#He’s going to collage next year so I fear nothing is going to happen but-

[sarastellasari]

I might be seeing the boy I had a crush on when I was like 5 let’s see if he’s still hot 👀👀

[tarabyte3]

The Devil Makes Us Sin

Fandom: Luther, Luther: The Fallen Sun

Pairing: David Robey/F!Reader

Chapter 2/? (9.9k words)

->start at chapter 1<-

AO3 Link

Summary: Your life isn't perfect, and you don't enjoy moonlighting as a camgirl for so many repulsive men, but you need the money and it's yours. You're getting by just fine. You're content.

At least you thought you were. Then you get a strange text message. And you aren't sure if you're horrified or intrigued.

Warnings: Explicit rating, smut, stalking, spying, blackmail, manipulation, dubcon, dubious consent, Dom/sub, sadism, masochism, unprotected sex, oral sex, masturbation, mutual masturbation, choking, dirty talk, praise, humiliation, possessive love, yandere, minor description of gore, minor description of violence, murder, discussion of murder, shame involving sex work, light shaming of sex work, emotionally abusive mother, troubled mother/daughter relationship, fear of abandonment

A/N: I am having more fun than I probably should be writing this fic. New minor warning in the tags, but note that the troubled mother/daughter relationship and emotionally abusive mother tags are more prominent in this chapter!

Work title is from "Paradise Circus" by Massive Attack. Chapter title is from "Go to the Limits of Your Longing" by Rainer Maria Rilke. Text divider 1 is from William Blake's Pity. Text divider 2 is from Hans Melming's Earthly Vanity and Divine Salvation. Collage quote is from NBC's Hannibal (2013).

Chapter 2 - Let everything happen to you: Beauty and terror

You spend the rest of the day, and the next day after calling into work, pacing a circle in your living room and thinking about all the things he said to you—about you.

First and foremost: What would you do if you quit and ran?

Move? Get another office job?

No. Absolutely not. That's what the shitty voice in your head that sounds like your mother says you should do. But what do you want to do?

You can't remember the last time you really wanted anything. God, have you really become so miserable? You hadn't even noticed. You thought you were fine. Maybe your life hasn't turned out the way you'd expected, but it isn't horrible and you get by. Now, standing on the outside of yourself and looking in, you realize the only real joy you've had in years is insulting men on the internet. While you sit in your panties.

So what do you want?

You wanted to go to art school when you were younger, but your mother had put an end to that dream when you told her.

"Very few artists ever make it big or earn a living for themselves," she'd said, "and you aren't talented enough to be one of them."

So you'd gotten a business degree at university instead and hated every moment of it. For a salary that isn't even that impressive, especially for living in London. All so you could work for entitled, boring men that make inappropriate comments, take passes at all the women, and never face any consequences for it because it's a good ol' boys' club. Bunch of pricks. You hope that place burns. In fact, you're going to walk in and quit tomorrow. And it's going to feel so fucking good.

Unfortunately, you also stopped painting. After your own mother's repeated dismissal of your eighteen-year-old self's dreams and passion, whenever you picked up a paintbrush or a pencil, you felt horrible. Nothing you painted felt right again. Your confidence was gone. That spark. So now you don't even own any art supplies. You don't like the reminder.

You do still go to art museums and galleries and shows in the city, though. Walking through them as a child is what made you fall in love with it in the first place. She may have taken away your desire to create any yourself, but she could never destroy that love, try as she may. 

Art has always been something you've connected with better than you ever have with people. It's effortless. Even parsing through the depths of the most complex and visually abstract piece is less complicated than trying to navigate personal relationships. Because art asks nothing more of you than what you are willing to give.

Maybe you could try painting again for fun. The second bedroom could be a studio now that you no longer need it for filming. And you could get a job at a gallery because that, at least, would be something you enjoy, and you wouldn't have to worry as much about the pay. Or—

You could go to art school.

The thought makes you stop pacing.

Loads of people go back to school later in life nowadays. Especially for the arts because, after years of experience out in the world, they realize they want to follow their dreams instead. You wouldn't even have to be successful, but you could be happy.

For once in your goddamned life, you could be fucking happy.

Because of him.

You go back to pacing.

Is that what he meant when he said he could offer you more than just money? He could give you the opportunity to finally live—though that circles back around to the money, too. It creates the opportunity, after all.

Except you know it was more than that. He was offering you the opportunity to be seen. Something you don't have because there's no one that knows the real you. Not really. They would think you were horrible. You know from experience.

Sometimes you think you're horrible.

But he saw you. Maybe not all of you, but a surprising amount from such a small glimpse. What would he see if he could look deeper?

Would he still want to look? Or would he eventually be repulsed, too?

You go to stand in front of your laptop, which you keep powered down and closed now. You also unplugged your webcam, closed your blinds, and put little pieces of tape over both of your phone's cameras because you're convinced that's how he knew every time you were ready to block him. He was watching.

You don't think it can stop him from finding some way to keep tabs on you, but it'll slow him down. You wonder if that will amuse him or annoy him. Probably amuse him.

And why the fuck do you care? Why are you thinking about him at all? You don't even know who he is. Plus, he blackmailed and threatened you, for fuck's sake! You should be phoning the police! At the very least, you should never think about him again.

But you do. You think about him a lot. Because he could be almost anyone behind that anonymity, and the mystery and possibility are…interesting.

He clearly has money. He's smart and irritatingly perceptive. 'Don't forget he has a talent with technology apparently,' you think wryly—which is a massive understatement. He has to be some kind of tech guy, right? Who else can hack into all of your personal devices, track down phone numbers and addresses, uncover your passwords—which you've now changed as well, and poke around your bank records? So through the most basic deduction, you know that much at least.

But is he attractive? Funny? How old is he? Does he have hobbies that aren't stalking you? And can he carry on a conversation when he isn't hiding behind a screen? God, if he turned out to be just like other men and you had to listen to him prattle on, you might give up and join a convent for the vow of celibacy alone.

And, though you shouldn't even be having this thought, you can't help but wonder if he's good in bed. Would he get you off, or does he last thirty seconds and then roll over and fall asleep? You think that's a fair thing to be particular about. You're not about to waste your time only to never have an orgasm. You've done that plenty of times in your life already.

You should be worried that he's a serial killer and you're his next victim or that he's planning to keep you chained up in his basement or sell your organs on the black market. But if he wanted to do that, you'd already be dead because he's been watching you for months and you hadn't a clue. He's had plenty of opportunities.

Unless this is part of a game. 

You could always find out. He told you the link would stay active. You aren't sure if you want to click on it again, but you don't not want to.

No. It's too soon. Before you make any decisions, you should get your affairs in order because you have a former life to wrap up first. And you should give yourself time to process. To work through the fear, the anger, the curiosity, and, most of all, why it aroused you. Not just physically, you acknowledge, but mentally as well. There was something in your verbal sparring that appealed to you as much as it appealed to him. 

You want to know why. You want to understand the part of yourself that feels almost neglected now. Withered from disuse—from hiding behind the lie, as he might put it. And you can't face him again until you do because going back to him with your eyes wide open feels important. There can be no half measures.

What if you dive in and realize you've made a terrible mistake? That seems far more complicated than just walking away now while you have the chance. So if you click that link again, you want to be sure.

Then why do you keep finding yourself standing in your spare room and staring at your computer?

You close your camgirl account without any warning or final stream. Once you realize you never have to do it again, the thought of doing it even one last time is nauseating. There aren't many hoops to jump through, which surprises you. And hitting that confirmation button feels so amazing, you almost text the mystery number to say thank you. Almost.

Unfortunately, the month isn't even half over yet so you're immediately flooded with refund requests. They paid for a full month, after all. You roll your eyes as your phone starts vibrating with email notifications. Too bad for them that you read through the terms and service and know the website's refund policy. So you take one last pleasure in hitting decline on every single one.

You also quit your day job.

You walk in two days after your experience with the mystery man—late, holding a takeout coffee, and wearing jeans and sunglasses—and hand your notice to your boss. He uncomfortably asks why you're leaving the company, and you smile and tell him you found a different opportunity. When he asks where, you take more pleasure in declining to answer and taking a noisy sip from your cup. 

You plan to spend the rest of your time there doing absolutely nothing except scrolling through your phone or looking up art schools on your work computer. Hopefully they'll tell you that you don't have to finish up your two weeks just to get you to leave. You could've simply walked out without giving them notice at all if you really wanted. But after a single day of watching your boss squirm as he tries to figure out how to handle you, you know you made the right decision.

Now you need to make a few more.

You also learn something about yourself. You learn the thing that's been missing and why you enjoyed being so openly cruel on camera. You have been hiding behind a lie.

More specifically, you've been denying a simple truth to them and to yourself: You're better than all of them, and you take extraordinary pleasure in reminding them.

It feels good to finally be yourself. To stop pretending to care about all of the bullshit you've never cared about. Office politics, your so-called friends' newest drama, news that someone is getting married or having children, the latest show people are watching, sports, the weather, or the endless updates about small changes in people's lives. God, last week your coworker got a new car and would not shut up about all of the features. Oh, does it connect to Bluetooth, Sharon? Can you make phone calls from your steering wheel? How fascinating, please tell me more about how difficult it was to choose between a slate grey or tan interior, I'm sure I still have some will to live tucked away that you haven't drained yet.

Up until now, you've made yourself small. Palatable. You pretended to be normal. To want some of the same things everyone else wants so you fit in because you could hear your mother's voice in your head saying, "What would people think?" You bit your tongue so you didn't tell them to please just shut up. So when you finally got the chance to be honest on stream, you relished it.

Because before you were afraid that if you gave in to your darker impulses, you would take it too far. That it would turn you into a monster. You realize now they're the ones that are afraid. They can't wait to tear a woman down. To insult her, call her names, or to degrade her in hopes that will allow them to keep power over her. You were only worried about becoming a monster because you were told it was monstrous to be yourself. To know what you want and to take it. Especially when it's something you shouldn't want in the first place. Something improper.

Well, you're finally starting to figure out exactly what you want.

That evening after work, you sit in front of your laptop.

You haven't opened it yet. You're just sitting there, contemplating doing so because you want to know how it feels to consider taking the next step. If even doing that feels wrong, then you have an answer. That would make your decision easy.

But it doesn't. You reach out to rest your hand on top of the lid and have to stop yourself from opening it. One step at a time. To be sure.

You do that several more times throughout the evening before giving up.

You wake the next morning almost two hours before your alarm—because you had planned on sleeping in since you no longer care if you're late for work—and head straight to the other room. You slept like shit. All night you tossed and turned and fought getting up to pace more circles or to stare at your computer. Because you wanted to see how it felt to go further.

You frantically wrench open your laptop, desperate to finally know, and then you're staring at the black screen. There are smudge marks and some dust visible on it in the morning light filtering through your window. They mar your reflection as it peers, manic and disheveled, back out at you.

It still doesn't feel wrong.

How far can you go before it does? You press the power button.

It takes forever to boot up. Or at least it seems as if it does because your computer isn't that old. You're reminded of how it felt the last time you did this. How your heart had pounded out of fear. It's pounding now, but out of anticipation and impatience. When the login screen finally pops up, you have to retype your password because you hit the keys too quickly and make a mistake.

The sight of your desktop is a relief first because at last you'll have more of an answer to sit with. Then you feel…nothing. Well, no, not nothing. Just an absence of the fear and revulsion you had been looking for. There is definitely something there—nameless and building in your stomach, and crawling its way into your chest.

You move the mouse pointer around the screen. Out of habit, you open Instagram. You manage to scroll for about thirty seconds before you sigh in disgust and take the steps to fully delete your account. Then you go through the rest of your social media and delete or deactivate all of those as well. There isn't a single thing on any of them you care about enough to save. It's freeing in a way you hadn't expected.

You find yourself moving to open your inbox before you finally tell yourself no, that's plenty far for now. You've pushed this enough for one go. Besides, it's six thirty in the morning. You don't even know if he's awake, and you still have work—as much as you don't care about that part. It puts an expiration on doing it now and you don't want to feel rushed.

Instead you get up, go take a long shower where you sing to yourself for the first time in years, and take your time getting ready. You're going to wear a low cut top and a high slit skirt today, which are against the dress code like the jeans were, just to really get under their skin.

You leave your computer on and open. You also plug your webcam back in. You know it's going to send a message, and you want him thinking about what that could be.

Day two of work is just as satisfying as day one. More so because so many of them are flustered by a bit of cleavage and thigh. As if they've never seen either before. You briefly imagine wearing a high collared Victorian dress and scandalously baring your ankle while they gasp and clutch at their chests.

They still don't say anything, but you catch your boss and a few of the other various managers watching you resentfully from across the open floor over the half walls of the cubicles—you didn't even have a full cubicle for an office. How depressing is that? You give them a little wave and a wink back, and it sends them scurrying off.

On your way home, you get a takeout because you think you've earned a curry, and you grab a beer from your fridge. Then you kick off your heels and flop onto the couch. You don't turn on the TV because there's nothing that will entertain you as much as reminiscing about the last few days.

Well. Almost nothing.

You set the half empty takeout container down on your coffee table, the distraction and enjoyment of it suddenly gone. Because now you're thinking about him and your laptop again. You know it's still turned on in the other room, not twenty feet from you. All you would have to do is go in there, open your email, and click the link. It would be that simple.

You made sure it was that simple this morning, you realize.

You get up from the couch, but instead of heading to the spare room, you go to the bathroom. Then you examine yourself in the mirror to make sure you don't have curry stains on your lips or chin. Your makeup is still fine because, well, you did basically nothing at work all day so there's no need to mess with it. Plus, if you have a fresh face of makeup, he'll know you touched it up beforehand. For him. And you can't have that.

You have your hair pinned up, though, so you take that down for something more casual and less office professional. You also undo the top button on your already low dipped blouse. If you move a certain way or lean forward too far, the cup of your bra is visible. It's a wine color that stands out against the champagne of your shirt. You hope it'll be enough of a distraction to throw him off, even for a moment.

Once you're satisfied with your appearance, you make your way to the bedroom. But before you sit down, you toss the annoying, frilly pillows off the bed and into the hallway—you have to resist tossing them out the window—and you throw the blanket on there instead. It looks less ridiculous that way and more like an actual bed someone might sleep in. It also helps you feel like you're truly moving on from that chapter of your life.

Finally, you're in front of your computer. You've been looking forward to this part all day because it's a crucial step. If you can do this and still be okay, you know you're ready.

It takes one click to pull up your inbox.

You pause and wait for some kind of revelation or sign, but none come. There's only the same eager curiosity you've been struck with the past few days. The familiar anticipation of knowing. You want to sit with it a minute, just in case it takes a bit to creep up on you. So you clear out the spam and gleefully deny a few more refund requests in your second account first to tidy everything up. Then, with nothing left to distract you and no more excuses to put it off, you open the email.

The address it was sent from is a random series of letters and numbers. You hadn't noticed that before, you only wanted to know what the message said. You wonder if it's even a real email address. Whether he took the time to make it, carefully crafting each step as he set the snare for his trap. And here you are, stepping right back into it—assuming you had escaped it at all.

The link stares back at you.

You hover over it, only to find that you're nervous. How can you be nervous? You weren't even nervous the first time. Scared and angry, yes, but not this. This is something else. But is it enough to stop?

Absolutely not.

What's wrong with you? Why are you second-guessing yourself now? You want this. At the very least, you want to know more. So why deny yourself? You said you were done doing that. No more letting other people's standards and expectations control you. You take what you want. Who cares why?

'Because he did see you, that's why,' your mind supplies before you can stop it. That flutter in your stomach returns. With a strange rush of confidence, and before you can second guess yourself again, you click the link.

When the site loads, you half expect him to already be there. But he isn't. So you sit there, alone in the chatroom, staring at your own face. After a few moments, you check—and recheck—your hair and makeup. Then you berate yourself for fretting. You're better than this, even though you know your appearance is one of the few weapons in your arsenal that you can use against him.

Eleven minutes pass. Each one feels longer than the last. You want to get up and pace some more to let off your nervous energy, but you don't want him to show up and see you panicking. It would start this whole thing off on the wrong foot. Namely, with you at a disadvantage.

Just when you start to think you've made a mistake and a complete fool of yourself because he's not going to even show up, that black square appears in the corner with an electronic chime.

You stare at it, wide-eyed.

You hadn't really thought past this part. You were too focused on simply preparing yourself to click the link. Now you aren't sure what to say. So you wait again, only to be accompanied by silence. The chat box sits empty.

He's waiting for you, you realize.

No. He's trying to force you to give in and speak first so he has the upper hand.

So, he likes to be in control, then. Makes sense, given how all of this started in the first place. Now the only question is how in control he likes to be. Because the thought isn't necessarily unappealing.

"Hello," you finally say quietly.

I wasn't expecting you back so soon.

You can feel his smirk through the text. Oh right, he's infuriating. You scowl at your screen. "First message and you're already making me regret this."

Come now, I think I'm allowed to savor an I told you so, given the circumstances.

"Yep, this was a mistake." You move to grab your mouse and close the window.

I can make it up to you.

That makes you stop.

"And how are you going to do that?" You ask with suspicion.

Ask me a question.

"Any question?" You lean forward and rest your folded arms on the desk, intrigued and not bothering to hide it. That's why you're here, after all. To learn more about him. You can see your bra peeking out on the screen, and you hope now he's feeling something other than smug.

Within reason.

"Aha, there's the catch. Can't have me getting too clever, can you?" You tap your finger on the edge of your keyboard as you consider what you want to ask. You know he won't do something like turn on his camera or show you his face, and most of your other questions about him will require more trust first. So what will he give you?

"What's your name? It seems only fair I know that at the very least since you know so much about me."

Interesting question.

My name is David.

"David?" You repeat out loud, surprised.

Yes.

"Hmm. I wasn't expecting David."

What were you expecting?

"I don't know. Something unbearable like Reginald or Bertram. David is so…" You wave your hand in the air as you search for the word.

So what?

"Unassuming." You tilt your head. "Are you unassuming, David? Someone that everyone looks at, but no one ever sees?"

See, you are very clever.

"It's one of my better qualities, David."

I enjoy hearing my name on your lips.

"Oh, do you?" You cock an eyebrow.

If I were there with you, I would like to see what else I might enjoy from your lips.

You surprise yourself by blushing.

Clearly you might enjoy it, too.

"Is this how you think you're going to win me over? Saying filthy things to me? Because I can get back onto my stream for that." You try to sound unimpressed rather than flustered.

Not at all. Saying filthy things to you is just a bonus. Especially when you blush so nicely for me.

"You caught me off guard, that's all."

I'm sure. Not that I want to seem ungrateful, but why are you here?

"Well, my life didn't implode, which means you kept your word."

I did.

"Not that it would have mattered anyway because I quit both of my jobs, deleted all of my social media accounts, and, frankly, I realized I don't give a shit what my mother thinks." In a lower voice you add, "In fact, you might actually be doing me a favor there." 

Did it feel good?

"It really did." You want to groan and relish in it because you've never felt this free before. It was marvelous. You just don't want to do so in front of him.

I'm glad. Do you trust me now?

"Absolutely not," you laugh. "But I suppose I'm…"

I intrigue you.

"I wouldn't go that far, but you have my attention. Now I want to figure you out."

Not because of the money?

You bite the inside of your lip as you consider how to respond. "I thought about that a lot, actually. And the answer is no, not because of the money. If it had been a factor in my decision at all, I wouldn't be here."

So you're here to satisfy your curiosity.

"Among other things." You give the camera a heavy lidded glance.

Sounds promising.

Will you leave when you're satisfied?

"I suppose that depends on how satisfied I am." A coy grin tugs at the corner of your mouth.

Then maybe I shouldn't satisfy you at all.

"Oh no, you'll definitely want to avoid doing that. Or else I might get bored and leave anyway."

Ah. We can't have that, now, can we?

"No we cannot." Then you grimace and ask, "You don't talk about things like sports or politics by way of conversation, do you?"

No.

"No interest in keeping up with the lives of acquaintances or the royal family?"

No.

"Thank god," you sigh in relief. "I'm done politely listening to people blather on so that would have been a deal breaker."

Lucky for me, then.

You really have had an exciting few days. I must say, this new confidence suits you. You look lovely.

"Thank you." You let out a genuine smile. "I feel like I can breathe for the first time in…well, a while. I suppose I have you to thank for that."

You do, but I must admit it was not a selfless act. I wanted to see you like this and I am enjoying the fruits of my labor.

"Only like this?" You intend for it to sound teasing, but anticipation bleeds into your voice. 

For now.

Your heartbeat stutters in your chest. "Can I ask you more questions?"

Of course. As long as you understand I may not answer them yet.

"That's fine." You shrug. "What you choose not to answer will be telling enough."

Very clever girl.

"Okay, next question," you blurt out to avoid blushing again, only to realize you didn't have a question ready. So you ask the first thing that comes to mind. "Are you rich?"

Yes.

"Yeah, that one seemed fairly obvious." You glance up at the camera. "How rich?"

I thought you weren't here because of the money.

"I'm not! I'm simply curious. And just because I don't care about it doesn't mean it's not a part of who you are."

Be honest. You're a little bit interested in the money.

"Fine," you say begrudgingly. "It's on the list of perks, but it's at the end. It wasn't a factor in why I'm here, and it won't affect how this turns out. How's that?"

Better. You know I enjoy your honesty.

So what's at the top of the list?

"Well, it was whether or not you would eventually bore me to death, but that doesn't seem to be a pressing concern."

I'll take that as a compliment.

What about now?

"I suppose now it's figuring out what you look like. Though I should be asking whether or not you're a dangerous man since you stalked and blackmailed me."

Now there's a question.

Well, go on. Ask me.

"Alright," you laugh. "Are you a dangerous man, David?"

Yes.

You blink in surprise because you weren't expecting him to just say yes. "How so?"

Where's the fun in that? I thought you were going to figure me out.

"It was worth a shot," you mumble to yourself. You adjust in your seat as you think of how to rephrase the question. "Are you dangerous to me?"

There's no response for several, very long, concerning seconds.

Would you like me to be?

You blush again, your face growing warm as it creeps over your cheeks. "I can't answer that."

Why not?

"Because I don't know what dangerous means."

Then I guess you'll have to find that out, too, won't you?

"It might be a little difficult when you're just text on a screen."

I don't have to be.

"Does that mean you'll turn your camera on?" You perk up in your chair.

No.

"What about your microphone?" You add hopefully.

Not yet.

You sag back into your chair, disappointed, but not surprised. "Then we continue to be at an impasse, don't we, David?"

You're still saying my name.

"I'm getting used to it. Would you like me to stop?"

No.

You lean in towards the camera, pouting your lips, and let your eyelids go heavy as you stare into the lense. "Is it getting you hard, David?"

Don't do that.

"Do what?" You ask innocently.

Talk to me like I'm just some man watching your stream.

"I thought you might like it."

I don't. I only want to hear those things when you mean it.

"How do you know I don't mean it now?" You flutter your eyelashes.

Remember, I can hear the difference.

"Fine," you sigh, your expression and body language immediately returning to normal. "Then I don't know what else to do here."

Ask me another question.

"Alright." You tap your chin in thought. You know you need to regain some power here because so far you've been doing more reacting to him than you intended. How can you throw him off balance? "Have you ever touched yourself while watching any of my streams?"

No.

"I find that surprising," you say with a hint of skepticism.

Why's that?

"Because you went to all this trouble of stalking me and blackmailing me. I assumed that meant you really enjoyed my streams."

I did enjoy your streams.

"But not in the way most men do." The disbelief is still evident in your voice.

It wouldn't have been to you, would it have? It would have been to the lie and, therefore, not particularly satisfying.

"True. But I thought you saw me anyway."

Seeing past it and seeing you without your mask are two very different things.

"Okay. So you don't get off to me."

I didn't say that.

"Oh," you breathe out. As if this is a shock to you. But as he said, suspecting and seeing him confirm it are two very different things. "What do you think about when you do?" You purr as you lean in close again, suddenly very interested in his answer.

Do you really want to know?

"I'm curious, remember?"

I think about you when you were angry and begging.

You lick your lips before you can stop yourself.

Only on your knees for me.

Then you swallow hard. Because that paints a descriptive picture of what he likes. You can see it clearly, and you would be lying if you said there wasn't a responding swell of dampness in your panties at the thought of it.

"Are you touching yourself right now?"

Would you like me to be?

Would you? Is that something you want? Because it occurs to you that you could have it if you want it. You could have him sliding his fist around his erection and moaning for you if you so choose.

"Not really." You give a dismissive shrug, both for him and yourself. And it's not a lie. The thought is appealing and you think it's something you want eventually. But you aren't ready for it yet. Not until you know more about him first. After all, he could be anyone behind that screen. It's both a blessing and a curse. "I don't think you would anyway. Not yet."

Why not?

"Because if you did all of this just for a wank, that would be so very boring. And you aren't that, are you?"

No. I'm not.

But you had to think about it.

"I did," you admit. "When I don't have to think about it first, then I'll give you your show. And my answer will be much different."

I look forward to stripping you of your hesitation.

You notice the word play and give the camera a quick, amused smirk. "You'll be wanting to answer more questions for me then."

Ask.

"Speaking of shows. Do you make a habit of watching cam girls?"

No.

"So just occasionally, then?"

No.

You stare at his responses in confusion. "How did you find me if you weren't scrolling through the website?"

Call it luck.

"They used me in an ad, didn't they?" You scowl.

If I said yes, would that satisfy your curiosity?

"You know it wouldn't."

Then we'll stick with luck.

"Infuriating," you huff. "Will you at least tell me eventually?"

Someday. But not today.

"Alright," you relent. "Because I'll be honest, I really am terribly curious. And I want to know what it was that gave me away."

That second part I can answer.

The first stream I saw, you told your audience that they were lucky to even see you on camera because in person you would never give any of them the time of day. Then you took a deep breath. To everyone else it may have seemed like you were gasping in horror at your own words, but I saw the shudder. The roll of your shoulders. The pleasure. You weren't horrified, you were delighted. That was the moment you had my attention.

You remember that stream. You remember the exact feeling he's describing. How you fought to seem contrite afterwards and arched your breasts towards the camera in hopes no one noticed.

But he noticed. He was there.

"And what was the moment you decided you wanted me?" You whisper, unsure whether your microphone even picked it up.

When you did the same thing the next night.

I thought you were very attractive, of course, but you were never more attractive than in that moment of truth. I wanted more of it.

So I looked.

"You didn't just look. You watched me," you say accusingly.

I did.

"When I was vulnerable and didn't know I was being watched."

Yes.

"Doesn't that make you feel…bad?" You finish lamely. "Or guilty? Even a little?"

Do YOU feel bad now knowing that I did?

