#and use a little concealer around the edges of your lips for a clean line

[teddytoroa]

i dont shame people for their personal adornment choices except for black lipstick. at some point in many people's lives a little voice in their head will say 'hey. youd look sooooo sexy in black lipstick' and im here to tell you that this is the devil talking and he is lying to you. black lipstick is extremely obvious when it (inevitably) bleeds at the corners of your mouth, gets on your teeth or smudges. if you dont get the edges completely clean and straight its also very obvious. at best you will look like a toddler who got into the halloween sweets and at worst you will look like a revolting little gollum-beast who eats river sludge. If you know your way around makeup and how to properly apply and set lipstick, and/or are a trad goth, this doesnt apply to you. but everyone else put the lipstick DOWN.

[starshipsofstarlord]

Hotel room sex with Seb...

Pairing | Sebastian Stan x reader

Warnings | in the title, smut, naked Seb, blowjob, unprotected sex, mouth spitting, degradation

Quick link to my masterlist, if you’re interested in reading more of my crap 😬

Nothing more than a towel draped down from his waist as he entered the hotel room, from the conjoined bathroom, sashaying his hips as he walked towards the window, taking a glance out from behind the curtains, before turning around, and dropping the material, watching as your eyes widened.

You were sat on the bed, tying your shoes, or at least you had been, until he had decided to expose his nude body to your busy eyes. “Babe, I have to meet with Emily before our interview.” You spoke, in a whined pitch, as though you were debating just meeting with her at the placement of your work duties.

“Then you better take your clothes off quick, because I plan on fucking you before that stupid interview.” At his words, you rolled your eyes, kicking his shins lightly with your feet as you sent him an unimpressed raise of your eyebrow.

“These sandals took forever to lace up.” Was your prompt back, earning an annoyed yet simultaneously amused huff from the actor, who was portraying anything but concealed frustration. He gripped your legs, standing between where you were sat, his cock close and averted towards your face.

“Keep them on then.” The man sighed, gently stroking your cheek, slowly and subtly brushing your face closer to his erection. With one last glance up at him, you leant yourself closer to his hard and uplifted cock, pressing a sweet kiss upon the length of the shaft, before grasping his hardness, giving a couple pumps along his uncut length, before bringing the head towards your lips.

You licked the tip, digging your tongue into his slit, before engulfing over half his length, hardly struggling, for you had gotten used to doing so over the while the two of you had been together. From the taste of him, you hummed, one of your hands trailing down to fondle his large balls in your left hand, swiping your thumb down the seam of the heavy pair.

For a moment, you pulled off of him, your hand swirling around his length, using his precum as lubricant to ease your stroking of him, as you nuzzled your nose against his base, looking up at him with wide eyes.

“This isn’t fair. I might be late to my interview all because you can’t keep it in your pants.” You spoke, pressing a wet kiss to the small brunette curls upon his pubic bone, contently pouting your lips to practically make him weak in the knees. And it was working, as he had to readjust his feet to stay standing straight.

“You can never say ‘no’ to my cock, can you my little cockslut?” Seb taunted, pulling down the straps of your figure grasping dress, and the front, so that your tits spilled out of the front. “Such a hungry little whore for my cock, aren’t ya?”

“You have such a pretty cock, that why.” You lightly laughed as he toyed with your peaked buds, dragging him back towards your mouth, licking lines up his length, before taking him in your mouth once more. His hand weaving its route through the hairs transcending out of your scalp, pushing you down further until you had taken him completely all the way in the confines of your mouth.

Sebastian frowned, feeling how you engulfed him so perfectly, he wasn’t too big for you nor too small; he was the perfect size. “Look so pretty with those lips wrapped around my cock, don’t you draga?” You briskly attempted to nod your head, but with your attachment to his cock, you couldn’t completely do the notion.

Although he wanted to savour the warmth and wetness that being in your mouth provided him with, he slowly stepped back, watching with heavy lids as his cock fell from your mouth, the end tapping your chin as a string of your own spit was linked to it.

A whine pivoted from your chest, wanting him to fill your mouth again, but instead, he pushed you down so that you were laid horizontally across the bed, pushing your thighs up to your uncovered chest so that he had easier access to the treasure that laid between the parting of your legs.

“Seb...” you breathed, earning a gentle and playful swat to the side of your exposed breast. “Please do something, I don’t have time for your stupid ga-“ your words were cut off with a needy mewl as he removed your panties, tossing them to the floor, as he straddled you.

His chest was against your legs, and for a moment, you thought that he was positioning himself to enter you, but instead he delved a couple fingers inside your heat, pressing deeply through your contracting walls, as his face came up to monitor his lips against your own.

The second he pulled his lips away, you opened your mouth, prepared to complain for his constant teasing, but rather than evoking any vocabulary, Sebastian kept you silent by pooling a string of his own spit into your mouth, lightly smirking as you instantly swallowed, holding your tongue out for more.

His wrist moved quicker as he nipped at your tongue, only to retract his teeth, and infiltrate your mouth with his own tongue, rolling it around yours, as his thumb of his working hand circled around your clit. “Baby, I’m gonna, I’m gonna-“

“Cum for me y/n/n, then I’ll shove my cock in this, pretty, little, cunt, of, yours.” After each syllable, he used hard motions to aid his speech, pushing the tips of his fingers in harder within you, curling his upper knuckles as he glanced down, feeling how your pussy clung to him.

With his thumb, he pressed harshly down upon your clit, feeling your folds wither around him, your juices flowing out of your tight entrance, and seeping out into his fingers. He wriggled his knuckles a moment more, allowing you ride out your orgasm, before extracting them.

Seb put them in his fingers, lightly humming at the flavour of your slick, before reachingg down and grasping the length of his cock, tapping it a couple times on your clit, before sinking into you, bottoming out and rutting his hips against your own.

"Baby." He huffed against your ear, nuzzling your lobe, as his eyes clenched shut, his crows feet becoming more prominent as he suffered through pleasure and pain, from you dragging your human claws down your back, paving indented and red lines down the canvas.

"Feel so good Seb." You moaned, breathing heavily as he kissed across you cheek, moving onto your lips as you bucked your hips up, one of your hands grasping his waist, helping him make his moments more fluid inside of you.

"Yeah, like your tight cunt being pounded into? Like me stretching out?" Although he was trying to remain dominant, his exterior faltered, as his eyelashes fluttered, feeling such obscene pleasure.

In response, you hummed, biting your lip as you felt Sebastian fill you up with his seed after groaning, continuing to move his hips, so that you could hit your high. He felt oversensitive as he continued to make small thrusts into you, whimpering lightly as he pressed pecks upon your chin.

After a couple of minutes, he pulled out, his cum beginning to slowly fall from your folds, as he laid beside you, his feet hanging over the edge of the bed, as he stared up at the ceiling, trying to wrap his arm around your shoulders.

Though, he frowned as you moved away, pulling your dress to cover your breasts, and headed towards the dresser, pulling out a clean pair of panties. You stared into the mirror above, trying to quickly fix your make up with your hands, as you brushed over your hair once more.

"can't you say baby?" He whined from the bed, sitting up as you saw his cock begin to stir again. Sebastian bit his lip, hoping it would pull you in to his trap once more. His hand dragged down, gripping his cock as he watched you appear conflicted against his approaches. "You know you want to."

"I don't want to get a call from Feige for not showing up, get ready for your interview with Anthony, and then when I get back..." You sent him a wink, cluthing up your bag as you blew him a kiss, watching the disappointed, puppy look glaze over his pouting face.

[keysmashingfantasies]

Bloody Comfort

pre borderlands!Niragi x fem!reader / Niragi x fem!reader

A/N:  i feel like i only post Marvel on this blog and i missed my show so here it is, finally an AiB fic! :D also, minigame: how many alice in wonderland references can you spot? also also, bloody comfort is an awesome name for a band and if you do name your band that, i want my money. enjoy the fic! also also also i didn’t proofread SHIT so sorry for any grammar mistakes.

trigger warning: bullying, mentions of violence (nothing too graphic, i think but beware nonetheless), death (graphic. i mean, i’m not that good of a writer but still, beware), very slight mentions of nsfw, especially torwards the end, niragi (HE’S A WARNING OK), niragi having disturbing thoughts (what else is new. but fr, ok), sliiiiiight yandere niragi torwards the end. (also I tried not to describe in too much detail the bullying that niragi and the reader suffer in the fic so it wouldn’t be too sad). 

@dreamingofanisland here it is bestie! 

Niragi couldn’t pinpoint when he stopped being sad and when he started getting angry. From a suffocating hopelessness came a desperation he could only describe as feral. He often fantasized about just jumping over his desk and strangling each one of them to death but his thoughts quickly ended with Niragi envisioning himself being overpowered and beaten. He started to not only get angry at his bullies, but people in general. Things. Life.

How could so many people turn a blind eye? How could life be so unfair to give people like this the upperhand and not him? Not him that clearly deserved it? This world was backwards.

-

He knew he was fucked when he saw the bat, and although he braced for the impact he couldn’t help but fall to his knees and wince at the sickening sound that the baseball did in contact with his nose.

He just sat there and while all he wanted to do was to rip their throats with his teeth all he did was to endure a few more punches before they left with a promise that there would be more. He sat there trying not to cry with sheer frustration. His papers were scattered around, the left arm of his glasses was broken and his pristine black outfit was now covered in dust from the gravel, his hands scratched. He could taste blood on his tongue and he felt a sick satisfaction, pretending for one moment that it was another person’s blood he was tasting.

“Do you need help?”, a voice woke him from his violent daydreams. Suddenly everything boiled over and he felt an overwhelming anger rise inside of him. In a blink of an eye he was standing up, yelling at a somewhat blurry image of a girl who he towered over, even more as she shrunk under his anger. If he wouldn’t be so busy screaming profanities, he would be madly aroused.

“WHAT, HUH? CAME TO SEE THE SHOW? TO LAUGH AT ME?”, he was furious, and as he approached her, she proceeded to walk back.

“No. I just wanted to help”, she said. It seemed another flash and suddenly he could see a bit clearer. Although startled, she didn’t seem afraid of him, and was extending him a tissue. “Your nose is bleeding”, she said, and Niragi wanted to scoff at her for stating the obvious. But she was being kind. And as angry as he was, kindness wasn’t something that he could say no to. He tried his best to control his shaky hands as he took the tissue from her hands and carefully dabbed his nose, as she ducked to collect his papers, and tuck them back into his bag.

“Saw what they did to you. ‘m sorry”, she mumbled. Niragi wanted to strangle her out of sheer embarrassment.

“And you just took some popcorn and enjoyed the spectacle?”, he spat.

“I wanted to help but I wasn’t sure what to do. Would you rather if I had called someone?”, she asked. He breathed once, twice. She wasn’t mocking him, but was unnervingly calm. Something about her being calm while he was practically foaming at the mouth had him seeing red and suddenly he regret having wiped the blood off of his lips.

“No”, he said, calmly. “No, I wouldn’t. Sorry. I have to go”, he said, ripping his bag from her hands with such force that he tugged her arm with it.

“Wait! I mean what I said! I want to help!”

“You, help me? What are you going to do, huh? Be my bodyguard?”, he mocked her one more time. He couldn’t help himself, his brain got used to this. Fight or flight. His adrenaline was pumping and everytime he was around school grounds he looked over his shoulder.

“Hmmm, sorta? Not exactly but I could show you a place. A safe place”, she said. He just looked at her.

“If we get there and it’s a prank of some sort I’ll let you punch me. Square in the face”, she said.

“Are you insane? You just go around letting people punch you in the face?”, his mouth was quicker than his brains and suddenly he felt his face grow hot at the irony of what he had said. But if she noticed it, she didn’t mention.

“Let me help you”, she said.

And he did.

He followed her through a wooded area near the school grounds after walking through a hole in a fence.

He was getting ready to beat you to the punch and hit you so hard that you’d bleed as hard as he did, until you stopped until you reached a very underwhelming toolshed with a padlock.

“We’re here”, you said, and he realized that she sounded different. All this time she was on edge. ‘Of course, Suguru, you threatened the girl like, 3 times’, said the voice in the back of his head. She pulled a key from her bag and the padlock opened easily and they heavy chains fell to the ground and she pushed open the door, going inside. He hesitantly followed.

The inside is nothing as he thought it would be. For starters, it was surprisingly clean and  it didn’t smell bad. And instead of tools and brooms and leafblowers, it had bean bags, blankets, a table with a radio full of knickknacks in the corner and a chair that had clearly seen better days but looked comfortable none the less. The girl walked to a corner of the room and his eyes followed her as she closed the door, which had small sharpie drawings on it. She reached for a white box and settled it on the floor between the two bean bags, and reached inside a very small thermos to pull out an artificially blue isotonic drink and settled it down too. Then from the plastic bag he previously assumed was trash, she pulled a bag of chips.

