#all of that is never treated as a gag.. sure those parts of the story have lots of jokes but that itself isnt treated as one.. cuz it isnt

[oceanwithouthermoon]

tbh i hate when people are like "idk how anyone makes angst or gets serious topics out of saiki k when its literally just a gag manga🤓" when the akechi arc, the cattank arc, the volcano arc, and literally every episode where he feels guilty about hiding his powers all exist????

[giveafike]

TLDR: Halloween with your boyfriend, Ben!

Word count + info: 4.8k. Dialogue (conversation and azzie commentary throughout).

Warnings + Content Ahead: SFW but also...lwky PG 13. Suggestive themes, but nothing too NSFW. Mention of a burn injury and gagging in between (in a SFW way) so if that's something to put you off, read cautiously!

Azzie Notes ✚: YAYY halloween post! I couldn't pick what kind of blurb to write so...I wrote a bunch of mini ones! I tried something new, idk if I fw this format or not, you guys lmk honestly how you feel about bulleted posts.

ALSO! Stay safe tonight guys! Idk about you guys but where I'm from, Halloween can get a bit crazy or out of control, so whatever you do tonight, be responsible and sensible for this weekend! And happy Diwali to anyone celebrating - diye jalein aur mithaiyan chalen 🤭 bas khushiyaan hi khushiyaan ho (someone send me ukadiche modak PUHLEASE) 🤍🪔

I'm literally writing this part on the train home from work lmao, I'm gonna get on my laptop and get the big story up too, idk why it didn't upload yday but it's not here in my drafts or scheduled anymore! I'll figure it out tho dw.

Socials + Updates: twitter ( @azziegivesafike)

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Halloween'ing - B.T.S.

It must've been the very first time Ben was home for a holiday that wasn't Christmas or New Year's and God, were you excited.

Sure, losing in Paris sucked but the amount of time you could spend and things you could do together was exhilarating. You were practically buzzing off of the walls with ideas.

Halloween wasn't something you had given much care or notice to since your childhood, but now there was a whole new rush of activities and warmth surrounding the beautiful season, something you welcomed warmly.

how many homemade treats you could make, pumpkin carving with Ben, maybe even dress up together as a couple...

Ben was more eager about the idea of candy (and you in a sexy Halloween costume)

You could drone on and on about how good those Trader Joe Pumpkin Spice cookies were, you never expected yourself to fall for the Pumpkin Spice craze but here you were, talking Ben's ear off.

He rolled his eyes pretending to be nonchalant

even though he'd be reaching for another cookie within a few minutes.

"Just need to check they're not poisoned...are these laced with sumn'?"

A couple of days later, when you and Ben got back from the pumpkin patch, you laid out your carving kit on the island, practically jumping to get stuck in.

Was far from picture-perfect though.

Ben's kryptonite was the damn pumpkin from the get-go.

His shoulders are up to his ears as he leans over his pumpkin, cautiously poking at the hollowed-out insides with a look of pure dread.

You’ve literally provided him with every scooper and tool imaginable, trying to make this as clean as possible, but he’s still staring into the pumpkin like it’s some kind of orange horror show.

He holds his breath, then takes a tentative scoop, immediately gagging at the smell.

“Oh my god…babe, it’s like-” he shudders, hand over his nose, “like mouldy socks and old food had a baby.”

His face scrunches up as he recoils, practically jumping back. “Nah, no way.”

The sight is so absurd you burst into laughter, doubling over as he waves his hands like he’s trying to shake off the memory. "It’s not that bad! See!” you say, holding up a slimy handful of seeds with a wicked grin.

He gags, shuddering and shuts his eyes.

You’re insane if you think this is normal. This pumpkin needs, like, a hazmat suit or something.”

He flinches again, rubbing his nose like he can’t get the smell out of it, even though he hasn’t touched it with his bare hands yet.

He's deadass wearing medical gloves for this.

“Ben,” you gasp between laughs, wiping a tear from your eye. “It’s just a pumpkin. You’re acting like it’s a dead possum or something!”

“Smells like one,” he mutters darkly, gingerly pushing the spoon back toward the orange insides, his hand shaking just enough to make you lose it all over again.

Took maybe like, an hour and a half for him to de-gut the pumpkin

each attempt is met with a new level of melodrama, and by the fourth scoop, you’re clutching your sides, actually having to pause because you can barely breathe from laughing so hard.

He manages to carve out some semblance of a face, albeit a lopsided one with stupid teeth and tiny eyes that look more befuddled than scary.

“See? Told you I could do it,” he says, though his voice is shaky as if he’s barely recovered from a traumatising experience.

Such a diva, oh my god bruh.

You take one look at the pumpkin’s wonky, wide-eyed expression and nearly snort.

It's giving that "dumb ahh pumpkin" TikTok trend.

It’s actually the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever seen.

“Ben, it’s adorable.”

“S’posed to be scary…”

You glance over at him, lips twitching as you pull out your phone, quietly queuing up that TikTok audio. You hold in your laughter as you film the pumpkin with the distorted “pumpkin!” sound blaring, then pan the camera up to Ben.

The look of stunned betrayal on his face as he realises what you’ve done is absolutely priceless, his jaw dropping before he tries to reach for the phone.

The video catches his reaction in perfect two-second glory, and you both watch it back, his stunned face paired with the ridiculous audio, unable to stop laughing.

As you clean up, (Ben finally taking off his surgical blue gloves and scrubbing his hands away like a surgeon) you set the pumpkins outside and place the tealight candles inside, smiling at your actually scary pumpkin and...

that dumb pumpkin Ben made.

It's cute though, side by side, in its own way.

But you can't spend forever admiring them, it's time to make the snacks for your movie marathon tonight!

It was Ben's idea, he had a list of candy to buy and was on popcorn duty but the real star of the show was gonna be the Halloween classic; candy apples.

You both set up in the kitchen, bowls and ingredients spread out, ready to take on the challenge together.

Ben eyes the setup, grinning and rolling up his sleeves like he’s ready to make a masterpiece, even if you’re still suspicious of his pumpkin-carving skills.

The air is still sweet from the pumpkin guts, but with the sugar and cinnamon in the mix now, the atmosphere feels a bit warmer and cozier.

"Just you watch,” he says, giving you a confident wink. “I can make these apples look better than anything you’d find at a fair.”

It's adorable seeing Ben so confident and yet so easy by your side, almost competitive in his ways but not actually challenging or pushing you.

As you dip the apples one by one into the pot of Ben's hot sugar syrup, the colours come out glossy and bright red.

He might be onto something, these are looking pretty good!

As you both move onto the 4th one, you hear a small sizzle, then a loud, sharp hiss.

“Oh—ow, ow! Damn, that’s hot as fuck!”

You grab his hand immediately, your fingers gently running over the reddening spot on his palm.

“Ben! I told you to be careful! Sugar burns like crazy.”

“I knowwwww, I know,” he whines, wincing.

You lead him over to the sink and run cool water over his hand. You can’t help but smile softly as you fuss over him, pressing a soft kiss to his knuckles while the cold water soothes his burn, holding his fingers in your hand as you focus on the pained spot.

“You’re such a disaster in the kitchen, you know that?”

“Hey, I was just…testing the temperature, tha's all.”

You roll your eyes and wrap his hand in a small ice pack for a bit, lingering there in the quiet, the coolness of the ice melting away any sting, until his hand feels better and you’re ready to tackle the apples again.

But no sooner than you start, he picks one up-

idiot

eyeing it as if he’s about to bite down without a second thought.

“BEN, ITS STILL SCALDING PUT IT DOW-”

You grab his wrist moving the semi-hardened apple away before he injures himself more.

"Just testin' your reflexes" he mumbles, laughing a bit.

"Sure."

Ben stepped out to light your pumpkins on the porch doorstep as the sun set, smiling and taking a quick photo, admiring the silly tradition spent together.

The house filled with the scent of caramel, you and Ben settle under a pile of blankets over you both, a bowl of popcorn wedged between your legs, and an assortment of snacks within easy reach for a spooky movie marathon.

He went out for a bit to "go grab something"

only to come back with some stupid clown mask, hiding behind the sofa to startle you.

After you screamed and he apologised with kisses and cuddles (after minutes of laughing and mocking you), you dimmed the lights and settled in, starting with a classic slasher that sets the spooky mood right from the start.

It doesn’t take long for the jump scares to start, and though you brace yourself, there’s one moment that catches you off guard, making you gasp and clutch his arm tightly. Ben laughs, his hand sliding around your shoulders, pulling you closer.

“Spooked already?”

“No! Not scared, just…caught off guard.”

Ben nestles his head against yours, finding himself kissing the top of your head, his arm around you as he rubs soothing circles on your arm.

He's doing all that to distract himself from the jumpscares btw.

Bc he's getting just as startled as you, if not more.

He completely zones out while watching and the jumpscares jolt through him, snapping him back to the movie plot, which then scares him even more - like, wdym there's a killer on the loose and he's literally right beside the main character?!?

But comforting you, in its odd way makes him feel comforted and safe too.

He can't help but find himself enthralled in all the silly traditions and festivities around Halloween just because it's by your side.

As the next one rolls in, he glances down at you and peppers kisses along your hairline, his lips warm and gentle.

Though you’re locked in and wrapped up in the tension of the movie, you feel safe and completely at ease in his arms.

Doesn't last long though.

As the hours creep into the deep of night it seems like the movies get spookier, creepier, and more disturbing, and his thumb rubs soft circles on your shoulder whenever a scene begins, almost instinctively comforting you as he whispers soft reassurances.

You can't even listen to what he's saying, your clammy hands gripping his arm as you squeal, failing to tear your eyes away.

"Oh my god, Be- BEN!! OH MY GOD!"

He just covers your eyes with his hand

"Ben, I can't see"

"Good, it's awful, don't watch this scene"

He feels super cool and smart for pulling that move out btw. “Just another day of protecting my girl”

By the time the credits roll on the last film, you’re tucked against him, drowsy, exhausted and a sugar crash hitting you as the remains of the candied apples and popcorn are strewn over the table.

He glances down, his fingers brushing your cheek, and tilts your chin up for a sweet, lingering kiss.

“Still scared?” he asks in a soft voice.

“Maybe a little,"

“Good,” he murmurs, his smile warm. “Means I get to hold you all night."

What an opportunist.

It's the night before Halloween before you know it, the excitement of pumpkin carving, candied apples, and scary movies behind you.

Ben suggests a late-night drive!

"Let's see the decorations, it's a trip down my memory lane"

He's got that :D face going on, how could you even resist?

The air is cool and crisp as you both pile into his car, wrapped in hoodies and each other’s warmth.

Ben reaches over, like he always does, lacing his fingers with yours as he pulls out of the driveway, his thumb brushing soft, slow circles over your hand.

The neighbourhood is dressed for the season, with yards filled with skeletons, giant spiders, and strings of orange and purple lights that flicker in the dark.

Some houses go all out, with life-size ghost projections, speakers, massive jumpscare decorations and fog machines casting an eerie glow across the lawns, while others keep it simple with a row of glowing pumpkins along the steps.

It’s like Halloween magic has taken over, and the streets are a soft blend of shadows and a warm, festive glow amidst the golden leaves scattered all over.

“See that one? That’s where the Johnsons live. They’ve been doin’ that witch since I was like, I dunno, 10? Never changes. Every year, same decorations.”

Ben points out more houses, telling you which ones hand out full-size candy bars, which houses skimped out and which ones used to scare him when he and Emma were kids.

“You’d be one of those kids who scoped out the best houses before Halloween, wouldn’t you?”

“Absolutely. Me, Emma and my buddies’d race for the full-sized bars, but if we made it to Mr. O’Malley’s house last? He’d run outta candy and give us IOU's for his store instead. That was the jackpot right there,” He laughs, squeezing your hand as he reminisces.

You nod, listening as he goes on, getting lost in the stories, the way his eyes sparkle a bit more with each memory. He talks about the high school haunted houses, how his friends would sneak around, trying to out-scare the actors, and the endless piles of candy that took him weeks to finish.

How Emma wouldn't let him tag along with her and her friends because he was embarrassing her.

His voice softens as he describes the little thrills and mischievous moments, almost as if Halloween itself has this permanent spot in his heart.

He drives slower, letting the headlights illuminate the way as you soak in the charm of it all and the softness of being alone together.

You rest your head against the window, his hand warm in yours, the night stretching on in the glow of the lights and the quiet roads.

“Hard to believe I get to spend it with the love of my life this year,” he says after a while, glancing over with a soft smile, his voice is barely above a whisper.

It's almost like he was saying it to himself, more than to you.

You kiss the back of his hand, holding it there, feeling the warmth of the moment entirely.

As you drive past another house, one with an elaborate ghost setup and an old-fashioned lamp swinging like a haunted porch light, he points, chuckling. “Man, they’d have the best haunted houses. I’d be scared stiff. Now? Not so much.”

"Uh-huh, sure, Ben. I reckon you'd still get scared."

"We can pretend like I’m the brave one.”

“Oh, so you’re brave now?” you tease, raising an eyebrow.

“Only when you’re here,” he says, brushing a soft kiss over your knuckles.

"So cheesy, Shelton"

"And you eat it up every time" he quips back, smiling.

The drive back is peaceful, almost like you’re kids again, wrapped in an innocent kind of wonder and admiration that the holiday brings.

When he finally pulls into his driveway, he parks but doesn’t make a move to get out.

Instead, he rests his head on the seat, just watching you, studying you.

The moonlight catches in his eyes, and he gives you that sweet, sleepy look that’s filled with all the warmth and happiness you could ask for, both of you bathed in the moonlight together.

The next day is Halloween, and no surprise, Ben forgot to mention something:

there's a party...

and he said you're going....

"Ben, what the FUCK are we gonna wear? I don't even have anything remotely close to a costume and-"

"Victoria's Secret model?"

He gets a punch to the arm for that quip. He had that ready and blurted it out wayyyy too quickly.

Once again, he's an opportunist!

Can't fault him! Don't hate the player, hate the game or whatever those finance bros say.

You both end up going to a costume warehouse, which, to no surprise (except Ben's), is practically ransacked and has just a small selection left.

"Wow! These racks and shelves are almost empty!"

"Yeah Ben, it's quite literally Halloween day..."

"Oh, yeah..."

"yep."

By the time you make your way to the ladies' section, Ben’s excitement is borderline overwhelming.

He's tossing costumes in your direction, with each pick, his grin only grows, that voice of his thickening with each comment.

Bet you can't guess what kind of costumes he's looking at!

“Alright, babe, here’s what I’m thinkin’.”

He hands you a bag with a red devil outfit...

...which is basically a glorified bodysuit.

“This, or-wait, wait, wait…”

He reaches back and pulls out a barely-there nurse outfit.

“Maybe this? C’mon, tell me you wouldn’t look hot as hell in it.”

"Oh my god, Catwoman?! Baby...Catwoman! You'd look so fuckin' good as...wait what's this one? Oh! Or, how about a cop? It comes with handcuffs!!!"

He's practically blushing with several skimpy costumes in his arms, a gummy smile wide, and eyes massive like a teenager looking at a Playboy magazine for the first time.

“I was actually thinking… Fiona, from Shrek. The green body paint, prosthetic nose and all.”

His face falls in sheer horror.

He just stands there, slackjawed, like you’ve crushed his biggest dreams.

“Fiona…as in an ogre? He says the word like it’s filthy like he’s never even wanted to say it out loud.

“Yep! I could even add some fake dirt on my body, really make it realistic…”

Ben’s just staring at you, his face still frozen in disbelief. “Naw…nah, you didn’t just say that.”

He waves a hand up and down in front of you like he’s trying to wipe the thought from his mind.

“Babe, we’re supposed to look good, not…swampy.”

With a grin, you roll your eyes and you eventually head toward the dressing room, pulling on the first costume in his pile that he gave you to throw on.

Of course, it's a flirty Snow White costume; a corset with puff sleeves and tiny skirt, knee-high socks and a headband. When you step out, Ben’s mouth drops again, but this time with a grin that spreads across his face.

“See now that is what I’m talkin’ about,” he drawls, sliding a hand around your waist, fingers tracing the fabric. “Got me forgettin’ my own name…”

You roll your eyes, swatting his hand away. “Ben, it’s just Snow White!”

“Just Snow White?” he repeats, shaking his head. “Nah, I’m thinkin’ you’re the finest Snow White.” His fingers drift just a bit too low, making you laugh as you smack his hand away again.

Back in the dressing room, you slip into the next one, a green Tinkerbell dress that’s even shorter and lined with sparkles.

You don’t even have to walk out fully before Ben’s already there, grinning like he’s been waiting for hours.

“Look at you, my lil’ pixie…” He wraps his arm around your waist and pulls you close, lips brushing your ear. “Darlin’, I don’t think I’m gonna let you wear this one outta my sight.”

“Are you even paying attention to the costumes or are you just looking for excuses?” you tease.

You're trying to ignore the butterflies in your stomach as his eyes practically undress you on the spot.

“Alright, alright.” He laughs, backing off as you return to the dressing room one more time to pull on the cop outfit.

His eyes roam over every inch, pausing at the handcuffs dangling from your fingers and the baton tucked into your belt, wrapped around your hips.

“Oh, hell yeah,” he mutters, his gaze darkening. He steps up, his hands back on your waist, fingers digging in a little tighter.

“You’re arrestin’ me, right? Pleaseeee say you’re here to arrest me.”

“You need to behave if we're gonna get out of this store with a costume for us,” you say, laughing as he tugs you closer, his eyes glued to the baton you’re tapping on his shoulder.

“Not a chance, babe.” He grins, leaning in. “Now, why don’t I go grab that badge of yours so I can behave just a lil worse…”

You shove him off with a scoff and an eye roll but that smile on your face deceived your annoyed expression.

You had a little plan schemed, all look you’d picked, your surprise masterpiece:

a head-to-toe roach costume with long, wiry legs, little antennae, and bug eyes on top.

You wriggle into the thick styrofoam costume, taking a deep breath before stepping out in all your creepy-crawly glory.

“Benny?” you call in a sing song voice, trying to keep a straight face. “Got the perfect costume.”

He turns, expecting another flirty outfit, and instead just stands there, blinking.

He’s completely silent.

A whole ten seconds pass before he finally clears his throat, rubbing the back of his neck.

“…Nah, babe,” he says, voice almost pitying. “Nah, this…this just ain’t right. Not right at all.”

You hold up your arms and wiggle the little roach legs at him, the same way you wiggled in the Snow White costume.

“What, it’s not cute?”

“I- baby, look- you know I love you…” he starts, trying and failing to keep from laughing as he waves at you. “But I just can’t- I can’t even look at you right now. That’s straight-up trauma in a costume.” He finally lets out a snort, covering his face with his hands.

Finally, after giving him a good laugh, you change into the last one, the one you’ve both been waiting for.

It’s an angel costume with a touch of elegance: a top made of shimmering gold metal feathers that shine under the store lights, a golden headpiece that makes you look almost ethereal, and long, graceful wings. The skirt flares out in layers of white and gold, making you look like you’ve stepped straight out of a dream.

When you step out, Ben’s quiet, the devilish grin on his face replaced by something a little softer, his breath hitching a bit, his gaze a little more serious as he takes you in.

“Now this,” he says, moving closer, reaching for your hand. “This is somethin’ else, darlin’. You look exactly what you are, an angel.”

“Good enough for Halloween?” you ask, giving a little twirl as the golden wings glint in the light.

“Oh, way better.” He nods, a wicked glint in his eyes. “Cause I’ll be right there as your devil.”

He hands you the bag for his costume, a black shirt, unbuttoned pretty low, black pants, and, of course, dark wings and horns.

“We’re gonna make one hell of a pair.” His gaze drifts over you again, taking in every detail.

“Angel like you with a devil like me might just be our best look yet.”

From the look in his eyes, you know this Halloween party is going to be a night to remember.

He paid for the costumes of course, btw.

Only after making a million innuendos about you being an angel.

"Y'know I thought angels were pure, you can get pretty nasty when you-"

"Shut it."

"Yes, m'darlin' ".

As you approach the house party, the bass thumps in your chest, seeing all sorts of costumes around you, some faces familiar to Ben, childhood friends and college peers alike.

After a few shots, a couple of drinking games and slurred conversations, you and Ben melt into each other in the cramped living room, his arm wrapped tight around your waist, fingers dipping dangerously low.