"I…" You trail off. You did feel awful in the beginning. It made you sick with fear. How could it not? But now? After the last few days—after talking to him—do you still feel bad? "I'm not sure."

Because I don't.

"You should."

And you should probably still be angry and afraid, yet here we are.

Annoyingly, he has a point there. So both of you are a little fucked up then.

"I have another question." You consider the camera. "Why didn't you just approach me or hit on me in the usual way? Why blackmail me to get my attention?"

You've already said yourself that you find the usual things boring.

"I didn't mean stalking!"

Didn't you? You like the attention, even if you only learned about it afterwards.

'He's right again,' you think. You do like knowing that he was looking. That you've finally been seen by someone that likes what they see. Someone that understands. Which also gives you the answer to his earlier question: You don't feel bad about it, either. Not anymore.

God, so maybe more than a little fucked up.

"Okay, maybe I do. But I think this is more than that. Perhaps you feel confident through the screen in a way you aren't in person."

That's a good guess.

"Am I right?"

No. I simply enjoyed doing it this way and watching you squirm.

"Asshole," you mutter. "It had a very high potential to blow up in your face."

I disagree.

"What if I didn't watch that video of myself? What if I'd just blocked you?"

I would have sent it from a different number with additional threats.

"And if I still refused? Would you have gone through with it?"

I knew I wouldn't have to.

"That," you cross your arms, "is not an answer."

And yet it's my answer. I knew you wouldn't deny me.

You scoff in disbelief. "Are you unaccustomed to hearing the word no?"

People say no to me all the time.

"You really don't like it, though, do you?"

No. Do you?

"Of course not," you laugh. And you're surprised to hear that it's genuine rather than sarcastic.

I can't imagine people telling you no very often.

You laugh a little harder. "You need a better imagination, then."

Even men?

"Well," the laughter trails off and you glance down at your desk, "I'd have to ask something of them first. I don't often. It's usually not worth it." You look back up. "You've told me no several times already."

For now.

There's a flush of heat in your belly that works its way between your legs and up to your neck. How does he keep doing that? No face. No voice. Yet somehow you keep ending up moments away from rubbing yourself against the seat of your chair.

"What about you? Do women tell you no, or are you so rich and handsome that they throw themselves at you?" You tease.

You wait, but there's no answer and you start to regret the question. You wonder if he's self-conscious about his looks and that's another reason he's doing this, or if you were right about his confidence when he isn't behind a screen.

"You don't have to answer that." You straighten up and your expression turns apologetic. "It was a clumsy attempt at flirting and to learn more about you."

No, they don't.

"Oh." You fidget uncomfortably for a moment. "If I'm being honest, that's actually a relief."

Why a relief?

"Because the type of men that would say yes to that question are usually intolerable. Besides," you shrug, "there are other important qualities to have that aren't looks. Like being intriguing, for example."

I can hear when you're lying.

"How am I lying?"

Looks are important to you.

"Of course they are. I never said they weren't! Only that there is more to attraction than just looks."

Would you still consider me if I were unattractive?

"Well." You stop to think about your response. You know you have to choose your words carefully in case this is a sensitive topic. "I can't promise anything because I don't know what you look like, but I will say if good looks were all I cared about, I would have an actual dating life."

I believe you.

"Does that mean you don't think you're attractive?" You tentatively ask.

Oh, I never said that. I just said women don't throw themselves at me. I'm far too busy.

"You…" You snap your mouth shut in anger. He was fucking with you. To see how you would react, and you actually felt bad for a moment! "God, you're infuriating."

You like it.

You do. There's a slick heat inside of your underwear that betrays exactly how much you like it.

"And you seem to be trying awfully hard to find the limit of that statement." You scowl.

I happen to like pressing your buttons.

"I noticed." You give a small, irritated huff through your nose. "You know, I also can't help but notice I've been doing most of the talking here. It's your turn to ask me a question."

That seems like fair retaliation.

There's a brief pause while he, presumably, thinks of something to ask you.

What was the source of your hesitation earlier? When I asked if you wanted me to touch myself.

"I want to know more about you first," you answer matter of factly.

Why?

"For several reasons. It's a very vulnerable position for me to be in since you can see me and I can't see you, so I want to trust you before this turns into that."

What are the other reasons?

"The more I get to know you, the more interested I might be. And the more interested I am, the more I'll want to take my clothes off. Just for you. Doesn't that sound so much better than a halfhearted strip tease?" You give the camera your best enticing look. "I think it does."

I agree. It does.

"Besides, didn't you promise me that you would make me want to touch myself for you? So make me, David. Give me more to work with."

You should be careful with what you say. Or you may accidentally ask for something you haven't thought through.

You blush and shift in your chair. "How do you know I'm not completely aware of what I'm asking?"

Because you wouldn't ask me to make you if you were.

You have to bite your lip to stop a whimper that nearly makes its way out of your mouth. You also have to fight back your initial instinct of looking into the camera and repeating, 'Make me, David.' You know that's pushing it, though. For now. But god, do you want to.

"Point taken," you force out through the tension. "Why do you ask, anyway?"

I wanted to know how I can remove that hesitation. Now I know.

"Eager, are we?" You tease.

Yes.

Can you blame me? The thing I'm impatient for is you.

"God, David," you gasp. "I think it's you that needs to be careful with what you're saying."

I know what I'm saying. But for your sake I will.

"Thank you," you exhale in relief. Your control and conviction can only take so much, and your grasp on them is weakening. And he knows it.

Does it bother you that I want you?

"Not really. A lot of men want me."

No they don't. They want your body. I want you.

"I still don't understand why."

I see something in you that mirrors something in me.

"You see yourself in me, do you?" You give the camera a teasing, seductive smile.

You're very good at that.

"At what?" You ask innocently.

Using flirtation as a means of misdirection when you're uncomfortable.

"How am I uncomfortable?"

Because you want to know what I see and that scares you.

"You think you could tell me truths about myself that I don't already know?" You raise an eyebrow.

No, it's not that.

"What would scare me then?"

That you want to hear it from me.

You mentally shake off the immediate denial because you know he's right. You want to know exactly what he sees. You want to hear your own truths from him because it's thrilling. And because if he knows and he's still here…

"Fine. Maybe I do because I'm curious just how much you really see."

I've seen quite a lot.

"Try me," you challenge.

Do you have many friends?

You frown and glance down at the top of your desk. "Not many."

Why not?

"Because...I find it difficult to get along with most people, I suppose. What does this have to do with anything?"

I'm getting there.

Would you like to know why you don't?

"This should be good." You lean back in your chair. "Go on."

You've always felt different, and it makes connecting with other people almost impossible. You try, of course, because you get lonely. Humans are social creatures, after all. Either you feel nothing towards them and they annoy you, or they keep you at arm's length once they start to see the real you.

How old were you when you started faking it, I wonder? When you realized they don't like who you are when you aren't wearing the mask. I bet you were young when you learned to never take it off. That's why you found it so easy to lie on camera and why you were so good at what you were doing. You've been doing it most of your life.

You sit with that for a moment.

You expect it to hurt because, objectively, what he said should be painful and it is lonely. But you're already fully aware of the truth, and you know he wasn't just saying it to be cruel. You asked. That's like being upset with a mirror for showing you your reflection.

Though you suspect he still hoped you would squirm when faced with it because he likes making you squirm.

"I found it easy to lie to those men because I don't care about them or their feelings." You sneer at the thought. "They were a means to an end. And I can't connect with people because I find the things they care about to be mind numbingly dull. Unfortunately that usually means themselves."

And in the beginning you said you weren't that interesting.

"Is that how you feel then?" Your voice softens. "Lonely."

Yes.

"I guess we're both in excellent company." You mean for your accompanying smile to be lighthearted, but you can tell that it doesn't meet your eyes, and a hint of your own loneliness weighs down the corners of your mouth.

I certainly think so.

Do you want to know what else I see?

"Yes," you reply without hesitation.

It's not just that those men were on the other end of the camera, is it? Or that they're men. You've always felt a deep disgust for everyone around you, and the camera gave you an outlet. The money may have been the reason you started, but that was the reason you kept going.

You raise your eyebrows, impressed. "Interesting. And devastatingly accurate, as usual. But do you want to know a secret?" You lean in close and stage whisper, "I already figured all of this out."

Did you now?

"I did." You give the camera a smug smile and lean back in your chair. "I've been doing some self reflection since our last chat. Couldn't have you catching me off guard all the time."

Clearly.

"Now, that doesn't mean I don't want to read what you have to say. I still like knowing just how much you see."

I'll keep that in mind.

Did you figure anything else out about yourself? Because if you did, I want to hear it.

"I figured out that I've been denying myself the things that I want because I felt bad for wanting them. And the only reason I felt bad is because I was told I should."

And what is it that you want?

"Well, that's the question, isn't it? I'm still attempting to work that out." Then in a lower tone, "But it's becoming clearer to me."

I would offer my assistance, but you seem to be doing a wonderful job of peeling off those layers on your own.

But I also wouldn't object to helping you take them off if you asked me to.

"Are you serious?" You give your camera an astonished look. "I'm merely unraveling the thread you pulled, David. None of this was possible without you. You've helped me finally see myself so clearly that at first I was worried I only wanted to come back here because, between that and the money, I felt like I owed you something. But now I realize it's because I want you to keep pulling. I want to see what's underneath. What I've been denied—what I've been denying this whole time. And maybe…" You trail off, suddenly unsure because you almost let slip something vulnerable that still scares you.

If he saw you, would he still want to look? Or would he upend your life only to leave when you became too much? 

Maybe what? Don't stop now. I want to hear what you were about to say. And I want to hear the truth.

You take a deep breath in hopes that, in doing so, you'll find your courage.

You don't, but it's too late anyway. You've shown him a seam that's still neatly stitched. You can't pretend now that it was nothing because he'll latch onto it, and you can't lie to him because he'll know. As scary as it is, all you have is the truth. And he asked for it.

"Maybe for once someone won't be repulsed by what's there." Your voice sounds so weak. You hate feeling this exposed. Leaving yourself open like this is just an invitation for someone to hurt you—actually hurt you, like slipping a knife into a gap in your armor. Now you may as well be handing him the knife, too. But you push past that panic and fear, and hold tight to the truth. "Maybe…maybe I've been hoping you won't be."

You're practically fidgeting in your chair with anxiety as you wait to see if he draws blood with his response or plunges said metaphorical knife between your ribs. And to your surprise, his response comes rather quickly.

Do you think I would be here if I'd seen anything in you that came close to repulsing me? It's your disguise that I find repulsive. It's that you had to wear it at all that repulses me. I am restraining myself from tearing it off of you. I've only ever wanted to see more.

Repulsed?

How could I find such a perfect creature repulsive?

Oh.

"David," you whisper, your voice thick with emotion. "God, I…I don't know what to say."

Your heart is pounding against the walls of your ribcage, but no longer in fear. Not even in arousal. It's relief. Gratitude. Thrill. Anticipation. The desire to hear more of anything he has to tell you gnaws at your belly. You're starving for it.

That you even believe a single thing about yourself could be repulsive only strengthens my conviction that the world is full of monsters that hide behind their civility and their self-righteousness. They tell themselves they're better than us when the only difference is we're honest.

"But I haven't been honest, have I? Not always."

You are now.

"I'm trying to be," you correct him.

You've wanted to be this whole time. Do you think you would have embraced so many truths about yourself so quickly if you hadn't?

"That's a fair point." You lit a flame under your entire life with only the slightest encouragement from a complete stranger that was blackmailing you. To say that you've yearned to be free of it—to be yourself—would be an understatement. Now that fire is spreading and you don't even care enough to watch it burn. Not when you can look to him instead. "I have wanted it, I just never realized I did. Until you."

See? The money never mattered. It was just a means to an end, too. This was always my gift to you.

You let out a breathy, incredulous laugh. "Who are you, David?"

What happened to wanting to figure me out?

"That's still the plan, but I realize now I may have bitten off more than I can chew."

Don't worry, I won't let you choke.

Unless you want to.

You don't stop the pained moan that comes out of your mouth as you're tossed from feeling something approaching tender straight back into arousal. "My god, I'm getting whiplash," you mumble to yourself.

He doesn't say anything and you don't expect him to. His silence betrays how smug he's currently feeling just fine.

There's a moment of quiet then, and you glance around the room, willing yourself to calm down so your mind isn't trying to drag you in two directions at once. As you do so, your eyes catch the clock on the wall. You quickly do a double take and then look at your computer to confirm the time is correct. Because you're surprised to discover nearly an hour and a half has passed. It felt like ten minutes.

"My god. Is it really past seven?"

It is.

"I can't recall ever having a conversation where time just flew by. Usually it drags and I can't escape fast enough." You shake your head. "You know, being around people has always been exhausting and I couldn't figure out why. It's because wearing the mask is exhausting, isn't it? I was dedicating so much effort to not letting it slip and I didn't even realize. With you it's…different. I'm still worn out, but only because learning to keep it off is also exhausting. Just, you know, in the same way going to the gym or accomplishing a task that requires labor is. It's a rewarding ache." 

It gets easier. Like with anything, the more you practice, the better you get.

"You speak from experience."

I do.

"How long?"

About fifteen years.

"Fifteen years?" For a brief moment you wonder how old he is, but you aren't sure if he'll tell you more than his name yet. You file it away for next time. "And you just…live without it? Do whatever you want?"

Oh, I still wear it occasionally, but it's tactical now instead of habit. It can be a very useful tool.

"I hadn't considered that," you mutter.

Sometimes it's also necessary for survival.

"Survival?" You recoil in surprise. "Jesus, how could that be necessary?"

The world isn't kind to people like us. Besides, isn't that what you've been doing this whole time?

"I always thought it was just a way to fit in, but I suppose that was its own form of survival."

See? You learn quickly.

"It helps when you're being hand fed the answers, but I appreciate the compliment nonetheless."

You should give yourself more credit. You're quite clever, remember?

"Not something I'm used to doing out loud," you shrug. "I'm sure I'll develop the muscle memory soon enough."

You will.

"So…are we winding down? Is that what's happening here? Because otherwise I don't usually have conversations about the clock."

Why? Is it your bedtime?

You know he's teasing, but you can feel how heavy your eyelids are getting. You were serious when you said all of this wore you out, even if you find yourself not wanting to go. "No, but it could be. I am getting tired."

Do you have an early morning?

"Not really. I technically still have work tomorrow, but I've done nothing except scroll through my phone and mess around on my computer since I gave my notice.."

How rebellious of you.

"Hardly," you chuckle. "I've been hoping they'll get annoyed and tell me they don't need me to stay the whole two weeks."

Couldn't you simply walk out on your own?

"Oh, I could. Doing it this way is so satisfying, though. They're furious, but what are they going to do? Fire me?" You grin. "No, they can only bite their tongues and watch it happen."

Then by all means, scroll away. Wouldn't want to come between you and your satisfaction.

You blush and look up at the camera from beneath your eyelashes. "You wouldn't?"

No. Your satisfaction comes first.

"Fuck," you hiss. At the same time you think, 'At least I would get that orgasm.' And that thought causes a potent swell of lust to pool between your thighs. Your breath hitches. "Now I really do think I need to go before I do something I might regret in the morning."

Would you?

Regret it?

You stop to consider whether or not you're ready—if you've learned enough—only to discover you no longer know the answer to that question. Which probably means…

You hesitated.

"I did," you sigh, disappointed, even as you remind yourself it's the right thing to do. And a good rule to hold yourself to.

There was more conflict on your face than introspection this time.

"Then you already know how I'm feeling."

I'll get you there.

That confidence that bothered you just a few days ago is now thrilling. "You'd better. You promised, David." 

It's a promise I not only intend to keep, but will enjoy keeping.

"Good." You give your camera a wistful smile. "Last time I couldn't wait to close this window. Now I'm reluctant to go. That should probably concern me."

Does it?

"No. It doesn't."

Good.

"You're feeling quite pleased with yourself right now, aren't you?"

As a matter of fact, yes I am.

Because I'm once again savoring an I told you so.

"Infuriating," you sigh, but without the irritation this time. 

Take the remainder of the evening to rest and do some self reflection, as you called it. I'm sure you have plenty to mull over before next time, and I'm eager to hear what new truths you uncover.

"You know I will. Especially the rest part."

Good. I wouldn't want to wear you out too soon.

"Don't worry, I have excellent stamina." You give the camera a wink. "Goodnight, David."

Goodnight.

Before you leave the spare room, you pick up your phone and peel the tape off both of the camera lenses. In doing so, you also quickly learn that tape was a terrible idea because it leaves behind an adhesive residue that you're forced to rub off, which takes a minute. You have to keep opening your camera to make sure there aren't any smudges.

Once that's clean, you completely unbutton your blouse, exposing your bra and your stomach. Then you go down to your knees on the carpet, hold your phone high, look up into the lense with a heated, angry expression, and take a selfie. 

A selfie of you posing the way he pictures you when he touches himself to the thought of you.

You text it to him with the message: "Some inspiration. No mask."

A good twenty minutes later, while you're in the bathroom brushing your teeth and getting ready for bed, your phone buzzes.

Stunning. I was very inspired.

Fuck. It's going to be another long night and workday, isn't it?

Chapter 3 ->

A/N: Hi. Hello. Yes, Reader needs therapy, stat. Alas, she's not going to go to therapy. She's going to go fuck David Robey, serial killer, instead. Very normal and healthy behavior. (LOVE that for her, though.) Also I cannot begin to tell you how empowering it is to write her. How freeing. I ask you, who amongst us hasn't worn a mask to hide themselves or felt bad for wanting something? Who hasn't wanted to be seen by someone that can't look away? Who hasn't wanted to shed expectations like snakeskin and then go absolutely apeshit? Because I sure have. So I hope at least some of you find this just as empowering to read. This fic is for all of us. (Just maybe don't try to emulate her. She super does need therapy, like, for real.)

[rosemary-morgan]

Draco Malfoy X F.Reader - Forbidden flower (Part 3)

(Pictures are not mine! Found on Pinterest/Google - Collage made by myself. OC Jericho Griffin belongs to me.)

Many thanks to @fangirl-ramblings 🖤 she has been beta reading for me 🌹

This AU is set 10 years after the Battle of Hogwarts

👉 Read PART 1 

👉 Read PART 2

👉 Read PART 4

Summary: The desire and lust you feel for Draco finally overcomes you, leading you to enter into an affair with him. Jericho has no idea of your betrayal. But if he ever finds out about you and Draco, you know that the consequences could be severe...

Warning: Domestic violence, toxic relationship (but also some Romance, fluff, protective Draco, secret love 🖤)

Draco Malfoy X F.Reader - Forbidden flower (Part 3)

Y/N was completely beside herself. She looked out of the shop window, lost in thought, at the thick layer of snow that had formed overnight. Accordingly, it was much colder today than yesterday. If only she could enjoy the sight. Y/N loved winter, she loved the Christmas season, and yet she could not find joy. For she had not forgotten what Jericho had done to her last night. He had beaten her for the second time now and she knew it wouldn't be the last. Jericho was like a changed man. From one moment to the next he had turned into such a monster and Y/N wondered if she shouldn't have seen it coming. But how could one foresee such a thing? The young woman was very sad and you could see it in her face. Her co-worker saw it as well, whereupon she addressed Y/N.

"Y/N? What's wrong with you? You look so sad."

"It's nothing, Daphne. I'm just... a little tired."

The young woman just looked at Y/N suspiciously, but she didn't want to push Y/N into anything. 

"Okay. If you do want to talk, you know I'm listening."

"I know. Thanks, Daphne..."

Y/N didn't want to burden Daphne with her problems, especially since she couldn't help her anyway. At least, that's what Y/N believed. Y/N's cheek was still hurting, since Jericho had hit it pretty hard. It was pretty red, though you couldn't see that under her makeup. Y/N had been able to conceal the whole thing well and having to think about it gave her an incredible stomach ache. She didn't want to go back to Jericho. What would happen again tonight? Would he yell at her for no reason and hit her again? Maybe this time he would beat her up even worse. She didn't know and she was afraid. If only she would dare to talk to someone about it, but what if they would judge her? Condemn her for not realizing earlier what kind of man he was? All these thoughts and fears slowed her down, made her hide. 

Y/N would be going home soon and she kept glancing at the clock, almost believing that time was flying faster than usual today. Of course she was just imagining it, but she felt the pain, she felt the fear and no one could put themselves in her place at the moment. No one could put a smile on her face today, not even when the kids entered the store -and she liked kids. 

"Do you want to leave earlier today, Y/N? I can manage the rest by myself."

"No, it's okay. Thank you, dear."

"Okay, sweetie."

Y/N managed a small smile for Daphne, but it faded away immediately. Until all of a sudden, a blond, handsome Malfoy entered the store. And he smiled, his eyes instantly searching for Y/N. 

"Draco..."

Draco managed to make Y/N happier with his presence. She hadn't expected to see him, but she was all the more pleased to see him. He stepped towards her with a charming smile and stopped in front of her. She smiled up at him, for Jericho was suddenly forgotten.

"Did you happen to have something to do around here again today, Draco?"

Draco smirked in amusement. This time he really had no excuse, and he wouldn't deny that he was going to seek them out directly.

"No, this time I actually came just for you."

Y/N blushed, looking down at the ground for a moment as she smiled, thinking of what a lovely evening she had spent with Draco.

"That's sweet, Draco..."

Daphne listened with half an ear as she served the customers, but couldn't understand much as Y/N and Draco stood further away.

"I was thinking we could go for a walk again. I really enjoyed last night, Y/N."

"Me too..." she whispered, signaling to Draco with a look that she wasn't so free to talk about it. Daphne knew she was already married, and although Daphne was a nice person, Y/N didn't want everyone to know she was dating Draco. Yesterday she had been standing alone in the store, so no one had noticed, but today her co-worker was with her. Draco understood immediately and he nodded, falling instantly silent. He now kept some distance from her, but he leaned forward and whispered to her that he would wait for her. Actually, Y/N should go home, she knew that but she liked him so much. So she nodded and Draco understood, leaving the store.

When Y/N's shift was over, she left the store instantly. Draco was eagerly waiting for the young woman, could hardly wait to spend time with her and when he caught sight of her, he immediately went to her. He had been waiting for her at Olivander's, exchanging a few words with the old man as he waited; as he had picked up his first wand here, like every other wizard. That had been so many years ago, and yet it seemed like only yesterday to him. 

Draco stopped in front of Y/N, a little unsure of how to greet her. Give her a hug, a kiss on the cheek? After last night, they couldn't just pretend they were just two acquaintances. But the decision was taken away from him by Y/N when she leaned in and gave the impression that she wanted to hug him. And that's when Draco approached her and pulled her into his arms. It was an intimate embrace full of warmth and affection. The young woman felt so good in his arms.

"You smell wonderful, Y/N..."

The young woman smirked as she heard his words and Draco smelled good and seductive to her as well. Draco breathed in her scent, closing his eyes as he did so, his heart starting to race. The closer they got, the crazier the young man became for her. As the young woman slowly pulled away from his embrace, she looked up at him apologetically, however, she stayed close enough to him so that Draco kept his arms wrapped around her waist.

"Draco, I'm afraid I can't be gone long. I have to get home soon...". Draco knew then she meant back to Jericho, and it triggered a pang of jealousy in him as he slowly but surely couldn't bear the thought of her having to share a bed with another man. But what was he to do about it? Nothing, because before the law, Y/N and Jericho were a married couple.

"I know..."

Draco inhaled audibly, trying to contain his disappointment and anger at Jericho. Carefully, he lifted his hand and placed it against her cheek, whereupon Y/N closed her eyes, thoroughly enjoying his tender touch.

"If your husband would work longer... then we would see each other more often?"

"Yes..."

Y/N answered immediately, not hesitating for a second. Well, Draco would make sure Jericho would be sitting at his desk longer from all the work.

"Shall we go for another walk? Maybe we'll have some warm chocolate?" She smiled as she mentioned hot chocolate and that's when Draco smiled again. She was so incredibly sweet, would have loved to kiss her.

"Yes. Let's have some hot chocolate, Y/N."

At that, he put his hand to her lower back and led her along with him, walking close to each other, enjoying each other's presence.

Even though they didn't spend much time together that evening, it had been just as nice as the previous one. And they continued to meet, because Draco had made sure that Jericho had enough work to sit at his desk until late in the evening. For Y/N it was a blessing, and she didn't question the amount of work that had suddenly beset her husband. She just enjoyed her time with Draco, feeling comfortable and safe with him. For the past week, she had been meeting Draco secretly, and they both kept visiting the café in Diagon Alley. They got to know each other better and better. They laughed a lot, their hands touching each other again and again, they whispered sweet nothings into each other's ears... There, where everything had begun in the small café in the Diagon Alley, something very special seemed to develop. And not only for Y/N was this time special, but also for Draco. He had not had it easy in the past, but Y/N gave him inner peace and he found what he had always been looking for. 

That evening it was snowing especially hard. Thick flakes fell slowly from the sky, the Diagon Alley shone in the most beautiful lights. Warm and pleasant, this was a sight for the eyes.

"It's time for me to go, Draco."

"Y/N..."

He grabbed her wrist and pulled Y/N down one of the narrow alleys so that no prying eyes would see her. A surprised sound escaped her lips as she felt the cold wall against her back. Draco stood close in front of her, his hands leaned against the wall to the left and right of her head. Y/N really hadn't expected that. She suddenly felt warm as his body nestled against hers. Again he breathed in her scent, purring softly.

"Draco..."

She closed her eyes as she heard his seductive words and she bit her lower lip, unable and unwilling to deny what he was saying.

"We both want the same thing, Y/N..."

She wrapped her hands around his neck, reaching into his blond hair before pulling him down to her and kissing him. She had wanted to do that for so long and she enjoyed this kiss to the fullest. Draco returned it instantly, kissing her with great passion and it quickly became clear how greedy they actually were for each other. Draco moaned, deeply aroused and greedily met her tongue with his as his body trapped her tightly against the wall. When they broke away from each other, panting, they looked into each other's eyes, and she smiled sadly at him. 

"Draco, I have to go now..." she whispered, but he wouldn't let her go and he made no move to move away from her.

"Please," she whispered, "You knew it wasn't going to be easy..."

"I know. But I hate the thought of you sharing a bed with him," he whispered, brushing her lips with his. "He doesn't deserve you, Y/N..."

"Draco... I don't like the thought of Jericho either. Not at all." Because he scared her. But now she had to leave, because otherwise Jericho would rage and punish her again. Draco didn't know about that yet, and she wouldn't tell him. At least not yet.

"Why does he get to touch you and I don't?"

Y/N closed her eyes as he kissed her gauzily and gently clasped her neck. Her head falling back, she looked up at him, gazing into his blue eyes.

"He doesn't own you, Y/N..." he whispered against her mouth, his tongue sliding slowly over her sweet lips.

"I want you, Y/N... I want you so much."