She then patted the bean bag next to hers. “Welcome to my clinic”, she said, placing the white box on her lap.

-

After an entire afternoon of bonding over unhealthy food and an impromptu first aid rescue, Niragi learned that her name was Y/N, she was a year below and that this little world she created was her refuge from the girls in her class that picked on her.

“I found this and decided that it would be nice. No one’s using it, it’s far from everything. It’s on the Beheaded Woman’s territory”.

Niragi heard the rumors through his bullies. “One day we’ll drag you to the Beheaded Woman’s woods and fucking kill you”.  After further investigation, he learned that allegedly a girl was dragged through the woods and beheaded with a blunt axe.

“I made the rumors up. I had to make sure no one would find my safe haven”, she explained. “And once you write something in the girls’ bathroom stall, there’s no turning back. It’s out there and it’s truth”, she sighed. “I would know”.

He wasn’t the most up to date in all the gossip but she told him her story. The rumors they spread, the things they did to her. She almost seemed amused. He in turn told her his story. By the end of it, he could kill someone. She then offered him the other key to her safe haven.

“You can decorate it too. Don’t tell anyone else and make sure to lock it after you use it. Use it as much as you want, just make sure they don’t follow you, okay?”

He took the keys with shakey hands, a knot on his throat. Another type of adrenaline was pumping through his veins. When a few moments ago there were a fast white heat, coursing through him like an electric current, this was slow and almost overwhelmingly warm, like molten lava.

“Why are you doing this? Being so nice to me?”, he whispered as if it was a secret, as if this moment was another fantasy, a deer that’s easily spooked. He had fantasized about this too. A safe haven, an ally. A friend.

“Because we’re the same, you and I”.

-

You hated him. You hated him with a burning passion. What was at first an act of pity, born from the empathy you felt by seeing someone go through what you did, quickly became a friendship and like a disease, it spread to beyond your safe haven. You would spend your free time together, walk home together. You became friends. And what did he do? Exactly what he told you he would.

“Sometimes don’t you wish to disappear?”, he whispered to you once.

“Yeah. Like, run away? Yeah, I do”, you replied agreeing with him.

 ‘You’re the only one that understands me. We really are the same’, he would say. What at the beginning of your budding crush on him gave you butterflies on the stomach now made you want to throw up.

You lost your only friend. You despised the sound of music now, because every single song you heard, you shared with him. For the same reason, you didn’t enjoy your favorite movies anymore. Your bullies banded together to target you. And the worst part of all, is that you couldn’t even care. There was no silver lining anymore.

“Don’t you get furious?! Don’t you want to hurt them, make them pay?”, he said as he watched you apply concealer to a bruised cheek.

“I mean, I get angry but I try my best to not let it get to me. It’s what they want. I despise those people, I can’t get in a funk because of them”, you said nonchalantly.

But you had loved him. And now you felt like even moving around was an herculean task, like you were almost dead trying to get to safety. But there was no safety anymore.

Ironically, you started to understand him more and more after he disappeared. The anger, the hatred. How could anyone just follow their lives? When there’s people like you just suffering through yours?

Suguru Niragi was an illness, a parasite. He carved his way under your skin and into your heart, laid eggs of his hate on your veins and sucked you dry of your life’s essence. Then, after you were a shell of a human, he disappeared out of thin air, leaving you alone. Leaving you with those people. Leaving you to die.

And you were still in love with him.

-

You thought you were finally insane when it happened.

The streets were empty. Absolutely no one. You wondered for a moment if you felt so alone that your mind convinced itself that that’s exactly what had happened, if any moment now you would be locked in an insane asylum for running around and screaming until you throat got raw.

It took you two games to understand what was going on. You made sure to change clothes. Running shoes, leggings and a warm hoodie that you never let the hood down. You decided to significantly shorten your hair after you saw a man pull a young girl by the ponytail in a spades game. You loaded a backpack with food and bottles of water, anything you could find. And an axe that you took from an emergency box from the building you slept in.

It was on your 5th game that it happened. You saw people die in these games, but none of it was hands on for you. You just watched your back and hoped to win and let whoever was running this show take care of the rest. Honestly, you didn’t even wait to know if anyone even survived. You were done doing that.

When you got there, there were five people already. They banded together and whispered amongst themselves as you passed them by and grabbed a phone. Probably just a group of friends that got stranded at the same time and decided to stay together. You clutched you axe harder.

You didn’t even realize that you had zoned out until you heard hollering and four guys heavily armed walked you by. Where the fuck did they get guns? One of them let out a boisterous laugh that reminded you of someone that you wanted desperately to forget. You couldn’t even get over him during fucking Saw? That sound made your skin crawl.

Registration closed, said the mechanic voice. Difficulty: 8 of clubs. The first 5 players will be the first team and the last 5 players will be the second. One team must eliminate the others without losing any players. Both teams will be identified by the color of your screen, and will have one minute to hide.

You saw the armed guys’ screens light up red. You sighed in relief as yours did too. You made sure to keep your head down and thank whoever that not killing teammates was a part of the rules. They seemed amused and absolutely calm, and the guy with the rifle laughed again. You were shaking by now.

When the minute started, everyone bolted in different directions. You didn’t even look back to see if your teammates had accompanied you but by the sound of your footsteps crushing leaves, you were alone. You decided to go back after a while, looking around. A lamppost. Huh, lamppost it is. You leaned against the cool metal and focused on the silence. The minute had ended but they were still hunting. You didn’t come across anyone, which was good. After a while, all you could hear were distant gunshots.

You looked to the floor, only to see a shadow approaching you quick. You barely had time to dodge before a man hit you behind the head with a rock. You reacting made him lose his balance, falling to the floor and letting go of the rock. You looked at him. It was one of the boys from the other team. He had on a white button up blouse and a black hoodie. His hair had fallen over his brown eyes and he looked so scared and so alone.

This will have to do.

You didn’t stop, suddenly lifting the axe and bringing it down was like an automatic thing.

“I’LL FUCKING KILL YOU! HOW DARE YOU DO THIS TO ME? AFTER ALL I’VE DONE FOR YOU! YOU ABANDONED ME IN A MINUTE, LEFT ME ALONE IN THAT HELL!”

You didn’t stop when he started praying and then screaming. You didn’t stop when he started bleeding profusely or when the strength of your movements made your hood slide down from your head. You didn’t stop when his head got detached from his body and if you weren’t so angry, you would’ve listened tfootsteps. You didn’t stop until you had made mincemeat out of his face. Just for the sheer audacity of reminding you of him.

He looked at you from afar while you looked at the body of the boy whose skull you just had destroyed, a maniac, victorious smile on your face. You were pretending the boy was him. You really thought he had abandoned you? He would be absolutely heartbroken if he wasn’t so aroused. That’s what he always wanted to see, the instincts that you tried to push down. You were right, you were both the same. He wanted to lick that blood off of you, use it as lube to take you right there. When he first arrived at the Borderlands, when he first killed someone and liked it, he thought you would be disgusted by him. But look at you now. You were here, perfect for him, soaked in blood, feral. He’s never been so hard.

“Y/N”, he said.

“Niragi?,” you said. He ran to you, held you even when you fought back, even when you screamed bloody murder that you were going insane, begging to die already, even when you passed out on his arms. He licked a drop of blood from your neck.

“Let me take you to our safe haven”, he whispered against your skin.

[starlessea]

Eye For Detail (Daryl Dixon/Reader)​

Sequel to Sketchbook Confessions

Summary: You try to sketch Daryl in return. Except, you draw his smile a little crooked, and the eyes are wonky... And Daryl completely loves it.

Words: 2490

Warnings: Language.

The courtyard was still and quiet, free from the dinner-time rowdiness going on behind prison walls. Well, it was almost quiet; Daryl's scribbling over paper sounded out faintly beside you, as you watched him work. At first, he'd been opposed to the idea of company, but after a while it has become almost like a weekly tradition - in which you'd both bask in the comfortable silence together. You'd even started to bring your own notepad, in your attempts to learn how to sketch from the man.

At first, your drawings were anything but good. Sometimes, even you couldn't tell whether you'd drawn a landscape or a strange, abstract fruit bowl. Yet, Daryl was a good teacher. Where he lacked patience normally, it seemed like he had ample to spare with you. He'd shown you how to use the different charcoals, and had even come back with more art supplies after his latest run.

It was coming up to dusk, and the sky was a brilliant mix of blue and grey hues. There were clouds gathering overhead, too, and you wondered whether there was a storm brewing behind them. Your notepad remained closed over your lap, since you still hadn't gathered the confidence to open it yet. Daryl hadn't noticed, however - too absorbed in his own work to pick up on the way you tentatively thumbed over the spine of your book.

"I tried to draw a person the other day," you finally admitted, "I don't know how you do it."

Daryl stopped what he was doing, rubbing circular motions over the paper to try and blend out his charcoal lines. He looked over at you, and you laughed gently at the black fingerprints littering his cheeks.

"Who was it?" he mumbled, eyeing you as you gathered your sleeve over your hand.

You shuffled over to the man slightly, and used the material to wipe away the charcoal stains over his skin, feeling him squirm slightly beneath your touch as you did so.

"It was you," you told him, and finally he kept still.

His stare bore into you, and suddenly it felt as though you'd been set on fire. You regretted the words as they came out of your mouth, and edged away from Daryl as soon as you'd finished cleaning him up.

You cleared your throat, trying to think of an excuse you knew he wouldn't believe. You sighed, knowing it was no use.

"Well, it was a poor attempt at Daryl," you confessed, glancing down at your sketchbook sheepishly. "Maybe a Darren at best."

You'd expected him to laugh at your joke, but he didn't. Instead, he seemed intrigued. He closed his own notepad, and you worried about whether the charcoal would smudge.

"Show me." Daryl said softly, his eyes flickering over to your lap.

You bit your lip, wiping off the cover of your sketchbook before opening it.

"Don't laugh," you warned him, shaking your head slightly.

You didn't think that he would, but you suddenly felt self-conscious. You'd drawn the portrait in your cell a few nights ago when you couldn't sleep - with the page illuminated by soft lamp-light. You remembered the feeling of the linen sheets beneath you as you sprawled out over your mattress, trying your best to shade the stubborn parts. You had tried - really you had. Except, you'd discovered that art came more naturally to some than others.

"Your eyes are crooked, and I drew your nose too big." you grimaced, settling your gaze over the portrait as you inspected its faults. "I'm sorry."

In natural lighting, it looked a lot worse than you had remembered. You tried to snap the book closed, but Daryl's palm prevented you from doing so. He was silent, and you watched his eyes slowly trail over the paper, taking in all of the details.

"Fine, you can laugh," you exclaimed, overwhelmed by his lack of response. "Okay, just say something-"

"Can I keep this?" Daryl interrupted, glancing up to meet your eyes.

You opened your mouth to speak, but no sound came out. It took a few seconds to comprehend his words, before you finally shook your head a little too quickly.

"No!" you cried, trying to snatch the book from his grasp. "I can draw you a better one."

Daryl didn't give up his grip, and only shook his head back at you in return.

"Nah, I wan' this one."

Any argument you had bubbling up was quickly quelled when you caught sight of his expression. He seemed deadly serious, and you felt your own fingers loosen over the sketchpad as a result. The man slipped it away from you, and brought the book onto his own lap, continuing to look over it.

"But it's bad," you retorted, weakly.

You knew you had lost at this point. You had learned your stubbornness from Daryl himself, after all. The man never was one to know when to back down.

The courtyard seemed a lot darker than it had only a few minutes ago. The clouds had gathered to be more dense and thick, and blocked out the remaining light left over from the setting sun. It would be hard to keep drawing like this, you thought - yet, Daryl seemed more preoccupied now.

"E'eryone gotta start somewhere" he told you, "an' I don' want ya to throw it out."

You watched as he trailed his charcoal-stained, calloused fingers along the page - careful not to leave any marks over the pristine, white paper. Even your sketchbooks looked worlds apart from one another. Yours was neat, each drawing labelled, and your lines clean; Daryl's was a collection of blackened fingerprints alongside scrawled handwriting, and the occasional crumpled page.

"Shoulda seen my first drawings," Daryl went on, looking out towards the field, and at the forest behind it. "Merle found one when I was a kid an' told me it was a shit donkey."

You cocked your head to the side, listening to him.

"Was meant to be superman," he explained, with an expression far too serious for his words.

You snorted, and the man whipped his head over to scowl at you.

"I'm sorry-" you choked out, not missing the way his lips quivered as they fought back a smile of his own. "I must have swallowed a bug."