His other hand slips along the curve of your hip, thumb grazing your bare skin, sending a thrill up your spine.

The dim lights reflect off your golden feathers, casting a halo around you, but Ben’s dark eyes are glued to yours, unrepentant, that devilish grin driving you insane.

How in character!

His lips brush your ear, his breath warm and his words slurred and heavy with a bit too much vodka.

“You’re… somethin' else tonight, y’know that?” he murmurs, words melting into the bass line, his drawl thicker, slow and dragging as he pulls you even closer.

“Got every guy in here starin' at my angel…”

You laugh, tipsy, rolling your eyes. “Pretty sure they’re all lookin’ at you, devil boy.”

He just smiles, his hands sliding lower, pressing you tight against him as he lets out a low laugh. “Naw, they’re jealous,” he mumbles, lips grazing your neck as he speaks. “Cause I’m the only one you’re gettin’ all worked up over…”

You feel the heat rising between you two, the music, the drinks, the dim lights casting everything in a hazy blur.

He pulls you in, tilting your face up, his lips finding yours, messy and rough as if he’s been waiting all night to feel your mouth on his.

His hand cradles your face, fingers slipping into your hair, holding your jaw, tugging you close as he kisses you like he’s been starving for it.

He tastes like dark liquor and something a little sweeter, and when you pull away, you can’t tell if it’s his lips that are wet or yours.

He’s breathing heavily, eyes locked on you, that stupid, sinful grin spreading wider.

“Wanna get outta here?” he whispers, voice barely louder than the music.

You don’t even hesitate, nodding as he takes your hand and tugs you through the crowd, your pulse racing.

His grip is tight, his eyes glinting with that familiar, heated look, and you can’t help but laugh as he leads you out of the house and into the warm Floridian night.

You barely make it to outside, stumbling onto the lawn, before his hands are on you again, pressing you against the trunk of a tree, his mouth crashing into yours. You moan into him, hands running over his chest, feeling the heat radiating off him even through his shirt.

“Oh, Ben…” you breathe, leaning back as he drags his mouth along your neck, nipping and teasing, his laughter low and husky against your skin.

“God, you’re perfect,” he slurs, mouth brushing up the line of your jaw as his hand slides around your waist.

You’re ready for him to take you right then and there, leaves crunching underfoot, your fingers slipping under his shirt, tugging it open just a little further when-

“Wait, wait, wait,” he mutters, pulling back suddenly.

His eyes are wide and hazy, his head perks up as he looks over his shoulder for a moment and blinks, his mouth twisting into a grin as he takes your hand again.

“Hold up. Got an even better idea.”

You blink, trying to catch your breath, utterly dazed. “Wha-…what are you talking about?”

He’s already leading you down the sidewalk, back towards the rows of decorated houses, each porch lit up with Halloween lights and pumpkins.

You stop dead in your tracks, your lips still swollen from his kisses, realising he’s actually serious.

“Ben, you’re not-no way, no shot.” You laugh, almost disbelieving as he walks up the first driveway, holding your hand and looking back with that same goofy smile.

No way.

“Trick or treatin'!” he says, completely earnest, already reaching for the doorbell.

He's looking at you all innocent, like he wasn't being handsy with you just 2 minutes ago.

You stare at him, utterly floored. “Ben, you’re seriously…you’re just gonna go trick-or-treating? Right now? Like this?”

“Hell yeah!” he says, as if this is the most normal thing in the world, shrugging.

“I’m in costume, you’re in costume…what’s stoppin’ us?”

Before you can even answer, the door swings open, revealing an elderly woman with a massive bowl of candy. She takes one look at Ben in his black wings, the gold feathers shining around you, and lets out a cackle of laughter.

“Now, I didn’t expect trick-or-treaters this age tonight!” she says, eyes bright with amusement as she holds the candy out. “You two are just adorable. D'ya need a bag, hun?”

Ben grins, holding his hand out. “Thank you, ma’am. I mean…Halloween’s all about free candy, right?”

His boyish cheeky charm works like a treat, even on the old ones. smh.

With a warm chuckle, she drops a couple of candy bars into his hands before handing him a bag before she waves goodbye.

Ben shoves the candy in, already heading down to the next house, practically skipping with that same childish grin.

“C’mon, m'angel, let’s go score some more!”

You can’t help but laugh, shaking your head as you trail along beside him.

The night takes on a new light, the alcohol still buzzing through you both as you hit every house on the block, each one adding more candy to Ben’s rapidly filling bag.

He grabs an empty trick-or-treat bag left on a stoop, offering it to you with a dramatic flourish, and before long, you’re both stumbling from house to house, holding hands and giggling like you’re kids again.

Ben feeds you chocolate in between houses, his eyes soft and a little drowsy, that irresistible grin plastered on his face.

The two of you wander holding hands, his devil horns slightly askew, his shirt still messily half-buttoned as you both talk in low, slurred voices.

Somewhere along the way, you both end up sitting on the curb since your feet hurt.

You both go digging through the bags like kids, surrounded by a mix of Reese’s, Milky Ways, and Twix bars.

“Still thinkin’ you’re too old for trick-or-treatin’?” he teases, popping a Snickers in his mouth.

“Fine,” you admit, laughing, leaning into his side. “Guess I can kinda see the appeal.”

He just grins, sliding his arm around your shoulders, pulling you in as the streetlights flicker above you, pressing soft kisses to your hair.

In the quiet night, surrounded by candy wrappers and the warm glow of Halloween night, you’re perfectly happy, just you, your devil, and a bag full of treats.

There was nothing sweeter than spending Halloween with Ben <33

[rashomonss]

A HUMANS WRATH

Prologue

A/N: So this is my first story thing on here so please be nice, I’m sensitive lmao. Anyway this idea came to me one night as i was trying to fall asleep. I was wondering what it would be like if there was an MC who hated the brothers after lesson 16 and ended up treating them like crap. But if they got switched with the regular timeline MC (which is y’all). Anyways hope you enjoy! <3

Warnings: Lesson 16 spoilers, death, choking, angst?

The start of something disheartening

There are numerous different timelines in this world however most of them aren’t as great as others make them out to be, you of all people should know. You have lived through almost being killed in cold blood and hell you even watched yourself take your very last breath with your own eyes.

It was a weird feeling to describe, in front of you was yourself however not you at the same time.

You had quietly watched from the staircase as you were being held up by your neck slowly losing oxygen and struggling to free yourself from the demon's grasp.

Belphegor held you up with a single hand and watched mockingly as you had met your demise. You were connected. Everything they felt while dying you felt it too. I mean that is you. The firm grasp on your throat, the burning sensation in your lungs as you try your best to gasp for any sort of air available.

The tears prickling the corners of your eyes as your head feels like it’s about to explode. And lastly the hurt you felt in your chest, not from your lungs or even the lack of oxygen, but from the betrayal. You weren’t stupid, he was a demon after all, a very cunning one at that. You knew he could kill you, however just as you did for his brothers, you had also given him a chance, it’s only fair right?

Well if it isn’t the consequences of your own actions. Lucifer did warn you after all, but no matter what he did your curiosity continued to fuel your persistence. All of the brothers admired that about you, but could that quality be so admirable at this instant?

Bringing you back to the present you stood there watching your face contort and struggle as you clawed at the demon holding you. Why couldn’t you look away? Was this something out of a nightmare? What did you even do to deserve this? All those thoughts swirled around in your head but came to a halt. After everything that happened, at the end of the day that is you dying right there is it not?

You had finally taken your last breath. The body in front of you went limp. Your body went limp. Screaming and shouting were then followed after your body hit the floor. Whose voice was that? Mammon’s? It didn’t matter at that second, nothing mattered. Everything was spinning, the demons were spiraling, what was going on…

But before the situation could get worse low and behold the demon prince was there to save the day with his charming butler at his side. Explaining to the seven demons that you were a distant descendent of their most beloved sister. After that knowledge their demeanors changed in an instant and a part of you hoped that it wasn’t because of your lineage. However with each passing day they assured you that they had loved you for being you, not just because of your ties to their beloved sister.

In the end the incident was never brought up again and you continued your journey with your companions through your stay at the Devildom. However, did anyone ever apologize to you? Or did you just forget about the whole ordeal as a response to the trauma they had caused.

Well maybe you did, but another version of you didn’t.

As Barbatos said, there are many different outcomes to a situation in many different timelines. Yours just happened to be a favorable outcome for everyone. However another version of you in a different timeline despised the brothers.

You felt completely sick knowingly you were a descendent of their sister. To be related to such creatures was enough to make you gag. Sure you tried to enjoy your time with them previously but all that was thrown out the window the second Belphegor had killed you. You weren’t about to forgive them, not a chance. No matter how hard they tried to get close to you all of them had been pushed away and kept at an arm's length.

You weren’t about to let them deceive you again. They were demons after all so you could never be too careful. However they just didn’t know when to quit. It honestly annoyed you at how much they cared after Diavolo revealed that little secret about your history. You never believed they cared half as much as they did before that was revealed so why are they bothering now.

The demon brothers however approached the situation differently. Sure they felt great guilt for watching as Belphie killed you but there you stood a second after your last breath, completely fine, not even a single scratch on your head. And that’s when they realized they were given a second chance, a chance to make it up to you, to make things better, to ask for forgiveness. It was only a bonus to them that Diavolo had revealed that you were a descendent of Lilith.

They however were in for a rude awakening when you wanted nothing to do with any of them. That can’t be right? You should have been able to forgive them so this incident could be swept under the rug and be completely forgotten about. But no you were stubborn and they knew it, it was a quality they had also admired in you, now however it’s soon to be one they despise.

Next part

[constelationprize]

The Kayleigh Lives AU - Part Two

And now for our check in with the World's Most Normalest Exy teams

Do you know who is 100% no exception capital T Thriving in this AU? Danielle Wilds.

I mean, she's still the first female captain in the NCAA, but in this universe she has actual support from inside the ERC board due to Kayleigh's insistance through the years

It has to do something for your ego when the creator of your sport namedrops you in multiple international interviews and also sends you a gift basket when you get nominated captain.

So yeah, even though the Foxes are still a mess and didn't pass the fourth game, Dan's having the time of her life. Good for her, honestly.

Kayleigh always attends the NCAA banquets because it's an easy excuse to be close to Kevin. Also the team spirit award isn't named after her, but she is the one to announce the winner every year. The Trojans have a running gag of the captain always making the exact same silly pose so they have a wall filled with basically the same picture a dozen times with minor differences – the main one being the five stages of grief on Kayleigh's face as she realises what's going on

Kayleigh's been avoiding Wymack at these things for ages because, look, when you decide you're gonna keep your baby a secret from your ex it's not a general expectation the two of you are going to meet face-to face regurlaly and be expected to make stilted small talk where he's very likely to ask about your son. And she doesn't need any rumors about them rising up again after all her efforts to kill the Baby Daddy speculation stories. If they come back, eventually someone is going to do the math right.

Also Kayleigh's pretty sure that after enough glasses of wine she'd hit on him again and even she's self aware enough to know that would be kind of a dick move

But she has always kept an eye on the Foxes, not only because she still has a little soft spot for Wymack, but also because his ideals of giving troubled kids a second chance trough Exy aligns itself a lot more with her ideals than wathever the hell the Ravens are doing now

(she would however like them a lot more if they were actually good at the sport)

So on these things she usually alternates between schmoozing with the ERC and being plastered by Kevin's side. She never wears red or black just to mess with the color scheme but claims it's not to show favoritism. She takes blatant advantage of the fact that Kevin never had an "embaressed of your mom" phase and frequently sits herself between Kevin and Riko.

Most of the Ravens don't complain because they are taught not to question authority but most importantly because Kevin's mom is hot. So she can disturbe the vibes a little, as a treat

Kayleigh is a frequent point of tension between Riko and Tetsuji, because she is of an almost equal standing to him in hierarchy (in that weird grey area where they both are important assets to the side branch with some autonomy but, ultimately, their leash is only as slack as Tetsuji decides to allow), so he's supposed to owe her some respect, but she is also his only competition for Tetsuji's affection and Kevin's obedience. The only reason he hasn't acted out against her yet is that Riko's waiting for Kayleigh and Tetsuji to fight so he can be sure his is the side his uncle will pick.

Jean is also not her greatest fan. Mostly because he sees Kayleigh as someone who willingly put herself and her son in a position Jean would do anything to get out of, but also because she's the safest person for him to hate. Jean learned the hard way not get in the Master or Riko's bad side, and Kevin is his only support inside the Nest. But she has very little direct impact on his life besides protecting him by proxy when she watches over Kevin, just because Riko's generally not allowed to hurt ANYONE during those times. It always gets a bit worse when she leaves, however, and Riko has pent-up frustation to take off. Jean hates her a little bit for that, too.

Neither of them could get Kevin to think badly of his mother, though. His faith in Kayleigh is one of the only things the Nest never managres to beat out of him.

At the Winter Banquet, the only time she leaves the Raven table is to approach Dan. She wants to congratulate her personally on the efforts this season and maybe offer some words of encouragement and advice.

Despite her many efforts to avoid the coaches' table like the plague, however, she ends up going up to the Foxes' table right when Wymack was coming to check that they hadn't set anything on fire.

It's an extremely awkward interaction. She calls him by his first name but looks like she's swallowed a lemon the entire time. He feels like there is no safe place on her person to look and so stares slightly over her shoulder into the distance. They can't decide wether to hug or politely shake hands and end up with stilted nods. They HAVE talked before, but it always feels like it's the first time they are seeing each other since the break up. It's been twenty years and at this point both of them have given up expecting things to get lighter. It's just that it's kind of hard to get over the multiple elephants in the room.

The Foxes eat it the FUCK up.

Allison could smell the divorce like a bloodhound. Seth however doesn't believe Coach could actually pull Kayleigh Day.

The SECOND Kayleigh and Wymack awkardly turn away and flee in opposite directions, the betting pool starts

The score is as follows: Coach hit on her when they were younger and got rejected (Seth, Fifth Year Seniors) / They had a one night stand a long time ago and it was Very Bad (Nicky) / They had a one night stand a long time ago and it was Very Good (Renée, Matt) / They dated but Kayleigh ended it (Allison) / They dated but Wymack ended it (Dan)

Andrew refuses to bet. When Nicky presses the twins a bit too much, Aaron gets annoyed and decides to bet that Wymack is actually Kevin Day's biological father. No one takes him seriously.

The team sat across them tries to pretend nothing happened

Some time between the reunion and her 100th check up on Kevin, Kayleigh ends up missing a very important discussion between the ERC and Tetsuji

[fire-dwelling]

I saw some chattering in other posts on tumblr complaining about FF charachters, but someone brought up the point that something seemed to change even back in Soul Eater - so do you think Gopher and the later clowns where a sign of Ohkubo changing his prioritys in how he portrays charachters, making them unfunny one time gags? Or is this something he allways did and people just imagine some "vibeshift"? But if not, do you think changes in editors/assisstants could be a reason? Maybe Ohkubo never was the driving force behind the more praised elements in Soul Eater?

I’ve been struggling how to respond to this, so I’m going to break up the submission into parts and just respond to parts of it along the way towards getting to something of an answer. 

I saw some chattering in other posts on tumblr complaining about FF charachters, 

I mean, I have a lot of complaints about Fire Force characters. 

It’s not quite the My Hero Academia problem of too many characters, but Fire Force characters definitely had those that seemed underdeveloped. 

Were some of these characters there just to serve the plot with nothing else to do? 

That seems to be the case of the Fire Agency Director who barely (never?) shows up after Akitaru is captured by the White Clads. 

And that seems to be the case of Huang, who resurrects Shinra then dies, which makes Shinra’s death as pointless as Izuku losing his arms before Eri’s horn brings them back--but, whoops, Huang is resurrected along with everyone else by Shinra, only now as a snake person, and we never hear her thoughts on the matter, and it’s just for the sake of using her or Orochi as the fans’ headcanon as Medusa’s ancestor. 

Then there are characters whose narrative trajectory is not at all clear, especially Benimaru and Kurono and even Joker, where Ohkubo forces their doppels into the story to tsk tsk the audience for misinterpreting what he was going for with them. 

but someone brought up the point that something seemed to change even back in Soul Eater - 

I do think characterization changed after the Arachnophobia arc and starting with the introduction of Noah’s gang. I can accept some of those changes: they just lost Kid, they are now a Spartoi unit. But it’s also that vague timeskip to get to the Spartoi unit, Maka and Soul getting enough souls, that there seems to be a few steps missing. I’ve toyed with a fanfic to try to explain the personality changes--because, again, the changes make sense, I just wish we had a story to show that character progression. If anything, with Maka all of a sudden now interested in Soul treating her like Ox treating Kim, it feels like there was potential to address this more clearly, such as something else having happened aside from Crona going missing that may make her more invested in what is going on with Soul. 

so do you think Gopher and the later clowns where a sign of Ohkubo changing his prioritys in how he portrays charachters, making them unfunny one time gags?

Not to be a hater, but the “unfunny one-time gags” were there long before Gopher. I mean, I thoroughly enjoy the Flying Dutchman, especially turning his and Blair’s fight into a Tom and Jerry short--but I think that’s a reason we didn’t see the Dutchman again in the rest of the series, it was a one-time gag, we’re done with him. 

So maybe that is why there are some changes in the manga starting with Noah’s gang: this is no longer a series about collecting souls, it’s no longer one-off adventures, we’re now trying to do a longer arc. Sure, you can argue that the “one-off adventures” ended much earlier when Crona sliced Soul and now it’s a race to stop Medusa from resurrecting the Kishin, only, whoops, that still happens, so now we shift focus abruptly to Arachnophobia, but, whoops, they weren’t that long-lasting of an antagonist, so back to Medusa--or is it Noah--or Crona--and where did the Kishin go? 

…See how the story lost focus as soon as Asura was resurrected? 

Let’s go back to that one-off adventure structure and the Flying Dutchman. Even when the plot is now about stopping Medusa, we still had stories that, initially, seemed like one-off antagonists: Kid and the Thompsons collecting the souls from the Dutchman’s ship. It does tie into Medusa’s storyline once Crona claims those souls, but at least it felt like a one-off story. Even the fight between Kid and the Fisher King did both, a one-off antagonist and progressing the larger arc, in this case Arachnophobia. 

But I do think something changed once Soul became a Death Scythe. A lot of the people Soul and Maka killed could have served a similar purpose--but now that Soul is a Death Scythe, they have no reason to collect souls, now they’re on the frontlines against the Big Bads…and they just aren’t that engaging of antagonists. Noah’s purpose is delayed for so long, then it just turns out he’s a puppet. Medusa’s grand scheme ends with her death, so while her villainy continues to hang over what comes next with Crona, she’s gone. Crona is not quite the villain, they’re the antagonist, and even then they seem just as much of a puppet as Noah. 

We don’t get many one-off cool villains to fight: the Book of Eibon monsters are cool horror movie references, but they are mindless beasts; we don’t have a Mifune who is morally compromised, historical villains like Rasputin or Al Capone that we could play around with to re-interpret history (which, granted, Ohkubo didn’t really do much with Rasputin or Capone either), Samantha the Witch was nothing but at least the Wrath of the Pharaoh was a brutal opponent with a shocking design. If we had some one-off battles that could still progress the story forward, it could be more engaging--and would be an excuse to progress characterization for the main characters as well as overlooked supporting characters (Team B, some Death Scythes) and long-lost characters (the NOT trio). 

Or is this something he allways did and people just imagine some "vibeshift"?

I mean, as I say above, the problems were there earlier. I think we didn’t notice as much because we were invested in the mystery of Medusa’s plan--but once Asura is resurrected, we lose the one-off fights, Medusa’s plan fades away until she just dies, Arachnophobia and Noah just aren’t as compelling, and Asura is goofing off on the Moon the entire time so he’s barely a factor in the story where he has been the overarching threat all along, because Asura is a force of nature, not a realized character. 

But if not, do you think changes in editors/assisstants could be a reason? Maybe Ohkubo never was the driving force behind the more praised elements in Soul Eater?

I remain so ignorant as to who were Ohkubo’s editors and assistants on all of his manga, so I can’t comment on whether they influenced his choices. Of the two, it would be the editors guiding where his stories would go far more than what assistants may have done--although, not ignoring that an assistant may have a stylistic choice that makes Ohkubo realize something. 

