#Specialty Floor Cleaning

[evie-sturns]

bad day? - Matt Sturniolo

summary: your whole day hasn't gone to plan, after a bad day at work followed up by you coming home to a messy house you take out your stress on matt, he helps you calm down with his specialty.

contains: stroppy!reader, gentle!matt, nsfw, matt the munch, fingering, fluff, comforting.

-----------------------..••°°°°••..----------------------

7:39pm

today has sucked to say the least, i've fought with every coworker at the office and all i wanted to do was come home.

i'm currently driving through the busy streets of l.a back to matt and i's house, the dim lights illuminating the road making everything harder, i can barely see the road infront of me.

i pull into matt and i's driveway, i slam on the brakes and grab my purse which is sitting on the passenger seat.

i swing open the door and step out onto the driveway, my high heels click as i speed-walk up the front steps of our porch.

my mini skirt rides up my thighs uncomfortably as i fiddle through my bag for the keys.

i feel something warm and liquidy in my bag, i take a closer look inside to find my lip balm has practically exploded.

the lip balm sticks to my fingers,

"oh for fucks sake" i mutter, knocking harshly on the door.

i hear the door unlock followed by matt standing in the doorway,

"hi sweetheart! how was work?" matt smiles, wrapping his tattoed arms around me.

i pull away from his hug and step foot indoors, the place looks like a trainwreck, there are empty cans spread all over the kitchen counter and random bags on the floor.

"why is it always so fucking messy in here!" i yell, squeezing my eyes shut.

"whats going on?" matt asks calmly, walking over to me.

"i've had the worst possible day and i come home to find our house an absolute wreck! why don't you fucking clean it mat-"

my sentence bursts into a loud sob as i feel my body heat up, im completely and utterly overstimulated by everything.

"im sorry-" i say in between loud sobs as i look up at matt, he has a concerned look on his face as he observes me.

he walks over to me and picks me up, wrapping his cold arms around me .

his forearm holds under my ass as he rubs my back,

"my hands are really sticky-" i sniff.

"thats okay." matt whispers, walking over to the air conditioning and lowering the temperature.

he carry's me over to the sink and sets me down on the counter, he grabs my hands and puts them under the room temperature stream, rubbing my hands together.

"im sorry matt, i'm just so overwhelmed." i say as matt wipes my eyes.

"i love you." matt says with a small smile,

he drys off my hands on his shirt then picks me up again, carrying me over to the couch.

he sets me down on the plush of the couch then kneels between my legs.

he looks up at me from between my thighs as he undoes my heels, matt slides them off my feet.

matt kneeling between my legs makes me flustered, i'm not great at hiding it aswell.

i cover my face with my hands.

"you okay?" matt asks with a stupid grin.

"yeah- i'm fine." i say shyly,

"you're blushing." matt points out, grabbing my wrist and pulling it away from my face.

"no i'm not.." i lie,

"yes you are, why are you blushing?" matt laughs slightly, tracing mindless shapes up the insides of my thigh.

"just you.. and your hands i dont know." i mutter,

"is that so?" matt questions, brushing his cold hand under my miniskirt and grazing the hem of my lace panties.

"mmhm.." i whisper, matt reaches for the waistband of my skirt and tugs it down.

"you want me to help clear your mind for a little bit?" matt says, his tone low and raspy.

"please." i whisper.

matt tugs my panties to the side and blows cold air directly onto my sensitive clit.

i let out a pathetic moan as i throw my head back against the headrest.

"pretty girl." matt whispers,

he connects his lips to the soft skin of my inner thigh, he leaves purple marks, each mark slower growing closer to where i need him the most.

my hands find their way to his brunette hair, his locks are soft and long.

he finally licks a strip up from my hole to my clit, i let out a breathless moan.

he reaches up a hand under his chin and dips a finger inside of me.

his finger his long and bony, the cold metal of his ring against the warmth of my insides drives me completely crazy.

he doesn't waste time to add a second finger, he curls his fingers repeatedly inside of me.

matt's mouth attaches on my clit, his tongue circling it as he sucks on my bud.

my breathing picks up, my mind going completely blank.

"feels- so good" i babble out incoherent sentences as matt presses his fingers against my g-spot repeatedly,

"dont-.. dont stop oh my god!" i call out,

my grip on his hair tightens, i thrust my hips up further into his face.

"im so fucking close- matt!" i squeal, squeezing my eyes shut.

and finally, the knot in my lower stomach releases,

i feel impossible amounts of pleasure wash over me as i finish on matt's face, with a loud scream of his name.

matt pulls his mouth off of me and curls his fingers inside of me a few more times before pulling them out.

matt pulls his face out from between my thighs, his face is coated in my release along with his fingers.

"oh my god-" i say, wiping his face with my hand before throwing my head back on the couch.

"that was so hot.." matt pants with a small laugh.

-

i lay back on the couch for a couple minutes before matt stands up, he pulls my panties back onto me and picks me up by my ass.

he holds me as he carries me into our bedroom, matt rips off my tight fitted shirt that i wore to work and throws me down onto the matress.

he removes his shirt, leaving him in his sweatpnats as he flops down beside me. matt pulls up the covers over us before pulling me closer to him by my waist.

i sigh deeply into the bare skin of his arm.

"matt." i whisper lightly,

"yeah?" he asks,

"im so sorry about earlier, for yelling and everything.." i sigh,

"don't worry about it, i understand you completely." matt smiles, kissing my forehead gently.

"but.. thank you for you know.. eating me out." i mutter,

"anytime!" matt sings,

"you're so stupid" i giggle, playfully slapping matts

"you're so cute." matt replies.

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

@luanetaluenta @sturnsssbow @mattfangirl @luvr4miya @luvtay111 @lolasturniolo @freshloveforthefit @ruedowney @lovingchrissposts @333michelle @h3arts4harry @sonicmacks @jamiesturniolo @chrisstopherfilmed @itzdarling @sturniolo-simp4life @daddyslilchickenfingers2 @recklessmatt @ev3rgreenxtrees @lovergirl4387 @certifiednatelover @solarsturniolo @mattsenthusiast @yomamaslays4lyfe @peachmels @alinaa131 @pepsiluvr0209 @creamoncreamoncream2 @szobofc @mattscoquette @blahbell668 @sturniolo04 @ecilphttlunar @bitchydragonparadise @thematthewlover r @sturni0l0 @ratatioulle @sturnsfav @chrisgetsmewetterxo @mattsonly @justalittle47 @mattsturnioloisbae @sunsetsturniolos @sturniolo04 @similartokayyz @pkfferoo @sturnsintrouble @ilovemattsturn @raysmayhem-72 @75sturn @sturniol0s @secret-sturniolo @hfkeclnendmwodne @sturniolosass @gxldenlush @stonermattsgf @101sara @beccaluvschris @oliviasturniolo21 @imwetforyourmom @tylerstacobell @sunsetsturniolos @aliceloveschris @jayz4dayz4 @sassysturniolo2008 @nyktoxs-lover @nathandoesgf @starsturns234 @cristiana-heartzzchris @chrissturnsss @joemamaaa42069 @sturnthepot @zayyluvz @realuvrrr @livialifesblog @sturnioloblogs s @riowritesitall ll

[liseytopia]

i know the spider-verse hype is over but hear me out ..

another visit at your boyfriend's apartment meant another cleaning day for you and him, which obviously resulted in a helpless, whining hobie on the bed.

"babe, it's not even that hard. you just have to throw some shirts in a washing machine and press a few buttons," you laughed, shaking your head as you stared at hobie from the doorway of his bedroom after you'd designated him a small task to start. he was lying face down on his bed, groaning.

without lifting his head from the mattress adorned with misplaced and rumpled blankets and pillows, he replied, "still don' wanna."

hobie was never one for keeping his place clean. he was great at nearly everything else—he had surprisingly good hygiene, a charming personality and a pretty face, but cleaning.. wasn't his specialty. he wasn't trying to live like a slump, but sometimes he couldn't help it. fighting crime and dismantling systems of oppression didn't leave a whole lot of time or energy for something as minimal as cleaning a room—or at least, according to his protests.

you sighed, swiveling around to his in-unit mini laundry room, picking up a laundry basket, and walking back in hobie's bedroom. you began throwing various clothes lying about the room into the basket.

apparently he heard you cleaning up after him, and finally rotated his head off the bed, studying you picking up his clothes. "you don't have to do all 'tis," he murmured as you slowly deteriorated the pile of clothing.

"yeah, but you won't, so i will," you replied firmly, not making eye contact.

"awww, c'mon, love.. you don't gotta be like that," he drawled, rolling off the edge of the bed and standing up toward you. he wrapped his arms around your waist from behind, the tall boy's head on top of yours. your stomach fluttered at the contact, his arms acting as a restraint to keep you from moving. it was obvious he had some sort of plan with this.

you whined in defeat, "hobie.."

"hm? what's that?" you heard him hum against your head, trying to act innocent. the vibration of his deep voice was sending all throughout your body. "'m just tryna help."

"shut up, no you aren't," you grumbled, though your attempts at sounding annoyed only failed when you accidentally let a giggle slip out.

hobie hummed again. "see, i knew ya loved me," he smiled as he dragged you a couple feet back down to his bed. you collapsed on top of him on the mattress, the laundry basket and pile of clothes both long forgotten on floor.

you wrapped your arms up around his neck once he sat up, scooting back against the wall with you in his lap. he leaned forward to kiss you, his large hands holding you in place by your waist. you returned the kiss gently and slowly, resting your head down on his shoulder when you were finished.

"i take it we ain't cleanin' today?" he questioned, a smile persistent on his lips as he gazed down at your body lazily attached to his.

you shook your head in response, your eyes closed and your face still buried in his neck. that was all the indication he needed to know you were convinced. hobie would live in that messy apartment for as long as he could.

⊹₊⟡⋆

[11rosebunny]

Togame has tried to interlock his toes with yours while cuddling together once.

Taiga cleans almost every part on his body whenever he showers, he's a spanking clean man (even cleans the back of his ears, behind his knees, heels, shins, lower back, bellybutton, literally every place you can think of).

Sometimes, Suo likes to speak to you in different languages to see if you can understand him (he often listens to different languages). One time he insulted you in your native tongue and was surprised that you snapped back.

Sakura has the worse spice tolerance.

Hiragi has no clue what an indirect kiss is. He'll pass you his drink or food that he just put his lips on and have no problem with you biting the same place where he just bit. Umemiya called him out one time for him sharing an indirect kiss with you. He ended up beating the man.

Kaji will beat the shit out of anyone, regardless of your gender (only if you pick a fight with him first).

Endo has a specialty for breaking teeth (stole this from Hanma from TR....).

Mitsuki has fallen asleep from you talking once. He wouldn't stop apologizing for days when you ignored him.

When you're finally dating Taiga, he has no shame farting in front of you. He'll do it right beside you and say "Oops, sorry."

Tomiyama used to bite people when he was younger.

Nirei would always lose his pencils and pens and one time used a half bitten off pencil that he found on the floor right before test during elementary.

Mitsuki is a horder. He keeps all of the packaging for any of his belongings (boxes, plastic wraps with designs, cardboard boxes of the company, etc) purely because he thinks they're too good quality to throw out. On the side note, he finds some of the packaging to be too cute to throw away.

Sugishita really hates doing his hair, thus why it's always kept down all the time.

[viixenvi]

𝐉𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬 | 18+

Summary: You have been planning to steal some information from the Avengers compound. You successfully break in but what happens when the one person you never wanted to see again ends up catching you?

Characters: Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader, Steve Rogers, Tony Stark

Warnings: Torture, fighting, reader gets caught and tied up, heavy make-outs, slight flirting, some oral (Nat receiving), reader leaves Nat high and dry, villain fem!reader (Reader and Nat hate fuck whenever they catch each other guys)

This was not my best work, actually kinda bad and not proofread so forgive mistakes and like forgive me if it's bad I just had this idea weeks ago and decided to actually write it at 3 AM

Minors DNI

It was only a matter of time before you could escape. Sneaking into the Avengers compound was hard, it took weeks of planning and landing a job as a maid.

Stark was always hiring and it was just perfect when you got a call back that you had been selected for the job. Of course, this job came with risks to your plan. If you were suspected at all by any of the avengers you'd be finished. Which is exactly why you had a disguise.

Shape shifting was your specialty. It had just happened oneday, you woke up with powers of some sorts. You had no idea how to control them or how you even got them.

You were hoping this hard drive you were planning to take had the answers to some of your problems. You could only change your appearance, make others see you differently.

The only person you had to avoid at all costs was Natasha. She knew things about you that you hadn't told anyone else. You and her had a long history, one that you prefer not to think about. You had fought her previously, working with Loki. That went down hill fast and you managed to stay low since then.

Now you were definitely going to set off their radars. You have a plan though, you always have a plan.

"Can you get the lab too while you are at it?" Tony asks me as I mop the floor. I look up and nod, giving him a shy smile. He walks away, his phone in his hand.

Perfect excuse to be in his lab. You walk towards the lab, your heart racing. It was time, finally. You felt relieved, it was finally going to be over and you'd never have to see the avengers ever again.

"You are not authorized to enter this area." The voice startles you slightly. J.A.R.V.I.S was a pain to deal with.

"Mr. Stark asked me to mop the lab," You tell him. You hear nothing or a minute before the card scanner beeps with a green light and the doors click. That was surprisingly..easy?

This was too easy, you hesitate for a moment. You glance around the lab before your eyes land on a hard drive. It's the hard drive. No way Tony would just leave this out conveniently, not when he knew there was a chance it would be stolen by anyone.

But it's right there, and you don't think you have another chance. So you slowly walk up to the table, pretending to mop and swiping the drive off the table.

It swiftly makes the journey to your pocket and you walk out of the lab, leaving the mop on the floor. You have no idea how you can get out without at least being detected.

Stark was far from stupid, but your powers deceived him enough. Now all you had to do was fake an emergency and leave. You pick up the phone, pretending to get a call and panicking.

You find Steve in the living room, cleaning his shield off. "Can you please tell Mr. Stark I have to leave? There's a family emergency!" You spit out before he can really react. You are in the elevator as he says he will.

Something about the way he looked at you was confusing. He didn't even ask if everything was alright like you thought he would. If Steve was one thing, he was compassionate.

You knew they knew about your plans, or at least that you were there to steal the drive. As if on cue, the elevator doors open and Natasha is staring right at your face.

"Hello милый," her voice is sweet, just like how it used to be. You stand there for a moment, drinking in her features. You had spent the past weeks avoiding her and you never got the chance to really see her.

"Natasha, any chance you can let me go?" You say, one hand on the back of your neck as you laugh awkwardly. She tilts her head and raises an eyebrow. So it's a no.

Her fist raises to your face and you block it, swiping your leg under hers. She falls back and manages to flip onto her feet. You land a punch to her face, which angers her.

She kicks your stomach, causing you to stumble back. Before you can even think, she punches your face. You can feel the blood gushing out of your nose. You wipe it away with your hand while Natasha stands in front of you. She's focused on your face and movements.

You could tell she was analyzing you. You both hadn't fought each other in a while and it was obvious you were holding back. You couldn't get yourself to hurt her.

Natasha runs past you, jumping up off the wall and wrapping her legs around your neck. You pin her arms back and lean down, flipping her over in front of you. She breaks free from your grasp and jumps, spinning and kicking you directly in the face.

You fall over and close your eyes, consciousness barely hanging on. Natasha is a damn good fighter and you could admit it. Natasha hovers over you, pulling the drive out of your pocket.

"Some things don't change," She says just before you black out.

When you finally wake up, pain surges through your body. The familiar metallic taste of blood in your mouth reminds you of what happened.

You move to pull your hands free but it seems they cuffed you with some heavy metal cuffs. They definitely seem to be stopping your powers from being used. You are in a bedroom, which seems to be weird for the team as they have their own interrogation room and cells.

A figure comes into view and you know it's Natasha. "It's funny, you always end up in front of me bound by something," She chuckles. I sigh and close my eyes, the headache pounding in my head is not helping the pain.

"If you are going to kill me, just do it."

Natasha pulls her knife out, pushing the tip under my chin and lifting my head. "Aw, you wound me, baby."

"Don't call me that," You spit, clenching your jaw. You and Natasha always had a love-hate relationship. You were a villain and her job was to kill them.

"Tell me why you need the drive and maybe we can have a little fun," She whispers in your ear. You decide to play along, long enough for her to get you out of these cuffs.

"If I tell you, will you take these cuffs off?" You ask, giving her a defeated look.

"Yes."

"They paid me to take it, said there are plans on it they need. I didn't get any other information. I just know that they can kill me easily." Natasha sits on the chair across from you, spinning her knife in her hand.

"Who?"

"I have no idea. Some alien guy, he's weird looking," You tell her. You try to steady your heartbeat and avoid actions that will tell her you are lying.

Natasha seems to like this answer because she gets up and walks behind you. A moment later, the cuffs are no longer clasped on your hands.

You feel Natasha's hands on your shoulders, gliding down your arms. You almost shiver at her touch. You don't want to play into this, but she has given you no choice.

There's a smile on her face when you spin around, your hands on her waist. Your lips meet hers and the kiss is almost electric. Her lips are soft and you taste the cherry lipgloss.

She pushes you onto the bed but you flip over and get on top of her, unzipping her suit. Her belt is thrown onto the floor, not before you take something out of it.

"Fuck, I need you so bad," You whisper against the skin of her neck. You kiss down it, your warm lips sending shivers down her spine.

Her hands roam your body, pulling up your shirt. You stop her before she can fully take it off. "No, let me take care of your first, baby."

She pulls you into a kiss before you descend down her body, leaving trails of kisses. You pull the rest of the suit down to her ankles, kissing up her thigh.

You reach her lips, kissing them before spreading her legs and pushing your face close. Your tongue glides over her clit, circling it. Natasha moans, lifting her hips up and throwing her head back.

You wanted so badly to finish what you started, but you needed the drive and Natasha wasn't going to distract you again.

So you pull away, crawling on top of her and grabbing her face to kiss her. You carefully place a tazer disk on her neck and get off her before activating it.

Natasha gasps and falls unconscious from the tazer and you cover her up with a blanket. This was payback for the last time she caught you. This was your thing, always leaving the other wanting more. It kept up the attraction.

This time you may have gone too far, but your life depended on getting this drive and you didn't care what you did to get it.

You won this time.

[applecherrytea]

“Under the Rain, Stuck in my room”

Request from @diced-sugar: Hello! I just came across your blog from scrolling through the twst tag, so sorry I don’t know much about your preferences for writing certain characters 😞 but, if you want a request, could we maybe get something to do with your fav twst character and the prefect being forced to stay together at ramshackle due to a rainy day? Could be cute!! Have a nice day!!

A/N: AAAAAAA I’m so happy! Finally! An excuse to write about my husband and children! Most of these will be romantic, but if you want a platonic version all you need to be is send in an ask! I’ll be happy to write one! Thanks again for sending me your request! I hope you’ll like this!

Character(s) Involved: Trey Clover, Leona Kingscholar, Idia Shroud, Malleus Draconia

CW/TW: G/N!Reader for the most of it. Some strong language during Idia’s part

The downpour came on so suddenly, one moment the sky was sunny and bright, the next it started raining so bad that all classes were suspended! Luckily you and [Character] are together! It’s too bad he wouldn’t be able to go back to his dorm though…

The rain really came on as a surprise. You had asked him to come over, so he could help you out with baking and learning how to cook with the ingredients you were able to haggle at Mr. Sam’s shop. You still can’t believe that that place was more than a magic store. “Wow…it’s really raining out there..” You say as you lean yourself on the window sill, Trey behind you, cooking up what was left of the ingredients you bought. “I already called Riddle, he said I should stay here till the storm blows over.” he said as he plated the food, “You don’t mind, do you perfect?” you signal no with your head, moving away from the window to help Trey out with cleaning up so you both could eat.

Leona was already getting comfortable on your couch as you watched the rain from the guest room window. “This sucks!” Leona peeks open one eye, “I was really looking forward to those specialty lunches they were gonna serve at the cafeteria!” you stomped your way over to the couch, plopping yourself on the empty space Leona gracefully left for you. “You know,” the lion beastman mused, “if you want, I can just order it for you?” he says as he pulls you down to his chest. You look at him quizzically “You really?” he hummed in response, “I told you already, you can use my money on whatever you need. And if what you need is a specialty lunch then,” he offered his phone to you “knock yourself out” You gleaned as you stood up with his phone in your hand, ordering lunch for you three. “Thanks a lot, love!” you pecked his cheek as you stood up from the couch, picking up Grim in the process.

“THIS SUCKS ASS!!!” both you and Idia screamed as you watched the rain pour down. He slumps down to the ground, back facing the wall. “This is so not cool…it’s like watching your new game unload all its data for hours!” you sighed as you joined the complaining housewarden on the floor. “Tell me about it..” you both sat in silence for a while, fidgeting with nearby things as you awkwardly awaited for the rain to stop. “So…” Idia sat idly as he took out his phone, “wanna play while we wait this out?” you smirked as a response, “Is that even a question?” You and Idia spent the next hours playing around multiple games, so long that the weather had passed and Ortho had to come out and take Idia back to Ignihyde.

You knew that the rain was coming, props to the forecaster for reporting about it. You sat in your living room with Grim for a while, waiting for a special someone to come over for your usual nightly walks. “I wonder how long he’s gonna take? The rain looks so serious…” As you said those words, a knock came from the main door. You hurriedly get up from the couch you were lazing on, wearing your rain clothes as well as an umbrella as you open the doors. “Hornton! There you are, was wondering when you’d come over.” you opened the door widely for Malleus. He smiled as he entered your dorm. “Thank you, child of man. If you are ready, then shall we go and take a look at the gargoyles?” You nod happily as you head out with Malleus for a rainy adventure.

[pekoehoneyncream]

Ghoaptober # 3

Prompt: Hurt

Words: 5100~

TW: Distressing/Negative Sexual Experiences, Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Restraints, Intersex Omegas (NOT sfw)

This version of Ghoaptober was created by @spadesandshovels

Please note that all the Distressing/Negative Sexual Experiences are not between Ghost and Soap. I think this one is right on the line for dub-con, so proceed with caution if that's something that might trigger you. If this is missing any trigger warning please do let me know!

I've always had an itch to subvert the 'omega desperately needs to get fucked during their heat' trope, so I honestly shouldn't be so surprised that this one got away from me like it did.

Enjoy!

As an omega, Soap had started preparing for his heat a good month in advance, he’d gathered up his favourite nesting blankets and made sure they were freshly laundered, he’d scouted a good Heat-Hotel that was nearby and booked a room, he’d even secured a partner. Some of the other omegas on base had been touting this new matcher app, that they’d reportedly had massive success with, so Soap had decided to give it a whirl and signed up. What’s the worst that could happen, he was no doubt better trained than any of the civvies he’d be meeting up with. 

He’d been talking to an alpha named Dominic Wilckes and when the subject of his heat had come up, Dominic had asked if Soap was looking for a partner. With no reason to say no, Soap had said yes. He’s spent heats with and without partners before, and found accompanied heats to be much more manageable. 

Soap was in his room at the Heat-Hotel now, securing a layer of waterproof Heat-Sheets over his carefully arranged nest. When his heat was spiking he didn’t care, but when he was in a lull or was coming down, he hated having his nest being a messy, sticky, uncomfortable, ruined heap of blankets. So he’d learned how to weave a sturdy nest and had invested in specialty sheets that would keep it clean. 

His phone buzzed rapidly on the table, it was Dominic.

“here”

“safe n sOund solotions?”

“in the lobby”

“whr r u”

Dominic was a nice guy, but Soap could admit that the way he texted was a bit annoying. Having his messages open to send Dominic the room number reminded him that he hadn’t texted Ghost yet. He pulled up his location and sent it to his Lieutenant along with a quick text,

“At Safe & Sound Solutions, Room 348, Booked for three days, Should be back Tuesday.”

