#I think if I cut it down it’d just come back stronger

[seabeck]

I need to trim the shit out of my fig tree. Or maybe just cut it down. It never makes ripe fruit and it blocks the view out of my window. I gave it a really good trimming in hopes that would make it make ripe fruit but once again it just makes green fruit that rot on the limbs because they never get ripe.

[lushxboba]

The Emperors Prize

Emperor Geta X Peasant!Reader

Word Count: 2k

TW// 18+ ONLY (minors be gone), mentions of family members death, mentions of murder, spitting, oral (m receiving), unprotected sex, thigh riding, if i missed anything let me know !!

A/N: i haven’t written in months so be gentle with me pls 🙏🏽

It’d been the longest year of your life. Ever since Emperor Geta took over after his father died, your whole life had been turned upside down. Your father died the year prior, finally succumbing to his disease after being refused medical care by the kingdom. And your brother was left to do the only thing he felt was right to take care of your family. Train to be a gladiator. Perform in front of the Emperor and all of Rome to fight for his families survival. Only to not survive himself. Leaving you to take care of your little sister and sickly mother all to yourself.

Of course you blamed the only person you felt was responsible. Geta. He killed your father. He killed your brother. You wouldn’t let him take the last of what you had. So you did what you needed to survive, and stayed far away from his tyrants.

You’d heard of his army walking the markets day to day, blending in with the rest of peasants just to try and find someone stealing. They would take them to the temple and cut their hands off, cut their tongue out, maybe even behead them then and there. But you were smarter than those people. And faster. You had to be.

Before your father died, he always told you that your speed would be your superpower to survive Getas reign. You’d never have to face the torment of being in the arena and using your strength against your neighbors, but you could use your speed against his tyrants.

You spent days running in the slums, back and forth until you couldn’t breathe again. Or until you felt like you could’ve lost them. You knew you were ready for anything. Considering you did steal food to survive, you had to be.

You never thought you’d get caught. You’d been doing it for months now, and it seemed that only the elderly were the ones being dragged back to the kingdom. Call it population control if you will. But your time was surely coming to an end, and you could feel it.

You took your weekly walk down to the market, keeping your hood up and frequently looking out for suspicious vendors and customers. You’d seen people dragged away enough to know what they’d look like. They weren’t very good at disguising themselves. To you at least.

You tried to go to different stands each week so they wouldn’t catch on to you. You found a nice fruit stand with more colorful berries than you’d ever seen in your life.

You approached the stand as you practiced your distraction tactic in your head. You took a look around the stand, asking the man about how much he gets each week to sell, making him turn around to look in his inventory, giving you the perfect chance to quickly shove pints and pints of fruit in your bag.

Before he could turn back around, you were gone. Quickly walking through the market fast enough to be out of his eyesight but not fast enough to cause a scene.

You’d made it halfway down the road, just long enough to think you’d gotten away with it until you felt two pairs of hands gripping on each of your arms tightly.

“Little girl thought she got away, huh?” A deep voice husks behind your ear. You don’t fight it. No point in fighting when they’ve already made up their mind. And they are clearly much stronger than you.

You just roll your eyes as you let them walk you towards the kingdom. You can feel the eyes of everyone on you as they practically carry you towards the kingdom, but you pay them no mind. Your father always told you there was no reason to fight.

Once you reach the castle, the anger in you bubbles more and more. Knowing two people you loved died here made you want to rip the ugly brown wallpaper off of the walls and break down the pillars.

The men carry you up the steps to a large room bolted down with a big gold chain. You don’t even bother being nervous or anxious about what’s behind that door. You know your fate is decided the second your name is mentioned to the emperor.

One of the men unlock the chain while the other holds your arm even tighter. You’ve made no signs of struggle so you don’t exactly understand why they have to bruise your arm in the process. The door opens to reveal a long hallway, covered with a red and gold carpet leading to a throne. You’d recognize that throne anywhere. Along with the man who sits on it.

The walk down the runway seems like hours, as the man you despise most in this world stares you down with his wide brown eyes.

“You’re dismissed.” He says in a dark tone. The two men let go of your arms and bow before Geta before turning and leaving the room. Bolting the door down once again behind you.

“Most people bow when they see me.” He says, his legs and arms spread comfortably on the soft throne paid for by his slaves.

“I’m not most people.” You stand tall in front of him, keeping eye contact. “...your highness.” You smirk before playfully bending your knee and bowing in front of him.

Geta scoffs before standing up from his throne, slowly making his way towards you. “You look familiar.” His breath lingers down your skin as he circles around your body, his arms behind his back.

“You killed my father… and my brother.” You can see the gears click in his mind as he stops right in front of you. He places his hand roughly under your chin making you shiver. He forcefully turns your head both ways before nodding. “Caius’ daughter. How could I forget those innocent eyes?”

Your breathing gets heavier as you remember everything this man has put your family through. You spit on his cheek, making him quickly shuffle back. He chuckles under his breath, looking up at you as he wipes your saliva off of his face. “I should have you hung for that alone.”

“You’re going to kill me anyways. What else do I have to lose?” You get down on your knees, placing your hands behind your back as you ready yourself for the knife that is knowingly going to come to your neck.

“Who ever said anything about killing you? I surely didn’t.” He steps closer to you, leaning down to place his hand under your chin once again, this time softer. “Who could kill such a pretty little whore like you?” He lifts your head up to look at him, smirking as your eyes meet his once again.

He roughly pushed your head away as he steps back, slowly untying his robe. “I’ve already done enough damage to you, don’t you think?” He smirks, dropping his robe to reveal his extremely toned naked body. His cock jumps up to his stomach in anticipation, and as much as you hate him, you can’t take your eyes off of it. “In return for letting you live, I say you do a little something for me, don’t you think?” He spits in his hand, moving it down to stroke his cock as you watch on your knees. “You’re already in the position… it’s only fair.”

He moves back to his throne, sitting with his legs spread as he continues to stroke himself. Your mouth salivates at the image alone. You get up from your knees, slowly walking towards him until you’re standing in between his legs.

“I’d rather die than do anything to serve you.” You spit on him once again. Before you can turn around, he grabs you by the wrists and pulls you down on to your knees, holding your hair in one hand so you can’t move.

“This wasn’t an option.” He grabs his cock with his other hand, tapping it on your cheek before roughly shoving it into your mouth. You can’t help but moan the second you taste his salty seed lingering out the tip. “The good girl likes it, too.” He chuckles.

You look up at him with fire in your eyes, slowly bobbing your head up and down his hard member. You keep your arms behind your back and let him take control. That is all he wants after all. You watch as he throws his back in pleasure, moaning loud enough you’re sure the rest of the kingdom can hear you.

He grips your hair tighter with each movement of your mouth, pulling you every which way he wants you to go. “Your mouth is so wet and tight. Can’t wait to see what that perfect cunt feels like.”

You quickly pull off of him, removing one of your hands from your back to stroke him. “You never said anything about fucking me.”

“Oh, but I just did.” He smirks, leaning down to grab your hips and pull you into his lap. “You thought you were going to get away without me feeling your cunt wrapped around my cock?” He grinds into you, his hands roaming up and down your sides. You can’t help but to grind with him, moaning into his hair as he attaches his mouth to your neck.

His hand reaches down to lift up your skirt, revealing no underwear underneath. He moans into your neck as his fingers trace along your wet slit. You wrap your arms around his neck, holding him closer to you as you grind your pussy along his hand.

You reach down to palm his cock, making him moan even louder if that was possible. “Need to feel you already.” He whines as he pulls your shirt up, his mouth immediately sucking on your nipples.

You grab his cock and run the tip along your slit, smirking as you tease him. “Never thought I’d have the Emperor of Rome begging me to fuck him.” You laugh, still riding the tip of his cock.

He growls, grabbing his cock and quickly thrusting up into you. You gasp loudly, gripping his neck tighter than before. He wraps his arms around your back, thrusting into you hard. You match his movements with the bounce of your own hips, leaving both of you a moaning mess.

You can feel your own arousal leaking out and coating both of your thighs. The sounds emitting from this room were obscene, and you just hoped the Gods would forgive you.

You roll your hips faster against him as you feel the familiar coil burn in your stomach quickly. His cock twitches inside of you, making your ego bigger than it already was coming into this room.

“You’re going to cum.” You say breathily, gripping him by his hair to make him look at you. He doesn’t say anything. Just looks in your eyes with his mouth open as he thrusts into you one last time. His hands grip your hips tightly as you feel him dripping out of you. The feeling is enough to make you shake as you reach your own high.

You hold him by his hair tightly, your hips still slowly rolling against his as your both catch your breath. It doesn’t take long for him to remove you from his lap. He grips your hips and swiftly places you back on your feet.

“You may be dismissed now.” He says quietly, clearing his throat as he looks down at his feet.

“Nothing to clean me up at least?” You respond, looking at him even though he isn’t doing the same.

“You’re a peasant. You walk around dirty anyways.” He scoffs.

You walk close to him, lifting your skirt and placing a leg on either side of his thigh. You slide yourself down his thigh until it’s coated in your juices before hopping off.

You fix your skirt, smoothing it out as you smirk up at him. “Your highness.” You bow, pulling your skirt out each way before turning around and walking yourself out. Leaving Geta speechless… for now.

[stylesloveclub]

Prose (part 2)

In which not many students attend Harry's office hours, and y/n's kind of burnt out.

+++

“What’s that drink you’re always drinking?” Harry asks, sitting across from y/n in his office.

She’s the only student to show up to his office hours this week (again), and had come to ask about the first essay that’s due next week. While she types on her computer, writing down all the notes that Harry just gave her on her first draft, Harry finds himself staring at the iced drink sitting next to her laptop.

“Oh, it’s just an iced chai. I’ve been getting two pumps of pumpkin spice syrup in it recently though, since Starbucks has their fall flavors now.”

“Hm. I’ve never tried the fall drinks.” He twirls his red pen between his fingers, leaning back in his chair comfortably. “M’always too scared to try new drinks, y’know? Like what if I don’t like it? Then I’d have wasted five bucks and I wouldn’t even have a coffee to get me through my day.” He pouts to himself at the thought of it, and y/n finds it terribly endearing.

She’s happy to know that Harry is seemingly very comfortable in her presence, prattling on and on about the simplest of things – like coffee orders and his favorite food places on campus. When she first walked in, the first thing he’d asked her was her favorite place to grab lunch on campus, since he was starving and one of the other TA’s had offered to drop off some food for him. His personal favorite was the bagel place (he could have a cream cheese bagel at any time of the day, he told her), but that place closes early, so he was stuck between getting mexican or sushi.

Y/n advised him to stick with the burritos – her ex-roommate once got food poisoning from the sushi. Never trust the on-campus sushi, she warned.

“M’kinda like that too,” she responds once she finishes up her essay outline. “I usually just always get the chai, ‘cos I know I’ll like it. But sometimes I’ll be adventurous with like, the syrups I add, because it doesn’t really make a difference. Like right now, I have pumpkin spice syrup in here, and I can barely taste it so even if I didn’t like it, it’d be fine.” She takes a sip to somehow prove her point. “I just like adding the pumpkin for the fall vibes.”

“Is fall your favorite season?” he asks. It’s been a lot of this – Harry asking her questions, getting to know her. She wonders if it’s because she’s the only one who shows up to his office hours and, therefore, is the only person whose ear he gets to talk off – or if he genuinely is interested in her. The thought of it makes her heart want to do a backflip, but she kindly tells her heart to CALM THE FUCK DOWN before she starts getting carried away in her train of thought. Harry’s just a nice guy! A nice guy, who talks to her about books, and shares his umbrella, and gives her rides home when it’s rainy outside – and has pretty pink lips, and pretty green eyes, and pretty brown curls.

“Yeah, I think so,” she hums.

Her crush on him seems to grow more and more every time she sees him, like those tall annoying weeds that you constantly have to dig out of a pretty flower garden. The type of weeds that seem to grow back even stronger each time you cut their roots and spray anti-weed chemicals on them to ensure that they don’t come back. She’s tried to smush those bothersome butterflies in her stomach, continuously reminding herself that he’s just her TA. That he’s just being nice. That he just calls her smart, and tells her that she’s doing a good job, and praises her discussion posts because that is literally what a Teaching Assistant is supposed to do. But whenever he smiles at her with that boyish dimple and his eyes glimmer all sweetly and romantically and thoughtfully – well she just can’t help it! She’s given up and has let the crush invade her brain like the invasive garden plant that it is.

It’s just a harmless little crush, she rationalizes. Just a little fantasy of kissing him here and there to get her through her boring lectures with Dr. Richmond – nothing wrong with that, right?

She clears her throat, “What’s your favorite season?”

He stares up at the ceiling, pursing his lips thoughtfully, “Hmm… probably spring. I like seeing the flowers bloom, especially after a snowy winter.”

Oh, of course he likes seeing the flowers bloom. He’s a walking piece of poetry.

+++

Harry stands at the front of the classroom, lecturing once again. It’s the same as before – fourty-ish college students hanging onto every word like his words are a waterfall and they’re a group of dehydrated travelers.

He loves teaching, loves seeing the way his students’ eyes light up with wonder when he explains a certain theme or points out a new motif. He’s more than happy to hold their hand through the novel, be their guiding light through the Romantic era. Their questions make his day, and he’s beyond happy to see that, now that they’re a few weeks into their course, the students are opening up.

“Victor is so caught up in his experiment,” Harry lectures, “that he begins to ignore nature. Victor says– ‘The summer months passed while I was thus engaged, heart and soul, in one pursuit. It was the most beautiful season; never did the fields bestow a more plentiful harvest, or the vines yield a more luxuriant vintage: but my eyes were insensible to the charms of nature.’ So what role does nature – or should I say – the lack of nature, play for Victor?”

Four hands shoot up into the air (relieving considering how last week he could barely get anyone to say anything). “Katie, right?” He smiles when she nods, and gives an exaggerated, celebratory fist pump that makes all of his students chuckle. “Told you I’d start getting your names down! Go ahead, Katie.”

Although he’s laughing and smiling – practically beaming since he and his students are getting along and actually discussing (instead of just him lecturing them) – he can’t help but feel a little pinch of sadness in the back of his mind. As his eyes scan over the seats, he can’t manage to find y/n in the class. He’d searched for her three times already – wondering if he accidentally missed her, or if she was hidden behind one of the tall boys near the front – but he couldn’t find his star student. He missed catching her eye, giving her sly winks and watching her duck her head down stifle a laugh. It kept him entertained whenever he had to sit through Dr. Richmond’s lectures, and he liked hearing her talk. Not only does she add amazing thoughts to their class discussions, but she also is just… nice to listen to.

“Good… I love how you said that Katie,” Harry carries on, “He embodies the corruption of nature in the quest for glory. And we already know how highly the Romantics regard the beauty of nature – their artwork is meant to connect us with the world, isn’t it?”

He wonders if she’s okay. She isn’t hurt or anything, is she? Did something happen to her on her walk to class?

“He’s disrupting the natural cycle of life, basically destroying nature, by trying to play God and create life himself–”

Y/n, as quietly as she can, sneaks into the classroom. She’s 15 minutes late, which isn’t late enough to just completely ditch the lecture, but still late enough to raise a few eyebrows. Of course, being the clumsy duck she is, she accidentally knocks the trash can over with a loud bang. She winces at how loud the sound is, and feels her cheeks turn hot when all eyes turn to look at her.

Harry turns as well, and can’t help but smile to himself – there she is.

He continues with his lecture, as if nothing happened, but watches as she hurries over to her set spot in the third row. She messily pushes her hair out of her face as she sits down, pulling the pull-out desk in front of her and grabbing her laptop from her bag. She types in her password quickly, and pushes the sleeves of her white cardigan up her arms so that they aren’t in the way. Her eyes briefly flicker upwards to the projector to see what she missed – but instead she accidentally catches Harry’s gaze, who’s already looking at her.

All of a sudden, Harry loses his train of thought. His eyes flicker between hers, and she stares back at him. They’re stuck like that for a moment – just the briefest moment – before he realizes that words are no longer coming out of his mouth and that the rest of the class is staring at him expectantly.

His cheeks tint pink. “Um… sorry, what was I saying?” He chuckles at himself embarrassedly, shaking his head at himself – it’s not often that he stutters over his words. But, luckily, it was brief enough to just pass as a slight fumble. Nothing too suspicious.

Harry tears his eyes away from y/n and resumes with his lecture. But somehow, as delusional as she might be, y/n can tell that that moment was something more than just a slight stumble.

+++

“I got this for you,” y/n says, standing in front of Harry’s desk, placing the iced drink down next to his pile of papers.

Harry furrows his eyebrows and sits up straighter. “What?”

“It’s a pumpkin iced chai… the same one I usually get. I thought, since last time you said you didn’t wanna waste five bucks trying a new drink–”

“Are you mental?” he interrupts.

She blinks. “Huh?”

“Why would you go on and waste five of your dollars instead?” he huffs. “Christ, y/n, don’t be silly, m’not letting you buy me a coffee. How much was it, let me pay you back–” he’s reaching into his back pocket for his wallet, but y/n is quick to refuse.

“No, don’t worry I didn’t pay for it! Starbucks has this thing– it’s like, if you buy one fall drink you can get a second one for free, but it’s only on Thursdays after 12. And I was gonna get one for myself anyway, so I was like– might as well just get the second one for free so that you can try it and not waste five dollars.”