Not long after that, the feeling in your gut turned out to be right. The storm clouds had finished gathering, and soon the first droplet of rain landed over your paper - smudging the line you'd just drawn. You glanced over at Daryl, but before he'd even had time to reply, the downpour started. It went from a single raindrop to a raging storm in a matter of seconds, leaving you both scrambling to collect the strewn sheets of paper and charcoal pieces trembling over the ground. With your supplies bundled up in your arms, the two of you ran towards the cellblock - yelling through the sounds of the rain along the way.

Once you had reached Daryl's cell, you were soaked through. The man had dragged you there since it was closer, but it hardly made a difference. Your shirt was stuck to your skin, and you were left clutching soggy handfuls of paper - bleeding ink over Daryl's stone floor. He helped you set down the supplies onto his desk, gathering up whatever was salvageable, and throwing the rest away. Luckily, most of the pastels and charcoals had been kept safe, but a lot of loose sheets had been sacrificed to the greater good in the process.

You laughed, taking in the sight of the man. His hair stuck damply to his forehead, and you watched as stray droplets ran over his cheeks. He quickly glanced around the room and retrieved one of his shirts, before offering it to you. You took it from him and smiled, waiting for Daryl to turn his back on you before starting to change.

"Looks like the weather had other plans," you noted, pulling the dry shirt over your head. "At least it washed away that god awful drawing I did of you."

You untucked your hair from the collar, and smoothed out the material over your body. Behind you, you heard the sound of a zip, and peered over your shoulder to see Daryl taking off his own leather jacket. As he did so, you noticed that he'd been concealing something beneath it, and squinted to try and make out what it was.

"Looks jus' fine to me," the man mumbled, holding up the dry piece of paper for you to see.

You scoffed; he'd stuffed your drawing there to keep it safe. You couldn't prevent the smile spreading over your face as you looked at him in disbelief. He gave you a teasing smirk back, before setting the picture carefully onto his desk with the others.

"Y'know," Daryl said quietly, "s'a lot easier to draw from real life."

You glanced over at your drawing, knowing what he was getting at. You were acutely aware of its flaws, but you just didn't have the experience to know how to fix them yet.

"I know what you look like," you quipped back.

It was the truth. Perhaps you even knew a little too well.

"Mhm," he hummed back, before walking over to where you were standing.

You could tell from the tone of his voice that he didn't entirely believe you. One of the first things he'd taught you was that there could never truly be a good enough replacement for the real thing. Though, you had to disagree. You felt like you knew exactly how Daryl Dixon looked - you just couldn't translate it to paper.

The man stopped directly in front of you, so close that you could see his chest rising and falling. He lifted one hand slowly, tentatively even, so that you didn't get scared by his actions. Then, he hovered his palm gently over your eyelids, flicking them shut so that your world went dark.

"What colour are m'eyes?" he asked.

His hand was cold over your face, from where the rain had soaked his skin. You knew that he was trying to teach you a lesson, but you thought that perhaps you'd use the opportunity to teach him one back.

"Blue," you answered, without hesitation.

You desperately wanted to see the man's expression, but all you could do was imagine it.

"An' what-" Daryl continued, but you cut him off.

"A greyish blue," you went on, not entirely satisfied with your answer. "Like the colour of the sky before a storm."

Daryl removed his hand from over your eyes, but you kept them shut. Your fingertips brushed over the hem of his shirt that you were wearing, and you felt like you could picture the way it looked in your mind just from the texture of the material.

"Your hair is brown. The same shade as that desk near your bed," you told him, pointing in the direction you remembered it to be. "And it falls just above your neck, and is slightly curly at the ends." You laughed, considering your next words. "Especially just after you wash it."

Daryl remained silent, and you tried to picture the type of look he had in his eyes. You thought that perhaps you should stop, that you'd made your point clear - but you were in too deep to turn back now.

"And you have two moles," you said quietly - and wondered whether he had heard your voice tremble, too.

You reached out your hand slowly, trying to find the other man. Your palm made contact with his chest, and you let your fingertips trail up until you reached his neck, and then his face.

"One by your nose," you told him, resting your palm over his cheek, "and the other near your lip."

You tried to find it, but your thumb accidentally brushed over his lip, instead. Your heart jumped in your chest, and your eyes flickered open unintentionally.

"I'm sorry-" you blurted out, but the words tapered off as you noticed Daryl's stare.

The man stood perfectly still in front of you, letting your hand rest over his cold, damp skin. You quickly pulled away, glancing off to the side nervously. Though, the both of you knew that you'd gone too far to make any poor excuses now. You'd passed a boundary, but you couldn't say that you wanted to take a step back, either.

"Tha's one eye for detail ya got," Daryl said, after a few seconds had gone by.

You shook your head. "Only when it comes to you," you admitted.

Daryl looked off to the side, and then back, but you continued before he had the chance to interrupt.

"I know I'm not the best artist, but I wanted to show you how you look through my eyes, too."

Daryl raised his hand again, but this time it wasn't to block out your sight. Instead, he just rested his palm softly over your cheek - and despite how cold it was, you leant into his touch.

"Ya jus' did," he said, and gave you a small smile.

You could still hear the storm outside, as the occasional breeze whistled its way past the cracks of the cell block, or made the tree branches batter up against the windows. Sometimes, the draft even made those loose sheets flutter over the desk, in a kind of muffled, paper applause.

"Maybe I should just swap out pencils for words," you told the man. "They seem to do the job better."

He nodded in agreement, letting his hand drop back down to his side.

"Hey, Daryl?" you asked, but you already had his full attention.

"Mhm."

You decided to put your words into practice straight away, so that you wouldn't forget exactly how you felt in this moment.

"You mean a lot to me," you admitted, "in a way I don't think I'd ever be able to describe."

Daryl's eyes widened slightly, and you wished to have the talent to capture that expression with pencil and charcoal one day.

"But I still wanted to try," you finished, and waited for his response.

Except, Daryl wasn't a man of words - and he reminded you of that as he reached for his sketchbook. His fingers were still damp, and you watched as they left watery prints over the pages as he flicked through them. He finally stopped once he reached the last one, showing you his latest sketch.

It was stained with raindrops that hadn't dried yet, from where the storm had first broken out and Daryl hadn't reacted quick enough. Yet, even though it was a little smudged and wrinkled, you could still make out that it was you - from where you had been sitting right next to him in that courtyard.

The man set the book down so that the page remained open on his desk, and picked up the other loose-sheet drawing that you'd done of him - and placed them together.

"Me too," Daryl said.

And that was all you needed to hear.

Feedback is always welcomed; I love hearing what you all think - so feel free to comment, send in an ask, or just message me if you want to chat!

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A/N AHH. I just loved this 2 part story.

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[lepusrufus]

Double edged scalpel ch. 1

It's finally here fellas. 

Mandatory warnings: blood, gore, medical stuff and procedures (like...a lot), all the canon typical good and bloody stuff, past abuse and alcoholism, eventual nsfw, strong language.

----

Gold, red and white. With black outlines. A delicate floral pattern carefully embroidered, firm but not rough underfoot. Covering the better part of the room's dark, ancient looking floorboards. 

Memorizing every minute detail of the carpet she was standing on was probably better than to dare meet the piercing golden gaze of the castle's matriarch. At least Nicole hoped as much.

Lady Dimitrescu was sitting in front of her, the size of her chair making it look more akin to a throne, and took a long drag of her cigarette. Her eyes fixated on the girl in front of her, almost as if she could measure her worth by glance alone. And in all honesty, she probably could. After a long, drawn out exhale of smoke, the Lady finally spoke. 

"You do seem to have an...interesting set of skills that could prove itself useful. That is, assuming you're being truthful." 

Nicole's eyes went wide, shock thankfully hidden by her long fringe. She had no documents on her, no way of proving anything about her past. Trying to remember the whereabouts of at least her passport only brought forth a vague memory of drunkenly stumbling in a hotel room that made her cringe internally.

She was about to stammer an excuse, a convincing one she hoped, when a small chorus of giggles came from beyond the closed door. The sound proved to be more interesting than her existence, as the Lady turned her gaze towards the door and waited. Waited for three other women, all in long black robes, to enter the room. 

The redhead and brunette seemed to be bickering amongst themselves, while the blonde made a beeline for her mother and passed her a sealed envelope. 

"Oh thank you. I will take a look in a moment." 

"Who's that?" The redhead, Daniela she deducted, finally took her attention off her sister long enough to notice the room’s other occupant. 

"Our newest maid, dears. I was just thinking about what task to give her." 

Daniela's eyes gave her a once over and Nicole gulped slightly. "Oh, mother! Have her clean the library!" 

"There's already a maid assigned to that," the eldest, Bela, pointed out. 

"I have a better idea." Cassandra finally spoke up, before her mother had a chance to intervene in her daughters' back and forth. 

The brunette leaned down slightly, close to her mother's ear and whispered something that Nicole could never dream of deciphering. But if the smile that soon followed on red painted lips was of any indication, the middle daughter's idea was brilliant. Or dreadful, depending on your perspective. 

"Very well. But you'll supervise her, you know that part of the castle is off limits for the staff." 

"Gladly," was Cassandra's response, voice full of mirth. 

"Just one thing," Lady Dimitrescu said, opening a drawer from the desk next to her and pulling out a key. "The key to your chambers. For after you've completed your duties."

Nicole took the key with a slight bow and a thank you, my Lady, and unceremoniously shoved it in her pocket, hoping it wouldn't fall throughout the day. 

Well that seemed to have gone well, as far as interviews for a job at a castle full of horrors go. Though she really had hoped not to deal with the daughters so soon, let alone be stuck following the family sadist down long corridors to who knows where, only stopping to ask another maid for cleaning supplies along the way.

Beautiful hallways, ornate with priceless paintings, gave way to more barren ones, where the wallpaper had peeled ever so slightly in places and the floor, now stone, had an occasional red stain that whoever was in charge of cleaning this part of the castle did not bother with. They walked until reaching a set of heavy double doors. Despite the slight state of disrepair of the hallway leading up to them, the doors looked extremely well kept. Not a speck of rust on the metal frame nor the lock. The wood looked sturdy and polished, if not for a few almost imperceptible scratches. And the Dimitrescu crest, cut through the middle so half of it was on each door, the flower petals shiny in the low light and beautifully detailed. 

Cassandra rummaged through a hidden pocket for a couple of seconds and pulled out an old fashioned key. With a grin, she wasted no time in unlocking the doors and pushing one of them open, enough for the two of them to pass through. Then, just as quickly, the doors were locked again with a click. 

The pair descended on a precariously slippery set of stairs, Nicole praying that she wouldn't drop the bucket of water she was now carrying, until they were deep within the bowels of the castle.

She was sure they were headed towards the cells, just slightly out of view across a short dark corridor, but then Cassandra took a sudden right turn. She looked downright giddy. Like a little girl on her way to get her favorite ice cream, walking ahead with a spring in her step. Except her steps turned into menacing echoes, encompassing them in an almost suffocating manner. 

At the end of the hallway, Cassandra threw open a smaller set of doors, doing a dramatic spin in the center of the room.

"Welcome to my little… work room. It's quite lovely, but unfortunately a pain to keep clean." The sadness in her expression was nothing more than a poorly concealed act. An act that she didn't care much for keeping up, as she went into a fit of giggles right after finishing her sentence. 

Said room was decently sized, a long desk running across one of the walls, while the opposite one had a wide variety of weapons in varying degrees of dirtiness. On another wall various devices that looked very much for torture and very much well used were hanging from hooks or long nails. And finally-...oh.

Oh.

On the far side of the room, two autopsy tables were lined, head end against the wall, their metal surface glistening slightly under the blood -both old and new- splattered on them. 

And Nicole was supposed to clean this bloody mess. 

"I want every tool in this room sparkling clean, including the tables," the brunette said with a wicked smile.

"Of course, my lady." With a slight bow of her head, Nicole started with the weapons. 

A sword, a dagger, a very old looking scythe, another sword but this one made to be welded with two hands and countless more. All with various amounts of blood dried on them. Blood that was surprisingly easy to clean off, aside from a couple more rusty blades. Whatever cleaning products they used, it was clearly very effective at cleaning gory messes. Shocker.

After finishing that portion of the room, Nicole moved to the adjacent wall, where the torture devices were hanging. She started wiping a vaguely human shaped metal frame when she heard light shuffling. It took a decent amount of self control to stay focused on the task at hand and not flinch when Cassandra was suddenly behind her, leaning down next to her ear. She was so close that her brunette hair was lightly brushing against Nicole's cheek, in an annoyingly ticklish manner. So close that Nicole got a faint whiff of roses from the perfume most likely applied earlier that day. It would have been nice if it weren't drowned out by a familiar metallic scent. To the brunette's defense though, it was hard to tell whether the blood scent was from her or from the room itself. 