And as I’ll try to say more below before I wrap up, there is more across Ohkubo’s works--B Ichi, Soul Eater, NOT, Fire Force--that is similar than different, even visual details that creep into works where he was only the character designer or illustrator, that leads me to think he was the driving force, even as I am loathe to acknowledge that means he is responsible for elements that are praised in Soul Eater. I just happen to think, given how badly Fire Force turned out, that the editors of Soul Eater just did a better job guiding him in directions that worked so well in Soul Eater and earned him praise, whereas with Fire Force it just is a message I don’t like, and his editors encouraged his worst traits. 

There is enough consistent across Ohkubo’s works--character designs, design touches, personality and character archetypes, themes, settings--that I am inclined to think Ohkubo has been consistent, however much he has changed in details for the worse or chose different tones and messages, and has only changed in how bad he can be because, by increased fame or change in editors, he gets away with more. 

Across just Soul Eater, we saw the changes after the Arachnophobia arc, starting with Kid’s kidnapping and the positioning of Noah as a new big bad with his own gang, while Medusa was off scheming. And all of these changes came along with changes in the artwork, not just in giving the DWMA their own Spartoi uniforms but little tweaks to the artwork that seemed to be pulling a bit more from the Studio BONES designs and seemed like Ohkubo had settled into a typical, albeit a little less visually interesting, character design style. 

I’m kind of petering out here at the end, so, to reiterate, I think there is more similar across his works, even as his visual style had a lot of different directions along the way. And this is all united by his characterization approach staying mostly the same, in that he has characters change so to change the plot, rather than letting the plot change the characters: he just has a character act a way to serve the story (Maka suddenly jealous of Ox and Kim) rather than having that change in characterization result from the story itself. It’s how we get Shinra pretty much staying the same throughout Fire Force despite what the story should have changed in him--all because the ending, evidently, was always going to be about resurrecting everyone anyway, so why should Shinra have much if any reaction to death, except the last one, Akitaru, that finally makes him lose control, let the world get burned to ash, so he can resurrect it all. 

[sweetie-writer-monika]

Wild Berries Training - Pony Graduation

A collab story with PurpleAnart featuring his OC Strawberry~ PurpleAnart makes lovely art, go check his out: https://linktr.ee/purpleanart PurpleAnart drew a most lovely artwork to accompany to story's ending: https://www.deviantart.com/purpleanart/art/1090905727 This story featured the dutiful Dolly Serene, check her social medias at @Dolltsune ! It's time for our beloved ponies in training to graduate as real ponies! Click below to read the full story.

The following days were similar in nature, these ponies kept on with our pony training and our pony meals, but as we ponies progressed with our training so did they increase in difficulty. Instead of trotting we had to run and we had heavier objects to carry as well as more fragile objects to transport. We ponies also had to track on special tracks made of different surface materials to simulate harsh terrains and some tracks were sloped. The training was very physically and mentally exhausting, especially due to the… Special encasement that never allowed this doll to fully… Clean its mind. If not for the delicious pony treats and for pony Strawberry’s company this pony is not sure if this pony would manage to endure the training to the end.

This pony and pony Strawberry grew closer with each passing day, we ponies always held hands… Held hooves together whenever we ponies were able to. And during our pony meals we ponies snuggled closely together, even exchanging soft caressing on occasion. Each night we ponies pulled our hay beds closer together until it was just one big bed, and during night we snuggled together for sleeping. On some nights pony Strawberry would cry under the physically exhausting training and the pressure of doing things right but this pony would encourage and reassure pony Strawberry every time. And on some nights this pony would think of giving up, and return to the comfort of Mistress Morgana’s manor and its doll case but pony Strawberry would encourage this pony and reassure it every time as well. The pony training regime was not easy, far from it, but together it felt we ponies could surely overcome it.

The physical part of the training was not the only thing that increased in difficulty. As the days went on we had new gears attached to us. First our regular collars were replaced that posture collars, forcing us to keep our necks straight. Then our collars were bound together by a small chain ensuring we *had* to be in perfect synchronization *all* the time. This pony thinks Miss Ursula caught on to us because on some occasions she would have our hands tied up together forcing us to hold hands during our exercises. We ponies also had a head harness mask included to our gear, the harness together with the posture collar forced us ponies to look straight ahead at all times, and the harness also came with bit gags and reins. Some of the training involved us pulling wagons and carriages, and the reins allowed for Miss Ursula to pilot us. And on some days even our mistresses would join us! We would practice carrying them around and they got to pilot us, either individually or together as a pair. Our arms were curled up and bound with straps and our hands covered with mittens, forcing us ponies to eat as ponies even more, in fact ALL of our meals were as ponies now, even treats. And when we had to carry trays those were instead bound to our chest and posture collar so instead of holding it with our hands or hooves we had to balance it with our bodies alone. Those ponies were also instructed to not speak anymore, at most neigh, and only communicate with one stomp, or clap, for yes and two for no. With time this pony and pony Strawberry learnt of different ways to neigh to communicate with each other. Between neighing, caressing and breathing it felt like this pony really had no need for words anymore as a pony.

This pony does not know for how long it kept training, but it did. It could had been months but it does not really matter, as a pony this one kept training delightfully. One day Miss Ursula came with an announcement: we ponies were to “graduate”. This meant our pony training was over, and that we were to be officially branded as real ponies for our mistresses. Miss Ursula told us they would hold some form of branding ceremony for us ponies. This pony thought back of how it saw the other ponies were branded and this one’s mechanical heart began to spin fast in anticipation, this one really wanted to be Mistress Morgana most prized possession so being branded as one came out naturally.

Miss Ursula took us ponies to our cabin first, she told us we had preparations to do before we were to begin the ceremony. Once inside Miss Ursula had us stripped of our gears and outfit, aside of our encasements and posture collars. This pony felt a certain discomfort at first being deprived of its pony gear after being in them for so long, but this one knew it had to bear with it for its final part of our training. After this long and rigid training, this one did not felt embarrassed to expose herself to Miss Ursula or pony Strawberry anymore, much to the opposite: this one felt a strong pride in its pony features as well as its doll features. Knowing pony Strawberry found this one to be so beautiful really helped with this one’s confidence in its body. With the help of a leash tied to this one’s collar, Miss Ursula led this pony outside, which led pony Strawberry since our collars were still tied together.

Once outside, Miss Ursula had us parade through the estate, walking past many of its tracks towards the orchards. On the way many other ponies saw us and their breeders as well as staff members. As we parade, they all clapped their hands or stomped in celebration of the new ponies presented. This one could feel all of their gazes on us. They kept looking, admiring… This pony never knew so many others could find joy in this one’s body. Later this one must thank Mistress Morgana and pony Strawberry for all of their support to this one. Unfortunately, this one could not see pony Strawberry’s reactions as it had no option but to keep looking forward, but this one is sure pony Strawberry was equally pleased.

Eventually we were led to a fenced field, nearby this pony noticed its Mistress and pony Strawberry’s Mistress. They were ready to watch us ponies graduate. And this one could see just how happy Mistress Morgana was! Mistress was happy with her new pony, and proud too. This pony wants to keep making its Mistress happy and proud, so this pony will keep working hard for its Mistress! This one couldn’t help but let out a weak moan of pleasure from the constant thought of being Mistress Morgana’s perfect pony.

In the fenced field, this one noticed two lustrous slimes inside, one of bright pink and one of crimson in color. And in the middle of the field a sybian was set. Just what was about to happen to us…? Miss Ursula had us mount the sybian, face to face, so this pony took the opportunity to take a good look at pony Strawberry’s bright red face. And pony Strawberry looked back at this pony. For a good moment that could last forever we ponies exchanged looks and gazes. The entirety of pony Strawberry’s body, hair and face felt almost too perfect. His body now tuned up a bit from all of our hard work in contrast to his still gentle face… Utterly angelic… This one could feel its body leaning towards pony Strawberry’s, an almost magnetic force pulling us together. Our hands touching.. Held together as our eyes stayed locked to each other. That was when we felt the machine being turned on. The new wave of buzzing felt like torture to this one’s already sensitive body. Feeling this one’s body lose its composure, this pony let out a weak moan in front of pony Strawberry, prompting his face to turn red again, but he did not look away, truly enjoying the show.

Then this one felt something being poured on its body… Some form of syrup… The somewhat sweet scented syrup in itself already made this one’s body hot whenever it landed but then someone began to rub it over the entirety of the pony’s body…! Each time this pony had its body touched this one’s body felt like burning with an overwhelming euphoric feeling. Each time this pony had its body touched this one let out another moan of pleasure out of its lips. This pony’s eye began to weaken as it gave in to… More important body sensations but this one saw the same was done to pony Strawberry, covered in this pink syrup. For a brief moment this one wondered if its own syrup was crimson in color as well, seeing there was certainly a theme going on. The person applying this syrup to this pony’s body purposely left out this one’s most sensitive body parts, much to this one’s frustration! Talk about a mixture of gratification and dissatisfaction…!

Suddenly something… Slimy… Seemed to crawl on this one’s legs…? The slime from before were crawling on this pony’s body…! This one’s body was taken by a constant hot feeling on each and every inch of this one’s body that the slime took over! And on top of that… It felt as if the slime were constantly sucking on this one’s body…! The slime swiftly climbed on this one’s legs reaching this one’s doll parts with ease and without further notice inside the slime went…! Now not only did this pony’s skin felt unbearably hot but also this pony’s inside as well! This one felt as if it was being stripped of its ability to think altogether, and think not did it need as this one knew what it wanted. Leaning towards pony Strawberry this one had our lips touch and our tongues intertwined and our drool dripped on the sybian and mixed together inside our mouths. Each second of this was an overwhelming euphoric bliss, growing by each second as more of this pony’s body was taken over by the slime. Hot hard iron strung this one’s body forcefully, permanently engraving this one with Purp.co’s emblem on this one’s buttcheek and Mistress Morgana’s emblem on its shoulder. This one’s body had not a single second of rest as the slime crawled over this one’s body easily reaching this one’s head. On what this pony thought was its last moment what little remained of this pony’s thoughts were towards how much this pony was happy to serve its Mistress together with pony Strawberry. This pony felt its head fully covered and the slime forcefully filled in this pony’s nostrils and mouth. Feeling this pony’s body weakening this pony tried uttering…

…

This pony woke up… It seemed it was back to this one’s wooden cabin…? And snuggled up… With pony Strawberry…? This pony didn’t try to think back to what happened, instead just enjoying the quiet moment, appreciating pony Strawberry’s new lustrous pink skin, and this one’s lustrous crimson skin. We ponies had hooves for hands and feet, equally glossy in appearance. And this one could still feel its doll part filled up by the body-tight slime. When pony Strawberry woke up, even if we wanted to, we could not share words, just soft caressing, as we ponies had a bit gag firmly placed, with our faces covered by the tight second skin. Then our mistresses came to visit us at our cabin. Pony Strawberry rushed to his mistress’ embrace, as this one is sure he missed her, and I went to mine. Mistress Morgana explained our training was completed and now we were officially ponies trained by Purp.co, real living stock. Mistress Morgana also told me how proud She is of this pony, and that it deserved a break for sure before we went back to the manor, so we were to stay a day or two still at this estate to rest. Mistress Morgana also explained the slimes were a special creature raised by Purp.co, those fed on one’s… vigor, so to speak, and they formed symbiotic relationships with their “host”, and the slimes could even be kept around as companions as long this one often feed it, meaning that if Mistress Morgana so desired she could “toggle” this pony’s pony form on and off. Afterwards we four went together to the orchards to enjoy a meal together and talk about all of our new abilities, this pony was more than eager to show Mistress Morgana what it was capable of, and keep making Her proud!

[End]

[ask-ikevamp-faust]

My dear, I’m more than happy for you to continue calling me your Ice Queen as long as I may give you an affectionate nickname in return. I’m trying very hard to decide what it is about you that entices me so, but I think we are simply kindred spirits with plenty of chemistry.

I'd be delighted to bake or cook something for you. I do it rather often to show people my affection. I'm excellent at both, and I also really enjoy making bread and pastries. If you have a favorite meal or dessert, I’d love to know what it is. I collect recipes and cookbooks as a hobby, so I'm always searching for new foods to try.

Also, please don't worry; I have absolutely no issues assisting you in the church. Regardless of my personal faith, I find the ritualistic parts of religion soothing and I enjoy working with all sorts of communities.

You're quite clever at noticing the little details in my correspondence. Yes, I have extensive music and acting experience. I was actually classically trained to sing theatre and opera from a young age. I've also sung quite a few hymns and Mass movements, and I can play the piano passably. Would you like to guess my vocal parts, or shall I tell you? I have an operatic classification as well as a more general choral one.

I'm delighted to hear you enjoy my tattoos and their stories, and I’ll even give you the option to choose which one you'd like to hear next. You may choose from the moth and lantern, the chrysanthemum, or the coffin.

You also give me far too much credit for my flexibility. I wasn't flexible at all, but I did multiple types of dancing as part of my theatrical performances, and I currently do yoga for stress relief, which has helped me develop it.

As for rope colors, I think jewel tones suit me well, as I‘m quite pale with vanilla blonde hair and blue-green eyes. I'm certain that I will feel beautiful as you turn me into a work of art, but I'm also intrigued to hear what other accessories interest you. You seem like you'd enjoy collars.

- L

Im quite interested to hear any nicknames you have for me. I’d like to see how creative you can be. As for your reasoning, I appreciate you sharing your honest thoughts with me. Our chemistry is quite lovely.

This is very valuable information indeed. I must think of some favorite foods to share with you. If you were to cook them to my liking though, you may never rid yourself of me. Are you sure you’d still like to know my favorites? I’d also be interested in knowing your favorite dishes and treats to cook.

I’m pleased to hear you’d like to assist at the church. Now I can further observe you in other environments. If you require anything for those lessons you mentioned, inform me so that I can make the arrangements. Should I order a nun outfit for you as well?

Not only are you a scientist but you have a background in the music and arts department. My Ice Queen is rather well rounded, what else will you surprise me with? Unfortunately, you will have to share your classifications with me. This is not an area I am very familiar with. What sort of acting roles have you done?

I’d like to hear the story behind the moth and the lantern. Though I must admit I’m curious about the other two as well.

I would like to see your dancing abilities. I’m sure you must remember a few moves from your theater days. You may even be able to convince me to dance with you. I heard yoga is quite relaxing, but I’ve never attempted it before. Is music something you add to your yoga routine? Some say it adds to the serene atmosphere.

Thank you for describing your features, you’re as beautiful as I thought you’d be. I’ll be sure to keep that in mind when arranging the order. Yes, good guess, I’m rather fond of collars. Some other things I enjoy are leashes, mouth gags, blindfolds, cuffs and undergarments with a name of my choosing printed on it. How do these items sound?

[the-world-annealing]

A spoiler-free review of Barbie (2023)

This is like the third post about Barbie I've started writing and then abandoned but y'know, let's just bang this thing out and be done with it.

After its trippy opening, Barbie (2023) starts us off in Barbieland: a fantasy world inhabited by an endless parade of well-dressed attractive working women, who are all Barbie, because Barbie can be anything and do anything. Our protagonist, 'stereotypical Barbie', one day wakes to the terror of Things Not Being Perfect All the Time, and is told she must travel to the real world in order to stop her life being ruined.

Traveling along her is Ken, who is by far the best character in the entire movie. Core to his arc is the fact that he's an accessory, an 'and Ken', without traits or competences of his own, and that his identity does not extend beyond being Barbie's boyfriend. As one character puts it: "Nobody cares about Ken", and in fact you could argue that Ken's main goal is learning to care about himself. There's some genuinely solid character work here, Ryan Gosling is obviously an amazing actor, and he's got by far the best musical number in the entire movie (you'll know it when you see it).

But enough about the barebones plot details: let's talk about the movie on a more abstract level.

Barbie as a comedy The movie rarely hesitates when presented with the opportunity for a gag; its metaphysics rarely remain consistent, reasonable questions get dismissed with a quip, and in one egregious example Ken betrays his final chance to explain his core arc so he can instead set up a gag about horses. That is, in itself, not something bad; movies are allowed to prioritize humor over story, comedies especially.

And credit where credit is due, Barbie is a good comedy. The jokes are funny, the pacing is slightly rushed but never uncomfortably so, the soundtrack is amazing, the Barbieland sets explode with color. There's a lot of references to Barbie products in here, but I never felt like I was watching a two-hour ad. The movie is by far at its best when it embraces its own zaniness, and for the most part it does just that.

But Barbie wants to be more than the Summer Blockbuster (pink edition) of 2023, it wants to... well, actually, let's take a brief digression to analyze some of the themes you could reasonably want to say Barbie is trying to explore.

Barbie as things that aren't a comedy There's a strain of discourse, long preceding this movie but invigorated by its announcement, where one side will say "Barbie is sexist and the face of patriarchal standards" and the other side will say "Actually Barbie is canonically an astronaut and a senator and a racecar driver, which is breaking gender roles, and thus feminist, because women can do anything".

The movie multi-track drifts these opinions for its entire length, and ends up concluding something like "Barbie represents a sort of idealized female figure, and having such a figure to project your hopes and dreams and fears on can be legitimately useful. At the same time, nobody can actually live up to those standards, so just be yourself and voice your frustrations with patriarchal standards when you encounter them". We'll get back to this in a second.

Another reading of the movie is as a sort of opposite-world mirror, one that assigns typically-female roles to the male characters and in doing so, invites its viewers to think about the way women in movies get typically treated. I'm not sure how I feel about this: I think a common failure mode for Subversive movies is to end up preaching to the choir, and I'm unsure how much of Barbie's target audience needs to hear 'when directors add a two-dimensional female love interest to a movie, this is bad'. Someone I discussed it with half-jokingly suggested that those messages are aimed at 'boyfriends who got dragged into the movie'; perhaps they are.

Now, note that Barbie, both in marketing and in the movie itself, is making a big deal out of saying something about Women and Sexism and Social Standards: its ability to credibly say something about those issues thus depends on its ability to represent these subjects accurately. And unfortunately, that's where it goes wrong.

Patriarchy Without spoiling too much, suffice to say that the real world is far from the benevolent female-centric utopia that is Barbieland. The second act explores the contrast between Barbieland and the real world; the third ends with Barbie defeating the patriarchy.

Or, rather, some weird alien mind virus that everyone constantly calls 'the patriarchy'. Barbie's patriarchy (supposedly the same one we ourselves have) is utterly individualistic: sexist ideas are introduced, men and women both instantly adopt sexist attitudes, and boom, patriarchal society where former confident career women are now submissive housewives in miniskirts. It's impressive in how utterly dismissive it is of the idea that an issue could be structural.

For instance, under patriarchy, a man will put on The Godfather and mansplain it to you. Or your male employees will judge you both for being 'too soft' and 'a hardass'. Or a man will say 'you look prettier without glasses'. Or a man may see you struggling with photoshop and mansplain it to you. As you might've guessed by now, Barbie's portrayal of crushing patriarchal norms is limited to a very particular subset; the sort of interpersonal frustrations likely to get encountered by a thirty-something managerial-class woman and her social circle. Which to be clear isn't something you shouldn't get bothered by, but it speaks to the sort of myopia that is regrettably common in certain feminist schools of thought.

A very recurrent shape that the movie's patriarchy takes is when men receive undeserved power and attention, and it's unsurprising to see the movie's own solution come down to 'elevating female voices, maybe getting a few more female CEOs'. It's just a disappointingly basic take on sexism and how to address it, and it sours everything that the movie has to say about its chosen subject matter.

How it could have been better In a way that ironically mirrors the movie's central moral, Barbie (2023) suffers from needing to be everything at once: feminist parable, zany comedy, and surrealist art film. So it might be surprising that my proposed fix is to accentuate yet another genre: horror.

In all the movie's talk of Barbie being a sexist ideal or a tool for self-actualization or a symbol of female omnicompetence, it (deliberately?) forgets that she is a product first and foremost, and her identity and skillset is defined by a marketing department as much as it is defined by innocently hopeful six-year-olds. The idea is raised once, subtly, during a speech that isn't sure whether it wants to be a serious argument or a long-winded joke.

So to fix the movie, play up the dissonance between being a person with thoughts and hopes and fears and being an utterly artificial construct! Emphasize the contrast between "Barbie can be anything and do anything" and "Barbie can only do those things that a board of designers approved", and the terror of being Barbie in that scenario, of believing the first but discovering the second!