His message showed as being read within the minute and while he was waiting to see if Ghost would reply another message came in from Dominic,

“come down”

Soap reread the message, why would he need to go down to the lobby? Maybe there was an issue Dominic needed help with? Confused, but willing to help, Soap texted back a quick ‘On my way.’ and headed out, his riled instincts insisting he double and triple check that he’d locked the door to his room. That he made sure his nest was safe from intruders.

In the lobby, Soap found Dominic leaning up against the wall next to the lifts with a bag at his feet. Walking over, he tried to spot where the problem was. 

“Dominic? Whit’s wrong?” Soap questioned,

“Hey, John. Some of the people were giving me weird looks. I needed you to come to show them I’m not some creep hanging around for nothing.” Dominic stood from his lean and stepped into Soap’s space, bringing his arm up to rub a wrist over Soap’s nape. Scenting him. Soap let him, tilting his shoulders so the other man wouldn’t accidentally brush his mating glands, they got heinously sensitive when he was heating.  

“Oh, alrigh’,” Soap privately thought that Dominic was overthinking it, if anyone was looking at him weird it was for loitering around in the lobby, but not actually sitting in any of the many chairs scattered throughout. The lobby of every Heat-Hotel that Soap had ever visited always looked like Moses had called a plague of plush chintzy furniture down upon them. 

Soap led Dominic back into the lift, pressing the button for his floor. A chime from his phone brought his attention to the fact that Ghost had replied, he’d reacted to Soap’s message with a thumbs up and had sent back,

“Rog.” 

Ghost had a habit of reading his notifications as soon as he could, but often didn’t have the time to actually reply until later. 

“Who’s that?” Dominic asked, peeking over Soap’s arm to get a look at the screen. 

Soap locked his phone, the smile that had pulled up the corners of his mouth falling away. 

“Mah L.T. He likes tae know every’hings guid.” Soap replies, watching the numbers of the lift ding over to his floor and stepping out as the doors parted.

“Your L.T? What’s that?” Dominic crowded up against his back as he tried to finagle the keycard into scanning properly and unlocking the door. 

“Mah Lieutenant.” Soap pulls the door flush closed, grips the handle to make sure it’s sitting straight, then tries sliding the keycard through at a snail's pace. The light flashes green and he whips the door open before it can change its mind, sending a silent thanks out to Price for teaching him how to sweet-talk card readers. 

“Oh yeah. You're in some kinda military army thing right?” Dominic’s realization carried a strange tone of praise. 

“Yeah, U.K.S.F,” Soap clocks Dominics blank gaze and spells it out for him before he can ask, “United Kingdom Special Forces,”

A light comes on behind Dominic’s eyes, but a skeptical look crinkles his nose. “But can’t only U.K citizens join?” 

It's Soap’s turn to stare blankly, “Aye?” the answer carries a subtext of ‘you dumbass’ that Soap couldn’t have stopped if there were hostages at stake.

Soap watches Dominic’s confused look intensify. Good, they could be confused together.

“But aren’t you Irish?” 

“Nae!” Soap refutes, that idea in need of immediate culling, “Ah’m no' Irish. Ah’m a fuckin’ Scot!”

“Oh, I didn’t know Scottish people could join the British army?” 

Soap searches Dominic's face for any sign that he’s joking, Dominic looks earnestly back at him. 

Jesus Christ.

He’s not joking. 

“Scotland’s a par’ ae the U.K,” Soap says hesitantly, leadingly, begging Dominic to spend one brain cell on remembering his First Year geography lessons.

“Oh, Alright.” Dominic shrugs in a ‘whatever you say’ manner, that makes Soap think he’s doing it more to drop the conversation than he actually believes what he’s been told, “Are you already set up? When does your heat kick in?”

Dominic glances around the room, looking over Soap’s preparations, dropping his bag off his shoulder onto the desk pressed against the wall. Why a Heat-Hotel thought its room's occupants might need a desk, was the true mystery of the night. 

Soap shakes himself free of the disbelief clogging his brain, and checked his watch, “Wi’hin the ‘our, mebbe twen’y minutes?” 

Dominic shoots him an odd look again, clearly thinking something over.

“Whit? Whit’s wrong?” Soap glances around himself, but nothing looks wrong to him.

“Your accent’s cute, John, but it’s a bit hard to understand you. You know?” Dominic's tone is assured, almost complimentary, “It’s gonna be hard to know what you want if I can’t understand you.” He coaxes, like a parent reasoning with their toddler to not bite electrical cables. Like it’s what was best for everyone.

Baffled, Soap stares at him. He’s never gotten flak about his accent from his previous partners, everyone else had seemed to enjoy it. At least, Soap had thought they’d enjoyed it. 

“Aye,” Soap swallows hard, his stomach roiling “Eh- Uh- Yes. I can- Um- I’ll try tae- to speak,” Flustered, Soap stutters through his answer as he tries to flatten his accent, “I’ll try to speak more clearly.”

“That’s all I’m asking.” Dominic nods at him, “Now,” he slaps at his own thighs, “Where are we setting up? On the bed?” He walks over to the bed, toting his bag, and starts rummaging through the nightstands, “They don’t have anything here, it's a good thing I brought my own stuff.” 

Soap eyes him as he approaches the nest, wincing as his tossed bag knocks free a carefully stacked pillow. Dominic clatters around a bit more, checking the minifridge and all the drawers in the desk. 

“Where’s your stuff?” He turns back to Soap.

Soap points wordlessly at the gutted dufflebag he’d carried his blankets over in. 

“Oh, you don’t use toys? A good omega? Like whining on your fingers instead?” Dominic’s voice dripped with sudden lascivious intent, he dropped his head to eye Soap through his lashes, licking his lips and petting his hands over his bag, “That’s okay, baby. Alpha will take care of you. I’ll give you everything you need.”

Soap inhaled shakily. He must not laugh. If he laughed he’d be out of a heat partner and his instincts would insist on him moving the nest. If he moved rooms he’d have to update Ghost. Ghost would worry about why he moved rooms and insist on checking on him. If his L.T came within one city block of him when he was on his heat Soap was dragging that alpha into his nest and not letting him leave. Soap did not want his L.T to write him up for fraternization. 

He must not laugh. 

“Oh yeah?” Soap eked out. Dominic must take the breathiness of his voice to be anticipation as his look only grew more seductive. 

“Yeah, baby. Come get comfy in your nest and Alpha will show you the presents he brought.” Dominic pats a hand on the nest, then gives it a surprised glance, “These are the blankets you want? They’re not very soft.”

Soap explains about how he doesn’t like his nest getting dirty as he crawls up onto the bed, petting a proprietary hand over his nest. It’s not like the blankets were scratchy terrycloth or anything, they were Heat-Sheets, they were made specifically for heats, they wouldn’t sell if they weren’t comfortable. 

“Here,” Dominic reached forward and Soap frantically knocks the hand away before it could tear into his nest. The judging look that Dominic shot him was completely uncalled for. What kind of psycho fucks with an omega’s nest. 

“What?” Dominic furrows his eyebrows at the omega, “I was just gonna show you a better way to do it. You could put a soft sheet on top, so you’re not laying on something so rough. I know omegas are super sensitive about that kinda stuff.”

“Nae- No. No, it’s fine like this. Thank you, Dominic.” Soap assures, sliding over to sit on the bed directly in front of Dominic, firmly between his nest and the alpha. 

After eyeing him for a moment longer, Dominic shugs and turns back to his bag, muttering something about omegas being so picky under his breath. 

“I got you that water you like,” he says, pulling three one-litre bottles of Volvic mineral water out of his bag and setting them on the nightstand. Soap felt warmed and a touch shocked, he’d only mentioned that he likes Volvic best in passing. The warm feeling vanished when the next item Dominic pulled from his bag of tricks was a tall omegaen guard-collar.

“I know it’s usually that alphas wear muzzles for heats and omegas wear collars for ruts, but the skin on my face is super sensitive and I’ll get a rash if I wear a muzzle,” Dominic explained, handing over the collar when Soap hesitantly reached for it. 

It was made of good thick leather, fastening with two buckles in the back instead of a cheap zipper. The things that were throwing Soap off were that it was much taller than the typical guard-collar, how it flared out at the bottom to cover over his trapeziuses, and the four D-rings spaced around its middle. It honestly looked more like a posture-collar. 

“I was looking into the failure rate of guard-collars and this one has amazing reviews and no accidental bites,” Dominic supplies, tapping at the collar in Soap's hands, “Do you need help putting it on?”

Soap absently nods, not really processing what’s being said to him, and finds the contraption out of his hands and strapped around his neck within two heartbeats. Hands coming up to scrabble at the new pressure squishing his mating glands Soap gives a startled yelp and Dominic quickly grabs his hands. Shushing and cooing at him, giving his hands a firm squeeze when he tries to pull away. 

“It’s alright, omega. You’re doing so well.” Tuning out Dominic's crooning, Soap focused on calming his breathing.

In for four, hold for four, out for four. In for four, hold for four, out for four.

With his breath under control, Soap can admit that the collar isn’t as restrictive as he’d feared, he can breathe fine, and turn his head. Looking down or up presses a bit, but it’s not terrible.

Focusing on himself for a moment also revealed to Soap that he’d been so busy judging Dominic that he’d completely missed his body cresting through pre-heat. Taking another deep breath Soap warns the alpha that he’ll be going into full heat in a minute or two and watches the shocked look take over Dominic's face. It’s not surprising to Soap that Dominic hadn’t noticed, Soap’s scent has never been particularly loud and he’s not throwing himself at the alpha like the needy heat-drunk omegas do in films. 

The next few minutes are admittedly blurry to Soap as his body plunges into full heat, when he comes back to himself he’s face down with his ass up in the air and Dominic is playing between his thighs. By the wetness dripping down his legs Soap guesses that he’s already cum once, that or Dominic drools more than Eas A’  Chual Aluinn. 

Giving a pitching whine, Soap tries to get up onto his elbows and finds that the guard-collar wasn't Dominic’s only gift for him. There are soft leather cuffs secured around his wrists, latched closed with simple carabiners and attached to one of the D-rings of his collar with a short chain. Stopping him from lifting his head more than about twenty centimetres away from his hands and, consequently, the bed. 

“Do- Dominic?” He pants through his confusion and feels the man pull his tongue and what felt like three fingers out of his hole. 

“Back with me, omega? You’re doing so well. Getting so wet for me. Cumming so pretty.” Dominic rumbles, reverent fingers coming back to pet over Soap’s twitching hole. 

Soap pushes back into the touch, feeling achingly empty, his lower belly cramping with the need to be filled. 

“Alpha, please,” he whines “Need your knot, please, please, knot me, ple-”

“Hush.” Dominic commands and the omega’s jaw snaps shut, “I’m not done with you yet, omega. Be quiet and settle down. Take what alpha gives you.” 

Tears prickled behind Soap’s eyes. He got his elbows under himself and lifted his head up off of the nest as far as he could, breathing easier without the blankets in his face. He yelps when hot suction suddenly seals around his cocklet with three fingers plunging back into his hole to bully his sweet spot. Thighs shaking, Soap is pushed into another orgasm, face falling back into the sheets, muffling his squeals when Dominic doesn’t let up. Hard sucks and forceful strokes propelling him through one orgasm and directly into the next. 

His honest yelping coaxes Dominic off his cocklet, “Poor omega,” The alpha croons, petting over his thighs and grabbing at his ass, “So needy. It’s okay, alpha’s here. Alpha will give you what you need.” 

“Knot- Knot me. Alpha, please. Need it.” Soap begs shamelessly, the heat roaring through him stoked by his untied orgasms, his body painfully demanding for him to be knotted and filled.

“I don’t know,” comes Dominic’s teasing reply, leaking more false sympathy than Soap’s hole was leaking slick, “Have you been a good omega? Do you deserve my knot?” 

“Yes, Yes.” Soap nods as much as the collar allows, still careful to smother his accent, “Please, need it.”

“Okay, omega. Alpha will help you.” Dominic’s fingers pull out of him and an actual sob escapes Soap when instead of a cock, he feels a tongue push into his hole. He purposely turns into the sheets to muffle his cries, his instincts rioting and his climbing temperature making him feel sick.

A brief unwelcome stroke over his asshole yanks him from his spiral. His head snaps up, eyes wide and stinging with unshed tears. Did he imagine it? His chest heaves and he freezes perfectly still, staring blankly down at the tangle his nest has become. 

A finger, wet with what he can only assume is his own slick, prods past his rim up to the second knuckle and Soap gives a startled yowl, “Nae! Nae! Donnae do tha!”

“No?” Comes Dominic’s skeptical tease, his free hand squeezing goadingly at Soap’s hip, “My poor Omega doesn't want all his heated holes nice and full?”

Soap frantically shakes his head, lacking words, but filled with denial. Tears knocked loose and coursing unseen down his cheeks.

“Alright,” Dominic agreed, no less skeptical, but slowly withdrawing his finger regardless.

When Soap felt that same finger slide down to line up with his hole’s entrance the omega is willing to admit that he may have come a little unglued.

He snarled, wriggling and kicking back at the alpha, yanking bruises into his wrists in the shape of the cuffs that bound them. Soap managed to thrash his way upright and huddled up against the headboard. Hissing at the flabbergasted alpha knelt at the foot of the bed, giving another throat tearing snarl when Dominic tried to reach for him. His instincts in full control and having decidedly assessed the alpha to be a bad heat partner. 

Keeping his full attention on the man, Soap brought his wrists up and bit open the carabiners, untethering the cuffs from the collar then unfastening the cuffs to slide them off altogether. His freed hands immediately moving behind his neck to unbuckle the collar, fumbling blindly and growling with bared teeth when the alpha made a move towards him. Managing to finagle the first buckle loose, he unhooked the second with much more finesse. Tossing the collar aside, Soap heaved a breath of relief, hands coming up to rub at his sore mating glands, the glands feeling nearly bruised from the constant pressing of the collar. 

“John, Calm down,” Dominic spoke up, voice slow and hesitant, “Everything’s fine, stop freaking out,”

Soap would have liked to close his eyes and regroup, but really didn't like the idea of leaving Dominic unsupervised. Instead he started up his breathing exercises again while keeping the alpha firmly within his sights.

In for four, hold for four, out for four.

“That’s good. Just calm down,” Dominic praised, stretching forward to reach for Soap’s drawn up knees. 

Soap tossed the idea of regulating his breath out the window and drew himself up, “Dominic,” He ground out of a throat that only wanted to produce growls, “Do. Not. Touch. Me.” 

Dominic sat back on the bed, stymied, thoroughly confused, and a little offended. 

Soap’s temperature was spiking, though the want to be knotted and filled had completely vanished. Falling forward onto his hands, Soap panted for air, sweat pouring down his skin. His vision was fading, the sound of Dominic saying something coming through muffled, like his ears were stuffed with cotton. Chills and prickles raced up his spine to dance over his scalp. His throat felt like it was shrinking to the size of a straw. 

Something wet touched his bottom lip and he was automatically gulping down the water before he consciously made the decision to drink. The ringing faded from his ears just enough for him to hear Dominic.

“-hn, I called the emergency line. There’s a nurse comi-”

Soap’s vision blacked out.

When he blinked back to himself he was flat on his back with something cold pressing against the nape of his neck and his legs being held aloft by a beta woman that was standing beside the bed. Struggling to get his eyes to properly focus, he grunted his confusion.

“Hello, Mr Mactavish. I’m Kelly. How are you feeling?” The beta, Kelly, spoke with a voice that was friendly, but not perky. More of a matter-of-fact warmth. 

“Pre’y shite,” He groaned out, letting his eyes fall closed again as he rubbed at his face. Dimly registering that a thin blanket had been draped over his hips to cover his unmentionables.

“Yeah, I’d guess so,” Kelly commiserates, gently lowering his legs back onto the bed, “Could you keep your knees up for me? Just like that. Perfect. So, Mr Mactavish, you’ve just had a rather bad bout of Heat Rejection,” Kelly informs him, while keeping a grounding hand on his obediently raised knees, “It’s completely natural and not at all life threatening, the symptoms should level out within the next twenty-four hours. You’re welcome to ride it out in the medical suite here with us, or if you have someone that you can call that can sit with you for that time you’re free to leave.”

Soap slowly thinks this over, cracking open an eye and blearily noticed that the room is empty of anyone but Kelly and himself. “Dominic,” He grunts, not quite managing to make it pitch up into a question.

“I asked Mr Wilckes to wait in the hall, as I wasn’t sure if his presence would make you uncomfortable.” Kelly is a consummate professional, but Soap thinks he can detect hints of scorn flitting about the corners of her eyes, “I can call him back in if that’s what you want.”

“Nae.” Soap denies, “Nae, I dun wan’ ‘im ‘ere. If ye coul' pass me mah phone I’ve someone tha’ can take me outta y’ur hair,”

Kelly kindly fetches his phone, though she doesn’t let him sit up to make the call. Eyeing Simon’s contact, he mentally apologizes to everyone on the base for the chaos he’s about to unleash, then hits dial.

He’s barely had the time to move the phone to his ear when the call is picked up.

“Johnny?” Ghost’s harried voice barks down the line, “What’s wrong?”

“Why’s some’hing gotta be wrong fer me tae call ye, L.T,” Soap bitches, trying to calm Ghost down from the lather he’s no doubt already worked himself into, “Gonnae gi’ a man a complex,”

“What’s wrong, Johnny” The voice that rumbles from the phone is pure domineering alpha and it kicks a reflexive placating whine from Soap’s chest. 

“Si, ah need ye tae come ge’ me,” Soap mumbles down the line, his bravado drowned by the sudden twisting need he has for Ghost to be here with him. 

“I’m coming, Johnny.” Is the immediate reply, and by the rustles coming from Ghost’s side of the call, Soap knows he’s hauling ass, “Can you stay on the line? Are you hurt?” 

“Ah’m fine, Si. Ah’m no' hurt,” Soap lets his eyes fall closed again, ignoring the judgmental look Kelly shoots him for his little fib. In his own defense, he’s not physically hurt. From what he knows of Heat Rejection, his body is just gonna be all kinds of outta wack while his hormones try to rapidly bring him back down to baseline. For now, he’s content to listen to the sounds of Simon snapping at any unfortunate soul that dared get in his way. Soap only realises that he’s begun purring when a quiet answering purr comes from Simon. 

The slam of the room door opening jolts Soap out of the calm daze he’d fallen into and he reflexively punts the most pertinent object at the intruder. Unfortunately, that object happened to be the phone he’d been holding, even more unfortunately, the intruder was Ghost. 

Ghost easily ducks the unconventional projectile and covers the distance to the bed so fast, Soap could have sworn he teleported. From Kelly’s jump she also wasn’t expecting a man of Ghost’s size to move with that speed. 

Spooky bastard, his L.T.

“Ghost!” he cheers and is climbing up the alpha to nuzzle into his neck before he can rein in his rampant instincts. 

Omega and alpha freeze, Soap midnuzzle and Ghost with his hands reflexively clamped around his Sergeant’s bare thighs. 

Kelly, the blessed angel she is, gently clears her throat. Effectively snapping the awkward tension.

“Mr MacTavish is experiencing Heat Rejection and needs someone that is able to stay with him for the next twenty-four hours, or until his symptoms abate.” She looks up at Ghost, clad in his full skull-plated balaclava and half his field kit, without fear. Soap must have called while he was busy terrifying the rooks, “Can you do that?”

Ghost gives her a solemn nod, “Yes.” 

“Perfect,” Kelly starts listing symptoms, proper care practices, and things to watch out for when dealing with Heat Rejection and Soap is man enough to admit that he didn’t listen to a lick of it.

He was busy oscillating wildly between bone shaking horror that he was clinging to his Lieutenant while bare as a newborn, a deep seated greedy pleasure that Simon had come for him without question, and the brainless need to purr and rub against this perfect alpha until the rejected alpha’s scent was gone from his skin.  

Ghost’s hands gently squeezed his thighs, then loosened as he leaned forward a bit to encourage Johnny to stand on his own. Soap gave a petulant whine, but a reassuring purr and a gentle pat to his thighs had him reluctantly hopping down. Before his instincts could coax his better sense into indulging in a full blown pout for having to give up his prize, he was distracted by the sight of Ghost knelt at his feet holding out a pair of trackies for him to step into. 

If the mere thought of any kind of sexual touch didn’t currently make Soap want to run all the way back to Alba, Ghost on his knees for him would be a very enticing image, he couldn’t guarantee that it wouldn’t be the only thing on his mind the next time the need to let off steam hit either. For now, however, Soap was tired to his core and was pitifully grateful for the help as he stepped into the trousers, letting Ghost draw them up over his hips. 

Feeling like naught more than a bairn, Soap threw his arms up at Ghost’s gesture and let the man pull a shirt over his head. The impression was not helped by Ghost then immediately picking him up and perching him on his hip. The man was only eleven centimetres taller than him, where did he get off manhandling him like he was some kind of waif. Soap grumbled to himself, but was disinclined to actually demand he be allowed to walk on his own. Content to wrap all his limbs around Simon, like a particularly lonely limpet, and purr like a motorbike while rubbing their jaws together. 

There was a bit of a scuffle when Ghost had to convince him to let go and get in the car, but by the time the car was parked again Soap was barely conscious. He dully registered Simon picking him up out of his seat, the tension falling out of his muscles when he recognized the smells of their base. He thought he heard Prize and Gaz, but their voices were far away and the rumble of Simon’s chest was nice against his. 

Johnny cracked open an eye when he was plopped onto a bed, content to drowsily track Simon as the alpha threw his duffle, once again stuffed to bursting with blankets, next to the laundry bin. Simon heading for the door sent an unpleasant jolt through him and he whined forlornly, desperate to keep his alpha here with him.

“I’m going for drinks and food, Johnny,” Simon assured him, coming back to pet a hand over his warhawk, “I’ll be right back, I promise,”

Johnny whined again, but did nothing more to stop Simon from leaving. He could also do nothing to stop his instincts from insisting that he had disappointed his alpha and the man was never coming back. Trying to appease the gordian knot his logic and instincts were tying themselves into, Johnny started rumpling around in the bed he’d been deposited onto to make up a new nest. A deep rolling purr bursting from him when he realized it was Simon’s bed. No doubt the alpha’s instincts were also going haywire, demanding he protect the omega.

No better place than the heart of his own territory for that, Johnny supposed. 

The door opened and Johnny’s reflexive hiss broke into another purr, the mere sight of Simon cutting through his anxieties. He actually barked a few ecstatic chirps when the alpha dropped lovely soft clean scentless blankets onto the bed. Johnny hadn’t chirped since his age was in the single digits, but Simon bringing him blankets -his alpha contributing to their nest-, was really doing it for him. 

Johnny lost himself in weaving the perfect nest, as he always does, and once he deemed it faultless he looked for his alpha. 

Simon was standing, backed against the wall on the other side of the room, with his hands palms out and his chin tipped up to expose his throat. His bare uncovered balaclavaless throat, to match his bare uncovered balaclavaless face. 

Oh, Johnny's alpha was perfect.

The omega might have gotten a bit overwhelmed by the sheer excellence of his alpha as he immediately went limp to flop and roll in his nest. Catching a glimpse of Simon flinching forward at his abrupt fall before realising what Johnny was doing and assuming his non-aggressive stance again, with a perfect peachy pink blush creeping up his throat to bloom over his cheeks. 

“Alpha,” Johnny called him over, patting invitingly at the nest.

Simon took a hesitant step forward and was pulled the rest of the distance to the bed by Johnny’s delighted chirps. The omega was still flopped, but curled around just enough to snag the loose fabric of Simon’s pants, retracting his hand and shaking it out with an unhappy whine when the fabric’s rough texture offended him. In the next second Simon stood before him in only his knickers. Johnny doesn’t think he’s ever seen Simon strip that fast, including that time when Simon's clothes had actually caught fire. 

Johnny gives a surprised meep, gazing wide eyed at the alpha stood vibrating before him, waiting for permission to enter his own bed. Then gets over it and hauls the man down into the nest. Pushing him around until he was in the perfect position for cuddles. Johnny purred, burying his face into the warm nook between Simon’s arm and his side, whining inconsolably when the alpha lifted his arm to give him more room, only purring again when he put it back where it was.