After a few eternally long seconds of just hovering there, Cassandra finally spoke.

"This is one of my favorites." She caressed the metal surface the same way one would a puppy’s head. "We strap men to this, cut their wrists open and let them bleed out." The sentence was finished with a sinister cackle. 

It would have crept Nicole out too, if it weren't for the one thought that immediately jumped to the forefront of her mind. That's so ineffective. She weighed her options, with Cassandra still hovering over her shoulder in a position that couldn't have been comfortable given their height difference, and spoke tentatively. 

"Wouldn't the femoral artery be more efficient…?" 

The other girl froze for a second, narrowing her eyes and then scoffed, finally raising back up. 

"Who wants efficiency? The point is to prolong their suffering." 

She then dramatically plopped down in a chair, occupying herself with sharpening the curved blade of a sickle. She threw the occasional pointed look at Nicole each time she moved from one device to another to see if it would get a reaction out of her. It didn’t.

The devices were clean and it was time for the autopsy tables. Muscle memory kicked in and the metal surface was expertly wiped, blood and bits of flesh cleaned from every nook and cranny. After that she bent down to pull out the drainage tanks in which blood and bodily fluids accumulated. A piece of advice from what felt like an eternity ago screamed in her mind. When in doubt, hold your breath! And she did. Being used to the smell of decay did not mean being immune to it, and gagging in front of your new employee was quite the bad first impression. Luckily, it wasn't nearly as bad as she expected. Aside from some old stagnant blood, the tanks were otherwise clean. She washed both in the sink nearby and put them back in place with a content smile, hidden by the fact that her back was towards the other girl. When she turned around, Cassandra was scowling, sickle abandoned in her lap in favour of angrily drumming her gloved fingers on the desk's surface. A cold shiver ran down Nicole's spine, sure that she was about to get impaled by that very sickle in the next few seconds. When the brunette rose to her feet, she made peace with the fact that that was how she was going to die. In the humid basement of a medieval castle, on the first day of her job there. But Cassandra didn't approach her. Instead she paced around the room, scrutinizing eyes going over each and every instrument and, finally, on the now reflective surface of the tables. Her golden gaze then zeroed in on Nicole and, with a hint of a growl in her voice, said: 

"Alright. We're done here. Follow." 

Without sparing her another look, she unceremoniously threw open the doors and started walking down the corridor they had previously traversed. Nicole almost had to do a light jog to keep up with Cassandra's long strides, the glee in her posture now completely gone and replaced by frustration.

After exiting the dungeons and getting back to the more populated areas of the castle, Cassandra called out for the first maid that crossed their path. 

"You. Show this one to her quarters," she ordered and took off before the girl even had a chance to finish her yes, my lady.

Nicole and the other girl stood there for a couple seconds, until Cassandra's form dissipated into a swarm of insects and disappeared around a corner. Then the air seemed to be lighter, the threat of death no longer looming over their heads but reduced to a whispered reminder at the back of their minds. 

The pair strolled in silence down hallways that Nicole tried to commit to memory, until they reached a set of doors, modest, yet as elegant as the rest of the castle. Beyond them was a large room, with sofas and coffee tables for the staff to gather around with the central space left open. The large windows, occupying the better part of the wall to their left, sported beautifully intricate patterns of tinted glass, held together by heavy iron frames. Nicole mentally scoffed, realizing that she was looking at over glorified window bars and followed the other maid inside. 

"Do you have the key to your room?" 

Nicole pulled the key from her pants' pocket, pants that were now stained and dirty. Could've at least let me change, sheesh. The other girl took one look at the number engraved on the key and motioned for Nicole to follow her down one of the two corridors that opened up on the far side of the room. 

It almost reminded her of the hotels she and her family stayed at during her childhood. Dark hallways with doors on each side, the occasional person scurrying to their room and the big communal area. Except this looked far older and, in a weird way, cozier. 

Nicole came close to crashing into the other maid when she abruptly stopped and opened one of the doors, revealing a small room equipped with the necessary furniture for one person. 

"Well, look on the bright side: you get your own room." The other girl hummed, handing her the key. "I should get you your uniform. Size?" 

"Uh..an S please." 

In the five minutes it took the other maid to return, Nicole had time to take in her new home. She also noticed that someone had already placed her duffle bag near the bed. A sigh of relief left her lips at the small consolation that at least the few belongings she brought with her were here. Including her phone. 

"Huh. I thought they'd take it-" she had a better look at the screen. "Ah. No service. Of course." 

Not that she needed service for anything. The whole point of being there was to be as far as possible from anyone, but being able to check the news would've been nice. 

"Here you go!" She was snapped out of her thoughts by the maid’s way too cheerful tone. 

Nicole rushed to help with the stack of clothing and, once they were safely on the bed, the other girl spoke.

"There's seven uniforms, one for each day. Laundry is done on Mondays. Two pairs of flats and…" She trailed off pointing at a small wooden basket she had brought with the clothes. "Some toiletries and essentials. There's a perfume and broche with the family crest in there that I advise you make use of. The Lady likes her staff at a certain standard." 

Nicole nodded along and sat on the bed, finally letting exhaustion settle into her bones. The last few weeks had been a blurry hell. Everything from running away, to traveling, to coming to the village and finally the castle. She felt ready to curl up under a blanket and sleep for two weeks. But alas, she couldn’t afford the luxury of such rest. She almost forgot that she wasn’t alone in the room, until its other occupant spoke up.

"Oh by the way, what's your name?" 

"Nicole," she answered, extending a hand. 

"A pleasure to meet you. Anita," the other girl shook it with a warm smile.

[dancingamongstdust]

MHA Scenarios - First Meeting (Part 4)

Requests are still open as of this post.

Shigaraki

You hadn’t meant to cause that level of destruction. It was an accident.

But they hadn’t seen it that way.

Their words followed you even when they could not. You could hear the accusations ringing in your head whenever you used your quirk – for better, or for worse. It became easier to ignore as you slowly learned to stop caring.

Until your quirk went out of control again.

You woke up in a dark room with a pounding headache and exhausted limbs. The doctor who was looking after you (a man you were relatively certain had no actual medical knowledge) had gotten very close and asked how much you remembered. When you informed him that it wasn’t much, he had smiled.

“Well, you certainly drew attention to yourself,” he had laughed. “Perhaps you should consider yourself lucky that the heroes didn’t get to you first.”

“I guess so…”

Something warned you that this situation was more dangerous than it seemed. Your eyes drifted over the covered windows of the room and you stared at the door. “Why did you help me?”

“Well that’s hardly for me –“

He didn’t get a chance to answer before you dashed for the exit. The doctor’s quirk didn’t allow him to grab you and his alarmed shout was all you heard before you were darting down the hallway. You weren’t going to stick around and get experimented on.

You turned the corner, heart pounding in your chest. They must have given you something because you felt drowsy. The entire world was spinning.

But you had to nearly trip yourself up to avoid running directly into somebody as you sprinted down a different hallway.

This was hardly your first time dealing with villains and many of them had odd quirks, to say the least. It shouldn’t have shocked you to see somebody with a human hand on their face but maybe the medication was lowering your tolerance because it was terrifying.

“Who are you?” you snapped out, immediately on the defense. You took a step away, ready to run or fight, whichever seemed easiest.

The man didn’t seem too bothered by your snap at least; the one eye that you could see watched you steadily from behind his hand mask. “I’m sure you’re not meant to be running around here,” he said. “But you’re no hero so you must be here for your quirk. Do you still have it?”

Your heart skipped a beat.

It wasn’t unknown in the underground that there was a man who stole quirks he liked. Nobody knew what he did with them but it wasn’t unheard of for villains to wake up with nothing. And you would never get them back.

You could feel your quirk was still there. It pulsed under your skin like a warning.

“My quirk?” you repeated. “I have my quirk.”

You did a random gesture, summoning all of your past acting experience to appear horrified when nothing happened. Again and again you tried before looking around in shock and horror.

The guy bought it and he shrugged. “Then there’s no reason to stop you.” He brushed past you and continued walking. “Not like you could find the exit anyway.”

The moment he turned the corner, you dropped the act and bolted again. This place was a maze but you found the exit and avoided any encounters with a practiced ease. Before leaving, you looked back up at the building and grimaced, hoping to never see it again.

Toga

It was late at night when you had the strangest encounter of your life. Not that that was a bad thing necessarily but it was something that occurred, nevertheless.

You had been feeling quite exhausted from a long day of fun with your friends. They had headed off to get a cab when you had realised that you needed the bathroom and disappeared to go find one.

There was a public toilet not too far from the street though it certainly wasn’t as clean as you would have hoped. Not to be deterred, you slipped in and found a sight that, even to your exhausted mind was uncomfortable.

A girl stood in front of one of the mirrors, blood staining much of her face. It covered the counter beneath her fingers and seemed to be coming from her lip.

“Are you okay?!” you asked, panicked.

She looked up at you, startled. Her dark hair covered much of her expression but she seemed a little out of it. Maybe she got hit on the head or something.

“I –“ she paused, her voice croaky and sore. She brought her hand up to rub her throat. “I think so.”

“Just wait, let me help you,” you said. You rushed into one of the stalls and gathered up some toilet paper. “Do you need me to call somebody or?”

“No,” she said quickly. “No. Thank you.”

You offered some of the damp tissue to her and she started wiping it away from her mouth. While she dealt with that, you cleaned the blood that she had left on the counter, making sure to get it out of all the cracks in and around the sink. “What happened to you?” you asked. “Did somebody attack you?”

“I slipped,” she said. “The tiles are really slippery and I think that I hit my mouth on the sink. It’s all kind of blurry.”

“Don’t worry,” you said, digging through your bag and grabbing some headache tablets. You offered the bottle to her. “Take two of those just in case. Even if it doesn’t hurt now, you don’t want to wake up with a headache tomorrow.”

“Thank you,” she said. “Do I still have any blood on me?”

“Just on your jaw,” you pointed out. “Come on, my friends and I are getting a cab. We can call one for you also if you need.”

She took one last glance in the mirror before leaving. You had forgotten your own need for the bathroom and it was for good reason also. If you had hung around for a little longer, you may have seen blood trickling out from one of the stalls. Perhaps then you wouldn’t have been so worried about this stranger hitting her head.

“What’s your name?” you asked as you looked around for your friends.

“Toga,” the girl said, though she didn’t seem too happy with having told you. The words must have slipped out without her meaning to.

You gave her your own name and went up onto your toes to look around the crowd for your friends. Eventually you spotted them and waved but when you spoke to Toga, she didn’t respond.

She had disappeared into the crowd.

You went back into the bathroom and checked but she was long gone. Just like how the blood has escaped your notice earlier, you didn’t see the blonde watching you from the other side of the street, her head tilted a little.

Dabi

It was a rare day when you found yourself alone without at least one person to watch your back. You didn’t always need the protection but sometimes, it was nice to have.

But you had given your word and it wouldn’t do to back out of this now.

The building where everything had been organised was old and crumbling – its ancient nature hidden on the outskirts of the city and slowly becoming overtaken by countless plants. It wasn’t somewhere anybody with good intentions would find themselves.

You liked to think that your work was good. It benefitted many and took only from those who could afford to lose it. Unfortunately though, rules had to be broken for the best results, and sometimes what was classified as ‘wrong’ turned out to be needed in order to achieve a goal. It wasn’t quite in line with what you believed but it had to be done.

Did working with villains make you uncomfortable? Of course. But it was hardly going to be something that stopped you from moving forward.

The two members from the League of Villains that had been sent to meet you were both men. You didn’t bother with greetings, just holding up the briefcase that you held.

“I’m looking for a specific artwork,” you said. “I’ve been told that you might be able to help?”

“An artwork?” the one asked. He wore a white and black mask that concealed most of his face and an extremely gaudy costume.

“Not just an artwork,” you explained. “It has something of mine hidden in the canvas. Normally, I would just get the police involved but if they found it, it would be quite problematic for me. The group that stole it won’t listen to many but the League of Villains, I’m afraid. They have a few good quirks and they’re extremely cocky for it.”

“We’re not lapdogs,” the other man said. “Especially not for whatever agenda you’re pushing.”

“I don’t pay lapdogs,” you acknowledged. “Consider me a sponsor.”

Flames cackled into existence in his hand, surprising his colleague enough to jump a little. “Chances are, they’ve already found your thing. Even if they haven’t, the league can hardly go around picking fights with random gangs.”

“Shigaraki did ask –“

The masked man was cut off by a glare. Blue flames sent flickering light through the air as they waited patiently for your answer.