And there's a lot of directions you can go from there; you can have Barbie meet women who aren't marketable professionals, and learn something meaningful about the broad definition of womanhood from them, you can involve Barbieland's barbies as enthusiastic participants in the system who are more than willing to expel protagonist-Barbie once she stops fitting their mold (something loosely hinted at in the actual movie), you can introduce all sorts of human villains who want to manipulate the concept of womanhood for their own gain, whatever you want, as long as you somehow, somewhere, acknowledge that barbie's wardrobe is 90% pink (that barbie has a sizeable wardrobe) for reasons other than the Innate Feminine Need to wear that particular color.

You still get to keep the feminist angle, but instead of centering the frustrations of middle class female professionals it now focuses on the fundamentally artificial nature of gender roles: I shouldn't have to say why that makes for a more compelling core theme!

(and if your response is something like "Okay, I get where you're coming from but mainstream femininity catches so much undeserved flak that we need a movie bold enough to come to its defense." I will simply note that we seem to have different priorities on that matter)

The movie could have been this: it got so close around the midpoint! But it backs off, because it wants to tell a story about women controlled by men, not people controlled by systems. Unfortunately in doing so it becomes a much less interesting movie, and one hampered in its ability to make meaningful points in favor of feminism.

[wordrefs]

In my experience (so I can't speak for all writers), it takes a combination of:

practice (you don't usually do a marathon your first time out for a jog, so the more practice/training you have, the more easy it should be to get to a ~100k story if that's what you want)

a story that you really, really want to tell to the end

either a decision to wing it and fuck the (literature) police if it meanders or has plot holes -or- taking the time to properly structure your notes/outline and combing back over what you've already written to find anything that might have been dropped or overlooked

TIME. IT TAKES TIME (or an extreme hyper-fixation and few calls on you that snap you out of it)

I should note that I only have one fic over 100k on my account, but it's significantly over 100k. (I've also posted several stories over 50k, with most of my fics over 30k.)

For the rest of this post I'm going to break it up into sections to make it easier to read/focus on (even though it breaks up the text in weird transitions because I did it after the fact).

As for the actual 'doing' part of writing it... every writer is going to have their own process that works for them and would be rotten for another writer. I've personally had multiple different approaches to working, some of which have worked better than others.

I do highly recommend that if you haven't yet, try NaNoWriMo this year, if you have the time. (TIP: Treat your body like an athlete's because this is a grueling marathon event. Eat properly, sleep well, take breaks and do stretches if you can't get away from the computer on a daily basis.)

It took me several years to achieve the 50k+ words goal, but it forced me to refine how I worked until I figured out what makes it easier for me.

Loose outlines help me a lot. It leaves me enough room to change my mind, but enough structure that I always know where I'm going. I work best by having "landmark goals" in the middle and at least a vague idea of the end-point.

To put it in an analogy: I'm going on a road trip. I have a map with circles around landmarks/attractions I want to visit along the way, and I know I'll reach my final destination... probably. But I may end up not visiting half the places I circle and have almost always ended visiting a place I've never heard of before because I saw a turn-off sign for it and was like, "Let's check this out!" and that detour lead to an entirely new route. Which, yeah, might mean that I don't see three of the places I had circled, and somehow I spent a month at Vegas and ended up visiting a completely different friend than the one I started driving out to meet, but totally worth it. And even if I didn't end up in my original destination, it sure saved me a lot of time by pre-planning my route and a few places I might want to see along the way!

The longer the story, and the tighter you want it to be, the more time should be spent working on the outline.

It also helps for you to go back through your story at around the mid-point or just after mid-point looking for any loose ends that need to be pulled together by the end of the story. Write those down as a reminder list and/or placing them where you think they go in the outline. This includes running gags if you want those to pay off!

As for motivation... that was in the bullet-point list.

If you're going to get to 100k+, god you have to want it because unless you're lucky enough to have a muse yank you in the car and scream, "ROAD TRIP. I'M DRIVING" and hit pedal to the metal at all times, you're going to eventually hit a point where it's no longer as fun and easy. (This is why having a road map comes in handy. While the muse is crashed out in the back seat, you can get in the driver's seat and keep it moving.)

TBH, if you aren't putting your own gas in the car and are relying entirely on the muse to remember to refuel, you're always going to get stranded somewhere without a gas station, or even a hotel, in sight. (This is the analogy that keeps on giving, btw.) So be prepared that at least one of these times you're going to wake up parked on the side of the road and it's up to you to go to the trunk, get the gas can, and get to walking.

Something-something, pretend I continued the metaphor about being lucky if your cell phone has reception - by which I mean you might have other writers or fandom friends or a beta/editor who can help you talk through where you're having trouble. Sometimes re-reading or refining your notes can help reignite your motivation. (Which is my usual approach, actually, since it's rare my friends and I are in the same fandoms.)

As for how-does-the-word-count-get-that-high...

I personally do a fair amount of worldbuilding, setting the scene/description, and exploring the POV character's inner thoughts/feelings. Though I don't generally spend multiple paragraphs on these things, you'd be surprised how quickly a couple of lines at the right points add up.

I also typically have at least two, usually 3+ plots going on. Generally there is an A-plot (the main point of the story - so generally "the plot") and the B-plot (usually the romance, though the plot sometimes is just the set-up for the romance, so flip the priorities). Then I usually have at least one platonic relationship I spend scene time on. In a shorter story, it may be lightly sketched and directly tied to either the A-plot or B-plot, but in a longer story it may deserve being called the "C-plot".

Definitely don't go overboard adding a lot of these at once because it becomes a beast to manage, especially if you're not tying some of these threads off once they've run their course and try to keep them all going to the end of the story, but don't expect a single story thread to last 100k either.

This was my TL;DR TED Talk. Apologies/I hope it was useful (whichever applies more, lol). Feel free to ask for clarification if you have questions.

[cancerian-woman]

Fanfic Teasers.

dear little witch.

“Is there somewhere else you have to be?” Bonnie asked, rotating her cocktail in her hand. “At home with your wife and kid possibly? Anywhere that isn’t here.” Klaus was the last person Bonnie expected to see on her travels. “I pictured the Mikaelson’s treat holidays like some festival.”

Klaus roamed his eyes up and down at the witch. Since their paths have crossed it’s hard to watch over her. Bonnie Bennett certainly isn't little anymore. Long gone of those awkward teen years and before him a woman. Height still wasn't her friend but those hips and thighs suited the witch perfectly. The man in him was hoping she leans a bit closer for a better view of her breast.

“Klaus,” Bonnie snapped, waving her hands in front of his face. “I asked you a question. Why are you still here? More specifically next to me?”

“I thought we had rules, Witch.” Klaus replied, turning to compel himself another glass of scotch. “That is what you desire. Unless your feelings changed.”

Bonnie wouldn’t dare admit it. Especially not to Klaus Mikaelson of all people. But, maybe, deep down a familiar person around was making her enjoy the holidays. Even when that person was Klaus Mikaelson.

Blame it on being stuck with Damon for four months and then six months later in complete solitude.

Holidays were for festive people who had love to provide for everyone. Safe homes to return too. Warmth and love in every crevice of that home. Bonnie didn’t have that and that’s part of the reason she wasn’t in Mystic Falls now. No, sense in depressing herself wishing she had something, or someone to bring her some of that joy back in her life.

“No, I just wanted to be clear that if you cause any of these people harm. I don’t care and I won’t stop you from doing it.”

“That isn’t very Bonnie Bennett of you. Where's the little witch that saves the day?” Klaus says, smirking after the fact. “You wouldn’t want this dinning hall ruined.”

Bonnie envied every family and smile in the dining hall. She even envied the pianist singing Christmas Carols. The workers who despite would rather be at home even have smiles on their faces in their Christmas hats. She wouldn’t give Klaus the satisfaction of an answer. If he reacted and attacked anyone she’d kick his ass for ruining these families special night.

“That’s it, I’m leaving and going back to my room.” Bonnie exclaims, shuffling through her purse to place a tip under her glass. “Merry Christmas, asshole.”

Klaus reaches his arm out pulling Bonnie back to her seat. “My family and I had to part ways. So, you aren’t the only one alone on Christmas. I’ve never been too big on holidays seeing as I’ve been-“

“Alive since the birth of Christ?” Bonnie motioned the bartender for another drink. “Another Manhattan please? Thank you.”

Klaus narrowed his eyes at her. “I’ve never been married. I’m not sure who told you that but it wouldn’t have been to Hayley. I rather dagger myself first then to marry my former one night stand.”

“I’m just repeating what I heard from-“

“Tyler, Caroline, or Stefan,” Klaus continued for her. “Who clearly don’t know the story themselves.” He pauses tapping his fingers on the bar. “My daughter died. Her name was Hope if you didn’t know.”

It’s a lie. But, this would probably be the last time he sees little Bonnie Bennett and if it keeps Hope safe then so be it. Most of the supernatural world does think Hope died after the Hollow possessed her it wasn’t a complete lie in his eyes.

Bonnie eyes bulge as she gags on her drink. “I didn’t know.” She wipes her mouth. “No one deserves that not even you. I’m going to call it a night. You probably won’t see me tomorrow but I’m sorry again.”

“What are you running from little witch? Shouldn’t you be back at home?”

[sweetstarling]

Octavinelle Pregnancy Headcanons - Beyond The Sea Line

Hello lovelies, I received a lovely request from @kawaiidreamerarbiter for pregnancy Headcanons. Don’t worry, the second part of your wish will be granted soon, please enjoy!

————————————————————————

~𝕯𝖔𝖜𝖓 𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕽𝖆𝖇𝖇𝖎𝖙 𝕳𝖔𝖑𝖊 𝖂𝖊 𝕲𝖔~

Azul:

🐙This octopus has definitely imagined in the past of having children with you, it plagues his mind during his quieter moments such as going through contracts or the quieter times of the Mostro Lounge.

🐙Though, it visits his mind, he would never force those ideals on his significant other. He may love the idea of a family but the two of you can do too, after all he loves you beyond everything else.

🐙One day, searching for his loved one, he came across the sound of you gagging. The worst swimming into his mind if you being sick, rushing into the bathroom to be met with you.

🐙He’s gentle, cleaning you up and encouraging you that you’re doing fine, slightly quivering having seen you in pain. That’s when it leaves you, the news of being pregnant.

🐙His eyes widen and a smile spreading into his face, a low mumble coming from him We’re going to have a baby of our own. He wraps his limbs around you, the excitement having brought a few more pairs, some tears of happiness already building up.

Thank you so much

————————————————————————-

The light illuminated his gentle features, his soft hands reaching to your head lightly playing with your hair. A soft smile playing on his lips, the news having brought a new joy to his life; goosebumps quivering his skin as he slowly changed forms. Midnight purple taking over his skin as more limbs seemed to attach himself to you.

Jade:

🐚The idea definitely came to mind a couple of times, the hope of one day having twins just like him and his energetic brother. Wouldn’t that be wonderful? Two little eels running around all day, perhaps, uncle Floyd will join them?

🐚Never forcing those ideals of his significant other but is definitely more open to sharing his thoughts, perhaps hinting it from time to time or even taking them to mother eel to see some of his and Floyds baby pictures.

🐚Considering the part he plays for Azul and his contracts, stalking and observation are not bellow him. He observed you, taking in the signs of you being pregnant, he might’ve even known before you but he can’t be completely sure yet.

🐚If you keep stalling the chance to tell him, he’ll eventually run out of patience just confronting you during a calm evening, his yellow orbs boring into you awaiting a reply.

🐚The admittance of your pregnancy cause his eyes to soften instantly, a gentle closed eyes smile greeting you. A genuine laugh leaving him from once. I’m so happy seashell, aren’t you?

A family of our own? How lovely

————————————————————————

A low vibrated from the fish tank, overshadowing the dining table, flowers trapped within a crystal like vase. Warmth enlaced with sweet words from the gentle eel flushed over you, a wave of happiness overcoming to hear the acceptance of having a family with your significant other.

Floyd:

🦈Floyd has a wild imagination, the idea of having multiple kids spins in his mind constantly. Running around with the constantly would be a joy, he wants atleast twins, opting for a fuller family but just twins are okay too.

🦈He’s shameless and likes to mention the idea often when in a good mood, it may feel like he’s forcing the idea but he’s just excited of the ideal and wouldn’t want to make his Shrimpy feel uncomfortable .

🦈He’s definitely taken you to mother eel multiple times for visits, the retelling of story’s between him and Jade a must whenever you’re there. Floyd, though, he hunts down unfortunate contractors for Azul, isn’t as observing in terms of things that are still foreign for him.

🦈It takes mummy eel to notice the unusual glow on you or the change of habit you have to realise you’re pregnant, she’s overjoyed which causes her to blurt it out in front Floyd thinking he already knew.

🦈Floyd widens his eyes slightly, having not realised earlier he smirks, sharp canines visible as he rushes up to you to squeeze you which only causes a gasp and a light scolding from mummy eel. Nuzzling into you, the wide smile sticks, We’re going to have little eels running around, Koebi-chan.

A little Koebi-chan like you

————————————————————————

A joy of laughter escaped the elder eels mouth, her eyes motherly and hands out to hug you lightly, “Aw, grand-children, I’ve waited so long”. The words not escaping the overhearing eels ears, as his tall stature came in, pointy teeth on display with a shine, “Grandchildren?” Is all he replied but rushing up to you shamelessly.

————————————————————————

“You three better treat them right, otherwise may the merciful sea witch help you that I don’t hunt you down and give you a stern talking to” - Mama Eel

[dystopianhellscape]

Let Me In, Part 1

Back with a continuation of my first Stranger Things x Reader fanfic. I decided I'd post Part 1 as well since it has a little more substance than the Prologue and gives a better idea of the direction the story might go in. I'm open to suggestions and feedback so feel free to leave comments! Thanks for reading!

Warnings ⚠️: 18+, swearing, alcohol and tobacco consumption, mention of nightmares, horror movies and what may be considered disturbing imagery to some.

A/N: I apologize for errors or inconsistencies. I only had time for a quick edit but wanted to get it posted.

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

This wasn't the first time you'd been to Steve's for a movie night and you were certain there would be many more. Movies were one of the first things the three of you bonded over during shifts at Scoops and since then, it's been kind of an unspoken deal that you would spend most of your free time together. "I'll get the first movie going if you two wanna grab the snacks!" Robin called as she walked toward the living room. You and Steve smiled and nodded at one another before you both entered the kitchen.

You walked over to Harrington's designated snack cabinet without a second thought as he raided the fridge for drinks. You could practically navigate at least his kitchen with your eyes closed at this point, no problem. Your eyes scanned over the rows of possible options displayed on the shelves as he called over to you without peeling his eyes from the inside of the fridge. "I've got water, tea, Coke annnnd" he pulls a bottle of beer out for himself and turns to face you, holding it up as if he's toasting. "Beer. Pick your poison." A smirk creeps up on his face as he waits for your answer. You allow your eyes to abandon the snacks in the cabinet for the beer he's holding. You smile and nod. "Actually, a beer sounds great. I'll take one of those, please." His smile grows and he nods as he lifts a finger to point at you playfully. "Good choice. Coming right up. HEY, BUCKLEY, YOU WANT A BEER?" He leaned his head in the direction of the living room, making sure his voice carried through to where Robin had already found her spot on the couch. You both patiently waited for her response. She yelled back "EW! NO THANKS. BRING ME A COKE!" You and Steve looked at one another and snickered after barely hearing her mutter to herself. "Who actually drinks that shit and ENJOYS it?" She stuck her tongue out in disgust, making a gagging noise.

Grabbing the drinks, a bag of pretzels and a packet of Oreos, the two of you make your way over to join her in the living room. Robin grabbed the treats you handed her and positioned them so all of you would be able to reach them during the movie. Steve set the drinks down on the table in front of the couch and grabbed the large blanket draped over the back of a nearby chair. And you tasked yourself with hitting play on the VCR, flicking the lights off and finally plopping down on the couch next to Robin once you checked everything off the mental list you made. As you got comfortable, kicking your shoes off under the table, Steve covered all three of you with the blanket when he sat down on the other side of you. Robin had already started in on the pretzels and you grabbed a few from her hand, each of you sitting quietly with eyes glued to the screen while the previews played through. "So what are we even watching? You guys never told me what you rented..." Steve took a swig of his drink and leaned into you as he answered, his eyes still fixed on the screen. "I lost a bet so Robin got to pick the movies this time." You smirked and glanced at Robin, nudging her leg with yours. "SO what did you pick, Robin?" You were going to ask them what the bet was, but you figured it probably wasn't anything too important, as it never really was. This wasn't the first bet between them and you knew for certain it wouldn't be the last.

Robin responded, still chewing on a mouthful of pretzels. "I put in Chopping Mall first." When she didn't get a response, she turned to see you and Steve staring at her, eyes wide and mouths hanging open. "WHAT?!" She shrugged innocently as she swallowed the pretzels down. You snickered and Steve reached around your shoulders to smack Robin's arm lightly. "We all work at Starcourt and THIS IS YOUR PICK? Jesus, Buckley, where's your brain?" You watched as Robin jokingly rubbed her arm where Steve had grazed it, theatrically faking being injured. Unable to hold back, you laughed as they shot half-hearted insults back and forth. The previews finally ended and you shushed them loudly as the movie started. It really was quite the pick. The three of you made comments here and there throughout the movie, watching as a bunch of teenagers ran through a mall after hours of being hunted down by robots. The movie ended almost as soon as it started. At least that's how it seemed to you. Time always seemed to fly by when you got to hang out with them though.

As Steve and Robin recounted what happened in the movie and how they felt about it, you finished your beer and pushed yourself out from between them to grab another. You turned to look at them both, the small amount of alcohol now in your system allowing your fatigue to become more obvious to everyone in the room. "Do either of you need anything while I'm in the kitchen?" Steve grabbed his empty bottle and stood up, offering a free hand to grab your bottle from you. "No worries, Y/N. I'll get it. Go ahead and sit back down. Relax." He gestured back to your spot and then glanced at Robin. She threw her head back to finish her drink before handing the empty can over to him. "Could I have a water this time? Pretty please?" She blinked her eyes at him until Steve groaned and grabbed the can from her hand, walking toward the kitchen with an eye roll. "Sure thing. Don't start the next movie without me." Robin smiles mischievously at his back as he walks out of the room. "Can't make any promises," she called back after him.

She turned her gaze toward you, smile still spread to her eyes and you smiled back as she hopped off the couch to pull the first movie out of the VCR. "I knew you would be glad you came. I hope you're ready for this next one though. Chopping Mall doesn't even come close in comparison." You eyed her suspiciously as she put the first one back in it's case and reached to open the second one. "You mean choice number two is actually a good one?" You both laughed at your sarcasm and she raised her brows as she popped the next movie in. "You joke now, but you'll see." Your eyes followed her as she rocked back on her heels. "Alright, Robin...if you say so! I'm trusting you..." you giggle at the mock look of offense on her face as she backs up toward the couch. Her eyebrows twisted into something exaggerated to match her fake pout. "I'm disappointed in your lack of faith in my movie picks!"

The drink suddenly hit your bladder and you realized you hadn't used the bathroom since this afternoon. Just as you turned to head down the hall to the restroom, you heard the sound of glass breaking from the kitchen. A loud shout from Harrington followed right behind. "DAMN IT! Hey, uh.....could I get some help in here?" As if on cue, you and Robin glanced at one another and laughed. "I gotta go to the bathroom. You think you can handle this one, Robin?" You stuck out your thumb and motioned it in the direction of the kitchen. You could hear what sounded like the tinkling of glass across the linoleum and Steve cursing under his breath. Robin groaned playfully, followed by a laugh. "Fine, but the next one is yours. Split custody, remember?" Your laugh matched hers as you watched her disappear into the kitchen, making some sarcastic comment to Steve about how coordinated he is.

The smile stuck to your face as you turned, finding your way down the hallway to the restroom. Tonight was actually fun. You really needed it and part of you thinks Steve and Robin knew that too...but if they did, they made sure not to call attention to it. As you entered the bathroom, you caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror and it stopped you in your tracks. They definitely had to have noticed. You could see it on yourself. Your once shining eyes now dull and sunken in, the usually captivating green color now looking muddy. Almost brown. Your brows furrowed and you reached up to your face, running a finger around the dark circles that took up residence under those now unrecognizable orbs. Even your cheekbones looked more pronounced than they should and your skin just as dull as your eyes had become. You tried to clear the image from your mind, running the sink and cupping your hands under the faucet to collect some cold water. You leaned down and closed your eyes, holding your breath and dipping your face into the puddle without hesitation. Running your hands across your cheeks, your eyes fluttered back open and you stared into the sink, watching the droplets fall from your face. A sharp exhale followed.

