to pull out a chopping board and knife to wash. You didn’t have much, but fritters didn’t sound half bad and would take thirty minutes tops for you to put to a pan.

Once, you’d both spent hours arguing how The Thing as an adaptation was actually better than Who Goes There? while he harped that you inherently couldn’t separate the adaptation from the book like that: “Everything genuinely interesting about the movie came from the book. The movie quite literally wouldn’t exist without it.”

The conversation had lasted long enough for you to fall asleep on him - a song and dance that quickly became habit for you two; by now your FaceTime has seen many a squished drooling face - but Jason never once revealed anything personal. Not truly.

Not ever.

There’s a harsh crash from below, and that damn dog bellowing again. You take a second to glare at your window before focusing back on the task at hand.

It was a hard thing to catch, the sidestepping, but you weren’t that clueless. Jason didn’t have a middle name - which is fine, that was normal - but that wasn't all. Jason also had an undisclosed job that was always interrupting your time together. Said undisclosed job that paid him so much he could opt to get a hotel rather than let you go to his place - godforbid - every time you didn’t want to meet up at your house for the fiftieth time. You got it when your relationship was new, but nearly a year in?

Both his parents were dead, but sometimes if you called him and it was early enough he’d say something offhanded and mean about his father like he was still alive.

And Jason was fine - he was always fine - but you’d asked him to ‘just trust you’ once and his eyes had gone hard before his entire expression went flat and the date had ended there, it didn’t matter that he hadn’t physically left. Afterwards he’d avoided you for nearly a week and only convinced you to stay once he finally came back around by offering to let you beat his ass if it’d make you feel better.

Even as flabbergasted by the offer as you’d been, it'd worked and you two were back to business as usual within the same hour - no violence needed.

Before that you’d honest to goodness been contemplating going to ask him for his forgiveness for whatever it was you’d apparently done wrong. You’d been so scared he’d leave you you’d been ready to apologize for a problem that wasn’t even communicated to you.

Something that was pretty sad now that you were thinking about it so you were gonna stop now.

Point is it was getting embarrassing, even for you. Contemplating stooping that low for someone who couldn’t be fucked to give you an actual explanation after ghosting you that first time, let alone one that couldn’t even put a name to what the two of you were, was a waste of your time.

You could do better than Jason fucking Peterson that was for damn sure.

A sigh rattles through your chest as you shake out your knife, water droplets falling all over you and the counter in the process. Which—

You turn your head to look at your kettle sitting pretty on the side table closest to the window - you only had so much counter space, okay?

Tea sounded nice right now. You squint at the kettle with a frown. You could’ve sworn you’d had that same thought a while ago. Sure enough when you look a little harder it’s already been filled with water. You were that deep in your head for real? Enough to miss the shrill peeping your kettle let loose to announce that your water was effectively boiled?

“Wow.” You look up, shoulders rising and dropping with more flourish than necessary. “I need a nap,” you grumble and push away from where you’ve got the least wilted peppers and your leftover meat diced.

The kettle clicks back on with a quiet beep, the batter that you completely disregarded the instructions for cause you didn’t have eggs or milk is mixed, and you’re in your third fold to incorporate all the food together when a sharp BANG reverberates somewhere below your flat.

It’s a painful sounding pang that makes you flinch; spoon clattering to the imitation granite with a wet plop. The noise sets off the stray dog worse than before and you’re dropping like a cracked brick flat to the floor, heart hammering in conjunction with the animal’s startled barks.

You're high enough up from wherever the loud noise came from that your window doesn’t so much as rattle, but close enough that the breath shakes out of you with no less resistance than if it were physically being squeezed from you, and your palms tremble against the peel and stick tile your landlord insists is authentic.

You couldn’t—

A gunshot rings out in the definitely too close distance and you flinch.

“Fuck,” you rush out.

The curse you gasp out is unintelligible even to your own ears as you shake against the floor. The bang feels like deadweight vibrating through your bones. Like a presence squeezing at your lungs. There were protocol’s for this, you knew it, but you were just—

The sound of metal rattling harsh and fast meets your ears and this time your window does shake. You look up in what feels like slow motion, dread burning a hole through your stomach. A thump and subsequent end to the rattling freezes you in your tracks.

No way that didn’t come from your fire escape.

Fuck.

You knew one day it’d be Gotham that facilitated your demise, but right after a breakup? That was cruel even by the city’s standards.

Just your damn luck too that whoever was out there skipped three other peoples perfectly presentable fire escapes for yours.

You worry at your lip, eyeing the window behind your sheer curtains for anything unusual. Nothing immediately jumps out to you, just what you can see of the night from the upper mouth of the alleyway you’re in front of and the very top of your guard railing. Your suspiciously un-obscured guard railing.

Without really thinking you pull yourself up to your hands and knees. Your knees ache uncomfortably from your fall and your arms are weak at the elbows, threatening to send you careening face first into the floor, but you crawl forward anyway.

See, you liked to think you were smart. It was one of those things that was nearly a prerequisite in Gotham, even if The Hill was becoming less outwardly dangerous as more of the rich guys looking for cheap real estate forced their ways in. Still, the changes were only recent and - most importantly - a thinly veiled façade.

Crime was still crime no matter how pretty the buildings it took place in or around were.

Regardless, you thought you were smart, but now here you are easing up to your window like a reckless idiot with a death wish. If you were any less shaken up maybe you’d be running out your door - false alarm be damned - or you’d be thinking about calling the police at the very least.

Even in your haze you snort quietly to yourself. As if. At best they’d show up too late, The Hill was so far from everything that police response was shit on a ‘good’ day, let alone when every cop was out falling over themselves in their search for Mask and Hood, so you know you wouldn’t’ve bothered even if your stomach wasn’t currently trying to turn itself inside out.

The floor is cool under your palms and you let out a shaky breath. Elbows aching and knees starting to chafe because of how slow you were moving. You shift to list yourself to the side - alleviate the pain hindering your common sense - only to have it knocked right back into you when you overbalance and fall into the back of your couch.

“Oof,” you huff, noise forced from your chest.

Hands fly up to cover over your mouth, your eyes widening.

The seconds spent sprawled out on the floor give you time to think, at the very least, as you try to catch your breath as silently as possible.

No one would be rescuing you. The police weren’t coming - not that you really wanted their help anyway, your parents had moved to Camden last year, and you’d never even seen Batman in person. If you kept being stupid you’d be well and truly fucked.

Christ, you were mental. What the hell did you think you were gonna do - confirm to whoever was out there that you were home and then fight them off the fire escape yourself?

Somewhere in the ether someone was probably revoking your black card all now.

Retracing your steps backwards while still keeping mum wasn’t the easiest feat with your horrible balance and shaky limbs but you’re managing just fine - even grabbing your phone along the way. That you almost forgot it in the first place you ignore for now, the door and your shoes right beside it are too close for you to jeopardize your goal—

Beep beep beep beep…!

NOTES: Hope you enjoyed! Thanks for reading! It has officially been two years to the day since I posted my first fic on this blog!!!!!

❤︎

Okaaaay, I am very nervous about finally posting this but it’s been nearly two years in the making so hopefully it’s not terrible. Could I have waited to write this until I was a better writer and all my personal thoughts were fully fleshed out? Sure, but there’s no time like the present and I can always rewrite this! This’ll hopefully be a long ride so I’m excited.

btw: if you’d like to leave a comment I’d very much appreciate it!

—

Also, feedback would be lovely, but be nice please, goddamn. Was the first chapter unengaging considering Jason’s not in it? Was it in any way confusing or hard to follow the Reader-Insert’s thought process throughout, specifically during the back and forth where she’s thinking about Jason and about what she’ll cook and shit?

127 notes · View notes

tare-anime · 9 months ago

Text

Yor never had any valuable jewelry, until her husband bought one for her. (AO3, Comedy, Fluff, Rings, Pre-reveal)

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

Yor is sitting near the pond at the mall.

They are currently on their “scheduled date to maintain true couple persona”. Yor is currently waiting for Loid who has been going to buy them a refreshment after roaming around the mall.

Yor is very grateful for the small break. Because after “working overtime” for 4 consecutive nights, she is quite tired. She has put on her most convincing smile throughout their date, but it seems Loid can still see the underlying tiredness in her.

No, Yor!! Don’t be ungrateful!! She shakes her head vehemently. Loid is tired too, but he is still going on with the schedule.

She then slaps her cheeks. Come on! Be more energetic!

“Oh my gosh!! This is truly very pretty, darling!!”

A squeal of delight coming from her left makes Yor turns her head to observe the source.

A couple has just exited a jewelry store. The woman is admiring the gem on her finger while at the same time nuzzling the man.

“Nothing but the best for my dear darling!” Yor hears the man return the gesture.

Soon after they share a very passionate kiss that Yor’s face feels warm and she has to avert her eyes.

Is giving gifts and kissing in public a normal thing for couples to do?? She puts both of her palms on her cheeks, hoping to ease the warmth there before Loid returns.

Suddenly she gasps when she remembers the day’s conversation at the break room of City Hall.

“Look at this new necklace and earrings my boyfriend bought me!!” Millie squealed in delight.

“It’s a cheap imitation.” Sharon answered uninterestedly, puffing out smoke through the opened window.

“It’s the intention that matters the most!” Millie chirped.

“Right. And that is exactly the sign that he is cheating.” Camilla scoffed and yet she eyed the jewelry intently.

“You guys are just jealous because your partners didn’t buy you anything.” Millie looked at her reflection in the mirror and aligned her head right to left. “Look at Yor-senpai. She didn’t find this strange because her gorgeous husband must’ve bought her plenty of things, right??”

“Ah.. uh….” Yor blabbered her answers when three pairs of eyes focused on her.

Returning to the present, Yor's mouth squiggles. Oh no! Loid and I never buy each other anything. Does this make us suspicious??

Yor dreadfully look at the Jewelry Store. Maybe I should–...

“Sorry for waiting, Yor.”

“GAAHH!!” Yor jumps in her seat upon hearing Loid’s soft voice.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to–...” Loid is taken aback.

“No no no !! It’s alright. I was just spacing out.” She forces a smile.

Loid tilts his head and gives her the drink, “Are you tired?”

Accepting the drink Yor immediately denies, “No! Not at all. I was just…” She glances at the jewelry store. “I just remembered that at City Hall today….”

She shakes her head. No, Yor. Don’t be silly. You can’t just buy Loid anything. You haven’t asked whether Loid is comfortable with wearing any jewelry.

And thus she smiles at Loid and says, “Nevermind. So, where are we going next?”

But Loid is seen following her gaze and then he asks, “Shall we take a look?”

Yor is aghast, “No! That’s not what I meant. There were a couple that–...”

“To be honest, I’ve been thinking of buying you a ring for a long time,” He cuts her and smiles, “And now may be the best moment.”

Yor wrings her hand, “No need. You already gave me a ring.”

“Huh?” Loid furrows his brows, “I don’t think I ever give you…??”

“That night. After Cammila’s party. When we were…uumm” Yor’s suddenly finds her heart beating faster when she recites the moment when they exchange their vows.

Loid’s face dawns and he whispers, “You keep that?”

“Of course!” Yor exclaims, “You gave it to me!”

She sees how his mouth moves through clenched jaw before he says, “We shall go to the store right now. I insist.”

Yor confusedly answers, “But I–...”

“It’s a very normal thing a couple do, Yor.” Loid suddenly turns serious, “If I don't do it, people might get suspicious about us.”

Yor gasps. So what Millie said was true after all!!

With new determination, Yor nods and stands up

Both of them then march to the jewelry store.

“Something caught your interest, Ma’am?” Yor turns to look at the elderly woman who happens to run the store.

She bites her lower lips and mumbles, “I’m not sure. All of these are sparkling and beautiful.”

Yor furrows her brows hard. I never really had any jewelry before. Which one should I choose? A good value for money? The most sparkling one? The one that can be used as a secret weapon??

Loid tries to help her, “Perhaps you can arrange a custom-made one?”

“Absolutely, Sir! Please kindly sit here and wait for a moment.” The woman gestures to the stools at the corner of the store and hastily goes to the inner part of the shop.

Yor’s eyes bulge. “Wait, Loid. That might be-...”

“You can have something more to your liking that way, no?” He smiles gently and leads Yor to sit down with him.

Yor nods at his logic.

Before long the shop owner comes back and sits in front of them. She then carefully places a tray covered in black velvet at the table in front of them. On top of the tray lay numerous gems in different cutting and colors.

Yor’s jaw drops in awe. “Wow…..”