He pauses, his wallet half open and a five dollar bill pinched between her fingers. He squints at her, “Are you lying?”

She gives an exasperated huff, “Why would I lie?!”

“I dunno, maybe you’re trying to butter me up with drinks and stuff so that I’ll grade your essays easier – which won’t work by the way! M’not easy to bribe!”

She rolls her eyes and plops into the seat across from him. “Please. If I was gonna try and butter you up, it would’ve started five weeks ago, when classes actually started. And I probably wouldn’t be in your office hours every week groveling over these stupid essays.” She lets her bag fall to the floor and blows the hair out of her face. “Y’know, Dr. Richmond does not explain the politics of 18th Century Europe well enough to expect me to write an entire essay on ‘the effects of globalization on romantic era literature.’ I signed up for a literature class, not European history. When are we gonna start writing essays on Frankenstein and feminism?”

Harry goes to respond, but right at that moment he takes a tentative sip of the drink that y/n had forced onto his desk. He cannot hide the grimace that graces his face.

Her eyes round out and her eyebrows pinch. “You don’t like it?” she says with a pout.

His lips smack together a few times, trying to get used to the taste of pumpkin in his mouth – but he actually really cannot stand it. “God,” he says, his nose wrinkles and his tongue aching for some water to wash away the pumpkin-y after taste. “What a waste of five dollars.”

“Oh my gosh– I did not spend five dollars on a drink for you!”

“Yeah, yeah,” he pushes the drink to the edge of his desk, the sight of it making his tummy turn a little bit (he really did not like that pumpkin flavor mixed with milk). He then states the obvious, “You were late today.”

“Yeah. I overslept.”

He tsks, “What happened to the punctual Miss y/n who showed up twenty minutes early on the first day of classes?”

She sighs, “Dunno. Was up kinda late last night. And then I guess I snoozed through my alarm.”

It’s only then that he notices the dark circles under her eyes, and how her face is missing that usual radiant glow. He’s so caught up in her smile and her eyes, that he nearly missed the exhaustion leaking off her body. “How late?” he inquires.

“Um… like 3 in the morning.” Harry gapes at her, and she shrugs.

“Tha’s not healthy,” he scolds like a father. “Why’re you staying up so late, hm? Should be in bed for at least 6-8 hours, don’t you know that?”

“I know,” she rubs at her eyes tiredly. “I just have a psych midterm next week that m’really freaked out about. I like– fell behind on the lectures, so m’trying to learn like the past three weeks of material in a few days.”

Harry feels his heart ache, sympathizing for this poor, tired, hard-working girl. He knows the struggles of undergrad – he was pulling all nighters too, back in his day, and he never dared to go above 16 units. He wonders how she’s surviving, taking 20 units while still being at the top of her classes – well, she’s at the top of this class, he knows for certain. His star student.

Her eyes are still hidden behind her hands, knuckling at her eyelids, but she pulls them away slowly when she feels Harry’s hand at her knee. She looks at him, and he’s suddenly aware of how red and glossy her eyes are. “Just don’t overdo the studying, okay?” he says with soft eyes and a gentle voice. His thumb rubs overtop her knee softly, saying a hundred words that he can’t say out loud just quite yet.

She nods, and swallows thickly. “Okay.”

He smiles. “So you want a crash course in European History? I can do that for you. Dunno why more people don’t show up to my office hours, m’literally about to tell you exactly what to write…”

+++

Y/n is exhausted.

Actually, exhausted doesn’t cut it. She is at her breaking point.

With midterms week upon her, she’s been drowning herself in her school work, trying to keep up with her lectures and recap everything that she’s learned up until this point. Kind of difficult, when she’s fallen so dreadfully behind and barely knows what’s going on in her stats class. And – to make things worse, not only does she have both her stats and psych midterm this Friday, but she also needs to finish this stupid Globalization essay by tomorrow’s deadline.

Seven pages about The Effects of Globalization on British Romantic Literature. She currently has three pages written.

She’s screwed.

It’s not like she was trying to get behind! She tried so hard to stay on top of her studies. She promised herself that she’d finish the globalization essay last night – went to starbucks with her noise canceling headphones, got herself an iced pumpkin chai as a motivational treat, and sat down to turn all her notes into a beautiful, magical essay on Romanticism that would make Dr. Richmond weep.

But… the words just weren’t wording! Her brain refused to cooperate with her, despite the fact that she stayed at the Starbucks literally up until they kicked her out. She read her sources, went over her excerpts, wrote and rewrote her thesis over and over again… and only got three out of the seven pages done. She doesn’t know whether to blame Dr. Richmond for assigning such a stupid essay, or just her own sleep-deprived brain.

She’d gotten maybe five hours of sleep last night. And the night before that, too. Harry’s words ring loudly in her head, scolding her to get at least six hours of sleep every night… but she just has so much work to do! She has to do her psych readings, her stats homework, the midterm practice her stats professor posted, and this essay… It's a lot. Plus having to actually attend all of her classes and go to work (she works at the campus bookstore) on top of all her homework and studying? She barely has time to eat!!!

Her tummy grumbles miserably, a painful reminder of the fact that she had forgotten to pack herself a lunch this morning in her haste to get to class on time. The pain is nowhere as bad as her headache, though. It’s the kind of migraine you get when you barely got any sleep. Her head feels heavy, her heartbeat pounding in her ears, and her eyes sting every time she blinks. It’s horrible. She can barely focus on anything. Not her stats homework, not the essay open in front of her.

Not even Harry, who’s sitting to her left, helping her with her essay. In fact, she’s completely missed what he’s spent the past minute explaining to her.

She blinks at him slowly. “Sorry… can you say that again?”

Harry’s pretty face pinches, his eyebrows furrowed and eyes glimmering with concern. She’s so clearly off today… he can’t ignore her red-rimmed eyes and zoning out any longer. “…are you okay?” he asks timidly.

“Yeah, yeah,” she says quickly, brushing off his concern. “I’m fine.” But it’s like as soon as she says those two words, the dam holding her together collapses, and a river of emotion comes barreling through her. She looks down at the open document on her laptop, stares at the cursor blinking at her. The blank page taunting her. Tears well up in her eyes, and her heart starts to swell sadly. She’s not fine at all.

She quickly hides her face from Harry, looking down at her lap. She is NOT allowed to cry in front of him, she reprimands herself. She’s kept herself together all day, why is she starting to get emotional now, in the middle of his office hours? Couldn’t it have waited until she was alone in her shower?

She swallows around the lump in her throat, and presses her palms to her stinging eyes. As if that’ll keep her tears at bay. “Sorry,” she mumbles, trying to conceal her shaky voice, “let me just think for a second.”

“Hey…” Harry sees right through it. “Hey, come on. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she says, mostly trying to convince herself. She sniffles as quietly as she can and tries to rub the tears away. “Sorry, nothing. I’m fine.”

She reaches for her laptop, but Harry grabs her hand. “No.” He can’t ignore the glossy sheen of her eyes, or the quiet sniffles. He just can’t. “We need to take a break.”

“It’s really fine–” she tries to say, but she can barely get it out with how her throat is swelling. She stares down at the floor. Harry holds her hand.

“What’s wrong? Talk to me.” His hands are big and warm, encasing her’s, wholly. A cross tattoo sits between the slit of his thumb and second finger, twitching as his thumb grazes her knuckles.

“M’just tired,” she says dejectedly. “I was up super late last night and I just… didn’t even get anything done. And now I have to finish this, and I haven’t finished my stats homework, and I have two midterms on Friday.” Her heart starts to race as she realizes much she has to do, and how little time she has. She’s stretched herself thin. “There’s just so much I have to get done,” her voice cracks, “and I’m so tired.” A big fat tear rolls down her face, and drops onto her shirt – shamefully staining the thin material.

Harry gets out of his chair and kneels down in front of her, resting their joint hands in her lap as he stares up at her. More tears fill her eyes without her consent, and her cheeks burn with embarrassment. “Sorry,” she sniffles. She refuses to meet his gaze, despite how earnestly he’s looking into her sad eyes. Another drop falls from her lashes.

“Don’t apologize,” he murmurs sadly.

“I thought I could handle it all,” she bleats. “But I’m so unprepared for my midterms, and I need to finish this essay, and I promised you that I’d stay on top of my work, but I’m falling behind–”

“Don’t worry about the essay,” he interrupts. “I’ll get you an extension on your paper.”

She shakes her head. “Dr. Richmond doesn’t do extensions, though,” she blubbers.

“I’ll talk to him,” he says firmly. “M’the one grading it anyway.”

“But Harry–” she whines, shamelessly childlike, “I promised you that this wouldn’t happen. I told you I could handle it.”

“And you can handle it. I know you can.” His green eyes are wide and round as he looks up at her, earnest and pleading. “You come to office hours, and you study hard, and you’d stay up all night to finish this essay – but I don’t want you to. You don’t have to prove yourself to me. I know you can do it.”

She pouts, still not looking up at him. She stares instead at their joint hands in her lap blankly.

“You’re doing so good,” he coos, “You’re coming to office hours even when you have so much going on, and you’re taking so many units. I know you’re giving it your all. S’okay.”

He reaches a hand out to rest on her shoulder, and suddenly she feels the weight of the world fall off of her chest. A long, shaky breath leaves her, and she blinks her eyes shut, letting more tears cascade down her cheeks. “Oh, sweetheart,” Harry’s heart breaks. He leans up to wrap his arms around her shoulders, a soft hug, and she rests her forehead on his shoulder, letting the tears silently fall. His hands rub big, soothing circles on her back, and he shushes her softly, “It’s alright.”

His blue dress shirt feels cool against her face, crisp and fresh, and he smells like vanilla and smoked wood. She doesn’t want to abandon his firm chest, his warm embrace, but he pulls back and looks into her eyes. For the first time, she meets his gaze. “No more crying, okay?”

She sniffles, and wipes the wetness off her cheeks. “M’kay.”

A soft smile smooths out the worried lines on his face. “Here’s what we’re gonna do,” he says, his hands slapping his thighs as he stands back up. “You’re going to take a nap–” he closes his office door and locks it with a click.

“A nap?” her watery voice exclaims. “But– I need to study!”

He gives her a firm look. “You’re not gonna get any studying done if your brain isn’t well rested.” From one of the bottom drawers of his desk, he pulls out a blanket (he sometimes will take a nap in his office if he needs a break from grading). “Take a nap. I’ll wake you in an hour and then y’can study in here.”

+++

You know that peaceful feeling that surrounds a room when a baby is taking a nap? How everyone tiptoes around the crib, their voices barely surpassing a whisper in fear of waking the sleeping baby. How parents will stand around, just watching the baby nap, smiling to themselves when their baby twitches in its sleep. How the world just seems more… peaceful?

That’s how Harry feels right now.

Y/n is on his couch, his cozy gray blanket pulled up to her chin. Her cheeks are puffed, her tired eyes shut with her eyelashes resting delicately on the tops of her cheeks. She looks angelic, the most relaxed he’s ever seen her be, with no midterms stressing her out. No papers due, no furrowed eyebrows, no crying. Like a sleeping baby, cherubic and sweet. He’s been tiptoeing around her for the past hour, grading papers as quietly as he can. He tried to be productive and just mind his business while she napped, but everytime he shuffled through one of the essays, he felt the urge to check on her, to make sure that he didn’t accidentally wake her up. And then he just wanted to… watch her. Not in a creepy way though!!! Not in a creepy way. In a kind of… sweet way. :( She was beautiful, especially when she slept.

His heart doesn’t want to wake her up – not when she looks so peaceful for the first time weeks. All the times he’s seen her since that very first week was her stressing and stressing and stressing – stressing about getting a permission code from Dr. Richmond, stressing about her exams, stressing about the rain. He’s never gotten to see her take a breath and be calm. She’s a hard worker, he can tell – which is a great trait that he admires in his students. But, with y/n… he just wants to make sure she’s okay, too.

He kneels down in front of the couch, and regretfully murmurs out, “y/n?” She doesn’t respond at all– she’s dead to the world. All the exhaustion that she’d accumulated this past week, all the hours of sleep she missed, are catching up with her now. He tries again, “Y/n… time to wake up.”

Her eyebrows furrow and her nose wrinkles, but she still refuses to open her eyes. The pull of sleepiness is too strong. It makes him chuckle. “Come on, bunny,” he says, in reference to her twitchy nose and pouty lips. “V’got a snack for you.”

Her sleepy eyes blink open, and immediately he can tell that she needed that nap. Her eyes are brighter, less red, and she stares up at him sweetly. “A snack?”

Of course that would get her to wake up. His dimple pokes his cheek. “S’not much. Just a granola bar. But it’ll help you while you study.”

She sits up, the blanket pooling around her waist, and rubs at her eye with her knuckle.

“Feeling better?” He asks, a hand on her knee.

She nods. She’d taken an Advil for her headache before she’d gone to sleep. That, with her nap, has made the prospect of studying a little bit more bearable.

When she looks around the room, she sees that Harry’s cleared up a portion of his desk for her to study at. Gone are his stacks of books, a bare square of wood right across from the stack of essays he’s currently grading. The usual foldable chair that he has students sit in during his office hours has been moved to the corner, and has been replaced with one of the more comfy, rolly chairs. He’s gone out of his way to make a sweet little study space for her while she napped in his office.

“Now… we’re gonna have to leave by 9,” Harry says, standing up and going round to his side of his desk. “Cos v’got to feed my cat. But that gives us at least… two hours of study time. N’then I can take you home. How does that sound?”

She blinks. “Harry… thank you.” She doesn’t know why he’s being so nice to her, or what she’s done to deserve such kind treatment. But it means the world.

He shrugs nonchalantly, but she doesn’t miss the dimple that pinches his cheek as he smiles to himself.

+++

They stay in his office until nightfall.

Harry’s nicely styled curls turn messy, his fingers tangling through his hair he graded the freshman papers (is he a harsh grader, or does this new generation truly not know how to write?). His eyebrows furrow behind his tortoise shell glasses, green eyes hard and serious. Y/n watches the way his lips purse, how he taps his red pen against his chin while he reads.

Her own brain is done with studying. After her nap, she started playing her classical music and sat down to finish her stats homework AND the practice midterm. Without the globalization essay to worry about, she managed to calm down and focus, get some of her work done, and catch up on the things she was so behind on. Does she feel any better about the exam? No. But at least she can say that she studied!

Harry manages to make a nice dent in the stack of ungraded papers as well, working well in the comfortable silence filtering between the two of them. There was no need for them to talk, and they didn’t distract each other either. Simply getting their work done next to each other, and enjoying each other’s presence (though neither one of them would outright admit how nice it is to just sit in silence with the other).

They pack up and head out together when it gets closer to nine. Harry holds the office door open for her and locks his door behind them, and they walk closely together towards the parking lot. It’s dark, the ground only lit by the few streetlights looming above them, and a shiver racks through y/n’s body from the cool autumnal air. She hadn’t planned on being on campus so late – she thought that she’d probably go straight home after office hours and pull an all-nighter to finish her essay – so therefore, she doesn’t have much of a jacket except for a lame cardigan over her shirt.

Harry, who usually is on campus until nightfall anyway, wishes he could do something for her when he notices the way she’s hugging herself, her cardigan pulled over her fingers. He wants to pull her to his side, wrap an arm around her and share his body warmth with her – but that would be entirely too unprofessional, he thinks. Instead he picks up his pace, forcing y/n to scurry in order to keep up with his long strides, and immediately turns on the heat for her.

He doesn’t need to ask for directions this time, knowing exactly where to turn and how to get to her apartment, and when he pulls up in front of her door, he turns to her quietly. “Listen. Don’t stress about the paper. Focus on studying for your exams, and then you can have the entire weekend to finish the paper, okay?”

“I feel… bad. Like, Dr. Richmond said no extensions, and you’re making these exceptions for me–”

“Don’t overthink it,” Harry interrupts. “Dr. Richmond just says that so people don’t just ask for extensions because they procrastinated. He will grant extensions when there’s a valid reason.”

“But, really it’s not a valid reason… everyone else has midterms.”

“But none of those other students have shown me how much they care about this class. I know you’re a hard worker, I know you aren’t just procrastinating.” He shrugs, “M’the one who makes the calls. And I think you deserve an extension.”

She sits there quietly, then says, “I-I just don’t want you to think I only came to your office hours to cry and make you give me an extension. I… come to your office hours for help. You’re like… helpful.” She says that last part awkwardly, and it makes him chuckle quietly.

“You can say I’m your favorite TA. I won’t tell.” His dimple pokes his cheek as he smirks at her teasingly, and she can’t help but giggle too. Her eyes twinkle as she looks at him with a small shake of her head. That wasn’t what she was getting at… but it is true.

They stare at each other for a moment too long. One of Harry’s hands rests on the wheel, while the other one comes up to play with his lip. Y/n’s hands sit politely in her lap, her bag sitting at her feet on the passenger’s seat floor. They’re both quiet, not knowing what to say. Yeah, they’re laughing and teasing each other, but something heavier lingers in the air around them. This tension… this magnetic energy. Neither y/n nor Harry know what’s causing it, or why the silence is suddenly so overwhelming. The smile on y/n’s face lingers in her eyes, which glimmer as she stares at Harry. And Harry, who had been smirking mischievously, now looks at y/n with a bit of a more serious air. He stares at her thoughtfully, his bottom lip pinched between his lips. His eyes wander down to her lips, pretty and heart shaped. She’s chewing the inside of her lip softly, and he wants to brush his thumb over her mouth and tell her to stop.