“If it’s already been discovered or if it happens to get damaged during the process, then I don’t plan on getting anything out of our deal. It’ll simply be a loss on my side.”

The flames slowly flickered out and you allowed yourself to breathe again. Confidence was a requirement for these deals but you didn’t quite have the nerves of steel that you portrayed. It was always a fight to keep your reactions in check.

“I guess if we happen to bump into the group, we can check around for your shit.”

You knew his bluff as well as your own. The League of Villains had always worked well with those who had money. They required funding and wouldn’t say no to being able to flex their reputation around the underground. It was almost needed with the way rumours were circulating.

It was less than a week after that encounter when you found your artwork sitting outside your home. Charred on the edges, it was damaged enough to make the art itself worthless. But your items inside were perfectly unharmed.

Not bad for your first time working alongside the League of Villains. It was worth the cost… you should do it more in the future.

Twice

When you had been called in for this job, you had no idea that it was going to turn into a fight of the magnitude you experienced.

Flames tore along the streets. They melted lamps and trapped hundreds inside buildings – the screams for help becoming almost deafening as you broke down yet another wall to get civilians out. It was the third building you had had to smash into and there were more yet.

Nobody could get out and, if they remained trapped, they wouldn’t survive much longer.

When your partner and you had realised you were dealing with the League of Villains, you had immediately called in the big guns. What you hadn’t realised was that doing so would result in a brawl of sorts in the streets. The League of Villains didn’t care about collateral and honestly, sometimes you wondered if the heroes did.

You were starting to overheat. The amount of fire swirling around was getting to you, drawing the breath from your lungs and slowing your movements. Its angry blue nature hinted at its abysmal nature.

The next building’s walls took even longer to get through but you managed it and a few people scrambled out. You ushed as best as you could although it was starting to get hard to speak.

But then you noticed a dark figure lying in one of the rooms

Outside, the fire roared and smacked against the walls but you couldn’t just leave somebody there. You stepped over the rubble and made your way to the figure.

It was hard to make out details with the flames. The heat seemed to be getting worse as you approached – soon identified as being caused by the gaping hole in the wall. It radiated around the room in waves. You covered your mouth and nose the best you could, creeping forward to reach where the person was.

When you arrived, it took you no time to recognise that you weren’t saving an unfortunate civilian but rather a member of the League itself.

You hesitated for a second before hooking your arms under his and beginning to drag him away from the danger. This was the type of thing that lost reputation for heroes. Civilians didn’t like seeing villains being rescued but you honestly didn’t care.

If he was left there, he was probably going to end up dying.

Though he had seemed unconscious, when you got him out of the building, he muttered something and moved. It was enough to make you jump back but he didn’t attack or anything. He just touched his face and then let his arm go limp again.

You moved back cautiously. His suit had been ripped on the one side, missing its arm and half of the torso. You checked his pulse, relieved to feel that it was still going, even if it was unsteady.

“Can you hear me?” you asked.

He didn’t respond and you reached up to remove his mask. His hand immediately snapped up to grab your wrist and you prepared to activate your quirk but all he did was push your arm away from his face.

Alright then. No touching the mask.

You bandaged the open wound on his side as best as you could. It looked like he had gotten launched through the building. Once he was as stable as he could be, you moved him to a safer area and jumped back into the fray. A ton of rescues later and the heroes had won, at the destruction of much property.

And, rather unsurprisingly, the villain you had saved was long gone.

Overhaul

There was a new drug running around the market. You had heard of a number of small-time villains taking it – most of them dying shortly after consumption. It wasn’t unheard of. If something had even the promise of a good time then it would attract thousands.

But what was a problem was that you had lost several of your newest underlings as a direct result of this drug.

Given how picky you were about hiring, this was going to be a problem.

You tracked the source to none other than the Shie Hassaikai. They were an old branch of the yakuza, sitting on the edge of a downward spiral into irrelevance. Rumors followed that their boss had fallen quite ill and now, it was only a matter of time until they fell completely on their faces.

So you didn’t feel too nervous when you approached the house that fronted their main base. Even with the members watching you from the bushes, you kept a straight line.

You weren’t unknown. It would do them a great disservice to attack you.

And they knew it.

You walked in the front door with absolutely no resistance and remained unsurprised when two masked men came out to greet you. They didn’t ask about your business or enquire as to who you were. Instead, they led you into a sitting room and gestured for you take a seat.

Instead of that, you walked around the room and picked up everything that looked interesting. Nothing was hidden around but you hadn’t expected there to be.

“Please don’t touch things without gloves on,” a smooth voice interrupted your curiosity. “Cleaning this entire house is rarely needed and I’d rather you didn’t change that.”

You turned around to find somebody considerably younger than you had expected for the head of the Shie Hassaikai. He wore their signature mask and a feathered coat, almost his entire body hidden in some way.

“Not a fan of germs?” you enquired.

“Not at all.”

You shrugged and made your way to the couch, sinking down into it. “Guess that means no drinks or anything? Oh well, that’s too bad.” You gestured for him to sit.  “So, you’re not who I was expecting.”

“You’ve never worked with our organisation before,” he said, sitting on the edge of the chair opposite you.

“No. You’re not in the same line of work as me and I don’t care too much about the Yakuza.”

“Then why are you here?”

You straightened, aware that you were about to get into the most dangerous part of the meeting. “Your drugs have been getting into my areas. Now, I don’t care all too much about how you distribute stock but it’s not just coming into possession of low-life criminals. My men are getting practically gifted it.”

His eyes narrowed. “We need to test it somehow. Besides, that sounds like a problem for you, no? Have better control of your men.”

“Keep your test tube shit out of my territories.”

A small staring contest took place – a test to see who would break first. You had been in almost a hundred of these over the course of your career. They didn’t bother you much at all in anymore.

Eventually he waved his hand through the air. “I guess we could stop supply to traders in your areas but this isn’t a charity.”

“I could kill your men.”

“But you would lose your own in the process. Wouldn’t it be easier to do this the peaceful way and maybe even establish a relationship between our two groups?”

“You have my attention. Don’t waste it.”

Kurogiri

There are those days when everything begins so well only to rapidly spiral into a situation out of your worst dreams. This was something like that.

You had gotten horribly caught in the crossfire of a battle between heroes and villains. It all occurred faster than you could have ever imagined – flashes of light and explosions of sound. People were screaming, the sound coming through a haze as you tried to get a grasp on what had happened.

Blood was trickling down your arm but you felt no pain. You slowly lifted your head. Something had hit you, you remembered that now as your brain caught up to the dull ache coming from your ribcage.

You tried to move, finding that you couldn’t. The ache became worse and a heavy, scraping sound interrupted your attempts to crawl away.

It was a piece of concrete, heavy and painful, pinning you effectively to the ground. A smaller chunk was holding it up and stopping you from being crushed. But if you moved too much…

You forced yourself to take a deep breath, nearly choking on the dust that filled the air. Maybe if you shifted slowly.

A crunching noise made you hiccup.

Alright, so that wasn’t going to work either. You strained your eyes to see through the carnage but you couldn’t make out any heroes. They would come eventually; you just had to wait patiently and try not to move too much.

The concrete seemed to get heavier still and you fought the desire to cry.

There was a crunching sound. You couldn’t just wait around.

Slow as you dared, you began to inch forward. The rough surface snagged at your clothing and made every centimeter feel like it was going to end with you crushed. Worse still, the more you moved, the more apparent the injury on your back became.

The blood that had been trickling down your arm was now creeping along your torso. It pooled in your clothes and made everything sticky.

You tried not to think about it but it made you light-headed regardless.

About half-way out, you spotted somebody nearby. It was just their silhouette but still, relief flooded your veins and you cried out desperately for help.

The figure made its way over to you, soon revealing that the man was almost entirely made of smoke. He wore a suit and tie but his body swirled as though only somewhat solid. Bright yellow eyes stared at you – any emotion behind them was completely unreadable.

His eyes traced your shape. “You’re not who I’m looking for.”

“Please help me. This thing’s going to crush me.”

He paused, the swirling darkness that made up his face shuddered as though it was unsure how to respond. “I should leave you here,” he mentioned. “You’re of no consequence to me or to my cause. If anything, I should add pressure to the piece of rubble and make sure the fatality numbers are higher.”

You caught of whimper before it could escape. “Please.”

His smoke shook again, almost as though he was struggling to keep hold of it. Then he raised a foot and placed it on the concrete.

You screwed your eyes shut and tried to imagine the best parts of life.

A loud horn blaring made you open them again and a surprised yelp escaped as you saw tires race past in front of you. People were shouting, their voices loud and nearby. Bright lights surrounded you and the air was clear once more.

The last thing you remembered seeing was a panicked nurse rushing over to you.

[scuttling]

Promise

Fandom: Criminal Minds Pairing: Aaron Hotchner/Spencer Reid/Latina OFC Sophie Cortes Word Count: 5,844 Tags: 18+, NSFW, Biting, Hickies, Dom/sub, Daddy Kink, Exhibitionism, Coming In Pants, Dry Humping, Blow Jobs, Semi-Public Sex, Voyeurism, Praise Kink, Public Sex, Oral Sex, Oral Fixation, Unprotected Sex, Tie as Restraint, Dirty Talk, Mention of Somnophilia Summary: Two weeks after the events of 'Patient', Spencer is feeling a little bit like a third wheel. Sophie and Aaron come up with a plan to show him how much he means to them. Collection: Part 4 of 5 of Present, Perfect, Patient, Promise, Pretend series Note: This is a previously published work from A03, just moving it over to tumblr. Link to A03 or read below! For the last couple of weeks, Spencer has almost exclusively been staying the night at Aaron and Sophie’s. The three of them arrive at work together every day, go to lunch together every day, leave together every day, and no one has commented on that or found it strange in any way. He’s honestly a little disappointed; he’s happy, in love, and this is arguably the best time of his life, stuff he would most like to share with other people, but they either don’t notice or simply don’t care. It's frustrating.

He wears one of Aaron’s ties to work on a Friday, because he’d been in such a hurry to throw some clothes into his bag during a rare pit stop to his apartment that he didn’t grab enough, and he figured no one would notice, since they haven’t noticed anything else up to this point.

However…

“Hey. Hotch has a tie just like that, doesn’t he?” Garcia asks when he’s down in her cave looking over some age progression renderings she made for him. He looks down, runs his fingers over it, shrugs.

“Does he? I didn’t realize.” She sweeps her gaze over his face, tilts her head like she’s trying to figure him out, but ultimately, she just smiles.

“Maybe not. I see a lot of ties around here, you know? Anyway, see how…”

Later that day, he takes some case files up to Aaron’s office—purely for make out purposes—and they’re kissing pretty hot and heavy when Aaron slips his fingers around the knot of his tie and twists it, so it tightens around the base of his throat. He moans, a little startled, and very turned on, and Aaron hums against his lips.

“So fucking gorgeous when you wear my clothes, Spencer, but especially this. It’s so tempting, draws my attention right to your pretty throat.” His lips move there, brushing tenderly up the side, and he bites down gently, not enough to leave a mark, but enough that he feels it in his dick. “If I had my way, you’d be constantly covered in bruises here. Everyone would look at you and know you belong to someone.” Spencer licks his lips, exhales deeply.

“I wish you could,” he murmurs, sliding his fingers through the hair at the back of Aaron’s head. “Maybe—maybe just one?” He’s lightheaded at the thought, both of having Aaron’s hot mouth tease a bruise there and of being seen for the desperate, needy slut he is. Of the whole team, the whole office, the whole world knowing he is taken, happily, regularly, by not one but two beautiful human beings.

Aaron presses his hand against Spencer’s cock, which is extremely hard, giving away all of his secrets, and he huffs against his throat.

“Yeah. You want me to suck and bite your neck until you’re purple and aching, and then you want to walk right downstairs and show it off, don’t you? No doubts about who gave it to you, about who your daddy is. About who you belong to.” He nods, breathing heavily.

“Yes. I want them to see, I want them to know.” Aaron walks him back so he’s leaning against the edge of the desk, and he runs his hands slowly up and down Spencer’s body, brushing his lips so softly over his throat. It feels good, but it’s not what he wants, and Aaron knows it, the tease.

He shifts his hips, rubs against Aaron for friction, and when he finds his cock he gasps, fists his hand into Aaron’s jacket. He lifts his leg, pressing against Aaron’s thigh, and gets them to line up beside each other, sliding easily due to the fabric of their suit pants.

“Oh, fuck, Spencer,” he groans, hands falling to the desk on either side of his body. “Needy boy.” He tugs down the collar of his shirt a little more, bites down hard at the base of this throat, and Spencer moans, clutches at him, rubbing frantically.