And she wanted Draco, too. God, how many times had she imagined sharing a bed with him, giving herself to him completely! But they both had to be patient for the time being.

She slowly broke away from him and this time Draco allowed it without objections, yet he looked at her sadly. One last kiss and Y/N went her way...

♦♦♦♦

"Fucking bullshit!"

Jericho was annoyed at all the work he had to do lately. Y/N said nothing to that, but sorted her clothes in her closet. She just let her husband yell, knowing there was nothing she could say against that because he didn't like it at all when his wife reprimanded him.

"I'm tired of working overtime every night!"

"I'm sure that will change soon, Jericho."

Y/N tried to speak in a gentle tone with her husband, knowing how she could appease him. Always agree with him and never talk back. That way she would have her peace and that was the most important thing.

"I hope so! Draco always fucks off work early and leaves me to deal with all this shit on my own."

She paused for a moment at his words, chewing lightly on her lower lip. She suddenly remembered the words Draco had once said to her. So he was responsible for Jericho's overtime. She smiled contentedly, and luckily Jericho couldn't see her because she was standing with her back turned to him.

"Argh, I'm going to take a shower!"

And that's when Jericho disappeared as well, and Y/N laid down in bed shortly after. She found the thought of lying next to Jericho repulsive. She longed to wake up next to Draco, to be able to lie in his arms. The young woman had been thinking for days what it would be like to sleep with him. She wondered if he was tender. He certainly was, Y/N thought to herself with a smile. The thought of young Malfoy made her all moist and she loved the thought of him touching and kissing her. Anywhere, anywhere he wanted. 

The shower was still running, Y/N could hear it clearly, and she would love to give herself over to her thoughts, touching herself while thinking of Draco. But the young woman didn't, not wanting to be caught by Jericho. Sighing, she snuggled into her pillow and pulled the blanket up to her neck, wondering if Draco was already asleep or if he was having as sinful thoughts as she was.

With these thoughts, the young woman fell asleep, slowly but surely. Until she suddenly awoke to cold hands touching her body. Y/N wrenched her eyes open, even startled slightly.

"Hmm, it's just me."

Jericho. He had snuggled up to her body, touching her body with his hands, caressing her. Her hips, her thighs. She was wearing warm flannel pajamas, wanting to show as little skin as possible.

"Don't..."

She didn't want to, disgusted by his touch, and when he tried to put his hand down her pants, she grabbed his wrist and convulsively tried to stop him.

"Jericho, stop it..."

"Come on, sweetie..."

He gasped in her ear, she could feel his warm breath on her skin and she could sense that he was aroused.

"I said stop it!"

She slid away from him, literally jumping on the bed and giving him evil looks. 

"Don't you ever touch me against my will again!"

Now Jericho was the one giving her evil looks. He flipped the covers aside and rose from the bed, walking toward her, whereupon she momentarily backed away from him.

"You dare to shout at me? To talk to me like that?!"

"I can't stand the thought of having you lying next to me!" she screamed. Completely disgusted with him and his closeness! 

"You married me, so act like a wife too!" Roughly, he grabbed her face, squeezed her cheeks and grinned down at her from above.

"You do like it when I fuck you. The way you always greedily opened your legs for me, my cock deep and full of greed in your little cunt..."

That's when Y/N reached out with her hand and slapped his face so hard that there was a clear, red mark on his cheek. She immediately regretted it, as Jericho gave her a withering look and shortly thereafter punched her in the face as well. Her head was thrown to the side, her hair covered the left side of her face and she didn't move. She was completely frozen with fear.

"If you dare to hit me again, I'll strangle you, Y/N!"

She suppressed a sob as tears ran down her cheeks. What had she done to deserve such treatment?

[ageingfangirl]

Defends You (Super Junior)

Yesung

As you scroll though your Twitter you notice all the hate and hurtful comments from Yesung’s fans. You’d been able to handle it after a month of coming out as being in a relationship but today wasn’t a normal day. Yesung had posted a cute collage of photos documenting your one year anniversary, and despite having a lot of supportive fans there were a handful who hated the fact you’d taken Yesung away from them which wasn’t true. You’d heard what happened to Sungmin and feared a similar situation.

You hear the front door open and quickly wipe away a few stray tears. Yesung walks into the room and you shut your laptop a little too quickly.

He raises an eyebrow, ‘is everything ok Y/N?’

‘Everything is good, nothing to worry about, I missed you,’ you speak, your words coming out mumbled and suspicious.

Yesung furrows his eyebrows in confusion and sits down next to you on the sofa. He grabs your laptop from your hands and opens it before you can stop him, and starts scrolling through one of the trending hashtags #GetAwayFromYesung. You bite your lip as you watch his face turn away from confusion, to hurt, and lastly into anger.

‘Why can’t fans see that I’m happy with you Y/N? I don’t want to be single forever,’ he pouts.

You take the laptop from him and hug him, ‘there are supportive fans who want you to be happy. Things will calm down when they see they still haven’t lost you, since we’ve been dating a year and you keep the fans happy. We can get through this together.’

He sighs, ‘you’re right but I’m not going to let anyone think this kind of behaviour is okay.’

‘What are you going to do?’ you ask, concern in your voice at his sometimes unpredictable nature, ‘don’t do anything you’ll regret later.’

He smiles and takes out his phone, and you watch him scroll through many photos until he pauses on one of the two of you cuddling on the sofa with his cute dogs in the middle of you, ‘I love you Y/N and no one will ever break us up without a fight.’

He posts the photo with the caption ‘Love overcomes every challenge and when you find the one keep them close’

You lean over and kiss his cheek, ‘I love you but the guys are going to get concerned with how much emotion you’re showing.’

He pecks your lips, ‘you’re making me a softy. I love you so much.

[bluecookies02]

Dabi x Reader- I Run To You /nsfw/

warnings: praise/degradation, sex oriented quirk?(meaning succubus-ish!Reader), choking, overstimulation, squirting, pinning/slightly obsessed reader.

The reader becomes a villain-->brief mentions of blood, mentions of Touya's "death".

━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━

Maybe you're supposed to feel some sort of remorse when you see your childhood friend on the screen, blue flames hugging every corner of the building he's in, the poor glass shattering and melting as the reporters hurriedly fly around to catch every evidence and information they can.

You couldn't see much of his face, but the way he carried himself and the exact patterns of his scarred arm were enough for her. You only needed one glance.

It took a few months for you to wrap your head around it. Trying to push down the anger and grief by finding excuses for whatever he's doing. You became obsessed though, super fixated on every last trail of him you can find.

Years went by fast. Gaining the trust of other villains was fairly easy when you share the same hatred for the heroes. It brings you a sense of belonging and they listen. They listen and feel your anger, understand loss better than anyone else you tried to talk to before. You don't receive stupid condolences and bullshit like "it gets better" or "that's what faith had in store for you". You get raw emotion, telling you exactly what you yearned to hear, finally knowing that you're not crazy and that there are people who have enough braincells to see through the terrible facades the society has been smearing over everybody's eyes.

It's hard at first, watching blood and flesh rip through the air you breathe as your shoes leave red trails that follow your step...until they don't...they get mixed and lost and the footprints you once knew were yours look foreign, you don't know where you came from, you just know where you're headed.

You come back to your small apartment almost every night, writing down and scribbling each piece of information before it has the chance to be forgotten, intent on not letting a single detail slip.

You find it bizarre. You wanted to be a hero. For as long as your memory goes, you admired and glorified the kind and selfless faces you saw on TV, and in your own house.

He wanted to be a hero too? Even more than you. You're close, just a handful of months and you'd earn yourself a place. You know it.

Would he remember you?

Your pen breaks under the pressure of your palm, snapping you out of your thoughts.

You stack the notebooks neatly, locking your door before plopping on your pillow.

All of this for a boy...how silly of you...Would he be happy to have someone familiar next to him?

You feel lonely...You miss the comfort of the past and you wonder if he does too. Did he even like you back then? You dig for every memory of him smiling at you, gracing your hand while the two of you played the games on his computer.

Then your eyes wander to the pictures on your wall, collages of newspapers with his face on it. He aged like fine wine. Strong and handsome. His hands are something you can't look away from, his long fingers keeping you in a trance while you snuggle under your blanket, slipping your hand in your shorts. Just this time.

You bend your legs at your knees, head craned to look at the pictures on your walls, mouth loosely open. You take your time working your clit, imagining how he would do it. How he would take his time exploring you after not seeing you for so long.

Your ass bucks off the bed a little, humping against your fingers, almost dipping into your greedy pussy, ghosting over the slicked up hole and spreading the nice coat of the slimy wetness across your folds.

Would he be good at eating you out? Stretching his scarred jaw to fit his mouth over your cunt and lap at it, sticking his tongue out as far as it can go.

You stretch your shorts to fit your hand in, pressing two fingers on each side of the sensitive nub, using your other hand to flick at the exposed pearl. It almost burns from the pressure, too sensitive when it's not hidden under the thin layer.

What if he had his tongue pierced? Imagining the metal on you, swirling over every inch, digging into you as it bumps your clit. You can't make yourself wait anymore, pulling your shorts down and pressing your knees to your tummy. Like he's there in the room, giving him a perfect view of your dripping hole, untouched and clenching around nothing as you trail your finger across it.

You slip two of them in, too horny to drag it out anymore, you start pumping them in and out of your pussy, convulsing and shivering each time you hit that spot while you arch off the bed. Your other hand works your clit, chasing the trashing of your hips while your drenched cunt pools around your fingers, the sound making you high. It's wet and erotic, your palm slamming against your other hand, the rhythm on your clit rushed and messy, interrupting the pace you need.

You imagine his skilled fingers on you again, precisely circling your swollen nub as he stuffs you with his cock, his hot breath on your neck while his dyed hair tickles your face, wet kisses adoring your skin as he's about to stuff you full of his cum, press your legs to your stomach until they feel like they're gonna break. He'd try to go deeper than possible, holding your neck so that he can kiss you properly as your bodies rock the bed.

He'd cum first, seconds before you just to make sure that you milk every last drop as you cum and pulse around his shaft, your pussy gripping and sucking him in while he still balls deep inside you, groaning into your mouth.

The sensation of him shaking against you sends you over the edge, your breath being knocked out of you as your thighs flex and clench together, squeezing your hands and trapping them in place.

You're gasping for breath, eyes closing and ears buzzing from your high, light thrust against your clit coming to a stop as you slowly calm down.

Bliss washes over you as you lay there for a bit, chest rising and falling, your body completely relaxed.

You hope it'll all turn out to be worth it and joining the League would just be another step from many to go. Yet you still hope that your feelings were mutual back then. You experience loss too early in your teen years and a lot has changed since. But one thing was constant, you never stop loving someone even after they're gone, and Touya is the biggest proof of that.

You still had his books, pens, shirts and all of the notes the two of you passed around during dinners or classes...and you held onto them long before you found out he was still somewhere out there.

He was stoic and cold most of the time, his affections looked calculated, keeping you on the line throughout the whole friendship, not letting the two of you slip into a relationship. Pausing his flirting as soon as you seemed to get your hopes up.

If not a relationship, you want closure, and you want him, in any form you can have him.

_______________

Slowly you wake up to a pattern of knocks on your bedside table, not having the time to panic or get scared as you're slipping away from your dreams.

When you finally do see a tall white-haired man next to your bed, you raise your hands up in defense, heart skipping beats and toes curling as you back away to the headboard.

"Quiet a stalker aren't you?" Red eyes pierce through you, your quirk activating for a split second until he grabs a hold of your ankle with four fingers.

"You know what the fifth one does...so behave nicely, I'm not here to kill you" You look around the room, avoiding the uncomfortable gaze of the leader.

The shame of your interior upsetting you more than the initial fear of getting murdered.

"How did you get in?" Your locks are too good to be broken down, your alarm system expensive(but stolen) and working perfectly.

A purple portal flashes in the middle of the room. Well not so perfectly, you figure.

"I won't snitch on your obsession cause I couldn't care less, I want you in the League. Pack your shit or run." Your eyes are wide open, watching as the man slips into a portal and disappears, the purple mist still glowing in front of you.

You hurriedly grab a small suitcase, stuffing everything you know is important, already having some luggage packed in case you had to move fast for whatever reason. It comes in handy being organized.

You hide the newspapers you took off your walls, slipping them between your clothes and zipping the suitcase. First impression matters, so you risk wasting a bit of time to pick out an outfit, making yourself look presentable before you slip into a mellow cloud, dragging your stuff with you.

Your heart is pounding, blood rushing to the tips of your ears and the pads of your fingers, pulsing and warming you up.

The leader greets you again, grinning as he leads you to a room, telling you to make yourself at home.

"I wanted to give you a roommate, but that would be distracting" he teases, his teeth still showing as he closes the door behind you. The room is warm and surprisingly not messy at all. Yes, some things are carelessly tossed on the bed or draped over the chair but everything else is neat. You figure out fairly quickly that it was probably occasionally used.

You take your time to explore the room, piling up the stuff that wasn't yours in one corner of it. You unpack one of your suitcases and half of the other, cursing yourself for bringing the evidence of your little plan.

You don't know why you brought it, it seemed useless after you found out where you're going, but you guess it's for sentimental reasons. You didn't plan for it to happen so fast. But they were indeed a bit low on numbers after recent attacks so they must've gotten impatient and started seeking out more people.

You did do everything in your power to get noticed so you do want to take some credit. You smoothen out the sheets before you sit on the bed, thighs rubbing together from nervousness.

Is he on a mission?

How can you play it cool?

What's his favorite food now?

What are his interests?

Does anything make him particularly happy...maybe a hobby?

Should you try using your quirk to lure him in?

Does he know you exist?

Will he recognize you?

Would he remember you even after you tell him?

Maybe you shouldn't tell him.

You stop before you get too deep in your thoughts, deciding that you should make yourself comfortable. It's very likely that he's not there anyways, and he might not even show up soon, sitting there all alone is just making you more anxious.

You decide to leave the room, curious to meet other members that you heard in the hallways a few minutes ago. They were all headed to the same place, so you decided to go to what you figured was the living room.

The smell of alcohol got stronger, and the small giggles and banter got louder. You fixed your clothes one last time before opening the door, seeing the all too familiar faces in the room.

A blonde-haired girl ran to you, almost tumbling them both to the floor as she giggled excitedly.

"I was dying for more girls in this dump, they all stink" she whined, sniffing your shirt. She was grabbed by the collar by the boss, his pinkie up as the girl huffed.

_________________

So that's exactly how you met everyone, sitting on the bar as you silently wished the last member showed any desire in greeting you. He was sprawled out on the sofa in the far end of the room, a beer in hand and a cigarette in his mouth. You've never seen someone so unapproachable before, and it had to be him of all people.

Yet you didn't take it to heart. He was always like this...well minus the alcohol. New people didn't phase him, even more, he hated new. You're not worthy of his time until he deems you as so and you figure he never met "you" before.

But you do glance at him. The whole fucking night, chatting with others but always slipping and almost getting caught. They pointed it out but you just brushed it off as being curious to why he doesn't look like he's enjoying himself.

Even tho, you can practically feel his gaze on your back each time you turn away, feeling flustered you sip on your drink through the night, blushing when you catch him averting his gaze.

He is intrigued, to say the least. The way you move and talk is intoxicating, your voice feeling like something he had forgotten a long time ago. It reminds him of his past and it makes him fairly angry...but it brings some form of comfort he didn't feel in a while. He'll be selfish enough to indulge himself.

And he does. Months. Seeping into years.

________________

Missions are exhausting, so far you've been on more than you could bring yourself to count. On the run for weeks with little to no rest wasn't the luxurious lifestyle younger you dreamed about.

The comfort of the not so soft bed never felt more heavenly than now. A cheap motel wasn't your form of rest either, but you had to deal, hopping in for a not so relaxing shower with water that jumped from freezing to burning hot every second, tho it did an amazing job on easing the coil in your stomach.

Your quirk is taking a toll on you, control over it fading away as soon as you are laying clean and fresh on the bed. Too much...You were working too much and just teasing the victims never seemed to satiate your quirks' hunger. You second guess your path a lot, especially when you end up alone and exhausted, but you never think about quitting...as weird as that feels. It has its perks you guess...

Him being your partner wasn't one of them. He's practically eating you up, showing off in front of you but ignoring you all the same. You feel like crying from frustration, huffing to yourself before digging into your backpack and grabbing your small toy. It's been a few weeks since you could indulge yourself, the tension of your muscles painful.

Tears are almost freely rolling down your cheeks, your quirk making you feel dizzy as you slip the toy against your clit.

His voice is rough and quiet in your head, the conversations you had playing on repeat, searching for anything that you might've missed.

Every time you thought of one, it was followed by a memory of him pushing you away, smirking before going to do his own thing. He always had a smart mouth, flirting with you but making sure to step right off when he feels like he's dancing on that line.

You bit back equally though, returning the snarky comments and putting up a tough facade all while you tried to cling onto every thread of hope he threw your way.

He was almost sure he heard you though, his real name followed by a muffled cough as you tried your hardest to drown it with small talk. A moment of pure joy after you both made it out alive and safe made you let your guard down.

And when he called off the rest of the mission for the day out of nowhere, you were almost sure too.

But he isn't here now. He didn't follow you, and you're certainly all alone in this empty room. He'll come around...or he'll leave in the middle of the night. You wouldn't be able to blame him for either.

He's in the room right next to you, his fist wrapped tightly around his cock and his eyes squinted shut. He knows exactly who you remind him of, knows exactly what he felt as soon as you joined. You were always similar to her.

Awfully similar.

He knows.

It doesn't feel fair. Not to you or him. But he can't think. He can't focus and he can't stop himself from moaning out your name as his cock slicks up with pre-cum, his other going to his balls and squeezing them lightly.

He feels drunk, even though he didn't drink...well more than the usual amount... his body is burning like it's on fire...which isn't a foreign feeling to him. But it's different, the blood in his veins is warm, surging to the tips of his hands and toes as he fucks into his own fist. He's almost in a haze, fighting the urge to get up and slam your door open. If he runs away now, you'll be safer, maybe quit the League if he's lucky.

But he can't win, messily pulling his pants up and slipping on his shoes, grabbing your door handle in less than a blink as he tries to go back one last time. He has a primal need that pulls him towards you, even when he's not in the same room, it urges him to reach out and chase you, grip on the last straw of sanity and happiness that happens to be you.

Your toy buzzes faintly, sweat gracing your body while you so desperately try to cum. You're too sad and it doesn't help in reaching your high at all, but if you don't do it you feel like you might explode. He knows and he doesn't want you. You wasted your life away. You deserve it for being a creep.

He opens the door cautiously, feeling his cock pulse against the loose buckle. The lamp highlights your tear-stained cheeks and it's criminally hot, illegal even, making his toes curl.

You notice him immediately, dropping the toy on the mattress and using the sheet to cover as best as you can.

"I can't believe you" he whispers.

"Please..." you whine, drinking in the sight of him, wiping the tears with the back of your hand. To leave or to stay...any of the two.You know desire when you see it, praying that he came to quench it.

You're so desperate, craving him, letting go of your quirk and sending hormones to clash and bite against his skin.

You'll lie if you have to, say how you couldn't control it for a second more.

Nothing matters now when he's crawling up your naked body like a starved man, ripping the sheets away, digging his nails into your sides as he ravages your skin like it's the sweetest thing he's ever tasted.

And it probably is, the soft nibbles turning rough and hungry as you struggle to hold one, tangling your hands in his hair. You try to pull on it, yearning to kiss him and pour everything you feel against his lips, even if you're just a fuck, you need him to know that you never forgot him.

He doesn't budge, instead, he makes quick work of his pants, pulling you to the edge of the bed.

The room is too warm for you, the air too thick to breathe. You don't know if you want to stop and talk first....maybe you'll have the chance later?

"This is your fault" he huffs, slipping one hand to his boxers to ease the tension, gripping his cock tightly. He'll have to rush it, groaning when your legs subconsciously twitch and spread to let him fit in between.

"I feel like a fucking teenager" he argues, cupping your pussy and hunching over you.

He's missing a few steps, but seeing you so desperate and aching to cum urges him to help you out first.

"Since when did you start luring me in with your stupid quirk huh? Part of your little plan?" he questions, not letting you answer.

You're shaking your head, trying to mumble how you never tricked him into wanting you, not until this exact moment. But words are not your friend right now.

His eyes pierce through yours, beautiful blue swallowed up by the black of his pupils, half-lidded stare stripping you naked. Bare and vulnerable as your back arches, ghosting his fingers over the right spots and making you moan out a soft "Dabi".

It doesn't sound right on your tongue, and he sees the way it rolls off your lips, strained and dishonest.

His large hand wraps around your throat, holding you in place as he works the small bud, lowering his lips dangerously close, whispering across yours.

"Don't close your eyes." he demands.

It's in his arms reach, and everything is so close to making sense. If you look at him, he might start feeling like himself again. One of his fingers slowly dips inside your warmth, dragging the pad of it gently while he presses his thumb against your clit.

Your soft lips fit on his, your hands pulling him in by the back of his neck. He wants to make it slow and romantic, a nice reunion, yet he lets you slip your tongue in his mouth, deepening the kiss.

He's not holding himself up anymore, his body's weight shifting onto you with each thrust of his finger, the clacking sound of your pussy urging him to move even faster, make you feel even better. He adds in another one, watching you mewl and relax.

"That's fucking right, you wanted it, you fucking planned this, you sick fuck" he muses, catching you off guard. There's something bittersweet in the fact that he'll never be able to leave every little aspect of his life behind.

Before you even try to mumble something out, his lips are slamming against yours, teeth clashing and pulling on your soft skin.

You clench around him, riding his fingers greedily and roaming your hands across his back, fisting and gripping at his shirt.

You can feel the blood on your tongue, hissing when he pulls out only to slap his palm over your clit, causing you to yelp and pull away from the kiss.

"Touya, listen-" He shakes his head, nails digging into the flesh of your ass.

"You little stalker...how much work did you do for this cock huh?" he presses against you for good measure, making you feel his hot length on your cunt.

"You have no fucking idea" you snarl, gaining some of the confidence back, wiggling from beneath him.

He kicks his shoes and boxers all the way off, getting on your bed and pulling you to him.

His shirt is thrown messily to the edge of the bed, his hands pressing on the small of your back so that you can tower over him, trapping him between your thighs as he leans against the headboard.

Your ass slides over his cock, your hips moving slowly while he trails your figure, gliding his warm fingers across your thighs and up to your breasts.

Both of his hands cup the soft mounds, eyes glued to yours as he sticks his tongue out of his mouth. Hypersensitive to every little touch, your body shivers as he takes gentle, almost there swipes across your nipple, moving his arms back to your sides while he slips the sensitive bud in his mouth.

He lowers his thumb to your clit, flicking it slowly while he nips at your tits, biting and sucking marks across the smooth skin. His cock hooks and prods at your hole each time you both sway against each other, teasing you until the knot in your belly becomes too tight, skin crawling with pleasure wherever his body meets yours. He can hear your breath hitching in your throat, grinning while he speeds up the work on your clit, patiently waiting for you to start arching into his hand. He's gonna make you feel so good...convince you that chasing after him was the best decision you made in your life. Make up for all the years you had to deal with everything on your own.

He can feel your pussy clenching around the tip of his cock, making him push up in one slow and deep motion, immediately feeling the spasms of your soft walls gripping tight around his length. You let out a shaky breath, riding out the first high that finally satiates your quirk if only for a bit, making you drop your weight on him.

"There we go...Feeling better?" the ground might swallow you up, but when his hips start to lazily buck into you, you get distracted...You didn't notice how full you are, every inch pushing and stretching perfectly. You realize his finger never really stopped, only slowed down while he built up the agonizing pace he's bouncing you on.

You know your quirk makes you needy, but it makes everyone even more so, the realization that he probably feels like 9 circles of hell causing your hips to move, meeting his thrusts more roughly.

His head moves back to the headboard, eyes glued to yours as you ride him, propping yourself on his shoulders.

He ignored the burn of his body, too intoxicated and keen on making you feel better to focus on his aching cock, getting drowned in pleasure now that he can experience everything clearly.

You're beautiful.... and he wants to break you, make you blabber his name as you cling to him like he's the only one that can make you feel good. And he's gonna make sure he is. He admires you for a moment, cheeks heating up while watches your tits bounce, your eyes averting under his stare.

Your world turns upside down, your head sinking into a soft pillow as your legs are pushed as far as they can go.

You're scared to look away now, his gaze never breaking when he starts plowing in and out of your cunt, slamming his cock all the way in with each thrust.

His feet dig into your mattress, making the cheap bed creak.

You don't know where to put your hands, switching from the sheets to your thighs.

"Dumb little whore...is this all it takes?" he moves lower to you, pressing your spit coated lips against his.

You manage to hook your arms around his neck, swinging your legs behind his back.

He's plowing too deep, his navel bumping against your clit. He can't make himself pull out at all anymore, stuck on humping inside your pussy, slamming and angling his cock until you cry out.

Panting and groaning against your lips, he manages to slip a few curses, hissing when he tries to stop himself from cumming. Your quirk is cruel.

His fingers tangle in your hair, holding you still as he bottoms out completely, feeling his cock throb and spill, your walls tightening up against his shaft as hot cum paints them white.

He's high and addicted, already fucking his cum deeper, making sure it goes into every little crease and pore it can reach. You slip your fingers to your clit, trying to get yourself off while he rocks both of you.

"You wanna cum? Wanna milk my cock again huh? Want me to knock you up?" He's stammering it out, words spilling from his mouth in a rush, feeling the burning of his sensitive head as he picks up the pace again, slapping your hands away.

He raises just a bit, pressing one of his large palms on your belly.

His other hand slips to your clit instead, circling and flicking it to make you reach your high before he fills you up again.

Your whining does nothing to slow him down, his motions too rough and almost painful, your cervix bruising up when he presses even harder on your tummy, making your hips buck off the bed.

"Want you to cum...want you to make a mess..." he urges, a low rumble in his throat.

You can only nod, grabbing both of your thighs and spreading them further for him, your pussy open and on display to him to watch as it hugs his cock, slick and dripping.

You have to close your eyes, too embarrassed as you feel the burning sensation surge through you, eyes watering from the pressure as you finally let go. Your whole body tenses up, a low scream slipping out of your mouth when clear liquid splashes over your thighs and stomach, leaking onto his cock.

"Fucking hell" is all you can hear before he stuffs you full again, this time dropping onto your chest as his knees and feet numb out, hot breath tickling your neck as he moans against your skin.

Your weak hands slump on his back, muscles relaxed and barely working.

Someone is supposed to say something...minutes passing by quickly.

Your tired voice fills the room, a soft "Touya..." reaching his ears as you trail off. You're not sure what you wanted to say, but he holds you a little tighter, heart beating faster at the sound of his name.