He catches himself, and quickly tears his eyes away before she notices. He clears his throat.

“Take care of y’self,” he says with a soft smile. “I want to see you well rested in class next week, okay?”

+++

HOPE U GUYS LOVED IT!!!!!! part 3 is up on my patreon already, and will come to tumblr next saturday (oct 21) pleeeeaaaase lmk what u rhink and give her a rb and a comment i love u guys so so much!!! more tarry to come!

Prose (part 3) is already posted on patreon! : In which y/n is Harry's favorite student, and she sort of somehow accidentally kisses him.

Prose Masterlist

[bombuni]

Hiii dear I’ve just found your blog today and Cant help but loving it!!!!

If it’s ok with you can you do a cat-hybrid San who is very needy (and a bit Dom) with the reader cuz he waited long hours at home for reader to get back from her job and he is also jealous

contains: kitty!san x reader, jealous san, dry humping, coming in pants lol

minors dni

It's day 6 of no you doting on him. Yes, San’s keeping track. 6 days of you working over-time and 6 days of neglect. Usually, he’s patient and well-behaved for you, but you seem to have taken his kindness for granted.

Especially now that you arrive every day talking about your newest coworker, the one who’s got you all starry-eyed and fluttering with excitement. Every time you open your mouth there’s no doubt that the name ‘Seonghwa’ will leave your mouth at least once. San thought he was just like a shiny new toy for you at first, but now you return every day with a smile and a ‘Seonghwa said the funniest thing today…’

He huffs to himself at the thought, his black tail swishing in annoyance behind him. A part of him is frustrated with himself for being so possessive, but the stronger part of him thinks of your smile and remembers all the reasons why he’s so possessive. Because you’re a precious thing he needs keep to himself.

How could you so easily forget such a simple rule? Or were you doing this on purpose? Teasing him, making him desperate and needy for you and waiting to see how long it’d take him to break? His face scrunches. No, not at all. He’ll show you what happens when you forget who holds the leash.

When you enter your apartment with the giddiness of seeing San overflowing, it ends when he’s nowhere to be found. You check all of his usual napping spots; by the kitchen window, the couch, and his bed. Your face twists in confusion, an uneasy feeling growing in your gut the more time you go without San. You pull your phone out of your pocket and immediately find ‘sannieboy’ in your phone.

Before you can press the bright green call button, although, you feel his big arms tighten around your figure. He traps you against his muscular body and if the amount of force he’s using is anything to go by, he’s planning to keep you to himself for a long while. Figures, that he’s ready to never let you go.

“You scared me, Sannie,” His breath tickles your neck as he kisses a trail from your jawbone down to your shoulder. He’d told himself he was ready for vindication the moment you entered the apartment, but your scent alone has him folding. His hand runs under your shirt and up your back, the texture of your warm skin soothing him like you’re his medication.

You can already tell somethings up by the way he mouths at you. Like your skin is the first taste of otherworldly nectar, every time. “You made me wait,” You assume San means it in an innocent way, “Oh, Sannie baby, I’m sorry. I’ve just been so busy at work, but I can spend time with you now!”

San squeezes you harder, stopping your attempt to turn around in his arms. “You-“ he pushes you up against the wall, pinning you between the white surface and his burly chest. His chest is heaving and you can feel his tail wrap around your calf, as if to hold you in place. His hips gyrate against yours and now his neediness is in a completely different context, “Made me wait.”

He uses your body like it’s his to play with, grinding his hips onto you senselessly and huffing in your ear at the friction. Hands roam your body, exploring all the parts he knows already. He pushes and pulls on you, in the way he knows you like, just so you can get a taste of the desperation he’s been feeling. His dick rubs between your panties, soaking them and making you just as needy as him now. You stumble through your words, “S-sannie, if I’d known you were in heat, I would’ve-“

His mewl cuts you off before you feel him press himself harder against you. That familiar heat boils inside of you now, the feeling all-consuming.

He shows no signs of stopping, his hips thrusting frantically to chase the sweet release he’s been craving for 6 days.

His voice comes out breathy as he keeps grinding against you, “J-just missed you so much,” He tries to bring you closer, like pressing you right up against himself isn’t enough. When that doesn’t work his hand comes to your front to pull you flush against him, ass directly on his stiff member.

San controls your movements, holding on to you tight as he forgets his strength the closer the he gets to his orgasm. He gives one final thrust, a groan coming out from deep in his body. You can feel his wet pants now, his shaking body, and harsh pants against your ear. You give him a moment to compose himself, his tail loosening it’s hold on your calf.

He’s embarrassed, humiliated with his cum-stained pants, that he couldn’t even wait to undress you. He was just too swept up in the feeling of you that half of him didn’t realize. San only needs you to get rid of the aching burn inside him, and nothing more.

You scratch at his fluffy ears as he catches his breath behind you, “Missed you too.”

San lifts his head to squint at you, “Mm…I’m sure ‘Seonghwa’ was keeping you company.”

You bite your tongue for a minute before deciding against it, “He did, but I missed my Sannie more.”

You smile innocently up at him, his twitching ears and swishing tail a surefire sign that your comment got under his skin. He’s too easy to tease. His eyebrows furrow and wiggle, like he’s trying to force his expression back to normal so you can’t see how annoyed he is by your teasing. You both know the truth.

He tilts his head, “Did he? Keep you company?”

The look on your face frustrates him, but he can’t look away. You frustrate him, but he likes the game you play. Taming and chasing you time and time again, as if you don’t come home to him everyday. He’ll keep playing with you.

[ooihcnoiwlerh]

About the "send me a ship and one of these and i'll write a mini fic" you reblogged 🤭

I was thinking about the "things you didn't say at all" one (I think it was prompt 5) and about your Feyd x Reader fic 🤭 the latest chapter and it's first segment, Feyd being subby...

How about a small Feyd POV, things he didn't say but thought during this scene?? ♥️

Absolutely no pressure, I just saw the reblog and my mind went wandering hehe 🤭

*Breaks fingers* Let's do this!

TAGS/CW: Subspace!Feyd; sub!Feyd; dom!Reader; first time topping; mentions of switching; riding; service bottom Feyd; overstimulation, masochism; knifeplay; nipple play; multiple orgasms, creampie, oral sex (M+receiving); body worship; come eating; mentions of past self-harm; mentions of past dubcon, mentions of past noncon/CSA; mentions/fantasies about smothering kinks; references to Feyd's prescience; Feyd and the Reader matching each other's freak

ADULTS ONLY/UNDER 18 DNI

Link to AO3 fic here:

Link to previous chapter on tumblr here

Thank you so much @peggyao3! I hope you enjoy it!

Y/N leans down and kisses him, slow and languid.  I want to keep you inside of me until you get hard again, and then I want to ride you again until I can’t anymore, she’d told him with utmost confidence as she sat astride him, and it won’t take long to make that first part happen.  He’s been transfixed since she pressed his own dagger against his chest, since the crack of her palm against his cheek.

Oh, had been his only thought, the heat flooding to his dick during his struggle growing stronger, still covered at the time as it pressed against the apex of her thighs.  He’d never gotten such a good view of her naked on top of him as he did when she sat, stunned, furious, and a fucking glorious vision of a woman.  

Go on, he’d told her.  Take your reward, and she had.  It didn’t quite surprise him that she’d been aroused by the time she’d gotten his pants off–he’d felt her damp heat through the fabric of them, and she sank with slick ease onto him as she’d started at first holding his own blade against his collarbone, as if he wasn’t exactly where he’d wanted to be. 

You wanna ride me? he’d asked as she’d gasped and shuddered, moving on him.

Is that what this is called? she’d asked, delighted and triumphant, and it had made him smile.

It didn’t surprise him that she’d take to riding him like it was what she was made to do, that she drove them both about out of their mind like this.  Didn’t surprise him, except that he still hadn’t felt fully prepared for how quickly and easily he sunk into the feeling of not only being used but loving every moment of it.  It’d been a long time since that had happened.

She’d come twice on top of him, exhilarated from their scuffle and from the power he was giving her–even as he’d felt himself slipping, stunned at how she’d fucked him and touched him and looked so unbearably beautiful doing it, he could see how thrilled she was at the power she had over him.

She holds it now, still straddling his hips.  It feels like something tangible that settles between them in the combination of ease and excitement building in his chest as they kiss, waiting for him to stiffen inside of her again, content to caress her sides, her thighs, her hair, but aching to feel her moving on top of him again.  It’ll happen; he’ll give her whatever she wants.  He gives a soft sigh as she trails her mouth just below his ear, along the junction of his jaw and neck, and waits as she pauses, seeming to consider something.

He realizes what she’s about to do a second before she does it–takes the knife he’d had pressed against her throat not twenty minutes ago and makes a slow, shallow cut above his heart.  He gasps at the sting, thinking, Oh yeah, that’ll do it, cock twitching and fully coming back to life as she laps up the beads of blood that well up, as she dips her head lower to scrape her teeth against his nipple.  He hadn't allowed her access there before tonight, not so much because it was forbidden but nearly every time he’s been inside of her he’s taken her from behind or been just above her, where she didn’t have such easy access to him.  He’s been so impatient to taste and touch and tease her that other than the times he’s guided his cock as far into her mouth as she can handle he just hasn't afforded her the same chance.

She takes it now, and he gives it freely, fascinated by her own fascination with him.  She’s never been fucked by anyone else, that much he’d learned on their wedding night.  Probably never even had another person touch her nipples or play with her clit except for herself.

Feyd’s train of thought is cut short as Y/N then sits up, her fingers collecting the thin trail of blood as she briefly rests her hands on Feyd’s chest, only to bring those same fingertips to her lips and lap them clean.  A smear of blood remains on her lips as she breaks out into a slow smile, rocking her hips, readjusting to the movement and the angle, before she gives a small, stunned laugh.  She’s captivating, the way she seems to revel in a new way to take him inside of her.

The last time anyone got him in this position…

He doesn’t want to think about it; how through that box of pain the Gesserit whore had reduced him to a trembling mess so aroused he was leaking precome through his robes, how her voice had invaded the deepest recesses of his mind, how she’s pushed him onto his back as soon as he withdrew his hand and perfunctorily pulled her skirts up, pulled his cock out, and sat on him with a grimace.

He doesn’t want to remember how he’d thought, helpless and trapped in a way he hadn’t felt in years, that she reminded him how his body didn’t truly belong to him, that it was only ever on loan, to be used by whoever needed him.  He thought he’d kill her if he ever saw her again, watching her wince as he came inside of her despite himself  and she got up, leaving him wrung out and burning with shame.

He doesn't want to think about it, and tonight it's easy to forget, because his wife’s riding him with shameless, unabashed enthusiasm as if there's nowhere else she'd be, and she's not taking anything that Feyd’s not happy to give her in spades.  She can do whatever the fuck she wants with him.

“I–oh, fuck!--I could ride your fat cock all night.  Would you like that, Feyd?” she asks.

I’d love it.  I want to watch you come undone around me all night, he thinks, unable to manage more than a groan.  He watches, rapt, painfully aroused, as her pert, pretty tits bounce along with her movements, dazedly realizing what a good idea it is for her to move his hands from her hips to her breasts.  He'd mourn not being able to see them as clearly but that he enjoys touching them even more.  He doesn't think about it, just fondles them how they both like it.

He stares, enraptured, as she comes undone around him, his hands still fondling her, her own hands braced behind her on his sweaty thighs.  His cock pulses and he wants to follow her but also doesn’t want it to be so soon, especially since even as she shudders and clenches around him, her moans high and desperate, the part of him still capable of thought knows that she’s not truly finished with him yet.  

I’ll be good.  I’ll hold on, he thinks as she continues to rock her hips, barely catching her breath and riding her out of stubbornness to see her exhaustion through.  He’s so fucking impressed with her.

“Don't come yet,” she commands him, voice thick.  “Not until I come again.”

He groans.  Couldn’t have picked a better woman to subjugate me if I tried, he thinks, every muscle clenching, back arching, trying to breathe normally, while he’s increasingly unraveled.  Most of the past month he’s been married to her he’s felt half-out of his mind with desire every time they were alone together, but not quite like this.  Not quite so excited to see how she can own him.

“If you want to come, then make yourself useful, Feyd,” Y/N adds, her lust and confidence a heady cocktail that set his nerves ablaze.

Yes, ma’am, he thinks immediately, spitting on his thumb and bringing it to her swollen clit.  She must be aching.  Going on four now; he realizes.  He hasn’t gotten her that far before.  Remnants of his spend leak out of where he’s buried inside of her, and still liquid from the heat between them.  

And then clever, wicked Y/N smirks, moves her hands back to his chest, and pinches cruelly.  He’d love to know if she’s still smirking when he cries out and bucks his hips, nearly spilling inside of her, but he shuts his eyes when he does it.  She’s not merciful, and he’s all the more delighted for it.

“Look at me, Feyd,” he hears Y/N say and his eyes snap open as he reminds himself that he has a job to do, although he supposes it can’t quite be a job if he’s enjoying it so much.  She’s so beautiful like this, natural in an element she might never have pictured inhabiting.  He works her clit faster, presses down a little harder, shifts his thighs slightly to make his hips the right bridge to rock onto, and then she comes hard.  It’s not the breathless moans and whimpers when he’s fucking her from behind; it’s a guttural cry from within Y/N’s chest that’s the sound of a woman who’s taken everything she’s wanted and she trembles, clenching around him so hard Feyd abandons his post rubbing her clit to grab onto her hips.  

So will you let me come with you? he wants to ask, in awe of her and unsure what look  she’s seeing on his face if she sees anything.  She’s not drunk, he knows, but there’s a glazed-over look in her eyes as she stares open-mouthed down at him when he tries to center himself.  The moment she gives her permission he can’t help it; he relishes her overwrought moans as he bucks up into her, fucking her from below, squeezing the supple flesh of her hips and ass as he comes so hard he sees stars–stars that don’t even fucking exist on this planet.

There’s a moment before he can really soften but while he’s too sensitive to keep moving, he realizes that she might still be able to ride him again.  He’ll get hard again if she wants him to, if she gives him enough time.  He’ll gladly let her use his mouth to grind on until then to get her over five, six, seven times.  She’d take to it just as well, holding his head in place as she rides his face with enough fervor that he’d just barely be able to breathe, head swimming all the more for the taste of her, of the two of them mixed together and her shaking thighs bracketing his face.  Dazed, he thinks about how there would be worse ways to go out than with his face buried in her cunt.

Next time he’ll let her collar him, use a chain to guide his face between her legs.  He’ll gladly kneel for her, he thinks as he closes his eyes and pictures it, her leading him on a leash to a place he already loves visiting.  

“Hey,” he hears, voice gentler this time, like he’s underwater and her voice is just above the surface.  “Look at me.”

He does.  She’s smiling down at him, her expression fond rather than mischievous or aroused or deliciously cruel.  She strokes his face and he can’t help but tilt his face into it.  His heartbeat is slowing down, his cock has softened again, but he’ll bring it back to rise, if she tells him to.

But she doesn’t.  She slides off of him, letting him slip out of her, and leans down to ghost her lips over his neck, scrape them over his teeth, and a part of him, spent but eager, realizes that this touch and exploration isn’t really for him; it’s for her.  He brings his hands to the sheets below him before she can ask.

“Yes, that’s good,” she assures him before going lower, licking and nipping at the muscles in his abdomen that clench and flutter at the contact.  “Keep them there.”

Take whatever you want, Y/N.  Everything I have, everything I am is yours, he thinks as she licks his spent cock, as she drags her tongue lower for the first time, exploring his body still as if he’s something beautiful and fascinating.

He pants and moans, hips twitching, cock not quite getting hard again, not yet, but that doesn’t appear to be what Y/N is even after.  She just seems to want to touch and taste him, seems to enjoy it just as much as she enjoyed using him as a human dildo, not that he expects her to know what that is.

Is this what you like,Y/N? he wants to ask.  Is getting me soaked and licking me clean something that makes you feel good?  He groans and spreads his legs a little more.  He feels dazed.  

She asks him about his scars.  Clever girl deduced that they were done on separate occasions.  When he tells her how he got them, she nuzzles and licks at them.  He'd almost forgotten how sensitive his inner thighs are.  It's been a long time since anyone's touched them.  Racking his brain, he’s hard-pressed to think if he's ever allowed himself to be laid out and thoroughly enjoyed like this.  And she does enjoy this, he thinks, wanting to laugh.  She nips and bites at them once she knows they come from a place of desire.  A part of him, a part he quietly shelves away for later, can appreciate that she knows to tread lightly with his scars, even when he’s spent and malleable like this; she knows how the ones on his back got there.  He doesn’t say it, doesn’t press the issue, wondering what she has planned next, when she comes back up, face to face, and kisses him slowly.  Tenderly.  It’s warm, affectionate, but without the same heat as before.

She’s done with him tonight, it seems.  Or at least, she’s done playing with him, as she sets the knife on her nightstand and finesses getting them under the covers. When he’d ambushed her with a surprise drill the sheets and blankets had been kicked down to their ankles.  

Her reflexes are good; she thinks quickly; she’s adaptable.  And deceptively powerful, he thinks, imagining the possibilities of how much further they can keep going.  He could show her how to put a cockring on him and use him for even longer.  He will.