“We can start by choosing the stone that you like, Ma’am.” The shop owner gestures at the gems.

Yor glances at the elder lady before licking her lips nervously and focusing on the gems in front of her.

I never thought buying jewelry would be this difficult! She internally shouts in frustration.

After several seconds of silence, the shop owner chimes, “May I suggest some advice?”

Yor looks at her pleadingly, “Please do!!”

The elder woman smiles gently, “While it’s true the stones are different by their values, their color, or even their cutting, it doesn't define how one chooses their lucky stones. Just choose your favorite one. The one that can give you courage. The one that can be your good luck charm. That is the best way to choose your treasures.”

Yor blinks when she tries to comprehend the advice.

Soon after, Loid chimes from her side, “For example, you can choose the stone according to your favorite color.”

She turns her head and looks at her husband who smiles supportively to her right, while hearing the shop lady agree with him, “That is such a wonderful example, Sir!”

Favorite colors, huh? She muses while looking directly at Loid’s eyes.

Yor looks back at the shop owner and whispers, “Then, do you have a gem that’s the same color as his eyes?”

At the same time, she hears Loid sputters, and the shop owner squeals.

Huh??! What?? Did I say something wrong??

“Oh my. Oh my. OH MY!!! Of course, I have, dear!!” the shop owner practically screeches in delight and runs to the back of the shop, “Wait here!”

Yor is truly confused by the commotion happening around her.

“Yo-... Yor?? Are you sure that is the color that you want?”

Yor turns her attention back to her husband, and she nods. “Yes. I’ve always loved how your eyes are like the clear water of the ocean. They are beautiful. Calm. Peaceful. And… I’ve always felt accepted when I look at them.”

Suddenly, Loid clamps his mouth as his face turns a shade of red.

Oh no!! I really did something wrong, didn't I?? Loid must be angry with me!! Yor flabbergast. Immediately she tries to backpedal, “No, Loid I’m sor–...”

“Here are my collections!” The shop owner returns with vigor and puts another tray in front of them. “They range from the modest to the best to the–..”

“I’m sorry, I think I’ll–...”

Before she can muster the sentence, Loid slams the table and slides his card to the shop owner.

He then growls, “The best one. Give my wife the best stone you have!!”

The shop owner’s eyes glint as she nods vigorously, “Of course, Sir!”

Huh???

That day, they ended up buying a very beautiful stone and even made a custom ring, whose design was consulted with Yor for several days until she granted her assent.

Today, Yor is vibrating with excitement when she returns home from her latest assignment which made her return home later than usual.

It’s too bad that Anya has gone to bed so she cannot share the excitement with the child, but she can always show it to her daughter later.

After a quick shower, she immediately joins Loid in their living room for their nightly tea routine.

Still giddy, she sits on her usual spot on the loveseat and shows him the small velvet box.

“Oh! It’s done already?” Loid smiles.

Yor smiles brightly and nods. “It is!!”

“Have you tried it?”

She shakes her head, “Not yet.”

She then smiles brightly and rambles, “I’ve seen the design and it’s gorgeous. I’m sure the real thing will be even more beautiful. So I want to show you first. And I want you to be the one who put it–..”

She halts her tongue.

Wait wait, Yor!! If you ask Loid to put the ring on your finger, doesn’t it mean…..

All of a sudden she remembers a romantic scene from Berlint in Love. It was such a peak romantic and fulfilling scene that Yor can’t help but shed a tear in happiness for the two characters.

And that might be also what nudges her to have the silly idea of asking Loid in the first place. It sounds like a good idea at first, but…..

Her heart starts to beat faster and faster.

She grips the box hard and looks at the floor. Oh no. Oh No! I should–...

“Yor.”

She snaps her head at her husband. “Y–... yes??”

“May I?” He kneels in front of her, opening his palm up.

Since when did he???

Her lip squiggles. “Uuuh… maybe… maybe it’s best if….”

He tugs at the box. “Please?”

Yor forcefully relaxes her finger, letting Loid take the box from her.

He then opens the box with one hand, while his other hand gently takes her left hand.

Yor feels her chest about to burst.

Her face feels extremely hot.

When she feels the cold ring touch her finger, she flinches.

She cannot take it any longer so she shuts her eyes.

She is focusing so hard to hold back her violent reflexes, especially when she feels Loid’s reverent touch as he slides the ring onto her finger.

After what felt like forever, Yor finally felt the ring settle perfectly on her finger.

For some unknown reason, the sensation makes her tremble.

“Yor. Breathe….”

“Phwaaaahh….” She lets go of the breath she didn’t realize she had been holding.

She can hear Loid’s whispers. “You can open your eyes too.”

Slowly Yor opens her eyes and immediately she comes face to face with Loid, who for some reason flushes red.

“Beautiful.”

Yor blinks. “Huh?”

Loid gulps, “The-... The ring. Look.”

Yor looks down and gasps.

She then lifts her hand to observe the ring under their living room’s lamp.

Yor really is in awe. The ring truly is beautiful. And… “It does have the same color as your eye ”

Loid splutters.

“Loid?”

“Te–.. Tea??”

Just like that time, Loid is seen clamping his mouth and his face turns extremely red. “Are you alright, Loid?”

He nods stiffly and returns to his seat in an awkward motion.

His odd behavior concerns Yor, but if the man says that he’s alright, then Yor has to believe him.

She clutches at her finger as she smiles. “Thank you so much, Loid. I’ll treasure this forever!”

Despite his condition, her husband manages to smile brightly and nods.

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

I was enchanted when I watched 7th Time Loop anime, that I hunted down the light novel. After reading these particular scenes, that made me squeal and wrung my leg like a schoolgirl, I knew I HAD to make the TwiYor version. ^^

#spy x family #yor forger #loid forger #twiyor #sxf fic #spy x family fanfic #fluff #comedy #ring #my late valentine 2024 entry #🥰🥰🥰🥰

251 notes · View notes

gillianthecat · 1 year ago

Text

USA Protests for Palestine This Weekend

List from the US Campaign for Palestinian Rights

https://uscpr.org/oct-2023-protests/

Thursday, November 2

ST PAUL, MN | Thursday, November 2nd at 12PM at St. Kate’s O’Shaughnessy Auditorium

PORTLAND, OR | Thursday, November 2nd at 3PM at 911 NE 11th Avenue

BOSTON, MA | Thursday, November 2nd at 4PM at Brewer Fountain, Boston Commons

YPSILANTI, MI | Thursday, November 2nd at 4PM at Eastern Michigan University Student Center

CLEVELAND, OH | Thursday, November 2nd at 6:30PM at Beit Hanina Cultural Center

Friday, November 3

ST PAUL, MN | Friday, November 3rd at 4PM at Snelling & Summit Ave

BROOKLYN, NY | Friday, November 3rd at 4:30PM at Brooklyn District 10 Office 340A 9th Street

MENLO PARK, CA | Friday, November 3rd at 5PM at Meta HQ 1 Hacker Way

Saturday, November 4

NATIONAL MARCH ON WASHINGTON | Washington DC, November 4th, 2 PM. Freedom Plaza. Cosponsored by USCPR and other organizations.

OLYMPIA, WA | Saturday, November 4th at 12PM at City Hall

CINCINNATI, OH | Saturday, November 4th at 12PM at Ziegler Park

RICHLAND, WA | Saturday, November 4th at 12PM at John Dam Plaza

ORONO, ME | Saturday, November 4th at 12PM at UMaine Folger Library

NASHVILLE, TN | Saturday, November 4th at 1PM at Centennial Park

SAN FRANCISCO, CA | Saturday, November 4th at 1PM at Civic Center

SACRAMENTO, CA | Saturday, November 4th at 1PM at Arden Fair Mall

BURLINGTON, VT | Saturday, November 4th at 1PM at Battery Park

PROVO, UT | Saturday, November 4th at 1PM at 550 N University Ave

JUNEAU, AK | Saturday, November 4th at 2PM at Marine Park

LAKEWOOD, OH | Saturday, November 4th at 2PM at City Center Park

SEATTLE, WA | Saturday, November 4th at 3PM at 400 Pine St

TUSCON, AZ | Saturday, November 4th at 3PM at Catalina Park

Sunday, November 5

DENVER, CO | Sunday, November 5th at 12PM at 200 E Colfax Ave

DALLAS, TX | Sunday, November 5th at 2PM at 3333 Turtle Creek Blvd

ROCKVILLE, MD | Sunday, November 5th at 2PM at 101 Monroe St

SAN CARLOS, CA | Sunday, November 5th at 6:15PM at Hiller Aviation Museum

poster art by Shreya Shah from a publicly available collection of free art for Palestine

#march for palestine #gaza #palestine #free gaza #save gaza #free palestine #ceasefire now #stop the genocide #political actions #political action #us campaign for palestinian rights #usa #if you have a source for info about protests in other countries please share #i don’t know where to look for that

263 notes · View notes

rotworld · 5 months ago

Text

Fitting the Collar

that weird guy from the club wants to go for a walk in the woods in werewolf territory. a continuation of sheep's clothing and savior.

->sawyer/reader/corbin. explicit; contains noncon, coercion, implied stalking, feral behavior, typical werewolf-pack human power imbalance, outdoor sex, thighfucking, knotting (doesn't actually happen but discussed in detail)

WOLVES IN THESE WOODS screams the vandalized trail kiosk. These words are scrawled over a map of the mountain, each big red letter spray painted in so many thick, messy layers that they drip like blood. This eyesore greets you at the edge of the parking lot where gravel turns to dirt and sunlight strains through the leaves. It’s not news, to you or to anyone who’s lived near the mountains for any amount of time. Dogwalkers and families on bikes barely spare the sign a glance as they set off, because of course there are werewolves. They shop at the hardware store and sell produce at the farmer’s market. Once a year, they come to Eastridge City Hall to negotiate another year of peaceful cohabitation and give the local news something to catastrophize about.

And yet, the graffiti gives you pause. It’s probably just some mischief but it looks so dire, clashing with the rustic charm of the wooden kiosk and the tranquil beauty of the forest all around it. You tell yourself there’s nothing to worry about. You’ve seen werewolves before. But the fearful part of your brain that makes you flinch and look around nervously every time a twig snaps reminds you that this is different. You’ve seen them in town, in public, at gas stations and second-hand stores, one time at a coffee shop. You’re on their turf now. You glance back at your car, parked in the shade, and think about backing out. Texting an apology and an excuse, some last minute emergency that you can’t neglect.

“Hey, you made it!” You don’t see him coming because you’re watching the parking lot, not the trail. An arm slings around your shoulder, dragging you into a sideways hug. You’re startled and off-balance, too stunned to do anything about a relative stranger nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck with an uncomfortably deep inhale until it’s already over. He pulls away with one last stroke of his thumb against your cheek, and then he shoves his hands in his pockets and stands at a distance like it never happened. “I’m glad you came,” Corbin says. He looks like he’s been hiking without you, prickly seeds stuck to his jacket and mud caked to his boots. Those vicious markings littering his neck are on full display with his hair pulled back. You try not to look at them but your gaze is repeatedly drawn back down. Some of them look fresh, still puffy and irritated. “It wasn’t too hard to find, right?”

“No, it was fine,” you say, wondering for the hundredth time how he talked you into this.

“Great! You’re gonna love this trail. It’s super easy, don’t worry. And we can go slow…” Something over your shoulder catches his eye and his brows furrow, his mouth pressing into a tight frown. “Well, that’s annoying. And covering up the map like that! Packless—” He cuts himself off abruptly, glancing at you with a sheepish smile like he said something you might find offensive. Strangest of all, he goes out of his way to take a picture of it, standing back with his phone raised so he can get the whole sign in frame. “Some people, right? Anyway, let’s get moving.”

You remember the conversation that led to this outing. Idle chatter in a mall food court, held hostage out of polite obligation because he’d bought you lunch even when you insisted he didn’t have to. You smiled nervously while he went on and on about how nice the weather had been lately, how perfect it was for long walks in the woods and how all the best trails were in the next town over. You should’ve seen the invitation coming but instead you were thinking that it was weird, right, that this random guy had suddenly become such a big part of your life, weird that you kept running into each other when he didn’t even leave in Eastridge.