He kisses your cheek softly, snuggling into the crook of your neck. "Fucking creep".

[dragon-kazansky]

Til death do us part | Helmut Zemo

Bodyguard AU! 🕶

Gender neutral reader

Collage by @realremyd

[Previous chapter] - [Next chapter]

Part 4

London. Arriving to London was much the same as when you arrived to Paris. The Baron ignored you throughout the flight, you were in the follow up car to the hotel, which once again as the exact place you would expect a Baron to stay at, and then you were situated on his floor until he was ready for his meeting.

You figured at this point every meeting was going to be pretty much the same. Maybe you would be able to come up with some fun little games to play while you stood on guard.

You might as well since this was going to be a long process.

The Baron leaves for his meeting and you all follow him. Once again it's pretty much the same as it was in Paris. A meeting in an official building where alliances and such would be discussed and they would make a deal.

You began to wonder if your mental state would be able to handle so many days of this.

However, none of this seemed to last long.

On the dawn of the second day, you all got up and positioned yourself on the hotel floor like before. The Baron got dressed, was escorted to breakfast, returned to his room for a bit, and was then escorted to his meeting as per usual.

The only difference was that Steve wasn't present that day. He had recieved a call earlier from Stark, the big boss, and had to take it. Sam had taken over Steve's postion beside the Baron that morning.

Steve wasn't present on the way to the meeting that day, but he showed up just as the meeting started. He came over to where you and Bucky stood.

"We have an issue."

You both look at him, waiting.

"They're here. I have word that the group who are after the Baron is in London and they're in the area," he keeps his voice level.

You share a glance with Bucky.

"Instructions?" You ask.

"Pay attention. I don't know where they are, where they'll come from, but if they really are here, we have to act fast. When the meeting is over, do not let the Baron out of your sight. I know he isn't too fond of you, Y/N, but no matter what he says, don't leave his side."

"You can count on me, Steve."

He knows he can. He nods at you and leaves your side, making his way over to the others to alert them. You share another look with Bucky, both of you nodding.

The nod. A silent signal. It can be a greeting, or a full on conversation. It's a solid way of communicating without words.

The meeting goes on for an hour before Zemo exists. As soon as he does, both Bucky and yourself are at his side. You let Bucky do the talking, feeling the Baron will the listen to him over you.

"We believe your life to be at risk. We have word that group are in town and may be here for you. Please do as we say and we make sure you are escorted back to your hotel safely."

The Baron, at first, looks confused, but then he seems to become more serious. He glances at you and narrows his eyes.

"They sent you?"

"Yes, sir."

"Where are the others?" He asks.

"On watch. We can't take any chances. I know you don't think I'm capable, sir, but please work with us here. I'm here to a job, and I will do everything in my power to ensure your safety, sir."

Never before have you spoken to a client like that, but your words rang true. You had a job to do and you were going to do it.

He stares at you.

You can't tell if he's upset with you for talking to him like that, or if he was just trying to think about his options, of which he didn't have many.

"Very well. What do you want me to do?" He asks, looking at you. You don't have time to think about that too much.

"Remain calm as we walk you outside. The car is just outside across the road. We are going to get you inside. I ask that you keep your head down. If I ask you to get down, please get a close to the ground as possible. Barnes and I will shield you then best we can."

Zemo doesn't say anything as he looks at you. He nods. A nod of confirmation. He understood the protocol.

You glance at Bucky.

"Ready?" You ask him.

"Ready."

Bucky and yourself walk on either side of the Baron as you head for the doors. Natasha and Clint are right outside, eyes on the rooftops. Steve and Carol are right behind you. Sam is near the car, waiting.

You step outside casually. Bucky and yourself are trying to note every detail, every person who is on this street.

The silence in the air feels eerie.

You get Zemo out into the street. It's far too quiet for your liking. No other vehicles are turning down the road and that makes you uncomfortable.

You glance down the road.

You're all almost across the street. Looking at Sam, you see he has his eyes on the roof of the building you had just come from.

You don't like this.

You're nearly at the car.

A shot rings out in the air and everything happens all at once.

All bodyguards take out their weapons and keep them up as they try and pinpoint where the gunshot rang from. There was no sign of anyone. The Baron crouched down by the car, you take a knee beside him, Bucky shielding him from the other side.

You focus your eyes on the rooftops.

"I don't see anyone," you say down through the earpieces.

"Nothing," you hear Nat say.

"All clear here," Carol states.

"Clear," Clint responds.

"Don't let your guard down," Steve says.

There's another shot. It strikes the car. You swear under your breath as you look up at where it may have come from.

"Not the rooftop!" You state.

Bucky sees the open window. There's movement within, but he can't get an angle. He looks at you over his shoulder.

"I have to move, you going to be alright?" He asks.

You nod.

Zemo looks up at you, brows furrowed together.

"You're leaving me with them?" He asks, turning back to Bucky.

Bucky looks at him.

"You're in good hands."

Bucky says no more as he pushes away from the car and bolts further down the street, taking cover behind the car you had arrived in. You open the car door.

"Please get in, sir."

Zemo stares at you.

Another shot rings out, another one striking the car. He jumps slightly.

"Give me a weapon, I was military, I can shoot," he says.

"Sorry, sir, but I cannot do that. Please get in the car. I have to get you out of the area."

He glares at you, but he climbs into the car as he is told to do. You close the door behind him and stand up, keeping your back to the car. Zemo tucks himself down in front of the seats. He keeps his eyes on you through the window.

"Crazy," he mutters.

You turn to see Bucky waiting the person in the window. From where you moved to, they wouldn't be have a good enough shot on you. However, you should have remembered the fact that cars had stopped coming down this road.

Load screeching causes you turn around. A big bulky vehicle comes to a stop at the end of the street. Along with the others, you lift your gun and hold it up at the car. Nothing happens for a minute, but all at once the car doors open and several people jump out.

All of them are armed.

Helmut watches you raise your gun. It had been a long time since he felt fear like this. They were here for him.

Gunshots go off. He turns to see three of the people from the car either fall back, or backtrack to cover. The others continue to shoot at his bodyguards.

More gunfire and suddenly he can't see you any more.

Zemo moves and looks out the window properly. You're kneeling on the ground. You're hurt.

Zemo glances up and sees them getting back in the car. The windows are rolled down. He panics all of a sudden.

"Shit." He opens the car door and runs toward you. He kneels in front of you and looks down at you. You look at him, brow furrowed.

"Get back in the car!"

"You're hurt."

"No shit. Get back in the car."

You reach for your gun and hold it up toward the car. The engine revs. They're going to drive right into you if you don't move.

You fire a couple of shots, but they got you in the shoulder and it hurts like hell. You groped your gun and give the Baron a rough shove.

"GO!"

He hesitates. He looks at you. It looks like a lot of blood, but it probably wasn't. Still, he can't help how worried he feels right now.

Why was he so scared?

Maybe because this was the first time in years they had come for him, and seeing you bleeding out in front of him takes him back to that night.

Two strong hands grab him by the shoulders and pull him back. He's startled for a moment. He looks back to see Bucky pulling him back toward the car. He is roughly shoved into the back. Bucky slams the door shut and climbs into the drivers seat.

"Wait, we are leaving them?"

As Bucky starts the engine, Zemo looks outside and sees you passed out on the street. Everyone else seems too busy to attend to you and he wonders what will happen.

He wants to jump out and move you, but the doors are locked.

"Go back!" He yells as the car turns sharply and drives down the other direction.

He just left you there!

Zemo had just seen you do your job. You protected him and took a hit for him. Perhaps more than one hit.

Were they just going to leave you to die?

Zemo tries to keep his eyes on you as Bucky drives, but they're not on that street long enough for him to do so.

Through Bucky's earpiece, he hears Steve.

"Ambulance en route. The gang have reversed out of the street, stay off the main roads and be careful."

Bucky replies, "roger that."

Zemo sits in the back in silence. He doesn't know what to do or what to think. Everything had happened so very quickly.

He was also confused.

Why had guilt settled within him.

You had done your job. He had been wrong about you. He can say that now.

I was wrong about you.

@thesuitkovian @justfangirlthingies @belle82devart @zemosimp420 @anteroom-of-death @silverlambcaptain @that-stupid-head-tilt-thing @lieutenantn @daniielbruhl @awesomesauce-abbie @latenightartist-author @lazygurl05 @rumblelibrary @nonamec0s @shura-gorl @ginger-abreu @caligrl1992 @livvyshmiv @luciadiosa @vverliebt @tatooineisdry @charistory @somethingthatsaysbubbles

[in-superbloom]

did you ever hear about the girl who got frozen? (a.i.)

right where you left me: prologue

pairing: ashton irwin x olivia jones (oc)

warnings: uhh a kinda grieving theme i guess? but no deaths. it has a sad tone overall, but nothing major (in this chapter hehe). foul language because i can't help myself. the tiniest mention of alcohol, but as a memory. think i should probably warn you that this contains a very sad ash. also not much dialogues. this is mainly for explanation and introduction, but very important for the story. if you find anything else that might be triggering, please let me know so i can add it here !!

author's note: oof okay. so. this is the prologue of a series very very dear to my heart that i've been working on for what it feels like my whole life but really it's been just a few months. but i'm in love with the story (which rarely happens with my own writing) so i hope you can enjoy it too !! this is also my very first time posting a fic since 2013 so pls keep that in mind <3 no i am not shaking as type this ofc not also: although i have the full story ready in my head, this is the only chapter that's written. i wanted to wait until i had at least a few ready before posting this but i'm too anxious for that lmao just saying this bc it will take a good while until i have any more chapters, so <3 (p.s.: i went over this thing a million times since may so if you find any errors pls look away, i'm not fixing this thing anymore. thanks <3)

another note: anna from the future here to say that i completely forgot about the playlist i made for the story lmao here it is in case you're interested k thanks bye <3

credits: title is from taylor swift's song right where you left me. model in the picture: paola locatelli. banner by me.

i also wanted to take a minute to thank some really nice friends that i've made here over these past few months & that i'm extremely grateful for @wastelandcth @suchalonelysunflower @littledrummerangie i cannot thank you babes enough for inspiring me the way that you do & for letting me yell about this to you && for encouraging me so much 🥺 i'll never be able to explain just how much this means to me, so i'll have to settle for saying thank you at any change that i can get <3 i love you all 💜 also gem my baby, thank you for the inspo with the banner 💚

@bluesdelis look babe i did it 😌 you know how grateful i am for you & for you letting me have a breakdown every week about my writing for the past 8 years so let's not dive into that or else i will write something bigger than this prologue jsjsjdjd love you 🖤

i hope you all have a good reading and a nice day ♡

let me know what are your thoughts about the fic ! ♡

word count: 4.1k

☆☆☆

Cold. That was the first thing that Olivia’s brain processed.

Still with her eyes closed, she buried herself more into the duvet, while her arm blindly reached for the furnace in human form that she calls boyfriend. However, as soon as her arm was only met with cold sheets, her eyes shot open.

Blinking the sleep away, she sat up on the bed, searching for the infamous red clock resting on Ashton’s bedside table that was supposed to look like a vintage alarm clock. Olivia had ordered it online at an auction website a couple of years back, as a gift for his 23rd birthday, since it was something he had mentioned multiple times prior that he was looking for, but still hadn't found. But when it finally came in (two weeks after the due date), it looked nothing like the picture she saw on the website. Feeling beyond frustrated, she wanted to send it back immediately and ask for a refund and maybe leave a not so polite review on the seller's page. But Ashton stopped her right away, laughing like the situation was absolutely hilarious to him, while saying, 'I like it, it’s quirky'. So, the clock stayed and found a home right next to him in their room.

Some days, however, she would wake up at some ungodly hour because of the blaring noise of the only ringtone the clock had. But whatever annoyance she could feel towards the object, it always vanished as soon as she felt Ashton's lips gently touching her face in a good morning kiss before he would get up to start his day, leaving her to catch some more hours of well deserved sleep.

As the furthest from a morning person as a touring musician could possibly be, Olivia had always feared that living under the same roof as Ashton would turn her into an early bird like him, but she's thankful that it never happened (not that he needs to know about that).

When she sees the red clock, she smiles at the sudden but welcome memories of them flooding her foggy brain, but frowns slightly when she realizes it reads 12:13 pm. Ashton rarely lets her sleep past 10 am.

Gathering all her strength and will, she rises up from the bed, smoothly picking up a grey wool sweatshirt from the chair (way too baggy on her slim body, but it smells like him), pulling it over her head and relishing on the soft material warming up her body. Making her way to the door and calmly going down the stairs, she can’t help but stop for a minute to admire the picture frames on their walls, one in particular catches her attention – probably one of the most prized pictures and memories they had. It felt older than it actually is, but it was around 4 years ago, she's sure – a little while after the two of them met. The picture was of their group of friends that still remains the same: Ashton and his best friend, Luke; Olivia, her best friend, Calum and their old hometown friend, turned into Calum’s new friend at college, turned into everyone’s friend, Michael; and her then newly band members, Suki, Eli and Ravi. Together, their group was the life of the party through all their college years, and it showed by the big smiles and drinks in hands they all had in the picture. It was a very special night, the first time Olivia’s little band played for the public – for a small audience sure, but it was a wonderful night nonetheless. What a long road it had been since that night.

Her nostalgic thoughts were interrupted by a shiver that went through her whole body, and it made her realize how oddly cold the whole house was, not only their bedroom. Which, granted, it was November in New York and the weather was just getting colder, but that’s exactly why Ashton always made sure to keep the house warm enough. As much as she loved the chilly season, the warm weather always reminded him of his hometown, and who was she to deny him that?

The smell of fresh made coffee could be sensed even before she reached the kitchen. Arriving there, the curly haired woman still found no signs of her boyfriend, so she went straight after the coffee maker pot sitting on the far left corner of the cream marble counter. Smiling softly at the tons of memories of Ashton's sleepy figure making their favorite beverage, she reached for a coffee mug on the cupboard on top of the counter and poured the remainder of the hot liquid on it (it's her favorite mug, if she must choose – it was a gift from a fan, and it had printed on it a collage of the pictures of her and Ashton that were posted on social media through their first year of relationship).

Moving to the glass doors that lead to the mini garden they cultivate, she didn't have to open them to spot the 6-feet-tall man sitting on a bench outside, looking oddly small in his oversized clothes, coffee mug tightly held between strong hands. Something about his figure made Olivia frown, however: he was staring with an unwavering look at her small but eye-catching pot of yellow daffodils that were almost as much of a pet to them as Stitch at this point. Sensing that there’s something definitely off about his semblance, she made a mental note to talk to him and find out what’s wrong later. So she goes back to the kitchen, knowing that he might need this quiet and private moment for himself.

She lost count of the minutes that went by (couldn't have been more than five) before she hears the garden's door opening and closing, and then his bare feet are dragging his brawny body to her. Except, he goes over to the sink, walking right through her, not showing any sign that he even saw her hunched figure over the counter table in the middle of the room.

Alright, someone's in a mood.

Olivia tries to swallow the annoyance already bubbling inside her – he knows how much she hates to be ignored, no matter how mad he might be – by trying to think of what she can say that won't piss him off. This is always a hard feat to accomplish when Ashton gets in these moods, but there’s a reason for them to work so well together.

“I missed my favorite body heater when I woke up,” she says in her best sweet voice, knowing how quickly his resolve crumbles when he hears that voice.

Still, no reaction.

That settles a worry at the pit of her stomach, because Ashton is never like this. Even when he's not in the mood to talk, he always gives some kind of reaction to her words; it doesn't matter how small, just enough to make her feel acknowledged.

When he's finished washing his mug and the few scattered dishes across the sink – she noticed that he already had lunch, if the lone plate in the drying rack is anything to go by –, he dries his hand in a towel, turns around and throws it on top of the same counter Olivia was leaning up against. Once again, he walks away not even sparing her a look.

Indignant, she leaves the now empty coffee mug on top of the table and follows him as he walks up the stairs, any determination to not aggravate his mood now well gone.

“Hey! In case you didn't notice, I'm right here. Whatever got you in this sour mood, I'm certainly not to blame, so can you stop being a child now and talk to me?!”

Ashton just keeps walking – more like sluggishly dragging his body – until he reaches their bedroom and suddenly stops just merely two feet inside the room, looking around with vacant eyes; like he was expecting to see something that wasn't there.

“Okay, that's really mature of you. Are you planning on ignoring me all day then?” Olivia questions exasperated, staring angrily at the back of his neck, where the condor tattoo lives – her favorite of his, but that sight doesn't bring her any peace today like it usually does.

Her glare only breaks when she hears the familiar sound of dog tags swaying on her right side. Shifting her gaze to the direction of the sound, Olivia notices Stitch, their small, black & white French bulldog – who she thought was outside in the garden – slowly trudging his way from around the bed until he stops at Ashton's feet, looking up at one of his humans with sad eyes. That realization only makes the worry in her stomach grow uncomfortably.

“Hi buddy,” Ashton's voice cracks a bit from the lack of use, but he smiles softly at the sweet dog, and crouches down to pet him.

Olivia can't help but gasp as she notices three things all at once that leave her overwhelmed: first, how she didn't even notice Stitch was in the room when she woke up – which never ever happens, in fact, most days he wakes her up whenever he deems her bedtime as finished and can't ever contain his excitement when she finally gets up; second, how the windows blinds are closed, which, again, rarely occurs under their roof, not if Ashton can help it. And third, how sad and melancholic the whole scene in front of her is – how sad and melancholic Ashton is. Pointless to say by now – that's also a very rare occasion.

A chill creeps up Olivia's spine, putting her body into high alert and also serving as a reminder of how everything looks out of place today. Trying to keep her head from spiraling down way too soon, she wraps her arms around herself and crouches down beside her two favorite boys, trying once more.

“Ash? Can you hear me?” even with her throat closing, she softly asks, purposefully putting her face in Ashton's point of view. Her only answer is the low whispers he's letting out to Stitch, while cradling the tiny dog in his arms, spreading gentle kisses on his head.

“I know, bud, I know. I miss her too,” is the only whisper she could understand and immediately wishes she hadn't. The weak wail that comes from Stitch's throat seems to fit perfectly with how the three of them feel.

Ashton then looks up and for a couple of seconds, and Olivia can swear he’s staring right into her eyes. But when he shows no reaction, she knows he’s just staring ahead and not at her, with that look that says there’s too much going on inside his head. She feels the urge to embrace him and get him to talk about whatever is on his mind, so they can share that weight like they always do, but when Ashton gets up from the ground and settles on the bed with Stitch, Olivia can physically feel the crack in her heart caused by the feeling she’s left with.

While Ashton is pulling the duvet over him and the dog, with clearly no intentions of getting up anytime soon, Olivia stands up on her feet with a new-found determination – she needs to figure out what the hell is going on.

This nightmare had to be just that, right? Nothing but a very vivid dream – she's had those before. Scary sure, but they always go away, and soon enough she's back into Ashton's arms, with Stitch jumping on the bed ready to lick their faces off. She just needs to wake herself up from whatever fucked up dream this is – right?

She's running down the stairs this time, frantically in search of something, of what exactly, she doesn’t know – but she knows she needs an answer. The more she looks for something, the more desperate she gets, not knowing what to look for. Then suddenly, something catches her eyes.

The white and blue calendar that's held up by magnets on the side of the fridge. She knows their calendar is red and yellow. They got it from their favorite flower market. Slowly, as if scared of what it might be there – “It's just a calendar, for fucks sake” – she approaches the damn thing. Upon inspection, she deems it as a normal calendar – she really doesn't know what she was expecting – until.

She knows what's wrong with it now.

It's November. She knows it, because the Asian and last leg of her first world tour is about to begin November 21st, eleven days from today. Right after Mike's birthday, she knows this.

Then why does the calendar say today is January 14th?

☆ ☆ ☆

Ashton woke up with a jolt. He quickly sat up, frightening the little Frenchie that was asleep right next to him on the bed. Trying to make sense of his surroundings, he roughly rubbed his face to get some sleep off of it and soon reached for the dog that was staring at him with sleepy but sad eyes. Ashton is sure Stitch understands far more than a dog is supposed to understand about their current situation.

The room is covered in shadows, almost pitch black, but he can see the sunlight even through the thick dark grey blinds covering up the windows. Ashton knows he won't be able to sleep again at that moment, so he gets up from the bed – much slower than he used to. His heartbeat is still out of control because of the nightmare that woke him up, but he can't bother to pay attention to it when Stitch is softly wailing beside him. Ashton lets out a ghost of a smile when the dog rests his head on his right upper thigh, looking up at him with an expression Ashton knows all too well.

“C'mon you little ravenous creature, let's feed you,” the bulldog excitedly jumps to the ground, already running his way down the stairs, not even waiting for Ashton to get up.

That gets a real smile out of him, but it vanishes as soon as he glances at the alarm clock on his bedside table. It reads 5:13 am, nothing out of the ordinary for him. But that small and inoffensive clock, with its red paint peeling off, holds a lot of memories for him. Memories that two months ago would bring joy to his heart, but now he almost wants to throw the object across the room.

It was a stupid thing, really. He had been wanting a vintage alarm clock and Olivia got one for his birthday. But the product they received was definitely not the one she bought, and if he's being honest, he didn't like it as much as he made out to. But seeing her so excited in the weeks before it arrived, and how disappointed she was when it did, he couldn't help but try his best to make her smile that luminous smile again. It's part of his nature by now.

That's also the reason why he lets her think that he doesn't notice when she wakes up at some ungodly hour (her words, not his) along with him, because of the annoying and only sound the alarm clock is able to produce. He always leaves soft kisses in every inch of bare skin he can find on her sleeping figure, so she goes back to the dream land and doesn't wake up before 10 am. No one wants to deal with that kind of bad humor, not even him.

As much as he likes being a morning person and absolutely enjoys her company in the mornings, he knows she'll take any and every extra hour of sleep she can get before starting the day. And that's why he loves that she's so stubborn that his early bird tendencies never got to her – he knows she feared that this would happen when they moved in together, but he met her like this, fell for her like this. He wouldn't change a single thing about her.

Ashton drags himself out of the bed, wincing slightly at how cold the wooden floors are under his bare feet. He doesn't bother putting some socks on, or a sweater – the cold weather in the house is uncharacteristically comforting to him. Nothing feels warm without her anyway.

While descending the stairs, he mentally curses himself for not being strong enough to look past the picture frames on the wall. One in particular catches his eyes – a picture from the night of Olivia's first concert with her band. The memories of that night are still painfully vivid in his mind: the laughter among their group that eventually infected everyone at the pub, Suki and Luke's first kiss and the silly smile that didn't leave his best friend's face all night, the standing ovation Olivia got after her three-songs set, and her captivating and breathtaking smile that made him realize right then and there, while watching her sway to the music, that he was definitely falling in love with her and there was nothing he could do to stop it – not that he wanted to.

So many memories held up on that wall, in the relatively short time since they met, that he can't help but wonder if that's all they'll get in this lifetime.

Ashton is abruptly taken out of his thoughts by Stitch's barks coming from the bottom of the stairs. He quickly jogs down the few steps left and goes straight after the dog's food in the kitchen's cabinet. After Stitch starts to happily devour his breakfast, Ashton goes to make his coffee, doing enough for two people like he always does, since Calum drops by most days for a chat or to drop Duke before going to work. Although all three of them know he just can't bother to make food for himself in the morning, while Ashton is the group's elected chef. Ashton always says he just needs a boyfriend – Olivia says Calum already has one who makes him breakfast every day.

He grabs an apple from the fridge and makes his way outside to their garden. Even though a lot of their memories took place there, the garden is the only space in the house where he doesn't feel like suffocating all the time. At least here, he can breathe some fresh air and look at the sky when he's feeling overwhelmed – which is basically all he's been doing for about a month now.

Yet, a lot of the garden has Olivia's name written all over.

He remembers vividly the day she came home after spending two weeks in LA doing some pocket shows, with a pack of daffodil seeds and the largest smile. She excitedly told him that a friend gifted it to her when she mentioned the little garden they were planning to build together at their new house. The friend told Olivia that daffodils symbolize rebirth and new beginnings, so as the good lover of symbolism that she is, Olivia loved the idea of having those flowers to symbolize their new beginning.

Ashton, on the other hand, wasn't a fan of the flowers at first – he just didn't see the appeal to them. But nonetheless, he indulged her, letting Olivia plant the seeds near the bench they used to sit during the quiet and unrushed afternoons, so they could admire the sunset, and she could happily look at the daffodils.

Pointless to say – the damn flowers grew on him.

Now, however, looking at them without Olivia and her contagious joy next to him, they were back to be as dull as they were before, if not more so.

Still lost inside his head without any sense of how much time went by since he sat down, Ashton doesn't hear the front door closing, and doesn't notice that he's no longer the only person inside the house until someone sits next to him on the bench. Yet, he doesn't show any sign of acknowledgement to them.

A few minutes go by before either of them speaks up.

“Luke said you didn't go to see her yesterday,” Calum starts softly, not wanting to disturb the calmness of the morning.

Ashton takes a few seconds to respond, “No point in doing that.” The black haired man licks his lips while thinking carefully about his next words.

“You know staying inside this house all day by yourself won't help either,” Calum turns his head to his left and takes a good look at Ashton's uncharacteristically hunched over figure, and immediately thinks that anyone can tell this man is not himself anymore. His second thought is that Olivia would hate seeing him like this.

“And what exactly do you expect me to do? Move on with my life like nothing happened? Like I'm not slowly and painfully losing the love of my life? Just because it’s easy for you doesn't mean it's easy for me.”

Calum closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. He knows Ashton doesn't mean it, it's the anger and frustration talking. He knows it. Doesn't make it sting any less.

“I'm not telling you to move on with your life, because that's far from what I'm doing, and I certainly don't expect you to do it. I'm just saying you need to occupy your mind or else–”

“I'll go insane? Think it's a bit too late for that,” Ashton interrupts with a bitter tone that doesn't belong to his usual chirpy voice.

“You know it's not,” Calum sighs and drinks the rest of his coffee, moving his body slightly, so he's facing the blonde man, “I got a job interview for you at that school you talked about so much last summer, the principal said you can go any day this week. I went ahead and sent her your resume as well as explained everything that she needs to know about Olivia, so you don't have to. You just gotta put on some decent clothes and show up.” he sees Ashton's face softening a little and takes it as a victory. A few beats go by and then, “Maybe take a shower too. That's gonna make you feel better.” Calum leans in closer to his friend's personal space and takes a sniff, causing Ashton to deflect from him slightly, but not to push him away – another small win.

“Definitely take a shower, you stink. When was the last time your hair saw shampoo?”

“Fuck off,” is Ashton's only reply to the younger man's inquest. But Calum can see a smile creeping up on the blonde's face, which brings out a smile of his own.