Without looking, you reached for the hand towel you knew was hanging next to the mirror. Your hand found it easily and you closed your eyes, dabbing your face dry with it. You found it funny that you knew without a doubt it would be there like it always was but that hardly mattered right now. You straightened back up to take another look at yourself. It wasn't much but you hoped that maybe, somehow, the water had washed away the lifeless mask that now took over your usually glowing features. As you pulled the towel down from your face, your eyes shot open. The gasp you let out hurt your chest. The familiar bathroom was no longer there. The blood red sky and the pitch black vines replaced them. And they were more familiar than you wanted them to be. The vines wrapped slowly around your ankles, gripping you in place as they had in your dream the night before. Only this time, you froze. Your grip on the towel tightened and your eyes grew wide. "N-no....not again.....God, please...." your plea came out a broken whisper that even you could barely hear. The tightness in your chest became unbearable and you felt tears welling up in your eyes as they pushed themselves out involuntarily. A deep growl you wished you didn't recognize responded with a low, loud echo....in your mind? Out loud? You didn't know anymore but the panic creeping in overshadowed any coherent thoughts you could have conjured up. You dropped the towel and the voice sounded amused as it chuckled.

"God?" It seemed to openly mock the words that had just spilled from your lips out of fear. "Your 'God' is not here. He cannot save you." An uncontrollable sob left your lips and you fell to your knees. Clutching at the sides of your head, your fingers found themselves gripping your hair, almost hard enough to pull it out. It was so hard to breathe. The only warmth you felt was from the tears escaping your eyes as you slammed them shut, trying desperately to block it all out. You shook your head again and another pathetic plea squeaked out. The cold you had been walking in earlier that evening was no match for the chill that had now embraced your bones. "Please.....p-please go away.....this isn't....this isn't real...." This was followed by a chain of whispers in an attempt to convince yourself that this hell you found yourself in the middle of was an illusion. The vines squeezed tighter around your ankles and the dark chuckle turned into an even more sinister laugh. "Oh, Y/N. I'm very real. Now.....open your eyes.....and let. Me. In." You whimpered and shook your head again, eyes somehow screwed shut tighter than before. But it still didn't shake the nightmare away.

[deluluass]

Red, like blood. Blue, like love.

Content warnings: rape/noncon; nsfw; bullying; soulmates au

Prompt: 88 & 183

There’s someone for everyone, you’d learned growing up.

 "Remember, blue means happy," your mother would say. "The happiest you'll ever be.”

She liked reminding you about this fact— for it is an indisputable truth, every so often when she could still carry you. You’d be hugged from the back, as she recounted stories of first meetings, serendipitous and life changing in their nature; belonging to those who’ve lived long before you, sometimes even those who’ve only lived in tales.

Mostly, your mother loved telling those involving the people she knew. And if you’ve behaved properly, she would tell you about hers. 

Tracing your palm, starting from the forked lines to the dashed ones on your fingers, she’d say, “These would start to glow like stars.”

“That’s weird!” you’d burst out, shrieking a laughter as she tickled you. 

“Listen carefully,” she chastised. “Blue is for your soulmate, okay?”

And you’d repeat: Blue is for my soulmate.

“Then, mama,” you tugged at her sleeves, “What if it’s really, really bright red! Like! Bloody glow sticks! Say, mama, you see, everyone at the park was talking about the man who died because he touched someone and his hand became bright re— ”

You never brought that up again. What your mother said about it had been enough to never make you forget.

“Tell me if you get red,” she said firmly, clutching your arms as if she feared someone would snatch you away from her. “Red is bad, my heart. Red means run.”

 It hadn’t nearly been as gruesome as your mother made it out to be. 

Case in point, when you turned twelve the couple three houses down your street found out, shortly after their honeymoon, that their palms gleamed a fierce red once they clasped each other’s hands in front of the neighborhood aunties.  

Their marriage ended with a swift and ordinary divorce, a year or so later.

Red: Not just an ominous warning for homicide, then. That was a relief, you’d thought.

Contrary to how your mother framed it, you were thankful, actually. It helped some of your friends escape from potentially hellish relationships. How lucky is it that you lived in a reality where the universe seemed exceedingly benevolent. Though, you sometimes have to question if that generosity extended to everyone.

Fat lot of good it did for you. 

Because, from where you’re standing, it doesn’t have to take some arbitrary and unsolvable scientific mystery to heed that Oikawa Tooru must be avoided like the plague.

Any person in your shoes would be conditioned to do exactly that. 

You’d first met in Elementary. You thought he was the prettiest kid you’d ever seen, with chestnut curls and doe eyes and lashes that swept past his cheeks, and when you’d asked for a hand shake he’d called you “the ugliest girl I’ve ever seen” and “fart face.” 

Recess and lunch were when he’s most fearsome. Spiky burdocks slapped on the collar of your dress; dead lizards in your food; the boy was determined. The worst part was that it always happened when no one was looking. And if someone were, it was his best friend. So when you finally told on him to your mom, both your teacher and the principal simply judged Oikawa as the victim of an attention deprived child.

“Please discipline your daughter,” they told her. “We are all aware of your situation at home, but do ensure that she’s not getting out of control.”

You couldn’t even muster up the strength to defend yourself. In that moment all you could do was swear that you’d never allow anyone to talk to your mother in that way again. 

You moved out of that school. 

You didn’t wait for your palms to flash a warning signal because, somehow, you knew that boys who discover early that they could get away with anything cannot get any better. 

There’d been no way to be sure of that until Aoba Johsai— after a peaceful interim of no Oikawa; no red palm lines (and no blue ones, either).

The proof hit you in the face. Literally. 

“Oi, Shittykawa!”

Heat permeated from your nostrils as you patted your cheek, detached and staring back at the large gymnasium. 

“You hit someone!”

How unlucky did a person have to be to bleed right on the first day of classes? 

You tried to lean forward. “It’s okay,” you slurred nasally, pinching your nose and averting your embarrassed gaze from the boy kneeling next to you.

“Trashykawa! You better hurry and apologize!”

“Don’t be mad, Iwa-chan,” that disgustingly saccharine voice came from behind you, making you flinch, as if the years you’d spent apart had done nothing to purge it out of your system.

In all honesty, you hadn’t really cared for whoever was responsible for the ball that careened all the way to where you were standing, so sure that it had to be an accident. No one in their right mind would want to injure someone they barely knew, especially if said someone is a couple of feet away from you. 

Morally and athletically, it should’ve been improbable. But then you saw who did it and everything made perfect sense.

Iwa-chan. The boy beside you. Iwaizumi Hajime.

If he’s here, then— 

“You,” he whispered. 

“Eh?! Gosh, I’m so sorry!” Oikawa Tooru gasped. “You’re bleeding.”

Time is cruel. It wears down on you, tears you and molds you into something you can’t even recognize, if it decides to. (Fate, more so). You didn’t know if you wanted to cry or laugh, looking at him. If the universe were so benevolent, then perhaps Oikawa Tooru had received all of its favor.

He was beautiful. You’d known this before, but with all the baby fat replaced with sharp yet slender angles, figure lean and imposing even when he’d lowered himself to meet your eyes, Oikawa didn’t seem real.

“I did hit someone, didn’t I?” he pouted, wiping the dried blood atop your lip. “And such a pretty girl, too.”

That volleyball existed should’ve made life better for you. It didn’t. If anything, it seemed that out of the court, when he’s not taking names and being praised like a god, you were his little pastime. Something fun to take his mind off whatever it is he thinks about it. 

The mocking comments, you could handle; every time you’d recite and he’ll interject with something playful and then the entire class would laugh (because he’s Oikawa) and your professor would reprimand him but you could always tell that they, too, are holding in a giggle. 

Those were easy to bear, because although his insults hit way too close to home, it’s just— it’s just so petty.

Really, it’s the aftermath that does the damage.

“They’re like Christmas lights under your skin!” 

This topic pops up every month or so. Most people your age can be lucky enough to meet their soulmate this early. 

“And it’s the most awesome feeling in the world,” your classmate sighed. “When we touched hands? Man. We just- we glowed.”

Then, the others would poke fun, faking a gagged expression, but they’d always ask afterwards, “What happened next?” And everytime, you’d watch from the sidelines. Like an uninvited audience. 

You tried being a part of it once, wanting to share about the time your close friend met her soulmate. But all you’d gotten were side eyes and titters, as if they were laughing about a joke only you didn’t know about. 

“They’re so mean to you.” 

You groaned.

Oikawa was seated behind you, resting his head against his elbow. Everyone was too busy talking about blue lights and destined souls to notice what’s happening at the back of the room. 

He continued, “Not including you in conversations, treating you like an outsider.”

You didn’t bite, focusing on the opened book in front of you.

“Must be lonely, having no one.”

“Oikawa,” you muttered under your breath. “I don’t have the energy for this.”

The silence that came after that was unexpected. You were sure it would be short lived; he’s just gearing up for more. He usually went at it until you’d have no choice but to physically remove yourself from his presence. You’d thought once that that may be why he does this so much. Maybe he still thought you were the “ugliest girl” he’s ever met and he wants you out of his sight. Because Oikawa’s infantile like that.

But the silence stayed, accompanied by the background noise of eager conversations; lingering some more as white, fluffy clouds passed by the glass windows. 

When he broke it, all Oikawa said was, “Soulmates, huh.”

You felt a finger touch your back, drawing the barest of lines over your uniform. He removed them just before you could stand up and leave. 

You disliked those moments with him. 

You disliked him especially when he played. 

Oikawa’s a monster, be it in volleyball or with you. There are times, though, that you’d notice some things that you think you’re not meant to see. Like after a serve— its impact booming throughout the court, he’d have this puzzling expression on his face. 

It looked like....anger. 

He scored a point, right? Everyone’s cheering for him, aren’t they? Wait, didn’t they win?

You thought maybe it’s the adrenaline making him nastier than usual, but sometimes you’d pass by the gym when he happens to be alone. And that anger is still there, punctuated by the sound of the ball exploding against the floor. Jump. Hit. Spike. Jump. Hit. Spike. He’d do it, again and again and again. 

As if he’s trying to grasp something even he cannot reach. 

Those instances should’ve taught you that the best thing to do is look away. 

That’s what you should’ve done. Look away.

They lost the Interhigh tournament.

You knew this not because you’d watched, but because for one day, Oikawa Tooru wasn’t your bully. 

The derision was replaced by sulking. He didn’t speak for the entire period. The funniest thing about it was that everyone kept staring at you. Like somehow you’d been the cause of this, when all of them were lamenting the loss just as much as the team itself. 

 What was supposed to be a reason for celebration suddenly became a crime that you had to explain for.

 “Great,” you grumbled to yourself. “One time I don’t have a target on my back, now I’m the bad guy.”

Trash bag in hand, the scraps inside rattled against each other as you stomped to the recycling bin, both sleeves of your P.E jacket folded up to the elbows. You affected a tone, choosing to mock the grating way some of classmates talked:

“Oh, hey, if it’s not too much,” you began. “Can you please be his punching bag again? If you will, can you relieve our superstar’s burdens? By, I don’t know, alluring him into walking all over you? Like the good old days! Please, oh please? We rely on you, oh Great Punching Bag! We Beseech thee, oh Esteemed Doormat! We compel— dude, what the fuck?!”

Crumpled papers and steel and tin cans rolled to the ground. You didn’t pick them up, like you should’ve; you left it there, trash bag lying open, and grabbed the ball that whisked mere inches from your face. 

This time you’re not making the same mistake. The asshole is more than capable of suspending what little morals he has, just to hurt someone he barely knew. As well as athletically adept (an understatement, that) at hitting a walking target; or not hitting it, in this case.  

You stormed the almost empty gym. Oikawa is a ray of sunshine, greeting you with that smile. It makes you want to punch him.

“What is wrong with you?” you spat. 

He chuckled. “Whoops. Sorry!” 

“I’m not having this-” you shoved the ball to his stomach. He didn’t even blink. “This isn’t gonna slide anymore, Oikawa.”

Wide grin still in place, he took it from your hands with his much larger ones and said, “Wow, you’re actually mad this time. ”  

Then, he added, “I didn’t mean it! Honest!” 

Must be nice, you thought with a scowl, to be him. Anyone can be sincere if they look anything like Oikawa. 

“Sure. Fine. No, actually,” you glowered. “You know what?” 

“Hm?” He tilted his head. Oikawa tilted his pretty little head.

You seethed. “I get it. You lost. That doesn’t mean you get to take it out on me. I mean, what did I ever do to you, Oikawa? I have-” you exhaled, surprised by the break in your voice. 

“I haven’t done anything to you. We stopped being kids a long time ago. That shit you pull should’ve ended by now. We’ve grown.” You jabbed his chest. “But I see that maybe not all of us have.”

His pleased expression hadn’t dropped. “Ouch,” Oikawa grimaced, glancing amusedly at the place you’d touched. “How mean.”

This isn’t going anywhere. 

You don’t know why it took you this long to realize this, as you shifted your gaze away from him, noticing the gashes on the floor that tear the surface like scars that never healed. That must’ve been because of him, with the amount of practice he does. 

“It won’t be enough, won’t it, Oikawa?” you whispered. “Not for you.”

The smile that’s been there since you arrived tensed, straining at the corners of his lips. 

“Yeah, I’ve been told,” he beamed. 

He was bathing in his own sweat, seeping through his shirt and matting his hair to his face, and he looks— Oikawa looked tired. His eyes were sunken in, too. Did he even sleep?

You’re so used to seeing him not a hair out of place, with a sweet scent that you amusedly thought lures his gaggle of admirers into following him everywhere. It takes you aback, honestly. Particularly the wobble in his step as he bent and squeezed his knee with shaky fingers.

You don’t think he’s aware he’s doing it in front of you.

Then, just like that, everything seemed to have added up.  

“You’ll never be happy,” you said.

You should’ve stopped there. You should’ve left. Instead, you looked him in those brown eyes, the warm hue becoming a lot colder as he moved closer. 

Oikawa sneered. “And what do you know, huh?” 

(Go. Leave.)

“Nothing,” you told him. “I don’t- I don’t know. Because, I don’t get it.”

(Shut up. Shut up.)

“Why you try any harder, I don’t know. Win or lose, it’s all the same. You’re still the same. You’re still awful and annoying and- and still you.” You laughed, unsure why you’re running your mouth like this. 

“Win or lose. Oikawa is still Oikawa,” you breathed in. “Nothing more, nothing less.”

His teammates must’ve gone somewhere. For lunch, maybe, you thought as you eyed the abandoned bottles and used towels scattered around the court. “Besides,” you huffed, not without a twinge of envy. “They’ll all still love you, either way.” 

Everything went still for a while, and you’d just realized what you’d just said.

“What about you?” 

You looked back at him.

“What?”

He tipped his chin. You stepped backwards. 

He brushed your wrist.

“Don’t touch me,” you hissed, but he only smiled and wrapped his entire hand around it. 

Oikawa had been your first bully. Before you could even comprehend what that meant, Oikawa had been the source of your mother’s worries whenever she parted with you at the school gates. It is funny, thinking about it, for letting this boy affect you despite making an effort to stay away the first time. 

But it is only now— now that he has a firm hold on you, gentle yet smothering— that you truly feared Oikawa Tooru. 

It rattled your breath, squeezing your heart and refusing air to pass through your lungs, as you felt a shock zap through you. And apparently through him as well.

You broke away from each out with a cry.

Your hand was burning. That’s the only explanation for it. Your hand was burning and any moment now smoke will diffuse from the pores. 

You waited. Any moment now. But the more you stared at it the more tiny spots of flames sparked under your skin, bursting along the palm lines— first, the forked ones; then, the dashed lines— glaring back at you, glowing brighter, blotting and spreading until they mapped your palms then your entire hands like constellations. 

“Red is bad, my heart,” your mother said. “Red means run.”

“I knew it,” you scoffed, shaking your head. 

Well, it’s not as if this is news to you. 

“What about that, Oikawa?” You put both your radiating hands in the air. “The universe is telling us, you and I? We just don’t—”

Why are you crying?

Why is Oikawa crying? 

“I knew it,” he croaked.

Your mother made the red light sound so horrifying for a reason. 

There has to be a reason, too, why the universe is warning you so late into your life. You’d actually ran before. And when you thought it a waste of money, you chose to stay and not fight back; thinking that his punches have become less severe, degraded into verbal taunts that induce social exclusion at most; that, certainly, red doesn’t forbode something as bad as murder, right?

Well, what now? You were wrong, after all. This time you have a feeling that you actually need to hide. 

Because Oikawa’s looking at you like you’re the last two people left in this Earth. 

Just you and him. Without any need for anybody else. 

You didn’t breathe, attempting to bolt despite the overwhelming need to throw up right where you're standing. He stepped closer, faster than you’d liked, and touched your face, caressing your cheek up to your aching temple.

“You should really stop trying to run away,” he said, voice low as if he’s sharing a secret. “I’ll always find you, you know?”

You didn’t have to look to know. Even if you closed your eyes, as well, you know it’s still going to be there; glowing in the darkness behind your eyelids.

“Me and you—” Oikawa sighed. 

Listen carefully, your mother said.

“ —we have a connection that no one else will ever understand,” he said.

The light emitting from his hand was so harsh it hurt you, pricking your sight until it drew fat tears, reflecting against your damp face and tinting the fallen streaks with bright—

Blue means happy, she told you. The happiest you’ll ever be.

And you’d repeat: Blue. Blue is for—

“My soulmate," Oikawa said, before locking you in a deep, searing kiss. 

The lights didn't die even as he dragged you into the storage room.  

"Hey, where'd senpai go?" 

The rest of the volleyball team came in droves, occupying the hollow court with their squeaking shoes and questions about Oikawa's whereabouts.

"Must've gone somewhere," you heard a deep voice say. 

You could answer that question. All you  had to do was scream. They weren't so far from the room that they wouldn't pick it up over the noise of their volleyball practice. Really, if you needed to, you could even outshout their guttural yells of "Nice kill!"

Though, you'd have to remove the underwear lodged in your mouth first. 

Yours, in fact; soaked now by your own saliva, drool dripping to your chin as your wrists chafed against the rope that's keeping them tied at your back.

"Feels good, doesn't it?" You felt every sickening movement of Oikawa's lips against your throat. "Feels good when you- ah, fuck- when you give in."

With the cloth muting your shrill bawling, you tried your best to recall how you ended up here: seated on his lap as he sluggishly humped himself against you, his still glowing hands cupping your ass.  

The only thing left on your body was your bra, and even that he's already lowered to let your tits spill over the top. Your pants and t-shirt and jacket are lying around somewhere. You couldn't determine where in particular; the only sources of light were behind you.  

He was leaving imprints of blue all over your skin; around your waist as he slithered his hands to reach your breasts, scantily brushing over the hardened nipples and making you keel over.

"So sensitive," he tutted, smooching your neck so gently that even the underwear couldn't muffle your loud yelp when he suddenly bit into the flesh. Hard. 

You wanted to claw his eyes out and call for help and you wanted badly to scream don't do that Oikawa someone please save me he's gonna kill me he's gonna kill me-

But the gag remained intact and the boys outside continued their game, ignorant that their precious captain is taking everything away from you. 

Sharp canines bruised your skin, provoking a fresh batch of tears as he sucked and licked every after cruel bite. 

Then, when you thought the worst had passed, he removed his mouth from your neck to spit onto your bare cunt, allowing it to slide from the hair on your mound to the nub sticking out in the middle.

(It is not enough that he is killing you. Oikawa must defile you, too.)

His fingers gripped the insides of your thighs open when you tried to shut them together. "Don't be a brat," he clicked his tongue.

"Be a nice little kitten for me," Oikawa drawled, smearing the slick that's soaking your folds against the spittle coating your clit.

You didn't notice when he'd taken his cock out, you only realize that he's about to enter you when he teased your entrance with it, pushing the tip to nudge the drenched hole, only to pull it back again.

And you didn't dare look. The feel of it almost stretching you out with just the head is already driving you to insipid begging.

"What'd you say, kitten?" he pouted.

Oikawa you've already taken too much is it never going to be enough Oikawa let me go.