You were relieved when he stopped showing up at Club Mountainview to tip you obscene amounts of money for serving him appetizers and occasionally refilling his water between drunk, demanding customers, but then he started showing up everywhere else. Not all the time, though. Not so often or so conspicuously that you could confidently call it stalking. Sometimes he comes into your favorite coffee shop just as you’re leaving and he doesn’t even wave. Sometimes he disappears for weeks at a time without explanation. But when you do talk, when he smiles at you and pulls you into his shamelessly intimate affection, rubbing his face in your hair or humming in contentment against your neck, something in you responds with embarrassing eagerness. Maybe you’ve just been too busy lately, starved for interaction. You can’t shake the feeling that he can see right through you. You never say much, but he seems to know you better than you know yourself.

“I appreciate you coming all this way. It doesn’t seem like you get a lot of time off,” Corbin says. The trail is wide enough that you can walk side by side with some room between you, but he sticks close. Your sleeves brush sometimes.

“I’m glad I did,” you tell him. “You weren’t kidding, it’s really nice out here.”

His eyes light up, smile widening as though you complimented him instead. “It is, isn’t it?”

The trail is a gentle winding path into the mountains full of birdsong and warm breeze. You see speckles of moss and wildflowers, a sea of swaying greenery that seems to go on forever. Corbin stops halfway across a bridge straddling a river and you clasp the railing beside him, watching the water stream white-capped over the rocks below. You linger for a while, enjoying the sound of the rapids and the occasional glimpse of a fish darting downstream. You catch him staring in the corner of your eye. He smiles, unashamed, and scoots closer. His shoulder rests against yours.

“This is wolf territory,” he says. His tone is strange and hard for you to identify. It’s not sad, exactly, but it’s stern. Solemn. Like he’s telling you something profound. “Do you know much about the pack that lives here?”

He’s watching your expression carefully and trying to pretend he isn’t. The scrutiny makes you uncomfortable. You push back from the railing and he follows with a small frown but begins walking again, giving you more distance than he did before. “Not really,” you say, shrugging. “I don’t know much about werewolves in general.”

It’s an odd question, you think, and it’s odder still when he hums in acknowledgement and drops the subject. You keep walking, keenly aware of his presence beside you. You’ve wondered for a while now if Corbin might be a werewolf. You’re sure he was with some when you first met. It wasn’t just that they were a little intense and eccentric. You felt cornered when they looked at you, a spark of fight-or-flight igniting in your chest. It was instinct. You sensed something wild and powerful, and you braced yourself to run if it bared its teeth.

“What’s on your mind?” he asks. The way he looks at you, the sly smile on his lips, makes it seem like he already knows.

You don’t want to ask. That would be rude, right? And what difference does it make? Werewolves haven’t been going around hunting and eating people for centuries, no matter what the tabloids say. “Just thinking,” you say.

“Mhm? About what?”

“Just…stuff.” Now he’s staring and not being subtle about it at all. You keep expecting him to trip but he keeps his eyes on you the whole time instead of on the path ahead without any trouble. Like he’s walked this trail a thousand times, you think. Like it’s second nature. “What do you do?” you ask, desperate for something else to talk about.

“Like, for work?” His gaze wanders away for a moment and he tilts his head, his expression becoming amused and wistful. For such a simple question, he takes a long time considering his answer. “I guess it’s kind of like a human resources job.” He grins. You feel like there’s a joke you’re not getting. “Not the stuffy office kind. I work out here, actually.”

“Out here?” you echo. “Like with the Parks and Rec service?”

“With parts of it, yeah.” The path splits, a fork meandering into thicker brush and foliage. You’re not sure if it’s a proper trail or just a common footpath worn into the grass. It’s narrower, rougher and more uneven, carpeted in fallen leaves as though few people have been through to disturb them. There’s a tree right where the smaller path breaks off, a symbol carved into the bark. You don’t know what it is; a mishmash of jagged lines intersect with squiggling curves, gouged into the wood with something sharp. Corbin insists on going this way despite your reservations. “It’s part of the trail, I promise,” he assures you, his hand resting on your lower back with just the slightest pressure, urging you to keep moving. “Unless you’re tired and wanna go back?”

You wouldn’t mind seeing more of the trail, but you stare down the path with apprehension. You see it curves gently upwards as it goes, slowly ascending further into the mountains. “We could head back,” you say, but Corbin doesn’t let go. He keeps pushing, offering a reassuring smile.

“Can I show you one more thing?” he asks. “Just a little further. Then we can go.” Just like that time at the mall, you plan on refusing. The words are on the tip of your tongue but you can’t seem to get them out. There’s something about Corbin—not any particular thing he says or does, just the way he is. He stands close to you. He looks you in the eye. His hand rises from your back and slides up and down your arm instead, a soothing gesture that you find yourself embarrassingly reactive to, and then he takes your hand in his. “You’re afraid of wolves, aren’t you?”

You shake your head, not trusting your voice to stay steady if you answer. He just smiles.

“It’s alright, I get it. They seem kind of scary, right? A lot stronger and faster than us. But y’know, they’re actually pretty gentle. I’ve been living and working with one of the local packs for a while now. They take good care of me.”

“You live with them?” you ask, disbelieving.

Corbin laughs. He takes your hand in both of his, rubbing his thumbs into your skin. “I want to show you something,” he says softly. “Please? I promise, you’re safe with me.” He does it again somehow; quells your worries and draws you closer, talking you into something you didn’t want to do. He keeps holding your hand when he starts walking, looking over his shoulder periodically to smile and tell you it’s not far now. You pass a fallen log with squirrels shuffling around inside, a wooden guardrail at the edge of a ravine, a hill dotted with wildflowers. The birds are louder here, the sunlight even softer where it manages to trickle through the trees. Corbin slows his pace when you almost trip and fall, the toe of your shoe catching on a tree root snaking across the path. He’s looking for something. He keeps talking, telling you the scientific names of everything you can see, but his gaze scans the forest as you walk.

He must find it, because suddenly he stops and drags you to a halt beside him. You’re quickly ushered off the trail, dragged into a crouch beside Corbin behind a mossy boulder. He doesn’t respond to your nervous stammering except to press his finger to your lips with a mischievous smile. Then he points, over the boulder and up ahead. You don’t see anything. Corbin exhales sharply in amusement at your pinched, confused expression. He gets closer, an arm draped over your shoulders to pull you in as much as he can. He smells like these woods; earth and grass stains, sharply evergreen. His body heat warms your side. He points again.

This time, you see it but only because it moves. There’s something out there. A blur. A shape. Brown, black and gray, drifting in the spaces between the trees. With a sudden surge of breathless panic, you realize those are wolves. Not one but several, moving with nearly silent, predatory grace. Their tails flick as they trot briskly through the dappled shade. You can tell they’re enormous, even from here, bigger than any dog you’ve ever seen. The one in the lead has thick, coal black fur, and it stops suddenly with a quiet bark. The others spread out in a semi-circle, ears pricked and attentive.

Corbin squeezes your shoulder as if to remind you he’s there. He leans in, whispering into your ear. “Shepherds. They’re on patrol.”

You’re not sure if you’re watching a meeting, an argument, or something else altogether. The wolf in charge chuffs and paws at the dirt, the others watching, tilting their heads. They seem to reach some kind of understanding because all but the leader start moving again. That one lingers, watching them leave. It sits in a sunbeam, its dark fur looking silky in the light. Then it lurches forward with a strained whimper like it’s going to be sick, foamy saliva dribbling from its open maw. You watch in speechless horror as the wolf’s fur starts to bulge and shiver like something is moving under its skin. Corbin’s grip on you tightens just as you tense, ready to run.

“It’s alright,” he whispers. “He’s just shifting. He has trouble with it sometimes.”

You don’t want to watch this but you’re afraid to look away. The wolf curls around itself with limbs that are all wrong, too long and bending strangely. Its paws stretch and lengthen. Its snout shrinks. It groans and the sound is wet and throaty, its fur receding in patches that expose the shift of sinew in sudden, cracking snaps that hurt to hear. You see skin, slick and shining with sweat. You see fingers tipped with thick, black claws. The sound of bones popping in and out of sockets finally fades and you hear soft panting. The wolf is halfway to man. It goes no further. Still breathing heavily, he sits up and runs a hand through long, messy bangs the same dark color as the stubborn patches of fur still clinging to his limbs and back. He climbs to his feet and—

he’s naked. Completely head to toe naked, soft cock and heavy balls dangling between his legs. You think, for the second time, that you shouldn’t be seeing this, but Corbin still doesn’t let you get up. You find him watching you, studying your expression intently. Has he been doing that the whole time?

“Corbin.” The werewolf’s voice is low, rough and growling. He’s looking right at the two of you like the boulder’s not even there. Corbin laughs. He lets you stand up when he does, but he keeps you trapped against his side. His hand slides from your shoulder to your waist.

“Beta,” Corbin greets. He lifts his head and tilts it to the side, exposing his throat. The werewolf makes a sound in his throat, something like a dismissive grunt. “This is Sawyer,” he tells you, nodding to the wolf. “He’s not a shepherd anymore, but sometimes he goes with them—”

“Who is this?” Sawyer asks. He approaches slowly, almost cautiously, pointed ears twitching.

Corbin tries to push you forward but you dig your heels in. “My friend—”

“Shouldn’t be here.” Sawyer’s eyes are like a wolf’s—no sclera, only inky black and golden-brown. You’re afraid to even breathe when his wide-eyed animalistic stare pins you in place. “You’re lucky I found you first, before this became a problem. No one’s thinking clearly this time of year.”

“My friend,” Corbin insists. “The one I told you about, from the club in Eastridge.” Sawyer’s gaze leaves you momentarily, meeting Corbin’s eyes instead. Corbin’s practically vibrating with excitement. His fingers tap a quick rhythm into your side.

“Ah,” Sawyer says. He looks at you again, still frowning and pensive. “Should I go?” you ask nervously.

“No.” Your heart skips a beat when Sawyer and Corbin answer in unison, the word pronounced as a firm growl. Corbin laughs. Sawyer doesn’t, shifting uncomfortably. His tail sways in a slow, uncertain wag. “No,” he repeats quietly. “I’m sorry if I scared you. I’m…cautious with outsiders.”

You never expected to hear a werewolf sound so anxious and awkward. “It’s okay. I get it, I’m in your home.”

“My home is open to you.” He looks off into the distance. It’s hard to deny that he’s handsome. He has unusual features, everything sharpened and wolf-like but still recognizably human. He’s taller than both you and Corbin, lithe and muscular, the story of a long, difficult life told across the many scars carved into his skin. His limbs are long, unnaturally so, like something didn’t settle where it was supposed to while he was shifting.

“They’re a little nervous around werewolves,” Corbin chuckles, making your face fill with embarrassed heat.

“I just haven’t met very many,” you insist. Sawyer glances at you and you still can’t tell if he’s angry or not. You break eye contact and hear him take a deep breath, letting it out slowly.

“You can look at me, if you’d like,” he offers. He tilts his head, a gesture that strikes you as very dog-like and endearing. “I prefer doing search and rescue in wolfskin, but some people are afraid of dogs. So I approach slowly. I lay down and let them get a good look at me first. It tends to help.” You try to insist that it’s not a problem, you’re not afraid of dogs, but Sawyer just shakes his head. “Come look. It doesn’t bother me. I know I’m a little strange compared to the others.”

Corbin nudges you gently. You resist the first time, more weakly the second. The third soft push sends you a few steps forward. Sawyer doesn’t move, letting you come to him. You’re still nervous but Corbin encourages you with a nod and a grin. “He doesn’t bite. Not unless you’re really good, or really bad.”

“Corbin,” Sawyer says, his tone almost scolding. He’s still not smiling, but maybe that’s just how he is. He looks calm, at least, no longer terse or frustrated. His posture is loose and open, arms at his sides and gaze casually wandering the woods, but his tail is moving faster now. Wagging, like a happy dog. It’s hard not to find him cute. The closer you get, the more details emerge. He has freckles on his shoulders. A habit of leaning, resting all of his weight on one leg or the other. Old scars, mostly on his chest and upper body, a few bald patches in the fur on his arms in jagged stripes. When you’re close enough to touch him, you notice he has scars on his face, too, mostly hidden by his unkempt hair. “You’re from Eastridge,” he says. It doesn’t sound like a question, but you nod. “Corbin says you work at a…nightclub.” He says “nightclub” like it’s a city in a foreign country, some place he’s heard of but never seen.

“Yeah, in the restaurant. I wait tables, nothing fancy.”

“Hm. Sounds unpleasant. Thankless.”

Thankless. Didn’t Corbin use the exact same word when you first met? “It can be sometimes,” you admit.