“I'll send you all the details later today,” he checks the hour on the watch on his wrist and gets up, “Just please, Ash, go. I can't lose you too.”

Calum gently lays a hand on Ashton's shoulder and squeezes a little. The man doesn't look up, but gives a curt nod to his friend, who's satisfied enough. Calum stops on the threshold of the garden glass doors to give some kisses to Stitch – who came to make Ashton company as soon as he finished his food –, and then he puts the coffee mug on the dishwater. And soon enough, he's on his way out of the door. But not before snatching a tangerine from the fridge.

Ashton is left by himself once again. As he hears the sound of the front door closing, he thinks that this might be his life from now on. Just him and Stitch, trying their hardest to make it through another miserable day without the love of their lives. While everyone else comes by just to make sure he's still breathing. Breathing, maybe, but alive?

Swallowing the tears, he looks up at the sky. It's a deep, beautiful mix of orange, pink and blue, but he knows that it won't last long and soon the rain will be pouring down. He thinks about how much Olivia loves the rain.

God, he needs to pull himself together. She would hate to see him like this. Maybe he should take Calum's offer after all, he really needs to occupy his mind.

Making a mental note to thank Calum later, and also to apologize for how rude he was to him this morning, Ashton slowly gets up from the bench to put his mug on the sink and makes his way to the living room, with the small dog loyally following his every step. He puts on some cartoon that for once doesn't remind him of her (she always lovingly made fun of him for still watching those) and cuddles with Stitch on the couch. He can take a shower later.

Not half an hour goes by, he falls asleep and has a good dream for a change. He dreams of the days he spent with Olivia in the Philippines last February, right before her first world tour started. Some of the most magical days of their lives – surrounded by delicious food, a whole new culture to learn about and the warmth of the sun. Infinite counted days full of love and passion, where they were the only people in the world.

Even his subconscious knows to hold on to that brief moment of happiness, because he might never live that again.

[fiction-fun]

Fanfiction request?? Power Rangers? If you're still doing it, :)

Sometime in the future of the time force, Jen reminisces her memories with the rangers, looking up a wall of memories, that has pictures of her and the rangers together. (It's based on a fanart i drew) the rest of the premise and story and everything is on you!!

And if you don't wanna do it, it's okay!! But thank you so much ofr listening!!!!

Hey! I am so so so sorry this took so long! I really hope this is something like what you wanted!

Fandom: Power Rangers Time Force

Pairings: past Jen/Alex, past Jen/Wes, otherwise none

Words: 1773

Warnings: None, well general Power Rangers drama

*With Jen*

Jen stared off into the distance as memories washed over her. She smiled faintly as a certain memory danced to the front of her mind.

It was the first time she had met Alex, and although even thinking his name still sent a tinge of pain through her, she still loved remembering the happy times. Like when he helped her, in the beginning. She had just joined the academy and she was a nervous wreck. But he saw in her a potential she didn’t see in herself, and helped guide her through the difficulty that was the academy and allowed her to grow.

Jen let out a small sigh, not sad exactly more wistful. Another memory flooded back to her and she shifted her grip on her helmet.

After a while Alex and her had started dating. Getting onto the same team had been like a dream, even with Alex as her superior officer. She worked hard until her and Alex could stand side by side in strength and reputation. Alex managed to capture the villain Ransik. They both, Alex and her, had attended his trial. And once he was convicted without the threat of Ransik Alex had proposed to Jen, and her accepting without hesitation.

Jen stopped for a second shaking her head, her hands shaking around her helmet even as she gripped it tighter. In her rapid hazy thoughts, she failed to hear the sound of the time portal closing.

Then one day Ransik escaped, they had been waylaid during transport and Ransik had escaped. The team had tried to chase him down but arrived in time to see Ransik shoot down Alex and jump into a time portal. Jen and the rest of the team, Lucas, Trip and Katie followed after him, on the orders of their fallen leader.

Jen let out a shaky breath and reached up to wipe her face, from the tears that had slowly been trailing down.

Meeting Wes had only set off anger in her. The pain of loosing Alex so recently and then having to go to their past and finding someone who looked exactly like her lost love. It unsettled her and upset her.

She took a deep breath, dwelling on the thoughts of how her…friendship…relationship…with Wes started, the journey and path made it an experience she’d never forget. Alex reappearing in the middle of everything didn’t exactly help the matter. Her brain started playing out another memory for her.

Alex appeared in front of them and immediately started reprimanding them for ‘Not following the rules by the book.’ she found herself questioning, did she still love Alex as much as she had? He wasn’t the same person she had fallen for, the carefree, kind and gentle man she had fallen for in the academy had been changed into a bitter and stern man. To a point shed almost call him cruel in his words and actions. But Wes who had shown them all nothing but kindness even if she hadn’t always been the nicest. Alex had immediately taken Wes’s Chrono-morpher back angrily telling him he wasn’t needed, and with his father injured like he was Wes had just left. Dragontron had been a new battle and they knew they were overwhelmed especially with Lucas rebelling against Alex’s harsher leadership. This in turn had led to Katie and Trip to confront Alex and force him to hand over the Chrono-morpher. Wes with the help of Trip, Katie, Lucas, and herself immediately went into battle against him and with Wes working with them it made the battle seem…almost to easy.

She smiled softly as more memories washed over her playing almost like a collage of images in front of her eyes. One memory swam forward and she felt the fear grip her stomach as if it had just happened.

Her fists slammed against the metal and glass of the ship as it took off. Trip was besides her as Lucas and Katie tried to get the ship to stop. Nothing they did seemed to matter. Ransik had attacked, his final battle, and to protect them Wes had locked them in their ship and forced them back to the future. Arriving in their time, the year 3000, they found Alex and all of them demanded that he send them back, that they had to go back to help Wes and Eric. Alex kept denying sending them back, even telling them that Wes ultimately dies in this battle. But that just makes them want to go back even more, and with the time rift over Silver Hills it’d be easy for them to get back. Jen finally makes the last move that ultimately sways Alex to send them back, she gives back his ring. This was the final proof that they’d do anything for their new friends and Alex told them to take Time Force MegaZord, as it was likely the only thing to be able to make the trip.

Jen gave a sigh as the rest of that memory played out not hearing the portal opening behind her.

They got back to the past in time to help Wes and Eric but only barely. Jen managed to lure Ransik away from her injured team, to a warehouse where Ransik immediately attacked who he thought was Jen, only for it to be Nadira. Realized who he had just hot Ransik immediately surrendered, not willing to risk injuring his daughter again. Jen in stunned silence arrested him, still looking at were Nadira was crouching protecting what she could barely make out to be a small baby. After that, things had to move fast, she finally admitted to Wes that she loves him and he returned it! But Jen and the other Time Force Rangers had to return to the future to place Ransik in prison. Jen and Wes shared one kiss they’re first but not last. Jen gave him her Time Force badge before leaving and watched him until they entered the time vortex to go back to their own time.

Jen shook her head; she had been in contact with Wes since then. Not often but she had, she really wished he could be there now. She sighed and shook her head again that wouldn’t be possible not after what happened when she left after hunting down the mut-orgs with the Wild Force Rangers.

She smiled at Wes as he showed up, obviously excited about seeing her. That is until she had told him she had already been there for two weeks. The. He was upset because she hadn’t told him that she was back in his time. He had gripped for a while before finally he just smiled and hugged her; they spent that night cuddled together on the animarium. The next morning, they split up into teams to go find the mut-orgs. After stopping the reaction in the reactor and taking down the remaining mut-orgs, Jen and Alyssa having taken out one already, they all returned to the floating island in the sky for a picnic. The next evening when Trip, Lucas, Katie, Ransik, Nadira and her had to return to the future Wes pulled her aside. He told she meant the world to him, but that he couldn’t handle the long distance. It was to much for him, she understood it would be too much for anyone. They parted nicely but it still stung to think about for her.

She smiled sadly as the memories washing over her started to slow down a bit.

Trip had ended up going back to his own home planet after the mut-org mission, but he kept in touch with his friends and teammates. So, when he got word that the Time Force powers and Morphers were going to be switched out for better powered ones, he knew Jen being an instructor and most attached to her current Morpher would be the one most affected. The others still did cases but less so then Jen. He immediately grabbed Circuit and found a ship that would take him back to earth, reaching where Jen was, he saw her totally out of it. He stood next to her watching the emotions play over her face he could almost tell each memory that she was reliving. He made his decision to go get the others, when he saw a tear trail slowly down her face. In a second, he had a time portal open and had headed to Lucas, the one closest to them in the time stream.

*With Trip ~ back to the top*

Getting to him hadn’t been easy, but convincing him to come get Katie Wes and Eric with him had been easy. Back into the time stream for Katie, they got her and Wes and Eric easily, although the last two did have to make some arrangements before leaving.

*with everyone*

The five of them reappeared behind Jen as she seemed to shake herself out of her memories.

“Hey Jen!” Trip called softly.

His sudden voice surprised her and made her jump and turn around, her eyes going wide as she took in the whole team.

“Hey, what are you all doing here?” Jen asked still a bit stunned to see them there.

“Well, someone.” Lucas paused for a second to point at Trip. “heard about the power refit and came to see you before coming to get us. Said something about you ‘needing friends for support’ although he could have chosen a better time to come get me. The middle of enemy territory not the best time.” Lucas said a small smirk.

Trip rubbed the back of his neck but Katie interrupted him before he could speak.

“At least he didn’t catch you in a…hmm…personal situation.” Katie said good naturedly with a gentle smile.

Trips face darkened scarlet and even Lucas turned a light red.

“Honestly he interrupted a meeting I was happy to leave” Wes said with an easy-going smile.

“Speak for yourself! I was having fun running the newbies through training.” Eric said with a smile of his own.

Jen couldn’t help but laugh as she walked the few steps over to her team, no her friends. They all shared hugs and told stories. Jen knew even with things changing, some things never would. She smiled softly feeling Wes’s arm land on her shoulders. They might not have ended up together for obvious reasons, but she knew he’d always be in her corner, and she in his. The team had become friends and from friendship had born a family that nothing, not even something so minor as 1000 years could break apart.

[thr-333]

Mismatch- Part 2

Bio Dad Bruce Wayne Month 2020

Point? Plot? never heard of it! have some fluff instead!

First > Next

----

First class was called for boarding, leaving the twins behind to wait for economy boarding. They could afford first class, but didn’t want to make a scene with the rest of the class. They are distracted from the window when Lila joins the first class line. When she reaches the desk the twins can’t hear her talking but can see her crocodile tears as she likely spins a tale of woe. There is a sense of satisfaction between them as after some back and forth Lila is sent away in a huff. She goes back to the class and starts complaining, causing them to miss the call for domestic boarding.

“Let’s go,” Marion shrugs his backpack on and they went to board before the rest of the class. He wasn't about to let Lila somehow steal their seats.

As they board the plane they walk past their friends in first class, some seats around them still having people late to board. With a wave they continue on reaching their seats and storing their backpacks under the seats.

“Marion, make sure your devices are in flight mode,” Marinette commands, as she pulls out her tablet.

“Sure thing,” Marion pulls out his laptop, making sure both that and his phone were on flight mode. Marinette double checking.

“It’s just not fair,” They hear Lila whine as she walks past them to her seat.

“I know girl, I know,” Alya is following, patting her back.

Marinette ignores them and pulls out the safety manual, studying the two pages with the same intensity she does as Ladybug. Marion turned to the built in seat screen and browsed through the movies. Marinette was likely the only one on the plane who paid attention during the safety demonstration. When the plane started moving Marinette grabbed onto Marion's hand. It was fine until the plane started to speed up, the grip getting tighter. When the plane lifted off Marion's hand was almost crushed with no magic ladybugs to save it.

“You know for a bug-”

“Nope, na-ah, not now,” Marinette grits through her teeth. Marion sighs and resigns to his hand being crushed.

Fine they had been in a bubble hundreds of meters above Paris looking straight down, but apparently that was nothing compared to a plane. When the seatbelt sign turned on Marion could swear in less than a minute Chloe magically appeared.

“Come on, there's spare seats near us, the people were a no show,” Chloe said, hands on hips.

“I don’t know Chloe, is that even allowed?” Marion asks, trying to pry his hand free.

“I’ll be fine,” Chloe waves him off, not answering the question. She looks at Marinette. “I’ll start jumping,”

“Let’s go!” She releases Marion’s hand and grabs her backpack. Marion shakes out his hand to get the blood flow back, then inspects the marked skin. He follows after them moving his fingers cautiously.

“Marion, your bag,” Chloe sighed, sending him running back to get it.

When Marion caught up they were already seated. Marinette, Kagami and Chloe were in a row of three by the window, while Adrien sat at the row in front. Marion climbed awkwardly over the person sitting at the aisle to reach the spare seat.

Adrien says a quick hello, not looking away from the window.

“It’s normal to be nervous on your first flight,” Kagami assures Marinette, not knowing wasn't her first flight. “Just breath, where would you prefer to sit?”

“Maybe somewhere out of reach of my hand,” Chloe speaks up, cradling her hand.

“It’s ok Marinette, I don’t really like planes either,” Adrien confesses, giving a weak smile over the seat.

“Well there we go you two should sit together,” Chloe dictates, “Come on Marion, up you get, you too Marinette,”

Chloe herds them out of their seats. Marion sheepishly apologises to the aisle person as they climb over them again. Marion sits at the Aisle now with Chloe at the window and Kagami in the middle. Marion peaks over the seats to see the two blushing messes. Marinette holding Adrien's hand, surely for no other reason than fear. It was effective either way as both seemed completely distracted by each other.

“Nice move,” Marion whispers to Chloe as he sits back down.

“I know, and as such I get to choose the movie,” Looking at the disposable headphones with disdain.

“We have our own screens,” Kagami points out.

“Then we’ll just have to start at the same time,” Chloe huffs, plugging the headphones in.

After a painful twenty minutes Chloe eventually settles on some romantic comedy Kagami and Marion had never seen which was ‘ridiculous’ and ‘unacceptable’.

“On my count, go,” Chloe presses play followed by Marion.

“That's not a count,” Kagami argues, the movie not playing.

“Of course it is,”

“You didn’t count,”

“That’s true,” Marion's screen lagging slightly behind Chloe.

“Fine,” Chloe rewinds back to the start, “One, two-”

“Wait I’m not ready!” Marion exclaims, struggling to rewind his. “Ok, now,”

“One, two, three” Chloe presses play, Kagami having pressed it a second before.

“Why?” Chloe hisses, as the screens play out of sync.

“You didn’t specify on or after three,” Kagami explains.

“After three!”

“How was I supposed to know?”

“Ugh, fine let's do it again, One, two-”

“Maybe we should do, ready, set go,” Marion interrupts, a grin on his face.

“No!” Chloe screeches.

“I think I should count,” Kagami interjects, straight faced. Marion isn't sure if she's serious or helping him mess with Chloe or not.

“No! I’m doing it and I’ll be counting,” Chloe seethes.

“Ok, ok,” Marion rewinds his screen,

“One, two-”

“So on or after three?”

“Ahhhhhh!”

After getting bored(being scared for his life) Marion finally lets them start the movie. That doesn't mean he’s done messing with Chloe, as he decides the comedy isn't comedic enough and has to make jokes throughout. Has to it is not his choice, the black cat beckons.

“Why would she not tell him that in the first place,” Kagami inquires.

“I don’t know, she just didn’t,” Chloe grumbles, keeping her eyes glued to the screen.

“It would have avoided a lot of problems,” Kagami decides.

“Well if you wanted needlessly complicated romance we’ve got front seats to the best one this century,” Marion smiles, adding, “And I’m not talking about the movie,”

At that they all stand to peek over seats at the two love birds leaning against each other asleep. Chloe snaps a photo leaning right over them to get the best angle. They all photobomb the background.

“We need to make a collage of all the times this has happened over the years,” Chloe sighs, showing them the photo.

“The piece of resistance will be them in their wedding outfits, sleeping after the reception,” Marion looks down at his phone to see Chloe had somehow sent him the picture, despite him looking at her phone the whole time, “Witchcraft,”

“They would, wouldn't they?” Chloe shakes her head.

“If they ever start dating,” Kagami mutters, also looking down to see Chloe had sent her the picture as well.

“Kags, the only ones that don’t know their dating is them,” Marion assures.

“Shush, this is the good part,” Chloe waves her hand at them, staring at the screen.

“It has a good part?” Marion asks, having to dodge the purse thrown at him.

They were halfway through the movie when Madame Bustier approached them, followed by Lila.

“Marion, what are you and Marinette doing up here?” She demands.

“The seats were spare so I told them too,” Chloe stops Marion before he can apologise.

“That doesn't mean you’re allowed to take them, you should have offered them to another student like Lila,” Madame Bustier reprimands, gesturing to Lila.

“If they can’t be here then neither can she,” Kagami grabs Lila’s wrist before she can shake Marinette awake.

“B-but my tinnitus!” Liela cries, Marion has to grab Kagami's other hand before she can place it over Lila’s mouth.

“Won’t be affected by where on the plane you sit,” Chloe glares.

“What do you know?” Lila sniffs, trying to shake Kagami's grip.

“Surprisingly, I actually researched it, unlike you,” Chloe spits out.

“How dare-”

“Excuse me,” A flight attendant approaches them, “is everything ok here?”

“No,” Liela turns on her crocodile tears pointing at the twins with her free hand. “These two are meant to be in economy, and I was told there were no spare seats in first class, they must of stolen someones seat!”

“Ridiculous,” Chloe huffs.

“Sir could I please see your ticket?” The flight attendant asks Marion. Marion freezes and stutters to explain, Lila looking smug.

“Right here,” Chloe fishes two boarding passes out of her purse and hands them over. The flight attendant inspects them, Marion giving them his passport before they ask.

“My apologies,” They tell Marion, handing back the passport and boarding pass, turning to Lila. “Miss these are their seats, I have to ask you to return to yours,”

“What!” Lila screeches.

“Miss I have to ask you to please be quiet, there are passengers sleeping,” The flight attendant is sterner now. Madame Bustier guides a complaining Liela away.

“Sorry for the confusion,” The flight attendant tells them.

“It’s fine,” Chloe has a vindictive smile on her face as she watches Lila storm off. When she turns around she sees Marion is smirking. “What?”

“You just happened to have two extra boarding passes, huh?”

“Of course, I wanted to have a row to myself, but you two looked so pouty when I left that I decided to give them to you,”

“Right, and they just happen to have our names on them?” Marion prodded, holding them out as proof.

“Uh, yeah? I couldn’t check in three times, I had to use your name,” Chloe snatches the boarding passes away.

“How did you even get our information to do that?” Marion asks, now genuinely confused.

“Anything is possible with money,”

“Foreboding… but true,” Marion considers, “Hey Chlo?”

“What?”

“Thanks,” Marion gives her the biggest smile possible.

“Whatever, you can thank me by letting me choose the next movie as well,” Chloe turns back to the screen.

“I’m not that grateful,” He has to doge her purse again.

Food comes part way through their second movie, that they let Chloe choose anyway. They gently shake Marinette and Adrien awake. Adrien groans at the thought of more food, but is too polite to turn it away.

“What is this slop?” Chloe asks, poking her fork at it like it might attack her.

“It's worse in economy,” Marion points out, eating his with only a small grimace.

“How is that meant to make me feel better?” Chloe sneeres.

“Because Lila and Sabrina are eating it now,” Marion smirks evilly, Chloe mirroring him.

“I’m still not eating it,” Chloe turns her nose up.

“You can have this,” Kagami hands over a container of assorted sushi. “I brought it, but it’s nothing compared to the sushi in Japan,”

“Thanks,” Chloe actually smiles, but would never admit to the slight blush dusting her cheeks. “Here Mari you can have this,” Chloe passes him the tray.

“Thanks Chlo, but I don’t like it either,” Marion pushes it back. Frustrating Kagami with all the reaching over her.

“At least take the cheese, I know you like that,” Chloe drops it on his tray.

“Wha- oh yeah, thanks,” Marion remembers Plagg, so he can't hand it back(not at all because he’s afraid of what Kagami will do if someone reaches across her again).

“You can have mine as well,” Kagami places the matching cheese neatly on top of Chloe’s.

“Do you want mine too?” Adrien asks reaching over the seat to hand it to him. “I don’t really like cheese,”

“Oh… thank you,” Marion says awkwardly, taking it.

“Here you can have mine as well,” Marinette reaches out, grinning over the seat. Marion glares at her, taking the cheese. She sticks out her tongue and sits back down.

When no one is looking Marion sneaks the cheese into his bag. He tries not to yelp as a few seconds later Plagg bites him. Marion excuses himself to the bathroom, taking his satchel.

“Plagg, what gives?” Marion asks, opening up his bag.

“What gives? you expect me to eat that trash? While Kaalki and Tikki eat a mountain of chocolate, are you so crule?” Plagg sticks his ‘nose’ up.

“It’s cheese,” Marion argues, picking up a piece.

“That is an insult to all of cheese,” Plagg points at the offending block.

“Too bad, it’s because of you everyone thinks I’m obsessed with cheese, so take some responsibility,”

“Never!”

“If you don’t eat it, I’m going to throw it out, so what's worse? Bad cheese, or wasted cheese?” Marion asks.

“Hmmmm…. Uhhhhhhh……. Ahhhhhh,” The Kwami looks like he’s in actual pain having to decide this, “.......... Fine!”

He stuffs the block into his mouth.

“Plagg you have to unwrap it first,” Plagg spends the rest of dinner pouting, as Tikki happily chomps on her Toblerone blocks with Kaalki.

After eating Marinette and Adrien decide to also try watching a movie together. They somehow take even longer to get it set up. Considering they can hardly use a full sentence around each other. Kagami eventually gets frustrated enough that she leans over and presses play for them. Marion, Chloe and Kagami finish watching their movie and decide to sleep the rest of the flight away. Chloe brings out her neck pillow and sleeping mask, seat reclined as far as it can go. Marion takes off the horse miraculous placing it carefully in the glasses case and then in his satchel. When he sits back up Chloe and Kagami are leaning against each other, apparently soundly asleep. Marion pretends he doesn't see both peeking at each other.

“Ah, to be the fifth wheel is a mighty achievement,” Marion whispers to himself, trying to disappear into his neck pillow.

Marion blearily wakes up to Kagami, Chloe and Adrien whispering. Marinette had fallen asleep again and was leaning against a blushing Adrien’s shoulder. He pretends he doesn't see this, reaching into his bag to grab the horse miraculous. He checks the flight path to see they only have two hours to go. Stretching as much as possible he chats with the others until Marinette wakes up over an hour later. They start talking about what they’ll do in Gotham, their excitement rising.

“There's an Akuma attack,” Chloe says looking down at her phone.

“What? how do you know?” Marinette shares a glance with Marion.

“Just got an alert,” Chloe gestures to her phone.

“It’s not in flight mode!” Marinette hisses.

“Of course not I-”

“Chloe put it in flight mode right now,” Marinette reprimands, as she climbs out of her seat with her bag, “I’m going to the bathroom,”

“... I’d better go check on her,” Marion declares, as Chloe turns her phone to flight mode, muttering that nothing happened.

He knocks on the bathroom door Marinette is in and is pulled in by Ladybug.

“Lets go, come on,” She says, bouncing in place.

“Plagg, Kaalki, Combine!” With a flash of light Marion is transformed, and with another they are off to Paris.

They have to be back in their seats for the descent that should be starting any minute now so they transport to the Akuma. Hoping they just run into Monsieur Rat. Instead they find a new Akuma, frustrating now having to find the akumatized object. They seemed to be a plant based, judging by the forest growing out of the sidewalk. Marion drops his transformation with the horse Miraculous, leaving regular Chat Noir. He passes a sugar cube to Kaalki telling the Kwami to stay put.

Ladybug charges in without him, trying to wrap her yo-yo around the Akumas tree like body. The Akuma breaks off the branches to get free, growing them back immediately. It sends out vines like whips, that the two dodge getting forced back. As Marion is forced back he trips over some moving roots getting sent sprawling back.

"Chat Noir," He hears a scared whisper to the side. Looking he sees a hand sticking out from under the roots and an eye peeking out from underneath.

"Don't worry," He gently takes the civilians hand, small enough to be a Childs, "me and Ladybug will save you,"

"Don't you mean Ladybug and I?"

"Never mind you can stay here," Chat teases, sticking his tongue out making the kid giggle.

He feels something wind around his leg. Looking down to see roots start to encircle it.

"Uh, Ladybug!" He tries to pull his legs free. Ladybug drops down next to him, helping him get free. He gives the kids hand one last squeeze before jumping to a roof with Ladybug.

"The civilians are trapped under the roots," Chat Noir reports.

"Inside as well," Marion looks out to see buildings cocooned in roots. "I freed some civilians, the Akuma went after them, you need to find it,"

Chat Noir nodded extending his baton to survey the surrounding area. He spots the Akuma from above, using his enhanced vision to study it.

"Chat!"

He looks down to see roots winding up his baton. He jumps off the top and is caught by Ladybug, as she swings them away. Marion looks back at his Baton to see roots circled around it like a tall tree without branches.

"Won't be using that for awhile," He muses, "Piggy back ride?"

"Yeah right," Ladybug snorts, "Wheres the Akuma?"

"That way," He points, "I noticed a poster hanging from one of the trees branches, it must be the akumatised object,"

"Alright lets go!" Ladybug drops down on a roof where the Akuma can't see them.

“Just stay calm, rushing isn’t going to help us here,” Chat Noir grabs her wrist pulling her back.

“You’re right Chat,” Ladybug takes a breath, “But that doesn't mean we can’t get a helping hand, lucky charm!”

"A ribbon? I think weed killer would have been more useful,"

"Very funny, I need you to tie this around the branch with the poster," Ladybug hands it to him.

"Got it,"

Marion jumps off the roof onto the trees branches. It screeches trying to grab him. Chat Noir summons his cataclysm destroying the branches that reach for him. While the tree is distracted severing the decaying branches Chat drops down to the branch with the poster, tying it around. The tree severs the branch as well, dropping it right into Ladybugs waiting arms. The trees branches wrap around Chat, giving Ladybug time to destroy the poster and purify the Akuma. Chat Noir is freed by the ladybugs, placing him back on the ground and returning his staff.

"Pound it,"

Kaalki comes out of hiding, Marion transforms before the press can delay them. He opens a portal right back into the stall. Detransforming and rushing back to their seats.

“Are you ok?” Kagami asked, as they buckle their seat belts.

“I will be once I get off this plane,” Marinette answers, Adrien offers his hand.

When they land they get to be the first ones off. They wait for the class. Madame Bustier does a headcount before they go through border security as a class, before moving on to pick up their bags. Alix and Kim ram their trolleys together as they wait for their bags to arrive. Madame Busier looked tired she didn't even try to stop them.