"I can't understand you," he chuckled. "Here—"

He pulled the underwear out of your mouth as he thrust all the way inside, your back arching, driving him deeper, as his cock throbbed against your pussy walls.

"Now, what were you saying?"

You swallowed your cries and heaved and swore you were gonna tear his heart out after this. 

"Say," he whispered, sniffing your wet panties without breaking his gaze. "If everyone saw us right now, how'd you think they'd react?"

It was so reverent, the way he did it, blue light revealing that he closed his eyes as he took a whiff, as if he hung onto your scent like a lifeline.

But you thought that'd been a calculated move, because as you dumbly stared at him, he immediately gyrated his hips under you, rocking back and forth ever so slowly, and you remembered that you had to keep quiet.

His cock was so big inside you, making you bite your lip as it filled you up, the curved tip hitting a spot that has you squirming in his embrace.

"At this point they'll know how much of a whore you are," he said, tangling his muscled arms around yours and anchoring you to his body. "Made just for me."

"Oika-Oikawa…"

You don't know this person. 

"Help..me.."

You don't know who's speaking out and whimpering for Oikawa, on her knees and bouncing up and down on his lap with weak, quivering thighs. 

It couldn't be you.

"Help you?" You felt him nuzzle your neck. "I thought you wanted me to stay away, though?"

Someone mewled out a pathetic, "N-no."

"No? Then what d'you want, kitten?"

(Oh. Oh, he feels so fucking good.)

Your belly has never felt this hot before and it's driving you crazy that you're chasing for something you cannot see and it feels so near but there's something, something that's keeping you from it that all you can do is grind your sopping cunt closer to him.

"Wanna- I wanna cum."

Oikawa kissed you on the forehead, and then he said, "Go ahead, then."

He released your arms. 

Then, he's scooping cum off your pussy, making sure to drag his fingers under the lips, before circling your large, swelling clit. Then, he's sucking your tits and swirling his tongue around a nipple and you're so so close.

"That's it," Oikawa sighed. "Ride my cock, baby."

His rough palm slapped both your ass cheeks and the cry that erupted from you only made him laugh. 

"Make yourself cum on my cock," he grunted, licking his smiling lips as he leaned back against the wall, hand idly rubbing your dripping clit. "You're making a mess, darling. Leaking like that."

You're quivering all over; your cunt is spasming and your legs are complaining beneath you, but you don't stop. You lift your hips and then sink your pussy down, down until you feel his balls touching your sore ass, the sloshing sound growing louder as you move faster. 

You don't think about what this'll all mean later, what you're doing giving in to him, when you scream out his name. But as soon as you did, Oikawa's growl had been your only warning.

He grabbed the back of your head and kissed you, plunging his tongue into your throat, his strong arms pressing you so close to him you can no longer tell his skin from yours, his battering heartbeat from yours. 

You didn't move—weren't allowed to, when he hammered his cock into you, pounding your cunt and fucking you raw until you're breathless and nothing but a shuddering wreck, splitting at the seams in his hands as you feel thick spurts of hot cum slide out of you. 

"My pretty girl," came his hoarse whisper. "My pretty, pretty girl."

The lights have dimmed, when he cradled your shaking form and moved out of you, faint traces left on just the palm lines and fingertips. 

They were flooded by the sudden brightness that enveloped the storage room.

"Holy shit."

You pressed your eyes close, your entire body prickling at Oikawa’s touch.

It shouldn't be surprising, at this point, that Oikawa, as quick as he'd stripped you off of everything, has already covered you back in your jacket. The smell of it striking you ruthlessly, that old cologne that you always use to school reminding you of who you were, before all this.

Had it only been a few hours? It felt like a lifetime ago.

"Ah," Oikawa murmured. "They caught us."

"Oikawa,” someone roared. Oikawa held you, hiding your face against his chest. “Why you son of a-"

"C-coach..! Stop- Oi, someone help me hold him- no, coach! "

You heard him chuckle. “Sorry about this, everyone.” He held up his hand and you had to keep yourself from sobbing. “But, look.”

There were several gasps. 

(Everybody knows now.)

“You..and her?” 

The boy who said that sounded so astonished, clearly overjoyed for some reason, that it revolted you.

“Mhm,” he nodded, a smile in his voice. “Now, can you guys please give us some privacy?” 

Feet shuffled out of the room, along with stuttered apologies. They all left. 

Except for one.

“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa pouted.

“What did you do, Oikawa?”

A beat. Then, he repeated, “Iwa-chan.”

Please. 

Iwaizumi didn’t say anything. 

Please help me.

“Sure,” he grunted.

He was gone, too, after that.

You were back in the darkness, with nothing but the faltering red and blue on your hands and his, while he untied your wrists and kneaded the abrasion away, cooing sweet nothings to your ear. 

“I hate you,” you rasped. 

“Don’t say that.”

“I fucking hate you-”

“Please stop yelling-”

“I won’t ever forgive you, Oikawa!”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he cried, shaking his head as he brushed your tear-stained cheeks with both thumbs. You clutched them, wanting him off you, but he only latched himself firmly into you. “We’re meant to be.”

“You’re the only one for me.” 

Oikawa brought your numb hand to his face, pressing a kiss to your palm, the red light basking him in its soft glow.

“And I’m the only one for you,” he said, intertwining your fingers together. 

The lights flickered in and out, at first, as you stared vacantly into it, the red and blue swallowing each other. Until they finally disappeared, leaving just you and him, curled against each other in the shadows. 

[anika-ann]

Just a Human (S.R.)

Type: mini-series turned one-shot, SHIELD recruit!reader

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader     Word count: 8750

Summary: Being a SHIELD recruit was a dream come true, especially with people like Sergeant Barnes or Captain Rogers offering an input to your class’ training.

It was also hard work for many different reasons. One of them being all those guys around; not all of them were exactly fit to become heroes, simply because they were not good people.

Maybe you shouldn’t have pointed it out so openly though. Then again, what would the world turn into if you kept your mouth shut when feeling like speaking up?

WARNINGS: so-so graphic description of assault almost turned sexual, violence and a bit of blood, boys being boys in a real bad way, language

A/N: Steve Rogers vs assholes, round 2. Also, ‘you’ vs. assholes. And Bucky in the mix.

A/N: This was originally posted as a miniseries on AO3, but now edited, I decided to thrown it in as a long, sort-of three part one-shot. Enjoy and mind the warnings.

(gif source dailymcugifs, divider by firefly-graphics)

A Handful of Spite

“Can you believe the fucking nerve on him?!” Henry hissed, punching the bag harder and catching your attention. The statement was followed by his companion nodding grimly.

You tried to ignore the walking testosterone jerks; you never liked either Henry or Jim. The reason was simple – they were, as you loved to remind people, an advertisement on toxic masculinity. Bullies on top of that. The kind of people you wanted to avoid at all costs.

You weren’t that lucky to have that chance though.

So instead, you scoffed under your breath and continued your sit-ups series. You had more important things to do than wonder about what they were talking about this time.

It was your regular training session with the other SHIELD recruits led by Sergeant Barnes – which--- oh my. When joining the academy, you had no clue that the director’s ‘you’ll be learning from the best’ meant that of all things; trained by the more-than-once-believed-late James Buchanan Barnes. Everyone here knew his story – or at least some of it. The brainwashing. The murders. His heroics to make up for them as much as he could. His everlasting friendship and a nickname that was tied to it. Bucky; the very best friend of the oh-so-praised Captain America.

Oh, speaking of which, he joined the sessions too. You were being trained by not one, but two supersoldiers slash war heroes. You couldn’t believe this was your life sometimes, but you were not one to dwell on it. You just accepted it as a fact. An abso-fucking-lutely incredible fact.

“He’s just a fucker, man. Forget about Barnes, you have Cassie in your pocket. Just ‘cause he’s all sticky sweet on her doesn’t mean she’ll suck his-“

You made a disgusting face, pushing harder to tune out the conversation. You wanted to gag and at the same time, your blood was boiling.

Could there be a jerk who was objectifying women more than Jim? A guy who was using his lower brain more frequently than him? Doubtful. You really wanted to throw up at rubbish that was leaving his mouth.

Not to mention that he was throwing dirt on Sergeant Barnes who absolutely didn’t deserve it.

“-he’s like that to all of them. The chicks. And they fucking dig him, it’s disgusting. He makes the poor brainwashed kicked puppy face, reminding the sob story of his and they’re all dropping to their knees I swear…” Jim continued, practically spitting the venomous words.

You squeezed your eyes shut, half furious and half guilty; the sergeant did have a heart-breaking backstory and many girls were making eyes on him, their hearts softened by the tragedy and his bravery, yes. And you couldn’t say it wasn’t moving you as well, filling you with compassion – but compassion only. Obviously, Sergeant Barnes was objectively a very attractive man too, but what they were saying… ugh.

He didn’t deserve these insults; he was not trying anything on anyone, he wasn’t offering his ‘sob story’, actually being rather secretive about it for obvious and no doubt painful reasons. He couldn’t really couldn’t be blamed for the girls fawning over him a bit more because of it, could he? What was he supposed to do? Stop breathing? Stop doing what he chose to be his job?

It wasn’t his problem – and thank god for that – that these two assholes had egos the size of Texas and couldn’t handle a little competition.

Seriously. Walking testosterone-filled jerks. You seriously considered moving from the station you had been given, eyeing Captain Rogers, checking if he would notice.

“Well, he’s not. Getting. Any. From. My. Chick. Asshole!”

The bag swung wildly under Henry’s blows despite Jim holding it. You laid off, taking your fifteen second break.

“I bet he’s fucking them all on side. Always so… so soft on them. I bet he’s leaving all the hard shit for bed,” Jim snorted, somewhere between angry at him competition and amused at his own crude joke.

You were gonna puke. You were sure of it.

“And he’s too hard on us. Showing off for them. I would fucking want to see him holding up against us without that metal arm-“

You had enough. You sat up sharply, panting, your face flushed, unsure whether it was from the exercise or the exchange you were listening to.

“Are you serious?!” you hissed their way, earning their shocked glances.

And then, Jim’s face twisted in annoyance and disgust.

“Oh geez, you’re one of them, aren’t you?” he snarked, rolling his eyes. “The fangirls.”

More heat burned in your cheeks. You weren’t kidding anyone; both the sergeant and the captain had showed up in your not so innocent dreams, but you were only human, alright. There was only so much time you could spend with two very fine men like them in one room, a bit sweaty and rough (or just slightly gentler with the ladies) until your brain reacted. Mostly to the captain. Not the point.

But actually crossing the line? Being a part of the thing they were describing if it ever existed? Waiting in the line until one of them picked you for the evening with a promise to do it again after they… Jesus what, tried all the others? No, thank you. You had some dignity left.

Also, you simply couldn’t imagine them doing such thing. Raised in a different era, tried by war and pain and lost, yet remaining the great men they were? Just nope.

“No! Jesus, are you even listening to yourself?” you hissed, minding your volume. You hoped that the low hum of voice in the room, of others working out, giving each other pointers and the noise of the machines would offer you a cover from the rest of your companion.

“What, you wanna tell me they’re not going easy on you? On any chick, really?”

“Yeah, well, maybe because they don’t actually want to break our bones during training. Supersoldiers. Superstrength. Does that ring a bell?” you pointed out, reaching for your water bottle, hoping either of your trainers would forgive you when seeing you only took a sec to have a sip.

Henry scoffed, leaning onto the bag. “Sounds like someone has a crush…”

You couldn’t help the motion of your hands, inconspicuously throwing them in the air in frustration.

Why were you even speaking to them? You should have kept your mouth shut!

“Oh go to hell, Ulrich! You’re just jealous and scared that your girl whom you treat like a piece of shit will run off,” you murmured, wiping your forehead off sweat.

“Yeah, because they’re sure pulling their punches with guys too,” Jim complained again, rolling his eyes as Henry now watched you, eyes narrowed in anger – oh you hit a nail on the head, alright.

You couldn’t but mirror Jim’s action, deciding to stick to Devil’s advocate, because…. yeah, because it wasn’t fair to either Rogers or Barnes. They were good people and didn’t deserve this.

“So they’re not beating the shit out of us like they do with you, get over it.”

“They’re humiliating us! Showing off their big muscles, trying to impress all the chicks-“

You chuckled incredulously as they actually admitted the real reason behind their bitching so openly; as if you hadn’t known the whole time. Ego. Ohhh, the ego was bruised. Call 911, CPR is gonna be needed! God, how did they even live with ego this big? Compensating for something?

“They’re doing their job. Training. Yes, they go a bit harder on you, because your physiology can take it. Did it ever occur to you that they have bigger problems than entering a pissing contest with you just so they could steal the girls? Jeez… just… maybe try to be less of assholes and the girls will be into you too… ”

You missed the hard look Henry gave you, laying down again, this time on your belly to work on your back.

You wheezed when a knee suddenly dug into your back, violently and painfully knocking the air out of your lungs. Before you could react, one of your arms was twisted behind your back, Henry’s voice raspy right into your ear, low and dangerous.

“Listen, you little bitch, you don’t get to talk to me like that. Understand? Huh?”

He was so proving your point, but you didn’t have the time You tried to breathe in properly, and free your arm while pushing up on the free one, your muscles burning with the effort. Shit, he was heavy. You wheezed again instead of the answer.

“Can’t hear you, sweetie. What was that?”

Peripherally, you could see heavy boots approaching rapidly, making a quick guess of who that could be. You gritted your teeth, tears of humiliation pricking your eyes. You were not about to give Henry the satisfaction of proving his point of your trainers being sweet on all the girls even if this so wasn’t that.

“Screw. You,” you let out with the last oxygen left, grabbing his left calf and sharply tugging to the very same side. A half-second later when his weight of you eased just a fraction, you threw your body to the left as well, adding a jerk of your legs.

Both of you rolled over, him ending up under you and you quickly spun away, gasping, desperately fighting for air. As it burned your windpipe, it was as painful as welcomed. Little spots danced inf ornt of your eyes, but you quickly blinked them away – luckily for you, Henry didn’t dare to attack you again.

You shook your head before pushing to sit up, only to meet with Captain Rogers’s strict gaze.

“What the hell is going on in here?” he demanded, sharp blue eyes flickering between the three of you.

Maybe you were hallucinating, but he seemed to be murdering Henry with his eyes. Uh-uh. You would have been glad he was, hadn’t Henry been talking about favouritism only few moments ago. You pushed up simultaneously with him and you both stood straight, facing the captain.

“Apologies, sir,” you stated mechanically, his gaze immediately shifting to you. Your heart stopped. Oh wow, you would swear the blue of his irises was on fire. You gulped. “We had a slight disagreement with Mr. Ulrich. I’m aware I shouldn’t have been talking to him in the first place. I’ll take whatever punishment is given to me.”

“Yeah, I bet you’d liked taking a punishment from him, wouldn’t you…” Jim muttered under his breath, making your gut twist in disgust.

Was he ever not thinking about sex? You prayed the captain didn’t hear him and you had to stop yourself from shooting Jim a murderous glare.  

“I don’t think that’s necessary. Consider it a warning. Mr. Ulrich? You have something to add before you take a few laps?”

You could literally hear Henry’s blood boiling. You opened your mouth to ask for the same punishment, not wanting to have his point proved. You never got the chance to speak.

“No, sir. I only don’t understand why I’m the only one being punished,” Henry questioned innocently and you gritted your teeth.

Maybe because you attacked me, you dickhead?

Captain glared at him for a moment before his gaze shifted to Jim. “You’re not. Mr. Larkin is following your example.”

You pressed your lips together, this time to stop a smile threatening to spread on your lips. God, who knew America’s Golden Boy could get that sassy? You cleared your throat.

“If I might speak, sir, I deserve to run the laps as well,” you noted carefully, earning a curious expression from your superior. You could tell he wavered, a strange spark appearing in his eyes.

You desperately wanted him to let you run too even if you breathing was still a bit difficult; because otherwise Henry would be proved right. Yeah, nope.

“Very well, then. Ten laps around the gym, recruits. Then you move to the station free at the moment. Go. Don’t let it happen again.”

The three of you nodded dutifully and picked up a pace. For some reason, you could feel the captain’s eyes on you while he walked back to assisting his friend with hand-to-hand training. You glimpsed the sergeant leaning to him, probably asking what was that about, but the blond just shook his head.

Towards the eighth lap, you were being overpassed by Henry and Jim, who ran together; faster than you, whether you liked it or not.

“This isn’t over, bitch,” his hateful hiss reached your ears and you picked up speed stubbornly, not showing them that they might intimidate you even for a second.

They wished.

Even when leaving the room after the session was finished, you would swear there was a pair of blue eyes burning a hole to the back of your head. You hoped that you’d soon be free of the captain’s attention.

You sure didn’t want him to watch too closely. You didn’t need him behind your back to see mistakes you sometimes made just like anybody else. Also, it would be harder to admire and ogle him; you did that occasionally, okay. You were just a human, after all.

A Handful of Mistakes

Shauna, your roommate and bestie from science division of SHIELD, was very patient listening to your lament about guys being dicks; she was awesome like that.

So you vigorously vented your frustration with male population, rolled your eyes when mimicking the silent threat of ‘this not being over’, had a very unhealthy piece of cake at the cafeteria that afternoon and moved on.  

You should have known better.

Henry’s words came haunting you few days later; which was too bad, because you had already forgotten about them, until the very moment they had punched you to the face.

…or rather to your shoulder and it wasn’t even a punch, more like one of those bumps people did, especially when they were being jerks, shoving you too hard for you to believe it was an accident.

“Sorry, didn’t see you there,” you threw over your shoulder sarcastically, continuing your way to the women’s locker room.

In hindsight, that was probably mistake number one; ignoring Henry and not starting a fight right there, not to mention being mouthy.

To be fair, you had no interest in further interaction; you were exhausted from the training, you were sticky and sweaty and all you craved was a shower. You would have just gone to have one at your dorm, but Shauna was having a hot date and you didn’t want to step on her toes. So you had taken your toiletries with you, using the showers near the gym.

Using the gym shower; mistake number two. It meant all of the students being gone by the time you emerged in fresh homey clothes, hair dripping water, because you hated hair-dryers and avoided them unless they were completely necessary.

You had spent much longer in the shower than needed, allowing your muscles to completely relax under the spray of water. That was mistake number three.

The fourth mistake was your pride. When you saw Henry, Jim, George (at least you thought, you weren’t sure, not having many classes with him) and Frank in the corridor, clearly waiting for you, since they bounced off the wall they had been resting against when you appeared, you should have probably been smarter and scream for help right away.

But no, you were being Miss Future Agent and you weren’t intimidated by four equivalents of high school jocks. Yep, this one was definitely the biggest mistake of yours.

“Fellas,” you beckoned to them, passing them gracefully, your bag over your shoulder along with the wet towel.

You barely made a few steps before a hand gripped your arm, harshly tugging you back. Your heart jumped into your throat, but you tried your best not to let it show. You turned to Henry, looking at his face, head tilted back just slightly due to his height.

“Is there a problem, Ulrich?” you asked calmly, earning a lift of his eyebrows at your tone.

“You know there is. I told you it was not over.”

You tried to ignore your pulse skyrocketing and the panic rising in your gut. You were not that stupid – you understood the implications. You knew that with four guys slowly circling you, you would have to fight bites and nails if it came to it and probably still lose. Sometimes it was just better to walk away and swallow your pride; a concept Henry and Jim clearly didn’t understand.

You jerked from Ulrich’s grip, still hoping you could walk away and call it day.

“It is over for me. Now if you’ll excuse me…“

Yes, you were being naïve thinking it would work.

The bag was torn away from your shoulder, your fingers automatically letting go to stay attached to your hand. You gritted your teeth, blood slowly reaching the boiling point.

Also, maybe you were more than just a bit afraid. Not that you would ever admit it to them.

Henry’s hand reached for your chin and your snatched it away in disgust before he could even make contact with your skin. Amusement dances in his eyes along with a flash of anger.

“Oh, kitty has claws?”

You felt another hand on your backside, sending a shudder up your spine, so you grabbed it, shoving it away as well.

Jim. Why weren’t you surprised? Pigs. What the fuck was their problem?

“I’ll let you know when I meet any. Now get out of my way,” you spat, your gut twisting as a sly grin spread on Henry’s face and he made a step right into your route.

“Or what? You’ll scratch, kitty? Or you’ll scream? Like a little girl?” he mocked you in high-pitched voice, his face lowering to yours so you were only inches apart.