Sawyer looks at Corbin again. You get the feeling that they’re communicating somehow, sharing an understanding you’re not privy to. “Do you mind if I…greet you?” Sawyer asks. There’s a rasp to his voice that wasn’t there before, some emotion he’s trying to mask. “The traditional way.”

“Uh, I guess that’s fine?” You’ve barely finished speaking when he steps forward. Two long strides and he has you, his thumb on your chin tilting your head to the side. He has to bend slightly to bury his face in the side of your neck. He takes long, audible sniffs and rubs his face into your skin, one cheek and then the other. Your hands are on his shoulders but you don’t push him away because this is familiar, you realize. Corbin does this to you all the time. It’s a little more intense with Sawyer because he wants you as close as possible, right up against him so it’s impossible to ignore the twitching heat of his cock nestled against your abdomen.

Sawyer makes a low, rumbling sound, something between a growl and a purr. “Mm. Hello,” he drawls. He sounds happy, almost intoxicated. He nuzzles into you again with a relieved sigh. “Sorry, again. Hard to tell at a distance. You smell trustworthy.”

It’s such a strange thing to say that you can’t help but laugh. “What does that smell like?” you ask, nervous. Trying to pull away doesn’t get you anywhere. Sawyer’s arms are a vice around you and it’s a struggle just to turn far enough to look back at Corbin for help.

“Like me, basically,” Corbin says. He almost sounds smug.

“Like him,” Sawyer agrees. He cups your face in his large, clawed hands and “greets” you again, cheek to cheek, forehead to forehead. Your heart flutters when he noses along your jaw and under your chin, maneuvering you as he likes. He speaks in a low, steady murmur while he explains. “Some emotions come through, if they’re strong enough. Some intentions. What isn’t there also matters. No wolf blood. No gunpowder. No chemical accelerant. I can tell the difference, you know. Whether you were just filling up your car or if you’ve been…up to something. Especially out here.”

“Gunpowder?” you repeat, startled. “Accelerant? Wh—why—?”

“Hunters.” Corbin is closer than you remember him being. He stands right behind you, rubbing your shoulders. Trying to move away from Sawyer presses you against Corbin instead and he chuckles like you did something cute, nuzzling the back of your head. “The regular kind’s bad enough,” he mutters. “But the worst ones are infiltrators, acting like they want—”

“It doesn’t matter,” Sawyer says sharply. You feel Corbin stiffen behind you. He bows his head meekly, kissing your shoulder. Sawyer takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. He rubs his cheek against yours one more time and then he pulls back far enough to look you in the eye. “It doesn’t matter,” he repeats, his tone softening. “It was nice to meet you. I should…” He trails off. You watch the muscles in his throat tense and bob when he swallows. His gaze lowers to your lips, your neck, your chest. His cock twitches again. You feel it stiffening, filling with blood.

“How do they smell?” Corbin asks. His hands slide down to your hips, fingers kneading their way into the waistband of your pants.

Sawyer grips the back of your neck with sudden firmness. He makes that rumbling sound again in response to your frightened stammering, hushing you softly before he inhales against your throat. “Afraid,” he murmurs. “But not just afraid.” He rocks his hips, grinding his hot, hardening cock against your clothes. There’s not enough room to struggle. Trying to wiggle out from between them just makes them both close in harder, chest to chest with Sawyer while Corbin drapes himself against your back.

“You’re okay,” Corbin coos, his gentle tone completely at odds with how roughly he grabs your wrists and yanks them behind your back. “Shhhh, no, you’re okay. He’s not gonna hurt you.”

Sawyer tilts your head back and makes you look at him. Fight or flight fails you. You freeze in terror. Those haunting black and gold eyes don’t belong to a man but an animal, hungry and about to pounce. “Please let me go,” you beg him, your voice quivering. “Please, please don’t—” His hand wraps around your throat. He doesn’t squeeze. He doesn’t have to. The threat is there, his callused palm resting on your windpipe. Why didn’t you scream earlier? Why aren’t you screaming now? You can hear your own thudding pulse in your temples. “It’s okay,” Corbin whispers. “It’s all okay. You’re safe, and you’re so special and so loved. Do you want him?” You stammer out a refusal, pleas, scared sounds. Corbin chuckles and noses against your ear. “You can be honest. It’s okay if you do. Wolves want us, and we want them. That’s just how it is.”

Sawyer’s trying to undress you. He tugs at your pants but he stops when you make a shrill sound of panic and start to twist and fight. He seizes the back of your neck again, harder this time, and you go completely still when his teeth scrape the tender flesh of your throat.

Corbin takes over for him. He holds both of your wrists in one hand, the other gradually exposing your hips to the cool air. “You’re being so good. That’s it. Deep breaths. He’s not mad at you. He wants you so much.” He’s hard, you realize. Fully hard and throbbing in his pants. Corbin’s breath hitches and he moans softly into your ear, getting off on all of this. “He’s gonna use your thighs,” Corbin whispers, low and excited. He gets your pants down just far enough to expose your sex and the swell of your ass, keeping your legs trapped. “Just your thighs. Don’t be scared. He’s gonna let you feel his knot.”

Sawyer growls. He grabs you by the hips and you feel his cock poking your inner thigh. He drags you into his movements, long, slow thrusts against your sex that make you whine. He’s still growing, still getting harder every time he pushes against you. His fat, flared tip narrows to a point, a pearl of precum beading right on top. He changes his angle to smear it into your skin, rubbing his tip back and forth against your sex until you’re both a sticky mess. His hands slip behind you, between your bare backside and Corbin’s clothed erection, groping your ass and kneading the cheeks apart. He gets your thighs open just enough to slip his cock between them, nestled right under your sex. You feel every inch of him when he moves back and forth. His shaft is long and thick, bulging along the bottom.

You can’t remember when you started holding onto him, when Corbin let your wrists go, but Sawyer growls, “Good,” in a gravelly rumble that sends heat rushing between your legs. The praise startles you, makes your heart race faster. “So good, giving in like this. Your instincts know what to do.” He moves faster, harder. You hear your bodies together, skin to skin, the slap of his balls against your thighs every time your hips meet as if he’s really fucking you, as if you’ve taken him all the way to the base. Your sex throbs. Sawyer pants and grunts and ruts like an animal, needy like he’s been waiting for this all his life. You’re lightheaded with a heady mix of fear, shame and desire. He mouths at your pulse, hungrily lapping at your neck like he can taste how much you want him.

“God, you’re a natural,” Corbin whispers. He’s still touching you, still humping your ass while Sawyer fucks your thighs. When did he get his pants off? You can feel the metal of his open zipper warming on the back of your legs, his cock sandwiched between your cheeks. “That’s it. Don’t think so much, just feel. Move with him. Just like that, sweetheart. You’re right where you’re supposed to be.”

You feel delirious, dizzy and burning. You’re really doing it, grinding back on a stranger, a werewolf, in the middle of the woods. It feels good to let go. To not worry or think or even decide what happens next, letting him guide you, letting Corbin tell you how perfect you are for it. You arch your back, pushing yourself into Sawyer’s steady thrusts and Corbin’s frantic grinding, hearing them both groan appreciatively. There’s something swollen at the base of Sawyer’s cock, an engorged, sensitive bulge that he loves to shove between your thighs and grind back and forth, shaking his hips so you feel just how big it is, hot and pulsing under your sex.

“Squeeze your thighs together,” Sawyer says. His voice is low and broken, more growl than human speech. You do what he asks without hesitation. It feels good to trap his knot right under your sex and feel it throb against you. It feels even better when he hisses “yes, fuck, yes!” and ruts mindlessly, short jackhammering thrusts into the tight warmth of your thighs. “Good, so good. Sweet bunny,” he moans. He buries his face in your neck again, alternating between deep breaths and sloppy kisses with his sharp teeth threatening to break the skin. He says more but you can’t understand him with it all slurred and muffled, sounding like another language entirely.

“Fuck!” Corbin wraps his arms around you when he cums, clutching your waist. He presses against you everywhere he can reach, his chest to your back, his cheek against your shoulder, humping like a rabbit in heat. He babbles and whimpers as his thrusts go from fast and hard to long and trembling, cum splattering your hips and ass and dampening your shirt. “You’re so good, so sweet, want you again, wanna see you on alpha’s knot…” He’s determined to take you over the edge with him, groping and grabbing at you even while he’s still trembling and catching his breath. He nuzzles into your neck on the opposite side from Sawyer, kissing and licking, nipping the lobe of your ear. “You want that? You wanna get stretched on a werewolf knot? There’s nothing else like it. You’d be so fucking full. And our beta’s so big, he’d get nice and deep. You’d be stuffed…” He rubs your stomach. “All the way up to here,” he whispers.

Sawyer swivels his hips again, grinds his knot against your sex one more time, and that’s all it takes. You’re grateful when he surges forward and crushes your lips together, swallowing the embarrassingly loud sounds you make as you buck your hips and ride out your orgasm. You cling to him like you’re drowning, arms around his neck and moaning helplessly into his mouth. His claws dig into your ass and you wonder what this would feel like if those hard, grinding thrusts were inside of you instead, if his length was dragging on your inner walls and his tip was hammering your sweet spot, his knot popping into place. The heat and the friction build to maddening overstimulation and you’re whimpering, begging wordlessly for mercy. His tongue strokes yours and you’re drooling, slack-jawed and fucked senseless from nothing but this frantic, animalistic humping and Corbin’s voice in your ear.

“You’re so cute,” he purrs. “It’s like you already know how to submit. Not so scared now, are you? No, you’re perfect. You’d take a knot so well. Fuck, I knew I was right about you.”

You don’t know when Sawyer cums. You don’t know much of anything but heat and sensation, pleasant friction and painful chafing, Sawyer’s tongue and teeth and claws. Eventually, his knot shrinks. His cock slips out from between your legs and you’re lowered gently to the forest floor, held between two spent, sweaty bodies. You feel sticky and disgusting. Someone strokes your hair and someone squeezes your hip and you aren’t sure who’s doing what, just that they’re there with you.

“Really wish you’d warned me first.” You can feel the vibration of Sawyer’s voice against your skin, a deep rumble.

“If I did that, you’d just run and hide,” Corbin says quietly. One of them kisses the top of your head. “You and Linden have that in common.”

“Watch yourself, hrefn.” The words are playful. They shift around you. You hear a kiss exchanged, a soft sigh. “Are we bringing them up now?”

“No. Gonna do it properly, next time. This was just a test. I had to make sure.”

“Next time?” Sawyer asks, concerned. “I’m not the human expert, but…”

“Well, I am. So trust me.” Corbin reacts immediately when you start squirming, trying to sit up. He helps you, steadying your shoulders. “Hey,” he coos. “Welcome back. Feeling alright?”

You don’t say anything. The reality of what you just did—of what just happened to you—creeps in slowly. He tricked you. Pressured you into this. Kept pushing even when you didn’t want to, even when you were terrified. You tug your pants back on, wincing at all the cum sticking to your skin. Sawyer tries to touch your shoulder and you flinch, leaning away from him. His fingers twitch like he thinks of grabbing you, forcing you to show him your neck again, but he never does. He lowers his hand slowly and you let out a shaky breath. You only let Corbin pull you to your feet because your legs are shaking too badly to stand up alone.

“Let’s get you back to your car,” he says sweetly. Like he didn’t just lure you into the woods to trap you between him and a werewolf. “I’ll be back in a bit, just gonna walk them down the trail.”

“Mhm.” You don’t look at Sawyer but you feel him staring. His gaze burns into your back when you stumble away, clinging reluctantly to Corbin. You look back just once to make sure he doesn’t follow you. The trail is empty. There’s only trees and bushes and fallen leaves. Somehow, you still feel like you’re being watched all the way to the parking lot.

“It was so nice to see you—”

You slam the door in Corbin’s face. He just smiles, stepping back as you hurriedly shove your keys in the ignition. You need to get out of here. Need a shower, need the safety of your home, need to throw a few things in a bag and find somewhere else to stay for a while. Corbin is still standing there at the start of the trail when you start driving. He waves at your rearview mirror and then he walks away. Not into the parking lot, but back up the trail. Into the woods and up the mountain. When he’s gone, all that’s left is the trail kiosk standing sentinel, casting its shadow across the trail.

WOLVES IN THESE WOODS, it says.