Chloe had to have her own trolley for her five bags, the rest managing to carry a single bag. The class headed for security separately. Marinette and Marion were stopped for a bag search because of a ‘concerned anonymous tip’ that they were bringing food in. No one else saw them get taken aside. The twins were thankful they left their vigilante costumes at home to be picked up later.

“And what's this?” The security guard asks, holding the polka dotted Miracle box.

“A jewellery box,” Marinette opens it up showing the miraculous. “Its a birthday present for our aunt who lives here,”

The guard nodded, not finding anything wrong. They sent them on their way, the rest of the class had made it through already. The twins walked outside, trying to spot their classmates or the bus.

‘Where are you?’ He texted Chloe

‘On the bus, you said you had another ride?’

‘No?!’

[oh-for-fic-sake]

The Mount Teaser

Warnings: Swearing, Typos

A/N: so this is the first little teaser for a small probably two part for the Cavillry School Writing Challenge. My teacher is August Walker as Truant officer. i hope you all enjoy. XXX

Please ignore any typo’s this is unbeta’d.  

You frowned at all the girls around you. All tittering and giggleing like children. Most younger than you. Stupid children. But each a terror in her own right other wise she wouldnt be here. You hated this place already, the garish pink and peach cheque short skirt and white blouse with a bow around the neck, even in year thriteen-sixth form you were required to be in uniform. Ugh. Mount Ephrame academy was a a strange institution. A huge 100 acre plot in the countryside huge caslte like building no not like hogwarts...Think Balmoral or somthing like that. Some gothic Victorian structure with almost everything you could think of dotted around the grounds stables, pool, walled garden, cloisters a fucking orangey even a small bloody lake! It was insane here once stepping out of the car you'd gone cold. Houston we have a problem! A big fucking problem! It was remote and a whole different world you felt it in the air as you'd entered the building lile you were cut off from the world. But if the ten foot grey stone wall that encompasses the grounds was anything to go by. You were. On the one hand it was an all girls boarding school. On the other? A prison. Its where the delinquents were sent. You go to a young offenders unit or if your bad enough or 'salvagable' your sent here if theres any space. It was unnerving. It pitches itself as an 'institution of learning, growth and reform' you can find yourself here from the age of eleven to twenty one the curriculum covers from your year seven SATS through gsce and higher education even some degrees!  Once you are here you are trapt untill you get the go ahead from principal Cavill untill you prove your 'good and well mannered and will contributeto society'. Your trapped despite your age, your classed as a ward of the 'school' untill he says you can leave. You thought it was illegal but no in actual fact it was like prison. Catch you teach and mold you untill you can become a functioning member of society. The school itself had a reputation of being effective but no one knows how or why. No one questions it, if its not broke dont fix it. Aslong as the students excel and come out as pristine young ladies no one cares. You looked around at the long line of portraits hanging on the walls. A gallery of the staff. Nintey percent male. One hundred percent of the gorgeous, even a few abnormal looking ones like a certain Mr...Rivia??. Eyes are not naturally that bright even for honey brown. Contacts. And he must dye his hair. You scoffed at his portrait. He tries to hard. Probably trying to cater to the younger teens newfound 'werewolf' infatuation thats popped up. Just a few years ago when you were their age 'vampires' were all the rage...As long as the sparkled. You paced the hall small heels clicking on the stone floor as you went. You'd done your research you'd been here just over two weeks and you hadnt been idle. Finding out as much as you could and yet nothing at all. The girls didnt talk much about what goeson here one did slip saying 'the mount' as they called the school was traditional in values and the way it handled things. The girl was quickly shushed by the others who turned a suspicious red colour. Other then that not much was said and you were avoided which was fine by you. You wasn't staying. You traced the picture frames slowly one by one the stunning thick men staring back at you from behind the glass, most blue eyed some a bright azure like the astrology teacher a Mr Kent crystal clear blues looking at you from behind thick framed nerd glasses. Others darker. Like a Mr Walker. Ah yes your new foe apparently. You stopped and stared at him, he looked tough but... looks can be deciving, just looke at that Rivia one for instance. No you didnt think the stoic Mr walker dyed his har or wear contact's, but you did think he was trying to seem more intimidating thennhe wpreally was. He was the Truant officer, normally in schools the truant officer is the only member of taff who can really touch you. But here things were. Different. You'd learned from the others that what happens in the mount, stays in the mount. Walker was the one all the students feared most he had a reputation for being the toughest and meanest of all the staff. It was said he was CIA and trained to kill-had killed. And that he hunts down pupils how skip class stalking them like prey before dragging them into his office and giving them hell before taking them to headmaster Cavill for a second dose. Dose of what you didnt know but apparently it was bad. Painful even. You doubted that very much. You doubted many things about this place, the reputation, the legality, the curriculum, the teachers! But most of all you doubted they would contain you. You doubted they'd manage to keep you here at this correctional institution. You'd got to your final compulsory year at school and been thrust into this place dragged kicking and screaming into its halls of residence and set to stay untill 'further notice' you were just about to turn eighteen! Just about to leave behinde the 'holier then thou teachers' and do what you wanted and???  No. The government decided you used up our chances. A few warnings from police and being expelled from a few schools were fine but apparently drinking underage and caught with class A drugs was a step to far. The courts called you a liability and shipped you off here to continue education in a 'safe structured environment' your parents were only to happy to agree, why wouldn't they be? You'd get a free education, free room and board and collage courses a free degree to if you were not 'reformed' withing the next yer or so. All they had to do was sign their rights to the school for the duration of your stay. And indoing so condemned you to stay here until your new Headmaster deemed you could leave and not a second before! But what he didnt know, what everyone around you failed to realise is that your not like the rest. your not a simpering little girl who'd be 'put in you place' by a few pretty men spouting sweet praise and stern glares. you were getting out! you just had to put a bit of work in. "Miss y/l/n/? are you okay?" you snapped your gaze away from the photo snapping out of your thougts seeing Mr Cavill the headmaster. Your jailor, he frowned as he gained on you coming to a slow stop before you chest heaving with a sigh one brow quirked waiting for an answer. "yes I'm fine" you spoke stiffly, it was no secret you didnt want to be here, you hadnt yet fallen under what ever fearful lusty haze that seemed to hang over the other students yet. he huffed shifting on his feet tucking the folders under his arm tightly tipping his head forward  eyeing you over his glasses with an almost scolding look the made you jolt. "Well you wont be if you hang around here much longer. Your skipping class young lady, and right infront of me to. Didnt you hear the bell?" he asked slowy motioning to the school bell in the corner of the hall but you kept your mouth shut chooseing not to look at him. "Right well come on off to class with you, I'll let this one pass but you'll not get another get out of jail free card. come on get out your planner i'll walk you to class we can say you got lost" he added waving his hand at you making you scowl and pull out the planner rage boiling inside of you and you looked at the classes. Block B Art with Mr Solo. you huffed as Mr Cavil turned and motioned for you to follow him. "Come along before Walker Catches you, he does not put up with this type of thing accidental or not and take it from me you dont want to get in his bad books he is not known for being merciful to the girls" he utterd you growled under your breath casting one last look to the portrait trying to commit it to memory. you didnt give a shit about the truant officer's reputation. you'd be the one to get the better of him. And you'd be the first  to get out! You'd be kicked out. You swear to god your not stayng here. You couldn't!

[minsimagines]

what’s in a name | demon!j.k

next part

A/N: part two coming soon! also, images are not mine, i’ve just put together the collage. credit to owners! and also, can we talk about his hair? specifically in the header under here? help. feel free to talk to me about his hair.

   warnings: none, i think??

   summary: On the day she’s about to turn 18 years old, Y/N finds out she belongs to a demon.

★ ⋆ ✰ ✦ ☾ ✮ ⁎ ★ ⋆ ✰ ☾ ⁎ ✦ ✮ ⁎ ☾ ★ ⋆ ✰

  You stood in the middle of the living room of your parents’ gigantic house, staring at their faces. Their expression held sadness, though your rage didn’t leave room for pity. Your eyes flickered over their bodies, wondering if they really even were your parents. You didn’t want to believe it.

  “When did you do it?”

  “Sweetheart, we’re sorry,” your mother tried to console you, but you took a furious step back.

  “When!?”

  You mothers brows pushed together in a sad, despaired frown. “We contacted him on your first birthday.”

  “So, you sold me, signed my whole life off before I’d even lived any of it?” You asked, your voice a mere whisper.

  “You’ll be safe, that was the deal! He’s not going to hurt you,” your father said urgently.

  “The deal,” you scoffed, a humorless smile on your face. “And what happens if it doesn’t get me?”

  Your father’s face dropped. “I… I don’t know.”

  “I guess we’ll find out,” you muttered, watching their faces twist into expressions of fear.

  “Sweetie, running won’t help, he’ll find you!” Your mother yelled, desperately. You slowly shook your head and ran out of the living room, one of many in the huge mansion. You ran past old paintings and staircases, your shoes tapping against ancient floors. You didn’t take anything but yourself and your phone with you, you didn’t stop to find out if they were following. You ran through the huge kitchen, slipping past chefs in the middle of preparing supper. Through the windows you could see the sun was setting.

 Throwing the backdoor open, you bolted through the massive garden, and the bushes shaped as bunnies. It had been for you, they’d said. All they did, was for you. What a load of crap. You would never let yourself be sold like some kettle. You were a human being with a mind of your own. You were turning 18 as soon as the clock rang midnight, and your parents would never see you again after this.

  Passing through intricate gardenwork, you ran into the dense forest behind your parents’ estate. You’d always played out there when you were young, and you’d always swore you’d had a guardian angel watching over you in those woods. You’d fallen out of tall trees, you’d scraped every inch of your body on branches, stumbled over stones. There had been incidents where you should have died, yet you never came out of the trees with anything more than a pale red patch wherever you’d hurt yourself. Perhaps the guardian angel was still in there.

  You didn’t waste a second. You heard your parents and a few servants call after you, but you blocked them out. You ran and ran and ran until you couldn’t breathe.

  Falling to your back in the middle of a meadow, you gasped for air. You didn’t care how much sound it made, or how loud you were crying. You had to get it out. Your chest hurt; your soul hurt. Weren’t parents supposed to love their children? Weren’t they supposed to protect their children?

  You didn’t know how long you laid in the small, damp meadow. Your jeans were soaked and probably green on the backside. Your body was numb from crying. From realizing your life was a lie. Your life had been a means to and end for them. You couldn’t fathom how anyone could do such a thing, and to their own child!?

  As you stared up at the sky, you knew he’d be coming for you. If it was really true, then he would come for you no matter where you were. Unless you were dead. No, didn’t demons rule the dead as well? The air felt thick.

  “I take it you’re not happy with your current… predicament.”

  You jumped up at the deep voice. A hand flew to your chest, your wide eyes staring at the man leaning against the trunk of a tall tree. He was… well he was breathtaking. Hair, black as night, framed his face. His eyes were dark, intense and amused as he watched you, blinking lazily. His hands were in the pockets of his dress pants. He wore a black suit, which one would usually find weird deep in a forest, yet he seemed to just… fit.

  You didn’t say anything. What were you to say? That you didn’t like it? You thought that part was pretty obvious. Your eyes flickered over his appearance. Had you not known his true nature; you might have freely spoken to him, told him you weren’t going with him and how you were going to be free. You might have been interested in what he had to say. But you knew, and you didn’t want to know any more.

  “Come here,” he said, his voice didn’t leave room for discussion, but you were frozen. Both in shock and fear. He watched you, seemingly patient, his eyes not leaving yours for even a split second. Did he even blink? You didn’t think he did.

  “Don’t make me repeat myself,” he muttered, his voice turning darker along with the look in his eyes. You felt your vision blur as you shakily took steps towards the man. The edge of his full lips twitched up in a smirk at your compliance.

  He stood up straight, towering over you as you stopped in front of him, a hot tear rolling down your cheek. You hated him. Or, maybe you hated your parents. You didn’t know, you just knew you didn’t want to be a slave.

  “Please,” you whispered, whishing for nothing else than to be left alone. You wanted to be away from him, from your parents, from their stupid massive estate. You didn’t care about any of it, you wanted to be free.

   He decided to take your plea as a wish for him to take you right away.

  “As you wish,” he whispered, his eyes turning as dark as night as he reached out for your waist, pulling you against him. You yelped and pushed your hands against a chiseled chest. The world around you turned loopy and dark smoke enveloped you both. You instinctively gripped his jacket, your wide eyes staring around yourself in terror. He watched in amusement, finding himself already loving the look of fear in your eyes. Your big orbs glowed with horror, and he could stare at the wonderful sight for hours.

  The world shook and trembled around you as you were both swallowed by the darkness. A grunt left your lips out of fear, your eyes squeezing shut. What was he doing? Was he going to hurt you?

–

  You startled upright, your arms grabbing at your body, your lungs gasping for air. You looked around yourself, but it was so dark, you could barely make out anything. You could, however, tell it wasn’t your room. It looked modern, stylish, dark. Black furniture against dark walls. Everything was so dark. The bed sheets, black silk, slick around your bare legs.

  You threw the covers off, your jaw dropping. You were wearing a big t-shirt, down to the top of your thighs. Your eyes carefully wandered around the room once more, your mind completely blank. You couldn’t remember how you got to this room, or where your clothes had gone. Or… if it was you who removed them.

  Quietly slipping out of bed, you slowly stepped towards the window. The curtains were closed, and you hoped the view could give you a clue to where you were. Gently taking a hold of the fabric, you pulled them apart.

  The view… though broad, was unhelpful. You looked down, and your breath caught in your throat at the height. You were so far above ground. You could see so far, yet you had no idea what city it was. The lights from the streets and the buildings were beautiful, but the sinking feeling in your stomach was not.

  Hands wrapped around your waist from behind, and you squealed in surprise, your body jerking forwards. The hands held you back from bumping your head into the glass. You spun around and found a pair of dark eyes staring down at you, looking very amused. You, were not. You glared up at him, your cheeks warming. Had he been in there the whole time? How did he sneak up on you like that?

  “Are you insane?” You asked, your voice low, feeling agitated. You’d never asked to be put in this situation, and you definitely couldn’t remember asking him to change your clothes for you.

  “Whatever do you mean?” He asked sarcastically, his lips curling up in a way too sweet smile, hands pulling you closer. You pulled a face and pushed against his chest, but his grip was locked behind your back. You shot him a look, which he mirrored, mocking you.

  “Where are my clothes?”

  “Trash.”

  “Excuse me!?” You yelled, your brows furring. Who the hell did he think he was?

  “You went all crazy and ripped them,” he shrugged, as if that was something that could just happen to anyone. As if it happened to him a lot. You narrowed your eyes, not believing him.

  “You think I’m going to believe some story about me just suddenly going ham and tearing off my clothes? I’m no Hulk.”

  “I didn’t say I was totally out of blame,” he smirked, taking a step back from you. You frowned.

  “What did you do?”

  “I just took you here,” he said, cocking his head to the side. “You inhaled something you shouldn’t have, and you went nuts,” he smirked, turning and walking towards the door. You ran after him as he walked down the dark hallways.

  “Inhaled what?” You asked, your voice raised with anger. Why couldn’t he just explain it in a proper way? Why be so god damned mysterious?

  He abruptly stopped and spun around, giving you no time to slow down. You bumped right into his chest, though his body didn’t move an inch. It was like hitting a brick wall. A… soft, brick wall. He looked down at you and you had no chance of reading his eyes, they were just looking at you.

  “This,” he said, his voice deep as he held his hand out. His fingers slowly began turning black, as a soft mist formed in his palm. He held his hand a good distance away from you, yet you could smell it as if it was right in your face. It smelled caramel, and the forest after it rains. And leather. Your eyebrow twitched as you turned you head towards his hand. Your eyes peered into the mist, and the deeper you looked, the more delicious the smell got. The mist flickered like a flame, and you wondered if the mist was a result of his skin burning.

  His other hand grabbed a wrist you hadn’t realized you’d stretched out towards the mist, and he pulled you towards the other side of his body as he closed his palm and forced the mist away, his hand turning back to normal.

  His eyes shifted as he looked at you, his expression one of confusion. You could only stand there and gape at him. You couldn’t wrap your mind around what had happened. It was as if you had been in a trance, and as he put the mist away, you felt almost sad. Maybe you really had gone crazy, like he said you had.

  He turned his body to face you, his hands on your upper arms as he leaned down towards your face. You looked up at him with wide eyes, your heartbeat picking up. Was he going to eat you?

  “What did it smell like?” He asked, almost carefully, which didn’t fit his image at all. You frowned at the question. Why did it matter what it smelled like?

  “Uhm… like a few things,” you said, uncertain. “A few things that have absolutely nothing to do with each other.”

  “What things?” He asked, more urgent.

  “Caramel,” you whispered. “And the forest. And leather.”

  He leaned back, and you watched as his eyes flickered all over your form. You swallowed, instinctively taking a step away from him. His eyes narrowed, and the intense look in his eyes returned. He was quiet for a while, and you didn’t dare move. You felt like a prey under his dangerous gaze. His dark t-shirt was tight around his firm muscles, and you swallowed, thinking about all the awful things he could do to you.

  “Y/N,” he whispers your name carefully, as if it was a prayer, and it knocked the wind out of you. Your mind began spinning, and all you could hear was his deep voice calling your name. You desperately looked up at him through your dazed vision. It felt like you were flying on clouds and being held down to the ground by bolts, bth at the same time.

  You tried speaking, but your lips just parted, no sound leaving them.

  “I know,” he whispered, as he took a few steps closer to you. You were frozen in your place, your skin tingling. His hands reached out, slowly, as if to not scare you, and rested on your upper arms. Your whole body practically vibrated at his touch, a shudder running down your spine and some of the tingling under your skin disappeared. You frowned, staring up at him, hoping he could give you an explanation. You mind was blank.

  He hummed, slowly letting his hands run down your arms. You stood there in wonder, amazed at how his touch seemed to make the heavy feeling lift. Though, if it was him who initially made you feel weird, then maybe it wasn’t so strange.

  “I’m sorry,” he muttered, pulling you into his chest in an embrace and your hands automatically rested on his waist. You wondered what he was sorry about, but the softness you felt inside was occupying your mind. It was strange – you’d met this man, this demon; he’d spoken a few words to you and taken you to what you presumed was his home. He… he owned you. He looked every bit a demon, all but the sharp teeth and claws. His deep voice, his heavy presence, his intense stare, his magic. Yet you didn’t really mind being in that apartment with him.

–

 The next few days were strange, to put it mildly. He would often scare the bejesus out of you by appearing right in front of you or engulfing the whole living room in shadow as he entered, his eyes glowing bright red. The sight scared you so bad you had to run straight to the bathroom to not pee yourself. He used every predatorial bone in his body, sneaking up on your from behind and pinching your waist. You’d scream. Each and every time.

  He took you out to fancy restaurants for dinner. You’d wake up and find expensive gift bags waiting for you in the kitchen, though he claimed it was all to make you look the part. He constantly asked what you wanted of certain things, and what you liked, though never straight out. It was always like a guessing game. He was mysterious, and nothing could ever be simple. You felt like he was somewhat doing the most to make you feel like living with him wasn’t a prison sentence. You didn’t feel like that, however, you had quite a lot of questions on your mind. There were quite a few you didn’t dare ask, for example: why did your chest feel so heavy and your skin so cold, until he touched you? What had he done to you? Had he done it on purpose? He had apologized for something; you just didn’t know what.

  He’d sneakily began sleeping in your bed, slipping in behind you when you were deeply asleep, draping a heavy arm over your waist. You’d groggily mumble incoherent protests, feeling his presence, but too tired to try to move him away. He was warm, and he fit very nicely against your back. You let him stay.

  “Are you going to tell me your name?” You pried, following him around the big apartment as he typed away on his phone. He didn’t answer you, so you asked again. This had become a sort of daily ritual. You’d asked him the first day, but all he’d said was: “Did your parents tell you nothing of my kind?” It had you so curious you could burst.

  “Can you tell me something?” You asked, growing bored of not knowing anything about him. He leant against the kitchen counter, his eyes glancing up at you. The stare was a warning to leave it be. You didn’t care, you wanted to know. It wasn’t fair.

  You narrowed your eyes and moved to sit on the counter opposite of him, on the other side of the kitchen, as he went back to texting. Maybe you could use something as leverage? He seemed to like sleeping in your bed. A smile crept over your lips, but you tried your best to conceal it.

  “If you don’t tell me something, I won’t let you sleep in my bed anymore,” you said, trying to keep your voice even. His eyes locked on yours, his stare was dark. Intense. Had you broken through? In the blink of an eye, he was in front of you, his chest pressed against yours. A surprised yelp left your lips.

  His eyes slowly roamed over your face, his lips tipping up in the slightest smirk. You felt your stomach flip at the sight of it. Your breath hitched in your throat as he leaned in even further, his nose nudging against yours. Your mind was going haywire, wondering what his next move was. You waited for him to scare you in some way, fully aware of how much he liked seeing you scared. You thought, though hoped against, that he might use his magic on you.

  What you had not expected, was for his lips to brush against yours. The touch sent shivers down your spine, and you had an urge to lean in a press your lips to his, fully. You didn’t.

  It seemed like he had trouble restraining himself, but he did. He backed off and disappeared right in front of your eyes. You sighed, your hand reaching up to cover your hard beating heart. You couldn’t deny his beauty, and you couldn’t say you didn’t like his sense of humor, and his way of speaking to you – even if he was mysterious. Did you have feelings for him? You had feelings for his looks, that you could agree with yourself on, but for him? You didn’t know him.

  You knew he worked a lot. Exactly what he did, you didn’t know, but he worked a lot. And when he wasn’t working, he was around you, but always had his phone within reach. He’d often be busy working, even when home. He was fancy when it came to, well, everything. He would stare at you until you cleaned up your cereal bowl, even if you weren’t even finished yet. He was very touchy, very ‘hands on’. It was unsettling at first, not being used to it, but when you live with someone, no matter the conditions, you sort of get used to their ways.

  When he was annoyed, which was quite often, though rarely towards you, his eyes glowed red and he unbuttoned a few buttons on his shirt. The day prior, he had actually ripped it apart on “accident”, and you had been caught staring at his chest. He teased you the whole day, though you could never be sure if he was really teasing or serious – his eyes were always intense, and his body language didn’t change between the two.

  He was ripped. Like, really ripped. You’d seen him shirtless several times over the last few days; you’d even seen him naked. He seemed to prefer walking around naked, and though it made you feel profusely uncomfortable, you couldn’t deny it was a pleasure to look at the muscles in his back move as his arms lifted, and the biceps curled and tightened as he held the phone to his ear. The main question on your mind was: why?

  Why had he been interested in ‘buying’ you?

  Why was he being so nice and taking care of you?

  Why did he not want to reveal who he was to you? Other than his nature.

  You weren’t ungrateful for his caregiving, though you had to wonder why he was caring towards you. You had seen how easily irritated he got; how driven he was by his primal instincts. How easy it was to push his buttons, though you tried your hardest to avoid doing that.

  A part of you hoped he was interested beyond the deal he had with your parents. That a man like him, a demon; dark and cruel, more beautiful than any angel you could imagine, was interested in you. Plain old Y/N. You didn’t have a low self esteem per say, though you knew you weren’t the best at most things. Looks wise as well, though you didn’t think you were ugly. You just… reality was that compared to a lot of people on this man’s level, you weren’t even considered pretty.

  You laid awake in your bed that evening, still thinking about the kiss. It was a kiss; you had decided it was. It was your first kiss with him. After your rapidly beating heart had calmed, your senses were overflowed by that same sensation as whenever he left you alone. The air was so cold on your skin, there was an uneasy feeling in your stomach, and you just didn’t feel right.

  The mattress dipped, with no warning, and your body jolted slightly in surprise, though you didn’t move. His hand slid over your waist, and under your hip, taking a hold of you and spinning you around. A gasp left your throat at the sudden movement, and your hands gripped onto his chest for support. You stared up at him in shock.

  He was laying on his side, head propped up on his hand, looking at you with those dark eyes and you were about to say something clever when you noticed his eyes weren’t the same. They were telling you something different.

  His hand slid across your torso, slowly and gently, easing off the pressure in your chest; the horrible cold feeling. How did he have this sort of effect on you? You couldn’t get a grasp of it.

  “What’s happening to me?” You whispered, your voice laced with fear, though your tried to hold it even. He didn’t answer. He leant down and nudged his nose against yours. You felt his breath fan over you face, and you bit your lip. You wanted to be closer. You had such an urge to hold onto him and push your body against his, it almost hurt to hold yourself back. You had to close your eyes, your body tingling with longing.

  “Look at me,” he whispered, and you couldn’t even control your own movements as your eyes snapped open, looking up at him as if he might be the answer you were looking for.

  “Do you trust me?” he mumbled; his voice low. The question caught you of guard. You hadn’t thought about that. Did you trust him? He had kept you safe, for now, at least. He hadn’t acted like the monster he probably could be around you - or, not that much at least. When you pondered over his question, you came to realize that yes, you did trust him.

  “Yes, I think I do,” you whispered, feeling incredibly stupid but also hopeful.

  His eyes shimmered red at your words, though not the angry, fearsome red. They held primal instinct, sure, but not for killing. His fingers tightened their hold on your waist.

  “My name… is Jungkook.”

[ghostbassist]

hellooo :))) I don’t know if take requests at the time, but maybe you can save this for later then. A JatP imagine based on the song Close as Strangers by 5sos, where the guys didn’t die and instead got to play the Orpheum show. Then get signed, popular etc. and goes on tour. I was thinking it could be Reggie x reader, and angsty but with a happy/fluff ending :) Like it shows the difficulties that come with a long distance relationship and different times zones and so on. Hope it makes sense 🥺

Close as Strangers

Masterlist

Requests

Add yourself to my taglist

Etsy

Pairing: Reggie x Reader

Warnings: None, I think

Summary: The distance is killing them as he travels for tour and she stays home.

A/N: I’m gonna be honest the first time I listen to this song was when I was setting up the prompt for this, now I’m obsessed. To whoever requested this, thank you. Also the band is aged up to collage for this imagine because it just worked better. I’m also trying to get through the request quickly so there might be spam for the next couple of days. Hope you like it, Much Love 🌻

Six weeks since I've been away And now you're sayin' everything has changed And I'm afraid that I might be losing you And every night that we spend alone It kills me thinking of you on your own And I wish I was back home next to you Oh, everyday You feel a little bit further away And I don't know what to say

That night at the Orpheum changed everything for the better. The boys got the attention of a bunch of record executives, causing them to get signed to a label. You were so happy for them, you guys went out to celebrate that night. 

The boys spent the next few months working on new music and practicing as much as possible. They announced to you that they were going on tour about 5 months after the Orpheum show. 