“Bet you’d like that,” you murmured, narrowing your eyes when his breath with an unmistakable hint of alcohol fanned over your face. “No, I’ll offer you a breath-mint, because honestly you should do something about your breath.”

Yep, that was the mistake no.5 and definitely an enormous one.

You heard one of the guys chuckle, but you never got to enjoy the thrill of victory.

Out of blue, there was something around your neck, the weight of the towel shifting (add that to the mistake list) and your body flew backwards, colliding with a male one. George was it?

Your hands went to instinctively grab after the towel crushing your throat, but suddenly they were wrested down and pinned to your sides by strong arms. Jim had caught one, Henry another. Fucking cowards.

With your breath coming out short with both lack of oxygen and rising fear, your pulse thundering in your ears, you tried to jerk from their grip, but they wouldn’t budge, having an undeniable advantage.

Oh fuck, fuck, you were so fucked.

“Sassy little mouth, aren’t we?” Henry hummed, wry expression on his ugly face. “So dirty, feels like we should wash it with something. Who wants to go first, fellas?”

Loud alarm bells rang in your head, icy shiver running down your spine, stomach turning over.

Oh no, you don’t.

Your knee snapped up on instinct to gain the momentum, followed by a swift low kick to Jim’s knee.

He yelped and let go of your arm, allowing you to send an elbow straight to George’s face; and finally, your airways were free as the assault as the towel trap loosened.

You coughed, fighting for oxygen and mindlessly threw the item away to have at least one arm free.

“Bitch!” one of the men yelled; you weren’t sure which one, but you didn’t waste time thinking too much. Survival instinct took over.

Tears prickled in the corners of your eyes and you barely silenced the scream when Henry took advantage of your hesitation, twisting your arm behind your back. Fuck he really had a thing for that, didn’t he?

You tried to kick him, but someone else’s leg somehow managed to swept their leg under yours and you fell on your knees. Sharp tug on your hair caused you to cry out and obediently tilt your head back. Few tears escaped you, but you pushed up in attempt to get up again.

A kick coming from behind threw your body forwards and you nearly fell on your face when Henry finally let go of you. You tasted blood as you bit your cheek, but you managed to at least land on your shoulder instead of face-planting.

It still hurt like a bitch, but at least you still had all your teeth… or you thought so, not having time to check. Catching a movement from the corner of your eye, you managed to roll over before a kick to your side could hit you with full force. Frank’s foot only brushed you, but you were sure you’d have a bruise as a souvenir anyway.

A punch landed next to your face when you dodged it in the last moment, someone grabbing your legs and holding them together. Between your efforts to free them, you didn’t have time to chase away the body suddenly holding your arms as well.

“Fuck--- she’s a handful.”

A ragged battle cry erupted from your throat as you tried to jerk your body from their grip on pure instinct, every self-defence move you had ever learned flying of the window.

“More fun to break her, don’t you think?” Henry purred, his hand sneaking around your waist under the hem of your t-shirt.

Your head spun like crazy at the skin-to-skin contact and nausea hitting you hard. You wanted to puke and scream and punch and you couldn’t make yourself to do either, tears rolling down your cheeks as your body convulsed in a desperate attempt to break free.

There was ringing in your ears, disorienting you, but aware of the hand suddenly covering your mouth you tried to bite it on instinct holding you down.

“Oh-ho, biting!“ you heard, strangely muffled as if you were under water.

“I like them feisty-“

“Playing hard to get!”

“Shit, SHIT-“

The pressure on your legs eased all of sudden and you immediately kicked with all you had, catching the rising figure in the calf, knocking them off balance.

“Fuck!”

You would swear the floor vibrated, but in must have only been your mind playing tricks on you. George disappeared from your field of blurry vision; you only saw a fist sending him flying sideways.

Yep, your mind was fucking making up things, because there was no way he could have been thrown away like this by a single punch. You weren’t complaining; the relief the illusion provided was almost blissful.

Henry’s body weight vanished as well in nearly supersonic speed as if he wanted to escape the illusion. So you did the first thing that came to your mind; with your hands free, you grabbed his ankle, stopping him from running away. Which, thinking about it, was stupid, because only a moment before, you would have given anything to get him the fuck away from you.

He kicked back blindly, but his sole never met with your body – he was dragged away and… and lifted to the air as if he weighted nothing.

Blinking your tears away, your fuzzy mind cleared.

Only to reveal a very muscled and very much pissed off blond slamming Henry against a wall and then letting his suddenly unconscious body slide down.

You gasped, your eyes catching a glimpse of the fourth figure – Frank – several feet away, running for his life.

“Buck?!” came a shout and before you could question it, a metal arm emerged from behind the corner, stopping Frank dead as he rushed straight into it.

“Yep?!” the dark-haired supersoldier yelled back, sounding almost amused.

What the hell was happening? What the hell just happened?!

You blood sizzled in your veins, loud and rapid thump-thump-thump banging in your ears, face damp with several shed tears, body aching and your mind fucking racing.

You heard a whimper on your left, automatically turning to the sound. It left Jim’s lips, his form crumbled on the floor, struggling to stand up.

The captain’s knee seemed to come out of nowhere, digging into Jim’s back and pinning him down again before you even registered a movement.

“Is it fucking over now?”

“Steve, let him be. Not worth it,” Barnes’ voice tried to reason, sounding rather growly, but not nearly as loud as before. He approached your group in rapid pace and Rogers scoffed and let go.

You gulped at sergeant’s angry grimace, crazily convinced he was angry with you for all the mistakes you made that lead to this; but his expression softened when his gaze fell on you.

“Hey there,” he greeted you almost casually, holding out a hand to help you up. “Can you stand?”

You blinked several times at the suddenly dispassionate tone, even if you still sensed something bubbling under it. You shook off the thought and accepted the offered hand – the flesh one. The detail didn’t escape you, your bran in overdrive. Of course he hadn’t offered you the metal arm. He didn’t want to scare you. He was thoughtful like that-

-or not. The strength he dragged you up with was way too much for you, more so when combined with the speed and your state. You stumbled over your feet, a wave of dizziness messing with your balance.

You awaited the upcoming reunion with the floor, unable to stop the fall, but it never happened. Before you could as much as reel, gentle hands supported you in a firm grip, pleasantly warm against your bare arms.

“Whoa, take it easy,” Rogers’ voice warned you, soothing. For some reason, it felt more like ‘I got you,’ instead of ‘take it easy.’

You took a deep breath, Barnes’ hand letting go of yours as he semi-voluntarily handed you over to his friend.  

“You’re bleeding from your mouth.”

Thanks for the reminder, I noticed.

You swallowed the snarky remark, well-aware of the sergeant’s care. You fought against the urge to spit the blood out.

“Is fine…” you muttered, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. “Bit my cheek. I’m pretty sure I—“ you quickly ran your tongue over your teeth just to confirm your theory, “-still have all of my teeth.”

Sergeant Barnes gave you a tiny smile, the worried crinkle that had found its way between his brows disappearing.

“Whatever you say.”

His gaze flickered to something behind your head, probably in order of exchanging a wordless conversation with your still present crutch. Not that you were complaining. The weight of what had happened was slowly settling on your shoulders and you were grateful for any support – and who were you kidding, Captain America made for a pretty reliable support.

“Why don’t we leave you in pu- Cap’s capable hands while I-“ Barnes’ jaw clenched, pale eyes scanning the four bodies on the floor, calculating. “-take out the trash?”

You nearly choked at the choice of his words, wincing. Captain Rogers’ hands squeezed your shoulders reassuringly and you nodded, not sure what else to do.

You didn’t want to look at Henry. Or Jim. Or their loyal companions.

So when the captain carefully spun you on your heels, you didn’t protest and your feet started moving on autopilot in the direction he had set.

“You okay to walk without support?” he asked softly, a stark contrast to the voice you remembered from earlier or from the training sessions.

You knew that if you said yes, he would let go of you. Honestly, his touch felt damn nice, firm and yet somewhat gentle, a pleasant contrast to harsh fingers of the men who had the nerve to attack you – you had to swallow bile rising to your mouth at the awfully fresh memory. Fuck, it had been so close, just a minute later and--- you shook your head mentally and tried your best to erase this memory from existence.

You decided not to abuse the kindness the captain was offering. After several indulging steps, you quietly confirmed he could release you. You found out that sensing his large frame by your side as if he was your bodyguard was nearly as comforting. Nearly.

You didn’t have the strength admonish yourself for basking the light of his protective persona. Future agent of not, you still had the right to want to feel secure at times.

After all, you were only human.

A Handful of Truths

You didn’t realize you were shaking until a blanket was tossed over your shoulders.

You were sitting on a short couch in what looked like a cosy office, hair still damp, body finally registering the ache caused by previous events, just like your brain was slowly taking in what had happened.

Captain Rogers, whose courtesy was to escort you from the hellhole you had been attacked in, had clearly took it as a personal mission to take care of your injuries; it hadn’t dawned to you until you were seated and your mind helpfully supplied you with ‘This isn’t the infirmary’.

He pulled a swivel chair to sit face to face with you, a box of medical supplies left open on the coffee table at your side. You didn’t realize he had moved the chair or dug the box from god-knew-where until the items were simply there.

“How do you feel?” he inquired, attentive eyes scanning your hunched form. You instinctively curled onto yourself, snuggling further into the blanket. You knew you should come up with an answer, but your brain started to hurt with the effort to do so. “I guess that’s fair. Can you tell me what hurts the most?”

You quickly glanced at his openly kind face, his baby blues still watching for any reaction that would clue him. Your throat went dry at the compassion of display and you had to swallow before speaking – and think. What hurt the most…?

You didn’t know what possessed you to tell him what you did, but it came out before you could stop yourself.

“My pride,” you croaked, causing his eyebrows jump just like the corner of his lips.

“That’s probably fair too. Then again, I’d rather know about something I can fix.”

You felt your body relax a little at his informal tone – you might even say a jovial one, but you could still sense too much worry behind it to call it that. You attempted a tiny smile at least to show him that you were more or less fine – you weren’t – and brilliantly failed.

“Landed on my shoulder. Probably gonna have a bruise on my side from when… when they kicked me. Ribs and arms might be a bit tender for few days, ‘cause they were heavy as they--- they’re heavy,” you voice wavered as you saw the muscles on the captain’s forearms clench and his hands curled up in fists. You sheepishly looked up to his face. “I got lucky.”

His eyebrows rose again in a ‘figures’ manner as he leaned back to the chair.

“Nothing else apart from that, your cheek and your pride?”

“I’m a little cold, but you took care of that,” you admitted, taking a deep breath in as you tugged on the blanket pointedly.

Despite what you were saying, you didn’t feel okay, the tremble never quite leaving your body. It wasn’t hard to figure out why. You stared at your knight in shining armour, gathering courage to do what was needed. You tried your best to meet his gaze, feeling so small and embarrassingly weak in front of him.

“Could have been much worse if you haven’t showed up. Thank you.”

He pressed his lips together, shaking his head. He leaned in, his elbows on his knees.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t faster... I should have kept closer eye on Ulrich,” he muttered under his breath, making you wonder if you only imagined it. “Your pride shouldn’t be hurt. You held yourself against them just fine.”

Your heart skipped a beat at the honestly his voice held – and you were honestly grateful for the slight shift of attention. Oh. Had he forgotten how things had been when he had arrived?

You weren’t sure whether you should remind him. You definitely didn’t want to remind yourself, but before you could solve your little dilemma, he clarified.

“You haven’t started training the combat against multiple opponents yet. Let alone four opponents, all of them having both height and weight advantage. You couldn’t exactly go all Black Widow on them if no one showed you how.”

He accented his words with a reassuring smile and you almost believed him. The shivers finally eased, most likely thanks to the warm treatment you were being given in all senses of the word. The inner cold gradually melted and you were left in nothing but pleasant warmth.

Mentally, you patted your pride gently on its head; you couldn’t quite disagree with him. No matter how helpless you had felt earlier and how ashamed for it you were, the truth was you were still learning. You weren’t a finished agent yet.

You breathed in and out, avoiding the gaze that was still on you. It felt like a freaking brand with how intense it was. You couldn’t say you hated it necessarily, you only wished you at least didn’t look so pathetic. No make-up, probably red with a smudge on blood somewhere, perhaps with some bruising already forming, hair wet and messy. You absently ran your fingers through it in attempt to fix it a bit as if it could help.

What had you been talking about? Right… those assholes being cowards and coming at your four against one.

“I… I just fucking hate bullies,” you grumbled darkly, your hand immediately covering your mouth when you realized what you had said. Oh. Language. Still your superior you’re talking to, no matter how nice. “Sorry. Please, pretend you didn’t hear the f-word. I just hate bullies, period.”

“I might have sworn earlier too, so let’s call it even,” the captain offered, one corner of his lips raised. Oh. He had, hadn’t he? ‘Is it fucking over now?’ What did that even mean? “And so I heard.”

“What?” you yelped, your mind racing again in search for the meaning behind his words.

“I mean… I heard you. When you were defending Bucky, in the gym. I’m pretty sure your exact words were about a ‘pissing contest’.”

“Oh god,” you breathed out, your face no doubt set aflame. He had heard you; that was why he had said he should have kept a closer eye on Henry. Oh. Ohhhh.

Also, did he just say ‘pissing’?

“You weren’t wrong by the way. But… neither were them.”

You blinked in surprise. What? “About?”

You knew he didn’t mean the sleeping around with recruits, your gut was screaming that at you, because they wouldn’t, but still, you rather asked for clarification. If he didn’t mean that part, which one then?

“Ladies do fall over for Bucky,” he hummed with a lopsided smile, a playful twinkle in his eyes. It did something to your belly, a strange familiar shift that was very inappropriate, but hell, people needed to cut you some slack. He was impossible not to ogle and you didn’t have the energy to control your reaction after today’s events. “And I don’t really pull my punches when I’m training those two in particular.”

“Why?” you blurted out before you could stop yourself and think better of it.

His gaze bored into yours, burning with intensity and with a glint of something you couldn’t quite put your finger on.

“I don’t like bullies either.”

Did he lean in even more or were you so focused on his face it only seemed closer?

You weren’t able to look away. His blue eyes simply locked you in, not allowing you to escape. The strangest thing was that it wasn’t scary. It should be, he was— he was a freaking captain, your superior, a superior to a lot of people, which you were constantly forgetting ever since he had saved you from falling on your ass in the hallway and you had to remember that.

Before you could though, your racing mind packed up and let your body, your mouth to be precise, act without supervision.

“Not trying to impress the ladies then, huh?”

His tiny sheepish smile cut off the uprising panic in your chest when you realized how bold of you was to say that. He lowered his gaze, giving a subtle shrug. “Guess I wouldn’t want one falling for guy’s muscles and a show-off of dominance.”

“What for then? Honesty? Sincerity? Kind eyes? Strong moral compass?” you heard yourself prying, internally horrified how far you had come when saying that. Your face was drained of colour when it clicked. You were literally naming things you liked about him, absolutely shamelessly putting them in the open. Oh shit. Fix it, fix it, fix it! “…the sass?”

His eyes went wide and he burst out laughing so loud it startled you for a second, especially as he threw his head back with the outburst. Then you reluctantly joined him, covering your face with your hands in embarrassment.

“The sass!” he howled, unable to hold back another fit of laughter and when you peeked at him through between your fingers, you saw his palm resting against his chest as if it could help him stop laughing.

Just like that, blood rushed back into your cheeks.

“Oh god, I made it worse!” you cried out, wishing for the earth to swallow you, frantically looking around for the fastest escape route. “Oh my god, I have to switch schools now… excuse me-“

You hastily got up from your seat, but a quick hand snatched yours, pulling you back.

You stumbled, landing ungracefully right back in your place, this time without the blanket. Captain Rogers was watching you with the corners of his lips high, his eyes sparkling with amusement.

“Sorry for grabbing you like that. But no, please. Stay.”

Your throat closed off when you heard his soft plea, only traces of humour in it. Yeah, you bet he hadn’t met anyone with such big mouth for a while, so he thought it was better to keep the comic around.

“Captain Rogers, I-I- what I said, it was completely out of line-“ you stuttered, only to be interrupted.

“Were you making it up?” he questioned.

You gulped, your mind screaming at you to say yes to save you the humiliation. And yet, with the cerulean irises staring into your eyes, your mouth did the exact opposite.

“No.”

Dammit.

“Then why would you go?” he questioned softly. His hand still didn’t leave yours, only easing the grip into a kinder one. You felt like a brand was being burned into your skin. A pleasant one, so you didn’t retreat. Oh, you’d never. But what on Earth was he getting at? “We need someone honest like you. People who stand up for others, even if only to defend their honour. That is the kind of people who should be in this line of work. The good ones.”

You opened your mouth, no sound coming out as his speech shook you to your core, tickling your stomach pleasantly along with your pride. His words seemed to be coming from heart, genuine, which was not helping your blood pressure and suddenly wobbling limbs.

“Even when they have potty mouth and put their foot in it? ‘Cause I seem to excel in that.”

“Especially then,” he chuckled and you could tell there was no pinch of a lie in it.

Something was in the air, crackling deliciously, and you liked it. You wouldn’t be able to describe it properly, the feeling simply too unique, but it was tickling your fancy so weren’t about to complain.

“O-okay. Thank you, Captain,” you whispered, revelling in the sight of the gentle curve of his lips.

“You started with the compliments, Agent.”

And just like that, you wanted to run for your life again, drowning in embarrassment.

What were you even still doing here? Complimenting him? Enjoying his touch? Flirting with him?

Were you nuts?!

Him, a captain— no, the captain. And you, an agent--- hell, you were not even an agent yet!

The captain whose eyes flickered to not-an-agent’s lips for the shortest of moments, widening a fraction before returning to her eyes.

Oh, now you were definitely going nuts. You were hallucinating. You must have hit your head too. He wasn’t into you and you being into him was very stupid.

You should go.

…any moment now.

…just get off your ass for god’s sake-

“Can I ask you something?”

You blinked yourself back to reality, shushing the voice in your head, curious smile appearing on your lips involuntarily. The softness of his voice felt better than the blanket before and you wanted to cocoon yourself in it, postponing the leaving plans to never.

“Sure,” you replied, the smile remaining on your face despite your better judgement.

He lowered his eyes to your joined hands, his thumb running over the back of your hand in a feather-light touch. You heart positively stopped at the moment, your breath hitching. Holy shit, what was he doing?

“This, does it… do you hate it?” he whispered the question, not meeting your eyes as if he was too shy, which was… ridiculous. He had no reason to be shy.

It still felt like a shot through your heart – a nice one, though, it that was possible. The words combined with the way they were spoken, it stirred something in your belly, warming it up and you couldn’t deny it anymore.

You really wanted this man; whatever this was, it was getting beyond a silly crush. Also, for some reason, it seemed as if he was trying to tell you he was interested too, which you thought was pretty freaking crazy.

“Stay honest, please,” he pleaded when you didn’t answer right away.

Did you hate it? The chastest display of affection if you dared to call it that? Your mind raced, trying to figure out why on earth he would ask that. Because the only reason you had come up with so far was completely impossible.

“No,” you said simply, earning a brief glance up before he looked down again. His Adam’s apple bobbed.

“Good. That’s good… and would you… I’m aware this is out of line and I—I want you to answer truthfully without fearing the consequences-…“

It was your turn to swallow loudly, because what? What did he want to ask that he considered it out of line? He was your superior – you could think of thousand ways of how you could get out of line, but him? And why should you fear the consequences?! Did he want you to help him to hide a body?

That’s not it and you know it. You know what he wants to ask, you rational side admonished you.

Oh please, shut up. Since when you switched sides?

“O-okay. What— what is it-- Steve?” you stuttered out, freezing when his name left your lips and his head snapped up, his hand giving yours a squeeze. Oh boy.

“Would you possibly say you like it?” he blurted out and your brain went to overdrive at the hope behind his expression.

Huh. He really just asked that. Oh shit. Oh wow. Your jaw fell into your lap – only figuratively, you hoped –, your ears buzzing, your blood bursting in excitement.

Oh yeah, you understood why he mentioned the consequences. Either you could say no and you’d fear he might treat you differently or you could say yes and you’d ‘fear’ he might treat you differently.

The fire in your insides burned hotter at the idea of the latter.