#rotpeach writes #meanwolves #sawyer #corbin #this was meant to be about sawyer and his history but the concept is giving me a bit of trouble #so instead here's the next part of the “corbin shopping for a new pack human” saga #will try to salvage the sawyer focused draft some other time because it had a solid start

61 notes · View notes

heartthumpnovel · 28 days ago

Text

Heart Thump: Chapter 8

“It Came From Outer Space”

Word count: 10434

Buckle up folks, this is gonna be a long one. Just in time for October too! By the way the tag-list is at the end and if you want to be notified of new chapters coming out just let me know!

cw: Cursing/Swears, Blood, Violence, Absolute Jerks

Last Chapter: Growing Pains

Next Chapter: Kill the Director ---

Days off are the best, paid or not. If Natasha has a few more hours to decompress from the chaos at work, she’ll take it. Not only did it mean she didn’t have to put up with office bureaucracy, it also meant that she can run away from all of her conflicted feelings that haunt her daily though the most escapist artistic medium she knows; video games.

Natasha adjusted her chic pastel sunglasses in the right-hand side mirror of her venom motorcycle to make absolutely sure they would not fall off and cause an accident. Though she asked herself if the sun hat and trendy trench coat were absolutely necessary. Then again, she couldn’t be too careful in this imperative operation and it was crucial that no one from work would recognize her. A perfect picture of the worst-case scenario made Natasha clutch the bismuth that hung from her necklace. If one of her peers or, god forbid, the higher-ups found out she was buying violent, gruesome video games, then she would be getting a severely negative performance review. That could lead back to her mother finding out.

While it might have been more time efficient and socially safe to order her games online, she really needed to get some sunlight and despite the risk she was taking, going to browse the shops was a pass time she missed. Oh, to be a young baby goth that ate burrito bowls in the food court, and ran away from security for disturbing a Hot Topic. Those truly were the glory days, gone by too soon.

Enough reminiscing and making sure her fool-proof disguise didn’t fall apart, blood and glory called to her. Natasha locked up her bike and made her way to one of America’s dying ecosystems; the mall.

Right before she could enter the front doors of a preppy clothing shop that led into the interior halls, she had to awkwardly scoot around a mother trying to calm down her hysterical kid crying about a monster in the bushes. Avoiding that, she managed to get inside and make a beeline towards the doors that had led to the actual store fronts within the building. Disregarding the entirety of the early-winter selection, she was already fashionable enough, thank you very much.

The weekend had brought in a decent crowd, though considering this mall was in a bustling city it wasn’t hurting for customers even on slow days. Natasha braced herself for the oncoming noise by putting in her earphones and stared upwards at the five stories from the bottom floor. She could barely make out the people in the sea of colorful brands and the cacophony of voices. It was a wonder, for Natasha, that the employees can stand this much commotion every single day. Perhaps she should be happy she gets to work her life away behind a desk.

In any case, that video game wasn’t going to buy itself. Natasha strode onto the crowded escalator. She tried to not bump into the group of rambunctious youths in front of her and held onto the rail with a tight grip. Trying to focus on the electronic beats that played in her ears, her fingers tapped down on the volume button to dial her music up to cover up the loud conversation between two older women behind her.

The trial of getting to the third floor was, for the most part, grueling. Stepping off the escalator almost felt like flying. With a skip in her step, she quickly made her way along the balcony, pulling her hat down to cover her eyes. Eye contact with others was not mandatory on her day off. Her attention was laser focused on trying to spot the store front she was so keen on finding. She was so dead set on getting to the game store that she-

“OOF! Hey, watch it!” scolded the teenager she accidentally bumped her shoulder into.

Natasha’s attention snapped back into place as she backed up with her hands raised. “Oh damn, sorry!” Natasha faltered apologetically, “You okay? I didn’t hurt you did I?” Her guts were already twisting in embarrassment as the glare the youth was giving her made her feel like she was the size of a mouse.

After what felt like forever, the tension broke as the teen rolled his eyes and put his ear phone back into his head. “Nah I’m fine,” he said while brushing off his shoulder, “It’s all good, see ya’ miss.” As if Natasha didn’t just hurt him, he shrugged it off and moved on with his day.

As he walked away, Natasha hung around for a moment to ponder, wondering why he didn’t tell her off for shoving him. She should have been paying attention to where she was going and not turn on autopilot like an idiot. Pain from her forearm snapped her out of it, she hadn’t noticed her own fingernails were gripping tightly into her flesh.

One enormous sigh later, she watched the carefree boy just stroll further away from her, and turned away when he stopped, seemingly preoccupied with something on the ground floor.

Oh, to be able to just let things go. Wouldn’t that be nice?

Natasha continued her journey to the game store, which wasn’t too far from that spot. This time, she kept her guard up, and made it to the storefront of her usual place. While it was more hole-in-the-wall than the franchised game store in the mall, it had much older games for sale. Plus, the prices were much more reasonable than more recent titles.

Her expectant grin dropped when she realized that the employee who usually was manning the store wasn’t there. This time, it was a guy she hadn’t seen before, who was just staring at his phone, leaning apathetically on the counter. She surmised it was probably his first day and thought to give him a kind impression. While she never had to work retail in her life, the horror stories she had heard gave her empathy for those working on the front lines in society.

“Hello!” Natasha cheerfully said in a chipper demeanor as she strolled into the store, smiling at the employee who barely raised his head. When their eyes met, a chill went down her spine as she not only saw indifference, but annoyance. She couldn’t understand his grumble before looking back down at his phone.

Brushing off that warm welcome, Natasha just assumed he was already having a bad day, though she wondered to herself if she had laid on the introduction too thick. She made her way to the previous-gen console games and focused less on the employee’s coldness towards her. She had actual business to attend to.

Picking though nostalgic titles was a walk in the park for her. Natasha simply just had to pick out something that wasn’t already in her collection, maybe even a duplicate copy with an alternate cover she hadn’t seen yet. Her pink push on nails hooked onto a few survival horror classics and pulled them into her hands as if she was an excited pre-teen again. She was having a great time sitting there on her knees, she hardly even noticed the sourpuss employee behind her making passive aggressive sighs.

Once she had a good stack of games in her forearm, Natasha turned to see the employee still glued to his phone. It turned out that the hard part of her trip wasn’t just getting to the store, but checking out.

“Hello!” Natasha said as she approached the counter, though her excitement dimmed as she noticed the employee didn’t even notice her greeting. He had to have heard her, he wasn’t even wearing any earphones. After one awkward silence, she cleared her throat and spoke up again. “Excuse me,” Natasha said with a more firm tone in her voice, though she didn’t want to cause a scene, “I’d like to buy these please.”

The death glare the employee gave nearly made her jump, unfortunately she knew this look and the knots in her stomach twisted. She didn’t like where this conversation was heading. This guy looked down at her hands and rolled his eyes in disgust as he shoved his phone into his pocket.

“Fine,” the cashier grumbled as he nearly tore the games out of Natasha’s hands. While she was taken aback from how rude this employee was being, she had hoped he’d do the bare minimum and just do his job without a fuss. Unfortunately, her hopes dropped when the cashier stared at the cover of each game she bought as he scanned them. He shook his head and just had to open his rotten mouth.

“Your boyfriend ain’t giving you enough attention huh?” the cashier said bluntly with a sick smirk on his face, “Does he even like these games?”

Wow. That’s how it’s going to be then?

Luckily, being in countless upper management roles had given her the skill of keeping a lid on striking out to offense. Though she gave the cashier an unbothered smile, a furious rage burned in her chest. He couldn’t have been serious. “Nah,” Natasha responded, “These are for me.”

“Suuree they are,” Cashier said, stopping mid-button press as he was ringing up the items, “These are outdated garbage, nobody plays shit like th-”

“Cool, are you going to just yap or do your job?” Natasha interrupted him, not even giving him the reaction he wanted as she calmly just searched through her purse for her wallet. That made the ostensible incel shut his mouth, his ballooning red face looked like it wanted to explode. To his credit, it looked like he had some idea that if he were to escalate, he would lose his paychecks indefinitely. He shoved the games into the cheap plastic bag and basically threw the bag onto the counter.

“Twenty four fifty,” he grunted with spittle hitting the register. He scowled, seeing Natasha smiling smugly as she tapped her card on the reader. Natasha couldn’t have been more happy when she got the receipt and shoved the bag into her purse. While it looked like she walked away completely unbothered by the cashier’s behavior, her knuckles paled as they gripped the purse’s strap.

The words he said just replayed on a loop in her mind, almost driving her to tears. Why the hell did she have to be punished for just buying video games on the only time she could let loose? Her heartbeat pulsed loudly in her ears as her firm sense of justice became too raw to bear. Without realizing, one of her hands pulled harshly on the waist of her dress. A meltdown was approaching upon the horizon, however, she had to push the wave down. If she were to shed even a single tear, she could be in bigger trouble than that disgusting pig. It was all becoming all too much, Natasha needed an outlet before she-

Ping!

Halfway out of the store, her phone notification went off. Natasha didn’t know why she did, but in the middle of storming out of her ruined sanctuary she checked her phone. It looked like someone left a message in the personal friend group chat. Upon opening it, her eyes lit up as she saw who it was from.

Atlas Gang Group ChatNovember 23rd @ 1:00 pm

Jason: Hello! Sorry I have gone quiet for the past two weeks. Recovery has been a bit more rough than I expected. Good news though, I’m coming back to work monday! :)

Her grip loosened with a sigh of relief. It was about time, she really needed an ear to listen to her right then. Natasha lost contact with the reality happening around her as she tapped her nails onto the phone’s keyboard.

Natasha: HEEEEYYY! :D Omg i’m so happy to hear! MAN you wouldn’t BELIEVE what just happened at the

“WHAT THE FUCK?!” screeched the pig’s voice.

Natasha’s head nearly spun off of her shoulders at the yelling, expecting to see an angry cashier confronting her. However, he seemed to stare in absolute horror at something beyond her shoulder. A rattling sound right behind her became apparent with an unnatural chill that made the hair on the back of her neck stand. She held her breath as she hesitantly turned her head to face… it.

Natasha’s day-off just got a whole lot worse.

[Image Description: Natasha is face-to-face with a large monster that resembles an anthropomorphic dinosaur that is made out of stone and glowing crystal. It is “drooling” and staring her down.] ---

Natasha: HEEEEYYY! :D Omg i’m so happy to hear! MAN you wouldn’t BELIEVE what just happened at the

Jason: ??? Nat?

Jason had been staring down at the cut off message for about a minute, wondering why she didn’t finish what she was saying. Though he couldn’t ponder for long as a grating voice snapped him out of it.

“Yo what about LONDON TOWER?? EHHHHHH?” Motor gleefully suggested as he was flipping through the clearance costumes in the back of the clothing store.

Jason just gave him a tired stare and pressed the side button on his phone in order to put it to sleep. “You realize I’ve been an American citizen for six years now, right?” Jason said, “And for the last time, I will not be a masked vigilante, it’s literally illegal.” While it might have been too late, Jason had concluded that it was an absolute blunder to reach out to Motor for help.

The original deal was to just go shopping for plaster to fix his ceiling and get used to controlling that pesky curse in public. Jason had to go back to work at some point as rent would not pay itself. At first it seemed nice to go out shopping after a whole two weeks inside, however, it quickly became apparent that the goal of their trip had changed from getting his life back together to picking out tacky Halloween costumes. Long after October.

“Oh come on Jason,” Motor said, “Don’t you know that great power comes with great responsibility?” He quoted that as if he was some professional historian, finger raised and all.

“I am being responsible,” Jason answered as he folded his arms, “By keeping this thing under wraps and not breaking the law.” His gaze turned to the ultra cheap costumes around them, feeling a sense of embarrassment from the mere thought of wearing tight leggings and a wonky mask.

“Bro what the hell is the point of having a superpower and not usin’ it?” Motor asked as he held up a black jumpsuit towards Jason to compare sizes. The office worker shifted his glare to the jumpsuit and shoved it away.

“It’s not a- ugh,” Jason grumbled as his palm hit his forehead, “I just need to learn to be normal again, nothing more.” He turned away from Motor with his arms crossed, his ears red with boiling fury.

“Being normal sucks,” Motor retorted as he turned his back to throw the jumpsuit improperly onto the hangers, “Besides, it ain’t gonna kill ya to have a disguise for when you get a growth spurt.” Motor continued to clank through more clearance costumes on the hangers while pouting. Jason on the other hand, wasn’t going to bother to humor the nerd with his bizarre fantasies. Though if Jason had to concede anything to Motor, he had a point about needing to hide his identity in case it happens. All it could take was one escaping thought to cause a terrible scene and a call to the United States military.