After about six weeks the distance was staring to take effect on you and Reggie’s relationship. Reggie was sat in his bed thinking about you and what it would be like to be back at your apartment together while the two of you watched a movie. He was missing these simple things more and more the longer he’s gone. 

Are we wasting time Talking on a broken line? Telling you I haven't seen your face in ages I feel like we're as close as strangers Won't give up Even though it hurts so much Every night I'm losing you in a thousand faces Now it feels we're as close as strangers

You and Reggie would talked when you could but it was never enough, you wanted to be able to hold him and cuddle him again. The last 3 months have been nothing but constant heart ache for the both of you. You had been together for the past 2 years but you had never been apart this long.

You missed Reggie’s goofy nature and his ability to make any situation lighter with just a few words. Reggie missed your smile and the way you would giggle when he would kiss you at random times. 

He gets on stage every night wishing you were there in the crowd just to see your face. You sit on your roof every night wishing the time would pass faster so he could be home with you.

Late night calls and another text Is this as good as we're gonna get? Another time zone taking me away from you Living dreams in fluorescent lights While you and I are running out of time But you know that I'll always wait for you Oh, everyday You feel a little bit further away And I don't know what to say.

Texts every night and calls when you could was never enough. Between Reggie’s rehearsal running almost all day and  your classes going all day you guys never had time to full talk.

Reggie’s dreams were finally coming true, but in the mist you were being left out. Doubt started to creep into your mind with everyday he’s gone. Wondering if you were part of his future if it was in music.

Meanwhile, Reggie mind was clouding in doubt as well. He was constantly wondering if you were gonna leave him because his new schedule and lifestyle. His heart would sink every time he would think about it and made it worse.

On the phone I can tell that you wanna move on Through the tears I can hear that I shouldn't have gone Every day gets harder to stay away from you So tell me... Are we wasting time Talking on a broken line? Telling you I haven't seen your face in ages I feel like we're as close as strangers

Somehow the two of you finally got time on your schedule to be able to have a conversation for longer than 5 minutes. Though, this conversation hadn’t turned out the way it was planned to. What started off as a normal conversation to catch up, had turned into a fight between you.

“Are we wasting time?” You asked him through the tears finally being fed up with neither of you approaching the subject that you both feared. “I haven’t seen your face in ages, I feel like we’re as close as strangers.”  Ending the call after he had failed to respond, you fell to the floor crying.

Six months since I went away And I know everything has changed But tomorrow I'll be coming back to you

You and Reggie haven’t spoken to each other since the call two weeks ago. You have felt the guilt continue to bubble the longer you didn’t talk. You had asked Alex to help set something up when he reached out saying Reggie was just as bad as you were.

You were standing in the crowd of the last show on their tour waiting for Reggie to notice. Luke had found you in the crowd before Reggie did though, pointing you out to him before turning to Alex who had a smile plastered on him face. Luke shook his head realizing it was something the two of you had planned.

Reggie met your eyes a grin spreading across his face. He read the sign you were holding, laughing as he realized it was his words. Your sign read, “Sunset Curve, Tell your Friends.” With the logo painted across it. 

After the show had finished you had walked backstage to find Reggie, only to have him find you first and pull you into a kiss, not caring who saw you.

“I’m sorry I shouldn’t have yelled on the phone.” You say pulling away from the kiss. He didn’t care though, he just pulled you closer kissing your head, loving the fact that he had his girl back.

Taglist: @peachyxdream @lavenderthrills @noncannonships @bakubitchie27 @whyworry27 @dpaccione @lolychu @marinettepotterandplagg @avs-hart @losertron5000 @pinkflowercassy  @thexhotmess @schnapp-my-neck @bestdressedandstressed @comeonreginald @whats-up-aubz @kiss-themoongoodbye @jjsharmony @epikskool @whatever-happens-imma-stand-tall @savinoursanity @butterflycloss @caitsymichelle13 @moviesbooksandfandoms @hemmingsness

[ifuckedchrisevans]

One Beer - Part One

*this is a work of FICTION. Don’t like? don’t read :)

*All pics in the collage are from pinterest 

This is also my first time attempting a mini series so please go easy on me! Let me know what you think.

Based off the song One Beer by Hardy you can listen to it HERE

High school sweethearts AU with Chris | You and Chris just graduated high school. You have an amazing summer planned before you and your friends part ways for the fall and go on to your separate schools. But what happens when things don’t go as planned?  

🎶Seventeen in a small town, weak knees in a CVS. Door locked in the bathroom, what’s it gonna be waitin’ on that test? 🎶

You took one more deep breath before climbing out of your car and quickly walking into the CVS. You wandered around the store for a few moments to make sure you didn’t recognize anyone. In a small town like this, it’s a miracle you don’t run into at least three people no matter where you go. 

You swallowed the lump in your throat and walked under the sign that you'd been avoiding for so long, “Family Planning”. 

You grabbed the first one you laid your eyes on and hastily made your way to the counter to pay for the test. Your sweaty hands swiped the pink and white box off the counter and shoved it into your sweatshirt pocket.

After speeding home you ran inside for the bathroom, locking the door behind you. It was 3:00 pm. Your parents wouldn’t be home for another hour. That gave you just enough time to take the test and throw it out far, far away from the house. 

You placed the test on the counter and set a timer on your phone. With weak knees you leaned on the wall and slid down to the floor. 

“This can’t be happening” you whispered to yourself, blinking back tears. 

Through the tears a small smile made its way across your face when you thought about how much fun you had with Chris that night. 

*Flashback*

The alcohol was flowing and everyone was celebrating the end of senior year. You were finishing your fourth cup of jungle juice when you felt a pair or strong arms wrap around your waist. You closed your eyes and smiled, inhaling the oh so familiar scent of his cologne. 

“You look absolutely breathtaking tonight,” his raspy voice whispered in your ear. 

You turned around in his arms to face him. Your (Y/E/C) eyes looked up, meeting his drunken, goofy grin. You sloppily pressed your lips to his. 

“One more cup?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes, please!” you giggled while you walked hand in hand to the kitchen. 

Chris poured you another cup of jungle juice and grabbed another beer for himself. Just as you were taking the first sip of your new drinks, “Country Roads” by John Denver started blaring from the speakers. 

Chris took your hand and the two of you made your way back to the make-shift dance floor in the living room to sing at the top of your lungs one last time with your friends. 

“I never want this night to end” you thought to yourself, looking at all of your friends around you laughing and singing along. In just three short months everyone would be moving away for their first year of college. 

You had gotten into your dream school and Chris was going to start pursuing his dream of acting. You were going to visit each other every weekend, taking turns on who would drive to who.

Chris' drunken voice pulled you from your thoughts.

“What do you say we ditch the send off and go straight to the room?” he said as his hands started to wander your body. 

*BEEP BEEP BEEP*

The timer went off and brought you back to reality. Your shaking hand silenced the alarm. You closed your eyes, said one more silent prayer before you slowly stood up to look at the test. 

You stood there hoping you were reading it wrong. Maybe you read the instructions wrong? Maybe it’s the lighting?

Nope. It was right. Those two pink lines were staring you right in the face. 

“Fuck” you whispered. Wiping the tears from your eyes. 

Your phone lit up with the handsome brunette’s face on your screen. Chris must have just finished work. He promised he would call as soon as his shift ended. 

You took a deep breath and swiped the screen to answer.

“Hello,” you said quietly.

“Hey, baby! I just got off,” Chris beamed through the phone

“Oh, uh, that’s great!” you said, trying to sound like nothing was wrong.

“Is everything okay?” he asked.

“Yeah, yeah, of course, everything is fine. I just, uh, woke up from a nap.”

“A nap? You never take naps, are you feeling okay?” Chris asked, his concerned tone only growing stronger. 

“I-I’m okay, I felt a migraine coming so I decided to close my eyes for a few minutes.” you said, rubbing your forehead.

Chris was not buying any of this. Why were you even trying to play it off? You were going to have to tell him anyway.

But what are the chances this is 100% true? These give false positives all the time. There was no sense of causing unnecessary stress. 

“Baby? You still there?” Chris' voice pulled you from your thoughts. 

“I’m here, I really need to go lie down, I think this is a migraine coming. Call me after you eat dinner?” you said with a sigh.

“Sure, get some rest and I’ll call you soon,” Chris said.

“Talk to you soon,” you whispered.

“I love you,” he said in a gentle voice. 

“I love you too, Chris.”

The line hung up and you looked at yourself in the mirror. 

“These things are wrong all the time, there’s no way this is right” you said to yourself.

You wiped the tears from your eyes and wrapped the test in toilet paper before you stuffed it into your sweatshirt pocket. You had to get yourself and the test out of here before your parents got home. 

After gathering your purse and your keys, you run out to your car. You find yourself mindlessly driving around town. Twenty minutes pass before you decide to park in the mall parking lot. You chose the lot near the entrance of the now out of business SEARS department store. 

“How am I supposed to tell him?” you wondered out loud. “I have to tell him.” You said to yourself. 

Your trembling hand reached for your phone to call your boyfriend. It only took two rings before Chris answered. 

“Hey, baby! How are you feeling?” he asked.

“I’m alright,” you said quietly, “c-can you meet me somewhere?” you stuttered.

“Of course, (Y/N), are you okay?” you could hear the fear in his voice.

“No,” you squeaked, “can you come meet me at the mall? I’m parked in the back lot.”

“I’m on my way,” Chris said, rushing out his front door and into his car. 

 Ten minutes passed before Chris’ car pulled up next to yours. You felt sick to your stomach when you saw him. His blue eyes locked with yours. 

You got out of your car and climbed into his passenger seat. 

“Baby, what is going on?” Chris asked, cupping your face in his hand. 

“Will you still love me after I tell you?” you asked in a low voice, looking up at him through your eyelashes. 

“Nothing in this world could make me stop loving you,” he whispered. 

You took a deep breath and reached into your sweatshirt pocket. You unfolded the paper that was wrapped around the test, and sat it on the center console between the two of you. 

It felt like hours passed before Chris said anything. 

“A-are you sure?” he stuttered out. 

“I think so,” you said, your voice was barely over a whisper. 

“Chris, what are we going to do?” You cried.

He leaned over and wrapped you in his arms, “it’s okay, shhh, we’re gonna be okay.”

Chris pulled back from the hug and cupped your face in his hands. 

“I’m not going anywhere, we’re in this together,” he stated, his blue eyes watered and a single tear fell on his cheek. 

With a soft smile, you wiped it away with your thumb. 

“I’m scared,” you admitted. 

“Me too,” he whispered.

[greytoiletpaper]

Bathe Me in the Purest Water (I Don’t Feel Clean)

Yeah, so I wrote this like a couple months ago and i only just caught up with the manga and just... wow. I loved it, and I guess I just want this solidified here :). And yes, this fic was originally inspired by this comic, I love it so.

AO3 link

It is a shrieking wail bouncing off the walls of the Todoroki household at ungodly hours of the morning that has Touya bolting upright drenched in a cold sweat. Briefly, he wonders how fucked up it is that he thought he was hallucinating the sound. It is nothing like the cries of his siblings he has long since memorized. Yet, something about the sounds is so raw and so young, that refuting them as little Shouto’s cries is impossible.

Touya finds himself sprinting from his room, searching all over for the source of Shouto’s wails. The awful noise rings from every room and in his eardrums that he even considers whether the youngest Todoroki somehow developed a second quirk. Enji would have a field day with that. His mind is compartmentalizing, but joking is the only way he can stay sane when Shouto’s wailing turns into screaming. When he stumbles into the kitchen, he wishes that the joke was reality rather than the sight that greets him.

There is a kettle in the shaking hand of his mother while she mutters her husband’s name under her breath. Her eyes dart around every part of the room except the screaming face of her youngest son. A raw burn is on Shouto’s face, marred and angrily red as if a scalding liquid has run over it. There is evidence abound to figure out what happened, but that is yet to be Touya’s concern. For the rest of his life, no sound will ever haunt him as much as his baby brother’s screams turning into a weak gurgle.

He misses the way that Rei flinches when he moves closer, how his mother shrieks her husband’s name even though Enji only returns home from his mission tomorrow. Instead, all his attention is on the brother who looked up at Touya like he hung the stars curl up in a ball and shake. It is five seconds later when his other siblings rush into the room that Touya snaps out of his fugue. He gathers Shouto in his arms, whispering frantic platitudes in his ears and praying for the health of his baby brother.

Todoroki Touya is twelve when he has to bandage half of his five-year-old brother’s face. Their mother is sent to a mental health ward the next day, and their already-burning family peels more at the edges.

---

It is beautiful, the way that its form crinkles and curves at the edges. In all of his time with Cremation, he has never seen the azure flames seem so… gentle. Endeavour’s fire is like his rage, pure concentrated firepower that is only broken by small, consistent licks of flames at the edges. Touya’s flames are akin wildfire, they lash and lance and branch out in a chaotic collage that only he seems to be able to tell discern the individual licks of flame. Yet, in his hand, the flames seem so docile in their current shape, made of small bits of fire that skirt and weave themselves in a trance-inducing pattern.

Their shape is simple, but the forget-me-nots that his flames have formed are the product of the past three weeks of hard work and practise. Since Enji has stopped training Touya in favour of Shouto, he has had so much more time to focus on fine-tuning his quirk. His father taught him how to make his flames hotter and so much more destructive but here before his eyes is the proof that his fire can be used to make something instead.

He tries not to be guilty at the fact he gets to have this while his baby brother is beaten black and blue the floor below him.

Across him, his mother’s face lights up in her scarce, genuine smile that reminds him that even with all her cracking pieces, Rei Todoroki is still a mother that loves just as much as she is hurt. (She is so very hurt and there is nothing he can do to take it all away). It is thanks to her that he even learned controlling his quirk is possible.

It seems ironic, that he learned how to destroy with his flames from his pro hero father but is learning fine control from his civilian mother.

“That’s a beautiful flower Tou-chan,” He blushes at the nickname, but his mother is rarely happy, so he does not protest. “I hope one day all of you can do this with your quirks, it’s such beautiful artwork we can make with what we have been given.”

With her ice, his mother forms a beautiful, twinkling rindou flower and cups it in her hand. It is breathtaking to look at, seemingly ethereal with the frost emanating and little flecks of snow dancing in the lamplight. It is rare for Rei to use her quirk and every time, Touya is lost in the way that the ice seems to flow and skirt as if a small part of a blizzard appeared and made her craft. If he looks closer, the movement of his mother’s ice is familiar, shifting and undulating in ways so, so similar to how his fire is in his hand right now.

The quirk doctors said Touya inherited his mother’s constitution, everyone assumed it meant he was weak. He can apparently control his fire as if it were an ice quirk. Using Cremation for too long makes him feel like he is physically melting. In hindsight, he should have realised just how literal the quirk doctors were being.

---

He read in a textbook once that sometimes twins can swap their intended quirks in the womb. Fuyumi grabs the kettle from its undoubtedly searing bottom without even a wince, even though she has an ice quirk that freezes her arm at just a second’s usage. For the time being, it was the furthest thing from his mind. Shouto only barely breathing and all Touya wants is to hold someone so young and already so scarred in his arms and take all his tears for himself.

---

A week later, Enji puts Shouto back into training. Everyone protests this, but there is hardly anything they can say that can sway their father when he pulls his Endeavour face and disregards them in his own way of lovingly shoving his other children to the ground. Does Touya feel some satisfaction that the old man hesitated for a second before he lays his hand on Fuyumi? A little, but it fades as quickly as it came when there is still nothing stopping the prick from forcing their baby brother from being put back into what is no doubt extra hours to make up for “valuable training time gone to waste”.

Enji’s words, not his.

Frustration, anger and pain – so much pain – is what spurs Touya into action. He leaps onto Endeavour’s back, furiously trying to pry Shouto from the sick bastard’s hands and earns a knee to the gut for his efforts. Enji leaves him in the hallway and even though his other siblings are moving him to his room all he can think is how his baby brother looks so afraid as if he knows this time there will not be a mother to comfort any of them afterwards.

---

He wakes to the sound of Shouto’s tears slightly muffled in the central courtyard. The sun is only on the cusp of rising but sleep had eluded him for hours regardless. In the morning rays, his baby brother’s face is a mess of tears and aborted hiccups. A pang sounds in his chest, Shouto is so young (they all are) and he already has to learn how to make himself silent in fear of the flaming shadow that is their father. There is a small patch of ash by Shouto’s feet and soot on his face. Touya has a hunch as to what happened, but it never hurts to see his brother’s perspective.

“What’s wrong, Shou?” His question is met with silence, so he pushes on. “Did you burn yourself?”

Only an idiot would ignore how Shouto flinches at the question, so Touya crouches gently to make himself seem as non-threatening as possible. His baby brother does not relax, but a soft mumble just barely escapes him.

“It’s scary.”

“What’s scary?”

“His half.”

Touya frowns, just because Enji is why Shouto has fire, does not make it solely their father’s fire. Even then, no child should live in fear of their quirk. Although, looking down at the skin grafts on his wrists, Touya is in no place to judge his baby brother’s fear.

“Why do you think it’s scary?”

Another silence stretches out, and Touya can see his baby brother’s struggle to process the words. He almost changes the topic when the rest of Shouto’s confession spills out.

“It looks too much like his. I don’t want to burn myself too much and I still can’t control it. But dad keeps pushing me and- and I don’t want to-.”

Shouto looks like he is going to explode with tears, the wicks of flame and ice coming off him signal how close he is to a meltdown that would no doubt bring their father in screaming. Without thinking, he pulls his brother close, enveloping his tiny shoulders with his arms and making soothing motions on his back. While Shouto quietly sobs into his shoulder, Touya ruminates on how to comfort the boy with how to control his fire, which is the exact train of thought that makes him huff a laugh.

“Hey Shou, I’m going to try teach you something Mom taught me. You wanna see?” Looking at the soft, tentative smile Shouto gives him when Touya pulls away, he cannot help but be drawn by how much it reminds him of their mother’s. He holds out his hand palm up before his brother. “She taught me how to control the pieces so that it hurts a little less.”

The courtyard is thrown in shadows highlighted by the blue of Touya’s flames, and he can see just how enamoured Shouto’s face is in the azure light. He has the curls of his fire shift and form the forget-me-not that he has been practising making for so long.

“See Shou? Fire is not always that scary.”

Shouto only makes a small noise of assent, his eyes still entranced by the small dancing movements of his eldest brother’s fire. He reaches out, hesitantly, and tries to cup his hands around the flames.

“Can I learn how to make one?” The change in attitude throws off Touya for only a moment, but the shy, almost hopeful look in his brother’s eye would never have him say no even at gunpoint. He smiles.

“’Course Shou,” It is still a gamble trying to see if Shouto can use his fire this way, but Touya cups his brother’s hands anyway. “Try making a little fire first.”

The flame in Shouto’s hands starts off as little embers before igniting into a small flame just about the size of the boy’s fist.

“If you start off small and make all the pieces of your fire slow down even just a little, you can make things with them.”

Shouto frowns at the words, mulling them over in his head as the fearful parts of his face fade away into the focus he is exhibiting now. Slowly, the licks of flame seem to move in a blend of wild, yet seemingly calculated movements as they form into a stem. Shouto giggles even as it holds the form for all of five seconds before they give out. Touya laughs at the adorable pout that crosses Shouto’s face and holds his hand out for a high five.

“That was a great job, Shou!” It is. Touya took way longer to have that kind of focus and he held the stem for only half the time. He says as much. “Don’t worry that you can’t make the full flower right now. Mom and I can teach you. One day, your flames make a shape that means a lot to you and you only.”

As he ruffles Shouto’s hair and the boy gives him that look like he hung the very stars, Touya sees the shadow of his father crossing the walkway above them. Moment over, Touya picks his brother up and faces him away from Enji while staring the man down.

“You want something to eat?” Shouto makes a mumble that roughly translates to ‘cold soba’ and Touya laughs in spite of himself. “Come on buddy, I’ll take you to mom and fix some up for you.”

---

The water scalds his skin and his thoughts are a jumble of painmakeitstopmompleaseimsorry on half of his face. It is not just the water that hurts, but the knowledge that that can be reminded to him is how half of him has fire just like his father’s. As the searing pain finally starts to die down, little but important pieces of him (memories of nights huddled with a mother to see his fire as his own, his brother making those shapes with his hands) seem to leak out with his tears.

---

Touya dies in a fire starting from his seventh attempt to pull Shouto from training with Enji. Touya dies when his wildfire swarms him and his skin blisters and melts. Touya dies as the skin grafts are stapled on to his body and even without nerves in those places, he can still feel the flames as they enveloped him. Touya dies… and Dabi rises from his ashes.

[dragon-kazansky]

Til death do us part | Helmut Zemo

Bodyguard AU! 🕶

Gender neutral reader

Collage by @realremyd

[Previous chapter] - [Next chapter]

Part 5

Bucky got the Baron back to the hotel without issue. Well, no other issue than the Baron's complaints. Zemo insisted on several occasion that Bucky turn the car back around and they go get you.

Bucky didn't say a single thing to him. He just kept driving. When he pulled up outside of the hotel he climbed out and opened the back door. He grabbed the Baron by the arm, ignoring all his complaining as he escorted him into the building.

Zemo was promptly taken up to his room. He was going to push Bucky off of him, but Bucky had a tight hold on him. Zemo is pushed into his room and Bucky stands in the way of the door. He clasps his hands together in front of him and stands there stoically, facing the Baron.

Zemo glares at him.

"I hired you, you should do I say."

"Our duty is to protect you, and protect you we did."

"You let them behind."

"Our duty comes first," Bucky tells him.

"Your duty involves leaving your colleagues to fall at the hands of armed gangs?" Zemo is fuming.

Granted, Zemo didn't care much for you when you arrived at his home. You weren't the same as your colleagues. You didn't look like bodyguard material. He didn't think you were capable.

He was wrong.

You put your life before his to ensure your job was done. He disrupted that by climbing out of the car and checking on you.

Why had he checked on you?

"You left them to die."

Bucky doesn't say anything, but Helmut picks up on the slight shift of his stance. Bucky felt guilty, as he should, but he also carried out his duty.

Helmut watched as Bucky raised a hand to his ear to listen to whatever was being said.

Bucky lowered his hand and said nothing.

"Well?" Zemo asks.

"They got away. The others are returning here now."

"And Y/N?"

Bucky doesn't answer him. This infuriates the Baron more.

Zemo had been to war. He was Colonel once. He had his own squad. He had seen people die, but to think that someone he hired to protect him had died doing just that, it felt strange to him.

You had given your life for his.

Thirty minutes later, Steve and the other make it to the hotel. Steve knocks on the door, giving the code word they had agreed upon to let them know it was each other. Bucky let's them in.

Zemo stands from where he had been sitting in silence with his own dreaded thoughts.

His room is filled by the other bodyguards.

"Well?" He demands.

"They got away. We fear the will come after you again. I think we should bring your visit to London to an end and rearrange this meeting some other time. We will firmly get in touch with the representatives to discuss this for you. For now, until things cool down, we will keep you here for the reminder of your trip. We suggest you don't leave your hotel room until it's deemed safe again. They are still in the city," Steve says, standing in front of the Baron.

Zemo couldn't give a shit about the meeting.

"And your friend?"

Steve looks a lite taken back that the Baron was even asking. Zemo didn't like you. At least, he didn't before.

"They were escorted to the hospital immediately after the ambulance arrived. They passed out, but are stable."

Zemo's shoulder sink down from their tense position and he casts his eyes off to the side slightly. He sighs softly.

"Take me to them."

"No can do, sir. You are to remain here until the threat level diminishes, Steve replies sternly.

"I demand to see them."

"I'm sorry, sir. We can't allow that."

Zemo hates those words with a passion. He needed to know you were OK. He needed to see you with his own eyes.

He owed you an apology.

Helmut sinks back down into his seat and tilts his head back. He runs his hands down his face and sighs again.

You were stable. He'll take what he can for now, though he isn't happy about it.

"So, you're going to keep me locked in my room?"

"Yes."

That was aspect number two in which he hated. Zemo rises from his seat and makes his way over to the bedroom of his suite. He closes the door behind him.

Once he was gone, the band of bodyguard turn to each other.

"Is Y/N OK?" Clint asks.

"Do you have any idea how hard it was to leave them there and bring him back?" Bucky says.

"They're stable right?" Nat chimes in.

"That was insane," Sam remarks.

Steve holds his hands out in front of him and tries to get them to quiet down.

"Y/N is alright though, right?" Carol asks.

"They're stable. They were shot twice. Once in the shoulder, once in the hip. I don't think they were aiming to kill Y/N, just get them down," Steve says.

"That asshole got out of the car," Bucky tells them.

"He did?" Nat asked.

"Yeah, he went over to Y/N. He looked pretty damn worried too. Did we miss something?" Bucky asks.

"Maybe he feels guilty about being an asshole?" Clint suggests.

"I doubt that," Carol says.

"Whatever it is, don't worry about it. He's safe and Y/N will live. I have to make a call to Stark. Do not let him leave the room," Steve said, making his way outside into the hall.

Bucky stays planted by the door as the other scatter around and wait.

"Y/N was incredibly brave," Nat says, deep in thought.

"They're a brilliant bodyguard, we all know that," Sam says.

"Has Y/N ever been shot before?" Carol asks, trying to think back.

"Yeah, a while ago. It was years ago, back when they started," Sam answered.

"Damn, I remember that," she says, the memory coming back.

"It's going to take a lot more than that to bring our Y/N down," Bucky states.

They all agree.

In his room, Helmut was leaning against the door. He would hear them talking about you. He felt a fool for ever doubting your skills. To hear you had been shot at before made him wonder. You must really love your job if you could get shot at and carry on.

Then again, he should know how that feels.

Not only back in the army, but back on that day too. Walker had taken everything from him as a result of trying to get rid of him, only to fail. He paid the price that day.

He lived. They didn't.

He closes his eyes and tries to block out the horrid images which threatened to flood back into his mind. Sometimes he can see them when he closes his eyes.

You were in much the same position today. It was as if he was seeing it all over again.

Zemo pushes away from the door and falls onto the bed, trying to bury his face in his pillow.

"I don't want to remember," he mutters.

He falls asleep there, still dressed and disheveled. He sleeps right through dinner, which is left at his bedroom door untouched.

Most of the bodyguards had excused themselves from the room, returning to either their room or the hall.

Steve and Sam remained in Zemo's room.

It had been six hours since the shooting in central London. It was all over the news, which Steve had on, but kept the volume low.

There weren't any shots of the actual shooting, reporters only getting there after the event was over, but witness statements from people in the surrounding buildings gave a pretty good description of what went down there.

No one mentioned your sustained injury.

He was rather glad about that. You could recover in piece.