But apparently not tonight, as she turns onto her back and he turns to lay on her, first nestling the side of his face against the space between her breasts and then lower, to rest his head against the soft skin of her belly.  It'll probably be around three months from now that she starts showing.  

“Is this what you need, husband?” Y/N asks, stroking his back.  He deflates, finally grounded.  He nods.  He exhales hard.  He can hear the small smile in Y/N’s voice as she continues stroking his shoulders and the back of his neck while saying, “In a couple of days we’ll find out if life is growing in there.”

Feyd doesn’t think about it before he says, “There is.  A boy.”

Y/N laughs above him, but Feyd doesn’t mind.  It’s not like she’d know, not like he’s told her, and so he does, in not so many words as he’d normally manage if he didn’t feel drained.  “I saw him.  Dreamt about you giving birth to him,” he tells her.

Maybe at some point he’ll tell her about how the second night they were married, he’d dreamt about her in labor, pushing out a healthy baby boy, flushed and screaming so loud he practically vibrated.  Feyd dreamt about her, exhausted and hairline damp with sweat but a smile on her face as she nursed their son for the first time. 

Maybe at some point he’ll tell her how he’d dreamt about her a few times before they’d ever met.

Between when the Gesserit witch took his seed and when that coven told him their marriage plans of him, he’d dreamt of a young woman who whimpered and moaned as he lapped at her slick cunt, who’d cry out and wrap her legs around his waist when he was inside of her.  There was never a clear picture, just flashes that would wake him up stiff and close to rutting against his bed, but they all made sense when he saw his bride-to-be, with a face he’d never seen in person nor in pictures but knew, even as he was far from really knowing her.

He can’t confirm it, won’t be able to confirm it for another couple of days when the Bene Gesserit witches arrive, but he knows, as certain as his own pulse, that their son is already growing inside of her.

That feels really nice, he doesn’t say.  You smell good, he also doesn’t say.  I want to have you and treasure you and break you and make you whole again and have you do the same to me, he doesn’t say.

He can’t help the enormity of what he’s feeling. He’s still only just getting to know the shape of her soul, and he wants more. 

[bcyhoods]

LOVEFOOL 💌 — “you feel like home to me” with tasm!peter PUH-LEASE I ALREADY KNOW IM GONNA GET EMOTIONAL

muah ha ha. angsty spidey is my favorite spidey, how did you know | 0.9k

warnings: injuries, brief mention of reader being used as leverage but no explicit/graphic detail

“I don’t know if I can do this, Peter.”

Your hand hovers over the scrape on his cheek when your gaze drops to the mask that’s clenched in his hand. He sits on the edge of your bed, looking up at you as you stand in between his legs.

He’s bathed in the dull, orange glow of your lamp. It highlights every welt, every cut, every matted strand of hair that sticks to the damp skin of his forehead. It makes your eyes sting.

“What do you mean? You’re a natural,” he says. His hand settles on your hip to give it a gentle squeeze. The gesture makes you believe for a second that he’s genuinely clueless.

But his eyes refuse to meet yours. The smile that he wears is uneasy as he wrings his mask.

“You know that’s not what I mean.”

He hangs his head low. Guilt tightens its grip on his throat making it hard to breathe.

You were already well aware of his secret identity before you’d started dating. He warned you of the risks and used them to try scaring you away before you could break his heart. But you stayed. You stayed and, god, he was so glad you did.

Though, he blames his adoration for what happened to you.

He would keep a close eye on you to make sure you were safe. His routine neighborhood watch would consist of making sure you got to and from work safely, occasionally dropping by on your lunch breaks to check on you. He was careless, but he didn’t anticipate things would go south so quickly.

The guy wasn’t a super villain, nor was he anything special by any means, but he was observant. And why would Spiderman be visiting some random bodega cashier so often unless you meant something to him?

It was practically over as quick as it started. The guy couldn’t even finish demanding his ransom before Peter had arrived to web him to the ceiling. You escaped with a few injuries, the worst being a palm-shaped bruise on your wrist. But Peter was fuming.

You were used as bait. You were leverage against Spiderman because he’d been so reckless. You got hurt because of him. You were lucky this time, but there was no telling if that luck would run out and the thought terrified him. Despite your gentle words of reassurance, he had made up his mind.

He would never forgive himself if he lost you. So he broke it off.

“I know.”

It would’ve been easier if you didn’t see each other after that. You think you’d feel differently if you weren’t frequently in his presence, nursing him back to health. Maybe if you didn’t exchange longing gazes and soft touches that were reserved for people that are more than friends. If he didn’t look at you like you held his heart in your hands, maybe you’d be stronger.

“Why do you keep coming back here?” He feels his chest tighten at the crack in your voice, even more so when you push his hand away.

“You leave your window open,” he whispers.

A scoff falls from your lips and you turn your back to him to wipe away the rogue tears that run down your face. He stares at your figure with a frown and hands that ache to reach out for you.

Peter Parker then decides he doesn’t want to be a hero. Heroes can’t afford to be selfish and put their own happiness above the wellbeing of others. Being with you would jeopardize your safety. It’d be selfish of him. He could never be with you like he wanted, craved, so long as he wore that suit. Can’t he have both?

He’s exhibited enough altruism to last him a lifetime, anyway. Certainly it was enough to hold you just for one night.

“I just needed to see you,” he sighs, voice meek.

“Peter, I think you should—”

“There’s never a day that I don’t think about you,” he interjects. He doesn’t exactly know when he started to cry. Suddenly his eyesight was blurry and he couldn’t breathe through his nose.

“Please.” The word pushes out like a sob. Your hand shoots to clamp over your mouth to hush the whimpers, but he can hear them.

“I’m serious, I…” He stands and moves to put his hands on your shoulders. His mask is forgotten on the floor. “Being away from you, it makes me feel crazy. Like I can’t breathe.”

“Don’t say that.” You turn in his hold to shrug his hands off, but you don’t try too hard. A sob racks through your chest once more when you see his pained expression. His nose is red and his cheeks are wet and his brows are sewed together. “Don’t tell me that, just go home,” you plead.

“You feel like home to me!” There’s a humorless laugh that accompanies the confession, it’s one of frustration. But the softness in his glassy eyes is unmistakable and it makes you melt under his stare.

“Please don’t cry,” he begs with a deep frown. He reaches to hold your face in his hands as he wipes the tears from under your eyes. The material of his gloves is rough and pulls at your skin uncomfortably, but you can’t help leaning into his touch.

He crowds your being. He towers over you so closely that you can feel his bated breath fanning your skin. You reach to hold onto his forearms, letting your eyes close to revel in the closeness. Peter presses a chaste kiss to your forehead, then to each of your cheeks, then your nose. He stops short of your lips.

“Say the word and I’ll leave. You know I will.”

“Don’t go,” you concede.

You’re not really sure what repercussions this will have tomorrow morning. You can’t really bring yourself to care when he kisses you.

[i-trash-about-things]

Sunlight.

An Eddie x Vampire!Gender Neutral!Reader fic that i've been dreaming about for a few weeks.

Summary: After a long day of dealing with the leftover monsters Vecna felt behind after his defeat, Eddie comes back to his trailer hoping for some rest. A mischivious shadow comes knocking.

wc: 2.2k

cw: swearing (a lot) (sorry), mentions of food, mentions of knives and blades, Vamp has two descriptions (black nails, red eyes) but nothing other than that, very brief mentions of drugs. Mostly just humor and setting up for now

chapter one: A soul that's born in cold and rain knows sunlight

The night is dark. As it tends to be.

Something lingers in the air, a faint scent of iron, a chill… You know, normal autumn smells. Living in Hawkins for so long makes you familiar with it, no matter how much you hate it. Summer smells like dew, spring like pollen, so on and so forth.

Eddie likes the smell of Fall. It’s weirdly soothing, even as he walks back home after a long, long day of helping Dustin find a high enough place to set up Cerebro 2.0. So far, no such luck. Since the last one got destroyed, the range of the walkies is a fraction of what they need right now.

Maybe they’ll have better luck tomorrow.

The trailer is silent as he walks in, no sign of Wayne’s signature Dolly Parton tape playing, so he’s probably back at the shelter. Stubborn old man he is… But then again, so is Eddie. The plant was shut down weeks ago, and he still heads out every other night to help around.

After setting his jacket on the rickety chair next to the front door, kicking off his shoes and cutting off the guitar solo playing from his beat up Walkman, Eddie goes straight for the kitchen, the rumbling of his stomach stronger than the need to sleep. The fridge hums alive, flickering light warming up the room for a split second. Once the leftover spaghetti is in hands, he kicks it back closed, and the gentle humming is muffled by the beeping of the microwave.

Living in the so-called, “end of the world” isn’t nearly as exciting as Eddie thought it would be, in all his daydreaming in biology class.

“Beep! Beep! Beep!”

“Alright, I heard ya the first time.” He mumbles, getting up from his slacked position against the counter, but just in that split second— Something runs by his window. Darker than a shadow, and quicker too.

He freezes. Immediately. The microwave keeps beeping, but his eyes don’t move away from the tiny window, squashed between the top cupboard and the counter.

What in the lord’s name was that?

Demogorgon?

No. Too slim. Smaller.

Bat?

Also, probably not. It’d be screaming loud enough to wake up the entire trailer park, and they always travel in packs.

… Then what?

Eddie instinctively reaches for his walkie, walking backwards to the small folding table near the hallway without taking his eyes from that very same spot. After tattering around in the dark for a hot minute, the bulky, plastic case is in his hands, and he presses the talk button before it’s even within reach.

“Guys?” He mumbles, although all that answers is static. “Anyone home?? Over.” Still static.

Goddamn Cerebro.

“Piece of shit.” Eddie tosses the walkie-talkie on the kitchen counter, nervously pacing in place for a second before darting to the window on the other side of the trailer, all but jumping over the coffee table and peaking behind the curtains. The usually familiar sight of the trailer park makes his skin crawl tonight, the bright light of the full moon bringing little comfort when he sees there’s… Someone.

Standing there.

Looking at him.

He stumbles back in a hurry, practically falling on his ass. Looking at him, they were— They were looking at him, who the hell was that?!

The split second where he has to gather himself, pushing himself back to his feet, gives his frantic brain enough of a pause to think. ‘Jesus Christ, Munson, get a hold of yourself,’ the carpet feels cold under his bare feet, even as he reaches for the metal bat resting near the door. ‘You live in a trailer park, dude. It’s probably just Mr. Collins getting too high again and forgetting there are bloodthirsty monsters roaming around now.’

As long as it’s not another of those beasts, he’ll take his chances. The front door opens with an uncomfortably loud noise as he steps out, the grip on the bat tightening. It’ll be fine, it’ll be fine.

He turns the corner…

There’s… No one there.

What?

Okay, now he feels he’s losing his mind.

Eddie walks carefully to the spot the shadow was standing, less than a minute ago. It— It was there. They. It? He’s starting to question if it was even a person in the first place. No one could’ve moved so quickly, so silently. He would’ve heard, there’s dozen of fallen leaves thrown around the yard. Where…

Something hits him on the back of the head.

“AH!” He swings the bat so hard it almost flies out of his hands, his eyes wide while they adjust to the dark. No one. What the fuck? “What the fuck?!”

Eddie looks around frantically. Something definitely hit him— light, right on the back of his head, like those annoying paper balls he got tortured by back in freshman year, the motivation behind him constantly sitting in the very last row since then. His foot hits something as he spins in place, and his eyes instinctively dart down. What he finds… Is a small pine cone.

“What…?” He mumbles, so painfully confused. How…

Someone chuckles.

His head snaps up, heart stuttering in his throat from fright. There’s no one there. Not that he can see, at least. He shifts on his feet again, looking over his shoulder— Just for another pine cone to come hurling, hitting his nape. “Ow! Hey!”

Another laugh, more muffled and barely contained. Whoever is chucking these is certainly having the time of their life.

A pinch of annoyance crawls up his chest. Without really thinking, he crouches, not breaking his gaze from the tree line, and once the damn cone is in his hands, he gets back up and chucks it. “Will you stop doing that?!”

A beat passes.

There’s a ruffling in the shrubbery, and Eddie’s grip on the bat tightens. Slowly, almost shyly, another pine cone rolls out from beneath a bush. It bounces once, a few of the seeds cracking, before landing between his feet again. His brows set into a confused frown.

“What…” He eyes the damn thing, then the shadows between the trees, then the cone again. When there isn’t any movement or suspicious giggling, he slowly moves down…

“Greetings.”

A shadow looms over him. Eclipsing the moonlight, covering his only light source. He looks up.

Bright, red, eyes look back at him.

Eddie thinks he might’ve died for a minute. His heart full on stops, the air in his lungs turning into an ice block from pure terror. Like a deer in the glare of the headlights about to be slaying by a terrible wolf, he freezes.

The shadow’s smile widens.

“Are you okay?”

Like a punch to the gut, everything comes back. Every nerve stands, blood rushing and his heart smashing against his rib cage. Eddie jumps, raising the bat with a swing Steve taught him, but it dodges so fast it’s like the metal passes right through it. That same chuckle rings through his ears, and he swings again, again—

Thunk!

Until it’s stopped, mid-motion. A hand grips it, tight, knuckles not even flinching when he tries to pull it back. But the shadow doesn’t tear it off his hands, simply holding it.

“Woah, careful with that,” The shadow mumbles, bringing his eyes up to it’s– their face. “You could poke someone’s eye out with that thing.”

Eddie’s eyes, wide and frantic, pupils contracted into pinpricks, take in the shadow’s face. And in between heartbeats, he feels his cheeks heat for an entirely different reason. They’re terrifying, the lack of blood in their complexion making them seem almost undead, but still— He knows, if he met this person in a completely different setting, he would’ve done a double take.

‘Oh no they’re hot.’

It’s a split second thought, one quickly pushed aside when he notices something else.

The canines in their smirk. Elongated, curved, impossibly sharp.

‘OH NO.’

‘THEY’RE A VAMPIRE.’

Eddie doesn’t even think twice when he lets go of the bat, taking several steps back and almost tripping on a stray rock in his hurry to move away. When he stumbles, though, a deathly cold hand steadies him.

“Wow, okay— Slow down, you’re going to hurt yourself at this rate.” The shadow says, their eyes leaving Eddie’s for the first time since they locked together to glance down to his unsteady feet. The hand resting between his waist and hip feel almost branding, the freezing chill so intense it passes through his W.A.S.P. tee to his skin. Meanwhile, his thoughts run so rampant he feels like he’s two steps from passing out.

Vampires, vampires— this has to be a joke, right? Mind controlling shadow monsters? Hell spawn looking bats? Plausible! He’s seen them! Almost used to them at this point! And this— this person, if he can even call them that, doesn’t look like they’ve been touched by the Upside Down and the remains of Vecna’s influence. No twisted flesh, goo black blood. If it weren’t for the glowing red eyes and fangs, they’d look almost human.

“Who are you?!” His voice is loud on the quiet night, embarrassingly high pitched. When Eddie tries pushing himself off their hold, his heart stutters when all he can do is squirm. It’s steady, firm, and it doesn’t even flinch no matter how roughly he pulls. After a second, they let go. “What are you??”

“Can you please stop screaming?”

“What are you doing in my trailer?!”

“Okay.” The shadow – vampire – sighs, actually stepping back and putting some space between the two. They raise their hands in surrender, like they’re trying to calm a rabid, scared animal, and Eddie instinctively glances towards them. Maybe a part of him expected them to be covered in blood, like the dramatic covers of those terrible Dracula books, but he’s surprised to find just dark painted nails, ends thinned into sharp points. But not at him, not at all.

He looks back into those damned eyes, the sign of mischief from before nowhere to be found now.

“I’m not going to hurt you.” They declare. “I’m not here to cause you, or anyone, any harm whatsoever.”

Eddie could cackle at that. HA YEAH RIGHT!

“Do you really think I believe that?!” He’s two steps away from shouting now, although he stopped trying to run away. Mostly because he doesn’t think he could reach his van in time. “Nice try, Dracula, I’m not falling for that shit!”

The vampire’s eyes lower a little at that, their head moving down as well like they’re trying to make themselves look smaller, less threatening. Or less visible, like a panther about to pounce. Still, their gaze never leaves his.

“What makes you think that?” Their tone sounds like a joke, the same teasing tilt from a minute ago when they were chucking pine cones to the back of his neck– but there’s a hint of something deeper that makes Eddie frown.

“Are you kidding?? Look at you!” He gestures wildly, eyes following his hands which point up and down their form. His own words catch up to him after a second, and the comeback dies at the very tip of the tongue.

“Look at you! As if trailer trash could actually do anything worth while!”

“Of course he’s a Munson. Could tell with a single look at his face. I bet my entire house he’s exactly like his father.”

“Did you see his hair? Yeah, totally a freak. Could tell from a look he’s into Satanism.”

Eddie swallows harshly.

“What are you doing here?” He tries to keep moving, not lingering on the sudden heaviness on the back of his mind.

The vampire hesitates for a beat, eyes still so static on his own it’s like they don’t even blink.

“I saw what you and your group have been doing around town.” Their voice is calm, slow, hands slowly lowering just a little but always making a point to be within his view. “I was passing through and was interested.”

The twitch of his brow is from confusion this time. ‘Saw my group?’ ‘They’ve been watching us?’ ‘Interested?’

“What?”