Perhaps, he could hide somewhere when he felt the butterflies coming on, or maybe just drop that silly crush on Natasha. Though the former was easier said than done. Suddenly Jason shook his head vigorously, realizing that he was treading dangerous waters if he were to dwell on his feelings for her any further. Looking for a distraction, Jason glanced over at the clearance table with all sorts of Halloween masks that weren’t lucky enough to be sold during the holiday they were made for. He reached out and picked up a bright white ski mask with wiring connected to it. Seeing the wires attached to the mouthpiece and the small battery pack on the other end made him realize it had a voice changer.

With his curiosity satiated, Jason was about to place it back down onto the table to check out the other masks in the meantime. Before he could get the chance to, both of the men heard a loud screech from the shopping mall entrance. They looked at each other confused, though did not say a single word as a crowd of mall shoppers ran into the clothing store and sprinted to the building’s exit.

Grimly, Jason assumed that they had ended up in a situation that Americans are unfortunately too familiar with. Just as Jason was going to join the crowd to run from the apparent threat, a large hand that grabbed his shoulder stopped him.

“Motor what the bloody hell are you doing!?” Jason shouted before he was dragged down to hide behind the hangers with the janitor. Motor promptly shushed him and Jason stared at him, wondering what was going through Motor’s head now.

“I didn’t hear a gunshot,” Motor whispered as they huddled behind the costumes, “Did you?” Now that he thought about it, a gun surely would have been fired by now if it caused this much of a panic. “I didn’t,” Jason confirmed, attempting to peek through the costumes to watch more people run, “But whatever it is, we shouldn’t be standing around to find out.”

In order to figure out exactly what the panic was about, Jason focused his new hearing towards the groups of people hustling to get to safety. Though what he heard cleared nothing up at all.

“Run for your lives!”

“WHAT WAS THAT THING!?”

“Lucy, come on baby! We’re almost outside!”

“I’m not making it up!! It’s HUGE guys!”

“Think I saw it chasing some lady, this is our chance!!”

It had left him with more questions than answers. They couldn’t have been talking about him as he was nowhere near the scene of the crime and the last he checked was his normal height. But, if the involuntary giant was with Motor, then what the hell else could they be referring to? Motor himself seemed to tune in the best he could. With his curly bangs covering his eyes, Jason found it hard to decipher if Motor had come to his senses yet. Nevertheless, someone had to use their common sense at that moment, and it sure would not be Motor.

“L-let’s get out of here,” Jason shuddered as he turned to Motor, and witnessed one of the most horrifying things imaginable to him. A dark brown eye pierced through Motor’s bangs had its full attention completely focused on the little office rat. That sizzling stare burned into Jason’s mind as it was the telling sign of a reckless idea being born with full immunity to doubt.

“Jason,” Motor said, “Someone is in deep shit right now and needs your help.”

Hearing the unexpected serious tone Jason had thought Motor could never possibly possess, his face turned completely pale as he began to involuntarily shiver. Shaking his head, Jason tried to mutter out excuses though his disbelief. “Wh-what?!” Jason squealed, “I-I can’t do anything about this, we should get somewhere safe-”

A harsh, jamming finger into his sternum which took Jason’s breath away. “You have the power,” Motor argued, “Are you just gonna run away to do the safe thing, or the right thing?”

This was one of those rare times where Jason could peek behind Motor’s bangs and saw those judgemental eyes stare deep into his soul. His resolve crumbled, unsure what the correct answer had to be in this situation. Never in his life he was depended on like this and merely asking something like this crushed Jason. “I… I can’t-” Jason sputtered, unable to give a simple reply as his scared eyes stared back at Motor.

His fingers gripped into the plastic of the mask he had been holding onto.

“...Oh- oh bugger.”

---

Natasha’s shoes skidded as she sprinted around the corner, not bothering to look behind her as she heard a storefront’s windows shatter. Unfortunately, this didn’t buy the time that Natasha wanted. In the matter of seconds, the pursuit continued as if the thing didn’t just tumble through a wall of glass.

The unnatural footfalls of the towering thing grew louder as it rapidly gained ground towards Natasha, who had burst into a full on sprint for her life. Her mind still held the glimpse of that living art school project and the unidentifiable wet substance that dripped from its claws. Out of everyone else in the mall, it had its eyes dead set on the prey it picked to give chase. Natasha wasn’t sure why, but this wasn’t the time to stop to ask questions.

Her feet hit the laminated floors as her chest burned with every quick breath.

She thanked herself for not going with the low-heels today instead choosing her casual white tennis shoes. It had done her a favor in running away from the ghastly creature behind her.

Natasha’s skin raised goosebumps from the frigid breath tracing the back of her neck.

To her horror, she found they were heading towards the end of the floor that had nothing but a white plastered wall that had spelled out a grim fate for her. Natasha only had a couple of seconds to look around for a way out, as death trailed at her heels. At that moment, she saw the escalator which was devoid of people. Suddenly, the inner urge of her rebellious days long past called to her.

She acted upon it.

In one swift skip, she jumped onto the escalator railing and had dodged a swing from the beast, her backside landed on the rail. Swiftly, she slid down the railing, freedom blowing through her pink curls. Pure glee rushed through her heart, however it was brief as she attempted to hop off of the rail.

Natasha was rudely reminded that she wasn’t fifteen anymore as she tumbled a few feet and didn’t make the graceful landing as planned. With a yelp, she fell onto her side and ended up rolling on to her back. Her trendy glasses broke in half on the floor and her hat floated into the mall’s koi fish pond.

Just before she could even think about getting up, its claws slammed right along her shoulders. The crackle of laminate filled her ears and the chilled breathing sunk into her spine. Before she could even register it, she had been caught.

“No no NO NO NO!!” Natasha croaked, “Not like this!” Pleading seemed to just bounce off the beast as it drew closer to her face, making no noise other than its scrapes on the tile floor. She tried to get up, push it away or anything, but her limbs were tired from running. Everything shut down as the end grew closer. The adrenaline pumping through her veins had blinded her to the mascara dripping off her face and how her throat had become hoarse from screaming.

Regrets sprouted from the depression her mind had cultivated. She should have stuck with her musical passions instead of safe corporate work. Maybe even sucked it up and just tried to ask Jason out on a date. Man, calling her ma first from time to time wouldn’t have hurt. Did she really need to pick up these video games today?

The blinding maw was open wide, and she would soon find her fate to be a cruel one. Her eyes closed shut, ready for the end.

“H-h-hey, y-you there!”

The icy grasp of death suddenly released, and Natasha heard a deep voice give a frightened screech. “Leave her al-AAAH!” Yelled the voice, “Bloody h-hell what are you!?”

Natasha felt the overbearing presence above her shuffle away and she felt safe enough to open her eyes to see what brave idiot was dumb enough to get its attention. Turning her head she saw a guy, who began to slowly retreat. He looked like he ran out of ideas for a Halloween costume; dressed in all black clothing that covered just about everything except his face, which was covered by a knock-off slasher hockey mask.

Natasha could tell right away that he bit off more than he could chew, especially since he wasn’t even holding anything to defend himself with. She could only push herself up as she witnessed the stranger take shaky steps away from the approaching monstrosity.

“U-Uhm, sorry that was rude of me wasn’t it?” The stuttering stranger spoke, his voice became hoarse with fear, “See, you’re causing a huge ruckus and hurting people, d-do you understand what you’re doing?”

It towered over the skinny man. The full height of this thing had to have been almost twice as big as him. Even if the creature didn’t have long crystalline claws and a mouth a dentist would faint at, the idiot had no chance. While it was hard to gauge from where Natasha was prone, she could tell the pleads from behind the guy’s mask had not gotten through to that thing at all. An attempt to peacefully negotiate had been done in vain.

Natasha pulled herself up off of the ground and leaned forward to get a better look as she debated if she should make a run for it. While it would have been the safer option, she thought it cruel to leave this guy alone with that B-movie abomination. One glance was all it took for her to notice that they were the only ones in the mall, and she didn’t hear sirens. Worst of all, she saw the monster slowly lower its arms and bend its legs, just as if it was about to pounce on the shivering man who obviously froze in fear.

“Hey!” Natasha shouted, “Watch out!!”

The masked figure’s head jerked towards her direction, followed by a surprised gasp as he visibly was taken aback by her presence. Natasha could not even comprehend what happened next. She had to have been trapped in a nightmare conjured by her anxieties and caffeine overdose. In one blink, the masked stranger’s height lurched upwards, and he had gained an unexpected height advantage over the monster. Visibly cold vapor hissed through its ‘skin’ as it backed away, if only for a moment. From what Natasha could tell, the stranger didn’t expect this change either as he looked down to investigate his hands with a shaking head. Though the match up changed quite a bit, the monster had already lowered itself, disregarding the change entirely.

Unfortunately, the now-giant man didn’t notice it pouncing on top of him until it was already too late. The only thing he could do was to flinch backwards to stop the thing from slicing his head off, but alas, the glowing, blade-like claws scraped down his arm. A pained shriek rang out before a slam in the chest interrupted the man as the creature barged into him. Blood dripped onto the laminate floor as he shoved the beast aside with both arms. The stoney creature fell under its own momentum into an abandoned hot dog stand. Natasha stood up onto her feet, still trying to process the scene unfolding in front of her. This seemed to be a chance to get away from the insanity she’d had been thrown into, through her wet eyes locked on to the wounded giant. He had looked back at her, she could see his dilated pupils as he held his trembling arm. The stranger then dashed towards her direction.

Natasha backed away, preparing to make a run for but found herself cemented to the floor. To her horror she spotted the creature getting up from the greasy remains from the stand as if it was nothing. The fear upon her face caused the giant to look over his shoulder to see what she was gawking at.

That is, until he tripped over the edge of the koi pond and fell right into it.

Water splashed about and turned red from the blood seeping out of the masked giant’s wound. He had a rather difficult time getting out of the water, unfortunately, the creature had seen this and made a slow stride to collect his head. Tiles cracked under its weight as it approached the fountain, looking down at the incapacitated giant who was struggling with his pain.

However, before it could leap onto the masked man, one of its feet landed on a stray puddle. Immediately it yanked itself back with a loud hiss as vapor rose from the affected foot. From where Natasha was standing, she could see the obsidian-like skin under its foot dull into an ugly gray and the light leave the pulsing blue crystals. Within the pond, the masked giant scrambled, not realizing the creature had halted its pursuit and wobbled back up to his feet. He leaped from the pond clumsily and tried to run past Natasha as if she wasn’t even there. As it didn’t want its prey to get away that easily, it readied itself and leaped across the pond as if it was nothing. The beast slammed down onto the other side despite it limping on its poor foot and made a bloodthirsty dash towards the wounded giant. Natasha took a step away from the scene, nearly slipping on ice. “WOA- huh!?” Natasha yelped as she saw that the spots where the monster had been had been frozen completely with the puddles becoming black ice. Remembering some parts of her highschool chemistry class, an idea sprouted from her mind. Her attention went back to the fight as she heard a loud clash.

The masked giant had grabbed a plushie stand and rammed it into the beast to stop its chase. While that idea might have worked out, the creature knew better as it grabbed the stand by the sides of it. Large bright teeth emerged from its gaping maw and it snapped its mouth in the middle of the stand, including an unlucky teddy bear. The stand had been torn in half to the giant’s horror and it didn’t take long for the beast to leap from the remains of the stand. A loud thump echoed across the empty mall’s lobby upon impact. Natasha saw the beast’s arms slam down against the giant man and pin him to the floor. She shivered, knowing that what that brave moron was seeing was that eldritch gullet. His screams then snapped her out of her inaction. She couldn’t just stand there and let an innocent… man? Die. Not because of her.

Quickly, her eyes darted around the mall, trying to see anything she could use to save his life. Her desperate mind then spotted the fire hose box across from where she was standing. Natasha made a bolt for it as the beating continued.

“AA- St-AH! Get-” The giant stammered as claws slashed into his chest, though an unexpected roar came from him. “GET THE FUCK OFF!!” He yelled as his good arm swung from the side and plowed into the predator’s head. It reeled back in agony, its growls sound less like an animal and more like crumbling glass. No longer was it holding him down as it held the side of its face, though it still was in grabbing distance from the giant man. The time to intervene was now, or more regrets would follow her.

The door to the fire hose box slammed open, and she tugged the end of the hose out of its roll. The beast made a deep rumbling noise as it glared down at its exhausted opponent with its blazing blue sockets. Before it could lash out at him once more, a daring human caught it off guard by jumping in between them.

“HEY UGLY!” Natasha yelled, hose ready in her hands, “WHERE’S YOUR RAINCOAT?!”