He hadn't told anyone yet about the phone call to Tony. He wasn't quite prepared to share the details until he had a chance to speak to you. He would do so in a couple of days. He had contacted the hospital and they agreed to call him when you were ready for visitors.

Sam looks a the untouched plate of food.

"You think he's going to eat that?"

The food had been brought up a short while ago. This would be the second meal they ordered that he hadn't touched.

"You can have it. I'll get him something when he comes out."

Sam picks up the plate.

"What do you think is wrong with him? He wasn't like this before."

Steve shrugs.

"I don't know. Something must have happened between them out there. Yesterday he couldn't understand what Y/N was even doing with us, today he's locked himself away because they saved him. I don't know what's going on."

Sam sighs softly.

"I'm at least glad he isn't hating them now though. Y/N is more than capable of protecting that asshsole. Hell, they proved it."

Steve just nods silently.

His phone begins to ring. Steve gets up and goes to answer it on the other side of the room.

Sam watches in interest.

Steve hangs up and turns back around to Sam.

"Y/N is awake. I'm going to go see them. Keep Zemo here. I'll call you later."

Sam nods and watches Steve go.

There were no words to describe how relieved Sam felt right now. You were going to be just fine. He knew you would be.

Probably best he didn't mention it to Zemo just yet.

@thesuitkovian @justfangirlthingies @belle82devart @zemosimp420 @anteroom-of-death @silverlambcaptain @that-stupid-head-tilt-thing @lieutenantn @daniielbruhl @awesomesauce-abbie @latenightartist-author @lazygurl05 @rumblelibrary @nonamec0s @shura-gorl @ginger-abreu @caligrl1992 @livvyshmiv @luciadiosa @vverliebt @tatooineisdry @charistory @somethingthatsaysbubbles @apparrio @alex-the-nb @thewrongkhristol

[lovehugsandcandy]

Take Me Back to Places I Feel Loved In (Colt x MC, N*FW)

A/N: Title from “Boston” by Dermot Kennedy (along with the line “wandering ‘round in cities I feel lost in”). Longer A/N inside.

Pairing: Colt x MC, ROD

Length: 5275 words

Rating: N*FW (But a pretty light N*FW, at least. Swearing. Sexytimes.)

Summary: 5 times Ellie wasn’t alone for the night; 1 time Ellie wasn’t alone anymore.

A/N:  I’m sorry, I have been really behind and out of touch and just going through some shit so, if I missed something you sent me or an ask or a message or anything, I am so so sorry. Also, this feels like every story I have ever written but I can’t think of anything new and I’m sorry for that too. And also, 5+1 stories are apparently my jam because I like the structure cuz I can’t figure it out on my own and I’m sorry for that as well. This is my “I am dreadfully, existentially alone” piece, so I apologize for that too.

.

i.

“It’s just me.”

She breathed out a sigh of relief and flopped back against the bed, heart rate slowing from the petrified beat it hammered. She knew that voice like she knew her own name. She had wondered if she would ever hear that voice again.

It had been over a year since her terrifying race down the 405, over a year since Jason was put away and Hester and Wallace fled, over a year since her first day at Langston where she was thousands of miles from the corrupt cops and gangs of thieves in her past.

And yet, she never stopped looking over her shoulder.

Was it because she was afraid of what was behind her? Or was it because she wanted to see something that was never there?

And now, the summer after her freshman year, holed up in her childhood bedroom in her dad’s house, the room she knew better than any other place in the world, the room that no longer felt like home, her bedroom door opened. And in walked her past in flesh and blood.

“What time is it?” She rubbed her eyes, watching him shut her door. Without the hallway light, it was almost pitch black in her room, only slight glow from her laptop illuminating his sharp features as he sat in her desk chair to undo the laces on his boots.

“One.”

“What are you doing here?”

He didn’t answer, just finished taking off his boots and slipping his jacket onto the back of the chair, a hardened figure next to her desk, next to her science fair trophies and high school photo collage, the two parts of her life in sharp contrast. She inhaled when he dropped his elbows to his knees and cradled his head in his hands, head bowed in a way she had only seen once before.

“Colt…” She pulled the blanket back, sliding against the wall to make as much space as she could. “Colt, come here.”

He undid his jeans, belt buckle falling with a clank onto her rug, and made his way over, bed sinking under his weight. It was tiny, mattress perfect for a child but crowded with the weight of two troubled adults and a horrifying past that left scars both visible and broken wide only in the province of nightmares. She wrapped her arms around him, pulling him close, and he buried his head against her chest, burrowing against her as if she could provide some kind of solace from his world. She pulled the blanket over him link a cocoon, a minuscule hideaway where she could pretend that nothing existed outside this tiny bed and tiny mattress in her childhood bedroom.

“What happened?”

He only shook his head as she ran her fingers through his hair, soothing strokes that she hoped transmitted some comfort. 

“Colt, my dad will be here after-”

“I know.” His fingers curled into her t-shirt. “I won’t be here in the morning.”

She dropped a kiss on the top of his head, blinking tears from her eyes. When she drove across the country, leaving everything behind, she knew he was on a path that she couldn’t follow, a path he would need to walk alone. But she still desperately wished she could protect him from all the pain that rebuilding entailed.

She closed her eyes and saw the flames engulfing Kaneko Auto Body behind her eyelids.

And when she opened them again, true to his word, he was gone.

.

ii.

Ellie rubbed her hands over her face. Mona made this look easy. Mona also made everything look easy. And apparently, picking locks wasn’t easy, especially when you were running on zero sleep and carafes of caffeine. She had to be home before breakfast; she didn’t have time for failure.

She took a deep breath and resolved to try again, one more time. Slowly, she inserted the pick, turning it in her hands and listening carefully, tracking the click of successive pins as she clutched the knob and prayed. One last flick of her wrist and, finally, the knob turned and she was in.

She edged in, carefully, stubbing her toe before she snatched her phone from her pocket to light the way. Her eyes scoped out the new surroundings as she slowly shut the door. The hallway was narrow and her eyes were drawn to the corkboard in front of her, full of schedules and lists and notes in a very familiar scrawl. She stepped closer so she could trail her fingers over the script, feeling lighter now that she was touching something etched in his careful hand. 

She turned left, flashlight casting shadows against the wall as the hallway opened up into the shop floor. It looked like she remembered, bay doors in the same spot, rows of lifts and toolboxes an homage to the past, to the building that stood here before flames destroyed everything and everyone. She took a moment to admire it, marvel in the amount of work it must have taken to restore, before she slowly stepped up the stairs leading to the loft.

She hadn’t seen him since the summer, when he had barely spoken a word to her before falling into her bed. She hadn’t really understood it at the time but now, the first day of her sophomore year Thanksgiving break, when tests and papers and schoolwork lay heavy on her mind, now she understood the need to cling to someone, something, when everything was falling apart.

She edged the door open, silent as possible, and had just shut it behind her when his voice made her jump. “Hi, Ellie.” It was rough, hoarse and edged with a rasp that hinted at sleep deprivation and stress. She would have felt guilty but the relief that flew through her veins left no room for anything else.

“How’d you know it was me?”

He sat up to watch her, moonlight skating over his bare chest. “You cursed when you walked into the toolbox by the door.”

“Oh.” A smile flit over her lips. “Sorry.”

His lips quirked as he matched her grin but then fell as he took her in. She flushed under his gaze. She was sure she looked a mess, hair unkempt, clad in pajamas; she hadn’t had a good night’s sleep in weeks. “What’s wrong?”

“I just…” She stepped closer to the bed. “I’m so tired, Colt.”

“Come here.” He opened the blanket, almost a mirror image of when she did the same for him, when she welcomed him into her childhood bedroom so he could fall apart. She bit her lip and felt weak as she toed her shoes off to slide in next to him.

He was so warm, bare chest hot against her cheek, and she could hear the steady thrum of his heart, loud and stable and solid in her ear. She took a deep breath. "School is hard. School is really, really hard.”

“I bet but you’re smarter than anyone I-”

“I’m not, I’m not,” she interjected, wailing, clenching her hands into fists. “I’m not smarter than the people there, they are-”

“You can’t think like that-”

“But I do, I do. Everyone has it together and I am just… ”

She trailed off as strong hands slid under her shirt, running lines up and down her spine, nonsense patterns at the small of her back. He hummed and she felt herself weaken against him, a heavy weight pressed down into his embrace.

He didn’t complain so she continued. “I just…everyone else is so smart and New York is so busy and chaotic, I’m just lost there and I have been since I started, and I constantly feel like I’m falling behind and no matter what I’m doing, I should be doing something else so I can’t even write a paper without panicking about the French conjugations I’m supposed to be working on and…” The words came out as a jumble against his skin. He fell silent, only nodded, hands never stopping their slow path up and down her back. A few times mid-monologue, she wondered if he fell asleep, but he was always focused on her when she lifted her head, eyes intent and lips pulled into a frown. And so she continued, talking and worrying and letting it all out until the caffeine left her blood and she could feel how tired she was, deep in her bones.

She could feel her eyes falling shut, worries and fears loud in the quiet space between them, her pain leaving only utter exhaustion in its wake. “Colt? What if I’m not enough?”

His whispered “you’re more than enough.” was the last thing she heard before sleep overtook her.

And when she edged out of bed, when the first rays of sunlight fell across her eyes, she watched him, for only a minute, pillowed in the covers, looking more peaceful than she remembered.

And, as she slipped down the hall to head home, she felt more at peace as well.

.

iii.

Finals were crowding out every other thought in Ellie’s mind as she dodged through incessant pedestrian traffic on her way back from her favorite coffee shop. Even this late at night, the city was densely packed, more people than LA crammed into a smaller area, all one on top of another, running ragged in a twisted hamster wheel with no end. She was still lonely, still lost, and navigating through Manhattan only made it worse.

At first, she loved the crowds, the vibrancy of the city an echo of life and possibility. Now, she had long since learned that it was all a facade. The blank dead eyes of the people she passed, hipsters and workers alike all staring at phones with headphones blaring, men in sharp suits steamrolling ahead, tourists dragging behind their heavy bags-all of it made her feel even more alone. She didn’t know how she could feel so alone when millions of people surrounded her, but the crowds of strangers and skyscrapers towering over her just reminded her of how small and solitary she really was. Her loneliness was palpable, a stabbing wound through the heart, a yearning gasp by her soul, a vague ache that stretched through the caverns of her mind and reminded her that she was thousands of miles from the people she loved.

Man, New York was hard.

She flashed her ID to get into her building and waited in the elevator, eyeing the three other people also going up, none of whom she had seen before and none of whom she would see again, and shifting the backpack on her shoulder. Once the doors opened, she trudged forward, feeling the weight of the books on her back and the depth of her exhaustion in every cell. She fished out her keys, turned the lock, and opened the door. She entered her single, dropped the bag, and screamed.

She managed to cut the noise off pretty quickly but it was still audible, so loud that the door next to hers flew open with a shout.

“I’m ok, Ingrid, I’m ok.” Ellie couldn’t pull her eyes from the shape on her bed, broad shoulders propped up on her pillows. “It was just a spider.”

That shape smirked. “A spider? Really? That’s what you’re going with?”

“A spider who can pick locks and only appears in my room in the still of night?” She rolled her eyes at him. “Sounds right. Colt, what the-? How did you get in?”

The grin that spread across his face was carefree, open. “How did you break into my garage?”

“You picked the lock to my dorm room?”

“Your school needs better security.”

“Colt…” She shook her head. “What are you doing here?”

He shrugged, quirking a shoulder as he watched her pull her books from her bag. “I was in the area. I have a deal tomorrow in LIC and I can’t miss it.” She crossed her arms until he continued, relenting under her glare. “I also wanted to check on you.” She looked at him dubiously. “I did. You, ah…you weren’t exactly 100% over Thanksgiving.”

She flushed, eyes dropping to the French book in her hands. “I know.” She bit her lip. “I’m sorry about tha-”

“Don’t be.” His eyes were earnest, honest. “Don’t be. You did the same for me. Last year.”

“When you broke into my house?”

His eyes clouded up and Ellie got the sense that he was looking through her, dullness gazing at something she couldn’t see. “When I had a rough time.”

“What happened?”

“It doesn’t matter now.” He shook his head and, just like that, he was back, eyes clear and looking at her fully, shrewdly. “How are you?”

“I’m…I’m ok.” He tilted his head, not fully believing her words. “I…finals are coming up. I just need to get through.”

“It’s almost midnight."

Her shoulders dropped. "I know. I just…” She trailed off. She couldn’t keep running at the pace she was going.

“Come here.”

She was across the bed in three steps, falling into bed next to him and burrowing into his t-shirt. “I’m better, I swear, I just-”

“Ellie, stop.” His careful hand lifted her chin, gentle, as if she were fragile and he could break her. Hell, she felt fragile and he could absolutely break her, just shatter her into a million pieces to be scattered into the dirt of New York, never to be recovered.  "Ellie…“ His fingers curved around the hinge of her jaw, his eyes so close to her that she was lost in their dark intensity, and she couldn’t stop herself from falling forwards, closing the distance between them.

Once her lips were warm, hot, scorching, once her spine was tingling, and her breath had been stolen by the seam of his lips, he pulled back to brush her hair off her face. Concern was etched on his face, in the clench of his jaw and every line in his forehead; she could feel tears starting to prick her eyes and willed them away before she spoke again. "I just…I feel so alone.”

“You’re not alone.” He bit his lip, flushed and plush from their kisses, and gathered her even closer. “You never are.”

But when she woke up, the bed was empty and only she remained.

.

iv.

The knob turned and Ellie smiled, triumphant. School was still hard but, apparently, she was getting better at some skills. She turned on the light of her phone before walking in, edging around the toolbox on the floor and taking a look around. It was just like she remembered, small hallway, cork board in front of her but, as her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she froze. There was a new addition to the board, a small white envelope with her name on it in thick blue sharpie.

She frowned and carefully pulled the thumb tack out. The envelope was heavy in her hand and she looked around, confused, before she slipped her index finger in the fold to tear it open. When her hand found jagged metal, she had to smile. A key. She held it beneath her phone, silver glinting the spotlight. She wondered how long it had been there, waiting for her.  At least it would be easier than breaking in.

She followed the path to the floor, slowly up the stairs, shutting the door behind her. She grinned triumphantly when there was no noise, thinking she had gotten in undetected, but her face fell when she saw the bed.

It was empty.

She looked around, wondering where he could be at midnight on a random Tuesday in June, before she sighed. She didn’t want to go home, not now; she needed to talk to him, lest he try to break into her dorm again only to find her away for a year. At least, that’s what she told herself, the desire to see him a hidden secret that lived in her blood, in the space between every cell that danced around her body and filtered through her heart.

“Colt?” Her whisper was met with only silence, only the dark night surrounding her. She glanced around the room once more, frowning when she didn’t see a familiar leather jacket.  She didn’t know what else to do but crawl into his bed, sliding in between the sheets and stretching out, hugging a pillow close. It smelled like that fancy hair gel he hid in the bathroom, mint evoking memories of her hands in his hair and his lips at her neck.

It was only a sub-par facsimile. It wasn’t the same, not even close, but it was enough that she could close her eyes and pretend and feel slightly better, slightly less alone. It was enough that she could fall into dreams where she wasn’t at school, where she wasn’t going to travel halfway around the world; dreams where things were different and their lives were intertwined by more than these stolen nights.

It was later than she thought when she woke up. Apparently, she slept well in his bed, encased in his warmth and scent and memories.

She sat up, slowly, watching the sunlight peek over the rooftops on 92nd, when a clang from downstairs made her pause. Now that she was listening closer, she could hear noise, the soft din of a crooning Spanish melody, an electric drill grinding on metal. There were people working downstairs.

She stepped down the stairs cautiously, squinting to see a couple men under an open hood, a pair of feet hanging out from underneath the car’s chassis. No one she recognized. Crap. She took a few more steps down, trying to be silent, eyeing the distance between her and the back door, when the drill stopped. 

She grimaced. She had been spotted. One of the men had seen her and gaped, elbowing his friend. Now that they were facing her, she could tell that they were brothers, likely twins, the only difference between them the tattoos that adorned the sides of their faces.

She nervously smiled as she walked down the rest of the stairs, hands in her pockets as she faced them.

“Oy, what the hell?” The creeper flew out from under the car, revealing a small girl, unnatural flash of fire engine red hair beneath a white bandana. “What are you fools do-?”

She stopped as her eyes fell on Ellie, widening as she crouched, then stood, exchanging a look with the twins.

Ellie gave a wave, awkward and small underneath the three pairs of strange eyes. “Hi.”

The girl raised her eyebrows and Ellie felt naked under her assessing gaze. “You must be Ellie. Boss Man and the Manic Man-Child are out of town on business but they should be back later today if you want to wait.” Her look turned dangerous, a leer that Ellie felt in her toes.

“Oh, no, I’m just gonna-” She gestured towards the door and, without waiting for another comment, she fled.

.

v.

She didn’t have to wait long.

Her dad was still shuffling around downstairs, the clanging of dishes loud over the drone of a documentary on the saran wrap industry, when her window slid open. Ellie held her breath as a boot swung over her windowsill, followed by a jean-clad leg, and then a leather-clad torso, and then a smirk-clad face.

He shut the window behind him as she studied him, finger to her lips and pointing downstairs to make sure he knew the need for quiet.

“I know. It’s why I didn’t break in through the door.” The smirk on his face was insufferable, absolutely intolerable, and she wanted to kiss it off his face. “I heard you came to see me.”

"Yeah.” She dropped her phone onto her bedside table. “I wanted to talk.” The fact that she wanted, desperately, to see him was unspoken.

He sat at the edge of her bed, hands in his pockets, eyes cautious as they mapped the features of her face. “What’s up?”

“I wanted you to know I wouldn’t be around in New York next year.” She hadn’t seen him in six months, time and distance weighing heavy on her mind. She wouldn’t be seeing him for longer soon.

“Where are you going?”

“I’m studying abroad for the year. In Paris.”

He beamed and laid against her bed, elbows propping him up over the pink fabric. “Ellie, that’s awesome. I’m so proud of you.”

“Thanks.” She looked at her hands. “I don’t think you can ride your motorcycle to Paris.”

“Yeah.” He sighed. “I can’t exactly get on an airplane right now, either.”

“I know.” She swallowed. “I couldn’t pass it up and-”

“Of course not. Ellie, that’s fantastic. When do you leave?”

“September, start of the school year.” She looked at him, lying on her bed like he belonged there;. “I won’t be back until next fall.”

He sat up, suddenly intent, and leaned towards her, eyes glinting suggestively in the light. “I am so proud of you. But maybe we should make the most of the time we have.”

“My dad’s downstairs.”

“I know that.” His eyes never lost their shine. 

She raised an eyebrow at him, trying to memorize everything, every curve of his lips, every look in his eyes, to encode in her brain when they were separated by more than locked doors, when land and water marked a distance neither could cross. “You know, I have spent lots of time thinking about how we would do this.”

“I’m listening.”

“I mean, it’s not often I have a boy in my room with my dad down the hall.” She gave a pointed look. “The bed creaks so that’s out. So we would have to be on the floor.”

His eyes lit up, playful, intrigued. “Really.”

“But I’d want the blanket there, so no one gets a rug burn.”

Colt quickly grabbed the blanket from her bed, movements fast and choppy. He laid it down on the floor, spreading it out as much as he could, enough to fit one college student and the boy she wouldn’t see for a long, long time. “Go on.”

“I’d want some music, something soft and sexy but loud enough that any noises might be hidden.”

He pulled out his phone, scrolling and frowning. “I have rap and Toby’s EDM mix, which I do not recommend by the way.”

“You’re lucky I have us covered.” She moved to her desk; after a few clicks of her laptop, the speakers started up a playlist she thought she would never get the chance to use.

“What next?” He stepped closer.

“I’d need to lock the door." 

"On it.” He brushed by her, hand skating over her hip before he turned the latch.

She grabbed a pillow off her bed and handed it over. “Maybe put this at the crack at the bottom, try to muffle the sounds.”

“You’ve really thought about this.” He pushed the pillow into position.

“I’ve had a lot of time to consider everything.”

“But there’s one thing you haven’t considered.” He stepped over to her, eyes dangerously flashing over her.

“What?”

He grabbed her by the hips to pull her flush against him, lips stopping inches from hers. “You’ve never been able to be quiet with me.”

And he was right. 

She had to cover her mouth with her hands when he laid her down, sliding her pants down shaky legs and replacing their warmth with his own. She had to bite her lip, hard, shock of pain and taste of iron barely enough when his tongue delved into her center and swirled teasing shapes around her nub of nerves. And she had to pull him down, lips pressed into his chest to muffle the shout when he swiveled his hips just so and she fell screaming into a place where there was only pleasure and warmth and she never felt alone.

They were still on the floor, lying on the wrinkled blanket with Colt’s fingers threading through her curls when she sighed. “I don’t like being so far from you.”

“You’re already across the country.” He traced a finger over her cheek and down her neck. “It’s only a tiny ocean beyond that.”

“I know.”

He pulled her closer, eyelashes fluttering against her cheek as he dropped kisses down her jaw. “I’ll be here when you get back.”

“Promise?”

He pulled back to look at her, eyes sharp. “I told you I’d always be there. I meant it.”

She sighed, low in her throat, as his lips found her jaw again and continued a meandering path down. Colt only ever said what he meant but maybe he meant words unspoken as well, every intimate touch mapping a line of love across her body.

She was alone when she woke up, But she didn’t feel so alone. And maybe it didn’t make perfect sense, but it was a win in her book.

.

i.

“Ok, so now, the real question.” Ingrid paused until she had Ellie’s full attention. “Why aren’t you coming back to school?”

Ellie straightened the picture of the Eiffel Tower, hung over her new bed in her new apartment. “I dunno.” She shrugged one shoulder and avoided eye contact, instead busying herself in one of the giant boxes that contained the remnants of her life at Langston. “I guess I missed home and I had enough credits that I could graduate by only taking online classes and…”

“And?” Ingrid laid down on the bed, face melancholy, arms stretching from the wall to the edge of the mattress, long legs dangling over the side.

“And I was lonely.” Ellie grabbed a tiny French flag, another memento of her time in Paris, another year of wandering around a city she felt lost in, another year of being away from home and everything that she loved and everything that made her heart feel alive. “I just felt alone.” It was a loneliness that hung in her bones, inside the chambers of her heart, a pain that followed her like a shadow so every step she took echoed in the hollowness inside her.

“Ellie...you have me. And our friends at school. And your French advisor, who loves you. And the burrito guy at the campus center who always gives you extra guac.”

She pursed her lips and rolled her eyes. “I know. It’s just-” Three successive raps at their front door made her pause. “Urgh. Who could that be?”

Ingrid jumped off the bed, flouncing out of the room. “I’ll get it.”

Ellie shrugged, intent on finally emptying her giant suitcase; she didn’t really want to see the welcome wagon from the apartment building anyways. However, Ingrid’s cutting greeting made her pause.

“Hello, criminal deviant who broke my best friend’s heart.”

Ellie’s heart was in her throat as she ran to the living room, feet pounding on the hardwood floor, sliding in just in time to see Colt raise his eyebrows. “Hello, passive aggressive girl from prom.”

“Oh no, there’s no passivity here. I’m just aggressive.” Ingrid’s smile was all teeth, a shark dressed in bleach-blond highlights and impeccable attire.

“Not in the circles I run in, but ok.” He shot her a pointed look. “Hello, aggressive girl from prom.“

“Better.” Ingrid glanced over her shoulder. “I like this one. He sounds like he can be trained.”

“EXCUSE ME?”

Ellie couldn’t stop blinking at the exchange, at Ingrid and Colt squaring off in the doorway. Under normal circumstances, she didn’t know who would win this battle of sarcasm and wit; however, Ingrid had it partially right. There was one person Colt would always answer to and it was up to her to end this exchange.

“Stop, you two, stop it.” She shot Ingrid a look before turning to Colt. She had been back in LA for two days; apparently, word of her arrival carried quickly. “What are you doing here?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Ingrid answered for him, shooting a wry look between the two before striding to the couch to grab her purse. “I’m gonna go.”

“What?”

“I’ll see you before I head back east.” Ingrid threw Ellie an air kiss before setting her sights on Colt. “Don’t you hurt her or I’ll hurt you.”

He only raised his eyebrows, watching her float out the apartment door without a backwards glance. “When did you two become friends?”

“It was a whole thing,” Ellie chuckled before catching his eye. “Colt, why are you here?”

“You know why. I didn’t mean to interrupt you guys, though.”

“It’s ok,” Ellie shrugged. “I was just unpacking.”

He smirked, examining the place, eyes falling on the hallway behind her. “You want help?”

~~~~~

He was not help. 

Ellie’s suitcase lay abandoned on the floor as she watched him take in the walls, mostly bare, with some exceptions. He stood in front of her Eiffel Tower photo and ran a careful finger over the picture frame. “You’re not in this.”

“No. I took it.”

He looked at her, eyes intent on hers. “Did you have fun?”

“I…” She sighed and sat on the bed. “It was…an experience. Paris was big and the people were nice but…It wasn’t home.”

“Where is home, Ellie?”

She looked at her hands.

Colt sat next to her, still watching. “Is New York home?” He was close to her but they weren’t touching, a sliver of blanket between their thighs.

He had been on her mind when he was two thousand miles away. He had been all she could think about when he was five thousand miles away. 

Now that they were three inches apart, why weren’t they touching?

“You’re home.”

She could tell that he was expecting that answer when he beamed, hands leaping off his lap to circle her shoulders and pull her close. “Why did you come back to LA?” The question was muffled by her hair.

Her reply was muffled by the fact that her face was buried in her shoulder. “Don’t be an idiot.”

“Just tell me.”

She pulled back to frown at him. “You know the answer to that.”

“It doesn’t hurt to hear you say it.” He narrowed his eyes, peering at her like he was trying to figure out the intricacies of a job.

She sighed. “I came back for you, Colt.”

His lips were on hers before she could blink and she melted into him, melted into the one place where she felt safe and understood and not so alone. His arms wrapped around her, tight, and, in that moment, she knew that coming home was the right thing to do. 

She could feel herself relax, the stress and fear of the last year falling away like every piece of clothing that he removed with reverent hands and eager lips, mapping each new inch of skin he revealed. She fell back against the bed, pulling him against her, wrestling his clothes off so she could feel miles of warm skin over her, his heartbeat solid and real against hers.

It was hard to feel alone when someone was inside of you, even harder when their lips were painting your face in gentle kisses, each one a promise that she wouldn’t be alone, not anymore.

After, when they lay together in a sated heap, bodies and limbs intertwined so fully that she couldn’t tell where she ended and he began, she realized that she had never really been alone.

And when she woke up, sunlight bright against the bare walls and bathing Colt in an ethereal glow, she realized she wouldn’t be truly alone again.

.

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