Aaron’s mouth is hard, sucking deeply, and Spencer knows that what he’s doing is actually breaking blood vessels beneath his skin, but it feels like he’s sucking the life out of him, leaving him dizzy and achy and desperate for release. He twists his fingers in Aaron’s hair, tight, and humps his hips up against his hard body, his hard cock, and he comes so powerfully he sees stars, panting and shaking through it until he leans his weight back against the desk, his energy depleted.

Aaron pulls back, looks at him with dark, lustful eyes, and bends for a hot, wet kiss.

“Perfect, beautiful boy,” he rasps when the kiss breaks, and he unclasps his belt, takes out his cock, looks down at Spencer’s mouth; it’s all he needs to do to get Spencer on his knees, and he’s sure he looks filthy—his face is hot, and his collar is still loose, with what must be a huge, dark hickey blooming there—because it only takes a few seconds for Aaron to spill down his throat, his hand under Spencer’s chin while he swallows him down.

He helps him to his feet, and they kiss, work to right each other’s clothes and hair even though Spencer feels like his face is the real problem—his eyes half-lidded, his mouth slack and his tongue peeking out the way it always does when he’s satisfied. Aaron looks at him affectionately, probably at the dopey look he’s so capable of putting on his face, and he kisses him again, softer, then brushes his lips over his nose.

“I love you. Want me to come down and make you a tea?” he asks softly, so sweet, but Spencer just shakes his head, swallows.

“No, that’s okay. I know you’re busy, and I’ve taken up enough of your time.” Aaron sighs, sweeps a hand gently over his cheek.

“My time is your time. You’ve taken nothing I didn’t want to give.” He kisses him fully on the mouth, and Spencer hums happily against his lips. “Is there anything I can do for you before you head back to work? Or, I guess you should probably head to the bathroom first, to get cleaned up,” he amends, and he looks down at Spencer’s crotch like he would prefer to clean it up himself, slowly, with his tongue. Spencer shakes his head.

“No, thank you. I’m really alright. I love you,” he murmurs, kissing his lips, “and I’ll see you soon.”

“See you soon.” Spencer slips past him, out the door, and when he’s done cleaning up in the bathroom, he looks at himself in the mirror; he thinks he looks wrecked, debauched, but maybe that’s only because he knows that he is. He pulls down his collar, looks at the huge, dark, angry bruise Aaron left, smiles, and covers it back up.

Mostly.

When he takes his seat, Sophie looks up at him, sweeps her eyes over his face, his throat, and he can see her breath pick up. God, she’s so easy to get going, it’s not even fair. She makes eye contact, swallows, looks up at Aaron’s office, and then stands, locks her computer, and heads upstairs.

About ten minutes later, she’s back; he looks up at her, and because he looks at her so much, he notices all the little things that have changed—her hair, previously falling in voluminous waves, looks a little flat, and her chest is red, flushed, and when she logs back into her computer, he notices the edge of a purple bruise on the soft spot between her neck and shoulder, barely concealed by the white v-neck t-shirt she wears. She meets his eyes, sweeps her tongue over her lips, and buries herself in work.

He’s hard, again.

No one notices, again. They take a case in Orlando, a serial killer case like many before it, nothing so out of the ordinary that anyone should be particularly on edge, but Spencer is, and Sophie can’t figure out why. He’s retreated into himself, not as talkative, and snippy, when he does speak, so she doesn’t start the car right away when they climb in, hopes for a little partner/girlfriend heart to heart before they go canvassing for leads.

“Spencer. Hey,” she says softly, pressing her hand to his cheek when he won’t make eye contact. “Baby, what’s going on? You’ve been distant all day. I’m worried about you.” He presses his face against her palm, looks up at her with sad eyes.

“I hate when we’re on a case, and I know that you and Aaron will get to sleep together, and I’m stuck in my room by myself, all alone.” She sighs, because that can’t be all it is, but it makes her heart hurt anyway.

“Is that the only thing bothering you?”

“It’s not just that, it’s the bigger picture. You two are… out, for lack of a better word. People see you, they know you’re together, they know you’re in love. I feel like the third wheel, sometimes. People don’t know that I mean anything to either of you. They don’t know I love you, or that you love me, that we…” He shakes his head, presses his lips together like he wants to cry. “That when the three of us make love, I feel like the man I’m supposed to be. That I feel really seen for the first time in my life.” She puts her other hand on the side of his face, brings him closer for a slow, loving kiss, breathes against his lips.

“I’m sorry, honey. You’re right, none of that is fair to you, and we haven’t been very thoughtful or attentive to your needs around this. I promise things will change. I don’t know how, exactly… It’s complicated, I know you know that. But you deserve to be just as seen as Aaron and I are, so we’ll find a way to make it work.” She rests her nose against his, softly kisses his lips. “I love you so much, Spencer, and so does Aaron. You aren’t a third wheel, we’re all equal.” He nods against her cheek.

“I know, I do, and I love you both so much. I don’t want to make your lives harder, but I want more. I need more.” She pulls back, brushes her fingers through his hair, runs a soothing hand over his arm.

“Of course you do, and we want that too. You’re not asking for anything we shouldn’t have already given you.” She feels guilt like a pit in her stomach at the fact that they didn’t think of this, try to get ahead of it. Poor Spencer. “It will work out, baby, I promise. We’ll find a way. And I’ll sleep in your room tonight,” she adds, knowing it’s a small comfort, but she hopes it makes him feel better until they can make the big things right. “I’ve slept in your room before, when things were hard, it’s not like it’s a big deal.” He closes his eyes, nods tightly.

“Right. No one needs to know.” She frowns, because that’s not what she meant, but he pulls back, buckles up his seatbelt, and she does the same, at a loss for what she can do in the meantime to make him feel seen.

When she’s in Aaron’s room that night, getting ready to duck into Spencer’s, she has an idea, runs it by him. His face abruptly goes serious, dark, and he takes her face in his hands, kisses her roughly.

“Are you sure? Anyone could see—it’s not like we’re in a low-traffic city,” he warns, but she nods. She’s pretty sure, after talking to both of them, that this is something that Spencer would enjoy, that would maybe make him feel a little bit better about it all. She wants to do it.

“Yeah. We’re the only ones on this side of the hall, so I figure that’s as safe as we’ll get, in terms of the team, and… I’m okay, with anyone else. If it will make him happy.” She grips the hair at the back of his head, presses their foreheads together. “You’ll be there for me, right?”

“I promise,” he murmurs, caressing her face, and she sighs against his lips.

“Thank you. I love you.” He says it back, kisses her, and she takes a step back, grabs her stuff, walks to the door. “I’ll text you, let you know when we’re ready.”

“Okay. Remember your words. Use them if you need them.” She nods, leaves the room, knocks lightly on Spencer’s door.

“Hey, honey,” she greets, and he steps aside, takes her bag, closes the door behind them. She pulls him down for a gentle, slow kiss, smooths her hands over his body like she’s trying to commit him to memory. “Hmm. How are you doing?”

“I’m okay,” he says with a soft smile. “I was thinking about earlier, in the car, and I wasn’t fair. It makes sense that people can’t know until we figure things out; I shouldn’t have been so harsh with you.” She thanks the heavens above for the perfect segue, because she’d been struggling with a way to explain her idea without sounding like a babbling, horny idiot.

“It makes sense that the team can’t know,” she corrects, and she leans up for another kiss. “Or people we work with. But other people, people we don’t know, that would be fine, right?” He tilts his head, looks a little confused by her question.

“What do you mean? Like, if we went on a date together? And people saw us?” She nods a little.

“Yeah, something like that. Or even… you know. If people saw you kissing me, or they saw us having sex. That would be okay, wouldn’t it?” Her heart is racing, and his breathing picks up, she can tell; she can tell her words affect him just by the set of his mouth, the way his hands move to her hips and tighten there. It’s so fucking hot.

“Yeah, yeah. That would be okay. Would that be okay with you?” Aaron was right then, when he’d suggested that their boy might be harboring a hidden exhibitionism kink; she smiles, pleased, proud of their man for noticing.

“It would be okay with me,” she murmurs, pressing her lips to his. “There’s a chaise couch thingy on the balcony out there. I thought maybe you and I could put on a show for Aaron; and if someone else is out on their balcony, and they happen to see us, all the better. They’ll see how horny you make me, how hard and loud I come for you. How much I love you, need you, want you.” Her last words are spoken directly into his ear, and he shivers, lifts her up and presses her back against the wall.

“Fuck. Yeah, I want to.” His mouth moves frantically over her throat, his hands on her back, and he makes sure she’s supported before moving to pull her shirt over her head, so he can kiss and lick and squeeze her exposed tits. “Oh, god.”

“Yeah, Spencer. I can’t wait to feel you, to show the world what you mean to me. What you do to me.” He’s panting, and he puts his hands on her again, moves them to the bed, lays her back on it.

“Sophie, so good for me, always giving me so much. Always pleasing me, always.” She tips her head back, moans, and when he drags her pants down her legs, then her panties, she sighs, horny, happy, pleased. A little nervous. But she wants to do this for him more than anything.

“Let me text Aaron real quick,” she says, but she pulls his shirt off first, pushes down his pants and boxers, wants to see him, feel him. He hands her her phone, and her fingers are trembling a little as she types out the text.

Showtime.

Spencer is, of course, as sweet and kind and sexy as ever, when he lays her naked body back on the chaise, which is directly across from Aaron’s balcony. He looks into her eyes, makes sure she’s okay, and she nods, a signal to begin.

They very mindfully keep their eyes on each other, don’t pause to try to seek out Aaron—she knows he’s there, even though it’s dark, because he said he’d be—or to check for anyone else. They both decided it would be better that way.

Both hands cover her breasts, rubbing slow circles, stimulating her nipples, and she moans softly, letting her head fall back, moving her arms up on either side of it. He kisses her mouth tenderly, then trails his lips down her throat, between her breasts, down her stomach; he dips his head low, takes a gentle taste of her slick, throbbing pussy, and then one of his hands leaves her chest to press open her thigh, giving himself more room to work.

“So fucking beautiful. Wet and open—you really want me, don’t you, sweet girl?” His voice is a little louder than it would normally be, and she quickly realizes he wants to make sure it carries over to Aaron, so he can hear them as well. She tries to remember to be really loud, even though it goes against her instincts.

“Oh, yes.” He spreads his fingers where they rest on her tit, then pushes it up, harder, and she moans. “Mmmh, yeah.”

“So perfect for me. Horny, slutty, gorgeous girl for daddy.” She snaps her eyes shut, bites into her bottom lip; she hadn’t counted on him bringing out the daddy tonight, while they’re doing this. It makes her feel dirty, and extremely aroused.

“Yes, daddy. I’m so horny, s-so slutty,” she stumbles when he slides his tongue between her lips, then up over her aching clit. “Oh, god, yes. Yes, daddy.”

He takes his time, goes slowly, slips his tongue through her folds, nibbles them with careful teeth, and she is just a mass of flesh and nerve endings sinking into the sofa, squirming under his hands, whimpering and moaning at his every lick, touch. It feels like everything is moving in slow motion except her heart, her heaving chest, and her brain is already deliciously empty, like static on a broken television—it’s either her mind’s way of protecting her from the anxiety she knows she should be feeling at being this exposed, doing something so, so illegal and filthy and wrong, or it’s just Spencer.

She thinks it might actually be just Spencer.

He looks up at her from between her legs, so gorgeous, flushed, turned on, and he presses two fingers into her open mouth, which only makes her sink deeper into the place that’s all pleasure and need and wanting to please him. He pumps them into her mouth a few times, then pulls them out and sinks them deep into her pussy, making her arch and sigh.

“There you go, baby, that’s it,” he praises, dragging them in and out, in and out, in and out. He leans in to press the point of his tongue against her clit, divine sensation right where she wants it, and she comes around his fingers, moaning and gripping the edge of the cushion in her hands. “That’s a good girl. Good girl.” He shifts up, moves his hand up her body, slips his wet fingers back into her mouth so she’ll suck them clean.

She’s never felt so good in her entire fucking life. Aaron has been trying to resist shoving a hand into his boxers and jerking himself off, but his willpower is wearing thin.

Watching Spencer bring Sophie off with his mouth and his hands was... stimulating to say the least; she dropped into subspace so quickly and completely, he could see it from even a balcony away. Spencer is getting better and better at dominating her every day, better than him, even, because he has a refinement, a subtle nuance, that Aaron hasn’t found on his own quite yet.

It’s when he fucks her, though, that Aaron starts to lose his resolve. Maybe it’s because he’s truly just a spectator for the first time in their relationship, or maybe it’s because he knows—even if they don’t—that they’ve amassed a small audience, but he spreads his legs, rubs his hand over the bulge in his boxers, tries to keep breathing.

The tie thing is a tease, just truly unfair.