“I’ve been staying at the motel near the edge of town.” They gesture over their shoulder, jogging Eddie’s memory to the one entrance to Hawkins still open. “I travel around a lot. Happened to stop by. Was out about one night and saw you and some others fighting off a big, inhuman beast. Easy to declare, I got curious.”

Eddie eyes them for a long moment, the silence setting between them once more. Their words settle on his brain, slowly. It makes sense… As improbable as it feels, it makes sense.

His eyes close, instinctively, to try and scramble for a response.

“A-And you came to me?” He asks, and the vampire shrugs.

“You’re the first one I found. I was out for dinner, recognized your van and popped by.”

Simple as that, huh?

Yeah, he doesn’t believe a single word there.

But, if they are true, of course it’d be his luck to be the first to meet the undead newcomer. Very consistent, shitty universe.

“Don’t— Don’t come any closer.” He hates how his voice shakes when he says those words, the rings on his hand glinting in the moonlight when he raises it to try and keep them back. The other slides slowly to his jeans back pocket, reaching for the familiar comfort of his uncle's old switch blade. Something he kept all these years, mostly to keep him safe in those particularly shady deals, and something he hopes, prays, would help him now.

At that, the vampire's smirk returns. Mischievous, playful, borderline cocky. Something, in the depths of Eddie’s chest, tingles, warm. Creeping up his throat with the way they arch an eyebrow, burning up with way their raised hands curl.

“Or what? You’re gonna stab me?” He freezes. How–

A strong wind hits his face, a flurry of fallen leaves kicking up, and a soft voice whispers into his ear.

“Monster hunter.”

Ends on a bit of a cliffhanger because I wanted to post the first chapter on Hallowen and I'm a vry slow writer lol sorry.

I've got a lot planned for this one :] it's been simmering for a while so I hope you guys enjoy the ride as much as I will

WATCH ME PUT AS MANY HOZIER REFERENCES HUMANLY POSSIBLE IN EVERY CHAPTER HAHAHAHAHAHAH

[mca-attack21]

No More Waiting - JeremiahxReader

TW: Passing out.

Do you know that magical feeling where everything seems a little brighter, the world a slightly happier place? The feeling of being home in a cozy blanket, but also like you're invincible? That is the way Jeremiah made you feel. When you were with him it was electric, but also safe. At some point this summer, you realized that the way you felt for Jeremiah was stronger than anything you’d ever felt for anyone else. As you walked down to the kitchen you promised yourself that today was the day you were going to do something about it. 

As you walked into the kitchen you were greeted by his smile as he handed you a coffee. “So Y/n, what do you have planned for this beautiful day?”

“Well, Belly is debbing, Connie is helping Cleveland with the boat, you and Steven have work. So I-”

“You should come to the club!” he interrupted, grabbing you arms, “Come on, it’d be great to see you all day and you could bring one of your bajillion books. Please Y/n?” he pleaded with his puppy dog eyes. 

He didn’t have to try so hard, you were already putty in his hands. “I’ll go get ready,” you agreed. Jeremiah jumped up and down before pulling you in a hug and spinning you around.

“This is going to be such a great day,” he said. 

You went upstairs and put on the new bikini you had bought with Taylor. You changed outfits 3 times and tried at least 4 different hairstyles before grabbing your stuff and running down the stairs. 

“Woah Y/n, who are you getting all dressed up for?” Steven asked. 

“Sorry not all of us can rock a hair net Steven,” Jeremiah defended you, his eyes lingering. “You look hot,” he declared, spinning you around. “Are you ready to go?” 

“Y-yeah,” you said, trying to hide your blushing cheeks. 

The two of you rode together, talking, laughing, singing to songs on the radio. It was euphoric. When he pulled into the parking lot you were a little sad that you’d have to share him now.

He came around and opened your door, “So I’m gonna go check in with the big man, but then I will be out by the pool with my favorite girl.” 

Favorite girl. You could feel your cheeks warming up again. You found a chair directly across from the lifeguard stand, you striped down to your bikini and got comfortable opening your book. Though to be honest you don’t know if you read a single page. Jeremiah kept goofing off to get your attention. At one point he sat down at the foot of your chair and laid back so that his head was in your lap.

“Aren’t you supposed to be working?” you laugh. 

“I can’t help it, you’re distracting.” He sat up and swiveled around to face you.

“I thought the whole point was to watch the pool, Mr. Lifeguard.” 

“How am I supposed to do that when you are here looking like this?” 

“Jeremiah, I-” you started, but were cut off when Billy started to cause a ruckus in the pool. 

“Duty calls, I’ll be right back.”

You decided that you were going to grab a couple of waters and snacks when he got back. You were starting to feel dizzy and nauseated, probably from the heat.

“Sorry about that, you were saying something?”

“I was gonna grab a snack, want anything?” you asked, feeling a little off. You go to stand up and are a little unsteady.

Seeing this, Jeremiah steps and grabs you, concern immediately taking over his face seeing how pale you are all of a sudden. “Are you okay Y/n?”

“I’m fine. Just a little-” Your vision faded and Jeremiah had to shift his weight to keep you from falling. He immediately scooped you up and carried you inside, trying not to freak out. He had Steven grab an ice pack and water, while he stayed glued to your side watching the rise and fall of your chest. 

“Y/n,” he called, softly shaking your shoulders. 

“Hmm,” you groaned.

“Open those beautiful eyes of yours.”

“Jere?”

“How are you feeling?”

“Embarrassed,” you answered honestly. 

“I should be thanking you, you made me look like a real hero,” he joked. 

You’ll always be my hero.

“I’m fine Jeremiah, I think I just got a little overheated. You should get back out there. I’ll be out there in a minute,” you promised.

He looked hesitant to leave you. So you stuck up your pinky. “I’m okay, I promise.” 

He linked his pinky with yours and you both kissed it as was your tradition. He made you promise to finish the water before coming back out. And then made sure Steven would keep an eye on you in the meantime. 

After he walked away, you took your drink and took a seat at the snack bar. 

“When are you two going to kiss and get it over with?” Steven asked. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you lied. 

“Look, Jeremiah never shuts up about you literally ever. And if you haven’t noticed he hasn’t been hooking up with anyone this summer. There’s a reason for that. And you are so obviously in love with him, everyone sees it except Jere. So what are you waiting for?” 

“Is it really that obvious?” you laugh. 

“Clear as day Y/n/n.”

“Thanks Steven, ” you said sincerely. That was the last push you needed. 

You headed back out to the pool. Jeremiah's face lit up when he saw you and he made his way over to you. “You look way better.”

“Thanks, I think?”

“My shift is almost over. Anything you want to do afterwards?”

“Up to you Jere,” you smiled. 

The rest of your time at the poolside flew by. You were trying to decide what words you were going to use to tell Jeremiah how you felt. It seemed impossible.

“Y/n are you okay? You’ve been awfully quiet. Did I do something wrong?” Jeremiah asked after he pulled into the parking lot of your favorite ice cream shop.

“I’m just thinking,” you answer. 

“What’s on your mind?”

“There is this guy that I like. He’s incredible. He’s sweet, a blast to be around, everyday with him feels like an adventure. I want to tell him how I feel. But I’m not sure how to.”

Jeremiah’s face fell. He stared out the dash, grip tightening on the steering wheel. “You just have to tell him, otherwise you might miss your chance and he’ll move on.”

“Jeremiah.”

“Hmm?”

“That guy. The one I like. It’s you. It’s always been you,” you admit.

His eyes met yours and lit up, he smiled before grabbing your chin and pulling you in for  a kiss. It was intense, saying everything that you hadn’t. The kiss was making up for all of the times you had wanted to kiss each other and hadn’t. When it was over, you stayed close glancing from his lips to his eyes. 

“I can not believe we waited so long to do that,” he whispered.

“No more waiting,” you breathed before kissing him again, unbuckling your seat beat to really lean in. 

You have no idea how long the two of you kissed. It was incredible and neither of you could stop smiling. Eventually Jeremiah got out of his car and came around and opened your door, immediately pulling you into a hug, then spinning you around keeping one of your hands intertwined as you walked inside.

[hayleyarts]

Darkness

*Author's note: This is a blurb I literally just threw up on a page. Bear with me for any spelling mistakes. And honestly, this could technically be a Spencer x Reader, however it's mainly just a blurb. Also! I was listening to Lewis Calpaldi's cover of when the party's over while writing this so I highly recommend you listen. It's VERY good*

Darkness. That’s what happens when you die. At least that’s what happened to me when I took the final burning breath; my lungs filling with water and other lake debris. Drowning isn’t how I thought I would die, considering my profession; I figured a stray bullet would take me out. But here I am, sinking slowly to the bottom of a lake in the middle of nowhere. Drowning almost seems peaceful, in a way. Once the final burn of water leaves, you drift. It’s a comfortable type of drifting. 

When my day started this morning, I didn’t think it’d end this way. The team and I were working on a case in Oak Creek Wisconsin. It was your typical case, bodies of young women were washing up on the shore of Lake Michigan. The M.O, however, wasn't drowning. All these women died from blunt-force trauma and then dumped in the lake. We figured the Unsub lived near the lake in some capacity because he was comfortable there. But we also knew that he wasn’t confident; he snuck up on these women. He either was too shy, or felt like he was too ugly to talk to them. Regardless, this case felt pretty cut and dry; especially when Garcia found his information quickly once we narrowed-down the suspect pool and we quickly went to pursue him at his remote cabin on the lake. 

We broke into two groups; Hotch, J.J, and Emily taking the front while Rossi, Morgan, Spencer and I took the back. Morgan leads the charge in the back as we clear rooms; calling out as we do so. Eventually we cleared the whole cabin, the Unsub nowhere to be found. Spencer and I decide to move out and search further into the backyard. If it were different circumstances, I’d say the view of the lake was beautiful. Aside from the garbage littering the grass and the various tools laying haphazard throughout the yard; it looked normal. We knew it was anything but. 

I didn’t get a lot of time to enjoy the view, as the Unsub bursts through the doors of the decrypted shed and runs towards the lake. Spencer draws his gun, shouting at the man to stop but I don’t hear him as I run past. I wasn’t going to let this coward run away. I tackle him into the lake, trying to detain him and pull him to shore. He was a lot stronger than I anticipated and we struggled; him throwing punches and curse words my way before dunking my head under the water. 

I emerge from the murky abyss a few times, but the Unsub doesn’t give me enough time to catch my breath before holding my head down again. It was when my lungs were burning that I heard the muffled bang of a gunshot, but I was already drifting into the darkness. I didn’t feel the Unsub’s lifeless body fall into the lake beside me, nor did I feel the arms of my colleague pulling me out. 

I embraced the darkness, it felt warm and comforting considering all the hell I’ve seen and experienced on this job. It was the exact opposite of what I thought death would feel like. I’ve heard Spencer describe death as a light; him retelling his traumatic encounter with Tobias Hankel. But this was mere darkness; like hiding under your blankets at night. 

I knew it wasn’t my time though. I still had so much left to do in the world; so many more people to save. So when I started to feel pressure on my chest, I knew it was Spencer performing CPR. What I didn’t know was that he was crying the entire time; begging me to come back. 

I cough violently, the water leaving my lungs and being replaced by air and I open my eyes, suddenly feeling so very cold. 

“Spencer?” My voice didn’t sound like mine, it sounded far away. 

“Thank god.” Spencer pulls me into his arms, warming me up completely from the chill of the abyss.

[lolabangtan]

a seed | prelude

Word count: 5k

Warnings: nudity, smut, blood, murder, explicit violence.

# sub!Namjoon, oral sex (female receiving), teasing, dry-humping, foot job, fingering, MC is naked all the time and loves to mess with him, sort of sex pollen, lots of world-building.

index • next

Your body feels rusty as you come back to your senses. Your fingers, your limbs, your spine – they all groan and grunt when you move, the pieces of cold, damp dirt falling off to the floor. However, when you flex and fold your fingers to take them out of their slumber, you realise you can’t move – they’ve strapped you to a table.

“Subject 32 has woken up,” you hear in the background, beeping sounds and all, but the buzzing in your ears deafens you. “It seems disoriented, though it might wear off quickly. Proceed with caution.”

One of the humans, wearing a white lab coat, shivers when you stare at him. His pen slips off his fingers and falls to the floor.

The tall one, the one with the dimpled smile, steps up. “Hello… Can you understand me?”

“Of course,” you groan with a raspy voice. The other two men jump at the sound, and your glowing eyes move to them instantly. “Can you understand me?”

“Of course. My name is Namjoon.” But his voice is softer.

After spending his silence roaming your eyes around the lab, you finally bother to look back at him. Your arms are starting to ache in the uncomfortable position.

However, you can’t help smirking with a somewhat cruel tint to your grin when you notice one of the young men staring at your breasts. Shifting on the cold surface, you part your thighs and let him stare further down, gaining himself a scowl from the guy who seems almost in charge there.

Dr Choi snorts. “Don’t get fooled; they’re made to resemble humans for our comfort, but that’s not a woman.”

“Well” – Namjoon puts his hands into his pockets with an awkward shrug – “we don’t really know much about ANGELs yet. It’s pretty much our job to find out if they do have biology to research in the first place.”

That word he just mentioned… It makes you tilt up your head as much as you can. ANGEL. Something stings and aches in your head instantly, and you let out a groan, making them gasp. As the pain grows stronger, you writhe on the table, grunt, and try to get rid of the flimsy restraints. The harsh tugs finally pay off, and soon you’ve broken free from them.

“Woah! Calm down!” Namjoon exclaims.

You look at one of the younger humans. “Well, Jungkook, think of this as practice,” Dr Choi jokes; “when you get a real woman—”

They all fall silent when you get up from the litter. Your body aches at the movement, muscles flexing and pulling to put it in motion; it’s been so long that you can’t remember the last time you were awake. The memories are foggy, blurry almost.

Dr Choi tries to shake it off and smirks in contempt, his body language openly hostile.

“Don’t give it the satisfaction of seeing you pissing your pants, Kim,” he mutters and grabs a sharp, stainless-steel knife. “These things couldn’t hurt you even if they wanted. I bet it’d just lie there if I tried to cut it open, hm? What do you think, ANGEL? Rusty piece of old trash, your owner probably threw you away—”

But then you grab his neck and squeeze it between your fingers, almost raising him off the floor. The crew stares at you in disbelief.

Dr Choi writhes and tries to fight off your grip, grabbing your forearm, choking and fighting for air, while the others panic. It’s not until the young doctor walks up to you with his hands in the air that you look away from the man wheezing for air.

“Put him down,” he orders, almost as if he truly thought you’d obey, but you only stare at him. “Please…”

With a sigh, you let go of him. Choi falls to the floor on his butt, and he whines, even if that’s the last of his problems. Jungkook rushes to help him up only to face utter rejection.

“Only because you asked nicely,” you say.

“Do you think we could have a little conversation first?” Namjoon awaits your response; it’s odd enough that you’re capable of wilful violence, so he wants to find out if you’re fully rational too. “Do you have a name?”

“Y/N.”

At your prompt answer, Namjoon glances at the rest of his crew and drags two chairs to the centre of the lab room.

“Do you remember your last owner?” he asks again as you take a seat.

For some reason, his closeness makes you tingle. It’s like an alarm, a nice warning to control yourself. Two magnetic pieces pulling each other into their field.

You seem to think twice about your answer this time. “No, I don’t. I don’t have any memories.”

Namjoon writes something down on his note bloc. Meanwhile, the others have scattered around the room, leaving it all to him – out of trust, or so it seems. As you stare at him in silence, you realise he must be a man of honour, one of those humans who want to, uh, make a change or something. An idiot.

“I don’t understand,” you say then with a pitiful voice, “is there anything wrong with me? Why did you keep me here?”

“We found you during an excavation. We have to make sure there’s nothing wrong with you, as you must be a very old model, before we hand you back to the government,” Namjoon explains then with a soft smile.

“And what could possibly be wrong with me?”

He’s smart, you’ve already noticed that. It was a mistake to choke that pig, but the anger got the best of you. Now you regret doing it. However, maybe you can still rid him of any doubt; you’re an ANGEL, and you are here to do good.

“Well, first… You assaulted Choi; ANGELs can’t be violent without their systems instantly shutting down,” Namjoon explains as he reads his notes, and then he crosses his arms. “Why is that, I wonder…? I knew you would be an interesting subject since the second I first saw you.”

“You better shut down that interest; humans shouldn’t meddle with us,” you simply explain.

Namjoon’s eyebrows rise with growing curiosity, but for some reason, he decides not to inquire about it and keeps silent.

Instead, he gets up and herds everyone out, including Dr Choi and his nasty glares. Before he goes, though, he politely requests to bind you back to the litter, and you permit him. It’s not until you’re securely strapped to the surface that Namjoon leaves. The clinking sound coming from the other side of the door lets you know that he has locked it.

You spend the rest of the time staring at the ceiling.

Your mission. You know you have one, the blurry memories tell you so. A seed inside of your chest growing and trying to crawl back to earth through your borrowed body.

ANGEL… You want to know exactly what that means, and why you are one. The word resonates, for some reason. If only you were not here, trapped in some mad scientist’s lab and bound to a litter, you could find the answers to all your questions.

Out of a sudden, the door handle starts to shake on its own, and you realise someone is trying to open it from the outside. Whoever is trying to get in eventually loses all hope and desists, leaving you alone.

Impassive, you look away to stare back at the ceiling above you.

“Go on, try it. One bite, at least.”