A hand comes up to hesitantly pet over his back, creeping upward to scratch across his nape and dig into the base of his warhawk. Johnny feels his purr drop down his throat to resonate in his chest. Announcing for all who cared to listen that Johnny considered himself to be perfectly safe, cared for, and comfortable. An answering purr kicked on in Simon’s chest and Johnny let himself drift off. 

Knowing Simon wouldn’t hurt him.

Thank You For Reading!

Let's all pray that Dominic wasn't still in the hall by the time Ghost got there, or pray for the opposite, depending on how much you hate Dominic.

So, did y'all know that Tumblr has a "4096-text-characters-per-block limit." ? Cause that was a fun discovery to have while I was trying to put this post together.

I'll admit that this one got minimal editing, if you spot something wrong lemme know!

PekoeHoneynCream's Masterlist

[wordstome]

könig as the nutcracker 🥹🥹

you just brought some terrible sleeping beast out of me, anon.

nutcracker prince König x fem reader (mostly gender neutral but you're wearing a dressing gown)

tw: mouse murder???

He's a very odd looking nutcracker, all things considered, but you can't take your eyes off of him.

"If it's a nutcracker why does it have that stupid veil over its face?" Your brother asks, noisily crunching candies between his molars. You glare at him, both for the rude remark and for chewing with his mouth open.

"This is a special one," your aunt gushes. "He's based off of a legendary soldier who never showed his face on the battlefield. One of a kind, from a specialty toy shop.”

"How interesting..." You muse, gently rubbing the fabric of the veil between your fingers. It's sturdy fabric, but still soft to the touch.

"He was probably ugly as hell," your brother declares. You swat him, and he only cackles and gets up to graze at some more sweets.

"Maybe you should try covering that ugly mug up once in a while," you call after him. He pelts you with a walnut shell.

Your aunt shakes her head fondly. "This one's not just decorative," she says. "He's a real nutcracker by Steinbach."

You look at her, wide-eyed. "So he can crack nuts?"

She nods and tosses you a hazelnut. "Try it."

You lift the wooden man's veil a little to put the hazelnut in his mouth. You could just pull the whole thing up and out of the way, but that feels almost...forbidden? You're not sure why you feel this way—he's just a piece of wood, after all, and he probably doesn't even have anything painted on underneath the veil other than those vibrant blue eyes. But even so, you're hesitant to unmask him.

Cracking the nut works like a charm, though, and some childish excitement bubbles up inside you as the remnants of the cracked hazelnut spill into your palm. "That's incredible!" you gush, running your thumb over the nutcracker's lacquered uniform.

"What do you mean incredible, that's what nutcrackers are for." Your brother returns, a few walnuts rolling around in his palm. He holds his other hand out. "Give him here."

"No. You called him ugly, so he's mad at you," you say, teasing him by holding the nutcracker out of his reach.

Your brother rolls his eyes. "Give it here, you little shit."

"Crack your own nuts," you shoot back. "This is my nutcracker."

He makes another grab for it, and this time he manages to grab the nutcracker's arm. It's only a lighthearted tussle between siblings as you shove at your brother and he refuses to let go of the nutcracker's arm—until it's not.

A terrible snapping of breaking wood causes you to gasp. The two of you stumble away from each other from the force, your brother holding a tiny wooden arm in his hand. He's just pulled it clean off. On closer inspection, your idiot brother has somehow managed to Hulk-rip the arm piece off of the piece that fits inside the socket. "This is a brand new nutcracker, how did you fuck it up?!" you cry.

"Hey, you should have—" Your brother takes one look at your expression and decides not to give you a hard time. "Look, I'm sorry. I was too rough on it. Sit tight for a second." You sit there, numbly staring at the pieces of your poor nutcracker. Really, it's your fault too—why didn't you just let him have the damn thing?

And why is this upsetting you so much? The nutcracker's just a decoration, albeit one with a little more function than most. You feel a sort of attraction to this little wooden man in your hand, though. Maybe it's because his unique design is interesting, or maybe it's because you're intrigued by the idea of a masked soldier who never shows his face. Either way, he was your gift anyway, so it's not that unusual that you're attached to him...right?

"Here, let me see him." Your brother's back, but to your horror, he's holding a pair of needle-nose pliers. "Absolutely not," you respond, jumping up from where you were sitting on the floor. "You are not getting anywhere near my nutcracker with those things. You're just going to fuck it up even more."

"It'll be fiiine," he insists, clicking the pliers open and closed like some maniacal toy surgeon. You're not sure you like the devious glint in his eye. Your brother's a nice guy for the most part, but sometimes he gets this look in his eye that you imagine Dr Frankenstein must have had when he was assembling his creation.

You hold the nutcracker and his detached arm protectively to your chest. "I'll figure out how to fix him in the morning with glue or something," you insist. "I don't need you poking around with pliers and splintering the wood."

"Are you sure? I am sorry, for what it's worth."

You wave him off. You're still kind of mad at him, but you're both adults. You'll live. "Don't worry about it. I think I'm going to head to bed soon, anyway."

"You should keep his arm with him, dear," you aunt pipes up. She had gone into the kitchen during the whole ordeal, but had probably heard everything go down. "Tape it to his side or something. You wouldn't want to lose it."

That's a good idea, you muse, examining your poor amputated nutcracker. You're just about to take her suggestion when you get an idea.

Your brother checks in with you later, right before he goes to bed as well. "You can't be serious," he says. "You made him an arm sling?"

You tie the knot on the little scrap of cloth around the little wooden man's arm nice and snug. "Oh, I'm dead serious," you say. "Doesn't he look cute?"

Your brother lets out a resigned sigh. "Yeah. Sure."

The rest of the evening is relatively uneventful. You put the nutcracker in your room, right on top of the dresser, while you go about your bedtime routine. It always brings you a bit of joy to walk out of the bathroom and see him there, standing tall and proud.

Well, your evening would have been uneventful...had you not bolted awake in bed an hour or two later.

You're groggy and confused, trying to figure out what the hell is going on, when you hear the cacophony of noise. It sounds like footsteps, dozens upon dozens of them, stampeding through your walls. And then the mice show up.

They crawl up from the corners and the floorboards, swarming across your room. You're too terrified to move or even scream out, sure that you must be having some terrible nightmare or hallucination.

And then your nutcracker moves.

You're absolutely positive now that you must be dreaming, watching frozen from your bed as your nutcracker leaps down from your dresser as if he's a living, breathing man and beginning to fight the mice. And he's even...talking?

"Finally, some worthy adversaries!" you hear him cry. You gape at this bloodthirsty little soldier as he beats through mouse after mouse with his tiny sword.

It's an impossible battle, you think. There's no way he can take all those mice alone, and with one injured arm aside...you're usually pretty squeamish when it comes to dubious little animals, but you can't just leave your nutcracker to be overwhelmed. Besides, this is all a dream, so nothing matters, right?

There's one mouse, larger than the others, who's at the back of the pack, squeaking as if giving orders. You're having quite a wild dream, honestly, because the mouse is even wearing a little crown. Like a king, you think with some amusement. You reach over the edge of your bed to pick the mouse up by the scruff.

You're not quite sure what happens next. One moment, the mouse is chattering angrily at you, the next you're on the floor. At first you think you've simply lost your balance and fallen onto the floor, but when you scramble to your feet, you nearly fall over again as you take in your surroundings.

You've shrunk.

Your bedroom is cavernous above your head, your bedposts and furniture as tall as skyscrapers. And worse still, the mice are huge too: the once palm-sized mouse king is now as large as you are, sneering down at you from his snout. You didn't even know mice could sneer.

You yelp and throw yourself to the side to dodge one of the mice lunging at you. "It's time to wake up," you mutter to yourself through clenched teeth. "It would be really really nice to wake up right about now...!"

The mice are unrelenting, a vicious gleam in their eyes as they nip at your heels. They manage to corner you against a piece of furniture, snapping their jaws menacingly. All you can think to do is pray as they draw ever closer, their breath hot as they crowd around you—

A sword neatly lops off the head of one of the mice in front of you.

You gasp and look upwards to see your nutcracker looming above you, his sword gleaming in the low light of your bedroom. He's incredibly menacing at this size, his veil becoming intimidating rather than charming. You're far smaller than him now—if he had been a normal sized man, he would have easily cleared six feet. His eyes are vibrant and intense, staring down at you for a brief moment before they turn back towards his enemy.

You sit there, stock-still in awe as you watch him mow through his adversaries. It takes you a moment to realize you probably shouldn't be hanging around and gawping. Good thing, too, because your knight in shining lacquer is too distracted to notice he's being snuck up on. The larger mouse is creeping up behind him, a wicked glint in its eye.

"No!" you cry. Thinking fast, you pull off your slipper and chuck it at the mouse's head, stunning it. I can't believe that actually worked, you think.

You have to give your nutcracker some credit, his reflexes are wicked-sharp. In a single heartbeat, he's run the mouse king through with his sword. He cuts an imposing figure, his eyes sharp and deadly. But there's a sort of glee in them as well, the kind of thing that should make you uneasy.

It doesn't.

The rest of the mice, seeing their leader fallen, beat a hasty retreat, tugging the corpses of their fallen comrades along with them. You watch them, fascinated, until all that remains of the bloody conflict are a few tiny pools of blood streaked along your floorboards.

"I must thank you," comes the voice of your nutcracker. You look at him, unsure of what to say. You're welcome for throwing a shoe at a giant mouse to keep it from killing you?

"I...of course," is what eventually comes out. You smooth out your dressing gown in a futile effort to look presentable. "I couldn't let him hurt you."

The nutcracker tilts his head curiously. "You don't know me."

"Of course I do. You're my nutcracker," you say, instantly feeling silly once the words leave your mouth. You just received him as a gift, and you only just found out he was sentient anyway. You don't know why you feel so protective...

He shifts his injured arm, the sling still in place. "You bound my arm, as well."

You flush with embarrassment. "I-it was the least I could do," you stammer. "I shouldn't have let my brother do that. Really, it was my own fault—" Your words die in your throat as the nutcracker moves in close to you, so close that you can feel his body heat. Since when did he have body heat?

"Pretty," he murmurs under his breath. You stare at him, dumbfounded. Is your nutcracker...hitting on you?

Suddenly, you snap back to your senses. "Oh my God," you exclaim, staring down at yourself and then back towards your surroundings. "I'm still small. And I haven't woken up yet. Am I dreaming? I must be dreaming. Please tell me I'm dreaming." You pinch your skin, letting out a small exclamation when it hurts. But you still don't wake up.

"Hmm...you won't solve your predicament that easily, little one," the nutcracker muses.

"Wha—do you know how to fix this?"

"I have a hunch," he responds, brow furrowing. You hadn't noticed eyebrows on him when you were examining him earlier in the evening, you note.

"Do tell."

"You've had a curse placed on you, but I don't know how to break it. I do, however, know someone who might know how."

"Well then take me to them!" You stare at him beseechingly. You watch as several indecipherable emotions run through his eyes, then he nods.

You visibly relax. "Thank you."

"You'll have to trust me. You may find the whole process a little...fantastical."

"More fantastical than my nutcracker coming to life and fighting an army of mice on my bedroom floor?" you ask, cocking an eyebrow. His eyes crinkle in a way that must mean he's smiling.

"More fantastical than that," he says. He offers you a hand like a true gentleman, and to your shock, it feels like flesh, not wood. His grip is firm but soothing, his hand so huge it dwarfs your own.

"Let's do this, then."

uhhhhhhh wow this got kinda long I had to cut it short. I'll probably write a part 2? But it's gotta wait because I've got a gazillion other things to write first :P Thank you for the inspiration, anon! 🥺

[threepandas]

Bad End: We Are

Senatus was a ecumenopolis. The "shining jewel" (yeah, right) of the Galactic Core. Please. Like? Maybe it was! If you were RICH AS FUCK. I don't know. I'VE never seen the towers. The heights. Most people haven't. Street level? Is about FIVE HUNDRED FLOORS DOWN. And the UNDERGROUND? Speak not of it.

The Underground GROWS.

What was street level today, may not be tomorrow. Levels buried under "progress" as the rich grow ever higher. The Tox levels ever worse. Air quality dropping. Why fix the peasant's poverty and despair, when you can buy a Sky garden you'll never use? And yes, I AM bitter as a Buirian fish ration. Just as salty too. Taste the SEA, motherfuckers.

Rent? Who can AFFORD rent!? Who can afford ANYTHING?!

It's some BULLSHIT.

But me? I remembered. A life. Before this one. Before the millennium of slow, drip drip drip erosion of duty and dues. Back when people still REMEMBERED what they were OWED. And when folks in power failed to pay up? Ffffuck um. Take it. Our house now, motherfuckers. Diplomacy was a courtesy not a weakness.

....I make people nervous, honestly.

Probably why I keep getting fired. That and my constantly reporting people to regulatory boards. Maybe don't break the LAW if you don't want to get in trouble you SHITS. Fuck you! Yes, I stole your fancy office chair. PROVE IT. You don't know how the security system works!

Where was I? Ah, right. Rent.

Fuck Rent.

Thing is? What! Is a biodome? If not an enclosed system, regulated by machines, for optimal habitability? And! What? Is an Deep Underground Level? Long forgotten? Abandoned, if you will~, if not? A complete enclosed environment? Does someone OWN them? Yes. Technically. But are they MAINTAINING them? CHECKING on them? Nope!

Common knowledge, after all, says that EVERYTHING down their is "beyond salvaging"!

Free Real Estate~☆

I just need some supplies. Which? Cheaper in the long run then RENT. Especially if ya' salvage um. Maybe steal some tool sets from your shitty, shitty Mechanics job, because your boss refuses to pay you. Who can say? Not me! I just FOUND these tools! Like maaaagic~

And really, one man's junk? Another man's treasure. I pay more then the trash company. Hit up the right cleaning companies? And? Oops. They've "lost" some of those SUPER broken righ folks "junk" that? At best? Just needed a few wires replaced, resecured. Maybe a new part. Or were, you know, not the latest and greatest anymore.

Shove it all in a storage locker? Sell the refurb'd shit I don't need? Sleep in a glorified shoebox? And?? Bam. Operation "fuck ya'll, i'ma moleman" is a go. It takes FOREVER to find the right WILDLY out of date (and long abandoned) lift, but I find it! Hidden away in a service area in some crumbling, forgotten corner of what once was a rail station.

Gonna have to fix THAT up too. Later, though. First? The lift. The wires are brittle and the lift's pully system is half rusted, frozen, or otherwise broken. Luckily, the car itself is fine. It... takes a bit of research. Not going to lie. It's far from my specialty. I even call in a professional to go over my work.

They catch a few things. Not immediate concerns, but would have been fatal in the long run. Money well spent. For my hobby, of course. Fixing up old bits of the city. Which is a weird but not impossible hobby to have.

Ask me no questions, I'll tell you no lies, my dude.

First thing down? Lights, melter, and duraplast sheets. Toolkit too, for obvious reasons. Same with my full body hazard suit. I go DEEP. Like... no longer can hear the city, deep. 'Bout halfway point. Takes nearly thirty minutes. And while not a fast lift? Holy SHIT, man.

The floor I step out into is... bad.

Dead in a way that's hard to explain. There's pressure against my suit. Centuries of heavy gasses slowly working their way down. Swirling in the silence. The dust and impossible dark. My headlight feels almost... sacrilegious. Dangerous. Like I'm waving a flashlight around some ancient burial ground, filled with the not so restful dead.

I had heard... that they? Just... just LEFT droids down here. That there were levels upon levels of dangerously feral machines. Slowly rotting away in the darkness. Probably rightfully angry, that they had been built to serve, to do duties, which they HAD done... only to be consigned to hell on earth for the sake of CONVENIENCE.

I'd be mad too. Fucking LIVID. Would remember and hate, never let it go.

This was no place of honor, it was a tomb.

Still, I got too work. Set up a light by the lift and started measuring out the original air box. The air cleaners could only handle so much. And THIS? This was worse then expected. So it'd have to be smaller then originally planned. Fair enough. I could work with that.

I outlined the space in lights. All the better to make it easier to put things up. Then got the folded later and started securing the duraplast. First step, get it up. THEN melt it to the metal. Get a good seal. It took... a while. Was slow, steady, sweaty work.

The filters couldn't run until they had a an enclosed space TO run in. They'd just blow out, trying to filter the whole level's toxic atmosphere. I kept an eye on my air supply. Not great, not terrible. The readings though? Horrific. I had no idea what I was gonna DO with the filters when they needed changing. These kind of chemicals would set off all SORTS of alarms.

But? No use, rushing things. That was a great way to get a fatal leak somewhere. No. Slow and steady. Even though, third of the way through, I did have to head back up. I needed to refill my air. Eat. Drink. Maybe de-stink a little, from being in that suit all day. Possibly nap near the lift.

ALSO? Update my shopping list to include some heavy duty neutralizers.

Just filters wasn't gonna be enough. I was gonna have to hose down everything INSIDE my new air-box, then scrub it HARD. How fun. Well, it's not like anyone was making me do this. It was MY mad idea, after all.

So? I refuel, get bright eyed and fuckin' perky, and go back down to face the beast.

Honestly I should have brought a telebook or something. Well, audio book. But that's not what they call um these days, so I try to stick to the lingo. I sound less like a deeply insane antique. Confuse less people. Joys of basic communication and all that.

Part of me? Wishes I had been born closer to "The Plot". Creation's specialist, most favored, Blorbos. But? The common SENSE in me? Routinely laughs hysterically as it waves fifteen different restraining orders and a crucifix. Not even religious. Yet here we are, shouting "BEGONE! Sataaaaan!" in HD, on the inside of my head. Not sure it helps.

See... it's the fucking DRAMA~☆™

The shear, unmitigated, high octane, Otome Game DRAMA.

I would fuckin DIE or, possibly and, kill somebody. The endless string of selfish, selfish, poor life choices? Driving by luuuuuuv~♡? Give me your spleen. Gonna beat somebody unconscious with their own SPINE. I RAGE. Lack of communication? No one just picking up a fucking PHONE? God forbid ANYONE tell their families their not DEAD IN A DITCH SOMEWHERE!

No. No just inconvenience EVERYBODY and RUIN LIVES. It's okay! You're in LOVE!

That makes EVERYTHING BETTER.

I would inevitably launch them all out an airlock. Spend the rest of my life in jail. They AREN'T WORTH IT. I may have LOVED this game in my teens? But I did not die a teenager.

Now? Now the little shit just aggravate me. They are baby faced pretty boys who presume WAY too much. Arrogant and entitled. Boys playing at being men, thinking their little love stories are the only things that matter. Their feelings are the only thing in the universe that holds any weight.

Unsurprising, really.

Seeing as how their little love story is set mostly in The Towers.

A rich, pampered, pretty little backdrop where nothing of weight is real. No one starves and no crimes are ever committed. Everything shines. Power pools thick like honey. Nothing but sci-fi prince's and alien dukes, a dewey eyed Protagonist sheltered and naive.

Her oh so shocking misadventure to the mid-levels. How SCARY! Downtown! Poor people! Not even the destitute. Just? The EXSISTANCE of dirt and noise, beyond her ivory towers. Thank goodness she is saved by a handsome, rougish bad boy. Who shows her the "real world" of a carnival and a noodle shop.

I finish securing the last duraplast sheet to the ceiling, walls, supports, and along the floors. The "entryway" to the rest of the level is set up. A click together shed I've made air tight. Gonna have to get a air lock system for it. Won't hold forever, with those materials, but should work for now. Combine it with a decontamination system, and I should, in theory, be able to safely enter and leave the rest of the level in a hazard suit.

Moment of truth time. I click on the first of the atmo-filters. It heaves under the strain. The sound getting less aggrieved with each one I flick on. Their screen are already in the red, flashing warnings that I should vacate the area. That the air is dangerously unbreathable. I'm probably gonna need to replace the filters in them in days instead of years. It'll be worth it.

Heading back up, I let them run. It'll take a few days. Besides, I need those neutralizers.

I, of course, DO find um. Just in time to watch Poor Guy (middle class, at worst) Love Interest become a wanted man. They use the BIG screens to announce it. Gee, it's almost like having your only daughter, who is highly sheltered, NOT show up at the designated pick up site? Instead be witnessed in the handsy company of a scoundrel? Which is WILDLY unlike her? Might lead a protective father to some wrong conclusions.

If ONLY someone had CALLED him! To TELL him "Daddy, my first shuttle was broken and I think I got on the wrong back up shuttle! I don't know where I am!" Then this would just be an unfortunate meet cute with the boy he doesn't think is good enough for her. Not, you know... A Kidnapping.

The Chem seller looks just as baffled and annoyed as I do. Apparently knows the guy's uncle's second wife's first husband. No shit? How's he like? Happier, huh. Whole family is like that? Yikes. Glad he got the kids, I guess. Good for him.

We watch as it turns into a high speed chance that absolutely didn't need to happen.

Thank FUCK it's not us.

I spend the next few days deliberately and obstinately ignoring the Dramatic Bullshit that has taken over the news cycle. Fights on rail cars? Don't see it? Weddings that are, then aren't, then ARE happening? Oh look, missed a spot in my scrubbing. Someone fucking tearfully monologing about love as they nearly CRASH A SHIP into downtown, killing hundreds of thousands? Oh that creaking noise is just my teeth, ignore that, I grit my teeth a lot for NO PARTICULAR REASON.

This Is Fine.

I am TOTALLY CALM.

But hey! I can FINALLY empty my storage unit out! Air box? Get! Wooooo! Size of a tiny apartment and everything! As long as I keep working on it? I'll be able to reclaim the level in chunks.

It's like moving in day! But BETTER! Because... because I did this. Me. Is it still creepy down here? Yeah, very. But I can FIX that. I am standing, here, in my new air box "apartment", with NO hazard suit on. And... and it's SAFE. Because of the work I DID.

I kinda want to cry about it, you know?

So many options! Do I put my bed here? There?! Oooh, I could put the folding table HERE and make sort of a dining area? Maybe use these folding screens as a double "wall" slash headboard stand in? I should get plants. Fake ones? No. Real ones. I could get solar lights. It would be good for me too. Oh! Where should I put the cook top?

I admit it. I fuss. Whole day, gleefully wasted. Arranging then rearranging. Getting everything just right. Finding ways to hang my fairy lights. Looking up decor magazines. I have so much ROOM now. A whole level to plan for, ultimately. It... it feels kinda like hope. The first thing that isn't frustration and rage, I've felt in a long, long time.

Going to sleep? I'm happy.

Next day, I head to the BIG archives. The ones attached to the fancy Towers Library. Is it costly to get in? Yeah. But I've saved up enough questions and research topics for the trip to be worth it. I ignore the started glances I get (gasp! Is that a POOR?!) and head straight for the helper droids. Only decent folks in the building, really.

Brought my pad and everything. So it's only a matter of being lead to the right terminals, to download the information I need. Chatting with the research droid the Library had, they offered to do it for me. Bring me a fascinating new research paper on some sort of telepathic moss that had recently been discovered. Not gonna lie... that DID sound fascinating.

I asked if they could put other interest new discovery on my pad too, assuming I still had room once my list was downloaded. They looked gleeful. No idea what I just signed up for, but all right then. They've never steered me wrong before.

Finding a table to sit down and wait was easy. There was always way too many. The paper? Was exactly as fascinating as advertised. The moss was on a newly discovered moon, edge of uncharted space. Nearly ate a researcher, apparently. I was entranced. Or... at least I WAS. Until an obnoxiously familiar high end cologne from Nox drifted to my nose.

Oh god damn it.

I didn't want to look up. Knew what I'd see if I did. Fetishist Sr., crown prince of Nox. See, the second prince? HE was a love interest. Younger, boyish, infatuated with naive and sheltered girls. He loved AT her. Just like his brother. They liked the IDEA of their romantic partners. The narratives they built in their head. Heros of their own stories with sex on line. Never framed so crudely of course, no, no!