His hand slowly left yours, giving you a simple choice you still couldn’t believe you were given.

Holy shit. What do you even say to something like that? Coming from someone like him? Your brain froze as you only managed to stare.

Did his— did the corners of his lips turn down? Was that sadness pooling in the sea of blue of his eyes?

Oh no, you don’t.

“Y-yes,” you admitted sheepishly, closing your eyes at the heaviness of your confession.

You could feel the weight on your shoulders as silence fell, only interrupted by your soft breathing that sounded ominously loud.

Your fingers twitched when his warm palm covered them again, your lips parting in surprise. You kept your eyes closed, indulging the strange moment. His free hand caressed your other as well, the gentlest of touches, tender, contrasting with rough callouses on his fingers.

“I like it too.”

At that, you gathered enough courage to look at him, only to see him inspecting your face closely, observing your reactions. It shocked you that it wasn’t uncomfortable as you would expect; must have been the kindness and wonder in his gaze. You forced your lips to curl up in a tiniest smile. Steve smiled back with same hesitance, his face lighting up.

He looked like a boy next door (making it to a modelling agency), shining eyes and happy grin forming on his lips. He was more gorgeous than ever.

Still keeping your hands, he raised his right one, his knuckles brushing your unharmed cheek. The gesture was so tender it brought tears into your eyes, causing him quickly retreat.

“Sorry-“

You shook your head with a self-deprecating chuckle, squeezing his fingers before he could let go of you completely.

“It’s not you—I mean… it is you,” you babbled nonsensically, taking a breath to gather your thoughts. “It’s just— that was really sweet. No, that’s not-“ Not the right word. “It was beautiful. I swear I never felt so…” loved “-cared for in my life.”

He frowned, a shadow of pain running over his face. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I know that today was… unpleasant.”

Seeing his reluctance and discomfort, you went for the first thing that came up to your mind. You straightened up and pressed a light kiss on his cheek, withdrawing much slowly because once you were in his orbit, it was hard to leave.

His breath hitched, his eyes glued to you intently, flickering to your lips again.

“You didn’t upset me, Steve. That’s the last thing you could do with that,” you assured him, face still inches from his. His name rolled off your tongue easily this time, even though it still left your heart fluttering.

“And if I asked you to have dinner with me?”

Your stomach twisted in a pleasant knot at that suggestion, your lizard brain already thinking about having a dessert for a second; and you weren’t thinking cake or ice-cream.

Yeah, barely. This was a guy ready to treat you right, you were sure of it. He certainly wasn’t about to kiss you now, not afar what happened today, he might go for it after the dinner and that was only if you got lucky enough. You swallowed the disappointment at the idea, quickly shaking it off.

Make up your goddamn mind, woman. You should be glad that men who weren’t thinking with their lower brain still existed and one of those was clearly interested in you, which… yeah, what the hell, that might take a while getting used to. Add the fact that he was being incredibly considerate of how you might feel after being assaulted and you had a winner of your heart. You realized you were actually happy he wouldn’t try anything even nearly ‘funny’.

You were fine with hand-holding and brushes of his fingers on your face, which honestly, the tenderness behind that gesture made you toes curl. You didn’t care much if that made you a freaking sap.

“Still not upset,” you gave an answer at last, deciding he probably liked when you were a bit cheeky.

He offered a closed lipped smile in response, confirming your theory.

“Does that count like a yes?”

You shrugged, the corners of your lips twitching. You had no idea when the change had happened, but all you wanted now was to giggle. And maybe snuggle, but you weren’t about to say that out loud.

“You tell me.”

He licked his lips and shook his head as he retreated. Before you could protest – or have a heart attack, because the motion of his tongue attracted your gaze like a magnet, setting your core on fire –, he sat beside you, leaving enough space in case you didn’t like it.

You liked it, subtly moving an inch closer to his side. Damn, he radiated warmth. Maybe just a bit closer…?

“Cheeky dame, aren’t you?” Steve more stated than asked, reaching for the blanket pooled around you to cover you again.

You didn’t realize you had goosebumps before his hands gently tugged you in, careful not to touch you where you could consider it inappropriate.

Yeah, forget about any funny business any time soon.

You huffed. “Clearly. It did get me into trouble before.”

His eyes darkened a bit, his face noticeably falling.

No, nope, bad move, miss not-an-agent.

“I should walk you back to your dorm,” he remarked, already rising to his feet.

You first reaction was to say no, because you weren’t ready to say goodbye yet. Your second was to say no also, because Shauna probably still had her hot date.

Instead, your hand shot up to catch his, effectively stopping him. He froze before returning to his seat, tiny question mark in a place of his face right next to his soft smile.

You cleared your throat, deciding to give him the latter reason.

“Uhm… my roommate has a date. If I go there, I’ll probably find a sock on the doorknob,” you admitted, biting your lip when he raised an eyebrow and relaxed to the cushions.

“People still do that?”

You chuckled, the fact that not only he was a captain, but also Captain America, which meant he was about hundred years old, hitting you like a train.

“Yeah, people still do that,” you assured him, amused.

He pouted, which you found unfairly adorable and… kissable. Nope, later.

“Sure, make fun of the old man…” he uttered, but a spark of laughter lighted up in his irises, so you assessed he wasn’t too offended. He was most likely used to the teasing.

As an idea of interpreting his words differently popped in your mind, you grinned.

“Is that a permission to make fun of Sergeant Barnes?” you pried playfully, sending Steve into another surprised fit of laughter, not unlike when you had complimented his sass. Your heart swelled at the joyful picture of him and the prospect of seeing more of it in future.

Due to his laughter, you didn’t hear he knock on the door if there was any n the first place. The door simply swung open, revealing the other supersoldier. Speak of the Devil…

Seeing his friend, Steve burst out laughing once more. Sergeant Barnes closed the door with a puzzled look.

You just shrugged in response, opening your mouth without a sound coming out and he took in the scene in front of him again, a smirk appearing on his lips. Under that gaze, you felt your face heat up. You could only imagine how that looked like, Steve cosily close to you, laughing, your hand right next to his thigh as his outburst had sent it sliding from his hand.

The smirk on the supersoldier’s face only deepened when he noticed how flustered he had made you.

“Punk?” he questioned and Steve wheezed once more, raising a palm in the sergeant’s direction, turning to you first.

He offered you a hand to shake. Confused, you accepted as his eyes twinkling in mischief bored into yours.

“Deal,” he mouthed, sending your lips twitching, and only then he shifted his attention to his friend. “Buck?”

The supersoldier had his eyes narrowed, watching you suspiciously.

“I’m gonna regret sending you with her instead of doing it the other way around, aren’t I?” he stated, not actually asking as his gaze flickered between the two of you.

His expression pushed you over the edge and the giggle building up in your chest for the last few minutes finally broke free. You simply couldn’t contain it anymore despite having two superiors in the room. Steve gave you a warm smile as the sound left your lips, clearly not bothered by it.

You hoped you’d be forgiven by Sergeant Barnes as well. After all, you were just human.

“Yeah, Buck, I think you are.”

S.R. masterlist

Sorry for the cavities at the end. Or should I say ‘you’re welcome’? Whatever works for you :))

Thank you for reading! 

[what-i-call-men]

Loyalty

James Patrick March x fem!reader

Warnings: a lot of murder, cheating on multiple occasions, some sex mentions, a proposal

Request: from me Fic thought of the night- you become James’ first prodigy because you were in the hotel with your husband and ended up pushing him out the window or something (where he wouldn’t end up in the hotel) and James wants you to carry on his work but you just fall in love with his passion. I’m thinking like housewife in the 60s poisoning her husband or something. Maybe she’s running from the crime scene and hiding in the hotel. Murder suicide and when she wakes up James is just clapping

Picture credit to @copy-of-a-cheeto​

That was it, you were over his stupid screaming and fighting with you and constant harassment over how bad you were at everything. You’d had it. You were on vacation with your husband and this was the last straw after nights of fighting instead of what should’ve been a romantic get away. He currently stood beside the window, looking out to the city, and muttering about how his assistant was so much better than you in bed. It wasn’t something you didn’t know about either but this was the last straw in your book.

With a rush of rage you walked behind him, grabbing an ice pick off the bar and ran it through his back. He gasped at the sudden pain, but before he could turn around to you you were removing the pick and picking him up with the strength of your adrenaline, pushing him head first out the window onto the street in front of the hotel. You leaned out after hearing the thud of his body from the 8-story drop. As you stared down at the body on the street you felt nothing other than rage, but as soon as you turned back to your room you realized that he’s dead and you just killed him. As soon as people figured out who he was you’d be suspect number one.

You hurried to his bag and grabbed the razor out of his toiletries. Killing yourself or your husband wasn’t even the strangest part of the whole affair. The strangest part was you waking up, staring down at your bloody body in the bath tub. At first you didn’t even realize what was happening until you heard slow clapping from behind you in your room. Turning around, you saw a man dressed in a suit with a cane and an ascot around his neck. “That was quite a show deary, I’ve never seen a woman with rage quite like yours.” He said and untucked the cane from his arm to lean against it again. “If you would’ve waited a few more seconds I would’ve offered you my own knife. Or I would’ve even done him in myself.”He gestures to his cane where it unlatched the head to reveal a small dagger.

You looked at him for a second, still at a loss for words until you finally murmured out a “who are you?”. James offered his hand to you to which you took as he introduced himself. “My name is James Patrick March. I built this hotel and I was walking past and heard the commotion. Serves him right for what he did to a beautiful woman like you. He got everything that was coming to him.” James muttered as he looked out towards the window where the body had fallen right off the property but behind the building where no one would see it.

“I’ve wanted to do that for so long. He makes it so hard to even carve up a chicken for dinner without imagining it was it throat. He had been sleeping with his assistant for a year but I never went to college so I could never afford leave him.” You muttered as James walked towards the door, beckoning you to follow him. You followed and he nodded for you to continue talking. “He always wanted kids but I was never able to give that to him so he would seek her out in hopes she would provide that for him.” You felt like James was protecting you and made you feel better about what had happened. It was comforting until he placed his hand in yours to lead you down the halls and you felt a wedding ring adorned on his finger.

As the night went on James helped you, making a woman from the front desk carry in the body of your husband and throw him down a chute. He also had Ms. Evers dispose of your body and your husbands things. You soon sat in what you assumed was his room at a dinner table, eating along with him as he spoke about how artful your murder was. How a murder suicide was how he died as well with Ms. Evers and how that never stopped him from killing others. As James spoke, you quickly became enthralled with how passionate he was about death and killing. You didn’t have a weird or gross feeling when he talked about it, only a passionate love for the art of murder.

As days passed James had begun to taking a liking to your intrigue, in his murders. He began to show you the ropes of his preparation towards murder, the gory treasures he took from those he killed. On a trip you two took around the hotel on one of these days, he seemed particularly exited as you followed behind him past the bar and down a flight of stairs. “Mr. March I wanted to thank you for helping me out of my situation.” You spoke towards the man before you as he walked ahead of you.

“It was no problem dearest, I built this hotel as a safe haven for my hobby. A body is the least of its concerns.” He went on as you walked behind him. “May I ask where your wife is?” You asked and he faltered for a moment before stopping his walking and turning to you. “She’s none of your concern dearest.” He said and then continued walking, you falling a bit behind before he moved on to show you the torture chambers in the basement of the hotel. Surprisingly you weren’t weak stomached as he spoke eloquently about everything. Instead you held onto his elbow as he lead you around.

Something still felt wrong with him wearing a wedding ring and yet no talk of his wife or even a hint of her being around him. You’d been with him pretty much all of the last few days and he didn’t even have women’s things in his room to hint she lived there. “I have a surprise for you.” He said and you turned after hearing a door close behind you. Ms. Evers stood with a man and woman being hauled in behind her. “He’s just like your husband. He’s here today with his mistress because they chose to run away together. I thought this might excite you.” James said and the couple was thrown before you, gagged and tied.

You paused for a moment. You saw fear in both of their eyes. This woman was years younger than the man and he had grey littered through his hair. “Is she your assistant?” You spoke to him harshly, feeling the same anger towards your husband to this man now. He looked up at you and nodded. You felt your face grow hot as James slipped something into your hand. You glanced down to see a blade, the one from the top of his cane. Looking back to the man, you stared him down as you plunged the knife into the woman’s chest. His eyes widened and he screamed behind the gag.

Soon after stabbing the woman a few times you ripped the blade out and pointed it at the man. “You ungrateful traitorous bastard of a man deserve the worst and hottest place in hell for treating your poor hardworking wife as if she were nothing! She’s not nothing. I’m. Not. Nothing.” You yelled, punctuating your last words with a stab to his chest. You now straddling his body as blood coated your front. You felt no remorse. You in fact felt relief and you only felt better when James scooped you up and praised you. He ended his praise with a kiss to your lips. One that lasted a few moments as your heart dropped in your chest.

Nothing was really the same after that. James would ring your room every time a new man came in with a mistress and you would show up to their room usually with a knife behind your back. And every time you returned to James with blood splatter across your face and dress he would kiss you and help clean you off. You loved the praise he gave you but you knew you’d become his woman on the side. You’d never even slept with him but you still felt bad every time his wedding band touched your arm.

It wasn’t until he’d invited you to a dinner with him and his wife was there that you had truly met her. “Y/n, dearest, this is my wife Elizabeth.” He said as he gestured to the other woman at the table. She was a major juxtaposition in comparison to him. She was more into the times with her fashion, beautiful blonde hair swept across her face. “I’m so happy you could join us. I wanted to talk to you about your relationship with James here.” She patted a seat near her as James nudged you forwards. You sat nervously beside her, her aura oozing confidence and radiance.

“I want you to know I know everything you do for him and that him and I have an open arrangement for him and i to do as we please. Because I am the living owner of the hotel I keep the name and the legality of what we had, but none of the love he had for me.” She said and placed her hand on yours. “If you’d like to keep him company in the romantic sense I will be all the more supportive of your choice.” She added.

From that night on your relationship with James become more gory. Now instead of kisses and praise. You two would kill together in the hotel, then make love on the sheets stained with the blood of the adulterous couples. James was a rough man but you were just as commanding which he loved. He became so infatuated with killing with you, he invited you to a dinner he had which he coined “Devils Night”. It was his birthday dinner which initially was you and Him alone, but as the years went on he found others he deemed more impressive than you.

These others were alive and he coached them to kill for him in the outside world. It wasn’t until John that you had truly become fed up with these new guests, each one more horrid than the last. When John came around you wanted nothing more than to kill him along with Sally. He took up all of James’ time. You had turned to Elizabeth for comfort which she welcomed with open arms and bare chest. Sure it was taboo to sleep not only with her husband but also with her. It brought a new flame to your existence to find comfort in her arms at your shared loss in the murderous man. It wasn’t until she announced to you she planned to marry again that you grew excited again.

“James will not take it well. I’m telling you now so that you can swoop in to comfort him. I see how in love with him you are and how passionate he is about killing with you.” She said as she lit up her cigarette, the two of you clad in your silk robes as you laid in her bed. “James was never enough to make me happy but he truly will be for you for eternity.” She said and you grinned. That smile didn’t leave your face until James came you to hours after their monthly dinner, his hair a mess and his cheeks red with what was either anger or tears.

You welcomed him into your room with open arms, pressing his lips to yours as you closed the door behind him. He lifted you up and brought you to your bed, muttering quietly about how he didn’t see it coming and how stupid Elizabeth’s man was for choosing her. You shut him up with your lips as you undid his jacket, throwing it on the ground as you began on his button up. He kissed along the column of your throat as you felt the fire ignite in you again. A fire that hasn’t blazed since the 70s when James had found his second prodigy after you.

He set you down and you looked up to him as he paused in thought. “There’s a couple in room 36. Can we go back to how we were?” He asked gently and put his hands on your arms, his wedding ring now missing from his hand. “I’d love to James.” You muttered and leaned up to his lips once more. The couple was no trouble, to murder. You always loved to get the men while he had no problem taking care of the women.

Moments after you were both straddling the bodies, now soaked in their blood and enjoying the adrenaline rush at its peak. You heard James say something but you couldn’t hear him over the buzz in your ears. Looking to him, you egged him to repeat his words. “Marry me. You’re the only one who truly understands me. Better than Elizabeth ever was.” He said and turned to you fully from where he kneeled on the bed. “No one is as good to me as you, you are the best thing to happen to me in this eternal life. You bring light to this dreary eternity more than completing some stupid commandments killings from my lifetime.”

He said and moved over the bodies to you where you just smiled and nodded at him. He grabbed you by the waist, letting you fall back onto the bed into the pools of blood, kissing you fervently as you grinned against his lips. The kiss tasted like so many before, coated in an iron taste and the love of this man before you, but this was different because as he pulled away he smiled down at you. “Let me help you up, Mrs. March.” He offered and you took his hand, butterflies swarming in your chest as he helped you.

[mercurymusing]

Dracula Daily has made me very aware how amusing non-linear narratives can be when unrolled, and I think it'd be a hilarious way to adapt The Locked Tomb. Or at least the parts we've seen so far.

The first film/season is just a straight retelling of pre-Resurrection John. Start with kiwi nerd, end on a cliffhanger after the end of everything, no foreshadowing on anything.

Second installment opens "In the myriadic year of our Lord — the ten thousandth year of the King Undying, the kindly Prince of Death! —"

[Spoilers for Nona The Ninth under break]

Given the Tamsyn endorsed casting of Taika Waititi, you could easily start at comedy and match the way John tries to frame it in his retellings. Goofy workplace comedy, through to all the body jokes, with a whole ridiculous bit about the cult.

Start at What We Do In The Shadows with the Necro shenanigans. Bodies wandering around as gags, treat the cow wall as a gross joke. Keep the bad line about beef.

Crack the facade when he pulls his "No Guns" moment, but keep it lighthearted as long as possible.

Play C- onward completely straight faced.

No bad-ass action sequence or goofy pop song accompaniment. Just John's realization. His dissociated journey through the fight gathering souls, until he decides to drop G-.

The end of the world, Alecto. Gigadeaths in quiet collapses and nuclear fire.

Fade to final scene on the beach. Abrupt return to the comedy, with desert island post apocalypse vibes and a gorgeous nuclear sunset, thanergy tinted sun and skeletons. John giving a blank faced Alecto his resurrection pitch, closing with a line about who won't be brought back.

After all this, the biggest question in Gideon becomes "how the fuck did we get here?"

John doesn't show until the very end, so seeing him in sloppy kiwi nerd mode will be a shock after all the emperor talk. Alecto remains a mystery, as we never really find out who she is or what she's like, but we do have plenty of reasons for her to turn against John.

We never meet Teacher or Cytherea in any way, so they mean nothing to us. We can probably figure out how sketchy the Lyctor process is a bit early, but we don't know who any of them are yet. The 2nd House Chambers get some extra spook from the hints about P- and G-, but the name Gideon doesn't mean anything except Nav yet.

The end of Gideon primes us to expect some massive threat. When we start to hear about BoE, we draw the immediate conclusion about the escaped FTL ships. "A-ha, the trillionaire assholes have returned!"

With the Ninth and Canaan house as our primary references, obviously The Houses are the underdogs. BoE must be greedy jerks come to take and evangelize, probably some christofash capitalist oligarchy.

That narrative will crack as we hear about flipping planets and will really crumble when we see Camilla on the other side. We have even more reasons to think John is sus as fuck, and we trust the Sixth.

And meeting Augustine, Mercymorn, and ORTUS! What a shock. They're still here, but they aren't who they were. Some things echo, but it's clear they're more different than can be explained by all that crushing time.

----

Then we'll get the slow name drops of the other Lyctors and cavaliers (Ulysses?!) and maybe some non-Third portraits, and the extent of John's deceptions will become obvious. What a relief to see him finished, the ancient evil vanquished, for a brief quiet moment of grief, until the fucker squeaks out again.

G(ideon) dies for duty again, but what a chance to subtly hint P(yrrha) with tells we'd recognize!

I need to muse a bit on Nona before I can really organize my thoughts on how all of those beats play out. It's the straightest conversion, exceptsofar as you've got to tweak the dream sequences. With the story told in the first installment, you'd have more room to focus on the aftermath shots, I guess.

I do have some quiet theories about Cassiopeia and the Angel that I think might fit here for big reveal moments, but I'm not sure they're textually supported yet.

Given how structured Harrow and Nona are, you could probably get clever with individual episodes too, if you really wanted to serialize the whole thing.