You stare at poor Jungkook and his failed attempts to make you eat that monstrosity called ‘pork’. With a sigh of defeat, the young man pulls away the dish and puts it back on the table.

“You said you were hungry, why are you not eating?” one of them complains.

Jungkook turns around. “Maybe it doesn’t like human food?”

“My mom’s ANGEL loves beef.”

“Oh, but we know this one is special,” Dr Choi grunts, walking up to you with the dish in his hand. “Open your mouth and eat it now.”

“No.”

The old man lets out a loud groan and squats in front of you. Not a good idea since his bones and muscles are no longer able to get him back up, but you won’t be the one to warn him of his increasing physical deterioration.

Backing up, he accidentally knocks down the plate, and it falls to the floor, breaking into pieces. “Then what the fuck do you want, damn it!?”

“You.”

Under Choi’s shocked grimace, you sneak between his legs and grab his neck. Your nose presses against the heated skin— you can feel his fear. He’s trembling, completely frozen, eyes out of their sockets. Showing off your teeth, you attempt to bite down on his neck, but something pulls you away from him.

“Stop it,” Namjoon says.

“Y-you—!” The man blurts out, pointing an accusing finger at you. “You eat— you eat humans!”

“It obviously doesn’t, Choi. It’s messing with you,” he mutters.

You’re still between his arms, and that’s when you feel that tingle again; a shiver that pushes you against him. You know perfectly well what you are hungry for because it’s the only thing something like you could ever truly crave.

“How can you be so sure?”

Namjoon looks at you. “Try it, then. You can eat me. I’m giving you full consent, so… have a feast if you want,” he murmurs. You press your lips against his neck. “I know you won’t.”

“You trust me too much,” you then whisper.

Your jaw opens, baring your teeth. They are slightly sharp, Namjoon notices, but not sharp enough to pierce his skin when you finally close them around his neck. The prick is almost satisfying, so you groan as you feel him twitch against you. With your tongue, you moisten his skin and savour his sweat’s light, salty taste under everyone’s watchful gaze.

“But you are right.” You pull away from him and stare down at the mark blossoming on his neck; “I don’t feed on musty human meat.”

Namjoon is gripping the edge of the table when you walk back to your litter.

You spend the rest of the research time answering their questions, putting up with Dr Choi’s stupid antics, and staring at Kim Namjoon. Most days it passes quickly, but today you’ve made him too clumsy, and so he has to excuse himself to the toilet.

“What a show.” You turn your head to the pair of researchers whispering. “I thought he was going to get banged rather than eaten.”

It’s always good when he’s not around – that way you can listen to his crewmates talking openly. Kim Namjoon is an uncommonly good human. While other humans only spout vile words and fantasise about violence, he possesses an aura of strange kindness around him. Maybe that’s what attracts and disgusts you so much at the same time.

The other guy chuckles and writes something down. “Come to think of it, Professor Kim has always had a good hand with ANGELs, hasn’t he? It’s like they instantly like him.”

Maybe you can be each other’s experiment.

Jungkook walks up to you. “How are you feeling? You really don’t wanna eat anything?” You shake your head. “Then, uh… I hope you don’t mind if we check your back – Namjoon-hyung should do it, but he isn’t back yet.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll let you do it,” you say softly, looking up at him.

A smirk appears on your lips when the poor boy blushes furiously and looks down at the floor, avoiding your eyes.

“So, how do you want me?”

“Uh, I— just— y-yeah, like that. Hm, d-don’t arch your back, please—”

The room quietly gets empty as his crewmates leave, eyeing Jungkook with pity; he’s making a big mistake, and he might even pay for it with his life if he makes the wrong move with you. Checking an ANGEL’s broken wings is Namjoon’s responsibility for a reason.

It’s the core of their mystery, these little creatures. Hidden under an easily removable – if the ANGEL is willing – cover plate, it will reveal whether you have been lying about your memory loss or not. If you have a memory code plugged in, they might have to get some answers out of your system. If you are empty, they must find out who threw you away and how they made you capable of wilful violence.

You wait quietly for the young scientist to collect his tools, sitting on your legs, when he turns around to face you.

Since his childhood, Jungkook has always felt a certain fascination for ANGELs; powerful, fallen from the sky to save humanity from a dark, long-forgotten threat, a real, flesh and blood body merges with an ancient technology far beyond Man’s understanding. Not entirely robots, not entirely human either.

And yet they show total obedience – killers just barely under the control of mankind.

“Did you have ANGELs growing up?” you ask him.

As you wait for his response, you close your eyes with the hunch that this is going to hurt quite a lot.

“We had one that my father bought to help in his office,” he answers from behind you. “I was told he got it from a man when his mother died. It used to take care of her in her old age.”

“Did it ever know what it used to be?”

Jungkook frowns, even if you don’t see it, and finishes placing towels all over the surface. “I’m not sure… It never mentioned them after being reset. Your kind doesn’t know anything that’s not in your plug.”

The cold steel of his hook sends a shiver through your body. A wince of pain crosses your face for a second as you begin to feel it dig into the flesh of your back, but the flinch is short-lived. He’s gentle, so you soon feel the cover slowly detaching from the rest of your body.

“And what do I know, I wonder?” you murmur, glancing at him over your shoulder. “I guess we’re about to find out—”

“Jungkook? Where’s everyone?”

The two of you turn around to see Namjoon standing under the doorframe. He’s visibly upset, either because of the young man’s curious insubordination or because he was almost robbed of the opportunity to disassemble you. Whatever the reason, though, he walks up to the table and takes the hook away from Jungkook.

“They all left,” the poor boy explains in panic. “You weren’t coming back, but we still had to…”

Namjoon sighs. “It’s okay. Go have dinner with them, I’ll do it.”

Jungkook bows and says goodbye to his hyung but only sends a fearful look your way before storming off. You can’t help chuckling at his antics.

“What?” you ask when Namjoon arches a questioning eyebrow. “He’s cute. Totally unsullied, unlike most humans.”

Silence returns to the room as he makes sure all the tools he needs are in place and handy. Namjoon checks the computer and the analyser, wiping some dust with his finger. Meanwhile, you have been watching him with an intense gaze – your pupils are etched on the back of his neck.

“Shall we?”

The first cut sends a rush of piercing pain through you. Your arms tremble slightly on the table, faltering for a second before you’re able to get yourself back together.

“Don’t worry, you’ll regenerate,” he explains softly.

It still hurts like hell.

Even if Namjoon doesn’t enjoy hurting you, he can’t deny the growing expectation to see your insides. Your true core, your plug. All the answers to his questions about you are tucked nicely inside of you.

Once he finishes cutting the flesh off your back, he slowly lifts the cover and puts it on a sanitised surface.

The cover of the entry plug welcomes him with a metallic sheen, camouflaging itself with the rest of the hardware. Awed, the scientist strokes it with his thumb, eyes locked on it. It is so incredible how all the strength and life of such powerful beings can be packed into a capsule barely a few inches in size.

Finally, he proceeds to take out the lid.

“It, ugh— it won’t come out!” Namjoon groans, still trying to pull out the plug. Then he stops. “I assume this is a defence mechanism. Without it, I can’t access your OS. Since you don’t have a password I can use, would you please make an exception and let me pull it out?”

Giggling, you turn over on the litter and lie on your back, letting your breasts press against each other on the way. Your permission. Does he really need it? You’re a machine, after all.

“You need to convince me,” you say with a grin and spread your legs.

Namjoon never looks at you.

He never stares at your breasts or peeks between your legs, he never lets himself get lost in the fantasies about your warmth. And, of course, he never, ever touches you when it’s not necessary for the investigation. So, this is the first time the two of you are completely alone, staring quietly at each other, as his hands tremble at the idea of roaming your body.

“That’s harassment.”

You let out a genuinely amused laugh. “True, true. I’d be forcing you so that you can continue with your work, you poor thing.”

“Do I have no other choice?” he murmurs, and you shake your head with feigned pity.

“None at all.” Your plantar presses against his lower belly and moves all the way down to his crotch. “This wicked, deviant creature, which was supposed to be meek and docile, is now requesting your body in exchange.”

Namjoon has always been proud of his indifference towards ANGELs. While throughout the history that humanity has shared with them people have always been driven by their perversion and greed, he has not. No, he just feels pity at the sight of such powerful creatures succumbing to the domination of human incompetence. He just feels curious about the story of these living humanoid beings, god-like organic creatures barely capable of critical thinking but who can learn human behaviour and mimic it.

But this tingling you always feel when Namjoon is next to you, you’re not the only one to suffer from it – every time he sees, smells, feels your presence nearby, it’s like nature getting the best of him.

The tent in his pants grows harder under your ministrations.

His grip on the edge of the litter tightens as your plantar rubs the sensitive tip of his cock through the fabric. When you pick up a faster pace, Namjoon finally succumbs and lets out a gasp, but it quickly turns into stifled whimpers. Why does your skin look so smooth, why does he feel like he has to crawl under it and rest in your core forever?

Instinctively, his hips pull away before your foot makes him wet his pants with precum. You grin again with a yellowish glow in your eyes more beast-like than human.

“I’m so wet,” you confess. “Happens every time you touch me, Kim Namjoon.” He leans over you – what are your intentions? Namjoon can’t come up with whatever would make you want to seduce him; you are strong enough to finish him off. “Don’t you feel it? This… urge.”

Closer and closer, he stares down at your lips. “I’m a… man of science. I don’t believe in— in instincts— humph!”

You cut him off by kissing him hard. Fingers raking through his hair, he feels your strong body pulling him against you, and his walls begin to crumble.

It’s the very real warmth of your skin at first, and then it’s the diligence on your fingertips, on your lips, as you pull him into a kiss. For a second, Namjoon finds himself trapped between your legs, and it feels like he was born to be there.

Suddenly he feels pressure on the top of his head.

“Not so reluctant anymore, I see,” you murmur, a tenor of amusement in your voice. “Aren’t you curious?”

Namjoon kneels in front of you with your legs on his shoulders. You’re dripping wet, he can see that. But he’s so engrossed in the promising view of your pussy that he doesn’t process your question until a few seconds later, when he looks up from in between your legs.

“About what?”

“About me.”

Instead of answering, he simply leaves a soft trail of kisses down your inner thighs, fingers digging into the tender flesh of your butt. Namjoon parts your folds with his pointed tongue, delving in as a groan of pleasure escapes his throat; there’s a sweet taste lingering, a shiver running down his spine when he begins licking and lapping at your cunt.

You throw back your head. “Fuck, that’s it…”

Fingers cupping your ass, Namjoon lifts you and places your crotch right on top of his face, the new pressure deepening the contact even more. His tongue keeps flicking your clit with clumsy, eager laps, wetting your folds with his spit. He’s on his knees now, in an attempt to get in level with your pelvis. You can only let out a half-gasped chuckle as tension coils up in the pit of your stomach.

“For most humans,” you try to say again, eyelids fluttering, “we’re little more than dolls for them to fuck – or beasts meant to fuck them. Or war machines, and servants— all sorts of disposable creatures.”

His tongue laps at your clit with enthusiasm. You writhe on the cold surface and can’t help the smile that appears on your face; having a body feels glorious.

“Oh, fuck— k-keep that going and you’ll— you’ll make me come,” you hiss.

That only makes Namjoon more enthusiastic about making you cum, and he starts sucking on your clit as his fingers find your entrance. He only needs two of them for you to appreciate the stretch. Your back arches on the metal litter, the coiling tension only growing, a mixture of your juices and his saliva spilling down your thighs.

What’s so enigmatic about this man that makes him such a charmer with ANGELs? – he’s got you wrapped around his finger too.

With a groan, the knot in the pit of your stomach snaps, and you dissolve into pleasure as your climax takes over you, making you bristle and your toes curl. Your hand finds his hair, and you pull, hearing him pant for air but still devouring your cunt like a madman.

“Get up,” you order.

Namjoon nods and wobbles as he rises to stand on his feet. Then, with slightly shocked eyes, he watches when you turn around on the litter and crawl up on your knees. A curse escapes his lips, and Namjoon fumbles with his pants, more than ready at seeing your glistening entrance, your juices running down your thighs, your clit swollen and ready.

But then you chuckle. “What are you doing? You may pull out my plug now.”

His cock is rock-hard, leaking precum and begging for some warmth, your warmth, but he knows better; with a hiss, he puts his cock back into his pants and walks up to you, not a single word.

“Good boy.”

You don’t ignore the way Namjoon sneers at you, what’s more, it amuses you. He scoots right behind you and beds to take the small plug between his fingers; his crotch presses against your ass, and you can feel the tempting shape of his hard cock.

“What a waste,” you whine, pressing back. He unwillingly grinds his hips against you. “I really wish I could let you fuck me.”

“I doubt it would happen that way…”

“Why?” For some reason, someone as smart as Kim Namjoon is not annoyed that you keep entertaining him with tricks. Maybe he doesn’t care, maybe he’s too tempted to play along. “Isn’t it supposed to be that way—? I’d bend down on this cold metal table and you’d fuck me senseless till I’m dripping with your seed.”

“You speak very lightly of your ‘lack’ of power,” he murmurs then. The palms of his hands are hot on your hips.

There’s an initial attempt at making you halt your grinding, but Namjoon is incapable of ignoring his cock’s whims. A man of science, he said— all bullshit. He’s practically dry-humping your ass.

“I thought that would turn you on. After all, you humans always fantasise about power.”

A whimper dies down his throat. “N-not all— not me.”

“Poor thing…”

“Please,” he suddenly begs; his eyes are tearing up, you realise when you turn around, “please, I’m— I d-don’t know what’s wrong with me, I’ve never— I’m no better than the others, no better than Jungkook, n-no better than any other disgusting human—”

“After seeing that cock, I assure you, you’d be better than most of them…”

“F-fuck—”

You want to believe you have the upper hand. You want to believe, a bit pathetically, that you have complete control over the situation, over your body, that you will be able to get rid of all this walking rubbish called humankind without getting tired. Your wits are enough. You don’t need to use your strength; one doesn’t hunt vermin – you trick them into traps.

However, the ache between your legs is so overwhelming that you’re starting to lose your mind.

You rush him closer to wrap your legs around his hips. Namjoon breathes heavily through his nose as he feels your thighs and buttocks, and you grin at him.

“It doesn’t make any sense,” you tell him with a breathless chuckle, “none of this makes any sense at all.”

He nods at your words. “I-it doesn’t.”

It’s not until your bodies are lying pressed together, not until there isn’t even an inch of distance between your skins, when your lips are touching and you are breathing the same air as you stop to catch your breath, that the door opens loudly; that’s when Jungkook enters the lab, closing the door with his ass, not seeing you, holding a tray of food in his hands. He’s mindlessly babbling about something you’re not bothered to even listen to.

Namjoon jerks away from you to hurry so that he can fix his pants. For your part, you sit up on the metal surface and sniffle.

“Jungkook, what are you doing here?” he asks, his voice still low with pent-up desire.

“Hyung, I thought—” But the boy stops right in his tracks when he sees you, and the tray trembles between his fingers. “Uh, sorry… You weren’t done yet, so I thought you’d be hungry since— since you didn’t come down to dinner either.”

“Thank you, that was kind…”

The younger scientist walks up to you. “You shouldn’t overwork yourself; can I help you with anything?”

Then the two stare at you, and you shrug, leaving Namjoon with the responsibility to decide. You don’t care whether the boy is here to witness it or not.

“Yeah, sure…”

“Were you about to pull out its plug?”

Namjoon nods slowly, obviously tired. “Hm, yes— I think so,” he says then with begging eyes.

“Yes, he was,” you say.

“How exciting��! Perhaps we are facing the discovery of our lives. Maybe we are facing something that will change history forever, something that will make us legends!”

You tilt your head.

Maybe they’re facing the downfall of humankind.

“You shouldn’t be giving sugar to this boy so late at night,” you mock him, making Jungkook blush in embarrassment. “Don’t worry, excitement” – you look at Namjoon with knowing eyes – “is a very redeeming quality in humans— if they’re not too obnoxious about it.”

“Do you remember a lot of humans?” Namjoon asks as he puts on the rubber gloves.

“I wouldn’t say that I remember any, but I have a vague image of some of them. A feeling, I’d rather call it. A sense of—”

Hatred.

A burning feeling of pure hatred, engendered by a sort of crime, a violation, takes over you. For a second, you see red and picture your hands around the boy’s neck. You know you could break it easily. A strong desire tells you to. A siren, whispering in your ear. Your heart’s very nature, your instinct. In silence, you ponder.

“Do humans never tire of seeking their own ruin?”

It’s barely dawn, and the night has not yet gone. Tangled in thick blankets, Namjoon opens one eye to see the time; it is almost three o’clock. With a tired groan, he hides his head in the quilt and curses his nerves, which have kept him awake all night.

After managing to pull out your plug and discover a black liquid inside, Namjoon and Jungkook could not rule out that you were indeed lying about your memory loss; after all, there was OS fluid in your plug. However, if it had been blue like everyone else’s, he wouldn’t have made himself any questions. Perhaps the memories are blocked after a reset gone wrong.

It’s foolish to follow the ways of common sense with you – after you’ve done nothing but go outside the norm in all respects.

However, there are still two hours left before the computer could possibly be done reading your OS fluid.

Getting impatient is absurd.

But taking a peek can’t hurt, though, right?