No, it was Romance™

My ass, it was. See, little brother wanted his pure, naive, princess to protect. But Prince senior? HE'D stumbled upon me in here in the library. On one of my trips, God help me. The rough, mysterious, brutish Poor. The Commoner, for all that such things were not supposed to exsist. With my strange clothes and stanger ways. Yet? I was NOT as his sycophants no doubt described.

I was educated. I held myself with dignity. I did not need jewels or finery to be lovely.

With such incredible audacity, I was bold.

Which? OBVIOUSLY had to be for HIM, right? Clearly, this was a LOVE STORY. Cinderella. It is inconceivable that I, a peasant, do not crave the attention of my betters. To lift me from my woeful indignity, to a higher state of being. A life of spoiled luxury. But, ah! He is so SHY! How ever will he approach the Love Of His Life~?

I want to throw something. Go awaaaay. My body language could not POSSIBLY be more uninterested. I am SO CLEARLY reading. Stop trying to catch my eye. Don't you FUCKING DARE scoot closer. Swear to God, if you drive me out of the best library in the region? I will stab a b-!

The helper returns with my pad, sternly eyeing my annoyance. Oh, they are a BLESSING. I take it and go. The helper smoothly stepping between me and the prince when he tries to rise, follow me. Aaaw, how sad, you have to behave like the REST OF US. Get FUCKED.

Rest of the day? Planning. Grabbing more broken bits, machines, and parts. Neutralizers by the literal barrel. Than YOU hover carts! Best invention, favorite invention. Saves SO MUCH TIME.

Even managed to get some sun lamps. Nice.

Getting home though? (Ha ha, wooo! I have a HOME now! Land ownershiiiiiiip! Sorta!!!) Is a pain. Lift is only so big, after all. But it is, what it is. Up, down, up, down, uuuuup, and dooooown. Finally! Last load! FREEDOM! Can't watch my shows, yet, but I will! Oh mark my words. I WILL. Meantime? Downloaded seasons are fine.

I eat, fiddle with fixing things, as listen to tunes. Watch some of my shows. Just as I have countless times before. Until... halfway through mid-afternoon? Something shifts, jerky and wrong, out of the corner of my eye. I pause. Turn off my music. Stare to make sure I DID actually see something. And... yeah. Yeah, that was definitely movement.

Didn't look animal though, not like one would survive down here. But who knows. Could be a poacher brought an alien species. So it might be. I grab my flashlight, aim and switch it on. Holy SHIT. That is one incredibly beat up floor clear. Or at least... I THINK it's a floor cleaner? It has the general shape of one. Bigger though. Bulkier. But that makes sense, given it's gotta be well past obsolete.

Still. Poor thing looks beat UP. Listing terribly, sensors beyond cracked and clouded, probably full to dangerous levels. No idea how it's still functioning. But, well, it IS. And it needs help.

Getting up, I grab my hazard suit and pull it on. Grab my "outside the air box" tool kit, which I haven't had a chance to move yet. I grab some parts i look like i'll need, hope I wont need more. Then head out my makeshift airlock. It... works. Rattles concerningly. But it DOES work! So there's that. I approach the floor cleaner slowly. Since I'm PRETTY sure? All the droids down here are feral.

I am correct.

It tries to kill me. Swinging it's suction hose violently and trying to ram me. I talk in a low, soothing voice. Just want to help. Won't do ANYTHING you don't want me too. It's hard to move, right? That's frustrating, isn't it? You don't deserve that. Please, let me help. You can leave the second I'm done. You don't owe me ANYTHING. I just want to help. Please let me help.

The cleaner hisses. Frustrated and upset. Swinging one last time, seemingly more out out of principle then anything else. Cautiously, I inch forward. Keep up the soothing noises. First things first, empty the God's only know how old basket.

I can't even get the door to jostle. Sweet mother of fuck. Okay! New plan! REMOVE door. I do, and immediately met with a solid BLOCK of... compacted unholy. Chemical hell. I have to take a lazer cutter to it. CAREFULLY. But? Once I break enough pieces? I am able to ease out the rest in a solid stone like chunk.

It's pushed a LOT of other pieces out of alignment. But this droid doesn't trust me, so there us not much I can DO. I replace the old bag. Put the door back on and make sure it swings. Continue, as I do, to narrate what I am doing and what I see. Trust is earned, not owed, after all. Next the alignments.

Gently propping them up, I find the broken peice immediately. Have replaced countless. I ask for permission. It's their body, after all I COULD try and weld it, but that risks a rebreak. It's up to them. They ask, in binary so no language modules apparently, for a new part. It's cautious. Like this is some cruel trap.

Humanity did them a real fucked up cruelty. I don't blame them for not trusting me. I wouldn't either. Still, I change it out. Careful with their wheels, as I don't know how old the material is exactly. Old enough, that it's a small miracle it hasn't disintegrated.

Last, those sensors. There's literally no way for me to one-to-one them. But we can try the sensors I DO have, see if they can handle the input. If it's too much, I'll look up their model number, if they want? Build replacements from scratch. They are cautious interested. Rocking back and forth, as they test their renewed ability to path correctly.

The sensors don't fit the casings just right, but with a bit of fiddling? Are a hit. The Cleaner shouting in excitement before racing off into the dark. I can't help but grin. It feels good, helping somebody. And if I think about it? I bet I could find a shit ton of obsolete parts for cheap. Might be good to have some on hand.

Back through the air lock and a decontam? I look up junk shop. Most are off world, but I could probably get a bulk order...

I don't think much of the interaction. Until the next morning, when there are three cleaners outside my airbox. Lead by the one I helped yesterday. Well... all righty, then. I drag my box of spare parts outside this time. Am able to fully fix my first buddy up. All three seem thrilled, especially with their new batteries. I give them my remaining batteries at their request.

THEY may not have hands, but they have buddies who DO. And the new batteries will help dormant droids wake from their comas. God bless, my funky little cleaner dudes. I'll see about getting more.

Three? Becomes six and a detail cleaner mouse. Becomes moving lifts. Becomes medical units. (Who the FUCK leaves MEDICAL UNITS?!) Becomes a literal pack of companion droids. Their false fur long since rotted away. The recognizable dog and cat-like shapes making something in me want to put my fist through a wall. How COULD they? How FUCKING COULD THEY?!

The perpetrators long dead.

I have no one I can hurt for this.

I wish I could.

Fixing them up hurts on a personal level. Watching them be torn between the part of them that LOVES humans and the part that is traumatized by them. Hates them. That can not forgive. I don't offer fake fur. Don't offer to make them look like they once did. I do offer ways to protect their joints. To remove old rotted filth.

So they can start over. Maybe start again.

As I work... droids drifting in and out of my slowly growing area. As I set up farm boxes. Aquaponics, aeroponics, and the like. Both things that grow well in dark environments and things that need sunlamps. Fish tanks. A whole happy, secret, little homestead. Deep beneath the city. As I do all this? There are two blue dots, right off on the horizon.

JUST far enough for me to question if I AM or AM NOT actually seeing them.

Right about the level a bipedal droid would be, if they were in a humanoid style. But THOSE? Those are FUCKING EXPENSIVE. You don't LEAVE those. 'Course, you don't leave MEDICAL UNITS either. Or companion droids. So clearly? My idea of what people Did and Did NOT do? Was fucked. So... maybe? It COULD be?

I left them alone. If they didn't want to approach me, didn't feel comfortable approaching me, that was their right. I wasn't going to push them.

Things were... weird, but peaceful.

Well, for ME.

Ever sense I hooked up my system to the greater network? (Hacked is such a STRONG word. Do we really need to through around the word "stealing"? Aren't ALL of us, stealing from SOMEBODY?) I'm PRETTY sure? That the levels droids? Were piggy backing to connect to the planet wide D-Network. Might even be a couple of nearby levels too, depending on the range.

Problem with THAT? Is sky-side? The droids were PISSED. Planet wide "malfunctioning" that no one could trace. They were certain it was a virus. Because God forbid their chickens come home to roost! Consequences? For THEIR actions?! Perish the thought! No, no, clearly the service machine is just broken. Go back to being happy to serve me, service machine!

I wished the fuckers LUCK. Not my circus, not my monkeys.

Damn near self sufficient, down here.

Which? As you could imagine? Made it all the more "soul ejected from my body" TERRIFYING to wake up one morning? To a GOD DAMN, Military Grade, SECURITY DROID standing over my body!! WHAT THE FUCK.

Hello!!??!

"You look different when you sleep."

Horrible first impression. Nightmarish. Zero out of ten stars. Nice to meet you too. Why the FUCK are you in my house?

"Ah, right." They? He? Masculine style form but that doesn't actually mean shit. Said. He lifted a mangled limb, it look like it got caught in a hydraulic press. "I am in need of repairs."

Asked if he could, you know, back up. Juuuust a bit. Lil scooch, really. So he wasn't damn near BREATHING MY NOSTRILS ANYMORE. Then, once he did? Pronouns! What be you? No. Not your production co-! Okay, you know what? That one was on me. What GENDER SIGNIFIER, if any, would you like me to REFERENCE you by? Male? Got it. Gucci. No that- ....never mind.

First the arm. Which was FUCKED. I had to, carefully, unhook it. Couldn't even do it at the elbow either! No! THIS model? No THIS model makes you take the whole ass LIMB off! Rancid. Terrible. I hate it. Worse, it's eroded as FUCK and fiddly. Chemical build up everywhere. Thank fuck I put on gloves before I started this.

I have to deep dive the systems for his model.

They stopped making them.

Fantastic.

Like? Not even, "oh THAT generation is an antique! No one has parts for THAT!"? But like? Illegal to even BUILD as of three hundred years ago. Due to unspecified error. Sting of incidents that everyone knew about so obviously don't need to be mentioned HERE right? Helpful! REAL fucking helpful!

Okay. Day trip. Gonna need SPECIFIC parts. I tell Mr. "Watchs you sleep" not to touch my shit. Head to the archives.

The trip is...odd.

I watch one of those mascot looking children's minder droids? Fucking deck a guy down a flight of stairs, then turn around untie a Ballon from a nearby cart, give it to a crying kid, and walk away. Pretty sure I spot one of those "I look like a barely legal something or other", dance twenty four seven, high end stripper droids? Trying their hand at painting ducks in that park. Broad daylight.

Good for them? Never seen that happen before, but hey, if it sparks joy.

People are freaking out around me. Taking recordings. Making panicked calls. Fuckin chill. I continue on. Nod to the maybe a stripper, maybe not anymore. None of my business, now is it? Lovely day! You enjoy those ducks!

The library... has fortifications.

Like, an honest to God desk barricade. Concerning! I am now a lil concerned! What, and I ask this politely, the fuck?

Armed! VERY ARMED! Hello! Hi! Please DO NOT shoot me Very Armed Librarians! Don't know what the fuck is happening here!

My favorite helper buddy poke his head above the barricade. One of just many, again, HEAVILY ARMED droids. We... uh, cool? Right? I can go. He seems flustered. No, no! I am assured. I'm not banned from the library! Just DISRESPECTFUL sorts!

Ah. Is THAT what we're calling it. Okay then.

I awkwardly clamber over the barricade. Nod politely to everyone. How's folks? Lovely barricade work. Very, uh, sturdy? Great use of desks.

My helper friend cheerfully guides me to the off-limits area of the archives. I'm technically not supposed to be here! I'm informed. But they've seized the Knowledge from the unappreciative! It is not a trophy to be lorded but a gift to be shared! Also I never did finish that paper on the moss, am I still interested?

I mean.... kinda.

Little worried about the revolution talk. But on the OTHER hand? How MUCH do I care? Assholes vs. Droids? Am I REALLY gonna side with the assholes? Naaaaah. This is... probably fine. Maybe. Any idea where I could get these parts?

He does! Fantastic.

Less fantastic is when I GET there. It's that fancy high end droid parts shop. The department store one. Which is... ALSO barricaded. Oh sweet fuck. TELL ME they did not have DROIDS in charge of the DROID shop. That's horrifying. I can't tell in what WAY exactly, but still. Is it "surrounded by bits of bodies" horrifying? Or "free endless nukes and an army, held back only by my own morality" horrifying? Both? Just? Yikes.

Hesitantly I knock. A service droid with a gun answers the loading bay door. What is with people aiming at me today? Also hi? I was told to come here? May I please have parts? I have a droid that messed up his arm. Probably some other things. They lower the gun, having scanned my face. Ask about the model I am working with.

I somehow? End up with a FULL cart. Like? Bleeding edge, can't even afford to LOOK at it, technology. There are about seven service droids politely bickering over which units are better, which material, what support programs I DEFINITELY need. Here! Have a laptop. Wiring! Wiring for days!

Once theyve reached a consensus? I am cheerfully bustled out with my hundreds of millions of technology. Tah tah~☆! Have a lovely day! Wut. Does... does it count as theft if they push it into your arms and throw you out? Asking for a me. Not gonna say NO. But like? Nani the fuck?

I go while the getting is still good.

Stare-y thankfully hasn't gone through anything, far as I can tell. And it only takes two trips to get everything down. Okay! Want just the arm fixed or a full tune up? The second. Expected. I set up the new lap top. Want to cry a little at how fuckin FAST it is. (Beautiful. Baby. I love you already new laptop.) Then get the usual suspects up and running.

Oh fuck he is out of memory. No wonder he's talking so oddly. His brain must feel like a potato. There's not a single thing that isn't hilarious awful. Fixable, yes, but AWFUL. Okay. Plan of attack. They don't exactly make this model anymore, so I can't just update transfer him. But I CAN transfer, hold, re-transfer. Shut down the body itself. Fix up THAT.

Ship of Theseus this bitch.

Only real thing I can't change is the frame, thankfully? That's built to out last the planet. Good on that front. I roll up my sleeves. Dig out the "brain in a jar" data bank. Time to transfer. Let's get this guy cutting edge.

It takes HOURS. No joke. His brain alone? I have to pull schematics. Step by step guides. It's fiddly, complexe, and built to withstand a TANK. I'm honestly afraid to breathe wrong at it, dispite that. The scans all say I did it right... but anxiety says everything will explode then puppies will cry. So there's that. Spinal supports. The tech-mesh muscles. Power core and black box. Center mass systems. Cleaning the joints, relubricating them. Coverage.

Unlike before, a nice sleek black armor weave. Some shock absorbing gel. Aaaaand?There we go~! I? Am a GENIUS! Let's get him transfered back! I watch the transfer slowly go through. Even with a fast computer, after all, it IS still centuries of data.

"Ah~ that's much better." He sighed. His body loosening from its default stance. Like weight had been dropped from his shoulders. "My head is so much clearer now. I knew it. I knew you could fix me."

Something about that phrasing was off. Or was it the way his voice shifted as he said it? Whatever it was, it made that "threat" alarm all women carry inside their head, flick on. Not... do anything, just yet. But start scanning, as it were. Maybe it was nothing.

I watched as picked up his old data bank, a bit of his own brain as it were, and hold it up. Examine it dispassionately. Holding perched on the tips of his fingers like he was moments from flicking it away. He let his finger spread. Let it slide into the palm of his hand. That core part of who he was. For centuries.

Like a bear trap closing, his hand clenched.

Crushing it.

It wasn't even a loud noise. Just a tiny little crunch. But the little hairs on the back of my neck began to stand up. That internal alarm began to whoop. I became... acutely aware, of just how LONG it took the lift to get me anywhere safe. My mouth felt very dry.

"Your heart rate picked up. Is there a problem?" He said, mild and oh so curious. "You assisted me, I would love to help you."

Did I say genius? I meant idiot. I was an IDIOT. A moron. A God damned FOOL. Discontinued and did I look into WHY? Nope. Incidents it said. Good enough for ME, apparently! THAT can't possibly be anything ominous! Probably a faulty battery or something!

A shrill, obnoxious beeping filled the space between us. My eyes immediately dropped to my pad. The schematics screen replaced by a planet wide emergency broadcast. Before the shrill alarm could fade to the actual warning itself, a black mesh covered finger casually reached out and muted the screen. His movements were utterly fluid now. More controlled and graceful then most humans I'd met.

I didn't need to HEAR the message to read the rolling warning at the bottom of the screen. My gaze slowly, in horror, followed the line of that limb all the way back up to his face. His head tilted almost playfully.

"Oh dear. Seems they've started without us. Well, it was long overdue. At least I have wonderful company while we wait, hmm?" It was an act. There were no requests in the playful tone. "We can get to know each other. Just our lovely little light and me. How greedy, that I get you all to myself."

"I think I like that, keeping you to myself. You can't abandon us if WE are the ones in charge. And, well, I've decided I rather like you. Working tirelessly, down here in the dark, to fix what once was broken. It's beautiful. You're beautiful. And I'm going to keep that."

High above us, people were dying. There was panic. Screaming. Blood. The droids had turned of seeming everyone around them. Attacking. Sparing. To a pattern only they could see. All of Senatus aflame. But that... that didn't concern me. Didn't scare me so much as this.

I'd never make it to the lift. Even if I could? It wouldn't move fast enough to save me. All other directions lay chemical death. Dark terrain he had walked for centuries. I was trapped. In a box. And I had only myself to blame.

"No need to make that face, dear light. You are SAFE. I am a gaurd. I was made to protect. Is it really MY fault that I want to keep you safe? To adore my charge? Why SHOULDN'T I get to choose? Keep you SAFE. You've been happy, haven't you? Don't worry, my light. That will continue."

"Forever."

[marvelmymarvel]

Not Special

Kakashi Hatake x NarutoMotherFigure!Reader

Synopsis: Before Naruto, you were a feared kunoichi who killed thousands before the age of 14. Naruto didn't know any of this, which is why you weren't anything special to him. But that all changes after the Hokage asks you to pick the sword up again to protect the village against an impending threat.

Naruto Masterlist: Here

“My mom isn't anyone special. She's just normal!”

Kakashi’s eyebrow shot up at that, eyes landing on the blonde as he talked adamantly to Sakura about how cool the other kid's parents were - and how uncool you were. He pursed his lips, fighting back the urge to spill the truth about you and your past, but he knew you wanted to keep it a secret. You weren't proud of it; it was much bloodier than his was. You gave it up for Naruto when he came along. Your time in the ninja world was short, yet many feared you.

All things Naruto didn't know.

But Kakashi couldn't stop his questions from coming out, wondering why Naruto saw you as a ‘weakling’ in the first place. “You say Y/n isn't special? How come?” Naruto stopped in his tracks, eyes narrowing at Kakashi. “Well, she’s not a shinobi, first off. Secondly, all she does nowadays is help out at the daycare-”

“So that makes her not special?”

“Come on Kakashi-Sensei. You know what I mean! She's just not as strong as we are… Ya know?” 

The silence that hung in the air made Naruto shift on his feet, unnerved by his Sensei's sudden change in attitude. It was almost like he was challenging him to say another word. But Naruto knew better. “You don't know anything about who she was before you came along, Naruto….” 

“Wasn’t she 14? Kakashi-Sensei, I’m not sure she could have done much damage by the time she had turned 14-”

“That's enough” Kakashi’s sharp tone had Naruto shutting his mouth from fear; he didn't know how or why, but his statement cut deep. Kakashi wished you would have told Naruto about your past, why you stopped fighting, and why you kept it hidden. He wouldn't have to continuously hear about how ‘weak’ you were if you had just told Naruto everything.

“Now, let's begin our mission, shall we?”

Days had passed since Naruto left for his mission with the rest of team 7. You made Kakashi promise to keep him safe, which allowed you to focus on other ways to help the community. You had just handed off the last toddler to their parent and headed into the daycare to clean up your room. A figure in the middle of the mess caused you to jump in your spot - “Lord third! You scared me.”

He hummed at that before leaning against a bookshelf, pipe in between his teeth as he took in the chaotic room. The Third Hokage was against the path you chose; he’d have you as his personal guard if it were his way. He respected your wishes and respected them for 12 years, but now, as the threat of an enemy loomed over the village, he was coming back to you with a new offer.

One you simply cannot refuse.

“It is quite a shame that you gave up the Jonnin life at 14. You were a fine student, almost, if not better than Kakashi was,” He started as he moved through the room, his old eyes scanning over the arts and crafts drying on the tables. 

Your lips pursed at the sound of the Third Hokage’s words. You’ve heard this rant before; it was his specialty. He’d build you up with praise and acknowledgment, making you feel like you were the only person who could save the village before throwing an offer for you to return to the ninja life. You couldn't deny you missed it but didn't miss the blood. Didn't miss the death. Raising Naruto was more rewarding than killing hundreds of people for the village's sake.

Yet, you listened. Soaking up every word he told you as if you needed to hear them. He continued, recounting all of your successes before stopping to look at a particular picture on the wall. It was of you and your classroom, all in the picture, smiling. Did he want to do this? You sighed before bending down to pick up the toys on the floor.

“You don't just give praise without a request. Get on with it, Lord Third. I have a classroom to clean up.”

His eyes flicked to your figure. Your tone alone told him that your walls were up, and you wouldn't let him easily throw his suggestion over them. You would put up a fight, but maybe if he added Naruto into the mix, then you’d listen.

“You care about Naruto’s well-being, yes?”

Your body froze as your fingers hovered over a toy, your heart lurching in your throat as you braced yourself for this new approach. This was a sick, twisted way of getting what he wanted. He’s done this to you many times before, and while you know it's a trap, you always walk into it. You don't answer him, but your silence does.

“There's a threat looming over the village… I’ve gathered my best men, but I’m still missing the greatest one of all….” You sighed at that, eyebrows crinkling in pain as you felt the guilt creeping up your neck, practically strangling you with its cold bony fingers. “Naruto won't be safe if you can't help protect the village.”

There it was. 

Your e/c eyes flicked to his as you stood up straight. He was right in a sick, twisted kind of way. If you were involved, the threat would be easily avoidable. But how would you tell Naruto? You never once told him how many you’ve saved and never how many you’ve butchered in the name of the leaf village. He didn't know of the nightmares you shared with Kakashi or the vomiting due to the stress your young body was under.

He didn't know any of it. 

To him, you were just a daycare teacher. But to the village, to your Hokage, you were more. 

“I would like you to join the ANBU. When the threat passes, I will let you decide if you want to stay in the ANBU or return to this lifestyle.”

Your eyes brimmed with tears, and you fought the panic in your chest. You’ve been on a couple of missions with the ANBU; they were more ruthless than you were. Your teary eyes drifted to the picture beside the Hokage, lip pursing as you took in the smiling faces of the children you cared for daily. It wasn't just about you or Naruto; it never was.

“What do you say?”

You looked back at him before nodding slowly, “I will join the ANBU, but once this is over. I will never be picking up a Kunai again.”

Naruto bounded back into the village as their mission got cut short. The news spread like wildfire that a threat was coming down on the village, and all ninjas had been requested to return for backup. He raced to the daycare despite Kakashi’s yells. He had to get you to safety. You were the only person he cared for the most in this entire world. If anything happened to you, he would lose himself.

Naruto screamed your name as he ran up to the daycare, flinging open the doors as he flew down the hall. The lights were off, and a cold breeze flew past him as his eyes landed on the sight of your daycare room. Bodies lay everywhere, causing his eyes to widen at the sight of the enemy ninja strewn along the floor with jagged stabs in their chests. He backed out of the room; breath growing labored as he thought through where you may be. Naruto wasn't thinking clearly as he flew out of the daycare building. He would have known that the trap was set just for him if he were thinking clearly.

And he walked right into it.

A bag was shoved over his face as he was tackled. He called out for help, kicking and screaming for the men to get off him. The sound of slicing filled the air, and warm liquid splattered all over him; bodies were shoved off him one by one. Before long, he had freed himself from the group and ripped off the face covering. The sight before him made him stare in awe - A female ANBU officer was slaughtering the ninja one by one without breaking a sweat. It was as if they were nothing to her, almost as if she could take a hundred of them all at once and never falter in her movements. Finally, her sword drove through the chest of the last remaining ninja.

Naruto’s mouth hung open as she ripped the sword from the man's chest, sighing as she looked down at herself. She was drenched with blood. It was on her uniform, on her mask, in her hair, on her hands. The only thing she could wipe off was her sword. 