Before Spencer pushes into her, he reaches a hand down, pulls out a tie—one of Aaron’s, the one Spencer had worn to the office the day he’d marked him—and wraps it around Sophie’s wrists, knotting it tightly to keep her hands together, and he tucks it into the arm of the chaise so she’ll keep them above her head. She doesn’t make a sound, just stares up at him, subservient and willing, and it makes Aaron’s head spin. He can’t imagine what it does to Spencer.

With a couple of kisses, he’s inside her, up on his knees, his hands on her hips, and she wraps her thighs around his waist, lifts her ass up, and lets him pound inside.

“Oh, daddy. Fuck me,” she moans, and he licks his lips, pulls her against him with each thrust so he’s deep, fully sheathed inside her. “Yeah, just like that. All the way inside me. Tight, but I love it,” she pants, and he squeezes his eyes shut—so he won’t come, Aaron knows.

“Yes you do. Such a good little slut for daddy, taking my big cock even though it's tight. Your pussy’s mine, and I take what I want, don’t I?”

“God, yes. Take it, take it,” she mutters, and Spencer slowly brings his hands up to cover her throat, because she needs grounding and they can both tell. He slides his hands up and down her throat, not choking, just rubbing her there, and she moans, a wrecked and dirty sound. “Will you come inside me, daddy? Fill me up? Can I sleep with it inside me?” Aaron swallows hard, puts his hand in his pants and starts jerking his swollen, leaking cock. Spencer hums.

“Yes, baby, I’ll fill you with come. You can sleep with it. Maybe I’ll wake up in the night, stiff, and pump some more into you while you sleep. Would you like that?” She moans, bucks hard against him, nods.

“Yes, daddy. I’ll take whatever you give me. You do what you want to me. I’m just your pussy, just here for you to use. Use me.” He thrusts into her faster, his hands tight on her hips again, and he comes, snapping his body hard against hers.

Aaron knows he gets quickly spent and tired, but he jackhammers his cock into her a dozen times anyway, determined, and she comes calling Spencer, her hips stuttering against his until they both slow and settle. Aaron comes too, just a quiet grunt followed by a long, satisfied sigh.

Spencer unties her arms, kisses her wrists, and picks her up; it’s easy, because he’s still inside her, and her legs are still around him. A couple of people applaud and whistle from a balcony above, and Sophie tucks her face into Spencer’s neck, wraps her arms around him, and they go inside.

The two of you are incredible, he texts Spencer when he goes inside as well. I love you both so much. So perfect, so beautiful. Take care of each other.

We love you, too. I think tomorrow, you two should let me watch.

Aaron closes his eyes, exhales long, climbs into bed.

The next day, they somehow manage to work together as if nothing happened the night before, as if his two perfect partners didn’t fuck in front of a live audience, as if he didn’t bring himself off in public as a result.

It’s enough to keep him in a state of passive arousal all day, and he hopes and prays it’s not enough to give him an erection, because he doesn’t have time for it.

That night, though, is another story entirely.

Roles are reversed, as requested; Spencer sits on his balcony, in the dark, but they don’t look toward him, just the way he and Sophie didn’t look for Aaron. She said it helped, and he wants to keep her as comfortable as possible, knows this is a lot.

Aaron lays back on the chaise, and he gently palms Sophie’s head as she holds his hips, kisses and licks his dick; he knows she’ll fall hard sucking him off like this, and he liked how submissive she was for Spencer yesterday, would like to get her there himself too.

“Hmm. Good girl, baby,” he hums, brushing back her hair; she’d run her tongue over him all night if he let her, and it would get him off, too, but he wants to make it good for Spencer, so he reaches down and lifts his cock, guides her mouth down onto it.

She moans on him, wraps her hand around the base, presses her lips tight and bobs her head, slow and steady, and he tips his head back, rubs her arms, encouraging the treatment.

“Yes, baby, suck on daddy’s cock. You’re always best with your mouth full, aren’t you, my sweet, slutty girl?” She hums around him, shifts so she can get a hand between her legs, which is his absolute favorite, and moves faster, her hand and her mouth together, wet and hot, enough to make his eyes roll back in his head. He knows he won’t last long if she keeps that up, lets them both enjoy it for a moment before putting his hands on her cheeks and pulling her off gently. “Enough of that; climb up for daddy,” he instructs, and she slinks up his body, presses her mouth to his for a heated, eager kiss.

It lasts a while, because she feels so good, tastes so good, like him, and then they separate, panting against each other. “How do you want me, daddy?” He sits up, runs a hand up her body, and then guides her to sit back on his dick, making them both gasp. “Hmm, yeah. Thank you, daddy,” she murmurs, and she presses her hands against his chest and starts to move atop him.

She’s perfect, as always, fucking quickly, slamming into his thrusts, and one hand falls back to steady herself against his thigh; her chest is flushed and red, nipples hard, and he can’t resist, has to lean in and suck one into his mouth, roll it around on his tongue.

“Oh, fuck, mmm,” she sighs, wrapping her hand around the back of his head and holding him close. “You know my body so well because it’s yours, daddy. Yours to use, to fuck, to come inside.” He releases her breast and stares up at her, her breathing hard, her mouth open in a silent moan. She’s gorgeous, unabashed, riding his cock like she was made for it; he knows Spencer has to be touching himself as he watches her body work, her hips roll against him.

It’s relatively quiet, and he hears someone mutter, same girl, different guy, and he’s forced to really think about this for a moment, what they’re doing, the kind of line they’ve crossed. He wonders if this will be something done once, remembered fondly but out of their systems for good, or something they’ll need, will have to learn to navigate around safely, healthily. He thinks about how different it is for her, as a woman, compared to how it is for them as men.

She either feels none of the same apprehension or simply hides it well, because she only bounces harder against his thighs until she comes whimpering his name. He groans, puts his hands on her ass and squeezes it, urging her to keep going until the sensitivity passes, not to stop or slow. She knows what to do—another voice says riding it like a champ—just tosses her hair over her shoulder, scrapes her nails through the hair on his chest, moans long and loud.

“Mmm, yes, daddy, thank you daddy. Thank you for not letting me stop—I’m just here for you to use, to take your come. I’m your slut.”

“Yes, baby girl, you are a slut for daddy. You live to be fucked hard, destroyed by me. By us.” It’s the only time they’ve acknowledged Spencer, and Aaron can hear a faint groan coming from his direction. “One man is not enough for a needy, desperate slut like you. You need two. Separately, together—you belong to us both.” She runs a hand through her hair, bucks hard against him, reaches down to rub at her clit again; god, if she comes on his cock twice he’s going to fucking lose it.

“Yes, yes, yes,” she chants, and he leans up again, bites down on her nipple, and she cries out in pleasure, digs her nails into his chest, and comes again. He puts both hands hard on her hips, forces her down onto his cock a handful of times and then comes as well, pumping into her tight channel with a groan.

She pants, catches his mouth in a bruising kiss, and he gets her into the bedroom, lays her back on the bed, and watches her body move as she works to catch her breath, still shivering with aftershocks, clamping down tight around his cock. She touches his face, his hair, and he only pulls out when he hears a light but insistent knock on the door.

“It’s Spencer, baby, I’ll be right back,” he promises, kissing her, and when he opens the door Spencer flies in, grabs him hard, kisses him, then makes his way to Sophie; he touches her softly, stroking her hair, whispering words of praise until she’s shaking and the only thing that will soothe her is his arms wrapping around her, holding her close.

It’s the first time he actually notices how differently she sees them, as their sub. Aaron is the one who makes rules, gives orders, disciplines and corrects, and Spencer is softer, earning obedience with his actions more than his words. Aaron pushes her, overwhelms her, and Spencer is the one who helps her through when she’s overwhelmed, and it’s why this works, why it works when he’s dominating Spencer, too. There’s no clashing of personalities, it’s all complementary, all necessary. All important.

He has to find a way to make this right. “Strauss was… confused, to say the least,” Aaron explains to them at dinner a few nights later. “And I could tell she thinks I’m just a couple more twenty-somethings away from being a cult leader or something,” he says—only half joking, Sophie can tell, “but she knows, now. All that’s left is to tell the team, and then live with whatever repercussions may come.” She reaches out for both of their hands, squeezes them.

“Well, the team was okay with us when we disclosed, and this is a little more unconventional, but we know them. I don’t think we’ll have a problem. If anyone else has one, that’s beyond our control. It doesn’t say anything about us; people have always found a reason to dislike something different just because it’s different.” She glances at Spencer, who is looking so soft, pleased, that she doesn’t know how they didn’t see the signs before. He’s like a whole new person, now, their person.

"One more thing," Aaron says, and he's looking at the both of them, his face sweet and loving too. He crosses the room, opens a drawer, pulls out two small jewelry boxes and sets one in front of each of them. He crouches between them. "I know it might seem a little soon, but this isn't anything serious, just a reminder, a promise. I don't ever want either of you to feel like we aren't all equal here: equally valued, equally important, equally loved." Sophie opens hers—a delicate gold band with a small diamond in the middle—and Aaron pulls a third out of his pocket, thicker, simple, just gold, identical to the one Spencer opens. "Please don't ever think you can't talk to me when something is bothering you, and don't ever forget that I love you."

She leans over, kisses him, kisses Spencer, and they kiss each other, and the night gets away from them and they have sex in so many different positions and combinations it’s like Twister, but everyone feels fulfilled when they drift off to sleep, and that’s the most important thing.

Telling the team is… interesting, to say the least.

“Okay, thanks for letting us know,” JJ says, nodding, and Aaron, Spencer, and Sophie just look at each other where they stand. Spencer frowns, confused.

“What do you mean, ‘thanks for letting us know’? That’s it?” Morgan crosses his hands behind his head.

“Yeah. We’ve known for a while, but this is like you guys coming out, as bi or pan or whatever you two are,” he says, gesturing to the guys, “and then as like… what’s the word, baby girl?” he asks Garcia, and she waves her feathered pen at the three of them.

“Throuple. It’s like a couple, but, you know, three.” She smiles kindly.

“You knew,” Spencer repeats, and Sophie glances at Aaron, shoots him an indulgent smile. “You knew, all along?”

“Since the day you guys had your ‘partner evaluations,’” Prentiss admits with a teasing tone. “You two are extremely obvious. It’s like you can’t get laid without looking like two blushing, giggling little school girls after. So not sneaky.”

“I literally saw you two making out at Rossi’s party,” JJ says with a laugh. “I was going to tell Hotch I thought you were cheating on him, but Garcia convinced me not to. She was on to your whole thing before any of us.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Spencer asks, looking like he’s about to pull his hair out. Sophie knows he’d been so upset he couldn’t share their relationship with anyone, and they knew for most, if not all of it, so he’s understandably kind of losing it.

“What were we supposed to do? Order a cake and make you a banner that said, ‘Congrats on the threesome!’?” Prentiss jokes, and Garcia leans back in her chair to look at her.

“Throuple.” Prentiss waves her hand, accepts the correction, and Sophie reaches out for Spencer, smooths her hand over his back, presses her nose to his shoulder.

“Okay, well I think this turned out well. Let’s go make a cup of tea, baby,” she murmurs, and Spencer lets himself be led away, muttering about stupid friends that drive me crazy. Aaron follows behind them, presses his hand to her lower back, and Sophie sighs, content.

[the-last-kenobi]

Hi! I love your writing and was excited to see you're taking requests! Could you do 10 with majorly hurt Obi-Wan and the 212th like trying not to completely freak out?

Aww, thank you! <3 Happy to oblige darling. And ooooh, the underrated 212th! I’m so happy to write them. I hope this does them justice.

From this various prompts list.

_

“Cody! No! Pull the men back!”

“What?”

“There!”

A burst of flame that lit the world up in blinding heat. A strange echoing noise.

A scream.

Cody thought that he would see that moment burned behind his eyelids for the rest of his life.

It was still swimming before his eyes even as he frantically tried to deal with the aftermath, as he tried to force his brain to engage with the present moment.

Right now, right here, Obi-Wan was gasping for air, his whole body twitching and writhing beneath Cody’s hands, blood staining his face, his chest, everything. Everything was painted with hot, metallic red and Cody for the first time wanted to vomit at the sight of blood.

“Hold him still!” the medic beside him barked. Cody didn’t even know his name. He always knew their names, but right now nothing was lodging in his brain except General Kenobi and his ragged screams.

“I’m trying,” he snapped back. “Help him!”

The medic gave him a strained look and then returned his focus to the man bleeding out on their watch.

“Does he need bacta?” Cody asked desperately. This time the medic didn’t glance up at him at all absorbed in pressing down forcefully on one of the darkest red stains pooling across the pale tunics, his other hand searching far more gently along the other side of the torso.