With that innocent idea, Namjoon rushes to get out of bed, wrapping himself in a warm sweater, and storms out of his shared bedroom. He arrives at the lab after a few minutes only to find a black liquid leaking under the door.

“What— Y/N!”

Namjoon struggles with the door to no avail – something is blocking it on the other side.

He shouldn’t have left the door unlocked. Someone probably snuck in at night to experiment on you, or to be the first to tamper with your plug, or whatever.

Finally, after pushing for a long time, Namjoon managed to push open the door; the weight holding it back was nothing but a bunch of bodies in white coats, stained black and red. Some of them still have their eyes open and a look of panic on their faces. Dr Choi tops the pile of corpses.

There is no sign of you in the lab.

Namjoon walks up to the computer set and looks for the document with the reading of your OS fluid. However, there is no digital copy of it being examined, only a half-analysed version that probably can’t even be opened, and the plate looks damaged—

Corrupted, it’s all corrupted.

The analyser has managed to read some things, such as an assigned caregiver role, and another with retail knowledge data. It’s all jumbled up in your fluid, almost as if they have been carelessly erased, leaving a trace.

But the rest of it is damaged and unreadable; so much so that it has managed to crash the computer system.

He’s never seen such a thing in all his years working in the field, in all his sleepless nights reading about ANGELs and how dangerous they were, how docile, like domesticated beasts. Jungkook was right when he said you would be the discovery of their lives, but he’s starting to doubt that they’ll even have to work to find out what you are up to. Whether they want it or not, humanity will see it.

The silence suddenly becomes overbearing, and the presence of the dead bodies behind him becomes overwhelming. At least Jungkook isn’t among them.

Namjoon walks out into the dim-lit hallway in search of you.

A trail of blood splattered on the floor and walls leads him down the corridor, a mark of your passage there; he can recognise the size of your feet in the bloody footprints. Why now, though? Why tonight even though they couldn’t read your memories?

Why did you decide to leave now?

He’s breathless when the silhouette of your figure enters his visual range. You’re covered with blood, someone else’s blood, as you walk down the silent hallway. You don’t react to his presence, but you clearly know he is there, behind you, following you. You’re unphased. Maybe there really is nothing human inside you, nor inside him.

“Y/N!”

You turn around. “Yes?”

“Where are you going?” he asks again, getting closer now that you’ve stopped moving.

“Somewhere,” you murmur as you turn around. “I don’t know.”

Namjoon merely watches you vanish into the end of the corridor, engulfed by the darkness. It doesn’t take you long until you find a ladder. After you climb up, you open the trap door and stick your head out. All around you is a vast amber desert and a glowing dawn sky.

Don’t hesitate to like, reblog, and leave some feedback if you liked it! It’s always good and encouraging to know what you think <3

“Moonflower” is copyright ²⁰²³ Lola Bangtan, all rights reserved.

[dumbass-tumbler-cryptid]

plz ignore this if it's annoying or you don't want to answer questions like these abt your fan fic anymore, but what would have happened if Paz was alive during the "main" part of The Cabin in the Woods ? Like, let's say that instead og having died Paz simply ended up in a coma while losing her unborn kid. She stays in that coma long enough for Quaritch to lose total custody of Spider. How would she react to waking up ? How would Quaritch and Spider react to her waking up ?

Not annoying at all! I love getting questions about my fics! And I think this is such an interesting concept.

So if Paz lived but was in a coma and Quaritch still went after the drunk driver that hit her, went to prison and lost custody of Spider, first and foremost he’d be Paz’s caretaker when he got out of jail. He’d have a whole set up for taking care of her in their bedroom and teach himself everything he needed to know to best care for her. He knows there’s only a slim chance she’ll ever wake up but it’s a chance he’s willing to take.

When Quaritch puts his plan into action he takes Paz up to the cabin first. Z watches over her while Quaritch is off kidnapping Spider. The first thing Quaritch does when Spider wakes up is show him his mom. Spider had never gotten a chance to visit her before since Quaritch was her care taker and Spider had a restraining order against him. So it hits him really hard to see her. If it wasn’t for all the monitors it’d be like she’s just sleeping. But then his dad lifts the covers and shows him his mother’s mangled torso, thick red scares trailing up and down her stomach like rivers. Spider doesn’t even know how someone could survive something like that. And it infuriates him seeing the damage that was done, knowing that his mom might never wake up but still having a little hope that she might. It instantly gives him a shred of sympathy towards his dad because yeah the bastard that put his mom in a coma definitely deserved it.

Because Quaritch hopes that Paz will wake up one day, he doesn’t go about breaking down Spider in the same way he does in Cabin. Because he knows damn well that if Paz woke and saw that shit he’d be dead and buried so damn fast. So Spider gets locked in his room at night and is free to walk the house during the day though the front door is locked. Anything he could possibly use for escape is locked up and hidden. He picks fights with his dad all the time both verbal and physical. Quaritch doesn’t yell back during the verbal fights but he can come up with some extremely cutting clap backs that have nearly made Spider cry on multiple occasions. The physical fights definitely don’t go well for Spider either. Spider may be taller than his dad and packed with muscle but Quaritch is stronger and more skilled. Quaritch never hits Spider just puts him in a hold until he calms down.

The only time they’re civil with each other is when Spider is helping Quaritch take care of Paz. Spider does everything he’s told without a word. They’ll both sit with her. Talk to her. Quaritch will say how happy he is to be a family again. How she’ll be just as proud of their son as he is when she wakes up. Spider sits there, all his father’s compliments feeling like slaps to the face. He’s boiling mad and wants to hurl insults at his father but something about being in his mother’s presence makes him bite his tongue. It’s when Quaritch leaves him alone with Paz that he’ll talk to his mom. He’s cried over her a few times, wishing she was awake, admitting that he’s so scared, that he wants to go home. He even wonders aloud if his mother would approve of this. If she’d be just as bad as his father. After all they are husband and wife. Quaritch always eavesdrops on these conversations.

It’s such an amazing day when Paz wakes up. Father and son are tending to her needs, Spider is just kinda idly chatting with his mom, (“hi mama, how are you? Same as yesterday? I get that. I’ve been doing the same thing for weeks because of your shit psycho husband…” ) when Paz’s finger twitches. Father and son pause, both in disbelief over what they think they saw. Then Paz’s whole hand moves, her eyelids fluttering. Quaritch and Spider are holding their breath. And then she opens her eyes. Quaritch rushes to her side, taking her hand. He’s so deliriously happy that this day has finally come but also terrified that her mind might be gone after the accident. “Darlin’.” Paz is so confused. With her other hand she touches his face as if making sure he’s real. Quaritch closes his eyes relishing the touch he feared he might never feel again. “Honey? What happened.” Her voice is so hoarse from disuse but her words are clear. Both Spider and Quaritch sighed with relief. “There was…a car accident. You were hit by a drunk driver. You’ve been in a coma…for a real long time.” Paz is in complete shock. She looks around the room, her gaze falling on Spider. “Who’s that.” There’s a hint of fear in her voice because deep down she already knows but doesn’t want it to be true. Quaritch beckons Spider forward. The teen is too in shock to do anything but comply, letting his father take him by the arm and gently lead him closer. “I know this’ll be a shock. But it’s Miles jr. This is our son.”

Paz stares at him in total bewilderment. Her breath hitches as she reaches towards him with shaking hand. “No,” she gasps out her sobs starting in full force. “No. My baby. My baby…” Spider breaks down hearing her calling him that and practically falls right into her hands. She strokes his cheek and it fills him with more emotions than he can name, “I missed so much..” an anguished scream rips from Paz’s throat. She’s so utterly heartbroken to have missed seeing her son growing up. She also knows without having to be told that the son she was pregnant with is dead. Otherwise her husband would have called him in. She wept for both her children clutching her remaining son close as they both sob onto the other’s shoulder.

So big bittersweet family reunion. Once everything calms down Quaritch asks Spider to help him get some food going so they can have a celebratory feast. In the kitchen Quaritch throws on some music so that Paz can’t overhear the whispered conversation he has with his son, “do not tell your mama why we’re here, y’a got me? She’s been through enough today and she’s already weak enough as is.”

“What the hell do you plan on telling her!”

“The truth.”

Spider scoffs, “your truth. Not the truth.”

“Are y’a gonna do as your told or do we need to go downstairs and have a lengthier discussion.” Spider doesn’t want to find out what’s in the basement but more importantly he doesn’t want to stress his mother out and possibly put her back in her coma in her weak state. So he goes along with it for now. When his mom is stronger he’ll tell her the real truth.

So Paz has to go through a lot of physical therapy. Quaritch had Ja come up to do a physical on her and he pronounced that other then the severe muscle deterioration Paz was actually in good health. All her vitals sounded good and she wasn’t in any pain anywhere. Quaritch helps her slowly build her strength back, doting on his wife like crazy. Spider is always by her side, wanting to talk to her, get to know her, soaking up all the love his mama gives him. He sees how his father treats her, like she’s his queen, and he can’t help himself from smiling over it. His parents are just so happy together. And because Spider doesn’t want to upset his mom he plays the loyal son, talking openly with his dad, all smiles. He lets his dad ruffle his hair, pat him on the shoulder and even hug him. And as the days go by being a “happy family” Spider starts to forget it’s not real. The first time he got caught in the moment, losing himself to his feelings of safety, contentment, and love, he jolts back all emotions leaving him as he reminds himself, he’s your kidnapper and a murderer. Soon he starts losing himself multiple times a day. Then catching himself starts having less impact. And soon he’s taking walks in the woods, laughing with his parents as his dad pushed his mom in a wheelchair. Talking about his day with his parents at the dinner table as they enjoy a home cooked meal. Letting his dad help him with his homework. Sitting with his mom as she brushes and braids his hair for the day.

And then it’s time to tell Paz the “truth”. They’re all gathered around the table. Quaritch prepped Paz by telling her there was something really important for her to know. Something they’d kept from her until she was stronger. “After your accident I went after the man who hurt you. I nearly killed him. I went to jail for one year.” Paz wasn’t the least bit surprised by this. “The courts didn’t let Z or Lyle take custody of Miles,” “What!” Paz is pissed. “They took custody from me when I got out. When I knew the courts would never give him back to me, I took matters into my own hands. This cabin is built on top of a mountain. No one will ever find us here. I never stopped lookin’ out for Junior when he was in the system. We talked even though I wasn’t allowed near him,” Spider’s eyes widened. “Once I finally finished this place I brought you here, then I told Junior all about it. A place where we could be a family. He was more than happy to run away from his shitty foster family.” So this is his “truth” Spider had to admit it was a nice way of selling their isolation to his mother.

His mom turns to him, “is that true?”

Say no, part of him screams. But then what would happen. His mom was still too weak to walk. And his father had made it clear plenty of times that Spider was no match for him. If he revealed the truth and Quaritch got violent he wouldn’t be able to defend his mother. So he forces a smile and says, “yeah ma, it’s true.”

Paz smiles, “It’s almost like the whole world wanted to tear our family apart. Well fuck the world. We won! We’re together now. Nothing will ever tear us apart again.”

Father and son side eye each other. “Yeah ma,” Spider says, “nothing at all.”

Thank you so much for the question! This was a really fun concept for me so I hope you enjoyed it.💙

[vanquishedmelon]

Secret Memories

Prue Halliwell Appreciation Week 2024 - Day 1: Favourite Episode/Season

Season 2, Episode 8: P3 H20.

An alternative version of the conversation between Prue and Sam in the shed. Read below the cut or on Ao3.

Author's Note: I acknowledge that this doesn't even fit within my OWN version of canon but I just love the idea of Prue vaguely knowing about Paige her whole life because, let's be real, she was definitely old enough.

Sliding open the door, Prue barely registered Sam’s presence before he spoke, not looking up from his task.

“I knew I should have given you a stronger dose.”

“I thought you would have learned yesterday that stuff doesn’t work on me.”

Sam froze, but still refused to turn around. “I had to protect you and your sisters.”

“From remembering you? From stopping the demon that killed Mom?”

The moment she saw Sam the day before, there was a fogginess in Prue’s mind, something screaming at her that she knew exactly who this man was, and that he was important. When Leo revealed he was Mom’s whitelighter, the logical part of her told her that must have been what she was missing, but… no, there was something else. And then this morning when Leo helped them break through the memory powder…

They loved each other. Prue may have been a carefree, free-spirited seven-year-old before her mom died—the kind of girl she grew to envy as the years continued on—but she was no blind fool. She could remember them together. No matter how hard they tried to hide it. It seemed so obvious now.

“If you truly loved Mom then you know that this isn’t the answer.”

“Isn’t it? I promised her I would protect you and your sisters.”

With Sam finally turning around, Prue tilted her head questioningly, giving him a knowing look. “I know. I also know you promised her you’d never clip your wings—that protecting the innocent was more important.”

“How do you know that?” He snapped, voice sharper than intended.

“I know way more than you think I do.” The fierceness in her eyes only grew, and Sam almost seemed to shrink back under her gaze, recognising what it was she was referencing. So many confusing memories were falling into place for her. Her mom, visibly pregnant, yet Phoebe was already born...

You’re just getting your memories mixed up, Grams would say. It’s Mom, I wouldn’t remember wrong, Prue would always counter. Now she knew she was right. And Sam looked… afraid.

Looking down at the axe in his hands, trying desperately to draw the conversation away from his secret daughter—how could she know? She was a child! —Sam spoke.

“Protecting you girls is more important than any innocent. I knew you’d come, no matter what I did. I couldn’t let it happen to you, too.”

“So you’d sacrifice innocent lives? Is that what Mom would want? The Sam I remember would—”

“Don’t talk to me about the Sam you remember. You weren’t supposed to remember. Besides, that man is long gone. He died the day Patty did.”

“No. No he isn’t. You still have good in you, Sam. I know you want to stop that demon. But you have to help us. Help us avenge Mom’s death and stop it from killing again.”

He turned away, shaking his head. “I can’t let it hurt you. You’re… you’re so much like her. It’d be like failing her all over again.”

As much as Prue wanted to snap back about how she was nothing like her mother—a rude habit of hers, Piper and Phoebe helped her realise—she instead took a breath. “You won’t fail her. Or me. We can kill this thing with your help. Please. If not for me, or for Mom, do it…” she hesitated. “Do it for your daughter.”

Sam closed his eyes, steeling himself with a deep breath. “What do you need?”

[drowning-in-cacophony]

desecration of the heart

Written for @flashfictionfridayofficial Prompt 255: In The Heart

[Summary: it feels like desecration, even if it's the only way] [cw: a described autopsy and dead body]

Nausea rises, a stormy ocean’s wave to the hull of a fishing boat. She swallows, trying to push it back, but her hand still trembles.

Across the table, his eyes flash, even if his lip is shaking a little.

“You’ve got to do it, Shale.”

“I know.” Her hand doesn’t move though; her eyes drop to the table. To the- does she just call it the body? Does that make it easier for her, to just call it a body, a dead brick that won’t care a bit about what she’s got to do? She can’t just easily depersonalise though. It’s not just the body. It’s Clar.

Was Clar.

The lips are cold, the skin closer to a moody purple than a dancing blush, and there’s no mistaking Clar for alive. They’re dead, as dead as the brick Shale should think them as to make this easier. They’re dead, and that’s still not the worst thing about this week.

“Don’t waste any more time. We don’t have-”

“I know.” Now it’s a little terse, her fingers clamping on the scalpel’s handle. The ticking clock beats in tandem with her pulse, a reminder of the fact there’s only two in the room, a reminder of where she’s got to cut. Of all the places to put a secret, it was the best. Who’d think about it? Who’d try getting it out when Clar still breathed? Nearly anyone would hesitate at the thought. But now Clar’s dead and they need the secret, so the violation has to go ahead. If not her, it’ll be someone else – that’s inevitable. Someone else putting grubby fingerprints on Clar’s waxy skin. Isn’t that a worse violation than what Shale has to do? It’d be what Clar would want, it going this way.

She knows this all; it doesn’t make it easier.

His patience is wearing thin, or maybe it’s just his worry building thick. It isn’t helping the sickly waves, like she’s being pinned in from out and in. Trying to breathe easily, she gathers her resolve, coiling it like a rope. Come on, Shale.

She’s done this before. Just last time, it wasn’t her friend on the table.

Her fingers press down lightly on Clar’s chest. She doesn’t think about how it feels under the tips, the hollowness, the way the skin shifts. Her breath’s gone from attempts to held now, her intention for a steady arm. Her tongue curls, as tense as a weightlifter’s muscle.

The knife’s blade settles against the cold flesh. Shale winces when it breaks down through the surface.

He lets out a breath, a pop of a balloon. Rough with relief that she’s moving this along, and she concentrates on that sound, repeating it like a skipping track, as she carefully drags the blade down through the skin. The scalpel makes a clattering sound against the metal when she sets it down, seemingly too loud for the space.

“You’re doing good, Shale.”

“Don’t say that.” Her voice is as tight as her facial muscles. Next is the hardest part. It’s one thing to mutilate her friend’s body. It’s another to yank them apart and rip something right out.

Her fingers slide and slip, and the incandescent lights glint and glimmer off what she reveals. But there is what she’s been digging for this whole time, what she needs to desecrate, all in the name of the greater good.