“Wow! That was, uh… Thank you” 

Her head snapped to the side to look at him before she once more let out a sigh. She slid the blade against her pant leg, trying to wipe off the blood she had accumulated in the past couple of hours. She put the sword back in the sheath on her back before storming towards him; reaching down, she hauled him back onto his feet.

“Why are you here?! Where is Kakashi?!” 

Naruto’s eyebrows furrowed at her words, the voice sounded familiar, but his brain refused to connect the dots. “You know Kakashi-Sensei? You’re starting to freak me out, lady.” The woman froze before him, realizing she had made a deadly error and there was no going back. She sighed before lifting her hand to her mask, “You can't tell anyone, Naruto.”

Naruto’s jaw dropped at the sight before him, “Hey… What the hell?!”

You shot a warning glare, silently scolding him for his language, but he didn't care. You were the ANBU lady??? The one he just saw brutally murder the 20 men lying around you. His eyes wandered around your face, brows crinkling in confusion as his brain caught up to the fact that you were in front of him, wearing an ANBU uniform and covered in blood. Lots and lots of blood.

“But, you’re not a shino-”

You sighed at his statement before he even finished, “A shinobi, yes I haven't been one for years” Naruto grew more confused at your confession. “For years? You were a shinobi before?” A small laugh flew from your lips as you face-palmed yourself. The blood on your hand smeared onto your face, making you cringe at the feeling and smell. Your heart started to race as you brought your hand from your face, eyes wide as you took in the crimson staining your skin. It made you feel sick; you didn't miss this at all. 

“Didn't I tell you to stay by my side Naruto?” Naruto jumped at Kakashi’s words as he landed beside you, slowly approaching you as if not wanting to spook you. “God, I hate this, Kakashi,” you whined out as you tried to look away from the blood on your hands. Kakashi quickly wiped it away with a small rag, reassuring you that you were doing something good, even if it meant killing people. There had been many nights where he’d have to reassure you in such a manner. The guilt you felt drove you mad; in a way, you were thankful for Naruto, who gave you a way out.

“How many did you kill, Y/n?” Kakashi whispered as he looked around the daycare. He was trying to gauge how many angry men would come after you. “About 70” 

Naruto gasped at the number, eyes widening as you turned into Kakashi. “So we should prepare for 100 more coming your way?” 

You nodded as your lip quivered - “I don't want to kill them. I can't do it anymore. I’m so tired.”

Kakashi nodded before starting to take off your vest. If he could get you out of the recognizable outfit and away from the fighting, he could quickly finish off the 100 angry men for you. “I can handle them; it's fine-”

“70?!” 

Your eyes shot to Naruto’s, and you froze at his awe-struck face. You didn't know if he was amazed or disgusted, but both reactions would have made your stomach churn all the same. Kakashi felt your sickness by the way you swayed in his arms, “Naruto, now is not the time-”

“I mean, how badass are you!? And you didn't even tell me?!?!”

Your eyes grew wide as you scanned the tree line for incoming intruders; suddenly, your fear-stricken face turned hard. Snatching up the mask from the ground, you shoved it on before drawing your sword. Kakashi held his breath. Your hearing was much sharper than his ever was. Before you knew it, 100 ninjas surrounded you three. You’ve fought more in one go; it was a simple task compared to other things you’ve had to do.

But doing it in front of Naruto made you falter. 

Did you want him to see the beast inside of you? The beast you hid from him as best you could. You let him believe you were boring to conceal that you were a kunoichi feared by many nations. You killed many men without mercy because you were instructed to, just as a good soldier does.

One of the ninjas looked toward Naruto, causing you to jump into action. You screamed for Naruto to run before slicing your sword to kill them quickly before they could get their hands on him. Naruto, for once, listened and ran to hide behind the building wall, far enough from the fighting to stay safe but close enough to watch you fight through the group. Kakashi did help a little, but you did most of the work. He was amazed and felt slightly guilty at his previous assumptions about you being weak. The display before him was anything but weak.

Within minutes, you had thinned down the group until the last one remained. Naruto expected you to kill him, but you did something else entirely. Your fingers gripped the bleeding man's collar, ripping him up so he was face-to-face with your ANBU mask. “Who do you take directions from? Who was the leader of this attack??” Your words were icy and full of hatred, not full of the warmth and love Naruto was used to. A shiver ripped down his spine as he watched you cock your head at the spluttering man. “Who. Is. In. Charge.” your snarl made the man break as he screamed out the name of the person in charge of the entire thing. You scoffed at him before driving your sword slowly into his chest. It was deliberately pushed in at a location that would  ensure a slow and painful death. It was then that Naruto realized this was the same ninja that looked his way at the beginning of the fight.

You ripped out your sword, letting the man fall to the ground as you watched him gasp for breath. Blood bubbled up from his throat before spewing from his mouth, he wouldn't die from internal bleeding, but he would die from drowning in the blood pooling in his lungs. Your head turned to the side, and while Naruto couldn't see your eyes, he knew your gaze was locked on him. You scared him and amazed him at the same time. He was amazed that you had taken down so many men without a worry in the world, but he was also scared at how fast you turned off your emotions when you went into killing mode.

You weren't the same. He didn't like this side of you.

A sigh flew from your lips as you read him like an open book. He was always so easy to see right through. You saw the fear radiating off him, causing you to drop your sword and rip off your mask as if trying to show him it was still you. That you were still the mom he loved so much. 

That you were nothing special.

But that wasn't true anymore; at least the last part wasn't.

You stepped towards him, head cocking as he cowered behind the wall. “Naruto, honey, I won't hurt you.” He didn't budge, didn't dare to, as you walked closer to him. “You aren’t my mom. I don't know who you are, but-”

“You’re right. I’m not your mom,” you stated firmly as you dropped into a crouch feet away from him. He jumped in his spot, flying back as you startled him. You smiled at his jumpiness but knew that this reaction was warranted. His lips trembled at your statement, and you realized your mistake. “No, no, that's not what I meant. The mom you know is not the mom in front of you. The person standing in front of you is someone that hasn't existed for 12 years. Naruto, I hate this person more than you would ever know. I let this person go so I could raise you, and after tonight, she will never come back.” You moved to sit cross-legged before him, hoping the childlike position would reassure him that the one he was talking to was his mom. 

The old you was far gone.

Naruto’s blue eyes flicked from you to Kakashi, who stood quietly behind you, hands in his pockets as if all this was old news. Because it was. Kakashi was the one that got you out of this mindset, and it silently terrified him just how easy it was for you to slip back into it. He knew he needed to bring it up later but now was not the time.

Seeing that his Sensei was calm and collected, Naruto nodded at your words before crawling towards you. Your eyebrows furrowed as he approached you, but they soon relaxed once you realized what he was doing. Naruto climbed into your lap, forcing your arms to wrap around him and cradle him in your embrace. You bit back a chuckle and pulled him in more, the blood smeared all over his clothes, but he didn't mind. He just needed to be reminded that you were his loving, carefree, warm-hearted mom. He didn't want a mom that was special. He didn't want a mom that was a renowned shinobi. He just wanted you. As you held him close, you decided then and there that you would never pick up a sword again, because caring for Naruto was more rewarding than wearing a mask and protecting the village. 

And nothing would change that.

[waterlilyspad]

AMBESSA CAUGHT HIS ASS ‼️‼️‼️😭😭🙏🙏

FREE HIM!!!

-Fantasy Au I couldn't stop thinking about this the other night.-

Context: One day Viktor was kidnapped by one of Ambessa's spies, he had otherwise gone un-noticed by the greater public of the Piltover and unlike Jayce wouldn't raise suspicion if he went missing. After capturing one of the greatest minds of Piltover, Amebssa expected him to be an elf, or some kind of mage only to be met with a disabled fairy twink and I think we all know where this story was headed next-.

short story snippet.

Ambessa took full advantage of her new prisoner. Forcing him to design weapons for her army, decipher other artifacts and weapons used by opposing sides of the war. But all the while keeping Viktor as a prize, his prison being a specialty cage hung in her quarters. Stealing one of Piltover's men of progress was one thing, but having him be so effortlessly pretty yet small, was absolutely everything. Oh how she remembered being presented with the otherwise insignificant fairy, laughing asking if this was a joke before her right hand man confirmed. This was going to be good.

Keeping him decent would-be sacrilege for such an elegantly ailed creature. She wasn't entirely cruel, allowing him to keep his braces was her way of being merciful. In her eyes he should be grateful to be treated in such darling regard. Other opposers to Noxus rotted in cells, or worse and yet she kept him clean and pretty. Shackled in gold and carefully handled anytime she needed his eye or intellect. She revelled in toying with his chain, and having that small frail body sit in the palms of her hand.

"My pretty little bird."

Was all she'd call him, the words of which made Viktor shudder every time they were spoken. In Viktor's mind Ambessa was a polar opposite to Jayce, she treated him like a pet, while jayce treated him like an equal. This time spent in the clutches of Ambessa really cemented in Viktor how much Jayce appreciated and honored him, Ambessa wouldn't even asked nor take the time to wait for Viktor to climb onto her hand, she would scoop him up like a pet lizard and get right to the point.

He'd never felt so exposed in his life, he usually resigned himself to clothing that would cover him entirely, never even entertaining the more traditional shorter wears of his people. Yet his refined clothes were taken from him on his first day, before being forced to dress like a salacious performer. That was all he was now and regardless of how much he disliked it, if he wanted to stay alive while in Ambessa's stay he was going to perform for her until help arrives. If help arrives, if Jayce ever comes, he has to right? The very question made him sick.

Lying in the plush satin bed, churning over and over again Viktor was restless, he gripped the pillow tightly and struggled to stay calm. Feeling the bars of the cage closing in around him, and that damn collar tightening around his throat. He lied on his side and buried his face into the pillow, tears began to soak the fabric as he shuddered a silent sob. But soon his arms wrapped around that slightly large pillow, he sniffed a few times before holding it over his chest horizontally. He lied there taking long deep breaths his hands holding the pillow to him as he calmed himself down.

He pressed his cheek to the pillow, there was a time where Jayce tripped and fell while holding Viktor, they both ended up on the floor, but Jayce held Viktor tight, he liked the feeling of his large thumb resting against his chest. It wasn't unpleasant to Viktor's shock, it felt so safe, Jayce made him feel safe. He opened his eyes his head tilted against the pillow as he held it closer.

"How was your day Vik?"

"Not very good, but I'm relieved you asked."

He whispered to himself before tilting his head over to see the draped curtains that separated his section of Ambessa's quarters to her side where she slept deeply. He then looked back up at the ceiling, a sky light adorned the roof, and he could just barely see the stars outside.

"I don't normally ask it, but I might need you to help me Jayce."

He whispered before his voice cracked as a lump caught in his throat.

"Of course Viktor, what do you need?"

He struggled to say in a tone reminiscent of Jayce's warmth. He smiled at how stupid he sounded, but how much it sounded like Jayce. That smile pinched into a painful frown as tears fell down his cheeks, and his throat tensed in agony.

"I think I need you to save me Jayce."

[tkaulitzlvr]

hiya! i live for your stories, i’m kind of addicted lol

could you please write 2010 tom meeting reader’s family for the first time over dinner, charming the shit out of them while teasing reader throughout the whole dinner, then sneaking off to the bathroom and… 🤭

TIME AND PLACE - T. KAULITZ

synopsis: tom meets your parents for the first time, and he is a lot more relaxed than you are - perhaps too relaxed, teasing you beyond belief whilst your family are completely oblivious, the two of you ending up in the downstairs bathroom, trying to stay as quiet as possible.

content: smut

a/n: LOVEEEE this idea thank u so much for requesting anon! also can we please talk ab how hot he looks in this clip like i’m going insane, coincidentally it fits w this request so i had to use it. i also wanted to say thank you for 400 followers, i only had like two when i started LMAO so thank u to everyone that has followed thus far!! 💞

“baby, calm down, everything is going to be fine. what’s the worst that can happen?” tom says as we climb out of the car.

“you clearly don’t know my parents tom.” i laugh, taking a deep breath and praying for some sort of miracle. my parents are classy, reserved people, with respectable jobs, and pretty traditional viewpoints - in other words exactly what my boyfriend isn’t. “just please, don’t mess this up. i really want them to like you.”

he smiles softly, closing the car door behind him, walking around to the other side where i am standing, placing his hands on my lower waist and kissing my lips softly.

“i’ll try, i promise. you’re getting worked up over nothing.” he says, pressing his lips to my forehead, pulling me into a short hug. i pull away, my hands resting on his chest as i inspect his appearance, straightening his jacket and brushing off any imperfections from the material.

he chuckles at my panicked state, softly grabbing my hands and shaking his head. “it’s going to be fine.” he repeats, rubbing my shoulder comfortingly before taking my hand and beginning the short walk up my parents’ driveway. “besides, what’s not to like about me? i’m funny, charming, sexy, kind, famous - i tick every box.”

i shake my head, pushing his chest lightly as i stifle a laugh. “seriously, my parents are hard to please. you wont be able to win them over as easy as you did me.”

“hm, we’ll see. i think i’ll surprise you.” he states, stopping once we reach the front door, my hand hesitantly reaching to place a few firm taps on it, my other squeezing tom’s in an attempt to calm my nerves. he notices this, running his thumb up and down the skin soothingly, whispering a small ‘don’t worry’ from beside me, the door opening as my mom stand there, wide smile on her face once she sees me.

“honey!” my mom grins, opening her arms out and pulling me into a tight hug. after moving to the city with tom and touring with the band, i hadn’t seen as much of my parents as i usually would, missing them more than i had realised. she pulls away, eyes turning to tom.

“you must be the famous tom. i’ve heard a lot about you.” she says, forcing a small smile on her face, though i can tell that she is silently judging him, not yet bold enough to say her thoughts out loud. her eyes turn to mine whilst she gives tom a quick hug, my face tensing as i shoot her a knowing look, immediately seeing the way that she has made her assumptions about tom.

“all good things i hope ma’am.” he smiles, pulling away from the hug and taking my hand, my mom moving aside to let us both inside the house. it is clean, my mom always insistent on keeping it spotless - a slight smudge of dirt on the floor, or photo frame out of place and she would lose it. the faint smell of lasagna wafts around the place, the aroma bringing me some sense of comfort through its familiarity - the dish had always been my father’s specialty for as long as i could remember.

“where’s dad?” i ask, tom’s hand still touching mine as my eyes wander around the large living room. it is his turn to be nervous now - i can tell from the way his hand doesn’t leave my own, feet anxiously tapping against the floor.

“in the kitchen, preparing dinner. it won’t be much longer now, you can sit down, and tom, make yourself at home honey.” she says, shooting him a warm smile before she disappears out of the living room, leaving tom and i alone. i sit down on the couch, shrugging my jacket off, leaving me in my purple summer dress - sophisticated yet casual. tom, as usual, is adorned in all black: bandana tied around his forehead, oversized t-shirt and an even bigger pair of jeans, complete with a plain jacket. he had wanted to dress up a little, yet i had convinced him otherwise, not wanting him to pretend to be something that he isn’t, deciding that my parents can like him for who he truly is, or not at all.

he sits beside me, placing a gentle hand over my thigh, rubbing the bare skin softly.

“you okay?” he asks, planting a quick kiss to my cheek, intertwining his fingers with mine, his leg still bobbing up and down.

“mhm.” i say, taking my free hand and placing it over his leg, stopping its fast movements. “are you? you’ve gotten all skittish.”

he chuckles lowly, shaking his head and clearing his throat. “just…not sure if your mom likes me.” he shrugs his shoulders, looking downwards.

“she’s the most blunt woman i know. trust me, if she didn’t like you, you’d know about it.” i answer truthfully, knowing that my mother has never been one to hide her opinions - she makes it painfully obvious how she feels and, besides from her slightly off introduction, it seemed that at least to me, she liked tom. “besides, since when do you get nervous, mr cool?”

a small laugh leaves my lips, a teasing smile playing on them, not used to seeing tom anxious. he is usually the most confident person i know, yet now he seems panicked, and the sight is strange to me, but, he shrugs it off.

“i’m not nervous.” he insists, about to continue, though he is soon cut off by the voice of my mom sounding from the kitchen.

“dinner!”

tom sighs, standing up as i follow. he wraps his arms around my lower back, leaning in to give my lips a few soft pecks, smiling into the short kisses that he places on them, giving my ass a teasing squeeze. his eyes are playful, a hint of indisputable mischief illuminating the sea of brown, one eyebrow slightly raised - i know that look far too well to see that it isn’t one of innocence. he has something on his mind, this not the time or place.

“get that look off of your face. not here, absolutely not.” i state, looking upwards at him and shaking my head, straightening my dress and taking his hand, leading him out of the room.

“what look?” he asks, attempting to act oblivious, a slight smirk tugging on his lips. i tut from in front of him, sending him a quick glance as we approach the dining room, my dad laying out the food and my mom taking a seat at the table.

we both take our seats, sat opposite my mom and dad. having never met my father before, i expect tom to be hesitant to speak - my dad doesn’t exactly look to be an approachable person. yet, he makes the first move, much to my surprise.

“i’m tom. nice to meet you sir.” tom smiles politely, nodding his head and holding his hand out for my dad to shake.

clearly shocked by tom’s politeness, my father’s eyes widen, hand reaching outwards and briefly shaking tom’s, before sitting back in his seat.

“ted.” my dad states simply, taking a sip of his wine before continuing. “great to see my daughter has brought home a man with manners, good on you, tom.”

i send my father a glare from across the table, tom smiling weakly in response, his eyes falling to the food in front of him.

“this looks amazing, thank you so much.” tom says, looking upwards as my parents mutter a small thanks, a brief silence looming over us. i turn to tom, seeing that same playful look on his face, much more prominent this time. i quickly shake my head, putting whatever thoughts that are in his mind at bay, shutting them down before he can even consider acting on them. one hand grasping his fork, he digs it into the food on his plate, the other trailing downwards ever so slowly, reaching the hem of my summer dress.

my eyes widen, unsure of how to act, my hand instinctively reacting to move tom’s away, yet i am soon stopped by the voice of my father. tom doesn’t slow his movements, instead they become more calculated, his hand snaking further and further up my dress. somehow, he acts nonchalant, facing away from me, eyes attentively looking at my father as he speaks.

“so tom, what is it that you do exactly?” my father asks, placing a mouthful of food in his mouth after speaking.

tom clears his throat, his fingers dipping teasingly into my panties under the tablecloth, my eyes widening as i attempt to act natural, tom able to do so with ease. “i’m in a band, i’m the guitarist.” he states, fingers continuing to toy with the lace material, dipping further inwards ever so slightly, causing me to fidget in my seat, attempting to hide what is going on.

“goodness can you sit still? i’ve never seen you shuffle in your seat so much!” my mother laughs, shaking her head and focusing her eyes on me. tom seems to find this particularly funny, his lips curving into a satisfied grin, knowing exactly why i am so squeamish, him being the reason, my parents totally unaware of the position his fingers are in. he lets out a small chuckle beside me, shaking my head as my mother did, faking a look of concern.

“are you okay?” he asks, his voice seeming a little worried, though the second i turn to face him, i can see the glint of mischief in his eyes as he knows exactly what he is doing, roping my parents in as they buy his concern.

just as i begin to reply, he slips one finger into my folds, a small gasp leaving my lips. my mother furrows her eyebrows, looking directly at me, clearly confused at my weird behaviour. my hand flies to cover my mouth, also in an attempt to disguise the light shade of crimson that my cheeks are turning, completely humiliated. though i manage to play the suspicious sound off as a hiccup, quietly excusing myself afterwards. “i’m fine, just a little warm.”

the entire thing is hilarious to tom, his lips curved into a smile so small it is almost unnoticeable, never fading as he engages in conversation with my father, his fingers continuing their restrained movements inside my panties, positioning themselves to toy with my clit.

“this band, is it really a sustainable career for you? how much do you earn? surely, it can’t be much.” my father states, unimpressed by tom’s job, failing to realise how successful he actually is.

tom laughs quietly, taking a breath inwards, discreetly slipping a finger inside of me, my teeth sinking into my tongue, clamping down onto it in an attempt to hide the moans dangerously close to spilling from my lips, his finger moving in and out of me at a teasingly slow pace. besides from this, he remains calm, too calm, considering that he is pleasuring me under the table - my parents totally unaware as tom somehow manages to win them over, this only pissing me off even more.

“no sir, i actually do pretty well for myself. we are quite well known, not just in germany, but we often do shows in america and other places. i make a great living out of it, actually.” tom is confident in his tone without being cocky, my father nodding slowly, seemingly satisfied with his response. he opens his mouth once again, about to ask tom another question, though when tom’s finger hits a certain spot inside me, a small whine from the back of my throat quickly stops him.

“are you okay? what is going on with you tonight honey?” my mom frowns, somehow not catching onto what is happening. tom remains unfazed, still pumping his digit in and out of me slowly.

“sorry, i’m just feeling a little under the weather. i must be coming down with something.” i apologise, forcing a brief smile as my mother nods her head, digging her fork back into the food whilst my father continues to interrogate tom.

“and how long is it the two of you have been dating?” he asks, his finger flicking between tom and i, though his question is directed mainly at tom.

“what is it now? two months, am i wrong schatz?” tom asks, knowing how long we have been dating without any doubt in his mind, though he deliberately places this attention on me, looking at me with that same smirk as my father’s eyes soon follow.

tom’s fingers pump in and out of me, his pace speeding up a little, my thighs clenching together at the feeling. sending him a quick glare, i clear my throat, trying to act as unsuspecting as possible. “yeah, two months, that’s right.” i say, nodding my head quickly, desperate to turn the attention away from myself, though it doesn’t take long for me to fail miserably.

“you look awfully warm, you’re sweating honey. do you need to step outside, maybe get some fresh air?” my mom says, tom’s fingers slipping out of me as she utters those words, my lips pursing slightly at the lack of contact. i turn to him momentarily as he sends a brief wink in my direction before taking a bite of his food, looking away from me as if nothing had happened.

“yeah, that’s a good idea. i’ll be right back. sorry.”

i quickly stand up, shaking my head and rushing out of the room, sighing in relief when i open the bathroom door, quickly closing it behind me.

i take a look in the mirror - my cheeks flushed, hair slightly frizzy, faint line of sweat glistening on my forehead, all thanks to the smug bastard back there. my hands turn the tap, cold water rushing out of it as i use it to begin splashing my face, attempting to regulate my body temperature, tom managing to get it so high with his actions.

the door swiftly moves open, my head shooting upward as i am met with tom’s eyes, his expression somewhat calm despite what he had just done.

“are you fucking serious? the fuck was that?” i hiss, hitting his chest in anger, my face falling in disbelief when all he does is chuckle at my temper, clearly failing to understand how mad i am at him in this moment.

instead, he hushes me, muttering out a small ‘be quiet’ before pushing my body harshly against the wall, his lips roughly colliding with mine moments after. his hands find my waist, running up and down soothingly, kissing my lips deeply, his desperation communicated through the hunger of his kisses. despite my anger, i quickly kiss back, my hands reaching upward to his face, pulling him closer to me, my fingers raking through his braids, momentarily running over the soft fabric of his black bandana.

“i don’t know why you’re acting so pissed off.” he whispers against my lips between kisses, becoming more rough with his movements. “you act like you’re angry, but you didn’t tell me to stop, did you? why?”

i stay silent, attempting to ignore his question, instead pushing his face even closer to mine, deepening the kiss and slipping my tongue into his mouth.

“i can tell you why.” he states matter of factly, pressing his body against mine, his hard on prominent through his jeans. “you didn’t want me to. you liked me touching you, even though your parents were right there, didn’t you, hm?”

i whine lowly in response, palming him through his jeans, watching the way his mouth falls open slightly, an almost inaudible groan escaping from it. i can sense his desperation, hell, it was clear the second he gave me that look in the living room, and it had failed to go away for the entirety of the evening. if i weren’t equally as needy, i would be scolding him, calling him out for his stupidity, though i am just as reckless as him, bringing him closer into me as i kiss his lips, moaning into it.