[Image Description: From the point of view of the monster, Natasha is spraying a fire hose at it while yelling. The quote “Random guy” on the floor is staring at her in amazement/fear for her safety.]

The water spouted from the nozzle and drenched its face completely. Vapor poured from the graying skin from the beast as it writhed in agony from the water pouring into every crack along the surface. It scattered away from the onslaught but it was already too late for it to run, as its feet twitched for the last time before they froze completely. Pieces of its arms withered and crashed onto the floor. To what Natasha could guess was a scream, it had made a loud engine like roar before the light from its eye sockets dimmed.

From a creature made of crystal, it stayed a mere frail stone statue for only a couple of seconds as the pieces of it cracked onto the tiles, and what remained was a pile of rocks with its vapors dissipating into the air.

Nothing but quiet running water filled the mall lobby.

A clatter of a fallen hose's nozzle followed the moment of silence that was shared between the two of them in the lobby. If she wasn’t on high alert from the impossibly giant man behind her, Natasha felt like she could collapse onto the floor into her favorite fetal position for a mental breakdown. Her dim wine eyes held a haunting staring contest with the frozen remains of the thing that almost ended both of their lives. However, it was cut short as her shoulder jumped from the loud groan behind her. The winds of movement brushed against her back, causing her to turn around to face him.

Now that she didn’t have to worry about meeting her maker early, Natasha had a better look at her terrifying rescuer. It was as if he was a slasher villain that escaped his own B-movie. He had just about everything; The black clothing, emotionless hockey mask, incredibly imposing height and what she could see, his squinting eyes staring daggers at her. Despite his appearance however, the giant could only barely sit himself up and was clutching his chest, hissing in pain from the beating he took. Too many questions ran through her mind to pick which one she should ask first. Since she couldn’t find the words, the giant used his own.

“Uhm.. you alright?” he asked softly, his hands trembling.

“I-I guess,” Natasha finally answered with a dry mouth, “Should be asking you that.” She pointed at his chest, however her eyes gazed over the torn sleeve that revealed a rather nasty wound.

The giant’s head followed her finger and he slowly unclenched his hands, shaking and definitely had his blood on them. Even with a deep voice, he uttered a squeal upon seeing the deep scratch on his forearm and pulled it close to his chest. Natasha attempted to lean a little to get a better look, however he pulled it away from her view.

“O-oh that?” he spoke, chuckling nervously through his strained voice, “It’s just a scratch, no big deal haha…” Even with his eyes hiding behind the black mesh within the mask, Natasha could tell that he was looking away from her desperately. Dude looked like a serial killer, but he acted like a puppy who’s paw got accidentally stepped on.

“You sure?” Natasha insisted as she reached her hand out timidly to him, “We should get that wrapped up atle-”

Before she could finish, wind knocked Natasha back as the giant jumped back up to his feet. Thankfully, she managed to not fall over, though her heart rate multiplied seeing him reach his full height. Even while he was hunching over his obvious wound, her stomach dropped as he was tall enough to punt her like a football if he wanted to.

“That won’t be necessary!” he said, “I’ll just go and clean it… out…” The giant paused in his spiel, unintentionally looming over the shivering woman. Standing within his shadow, that survival instinct re-gained the hold of her heart. A tiny voice in her mind tried to remind her he had just saved her life, however she did not like the way he was staring her down.

“You’re adorable,” he finally spoke.

“E-excuse me!?” Natasha yelled, unsure if she had misheard him.

“AH- I mean,” the giant clumsily backpedaled as he waved his hands, “Sorry! You’re just so small now.”

Dread crawled up her spine as it felt like his examination was piercing through her. Natasha shuffled away from him as tears welled up in her eyes. “Y-you’re goddamn huge,” Natasha whimpered as she grabbed the sides of her fizzled hair, “Ain’t no way this is actually happening to me right now...”

As if a switch flipped, the giant perked up and put hands down gently, backing up to give her space. “Oh, bugger!” the giant pleaded, “I forgot I’m… this.” His sigh flickered through the audio processor in the mask, looking away from her and drifting his eyes to the ruined pond.

He began talking again, though Natasha couldn’t exactly hear what he was saying over the loud thoughts crashing into her head. Ringing in her ears deafened her as everything about this situation had just seeped in. This wasn’t normal. Her fingers became numb and suddenly it became harder to breathe. She almost died. She could have died.

Natasha was staring into her muddled reflection of the cracked laminate floor, not even hearing anything rather than the noise popping in her ears and her own sobbing.

Why did life have to be so cruel?

A droopy hat pushed her out of her spiral as it suddenly filled her vision. Natasha blinked and realized it wasn’t just any hat, it was her hat that fell into the pond. Though soaked through and tinted red on some of the edges. Her shaking hands reached up to grab the sides of it and looked up. The giant had been holding her hat in one of his hands while kneeling to her as if he was some dashing knight. Their eyes met for the first time, yet it felt so familiar.

“You deserve better than this Natasha.” He spoke with as much warmth as he could with an artificially deepened voice. While this gesture would have been sweet, charming even given the circumstances, the calm Natasha felt flickered out as his hand suddenly doubled in size. She couldn’t help screaming loudly from the sudden growth spurt as his entire being grew bigger right in front of her. He’d let go of the hat at this point, startled by her outburst and stood up in order to give her space. There wasn’t much clearing he could give, considering his back had bumped into the balcony of the second floor. The hot dog stand’s remains also had to get a word in as one of his shoes slipped on spilled grease, which caused him to fall back down onto the mall’s tiles. The sound of the cracking floor followed as Natasha backed herself into a pillar opposite of the walking disaster.

“Oh my god, I am so sorry I didn’t mean to-” the giant tried to plead to the sobbing woman who had already been through enough that day. However, his attempt at smoothing things over was interrupted by a yell that came from down further into the lobby.

“Yo, did you show that thing who’s boss-” Motor shouted as he ran towards the scene, though his jog turned into a full on sprint as he saw who had become a sobbing mess, “NATASHA! WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING HERE?!”

Light returned to Natasha’s eyes, and didn’t waste any time running towards her best friend. Upon impact with Motor’s large frame, she squeezed him in a tight hug as she wept. Of course Motor returned the favor with a hug, though spiked a glare at the disruptive man taking up a quarter of the mall’s first floor.

“Man, I have never been happier to see you!” Natasha wailed as she pulled away from him with her hands on his arms, “This gotta be a nightmare right!?”

“Uuhhh,” Motor said, his eyes quickly checking Natasha for any signs of injuries, “You alright?”

“NO I’M NOT ALRIGHT!” Natasha shouted, her hyperventilating returning as she gripped the sides of her frizzled pink hair. Though Motor put a stop to that with a chapped hand on her shoulder.

“Breathe sis,” Motor said, herding Natasha to follow him out, “Let’s get you out of here.” Natasha kept her head down as she gripped the brim of her hat. She didn’t want to look at the chaotic scene around her anymore and just wanted to wake up in her bedsheets . However, their walk outside was halted as Motor looked over his shoulder at the quiet giant.

“Hey big guy!” he yelled, “You might want to get out of here, I saw the feds getting ready to raid the place, the back entrance is clear!” Natasha couldn’t see it, but she heard a loud grumble behind them and felt the vibrations through the floor.

“Thanks… kind stranger,” the giant retorted, moving towards the other direction on his hands and knees. She heard him mumble ‘ows’ and sounds of struggle against concrete.

Curiosity got the better of her and she turned her head to look back at the giant. Her large rescuer was attempting to shove himself underneath a balcony and into the alcove that had the mall’s back exit. Though he wasn’t having much luck trying to crawl into it on the account of the fact that he was basically two stories tall. He sighed, turning back, and their gazes had once again met. His eyes were hazel. That flame of similarity was still there, despite everything. The only thing Natasha could muster was a small flap of her hand before being shown the door.

What a terrible day off this was.

---

“You people are worthless,” Blaire slammed the police car’s door shut as she was reprimanding a small group of quivering officers. One of the piglets, the one who gave the news to the government operative, stuttered in his words as he fiddled with his belt.

“Ma’am, you need to understand that the claims made about the situation were not believable,” he said, sweating bullets from the stare down he was receiving from Blaire, “How were we supposed to realize that the reports of an actual monster rampaging at the mall were credible calls?” The soul nearly left his body when a finger jabbed into his chest, nearly stabbing through his bullet-proof vest.

“Prank or not you should have sent SOMEONE to the scene!” Blaire shouted, her gaze burning up the officer’s will to protest, “Lives could’ve been lost for Christ's sake!” The officer only nodded his head like a dog as she removed her finger with the world’s heaviest eye roll. As it seemed like the day would not get any better from there, Blaire shoved a hand into her jacket pocket and pulled out her sliver lighter. “You’re all lucky my people arrived in Seattle before this shit show,” Blaire said as she was fishing out a cigarette, “Keep away the press and uninvolved civilians, tell them nothing, and let us handle the rest.”

Blaire didn’t waste the rest of her breath and carried herself with purpose into the frantic parking lot. Ambulance sirens backdropped the chaotic parking lot, as her agents attempted to keep the witnesses from asking too many questions to prevent the situation from boiling over. Knowing today was going to be a long one, Blaire lit her cigarette and took a deep puff while surveying the scene unfolding before her. It didn’t take long for her to hear fast paced footsteps trail behind and an unconfident voice spoke up.

“Uhm- Ms. Witch?” A woman dressed as if it was her first day at a clerk job said, fumbling a tablet to her chest, “I have the diagnostics ready for you.” Blaire didn’t bother to look back at her and kept on walking closer to the mall’s building. “Walk with me,” Blaire ordered. The girl picked up her pace and started going through the notes she had written on the tablet while trying to not make direct eye contact with her superior.

“Sweep is already almost done collecting all the samples from the entity within a mile radius, and there have been no reported casualties from the initial incident,” stated the informant as she struggled to keep up, “They’re currently trying to figure out how to handle transporting the samples without them merging.”

That confirmed what Blaire had been suspecting when she read that light-weight documentation. The few experiments that had been conducted so far concluded that the alien mineral is strongly magnetic to many common metals, but especially magnetic to itself; the separate chunks seemed to fuse together on contact. She wasn’t even sure if ‘magnetic’ described this peculiar attraction appropriately.

Blair’s eyes landed on the torn open doors of the front entrance. “I’m assuming it’s been terminated,” Blaire said as she took another drag.

The new hire’s fingers tapped on her tablet as she bit her lip, “Yes?” she hesitantly answered, “Though Sweep have just found out water can completely neutralize the lifeform.” Blaire stopped in her tracks, causing a collision between her and the clumsy young woman as she smacked into her back. The informant stepped away quickly and sputtered out an apology. “Oh, my gosh I-I’m so sorry-”

“Nevermind that,” Blaire said as she turned around to face her with raised eyebrows, “What do you mean they just found out that water kills it? Why wasn’t this anywhere on the documents?”

“Well uh, I-I guess no one bothered to try? I don’t know ma’am,” the informant continued, “It’s been confirmed that the entire structure of the entity has a terminal reaction upon coming into contact with water.”

“Huh, well I’ll be,” Blaire responded as she tapped the burnt bit of her cigarette, “The bastards are invading the wrong planet, huh?”

“Actually, ma’am we can’t confirm sapience or intent at the moment,” the informant flipped through the reports, “Witnesses stated it was mindlessly rampaging during the entire event.”

“Same could be said of the military to be honest,” Blaire bluntly said as she watched a small crowd of teenagers being rounded up for questioning, “So, which group was able to terminate the thing? Sweep? Police? Or God forbid, Mall security?”

“About that…” the Informant said hesitantly with her eyes traveling to her feet, “It had been neutralized… by a civilian, ma’am.”

“Is that so?” Blaire asked, now giving full eye contact to the informant as the cigarette in her hand was gripped, “Who is it?”

The informant’s hand pointed towards an ambulance several meters away with a small team of EMTs tending to a pink-haired woman curled in a foil blanket. Nearby there was a tall shaggy man loudly arguing with a couple of her agents. “Those two were the only ones who know what happened to it,” the Informant clarified, “Though there is also-”

Before the informant could say anything else, Blaire dropped her cigarette onto the ground and dug in her heel to snuff it out. “Begin a Hamilton stratagem,” Blaire ordered as she strode towards the ambulance, “There was a severe gas leak that caused mass hysteria, delete any evidence to the contrary and administer amnestics if witnesses prove uncooperative.”

“But- but ma’am there’s something else you need to-” The informant didn’t get to finish as her higher up was already pushing her way through the crowd to get to that woman.