Clar would want this, she reminds herself, the exact thing he’d told her before they’d broken in. Clar would want you to do this, because it’s not desecration if it’s someone you’d ask to do it. In thinking that though, she remembers the sparkle in Clar’s eyes, the quirk of their lips, the dress they wore one summer that dipped a v, too similar to what’s right down in front of her. The nausea wave makes a stronger appearance, aiming to tip the small fishing boat over. She steels her gut, even as it seems impossible to do so.

In the heart. That’s where she’s got to go.

Crimson splashes on the metal and her gloves alike; under this light it looks darker than black, just a goo or gunk than the dying liquid that had once kept her friend alive. The muscle – should she depersonalise that too, or should she keep what it is in her head. The heart, the life-giver, the fibre wrapped so strong around the secret. There’s no breaths now in the room, both she and he holding them captive against the back of their teeth. It leaves the noise of her work as the principle sound, too loud in her ears. Don’t think about it, don’t think about it, don’t think about it-

When the secret comes out, it’s with a tearing sound.

Her whole body winces, the ocean rocking. But there it is, that tiny blood-splattered thing, held so innocently between her fingertips. The thing Clar had held with their whole heart, binding it into their flesh, keeping it perfectly safe until she’d come along to vandalise it all. A pure temple, laid asunder by the pillage wearing friendly colours.

He sucks in a breath.

She staples Clar back up before they leave.

[voxofthevoid]

Kidnapping Wednesday #2. We'll be here a while because this fic is 6 chapters and 32k in and not even halfway done. I still blame @nearalways

Excerpt under the cut

CWs: Inappropriate situations between an adult and a teenager, plus the fact that the former kidnapped the latter

Gojou joins him at the railing, leaning his back against it. Yuuji doesn’t understand why he’d be out here and look at Yuuji instead of the view, but then, he’s yet to get a straight answer to how, exactly, Gojou sees with that blindfold of his. He’s wearing it even now, and the sight of it paired with casual clothes never gets less odd. Gojou looks comfortable though, clad in sweatpants and a loose, long-sleeved t-shirt.

“You should sleep,” Gojou tells him softly. “We have an early day tomorrow.”

“Why tomorrow?”

Gojou cocks his head. “Do you want me to postpone the mission now? And do what exactly—take you sightseeing?”

Yuuji takes a swipe at him, but it’s half-hearted, and Gojou can clearly tell because he doesn’t even bother dodging. Yuuji’s hand slaps against his chest. He digs his nails a little meanly into the muscle before letting go, bracing both arms on the railing again and looking down the length of the building.

“You’re so ridiculous,” Yuuji sighs. “No, just—why not today? Wouldn’t it be better to get it over this as quickly as possible?”

“Because it’d save more lives?”

“Yeah.”

“I like how you think,” Gojou says, and it sounds genuine the way his praise often does; Yuuji resists the urge to squirm in place. “It’s true it wouldn’t make a difference on my end whether we go now or today. But I wasn’t kidding—I do plan to let you fight this time. I’ll interfere if you’re in danger, of course, but first shot’s yours. And I’m hoping that’s all it will take. Grade-one curses are strong, much stronger than the ones you just fought. But you’re strong too. I want to see how you handle yourself.”

This time, Yuuji loses the battle with his restraint, folding in on himself to hide his burning face.

“Thanks,” he mutters, mouth almost buried in his own arms. “That’s—yeah, I’ll do it, obviously. But you haven’t answered my question.”

Gojou laughs. “Aren’t we reckless! I want you rested, Yuuji.”

“I feel fine,” Yuuji says, bolting upright—right into a hand that comes down a little too hard on his head, fingers digging into the scalp as Gojou shakes him. “O-oi, cut that out!”

“Reckless,” Gojou repeats, letting Yuuji go after a brief, suffocating moment of pressure. “I didn’t keep you alive so you can carelessly throw your life into the maw of some two-bit cursed spirit.”

“I’m not—”

“The area’s cordoned off, and there are no humans inside,” Gojou says, interrupting Yuuji with zero hesitation. “Nobody’s dying to that curse tonight, so you can rest easy.”

“Oh.” Yuuji deflates. “That’s good.”

Gojou hums, a sound that’s not uncomplicated enough to be just amusement. “Come to bed, Yuuji.”

“Yes, yes.”

Yuuji pushes away from the railing with a last, lingering look at the city, crawling into his side of the bed. Gojou dims the lights, bright whites replaced by golden yellows. Yuuji blinks up at the ceiling, his mind on nothing and everything.

The bed dips. Gojou makes a quiet, happy noise.

He’s very human sometimes—a lot of the time, too much of the time. Yuuji almost prefers the strange, surreal existence he was forced to become intimately acquainted all those weeks ago.

Pressure between his eyebrows. A finger, rubbing harshly at the skin there.

Yuuji catches Gojou’s wrist, stilling it. “What are you doing now?”

“You were frowning so much. You’ve been doing that a lot these days, you know. Careful or you’ll get lines, and we can’t have you ruining your pretty face just yet.”

Yuuji lets out a slow, controlled breath and flings Gojou’s hand away. “Why are you like this?”

“I’d expect it from Megumi,” Gojou says, completely ignoring Yuuji—again. “He’s been repressed since he was, what, six? You, though—you’re different. Oh, is it because you’re pent up? Should I get you more porn?”

Yuuji shoots up, the covers nearly flying off him. “What.”

Gojou’s tapping his own mouth, his expression way too considering for comfort. “I thought I loaded your laptop with a pretty good collection. I have good taste, don’t I, Yuuji?”

“Stop talking,” Yuuji says dazedly.

Gojou doesn’t stop talking. “Maybe I should’ve asked first. What do you like? Men, women, anyone? Any preferences? What about kinks?”

“I,” Yuuji breathes, “want to kill you.”

“Now snuff’s a little hardcore, especially for your age. But if what you want is a warm body—”

A generous application of pillow cuts him off.

Yuuji’s not aware of consciously making the decision to climb on Gojou’s chest or smother him with a pillow, but he’s there and he fucking commits, and he’s well aware that the body under him is shaking with laughter and not death throes, but there’s still something viciously satisfying about putting his entire weight on Gojou’s face with only a few inches of down-stuffed cotton between them.

He keeps it up for a long few seconds even after Gojou stills under him.

There’s a part of Yuuji that’s tempted to keep going, divorced from the parts of him that know Gojou’s impossible to kill in such a banal way—maybe impossible to kill at all.

And yet—

He’d make a pretty corpse, says Sukuna, his only concrete contribution the entire night.

Yuuji tosses the pillow aside.

Smiling lips greet him first. “Got it out of your system?”

“I hate you,” Yuuji says. And he plans to climb off, intent on ignoring Gojou till sleep takes mercy on him, but his eyes flicker up and— “Gojou-san, your blindfold.”

It’s slipped down on one side, exposing an eyebrow that’s as blisteringly white as the shock of hair on Gojou’s head. Yuuji can’t help reaching out, index finger hooking over the top of the fabric.

Gojou’s hand curls over his wrist, a firm pressure that’s not quite restraint. Yuuji stops anyway.

“Do you always wear this?” he asks. “Even to bed?”

“More or less.” Gojou’s grip tightens, only to press Yuuji’s finger more firmly onto his face. “Do you want to see?”

Yuuji swallows thickly. “Do you even have eyes under that?”

“Why don’t you find out?”

[pocketsonny]

get a haircut, kaiba

this drabble was inspired by a convo with @prachelley and their art here !!

i haven't written for ygo dm in forever and this is mostly crack fic but i had fun JKASKJJKSA

-------

“When are you going to get a normal haircut?”

Seto paused. Did a double take. Turned around. Yuugi—the other Yuugi—blinked red eyes owlishly at him; somehow, if it’d been Yuugi, in all his gentle voice and mannerisms, Seto would’ve been doubly confused by the question.

Still, he looked between Yuugi’s face and his mess of blonde, dark and purple curls in the shape of a star. A normal haircut, he said.

“What?” he finally asked when Yuugi offered no further explanation.

“The back and fringe are long, but your side bangs are short…” he crossed his arms, cupped his chin, “I believe Aibou referred to it as a ‘mullet’—” Pause. He glanced to the side, at something, someone, that Seto couldn’t see. “Oh. I wasn’t supposed to tell him that…? Did you want to—ah,” Yuugi smirked, “I’m sorry, Aibou.”

Seto couldn’t even bark at Yuugi that he looked ridiculous talking to himself in the middle of the street. He touched the back of his neck with dawning horror.

A mullet.

“K-Kaiba-kun,” when he looked back up, Yuugi’s softer purple eyes watched him with concern, “Um, If you wanted, Honda-kun could help! He’s good at cutting hair…”

Even when his voice held no bite, Kaiba was startled into speechlessness again.

As if catching up with his words, Yuugi began to nervously wave his hands around, “No, I mean, it’s not that it looks bad! It’s just, I noticed it was getting longer, and I thought it must be getting uncomfortable to see with your hair over your eyes, but I wasn’t going to say anything! You’re always busy so maybe you hadn’t had time to go to a hairdresser…”

It’s another hit to his ego that his rival was trying not to insult him and yet was succeeding in doing just that. And Yuugi was aware of it, because his face paled and flushed in rapid succession.

“I mean, I mean you don’t have to go to—it’s not! Ah!” he looked to both sides in a panic, then in the blink of an eye, purple became red again and the other Yuugi resurfaced.

“Get a haircut, Kaiba,” he deadpanned, “For you and Aibou’s sake.”

At long last, Seto regained his voice. He clicked his tongue, flashing Yuugi a fierce glare.

“Shut up,” he swiveled around on his feet, “My hair is neither of your concerns.”

He rapidly left. Damn you Yuugi. He wouldn’t forget this insult to his pride.

-------

“Why did you do that.” Yuugi cried, hovering next to him; had it been possible, he would’ve been shaking Yami right about now,

“I just said what was on both of our minds, Aibou,” Yami wore an easy smile, walking with his hands on his pockets, “And I think you were more direct than me!”

Yuugi groaned, burying his face in his hands, “We embarrassed him. I insulted him. Kaiba-kun will hate me more now.”

“Don’t worry,” Yami tried to reassure him, “A prideful man like Kaiba won’t take this lying down…I’m sure he’ll come back stronger.”

“Yeah…”

-------

A week later, a limousine rolled up next to Yuugi, startling him. The backseat window rolled down and Kaiba’s familiar glare came into view.

“Yuugi.”

“Oh, Kaiba-kun…” Yuugi blinked. Something was different. He looked away from Kaiba’s eyes; his hair fringe was shorter, just enough to see his eyebrows peek from underneath; and when Kaiba tilted his head, it revealed the nape of his neck to be shaved short.

He gaped. Kaiba had actually listened to them?

“You cut—”

Kaiba shoved a couple yen bills at him and a paper. Yuugi grabbed them on instinct but then stared at them.

“Um, I don’t…” Yuugi looked up in bewilderment, “Why are you giving me this?”

“Charity,” Kaiba’s lips curled in a condescending smirk, “Go get a normal haircut.”

With that, he rolled the window back up and the limo sped away. Yuugi, and Yami who’d been listening in, stared after him. Then, they both peered at the paper: it was a picture of a starfish.

“…”

“…”

“What do you think Kaiba meant by that?”

“I don’t know…” Yuugi tilted his head, “But this starfish is pretty cute,” he glanced at the money; he didn’t really want to use it, but Kaiba wouldn’t take it back if he tried to return it.

“The picture may be a clue.”

Yuugi’s brow furrowed in thought—and then he gasped, “I know, the Aquarium! They had a special exhibit today,” he smiled up at his other self, “Let’s go! I haven’t taken you there yet, right?”

“Oh!” Yami brightened, “Let’s do that,” he glanced at the other end of the street, where Kaiba’s limo had disappeared, “Perhaps that’s Kaiba’s way of showing his gratitude.”

“Mhm!” Yuugi nodded, “I’m glad, he didn’t seem mad anymore!”

[xarrixii]

Chapter_29 : "Strike" ━━━━━━━━━━━━━

CW: drinking, smoking previous chapter | beginning | masterlist

━━━━━━━━━━━━ ▼

Harlow yanked on Ainsley’s shirt collar, holding them back and receiving a searing glare for it, watching their fist clench. “We cannot go knocking everyone out. That ruins the point.”

“Why should I waste time delaying the inevitable? Everyone they put me with is always the same, including you. I’m not one of their trainers, this is real shit. It’s not sunshine and rainbows.”

He frowns in response.

Ainsley swats Harlow’s hand away. “If you have any other ideas besides coming with and fucking it up, be my guest. The longer we stand here the more suspicious we get.”

“Do you strive off being constantly paranoid?” Harlow drums his fingers against his lighter, leaning against the car they took facing away from the bowling alley.

“If you’re gonna stay here, my rules, alright?” Ainsley unclenches his fist, taking out a cigarette from a pack and lighting it with his thumb.

“Do your rules include trying to actually be stealthy about this?”

Ainsley grumbled, taking a moment with their smoking before tossing the still-burning cigarette to Harlow. “If it prevents you from ratting on me, fine.”

“Then what’s the plan?”

Swirling the drink in his hand, Harlow watched someone set a basket of seasoned fries in front of him from over his shoulder. With a muttered thanks, he set down the drink and almost instantly popped one into his mouth.

“You know,” the bartender said while wiping a glass clean, “If you wanted to fill your stomach before drinking, I’d recommend something heartier.”

“Trying to upsell me, are we?”

They smiled, setting the glass down and pouring someone else their next shots. “You the local fries taster then? Need the drink in case they taste worse than across the street?”

“You wish they were. Bet it’d make good money,” someone cut in after clapping their glass on the table. “Really, though. Mind sharing?”

Harlow shrugged, beginning to jog his foot on the stool. “Go on ahead.”

He watched the guy reach over and pop one of the fries into their own mouth. “First time in an alley bar? Just waiting on some friends to start bowling with or what?”

“Ooh, friends,” Harlow winced to himself. “Nah. Thought about celebrating my new place with myself by throwing a few down the lane, but by the time I walked down here I guess I was more into reminiscing on everything else. Then my good buddy said he’d be up to come down, so I’m just waiting.”

“That can’t be any good. You’re gonna need something a little stronger to wash away that kind of feeling.”

“What’d I say about harassing our customers?” The bartender strolled back around, refilling the guy’s shot, which they immediately downed.

“To stop.”

That elicited a low chuckle from Harlow, feeling the vibration of the phone resting in his back pocket. He chucked a few more fries into his mouth, drank a decent amount of the glass on the counter, and stood up, still bouncing his leg as undeliberately as possible. “Think you can watch the fries? I’ve gotta take a moment.”

“Not the drink?”

“Never been one for liquor anyway. All yours if you want it.”

“Why’d you order a drink, then?”

“It’s been a while since I’ve had one, tastebuds change. Guess the right ones haven’t yet.”

Harlow shrugged, backing off and listening to the sounds of pins crashing as he wrestled the phone from his pocket, feeling the controlled flame of the cigarette in another.

“Ainsley?”

“You’re still inside?”

“Yeah, I’m still in here. I can buy the lane now if you want.”

“Buy the lane? What the fuck are you⸺”

“Alright. I’ll get on it.” Harlow listens as Ainsley scuttles away in the above vent, shoving his phone away and going down to rent out a lane. He’s surprised with a playful arm around the neck, raising his arm and stealing the loaded USB stick Ainsley drops into his sleeve.

“You sure you’re up for this?”

“‘Course I’m up for bowling. Oh, go set up the screen and everything, I’ve gotta grab some fries I left at the bar.”

“Fries?”

Harlow looks into Ainsley’s baffled expression with a smile, stepping back over to the bar. He politely takes back his fries and returns.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Ainsley hisses into his ear while stepping up to the platform, rolling the ball down the lane and hitting a few pins.

“Improvising. You were paranoid in the parking lot, imagine how paranoid Storm would be if some random dude just stood there for God knows how long.” Harlow replies back through gritted teeth, shoving a hand in his pocket while Ainsley throws the ball a second time.

He fiddles with the USB for a bit before it finally slots into the data reader.

“You⸺”

Harlow ignores him, grabbing his bowling ball from the rack and sending it down the lane for a strike.

By the time the basket of fries is emptied, Harlow had given the USB to Ainsley again with a pat on the back after a row of spares and they’d gone off to “the bathroom.”

Harlow was returning the two pairs of bowling clogs when Ainsley returned from the bathroom doors and ushered him outside into the car. Where Harlow promptly started breathing way faster.

“The plan was for you to stay put.”

“Wouldn’t have needed to do any acting if you’d remembered to wear the pants with our more casual uniform.” Harlow rummaged out his lighter and drummed his fingers against it.

“Do not fucking remind me.”

“You also could’ve, I don’t know, let me do it?”

“Something tells me you are used to being in charge, and that attitude has to change. I vaguely taught you how to knock someone out with fire, and now you think we’re buddies. We’re not. You’re just another Cinder operative who happens to be on Liam’s good side. Let me tell you, you’re not the only one.”

“Just ask to go on solo missions if you don’t like other people that much.”

Ainsley snarled, kicking the car into gear. “I’m not the one who breaks down when I summon fire.” Harlow frowns, forcing himself to wrap his drumming fingers around the still-lit cigarette in his pocket to smother it in the car’s ashtray. “Just drive us back.”

next chapter

━━━━━━━━━━━━ ▲ missing a content warning? let me know

this is where i'd say something funny... if i had something funny to say. anyways, new format, again. experimenting is really cool, also i finally got to use the divider bar i made a month ago lmao