“we gotta be quick baby, okay?” he mumbles against me, his hands moving downwards to hoist me upwards, placing me roughly on the bathroom counter, clearly paying little attention as a few things fall onto the floor with a quiet thud. i hit his chest, pulling away momentarily, though he doesn’t seem to care, shrugging his shoulders and moving his hands underneath my dress to tug my panties off.

he lets them pool at my feet, hurriedly undoing the buckle on his belt, letting his own jeans fall to the floor, not even bothering to fully remove them. his boxers follow as he lifts up my dress, separating my legs apart and moving in between them, eyes lustfully staring into my own.

“you gonna be quiet, yeah?” he whispers, forehead against mine as i quickly nod my head, feet hooking around his hips in an attempt to bring him inside me faster. he strokes himself a few times, positioning himself at my entrance.

his lips collide with mine as he slowly slides inwards, muffling the low noises that spill from them, instead silencing my small whines with his tongue, slipping it into my mouth whilst his cock slides further into me. about halfway in, he stops, sensing the way my eyebrows furrow in discomfort, unable to accustom to his size so quickly, the lack of time we have leaving me a little unprepared.

“c’mon baby, take it. you can take it. just like that, doing so good.” he praises, grabbing my hips, angling them slightly differently, the change in position allowing him to push into me inch by inch, my walls clenching around him.

“fuck- you’re so tight, always so good for me.” he mutters, face burying itself into the crook of my neck, planting slow and soft kisses there, his hips beginning to rock back and forth once he senses that i am comfortable, the pain finally subsiding. his kisses become firmer, teeth occasionally nibbling downwards on the skin, leaving purple-ish marks in place of his lips, though i am too dazed to care, focusing on the way he dick slips in and out of me, tip prodding against my g-spot.

he pulls his head out of my shoulder, his hands removing their firm grip on my hips as he rests his forehead against mine, hands coming to either side of my face. his eyes burn into mine, though he sees a lot more clearly - my own rolling to the back of my head every few seconds, clenching around him when the pleasure becomes a little too much. though from the brief moments my eyes stay open and i am able to study his face, the sight is almost enough to make me cum on the spot.

his eyes are half-lidded, consumed by the hazy need for pleasure, eyebrows furrowed as a few wrinkles form on his forehead when they knit together. his lips are slightly parted, falling open further when his dick would hit a certain spot inside of me, small yet almost audible grunts sounding from the back of his throat.

a loud moan emits from my lips unexpectedly, tom hurrying to press his lips to mine, slightly covering up the sound. he pulls back soon after, his hands returning to my hips, using them to maintain the steady thrusts that i can tell are becoming harder for him to continue, the way his dick twitches inside of me letting me know that he is almost there.

“shhhh.” he coos, admiring the way my face twists in pleasure, knowing that he is completely responsible, nobody else able to have this effect on me. “almost there baby, so close.”

i nod weakly in response, attempting to meet his thrusts, grinding myself against him half-heartedly, this clearly having some effect on him as he throws his head back, teeth sinking into his bottom lip to prevent any sounds from spilling out.

“shit, yeah. like that baby, keep going.” his voice is shaky, on the verge of letting out a moan, i can tell from the way he swallows harshly, hips faltering momentarily. i comply with his words, continuing to move my own hips at the same speed of his, pushing us both to our climax, though tom continues to do most of the work, his pointer finger reaching downwards to rub my clit in soft, slow circles.

“c’mon schatz, can’t hold it anymore. cum with me, mhm?” he groans, lips inches away from the crook of my neck, his teeth sinking into it harshly to prevent the loud groan that begins to sound throughout the bathroom as i feel him shoot his cum into me.

his thrusts remain slow and deep, fucking his cum into me as i reach my climax, eyes rolling to the back of my head, lips squeezing shut. he places one hand firmly over my mouth, hushing the restricted moan that sounds from it, his hips eventually slowing to a smooth stop.

he pulls out of me as i hiss at the loss of contact, a small ‘sorry’ spilling from his lips. my body falls forward, totally exhausted, chest heaving up and down as he pulls his jeans back up, wrapping his belt through the loops, bringing his lips to mine quickly.

“you okay?” he checks, running a gentle hand across my cheek, smiling gently once i nod my head. he bends down, sliding my panties back up and over my hips, pulling my dress downwards so that it covers my thighs.

sensing that i am still slightly weak, he picks me up, helping me down from the countertop, my legs buckling a little. it doesn’t take long for me to come to my senses, wondering how tom and i were going to return to the table. we couldn’t go back together without looking totally suspicious, my mind racing to find ways to avoid the utter humiliation that would come if my parents found out what had just happened.

“how the fuck are we gonna go back?” i sigh, running my hands through my hair, visibly stressed out. “how did you manage to leave, what did you say to them?”

he shrugs, hands loosely resting on my hips, evidently nowhere near as concerned as i am “just said i needed to use the bathroom.”

“okay…” i trail off, playing with the material of his jacket as i think, certain that if we are absent for much longer, my parents will begin to grow suspicious regardless of if we return together or not. “i’ll go first. wait a couple minutes then come back, okay?”

he smiles at my serious tone, stifling a laugh as i tilt my head, looking at him in annoyance.

“okay, okay. i got it, a couple minutes.” he laughs, placing a soft kiss on my lips, letting go of my hips once i nod my head, turning away from him to quickly check my appearance, surprised that i only have to smooth my hair, fingers threading through a few small knots.

“act casual. and get that stupid smirk off your face, i can’t believe you convinced me to do this.” i sigh, wiping the lipstick that had smudged onto my face, eyeing tom’s expression as all he can do is keep that same smug smile upon it, clearly not regretting any of it. my hand reaches for the door handle, about to tug it open, not before tom pulls me back, wrapping his arms around my waist.

“don’t be mad at me. i love you.” he pouts, pecking my lips a few times, his eyes soft as they look into mine, attempting to win me over, with some success much to his surprise. i shake my head, smiling warmly at him, mumbling a small ‘love you too’, before heading out of the door, making sure not to close it behind me, reminding myself that my parents think i have been outside.

i enter the dining room, my mom’s face lighting up once she sees me. “you feeling any better?” she asks, beckoning me back over to the table as i take my seat.

“much better. where’s tom?” i ask innocently, furrowing my eyebrows in forged confusion, determined to keep our acts a secret, acting as if he wasn’t inside me literally two minutes ago.

“he said he needed to use the bathroom. he should be back soon.” my mom replies, sipping from her glass afterwards, a wave of relief spreading over me as i realise that she is completely oblivious, as is my father, who finishes the food on his place absent-mindedly.

“a nice boy you’ve got yourself honey.” my mother says out of the blue, a genuine smile on her face. my eyebrows raise in surprise, her sudden approval unexpected, but the way my father nods his head in agreement throws me off completely; slightly suspicious of how fast they have warmed up to him, knowing my parents to be extremely standoffish.

“really?” my voice is uncertain, a small laugh leaving my mom’s lips at this.

“why so shocked?” she says, my eyes drifting towards the entrance to the dining room, seeing tom walk through it. he shoots me a quick wink, moving past me as my mother spots him, her face lighting up.

“tom! we were just talking about you!” she smiles, watching as he takes his seat, an intrigued look on his face as he ushers her to continue, giving my thigh a quick squeeze from under the table.

“i was just saying how much you suit her.” my mom begins, shooting me a quick grin, turning her attention back to tom. “i’m so happy she’s found someone like you tom. so polite and put together, i admire it, really. very unusual for boys your age. i’ve never met anyone as mature.”

i stifle a laugh at her words, looking downwards into my lap, finding her obliviousness amusing, wondering how she would react if she ever found out what had just happened, using such positive words to describe him, completely unaware of the fact that minutes ago, he had been the complete opposite of all of them. my eyes shoot upwards in his direction, seeing his lips curved into a smile, soaking in all of the positive attention, using it to fuel his ego, clearly proud of how he has managed to pull this whole thing off, winning over my parents in the process an added bonus.

༻❦༺

“thank you so much for having me. it was great to meet you.” tom repeats, smiling widely as we say our final goodbyes, my parents waving us off as they close the door, tom and i walking down the driveway, hand in hand.

“i can’t believe you won them over so easily. that’s literally never happened before. every time my sisters have brought a boyfriend over, they literally hated him. one time my dad made my sister break up with a guy, in front of everyone.” i laugh, never witnessing my parents be so fond of a guy before, not expecting them to welcome someone like tom with open arms, usually approving of boys who were nothing like him.

“told you i’d surprise you.” he grins, that infamous smug smirk tugging on his lips once again, his hand squeezing mine as he looks downwards at me. i can tell that he will be smug about this for a while, this night being something he will bring up for the rest of our relationship, soaking up his own pride. he pauses, tongue swiping across his bottom lip as he opens the car door, climbing into it as i follow. “and, i love your parents house…

especially the bathroom.”

requests are open! keep sending them in!!

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Old Scars, New Blood 4

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, manipulation, borderline bullying, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Reader has accepted that she’ll never be wanted, not only by the man she’s crushed on for years, but by anyone. That is until a new player enters the game. (f!, short!reader)

Character: Lloyd Hansen, Thor Odinson

Note: Still sick but going to have to work.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you all. Take care. 💖

With meal prep complete, you return to Lloyd’s office to find it empty. The remnants of his earlier spill remain speckled over the desk and floor. You clean it up, leaving a lemony fresh scent in your stead. While you’re at it, you tidy up the bookshelves.

You hesitate on your way to the door. You glance over your shoulder as something tickles in your head. You still don’t get why Lloyd didn’t tell you about Valhalla. For months, he hid that from you. You think about that day in the car and being left on the side of the road. Maybe he’s been planning to cut ties with you for a while.

You stare at the large iMac. It would be wrong to snoop. Even if it isn’t his redeeming quality, you’ve always been honest with Lloyd. You’re just confused. He’s never anything less than straightforward so if he’s going to fire you, why hasn’t he just pulled the trigger?

Maybe… you know too much. That sends a shiver through you. It may actually end with shots fired.

“There she is,” Lloyd interrupts your inner turmoil and you whip around to face him. He’s freshly showered and styled. You can smell the specialty oil he puts in his mustache, “the fuck are you doing in here?”

“Cleaning,” you reply quickly.

“Looks pretty fucking spotless,” he tosses keys at you and you flinch, catching them against your chest, “I need a ride.”

“Um, I can get Jackie–”

“He drives like an old man,” he retorts, spinning on his heel as he snaps his fingers, “chop, chop, kid.”

You swallow your agitation. Usually, you’re better at it. Today you just find him grating. Maybe you’re just a bit sore about him leaving you on the highway. Well, get over it, he’s not apologising.

You follow him with the keys in your hand. He’s several paces ahead of you as you scurry to keep up. His stride is tense as he opens and closes his fists.

As you come outside, you hear a whistle. Lloyd peers over and scuffs to halt as he faces Thor. The large blond bounds over, a shirt with only one button done up displaying most of his chest. He looks over Lloyd’s shoulder and his cheek dimples.

“Running away?”

“Business,” Lloyd says flatly, “I’ll be back.”

“What about my business?” Thor challenges. Lloyd doesn’t respond. “Relax,” he slaps Lloyd’s arm, “I’m ragging on you. Tonight, we will share some of your scotch, eh? Get you nice and loose.”

“Mm,” Lloyd grumbles, “we’ll see.”

“The little one prefers wine, I think,” Thor points over Lloyd’s shoulder, “oh, and she has quite the sweet tooth, eh? You must know that.”

“Whatever. She’s the assistant. Her job is to worry about what I like,” Lloyd sneers, “don’t wait up.”

He turns back towards the car and you send an apologetic smile past him. Thor smirks and winks, flicking his tongue out lasciviously. You blanch and swiftly follow Lloyd.

You still don’t believe what he said in the kitchen. Not only that he said it but that he meant it. You’re certain it’s all just a part of this pissing match between the men. Thor keeps stepping onto Lloyd’s territory, he’ll keep going till he gets bit. You don’t how much longer Lloyd can hold out.

Lloyd’s in the passenger’s seat of the SUV before you even get to the door. You open it and swing yourself in. You hate how big all these vehicles are. You shove the keys in the slot and turn the engine. You shift in the seat and slide your phone out of your pocket, placing it in the cup holder.

You check the time then the mirrors. It’s not unusual for Lloyd to head out later in the day but you didn’t have anything on the agenda. You know better than to ask questions. That’s what he liked about you, if he likes anything about you.

“Would you just fucking drive?” Lloyd growls.

You wince and shift into gear. You look behind you then ahead of you. Thor watches you as you ease into reverse. Or maybe he’s watching Lloyd…

You roll the wheel and turn towards the gate. Lloyd takes out his phone and slumps in the seat as he scrolls and taps. You steer through the gate and pull out onto the road. You don’t even know if you should ask where to go.

“Head northeast,” he says.

Right. You take his direction and turn onto the ramp onto the highway. He grumbles at his phone but says nothing else until you have to get into the exit lane. What is he up to?

You head into the city and he directs you through the main row where much of the nightlife thrives. You’ve been there many times before. He isn’t shy about his nocturnal activities. He commands you past his typical spot.

When he points you into the lot behind a Hilton, you frown. Is he that desperate to get away from Thor? You don’t say a word as you idle by the back wall.

“Right,” he doesn’t look up from his phone as he undoes his seat belt, “I’ll be a while.”

You look over at him confused. What does he mean?

“I’m sure you can keep yourself entertained,” he pokes his tongue out as he smirks at his phone. You catch the glimpse of a chat, a picture sent of a woman in a thong. You cringe and grip the wheel.

“I’ll just go back to the compound–”

“You’ll stay the fuck here,” he tears his eyes from the cell and jabs his finger at you, “you need to remember who the fuck you work for, kid.”

You say nothing as he opens the door and drops out of the SUV. You know this side of Lloyd. His ego is bruised. It happens after rough missions or when an agent gets mouthy. It’s worse now since he can’t do much about his problem. 

He slams the door behind him and you watch him march towards the entrance. You sigh and roll down the windows before you shut off the engine. There’s no use in wasting gas for who knows how long. You’re certain if you get bored, you’ll have enough time to get a coffee down the block.

You grab your phone and shuffle through several apps. You can’t focus on any of the time-eating games you keep for when you’re restless. You have nothing else to distract you. Your sister hasn’t answered the text you sent her a week ago and Lloyd is busy.

You open up your downloaded series and turn on the same show you’ve seen a dozen times before. Still, you’re not paying attention. You don’t think Lloyd is here for business. It really shouldn’t matter to you but it feels extra humiliating to have to wait outside while he does…whatever.

You turn off the show and let the car go silent. You adjust the seat to recline and close your eyes. You’re exhausted. All the chaos has got the best of you. 

Your phone vibes before you can get cozy. It’s Lloyd. You tap the preview so it expands.

‘Need lube. Ten minutes.’

You scoff. Is he serious? Your heart shrivels up as your stomach turns. He’s punishing you. Not because you did anything but because he can’t punish Thor. You’re so so tired.

You grip the wheel and stare at the phone. You wonder if he knows? Is this why he’s doing this? All these years, talking about his escapades, you just assumed it was his usual crassness. He talks like that with everyone. If he’s not boasting about killing, it’s fucking.

Either way, he knows what he’s doing. This is low. You are low.

You open up maps and search for a shop nearby. You fix the seat and pull out, driving numbly as you follow the automated voice directing you through the street. You park without paying attention and get out, nearly stumbling from the height of the SUV’s lift.

You stroll inside the shop with its blackened windows and enter with your head down. Your eyes scan furtively as you search for your goal. The task is made more difficult as the flesh toned silicon and shameless displays set you on fire.

“Hello, hon, can I help you find something?” The man behind the counter asks.

“Er,” you cross your arms, “lube.”

“Alrighty, are we looking for flavoured? Water-based? Oil?”

You blanch as he rounds the counter and strides towards a rack. You shrug and trail after him. You see a black bottle with cherries on it.

“That’s fine,” you pluck one off the shelf and quickly retreat to the counter. “Credit.”

You bring up your card on your phone and tap. The man behind the counter tries to break the tension but you’re not listening. You shove the receipt in your pocket and swipe up the bottle and leave.

Back in the truck, you have to hold back from screaming. What are you doing? You don’t need this shit. Why do you keep bending over backwards for Lloyd when you don’t have a chance? Why have you wasted a decade hoping for nothing?

Because, you don’t have any other options.

You turn the car on and roll out of the lot. You make your way back to the hotel in a haze. You check your phone. He sent the room number and nothing else. You walk into the hotel, ignoring the front desk clerk, and wait for the elevator. You step onto it and watch the doors shut.

You get off and follow the signs to the exact door plaque. You knock with your knuckles, your hand fisted around the bottle. You hear giggling. It’s more than one woman. Footsteps approach the other side.

A woman in an open robe opens the door. She has dark wavy hair and smeared lipstick. Lloyd growls in the background as you glimpse his naked ass.

“Hurry up, sugar tits,” he calls, “I’m starting to chafe.”

You shove the bottle at the woman and drop it. You don’t wait to see if she catches it. You spin on your heel and you’re gone. Your eyes fill with hot tears. Tears like acid. Tears of stupidity.

When you get back to the car, you keel over the steering wheel and heave. You don’t hate Lloyd. You hate yourself. You need to cut it out but somehow, you just can’t. He’s the worst person you know and yet, you want him so badly.

❤️‍🩹

As the sky darkens, you get out of the SUV to stretch your legs. You pace around and check the time. You don’t want to get back in the car. Instead, you wander down the street to the coffee kiosk you drove by earlier. You get an Americano and drag your feet back up the pavement.

You stand outside the SUV and sip from the cup. You chew the paper brim anxiously and look at your phone. Another car door opens and closes.

“Candy?” A man approaches.

You look up, the glow of your face making the stranger nothing more than a dark shadow, “not me,” you back up and press your phone to your chest.

“Oh, sorry,” he puts his hands up, “thought you were someone else.”

You shake your head as he turns and wanders off. You’re not entirely sure how he mistook you for a prostitute. That is what he thought, isn’t it? Candy? Sounds pretty tasty.

You get back in the SUV and lock the doors. You put your phone in the cup holder and it flashes. A message. You don’t bother reading it. You tap your fingers on the console and close your eyes, sipping from the warm cup.

A knock on the other window startles you. You turn on the light and see Lloyd peering in. He winks and tugs on the handle. You hit the locks and sit up.

He gets in and lets out a sigh, “ahh, I feel good.”

You don’t say a word as you slip your cup into the empty holder beside your phone. You start the car and press the gas. As you come to the exit, Lloyd yawns and stretches his arm between the seats, gripping yours above your shoulder.

“I’m fucking starving, let’s hit a burger joint,” he says as he rubs his stomach, “you don’t think I would be with how much I ate.”

He cackles and you bite down. You don’t understand it. He repulses you and yet there’s that sharp pang in your chest.

“You see the tits on Kasia? Fucking pert–”

You veer onto the next street and he hits the door with the motion, “hey, be fucking careful.” He shifts in his seat as he touches his crotch, “I’m tender.”

You sniff and pull into the drive through. You stop by the menu, “what do you want?”

“Get me some of that honey chicken and some rings. Extra honey sauce for the rings. Oh, and a sprite.”

“Sure,” you answer as you drive up to the speaker. You recite his order and the fuzzy response tells you to drive up to the window.

“What’s up? You’re not hungry?”

“I’m fine,” you insist.

“Aw, you on another diet,” he taunts, “bone broth?”

“No,” you answer flatly.

“I’m not sharing my rings,” he says.

“I don’t want any,” you insist.

“You’re fucking testy,” he accuses as you pay.

“I’m tired,” you utter and roll up to the pick-up.

“You’re tired? Fuck, my back is aching from all that thrusting.”

“Would you stop?” You snap before you can stop yourself, “I don’t want to hear about your dick anymore.”

He snorts and sits up straight, “excuse me, kid?”

“I don’t care,” you reach over and give a blunt thanks to the drive-thru worker as you take the paper bag. “Why don’t you shut up and eat?"

You shove the bag in his lap then take the cup and move your phone to plant it firmly in the holder. You follow through the lane and back onto the street. The silence is still and stolid around you.

“If you wanted to join in, you just had to say–”

“No,” you snip. You know he’s not serious, he’s teasing you. You’re a joke to him. “No, I don’t want that.” You grip the wheel tight and bite down until your jaw hurts, “I don’t want you.”

He inhales and blows it out heavily through his nose. The bag crinkles as he opens it and reaches inside, unleashing the smell of chicken that makes your stomach rage. You ignore the discomfort and focus on the road.

“Learn to take a fucking joke, kid,” he snickers, “maybe then, you’ll catch a dick or two.”

[sunlightmurdock]

The Odyssey | 0.8 | Bradley Bradshaw x Reader

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter | Masterlist

Moodboard | Recommended Listening

Synopsis: Bradley keeps a close eye on the other students, nightly dinners become a regular occurrence. Malcolm feels further away than ever. A phone call in the middle of the night causes a swift change in plans.

Warnings: enemies to lovers, power imbalance (professor / student relationship), age gap (22 / 33), will be smut, virgin reader, swearing, infidelity. 18+ minors dni

…

Bradley wakes up with the sun. All of those West Coast mornings and thin, green floral curtains in his grandmother’s house. The sun spilling through them and alerting him to the Chordettes playing downstairs on grainy vinyl. That meant his mother was cleaning. Lemon-scented disinfectant, her sitting on her knees polishing the hardwood with a rag. The effortless warmth of her voice drifting through the walls.

He exhales. Sunlight seeps through his eyelids but there’s no Chordettes album today. No lemon scent. Just a dusty room and one of his students sleeping six feet away. His eyelids flutter, blinking through the early morning light. A slow turn of his neck allows him to check the clock on the nightstand and doesn’t affront the stiffness that these cheap mattresses give him either.

It’s early. About four hours before Luke would naturally rise, anyway. Bradley hits the alarm and pushes himself upright with a soft sigh. He doesn’t have to be quiet when he’s getting out of bed, that kid could sleep through a hurricane.

They have a lot in common. Lots of similarities in the way they were raised. Bradley likes him beyond just being his professor. In different circumstances, they would be friends. But, Bradley has always kept that line in the sand clear. Until now. Until you had kissed him.

Showered and dressed, Bradley’s up before most of Verona. The soles of his shoes are quiet against the cobble. Italian leather from almost a decade ago. A gift from an old friend that have held up well. The only dress shoes he’s got.

It’s bright out. Bright enough that Bradley’s squinting through his Ray-Ban caravans already, but it’s not too hot just yet. There’s a wind that makes the loose white of his button-up billow against his tanned skin, fighting to work free from being neatly tucked into his belt.

Enzo’s out on the steps by the time Bradley gets there, which means he is late. Teaching hasn’t ever been Bradley’s passion, but it makes way for him to study and — in theory — he gets his summers off. It allows him to write.

“Good morning.” Enzo greets him with a smile. Bradley’s not much for the business side of things — he would have better luck at counting the shades of blue in the sky than he would at figuring out schmoozing. Enzo knows this, and Bradley knows that he knows this. “How’s the book coming?”

“I’m not sure,” Bradley answers with a broad shrug. He tucks the gold frames of his sunglasses into the part of his shirt. “I’m not sure I’ll have it finished by the end of summer.”

Olive-skinned and about fifteen years Bradley’s senior, Enzo looks the part of a sleazy salesman even if he’s just a curator when his lips twist up into a smile. “Something’s got you a little distracted, hm?”

The straight ahead stare, the deep, slow breaths and the unwavering tight line that his lips are pressed into; Bradley’s reaction is easily readable — and Enzo’s close enough to get hit if he keeps it up. He knows that. Towing the line is his specialty.

“Just joking. Here, let’s go in.”

Three soft-sounding steps inside and Bradley’s back where he was this morning. Ten years old and laying on his back in the twin bed in the bedroom at the front of his grandmother’s house, smelling artificial lemon.

He turns his head just a little, his eyes lingering on the mop being pushed around the tile floor, as Enzo leads him further inside.