Upon the EMTs and agents realizing who had the audacity to interfere, they let the Witch through to the back of the ambulance where the lady in pink was sitting. At first glance, she did not seem to be the type to get into any sort of fight. She was hunched over as her knuckles were death gripping the blanket. One could only imagine what she saw with her petrified gaze that was staring into the parking lot asphalt.

Reality had been torn apart for this poor girl, soon enough Blaire will sew it right back up like nothing happened. Before that though, she needed that first hand information before it was lost. “Excuse me,” Blaire spoke up, pulling out her FBI badge from her pocket. The woman didn’t seem to hear her the first time, so she tried again.

“Excuse me,” Blaire restated, “Miss?”

“Those eyes…” The woman mumbled under her breath, still unresponsive to anything Blaire was saying. That was until a pair of fingers snapping right in front of her face yanked her back to the present. “HUH- Oh!” she yelped, finally realizing that someone was trying to talk to her, “Sorry! Uh, can I help you?”

“Yes actually,” Blaire said, flashing one of her trusty badges, “Agent Mansley, I'm with the FBI and I’m here to confirm a few things with you if I may?” That scared doe-look upon the woman’s face melted into an icy stare as she looked away from Blaire. “I already talked to the cops,” she grumbled, “Why do you gotta talk to me? Not like you’ll take it seriously either.”

Of course, the local police force seemed to once again muddle her investigation with their less than lackluster civilian relations.

“Because I want to hear it coming from a reputable source,” Blaire said as she crossed her arms, “It will only be a few questions and after that we’ll take care of you, miss…?”

The woman looked back at Blaire with full eye contact, keeping her walls up with skepticism. Despite having come out of Hell completely frazzled, she pulled out a mask of confidence with a deadpan expression. “Maryham,” she answered as she pushed some of her pink hair strands behind her ear, “Natasha Maryham.”

Filling that name in the back of her mind for later, Blaire lent out a hand to Natasha. As if on instinct, she had reciprocated with a very firm handshake only a corporate rung manager could give. “A pleasure to meet you Natasha,” Blaire said, “Promise this won’t take too much of your time, I’m sure you are very busy today.”

“Actually, this was my day off,” Natasha responded as her hands traveled onto her lap and fiddled with her sundress, “Wished I was working, in hindsight.”

“I can only imagine,” Blaire lied, pulling out her trusty pen and flipbook, “What happened?”

The mask slipped as it took Natasha more than a minute to gather her thoughts coherently just as expected. Having a few false starts with mumbling, Though when the witness could warm up to recount her terrible day, Blaire was surprised at the details this shaken person was able to give of the entire ordeal.

“I-I was in one of the stores shopping, ya know, as you do,” Natasha explained as her eyes drifted back to the asphalt, “And all of a sudden this… thing jumped out of nowhere, I guess it had a problem because it tried to kill me!”

“What did ‘that thing’ look like?” Blaire asked, her eyes taking a knowing glance at the bismuth dangling from her neck.

Natasha gripped the side of her head, fingers twirling through her curls. “I-I don’t even know how to put it,” she said, “You know claymation? Animated clay figures and stuff?”

“I’ve seen Wallace and Gromit before,” Blaire answered with a smirk, attempting to make eye contact with her. Though no matter how much she tried, this one seemed to evade her gaze. Not on purpose however.

“Sort of like that but,” she said, “It-it was like someone messed up making a dinosaur or something- and… uhm. Teeth. Lots of teeth.” Through her recounting of its appearance, her breath became staggered, and she heaved every breath. The woman coiled her hair around her fists, tighter and tighter, threatening to tear the hair out at the root. Blaire took it upon herself to hover a comforting hand over Natasha’s shoulder, not quite touching her.

It took only a moment for Natasha, who was just about to break into more tears, to look over at the offered hand and shake her head silently. The hand retracted, letting the woman’s tears shed for a long minute. Sniffling, Natasha wiped her eyes, the ruined mascara smearing upon her arm before she turned to the agent once again.

“That ain’t even the craziest part,” Natasha mumbled, her eyes traveling to find the words to explain, “When it… cornered me, some guy in a hockey mask got its attention.”

Blaire raised an eyebrow at this. She glanced back over to the large man that started to have a rather loud debate with one of her agents, noting the lack of a mask. Sure, it was rare that someone would play hero in situations like this, though it wasn’t impossible. Certainly wouldn’t be unwelcome. However, why didn’t the informant mention another witness at the scene? “This masked man saved you?” Blaire asked as she turned back to her interviewee, Natasha nodded.

Just as Natasha opened her mouth to continue explaining, Blaire asked another unprompted question. “Can you give me a description of him?” Blaire questioned as she actually wrote in her notepad, “I want to get information from him as well.”

“That’s the thing,” Natasha said, fingers fumbling, “He’s gone and, I-I don’t know how to put this but, he uh, wasn’t normal.”

Blaire looked up from her writing, staring at Natasha who seemed to be completely cognisant and stared right back at her. “Care to elaborate Ms. Maryham?” Blaire asked.

“If I told you that the guy grew ten feet tall, would you think I’m seeing things too?” Natasha responded, this time giving the agent full eye contact. Perhaps to see how Blaire was going to react, as if she expected the same brush off response the cops had given her. During her years of working for FAIRA, she’d become accustomed to finding the difference between people making stuff up for attention, figments of their imagination and the people that have actually seen something they shouldn’t have.

Just by the look in Natasha’s eyes, she definitely fell into the latter and that was a problem.

The EMT, who was standing by the two chatting, covertly waved a small vial of blood at Blaire’s direction. Question time was coming to an end and while there were a few more loose ends she’d like to tie up, she had a job to do. Closing the notebook, Blaire feigned confusion and asked, “Are you positive that’s what you saw?”

What light that was left in Natasha’s eyes dissipated, turning back to watch the pavement. “Knew you weren’t gonna believe me.” Natasha muttered, disappointed but not surprised. Keeping up with the act, Blaire gave a quick nod to the EMT and let him get Natasha’s attention.

“Sorry to interrupt,” the EMT said, “Ma’am we’re gonna need to get you on oxygen, we’ve detected carbon monoxide in your bloodstream.”

Natasha spun her head at him, worry plastered on her face. “Wh-what? ” Natasha asked, raising her voice, “Am I going to be okay?!”

The medical professional put a hand upon her shoulder and shook it gently, speaking in a soft voice as he administered his lies. “Oh, you should be just fine Natasha,” the EMT said, “We’re gonna put you on oxygen for about an hour and you should be okay to head on home.” He pushed the oxygen mask into Natasha’s hands, “Put the mask on, and breathe in, take the mask off, breathe out,” he instructed. Since she didn’t want to die, Natasha did as she was told. “Now if you’ll excuse me,” The EMT spoke as he grabbed a full syringe, “I’ll need to take blood work of your… expressive friend there.” And with that, he went to take care of the man shouting obscenities at the agents, thus leaving the two of them to chat.

“Carbon monoxide poisoning can cause hallucinations you know, ” Blaire off-handedly commented, “Think that’s what you saw in there.” Most people, when presented with a situation that challenges their reality, head straight into denial and try to come up with a normal explanation for it. However, sometimes they will dig deeper and become an issue that only an amnestic could solve. Even then, termination wasn’t out of the question either. It all depends on what reality the witness is willing to accept, and if they value their lives over the truth.

Blaire saw that thought spin in Natasha’s mind, when they are conflicted about which reality to accept to be true. “But- but it all felt so real,” Natasha sputtered as she took off the mask, “That thing literally tore apart the mall! How could I have made that up?!” She shook, holding both of her arms and had trouble catching her breath.

“Breathe,” Blaire spoke, forcing the mask back into Natasha’s mouth, “There was no monster, there was a gas leak. The monoxide’s gotten into your blood, convincing your brain you’ve seen something that wasn’t there. Hell, any crashing you felt was probably just a thousand feet, all stamping to get out of there. There’s no monster, you’re perfectly safe.”

Scared eyes stared at Blaire, though slowly, they dimmed as Natasha nodded along. Breathing in oxygen, and out of the mask just as she was told. Thankfully, this witness was not going to ask anymore questions, and they would not have to do this the hard way.

“Have a pleasant rest of your day ma’am,” Blaire said, “Feel better soon.” With that, Blaire left the ambulance and walked past the commotion of her agents corralling a rather frazzled brute of a man to an ambulance for a ‘blood test’. Right then it wasn’t a concern as they had a bigger problem on their hands.

Searching around the scene, she found her Informant tapping away at that damn tablet. “Informant,” Blaire hissed, causing the poor girl to nearly jump out of her skin. She spun around to attention.

“Y-yes ma’am?” whimpered the Informant.

“Why didn’t you inform me that there was a second anomaly?” Blaire asked as she loomed over her.

“With all due respect ma’am,” the Informant said, pushing up her glasses, “I tried to tell you earlier, but you told me to initiate the Hamilton stratagem.”

“That’s important information that should have been relayed immediately,” Blaire said, shoving the Informant’s shoulder, “Grow a damn backbone, and tell me what I need to know.”

On cue, the Informant looked back to her tablet and pulled up a video file. “Just as the incident occurred, this humanoid had appeared to fight the creature and inexplicably doubled his size during the confrontation,” the Informant told her superior, “We can’t gather information on where this man came from as it seems most of the cameras in the mall had been compromised right before he showed up, All we have is this security footage of the lobby to confirm his presence.”

Once the tablet was in Blaire’s hand, her eyes became glued to the screen. While the camera angle wasn't the best, being that it was on the third floor and pointed towards the lobby. She could still make out the last of the crowd storming out of the mall and not a moment later, Natasha slid and fell onto the lobby’s tiles. Knots tied in her gut, watching the initial anomaly pinning her to the floor. That poor girl indeed.

Then came the other anomaly, stumbling in from the corner of the video reluctantly. As he was covered from head to toe, it was obvious that he was hiding his identity for a reason. That reason quickly became apparent, watching the anomaly outgrow his opponent and somehow still got his backside handed to him. It was a pathetic attempt at vigilantism, there was no plan and his flailing around could barely count as a fighting stance. The woman he was attempting to save had to be the one to figure out to save both of them from it. Despite the dangerous negligence the giant shifter displayed, what truly made Blaire’s stomach drop happened after the creature was turned into rubble. Trembling fingers fumbled through her coat pocket to fish out another cigarette, placing the butt onto her lips as she focused on the giant’s movements when he attempted to hand the hat back to the lady.

She didn’t pick up on it at first, but the sudden twitch in his hands and what she could make out behind the eye holes of the mask, they were wide every time the giant grew. Clumsy footsteps backing away from the woman and having to painstakingly shove his body out of the lobby in order to leave the premises. He wasn’t in combat anymore, so why would he need to increase his size again if he wanted a simple escape? There was only one conclusion to be drawn; he didn’t have control over his growth.

“Informant, wrap up the cover up here as fast as you can,” Blaire ordered as she shoved the tablet under one of her arms, “I’ll meet with sweep in order to collect any DNA samples of this new anomaly immediately.” Just before she could storm off to the mall, a tug on her elbow caused her to glare back at the Informant stopping her.

“Yes Ma’am but,” the Informant said as she instantly let go of her superior, “Wh-what about the aliens? What should we do about them?”

“We can put aside a task force for that,” Blaire answered as she brushed off her arm, “A basic patrol protocol and water can take care of them.” Blaire lit the cigarette hanging from her mouth as she gave the order. “There’s a moron roaming the streets of Seattle that could bring humanity to its knees,” Blaire directed the informant as she blew a puff of smoke into the air, “and we need to track him down, do you understand?”

“I-I suppose so ma’am-” She didn’t get to finish raising her concerns as Blaire stormed towards the mall. There was no time to dawdle and second guess her judgment. Lives were going to be at risk and there was no telling when the giant was going to make himself known.

Exhaling smoke from her lungs, Blaire stared back down at the paused security footage. The frame where the giant’s eyes were briefly caught stared right back at her. Despite the good intentions he might have, a threat is still a threat at the end of the day.

She had to track this anomaly down. It was Blaire’s duty after all.

[Image Description: Blaire staring down at the tablet with a lit cigarette, the video is paused at the anomaly's face that looks forlorn. There is text on the picture stating “End of Act 1”] ------ Taglist: @satethesatelite @me-be-lurking @smolcomfycat

#heart thump #g/t #giant tiny #gt community #gt writing #gt #giant/tiny #giant #writing #creative writing #og story #monster #heartthump #I'm so sorry Natasha :(

34 notes · View notes