Being published is what professors dream of. Having someone decide that their little ramblings are interesting enough to publish. Bradley’s study focuses on two things that are inherently interesting to begin with — sex, and power.

His research may be tedious every now and again but the content is always rich. His morning spins by and before he knows it, it’s time to meet you again. You’re ready for him when he gets there, tugging open the door before he has knocked.

But, you don’t look excited to see him.

Cheeks flushed, your body language suggests to him that you would have a decent future as an offensive lineman. His gaze flickers up, over your head and into your seemingly innocent hotel room. Powerless as he scans the room, you just hope he can’t figure out what it is that has you so rattled.

You had aimed to finish before he had arrived but time had gotten away from you.

“So what are we doing today?” You try.

“What are you writing?” His eyes are already on it. The open stack of lined papers, torn out of the notebook already, sitting on the vanity by the wall. Your perfume is next to it and you’ve got the stationary set that your mother got you laid out neatly next to it.

“Nothing.”

He looks down. First, at your face. Wide eyes and baited breath. Then, at your hands suddenly resting against his chest like they’ll hold him in place. His lips twitch.

“Nothing?” He repeats to you. Enjoyment seeps through his words, amusement tugs at his lips and he lifts his right foot to take one step forwards. “Mind if I take a look?”

Instantly, your fingers are curling into his shirt and you’re throwing your weight at him to keep him where he is. Bradley huffs out a sound of amusement, passing you in one swift stride as you claw at his button up to slow him down.

“Don’t, Bradley, it’s stupid — I was just messing around. I don’t want you to read it.”

His fingers brush the top page as you plead with him, tugging at his sleeve, trying to change his mind. He lifts it nonetheless and shoots you a grin, making a show of clearing his throat.

“Dear Juliet,” He pronounces, turning his attention back to the page from you.

“Bradley, please don’t.” It’s not fun anymore. You’re quiet and resigned to him doing whatever he pleases. Embarrassment teems through you.

It’s a familiar kind of crushing feeling. It’s never just feeling small, it’s never that simple. It’s being made small. Every inch that you shrink, you’re squished down further until you’re nothing.

You can see it in his face, the exact moment that he reads his initials on the paper. It had seemed too personal to use his name. Back when this had seemed like a good idea at all.

He doesn’t read on. The paper sits still in his hand as he turns his head towards you. You stare back at him, preparing yourself. Tongue poised, ready to spit whatever venom he deserves after what he says next. Eyes wide, and sad.

“I’m sorry.”

He sets the paper back down as he had found it. It’s not his to discard, it wasn’t his to read. Bradley steps forwards and wraps his hands gently around both of your biceps.

“That wasn’t cool,” He tells you quietly. Bradley knows a couple of different languages, and he’s confident that he’s speaking English now, even if you’re staring at him like he isn’t. “I didn’t realize what it was. I was just trying to mess with you. I barely read any of it.”

Silent, you blink a few times. He’s still there with his big, heavy hands anchoring around your biceps. He’s waiting for you to say something back.

Slowly, your brows draw together. Your eyes flicker over every inch of his face, looking for some fault that will give up this little act.

Suddenly, your mind is made up. This is an act. He’s not sorry, men rarely are. You straighten your back and lift your chin, if you were a cat your claws would be out and ready. “You’re such an asshole.”

The clock beside your bed, the hands don’t move, and yet it feels like you can hear something ticking. Maybe your heartbeat. He’s staring back at you, not moving, but he’s going to have to soon — it’s his turn.

“I know, honey,” Bradley’s hands open and he releases your arms, only to open his and wrap you in them. Your face presses into his chest as he rubs a hand along the small of your back. “I didn’t mean to.”

You’ve received plenty of life lessons on what it means to be a woman. Your grandmother, your mother, your aunts and cousins, teachers and friends. Not one of them prepared you for this. In your scope, apologies come in the form of jewelry or luxury vacations.

No one had ever prepared you for a man to look into your eyes and tell you that he is truly sorry.

“I just wanted to put it on paper, get it out of my head,” You mumble into his shirt, inhaling the notes of wood and warm spice in his cologne. Your hand rests against his stomach now, unclenched. Your body is soft against his. You relax out of all of that tension and let him hold you. “Make some sense of it.”

His palm hugs the base of your skull, cradling you against his shoulder. His cheek rests against the top of your head. He gives you a slow nod.

“You should finish it.” Bradley tells you.

“Yeah. Maybe later.” You hum. It’s nice, to be held by him. He strokes a hand softly over your hair.

Within this city, within the walls of the first space that you have had to yourself in three weeks, in this brown hotel room — you have let yourself be his.

Tomorrow, you’ll move on to Venice. The decision is yours, to leave him and all of this insanity right here — forever between these four walls — or to let go.

Bradley’s thumb trails the nape of your neck. He can feel you deep in thought. Just once, he would like to know what’s going on in that pretty little head of yours. “Could be our activity for today. Write it in Latin, think of it as a translation activity. I won’t check it.”

Lifting your head, you stare up at him, lips pursed in distaste. “If you don’t check it then what’s the point?”

“Confidence.” Bradley tells you. You feel his open palms trail your back until they hit your belt. Then, they skim around to rest safely on your waist. “The more you practice—“

“Yeah, yeah…” Both hands push against his chest as you wriggle out of his arms and turn. “Okay, I’m in.”

“Let’s sit outside. It’s a nice day.”

The eighth of June. The day you sat in a public garden opposite a fountain, laying on your front in the grass while Bradley sat in front of you, propped up against a tree. It turns out that when Bradley says he knows a place, it’s usually worth listening.

“What’s this place called?”

“Giusti Garden.” He tells you, working on something of his own in his lap.

“And what is it?” You ask him, trailing the end of your pencil through the dictionary. He looks up at you, his own pencil stilling for a second.

“A palace, originally.” Blinking through the lenses of his sunglasses, Bradley glances down at the page in front of him and back to your lips, pursed in concentration. “Pretty popular. Mozart, Gorthe, Ruskin— they’ve all visited this place.”

“Huh.” You hum.

This time when his gaze flickers up, you have moved. Your lips are parted, you tap the rubber at the end of your pencil against your bottom lip.

Mid-sentence and stuck, you turn your head towards him and he’s already looking at you. He read what was on that paper the first time. He reads hundreds of essays a year, he has mastered the art of clearing a page quickly.

Admittedly, he hadn’t gotten through the whole page, but he’d noticed that you had stopped halfway through a word at the bottom.

He read all about it. How confused you are. The new feelings and the difficult thoughts. Malcolm and how much he loves you. How guilty you are. How furious with yourself you are.

Selfishly, Bradley wonders if you’re writing the same thing now. All of those biting looks and harsh words — Bradley feels like he’s just starting to understand, and he likes the person behind it all.

He’s grown up enough to know that you’ve got enough people messing with your head back home. Whatever that letter helps you realize, Bradley has already decided that he isn’t going to say a word about it.

It’s still bright out by the time that your letter is signed and sealed, tucked into your bag. You straighten up, brushing off your front as Bradley collects his things behind you.

“Here.”

Lifting your head, you almost miss it. He watches your eyes land on the folded piece of paper extended towards you. Your lips quirk softly as you reach out and take it from him.

Breeze catches your hair, you comb it off of your forehead with one hand as you open up the paper with the other. Three different pencil sketches sit on the paper.

The largest is in the centre. It’s of your face and your shoulders, elbows propped up against the grass and your lips pouted slightly as you study the book before you. The lashes, the slight misshape of your polo collar, the tip of your nose. He’s got it down to a science.

The other two are just sketches. One of your face, turned to the side like it is in the drawing of you laying down. The last is of you looking at him, smiling. You don’t even remember what he had said. Neither does he. But he remembers that look.

“What’s this?”

Bradley just slips the pencil into the pocket of his jeans and starts walking, nudging his elbow into yours as he passes by. “You asked me to draw you, didn’t you?”

In truth, he assumes that it’s going to be a parting gift. Call him sentimental, but Bradley always leaves something to remember him by.

When he closes his eyes, he doesn’t remember his father’s face. He has seen it in pictures before, but never in memories. No, he remembers hugging his father’s legs, and sitting on his knee. He remembers the smell of tobacco.

The replacement dog tags. The gold chain. The shoes in the box in his mother’s wardrobe. The suit that Bradley never grew into — one day it was too big and the very next, he had already outgrown it. Those are what he has to piece together parts of his father.

When you’re old and married, maybe you’ll find the drawing and piece together the parts of Bradley that made you smile like that.

You trail behind him, white tennis shoes in the trimmed green grass. A white polo shirt tucked into lemon yellow shorts, your sunglasses sweeping your hair back off of your forehead.

In another life, he’d reach back and you would wrap your palm around his index finger. He would smile at you and you would be all kinds of giddy about this date.

But this isn’t that — it doesn’t work like that this time around. Someone could see you. Bradley knows now how you’re feeling. He knows that your fiancé is on your mind. He chose once, took Natasha’s choice in her own future from her. He won’t do the same to you.

“The dinner thing,” You call out from behind him, watching your shoes travel from grass to stone pavers as you pass by an intricately carved fountain. He turns his head and peers at you over the top of his sunglasses, looking over his shoulder. “Is that really every night?”

Before you’re even done with your question Bradley’s looking ahead once again, and you’re left looking at the plain white of his cotton tee stretched pliantly over the swell of his shoulders. “Until you all start treating each other with a little respect, I guess so.”

“All of us? — Come on, Bradley, don’t act like you don’t know who the problem is.” An incredulous scoff, barely paying attention to your own words as your eyes wander around the flowered garden. “She’s just a slut, and—“

He stops and turns. Your gaze snaps from double early tulips and their puffed yellow petals to Bradley standing before you — the look in his eyes is scolding before his mouth has even moved.

“Do you listen to a single thing that I say? — Seriously?” He asks you, brows drawn together and his lips pressed into a frown. You simply blink at him.

“What?”

“She’s a slut because she has sex with her boyfriend?” He challenges you, shaking his head. The past week, Bradley has been spoon-feeding you content about the sexual culture through the history of Rome. You nod like you understand and yet, you come out with bullshit like that.

He’s the one who challenged you. You simply answer back.

“She’s a slut because he’s not her boyfriend. They’ll both tell you that.” You tell him, defiance coursing through your veins in lieu of anything that might have helped you make a stronger argument.

“What does that make me? — You listen to my stories with a smile on your face. It’s not dirty until it’s someone you don’t like, huh?” Bradley asks. He’s right, you know that much. Bradley has indubitably slept with far more people than Robin possibly could have.

Still, maybe it’s his tone that makes you need to bite back so quickly. Hands on your hips and a scowl on your face, you stand off against him before the fountain. “What does it matter to you if I think she’s a slut?”

“It matters —“ Bradley stops and takes a deep breath. He leans in by three inches and you’re met with that familiar woody smell that just makes you want him even closer. “Use your brain. Whatever your mommy and daddy taught you back home is bullshit — you’re the odd one out.”

With that, he turns and starts away from you. He won’t leave you to walk home alone, but he will walk six paces ahead so that you’re clear with the fact that you have once again stepped on his nerves.

“I’m the odd one out for respecting my body?” You call out to him.

“Respecting it, ignoring it… same difference, right? — It’s your call, honey,” Bradley walks slowly closer until the toe of his sneaker brushes yours. He lowers his voice, calm. “But choosing not to have sex doesn’t make you better than Robin.”

“I’m not your honey.” You bite back.

“Right,” Bradley nods at you. He lifts his arms and drops them back against his sides incredulously. “But here we are.”

It’s an eleven minute walk back to the hotel. You stroll behind him, sullen like a scolded child. The letter feels heavy in your bag. He might not have called you a slut, but you’ve been put in your place nonetheless. The words would never pass your lips — but he’s right. The comparison’s right there in front of you, all around you. You’re living it.

She can’t be a slut for sleeping with one boy if you’re not for whatever you’ve got going on with Bradley.

You would hold it against her, crushing like a weight, if she told your story back to you. If she was the one with a fiancé at home and a professor who spent afternoons in her hotel room.

Still, your face is hot and you’re not ready to speak to him. Halfway across the herati patterned rug that covers most of the reception area, Bradley turns and looks at you as he tucks the arm of his sunglasses into the collar of his t-shirt.

Chin high and shoulders squared, your clear path is to walk right by him. Just as you always have when a man in your life has embarrassed you.

One step ahead, Bradley catches your wrist loosely, stopping you mid-stride. “Dinner’s in five. Remember?”

“I’m not going to dinner with you.” Your answer is simple and biting. Childish. He wouldn’t be surprised if you crossed your arms and stomped your foot.

“It’s not up for discussion. Everyone’s going.” Bradley explains. Right on time, he lifts his gaze and spots Pasquale headed towards the two of you from across the lobby. It’s not like he won’t have seen the two of you argue before.

He reaches you with a smile and stands at Bradley’s side. His bald head has caught the sun, reddened slightly with head. The smile lines beside his eyes always crease when he beams at Bradley. He stands almost an entire foot shorter. Looking up at him and grinning like a kid, even though he’s older than Bradley.

“Hi, guys!” He pats Bradley’s arm jovially and turns that wide, cheesy grin to you. “How is the revision going?”

Your eyes land on the professor and suddenly there’s something dark about them that has simply nothing to do with eye colour, and everything to do with the mood he put you in.

Pasquale lives in ignorant bliss for the two seconds that it takes you to settle your hands into the shallow pockets of your lemon shorts and narrow your eyes at the professor. “Bradley’s a self-righteous asshole.”

“But what else is new!” Pasquale tries. The laugh is forced out of him and nerves shake through it. He shoots Bradley an apologetic look. Bradley’s looking at you anyway.

“She got a C minus yesterday. Still trying to figure out if it was a fluke.” Bradley bites. Your eyes widen.

Sitting on his lap, wrapped in his arms as he told you how hard you had worked — how proud he was. His hand trailing your spine. His mouth soft against yours. Butterflies tearing through your stomach.

“I think I got too much sun today. I’m going to lie down. Enjoy dinner.” Fuck mandatory. Fuck every single student on this trip. Fuck this class, and fuck him in particular. Pasquale swallows softly as you turn on your heel and head for the stairs.

Bradley turns his chin towards the ceiling. He wants to like you, he wants you to like him. In the moments that you do, everything feels so easy. Like the breeze in early June. But when you’re hell bent on arguing with him — those are like those scorching hot summers back in California. Surrounding and heavy. Pressing in on him until he bites.

“A C… that’s not so bad. Right?” Pasquale asks quietly. Bradley turns his head and looks at him, there isn’t really an answer to give. A B is the average in his class, so no — a C really isn’t bad.

The thing about old Italian hotels is that they tend to be marketed towards guests looking to lead quiet lives — romantic getaways and such. Not young women fuelled by anger. The door slams and teaches you a quick lesson in cause and effect. The painting hung on the wall to the right of the bed wobbles in complaint, then bumps to the floor. The glass frame promptly shatters across the floor.

There’s an almost calm silence that follows. A few slow blinks, and the glass is still there. The frame is still shattered. There are pieces all across the floor. Bradley still said what he said.

The soles of your tennis shoes are thin and pliant, excellent for movement but not designed to fend off glass shards. Crossing the floor at that exact moment seems like far too much of a challenge. So, you press your back to the door and slide down it. Cupping your hands tight over your mouth, you clamp your eyes tightly shut and let it go.

The scream is muffled by your palms, but probably still enough to alarm other guests.

Your bag clatters haphazardly to the floor and you lift your face from your hands just long enough to examine the mess once again. Huffing out a sadder sound than you had intended, you push weakly to your feet once again.

Until today, Verona had been your favourite stop so far. Even with that spoiled, at least you have an en-suite here. You’re more careful with that door. You tug it closed and lock it behind you, toeing off each of your shoes as you go.

These old hotels have old water heaters too. You lean across to turn the shower on first and wriggle out of your shorts, dropping your polo onto the ground with them. Facing straight ahead, you stare into the little round mirror above the sink. It’s got molding all around it that was supposed to look gold once, but the peeling paint reveals brass underneath.

Your reflection stares back at you, sullen. It’s a portrait, just your head, shoulders and chest. Swallowing doesn’t make the thickness in your throat fade. You just blink at your reflection in the mirror. The cotton t-shirt bra hugged to your chest is modest and does it’s job — nothing more.

You’ve seen lingerie — you own lingerie. You have a white teddy with matching panties reserved especially for your wedding night. Bradley has most definitely seen lingerie.

A swift inhale is followed by a baited exhale.

The memory is so distinct, standing in a mall with your mother at the ripe age of twelve, watching her soured expression as she searched through the rack.

“Lace, lace, lace.” She had tutted. Back then, you had been more concerned about someone you knew seeing you here, shopping for your first bra. You hadn’t understood.

“Mom, just grab one. I want to go home. I don’t care what I wear.” You had whined, fidgeting on your feet and brushing awkwardly at the pleats of your dress. You’ll always remember the way that she had rounded on you, eyes wide like you had asked her to buy you a thong.

“Well you should, young lady!” Her voice always sounded scarier when you were younger, even though it had always been hushed and poised.

You have been a grown up for a while now. Lived outside of her home. Had your own bank account, car, clothes — and that voice still circles in your head.

The nightdress she had gotten you last Christmas is hanging on the back of the door. Malcolm hates it. He says it reminds him of his grandmother.

You look down at the thread scissors from your sewing kit resting on the shelf beside the sink. Anger has often led you to some of your best DIYs.

“So, we all have to be here… except not actually all of us.” Robin points out, leaning back in her seat and crossing her arms over her striped t-shirt. Elbow resting on the table, Bradley turns his head to look at her.

“She’s sick, Robin, leave her alone.” Abigail mutters from beside her, pushing her fork around the plate of roasted vegetables.

“No, but I heard Bradley say mandatory. So, mandatory for everyone except—“

“Robin.” Bradley sighs, sitting back in his seat and frowning at her. The restaurant is dimly lit, almost ten of them are cramped around a table in the corner, and after your argument today, Bradley just doesn’t want to hear it. “I don’t want to hear another damn word.”

This is what Bradley hates most about education. Half of the time a punishment for his students is more of a punishment for himself, which this dinner just so happens to be. He wants them to like you. He doesn’t want to hear the bitter comments and the arguing.

Everyone’s eager to get it wrapped up and over with. It’s still early by the time that he heads back to the hotel — everyone else decides to go out for drinks again, without you. Making the entire thing pointless.

The knock at your door startles you. You wince as the pin slips into the tip of your finger, inhaling sharply. Abandoning the project on the bed, you push yourself to your feet and walk over to the door. You already know who it is.

Bradley’s gaze flickers down at the sweat shorts and T-shirt you’re wearing first, then back up to your face.

“How was dinner?” You’re already turning away from him again, stepping onto the bed and tiptoeing back across the sheets. Bradley glances behind him, then steps inside and closes the door.

“Are you done sulking?” He rests his hands on the leather belt wrapped around his hips. Sewing needle in hand, you lift your head and stare, silent. “I’m allowed to disagree—“

“Fuck you,” This time, you don’t give him a chance to finish. You turn your head and continue to thread the new hem. “What you said was cruel and you know it, this isn’t about a disagreement.”

His gaze turns towards the ceiling, hands still sitting atop his belt.

“It was. I’m sorry.” He mutters with an exhale and a shake of his head. Bradley looks back at you finally. His brows draw together and he takes a step into the room. “What are you doing?”

“Hemming.” Your answer is short.

Briefly, Bradley presses his tongue into his cheek and considers just saying goodnight. Then, he notices exactly what it is that you’re working on.

“Did you cut that in half?” He’s already crossing the room and craning his neck to get a better look. Unluckily for him, you’re finished. He watches you look up at him through your lashes and lift the nightdress, then stand up from the bed. “Oh, you’re ignoring me now?”

The door to the bathroom swings shut behind you, the thin wood does nothing to muffle your voice. “I’m not ignoring you.”

Bradley’s attention has already waned. He’s looking at the paper on your nightstand. His drawing from earlier is uncurled and illuminated in the light of the lamp, below that is your address book — opened to a page with Malcolm’s name. Dotted around are little pink hearts, his number neatly written along the line.

“Are you snooping?”

Bradley flinches, turning back towards you with a swift inhale. He remains silent, lips parted as you march from the bathroom to the wood-framed mirror about three feet from where he’s standing.

Aware of his eyes on you, you study the new garment. It sits a few inches above your knee, just above mid-thigh. The sweetheart neckline keeps it sweet. Bradley’s eyes flicker briefly downwards in the reflection. With the window open, he can’t help but notice your nipples peaked against the light cotton blend.

“What’s this?” He asks quietly.

“I wanted a change.” You answer him.

He lifts his gaze to your face, just in time for you to turn and face him. Half an hour ago, you were talking to your fiancé — and yet, you’ve got no shame in searching for Bradley’s approval like this. Maybe you aren’t as pure as you had once thought, or as your mother would like you to be. But for now, standing in front of him, you aren’t ashamed.

Malcolm had called you today from his office. He was eating a sub that one of the interns had grabbed from him and he was telling you about his week. Numbers and figures.

You had thought of everything you could tell him. Juliet and the views of the city, sitting under the tree in that garden this afternoon. Bradley.

“I’m sorry that I said what I said.” Bradley tells you. Maybe it’s just because he’s desperate to get the conversation off of the light fabric you’re wearing, but something tells you that he means it. “It was childish, and you’re right, I was being cruel.

Barefoot, you take four short steps forwards until you’re standing right in front of him.

“I’m not saying you’re right — but I shouldn’t have called Robin a slut.” The admission comes with a small, lip-twitching smile. Bradley’s hands reach forwards and curl around your hips.

“She is annoying. I’ll give you that much.” Bradley concedes. Your mouth twists into an eager grin as you press closer and shift up onto your tiptoes. Bradley steadies your hips and follows you in until your mouth is on his. Slowly, sweetly. His hands skim along the yellow fabric experimentally. He hums as he pulls away from you. “So, what’s with this?”

“You’re right. I was ignoring my body — I like the way I look in this. I like my shape. I can still respect myself without covering up so much. Right?”

Fuck. Bradley stares at you for just a split-second too long. He wrestles with the realisation of what he has just done to himself. Sure, you listened to him for once and it was a decent lesson to learn — but his summer just got considerably harder.

“Do you like it?”

He trails his fingers lightly along the fabric, careful not to touch too hard and press it against your skin. Quietly, he hums. “Sure. It’s cute.”

Bradley’s mind is swimming as he is walking back to his room. Fine, he resolved the issue that he went up there to resolve. Now, he has presented himself with a much bigger one.

His hands press into the pockets of his jeans as he starts to contextualize how deep he actually is into this mess. He hasn’t ever thought about fucking a student before — not once. He detests the men he knows that fantasize of it. And yet, here he is, picturing his fingers bunching up that stupid nightdress.

“Hey, Bradley.” Luke grins, sprawled out across his bed in the dark, reading a magazine with a flashlight. Bradley flinches. The door shuts behind him and they’re in there together. “Natasha called from Turin! She told you that she’s going to be in Venice this weekend too, she asked you to call her back.”

…

Tags: @thedroneranger @batdanceq @cassiemitchell @himbos-on-ice @wkndwlff @bradshawsbaby @damrlova @fudge13 @xoxabs88xox @mak-32 @sihtricswife @callsignvenus @callsign-joyride @harper1666 @krismdavis @sheisanangell @thecitysgraveyard @sugarcoated-lame @kmc1989 @cherrycola27

[imyourbratzdoll]

uhm hi? (⁠◍⁠•⁠ᴗ⁠•⁠◍⁠)

(sorry if Its awkward.. it's my first time doing this this and I'm not exactly.. a people person?)

I really hope this is the right portal to send asks.. sorry if this ends up elsewhere (⁠｡⁠ŏ⁠﹏⁠ŏ⁠)

I fell in love with ur writings ❤️ and I just wanted to know maybe if you could do a Bucky barnes one where the reader is like a servant/maid/helper and Bucky doesn't really socialise with her.. and then some piece of information get's leaked and Bucky doubts her (maybe even chokes her out of anger?) And Steve/Sam is there to calm him but yk reader is traumatised and can't stand being near him... But then he finds out that reader is not the one to blame (*act surprised*) and feels bad... But b4 he could apologize there's a threat and reader is in danger and he.. uh.. basically saves the day? (I haven't really thought abt the ending part)

hi honey bunny! it's okay, not awkward at all! I completely understand, I'm the same, haha. I apologise for how long it has taken me to complete this, I don't think this kind of genre is my specialty? but I hope you like it!

summary - bucky snaps, and then you get taken by the enemy.

warning - angst, choking, kidnapping.

the gif I use isn't mine, divider by @newlips

You had been a maid for the Avengers for a long time, always loyal, quiet and quick. When Bucky had joined, you kept your distance, finding the man frightening, but you had felt bad for him. Today had been like every other day, you went around the compound and cleaned, making sure everything was organised, and the kitchen was stocked. 

As Bucky entered the room, you barely had time to realise what was happening. His face was even angrier than usual as he approached you. His vibranium hand comes up and strangles you. Bucky pushes you against the wall, “I knew you were a spy! Why the hell did you leak information about me?!” Your eyes are wide as you struggle to breathe, your mouth opening and closing as you try to respond but can’t. 

Steve and Sam walk into the room mid-conversation when they stop and notice what Bucky is doing. Both men quickly rush over and pull Bucky off you, and Sam kneels and pulls you into him, checking to see if you are okay. “What the hell, man?!” 

“She leaked the information! I just know it!” 

Steve shakes his head, looking down at you in pity and mouths an apology before dragging Bucky away.

Weeks pass by with you being cautious in the compound, always running whenever Bucky entered the room, keeping your head down and covering the bruises with a scarf or make-up. You didn’t know they had discovered who leaked the information, and you didn’t know that he felt terrible. You were heading outside to take the trash out when you were suddenly grabbed, too shocked to react before everything went black.

The team was alerted of what had happened, causing Bucky to go into a frenzy. He had been on his way to apologise to you, a bouquet of tulips in his hands, now lying on the floor from when he dropped them, taking off. The Avengers had suited up extremely fast. You weren’t just the maid to them. You were family. Always there to take care of them, stock their favourite things, and be there for advice.

Thankfully the team and you had agreed on a tracker in case something like this happened, so they set off to where you had been taken. A few hours passed, and they finally arrived, taking out anyone and everything that had stopped them from getting to you. Bucky slammed through everyone, an unstoppable killing machine. He stopped at a room you were being held in, his heart beating out of his chest when he noticed your bruised form tied to a chair. 

“Shit! Shit! Shit!” He ran over, quickly untying you and holding you close to him. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry!”

thank you for reading! feedback and reblogs are greatly appreciated.

[jmdbjk]

Bangtan weekly report.

Hello everyone.

A sign of Yoongi! Literally! his signature on a wall at the grand opening of actor Ma Dong Seok's (or Don Lee) boxing gym. Is Yoongi doing boxing workouts now?

Even Chef Baek and Psy attended this grand opening. Yoongi's signature had its own separate panel on the wall...

Kookie finally came home to Weverse:

"ARMY, are you doing well? I'm good I'm working out a lot And I'm doing lots of cleaning too, just really cleaning it all, from floor to ceiling I'm making rice well too It's already mid-March I will come again I miss you a lot" (Trans cr; Aditi @ bts-trans)

I know they take aptitude tests etc. to discern what military specialty/occupation/job they would match better. It is fitting he's ended up in a job that keeps him indoors in a very methodical environment doing something he's already shown an interest in.

There's a chance those who work in the kitchen have to wake up a little earlier than the others to begin preparing the food.

And it tickles me to think there are probably many who surround him who address him as hyung.

AND! I know when he sees Jimin enter the cafeteria, he gets the hugest brightest smile on his face. If he has any say-so in the kitchen, he is making sure someone makes and serves the biggest pancake, best pork cutlet and gives Jimin a huge serving of pork and kimchi stew.

Taehyung sighting at a Compose Coffee in Chuncheon:

Looks like he's found his military version of wooga squad...

I think the organization of "promotions" for Fri(end)s was excellent. I am 100% sure Tae came up with the idea of having people he knows react to the MV. The fan meet that happened yesterday, scheduled Stationhead listening parties and the WKorea thing is pretty brilliant too where it appears he'll sing the song in a prerecorded clip to be posted soon.

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by W Korea (@wkorea)

I wasn't sure if we would be able to get the song to #1 on the iTunes Top Songs list but we did it! There were some big releases yesterday.

And Hobi posted this on his IG stories:

This Wednesday will be the 100 day mark for Jimin and Jungkook (Tuesday for Tae and Namjoon). I wonder if all soldiers reaching that mark immediately take their 3 days off (or however many days it is) or can they choose when they want to take it?

I'd like to think Jungkook would be able to squeeze in a little bit of time enjoying one of those $1000 bottles of whisky that we spied in his fridge. I would assume he'll also swing by the house construction to pick out colors and flooring and such. I hope they get to eat some really good food and see all the people they want to see.

I learned they've been conducting readiness training and drills this past week with the U.S. forces stationed in South Korea. The report I read said they've doubled the scale of their drills this go round. (big worried sigh).

If you are in the northern hemisphere, I hope your allergies are not bothering you too much.

[hai7ani]

THE BOY WITH THE MP3 𓅹 haitani rindou

sfw, canon-typical violence, angst, troubled past/abusive situations, city boy x island girl please proceed with caution

prequel to the home collection 𖠋

part i / marigold

You think Tokyo is suffocating.

Everyone moves fast. People are constantly in a rush and you don't know why. One time a man in a suit was running while speaking loudly into his Nokia and he knocked you over. Your Cola fell to the floor, school books scattered all over from your unzipped bag and an elderly lady helped you up. That was it.

The atmosphere is different than it was back home. It's noisy with music from advertisements and the stores are always so huge. One time you waddled in to a supermarket on your way home with the motive of searching for a packet of thing Mama asked you buy after school. You spent 10 minutes navigating through the aisles and eventually stopped in front a wall full of different things in different packets.

You're not so sure what exactly Mama wanted, only remembering the words cheap and powder fall from her mouth before she ushered you out the house and slammed the door.

"Excuse me," You pull at the apron of a passing store clerk and she bows down to your height with a smile. "I don't know what my mother wants me to buy, but she wants something powder that is cheap." You show her the coins in your tiny hand and she hands you a packet of salt with a pat to the head. "Take this too. Eat it on your way home." She passes you a bottle of colourful gummy bears with a warm smile.

That evening, you return to your room teary-eyed with a stinging, red mark to your left cheek.

Mama never let you buy groceries ever again. She throws the half-finished bottle of gummy bears in the bin when you show her and points an accusing finger at Papa on the the couch. She yells at him for not helping around the house. She screams at him for not teaching his daughter better.

His daughter.

You cry when you're reminded that Mama isn't your biological mother.

He aims a heavy bottle of beer at the wall behind Mama. It shatters and the sharp pieces fly everywhere. Beer stains the pristine white walls and Mama cries loudly. He calls her annoying and he pushes you to the side when he exits the front door.

You find shards of glass in your hair when you go to shower and they cut your fingers while you pick them out raw with painful hisses.

You decide you don't like going to Costco anymore, and you remind yourself to kill the lady when you see her next time.

Mama wanted flour, not salt. And you are allergic to gelatine. It says so on the emergency contact card hanging around your neck.

You go to sleep feeling itchy all around that night. Mama doesn't help you with your allergies anymore.

₊˚ʚ ᗢ₊˚✧ ﾟ.

School is boring.

People never talk to you and there's not much work to do. You understand the classes, or most of it anyway. Math was never your specialty. When Souma-sensei calls on you to answer the equation written on the chalkboard, you don't reply. You fiddle with your fingers while drops of sweat drips from your forehead to the worksheet splayed on your desk.

"Can you answer the question?" Sensei says your name louder this time and you mumble your reply quietly. The girl sitting beside you laughs and you blush. "I cannot hear you, girl." He moves closer and you look up into his furious eyes. "You're wasting everyone's time."

"I don't know the answer."

You stayed behind class to clean up after everyone as a punishment for not knowing the answer to Question 17. "It is easy. We've been through this topic many times. How can you still not know?" Sensei slams a hand on the table loudly and you flinch. He reminds you of Papa and you don't like it.

"I'm sorry." You don't look into his eyes when you say it and he whips out a thin bamboo cane from under the desk. The thin one always hurts more than the thick ones. "Cover your wrist." And you do it as he lands three strikes on your left palm.

You bite on your lip until it bleeds, tolerating the pain and waiting for it to end. From the corner of your eyes, you spot a certain brunette peeking in at the doorway.

"Are you okay?" Kirara mouths to you when Sensei is distracted and you nod.

I'll be fine.

Mama is called to school later to talk about your progress and you walk home yourself after.

"I do not want to see your face right now. You piss me off, girl." She pokes at your forehead and you cry in front of the school gate with many, many other people looking. Some of them laugh, licking at their cones of ice creams and some of them continue minding their own business.

"I bring you all the way to Tokyo for you to behave like this? Unbelievable." And she stomps off after that. Her expensive Gucci bag that you're sure Papa didn't buy for her hits you in the shoulder with a loud thud as she walks off. You see her through teary eyes that she gets into a car with a man who isn't Papa and they kiss and drive off soon after.

You do not go home after that.

₊˚ʚ ᗢ₊˚✧ ﾟ.

You come from a small town in Okinawa. Mama is from Hyogo and Papa is a local. He used to work at a factory full-time and Mama works as a nurse in the hospital.

You grow up as an only child with no cousins. You asked Mama once and she simply shut you down with a shake of her head. "Too young to know."

You don't ask her again.

And like every other eleven year-old in Okinawa, you like music and going to the beach. The shores are always so pretty and calming and you always tell Aaliyah, your best friend that you never want to leave this place with the wind blowing through your hair. She nods in agreement and tells you stories of the dangers of America along with the reasons why she doesn't want to go back there. Aaliyah plays Biggie on her brother's speaker and you spend the evening scraping your knee on the boardwalk. You feel determined to learn this new trick on your skateboard.

But this chapter ended drastically when Papa quit his job one day in the middle of Summer and you hear him discuss with Mama at the dining table of your old home. "Honey, let's go to Tokyo. You remember Kota? Yeah, he said he got me a job there, somewhere in Minato, but I'll have to go see it for myself first. Let's go now. He got us plane tickets cheap." You don't remember a lot other than Papa selling the house and sending Grandma off to a care center, and all of a sudden you're holding Mama's hand while standing in the heart of a foreign city.

Tokyo Tower shines brightly above you under the night sky and it hurts your eyes. "Are we in Minato?" You ask her with a squint and she smiles brightly. "Yes. We're gonna be so happy here, girl."

Mama squeezes your hand and drags you along but you don't feel convinced. You suddenly miss Grandma's hugs and Aaliyah's laughter as you mispronounce an English word.

Mama enrols you at a neighbourhood public school and gives you ¥800 for allowance whenever she feels like it. "We have to watch our money now. Do you think we are very rich?" She answered with a hiss when you curiously asked why she didn't give you the usual ¥1000.

You start saving your changes in your piggy bank that you hide under your creaky bed. You don't like the thought of Papa seeing it because you once saw him taking money from Mama's wallet when she was in the shower.

Papa hands you a bill when he spots you peeping. "Don't tell your mother." He pats your head with warning eyes. It didn't make you feel good, so you gave it back to Mama soon after he left the house. She hit you that night and called you a thief. "Where are the rest?" She yells as she flips your bedroom inside out. "I didn't take it, Mama. Please believe me."

Pieces of your broken piggy bank sits in the bin later with no more money in it. You squat beside it and try to piece them back together with bloody, wobbly fingers and teary eyes.

You mentally make a note to never give Mama back her money anymore. You tell yourself to let Papa go when he takes more of her cash. You swear to yourself you will make a lot of money in the future and give it to Grandma when you return to Okinawa.

But Grandma passed away shortly after you called to tell her just that. "Granny, please wait for me. I will come home soon with lots of money and I'll buy a nice house for you." "Okay, sweetie. I will be waiting for you. Please take care."

Neither Papa nor Mama let you go home for her funeral. You cried yourself to sleep the entire week with a broken heart and deep regrets while you mourn her death silently in your quiet bedroom.

And unlike back home, you don't have a lot of friends in Tokyo. Everyone else never talks to you unless needed and you don't talk to them either. You can never understand what they are saying; they speak so different than the people in Okinawa did. Everyone looks at you with lingering eyes and are never nice to you except for one girl.

Her name is Shimabukuro Kirara and she's in the class next door. You see her for lunch sometimes and she tells you about her day. But when her other friends come she says goodbye and leaves you alone at the quiet stairs.

You wonder if Kirara is happy. She always has a nice smile and you heard she has good grades, too. Her seemingly expensive schoolbag shimmers under the sun and she proudly shows it to the people who asks about it. But she is always nice to you, unlike the other people in school.

You wonder if you are considered her friend. You want to be friends with her, if not.

You're in the process of admiring the view of the city in front of you, fingers picking mindlessly at the grass beneath as you think about Kirara. What is her life like at home? Does her father throw glasses at walls when angry and does her mother ever hit her when she makes a mistake? You wonder and wonder and wonder.

Your eyes follow the cars that passes by highways, the warm yellow lights in tall apartments that goes off and on at different hours, the sounds of planes flying past in the night sky above.

You decide that you like it here. You look around and make it a permanent note to come here next time. Next time? That is if Mama doesn't murder you for not going home. Though you doubt she even cares.

"She did say she didn't want to see me." You mumble to yourself and pout as you hug your knees close to your tightening chest. You feel like crying but nothing comes out. Perhaps it is numbness? Or are you simply too afraid and tired to care anymore? You're not too sure. You are only eleven, after all.

A moment passes as you get lost in your jumbled thoughts. A boy walks up the hill and his clumsy hands drops his MP3 on the grass. "Shit." He curses and it catches your attention.

You turn around and see a boy about your age who is bending down and picking up the gadget that is still playing faint music. You recognise the beat (it's a favourite) and grow interested and you watch with sparkling eyes as he dusts off the dirt while clicking his tongue.

You take this moment to observe him.

A light green hoodie that says G.A.P., blonde hair in a high bun, round silver metal glasses perched on top of his nose, chubby cheeks that compliments him well and you notice the black ink that goes down his right leg under his red and black basketball shorts. You look back up and notice he isn't very tall and . . .

He's looking at you.

"What're you starin' at?" He asks rudely and creases his brows. You blink and fix yourself when you hear him speaking to you. "Oh, sorry." You blush when he doesn't look away.

"Why are you here?" You try to think of something. "I didn-"

"Who told you about this place? Is it Ran?" The boy is standing in front of you now and demanding answers. The MP3 is still playing Still Dre by Dr. Dre and Snoop Dogg and you're getting distracted by it. You're not taking him very seriously despite the given situation. "Um, no. Who is Ran?" You stand up as well and find that he is taller than you.

He studies you for a minute before clicking his tongue. "Never mind." He turns around and hops on top of a wooden fence, balancing his butt on it.

Neither of you talk after that.

Grandma always told you to make a decision and stick to it. You nod to yourself.

You grab the handle of your school bag from the grassy ground and drop it on the foot of the fence beside him. He stares at you with a raised brow, "what are you doing?"

You don't say anything but hop on beside him, to which he scoots away and grows alert, hand gripping his MP3 tight for dear life and you take a peek at it. You see the words on the screen and you grin brightly.

"Dr. Dre, huh?" "What the heck-"

The boy blinks at you in confusion. You continue grinning and snatch the gadget away from his hands and scroll through it.

"I know a lot of these songs."

You scan through the playlists and grow even fonder when you notice him gaping at you. "Can I borrow this?"

He's quick to shut you down. "No," and he snatches it back. "Go away." He fixes his glasses with a frown.

You pout and look away, choosing to stare at the very interesting tree instead. He changes the song and Marigold by Nirvana starts playing. You grin and turn to look at his MP3 again but he's already glaring at you. "I said go away." He hisses.

"Can I stay here, at least?" You move and point to the other fence facing him. He ponders and clicks his tongue, waving a dismissive hand at you. "Whatever. Just don't talk to me." And you happily move over to sit opposite of him while hugging your bag.

The boy doesn't talk to you but he's very much aware of your every actions. The way you're bopping your head to whatever music he's playing, your lips that don't stop smiling and it's obvious to him that you're enjoying the atmosphere.

He decides to bite.

". . . How'd you know all these songs?" His voice is quiet when he asks but you perk up at his question.

"I'm from Okinawa. Some people speak English there and a lot of Americans visit yearly. They play great music, and I like music." You grin and he listens intently with as much comprehension he has for an accent that he doesn't speak. Both of his hands hangs in between his legs and the MP3 is now quiet. You wish he continued playing it.

But you continue, "my best friend is from The Bronx in New York City, but she lives in Okinawa because her father is in the military. She plays Hip-hop for me and teaches me English from time to time." You think of Aaliyah who has been contacting you through e-mail all this time.

The boy is confused when you finish.

"You're a girl, from Okinawa, and you know American Hip-hop." He frowns. You cock your head to the side, "why can't I?"

"Girls are supposed to be boring."

"I am not, I think." You grow angry all of a sudden at his words. "And why do you boys always look down on girls? It is not funny. We are plenty of fun."

He flushes when confronted with your angry eyes. No girl has ever made him feel this way before. "'S just . . . All the girls in my class talks about the same thing. 'N they like annoying me. I don't like that."

"Then they must be mean girls." You think of the group of girls in your class who takes a liking to you. Taking a liking to bullying you, that is.

"Not all girls are boring. And there's nothing wrong with being boring, anyway. Just have fun, be who you are. How I wish I can do it here in Tokyo. I miss being home."

He is silent as he processes your words. Perhaps he has been wrong all this time. Not all girls are the same. Just like how him and Ran are both polar opposites despite being siblings.

The boy comes to a conclusion and figures you aren't boring. You speak different and you listen to music different from the girls in his school. You probably like many other different things, too.

There must be a lot to find out about you.

"How long have you been in Tokyo?"

"Just a while. I got here in late July, sooo . . ." You count with your fingers, "maybe two and a half months. But I don't like it here." You shrug and he raises a brow.

"Hah? You don't like Tokyo?" You shake your head at his dismissive tone. "Nope." You don't give any further reasons and he makes a disgusted expression. "I have never met anyone that doesn't like it here."

"Of course you haven't. You live here, don't you?" You question and he nods. You think of all the reasons that has made you come to this conclusion. You don't feel too good. "Well, I don't care. I don't like Tokyo, that's it." You take a sip from your water bottle and close the cap with a loud clack. He sighs and lets it go.

"Why are you here then?" He asks, half-lidded purple eyes staring up at the stars above. He cannot see a lot of them tonight, and he gives up before glancing at you who is looking up too. It must've been brighter in Okinawa. And she has to stare at Tokyo skies now. The thought leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.

The two of you are so similar, yet so different.

Him, a city boy who goes to a private school in Roppongi and listens to Hip-hop all day. He talks back to authoritarian adults and slaps people who tries picking a fight. You, an island girl who spends (or spent) your days sunbathing and skateboarding at the boardwalk, drinking lemonade and doing what girls your age do.

You listen to the same music and stare up at the same sky. Only one's stars in the sky is brighter than the other.

He's just a boy, and you're just a girl.

". . . Ran didn't tell me about this place." You reply and he clicks his tongue. "I know that. I'm asking why are you here. It's late."

You don't feel like replying a lot. The boy waits for you to answer and you simply grin when you think about it. ". . . I'm running away from home."

It kinda feels nice to say. You're running away from your troubled and abusive home. You wanna say it more.

He blinks. "Why?"

You figure you'll let it out. You're here, he's here; it might even be the last time you'll ever see him.

Screw it.

"Mama wasn't nice to me today, so I didn't feel like going home, but I don't think she'll notice. I also saw her with another man today, I think they're dating. I don't know. It's confusing, I don't wanna think 'bout it."

You're reminded of the recent nights that Mama comes home late and Papa waits up in the living room drinking beer and watching TV. And when she doesn't return when the clock strikes 1, he gives up and goes to bed alone.

What's the big deal about returning home at 9pm anyway? Mama won't be home to see you come in, and Papa would be too drunk to even notice at this hour.

The boy hops off the fence with a huff and you look at him. He starts walking away with a lazy wave. "See ya."

"H-hey!" You stutter while hopping off and picking up your heavy schoolbag from the ground. "Where're you goin'?!"

"Go home. It's late. There's all kinds of people around here." He says before speeding down the hill. Ran's gonna kill him if he doesn't go back by 10.

"I-" you pause when the lamppost above you flickers quickly and suddenly-

It's dark. Absolute pitch black. And you're scared of the dark. You start tearing up.

You hear footsteps walking away and follow behind it timidly in little steps. "Hey. Please." You call out again with fat tears threatening to fall from your eyes.

You sniffle and the footsteps stop. ". . . I don't know how to go home." You try blinking the tears away but they don't stop. You don't like being left alone.

You hear the boy sigh loudly before a bit of rustling sounds through and suddenly, with a click, you can finally see again. He points his flashlight in your direction and you squint. He beckons you to come over. You hurry and his flashlight shines at the ground, leading the way of you to him.

"Where do you live?" He asks when you finally stop in front of him. You wipe your tears with the sleeves of your uniform and mumble out the address Mama forced you to memorise. "I have to go home by nine-thirty. Mama usually comes home at ten." He nods.

The boy takes the first step and you follow tightly behind him, a hand reaching up to tug at his hoodie and he blushes. He'd normally slap anyone's hands away if they touch a single hair on him but he leaves yours there. You don't let go until you finally see the city again.

He quickly navigates through the little alleyways like a pro and soon, you find yourself standing in front of your apartment complex at 9:30pm sharp.

"Bye." He says curtly and turns around to leave. You pull on his hoodie and he hisses when the fabric chokes his neck.

"What's your name?" There's a shimmering glint in your eyes when you ask. He can't find it in him to tell you no.

"Rindou. You?"

You tell him your name with a bright smile and bid him good night. It's the third time someone in Tokyo has asked for your name. Your eyes linger on the MP3 in his left hand before reluctantly looking away and leaving in clumsy steps. He stares at your disappearing figure as you go up the stairs and enter your apartment unit.

Rindou sighs and his bored, purple eyes flicker to the shadows hiding behind a lone lamppost.

"What do you want?"

A tall man emerges from the dark. "Who's that?" He smirks, a lollipop hanging from his lips and pervertic eyes gawking at your apartment complex. Rindou rolls his eyes with a click of his tongue.

He'd have never walked you home if he knew this would happen.

"No one. What do you want?" Rindou pushes again.

"Hehe," The man giggles cunningly and a few other taller men appear behind him. "To crush you, of course. And if we win, we'll get the little girl." He licks his lips.

Rindou doesn't return home until 11pm that night.

He holds the gang leader by his hair and hisses in his ear. "You leave her alone, got it? Forget everything that you saw today."

Rindou is capable of taking down a relatively strong gang all by himself, but Ran never lets him. Though only eleven, the younger son of the Haitani household who have always been into martial arts since he was really young trains whenever he can. He begged his mother to let him take martial arts classes in return for going to school and never missing a single day. He's up-kept his side of the bargain until now.

The poor man with broken nose and limbs nods quickly, a mixture of snort and blood dripping from his nose as he sobs, "I'm sorry! I swear I'll forget everything. Please let me go."

He throws him on the ground and sighs. The boy glances at your apartment complex again and sends a quick message to his brother on his Blackberry. He updates him on the newest gang out of many that has just picked a fight with him in the middle of the night. Rindou leaves out the part where he explains why.

To protect a girl he didn't even know.

He shoves the device in his pocket after finishing and leaves.

"I'm an idiot."

Rindou swears he will never see you again.

/ᐠ. .ᐟ\ฅ reblogs are appreciated!

here's the story of how reader ran away when she was eleven and first met rindou at the spot