The General groaned, his feet kicking involuntarily, scraping the dust.

“No,” the medic said brusquely. “Bacta is for repairing clean injuries and accelerating healing. The General has internal injuries that need to be patched before we dunk him in bacta.”

Dunk him in bacta? Cody had never heard of such a thing. Bacta came on swabs and patches and ointment jars, not tubs to throw a whole person in.

He pinned the Jedi’s shoulders more firmly in an effort to keep him — both of them — as calm and still as possible.

Leading his men up the gorge, with its dry soil and faded patches of grass, hoping to make it over the crest and down into the ravine before dawn.

Cody walked a little ahead of the others, taking point.

He heard the clankers first.

The Commander gestured back to his men, silently ordering them to take whatever cover they could while he crept onwards, keeping low. The enemy sounded few in number, maybe twenty, outnumbering them by only 2 to 1. That was easy. His men could take two droids each without breaking a sweat. The real issue would be keeping the fight as quiet as possible. Their approach still needed to go unnoticed.

Cody hesitated a moment, then shot forwards and flung himself behind an enormous old tree with withered leaves, pressing himself against the trunk.

Nobody had seen him.

Taking a deep breath, he peered around the edge and took in the oncoming droids. He had been right. There were only fifteen, in reality, even better than he had hoped.

Their behavior was odd, though.

They all walked close together, not in their typical line formation, but centered around one droid in the middle of the pack that he couldn’t make out clearly. It was a different model from the others, but not one he was familiar with.

Cody zeroed in on it. Whatever this was, that droid needed to be dealt with.

He retreated back to the other vode, who were awaiting his word. “Fifteen clankers,” he hissed. “One of them is different from the others. Leave that one to me.”

They all murmured assent, a few of them tossing a salute in his direction, and at his signals began placing themselves strategically along the path, concealed behind bushes and stones.

All fell silent except for the sound of the oncoming droids.

A dry breeze rattled in the sun-dried branches like a tired sigh.

“Cody! No!” the sudden shout shattered the silence, shattered the oncoming ambush, ruined Cody’s plans — but he looked around sharply, searching for the owner of that familiar voice.

“General?”

“Pull the men back!” Kenobi roared out over the comm line, and still he was nowhere to be seen. “It’s a trap!”

“Where the fuck is that evac?” the medic muttered. Then he turned his head and screamed, “Where the fuck is that evac?!”

“Five minutes out!” a brother replied.

Cody looked to his medic companion for a reaction, waiting to see. Was five minutes good? Bad? Salvation? ...A death sentence?

The medic closed his eyes briefly.

“Keep him steady,” he said, “and either give him something to bite on or gag him. I need to remove some of this shrapnel before it penetrates too deeply.” He reached behind him for his bag. “And I may need to cauterize the wound to his thigh.”

Cody looked down at his Jedi, watching the blue eyes flutter open and closed, shockingly bright in the midst of all the red. Blood, and dirt, and burns.

Obi-Wan didn’t seem to be coherent enough to understand what was being said, but he was trying to speak, still writhing on the ground as much as his Commander tried to hold him still.

“It’s okay, sir, we’ve got you,” Cody said. He bent down lower to bring himself closer to the General, hoping to make himself understood. “We’ve got you, General, it’s going to be okay.”

“No,” Kenobi protested weakly, the words coming up with a cough and a hoarse sob. “No — it’s — have you — what —”

He dissolved into a fit of coughing. Tears sprang up in those blue eyes that had only ever smiled for them, and leaked down over the grime on his face, glistening in the blood, clinging to his eyelashes.

“Shhhh,” Cody hissed out in desperation. He didn’t know what to do. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be.

General Kenobi was a magnet for trouble, but he always survived, always managed to keep a level head, to smile for his men. And they, in turn, protected him as best they could so that he could do all those things.

He was untouchable because he was a Jedi.

He was untouchable because he was their Jedi.

...He was bleeding out in their arms.

“Cody,” his General choked out, eyes fixing on his face, a look of relief dawning in them that Cody didn’t understand. “Cody?”

“Yeah, it’s me,” his Commander said earnestly. “I’m here. We’ve got you.”

“But — I...” the General’s face pinched with pain, but his eyes remained wide and desperate and so, so blue as he stared up at Cody, fighting to speak. “The others? I... trap...my men?”

“They’re all right, you — you saved them,” Cody told him, his voice breaking.

His General’s face looked confused, uncertain. Uncomprehending. “...I... where... the plan. The men. The... we...” More blood seeped between his teeth, and Cody wondered slightly hysterically if his reassuring smile would ever be the same after this. “My men,” whispered the General. “The plan. I have to, I have to—!”

“No!” Cody cried, and he saw his Jedi flinch. “No,” he repeated, a little softer, leaning forward to make sure those blue eyes were looking into his own. “Don’t worry about that right now, just hold on. Hold on.”

Obi-Wan opened his mouth to speak again, and then the coherency in his eyes was ripped away at the same time as his back arched off the ground; his shoulders strained against Cody’s restraining hands.

“Hold him!” the medic barked.

Cody tried desperately to comply, but the General was shaking so hard it felt as if he were about break.

And then Obi-Wan screamed — a ragged, uncontrolled wail of agony.

The Commander searched the area for his General, but there was no sign of him except the voice yelling in his ears.

“Stay back, Cody! They have a new weapon!”

“What?” Cody asked.

Obi-Wan’s voice was strained. “There! It’s— go! Get back, all of you, get back!”

Cody scanned the droids through the trees but saw nothing. His General wasn’t making much sense.

But Cody was trained to obey his Jedi, and more than that, much more, he knew he wanted to. He trusted Kenobi, more than almost anyone.

Or maybe it was just that he trusted his General more than anyone else, full stop, because he didn’t protest when the Jedi came hurtling out of nowhere, dropping from a nearby ridge, and put himself directly between his men and the droids.

And he didn’t protest as he kept shepherding his men back down the way, while Obi-Wan ignited his saber just as the droids created the slope.

And he didn’t protest as Kenobi let go of his lightsaber, his weapon, and used the Force to guide it through the air, cutting down fourteen droids in a matter of seconds.

Cody trusted his General implicitly right up until the point where he flung out his arms, standing still, like a human shield between himself and his troops, as the last droid, the strange droid with the odd markings, erupted in a surge of flame that swallowed the world.

Even as Cody was thrown backwards, he saw, as if burned into his vision, a glimpse of Obi-Wan standing with his arms outstretched like a sacrifice, holding the hellfire at bay as if by some unseen wall, his expression serene.

And then, as Cody hit the ground and struggled to regain his feet, that invisible wall broke, and Obi-Wan took the impact of the bomb.

His General’s scream went on and on for what felt like an eternity but which could only have been seconds, and there was blood on his lips and his side was torn open and there was shrapnel everywhere, and—

More hands joined Cody’s, gently but firmly taking hold of the General’s wrists and elbows, clutching his ankles, cradling his head and keeping it still.

Cody looked up.

There was Waxer, and Boil, Barlex, and Longshot.

He could see others framed in the background, shielding the General from view and from the dust and debris stirred up by the relief team. Wooley had crouched next to the medic and was handing him items from his bag as soon as they were requested.

Waxer had tossed his bucket aside and was looking Cody dead in the eyes.

“We’ve got him,” he said reassuringly. “We’ve got him.”

Cody chose to believe him.

To trust his brothers and his Jedi.

Obi-Wan’s gaze was unfocused, but he looked at each of his men in turn, studying their faces, searching for something. Bloodied lips formed their names, faint beneath his unsteady breathing and periodic coughs, the moans of pain triggered by the medic’s steady hands.

Each trooper murmured a response, something soothing, something far, far calmer than the worry in their eyes allowed for.

Lastly, General Kenobi looked at Cody.

“Evac is here!” a trooper nearby shouted. “Sticker, prepare him for a lift! Med team is prepped for emergency surgery during the flight!”

The medic — Sticker, Cody registered, relieved that his panicked unrecognition earlier was gone — breathed a sigh of relief, rubbing his eye. With his wrist, because the fingers were stained deep red.

“You’ll be all right now, sir,” said Longshot.

“Oh, I know,” the General breathed, a smile peeking through the blood. “I have all of you, don’t I?”

_

[todoscript]

Can I request Pro!Hero Bakugou in a scenario where he's going on the scene where a place was being attacked by low level criminals and the place's mascot character was essentially trying to protect kids from the harm, kind of standing up to the villains to abide time til the heroes or police arrive. Bakugou saves the day and the mascot character pops their giant head off to properly thank him and he's like--Oh shit they're cute I was not prepared

Bunny Face

Genre | Fluff. 

Pairing | Pro Hero!Bakugou Katsuki x Fem!Reader

Words | 1.9K+

Warnings | Bakugou getting flustered. Bakugou cursing. Bakugou beating up a villain. Bakugou.

A/N | I changed it from villains to a single villian, hope that’s ok. Also, Anon, this request? This is big brain energy right here

To say you were dying would be an understatement.

The cruel rays of the sun beating down on the earth made it an absolute hell underneath the heavy bunny costume you were forced to don on, all thanks to a particular coworker who bailed on their shift today with an abhorrent excuse of⁠—you quote—“car trouble.” It was bullshit, but you weren’t the one calling the shots, not when your boss said you were to fill in for them despite your protests. Now, clad from head to toe in fluffy pink fur and hefty layers of fabric and foam, you suffocated from within a cocoon that gathered heat and sweat around your body. You were so letting your coworker have a piece of your mind the next time they showed up.

“Miss Bunny! Miss Bunny! Let us take a picture with you!” a circle of kids hollered, their grabby hands tugging your fur to seize your attention and even jump to pull on your ears. The only thing you have to thank this costume for is the fact it at least concealed the dreary expression on your face, masked by the mascot’s smiley, plastic facade.

You simulated a chipper voice not to break the guise. “Alright, Miss Bunny’s coming,” you managed as the kids pulled you in front of an assembly of parents that captured their cute little children posing with a mascot who most certainly desired to be anywhere else.

Just as their phones clicked and shuttered, a loud boom suddenly thundered behind you, grabbing everyone’s attention in the area. The parents looked up with gaped mouths at the smoke diffused in the sky and the whirring of rides that tottered off balance in the distance.

“Look! Up there!” Their kids pointed to the lone figure who stood atop the highest peak of the ferris wheel, the man shouting out curses and threats for all those beneath him to tremble and run in terror. You, however, simply grounded yourself, impassive underneath your costume and nearly numb at all the events transpiring around you.

You have got to be shitting me, you thought, eyes cast into a deadpan.

Just when you thought your day couldn’t get any worse.

.

.

“Ground Zero! Ground Zero!”

Bakugou winced at the deafening static blared into his right ear, where the intercom vibrated a frequency of hasty squalls from his sidekick. He pressed a button on the device with his right hand to relay the call, his left currently occupied gripping the collar of a thug he just knocked into submission after giving them chase through the alleys.

“Calm down, dumbass, I heard you the first fucking time,” he scolded, the clamor of sirens heard in the background of the other line, “What is it?”

“A villain is running amuck at the local fair!”

“What the hell?! That place is populated with people!” Bakugou’s eyes flared alert as the tone in his voice rose to a volume much more piercing than his sidekick’s. Unknowingly, the hold he had on the unconscious goon in front of him tightened while his mind conjured the next plan of action. With such a densely packed area of civilians, the villain will undoubtedly cause rampage and havoc if not dealt with immediately. And right now, he was still halfway across the city from where they held the local fair. Not wasting another second of his time, he tossed the thug off to the side and tied him up for the police to apprehend later.

“Evacuate as many people as possible before I get there! Make sure the fucking villain doesn’t damage any of the structures holding up the bigger rides!” he instructed his sidekick.

“Yes, sir, Ground Zero, sir!”

With that, he pushed the mic off on his comlink before propelling himself into the air thanks to the kinetic explosions emitted from his palms, blasting past buildings, and keen on seeing the villain’s imminent doom at his hand.

It’s through his breakneck speeds across the city that he arrived there in no time at all. He assessed the current damage in the area and leered at the gray smoke scattered in the air, eyeing the attractions that fell off their foundations. He eventually spotted a crowd of kids gathered around a big blur of pink that held its arms outward to shield them, even while a menacing figure slowly inched closer

“There you fucking are.” Bakugou fired forward, eager to rocket down from the skies and let the sole of his boot greet the villain square in the face. On impact, the thug clobbered onto the ground, but was yet to be knocked out, gathering himself to stand and face the Pro Hero.

“It’s Ground Zero!”

The kids that surrounded you shrilled in joy at the explosion hero’s appearance into the fray, pulling on your costume to express their excitement.

“Look, Miss Bunny, Ground Zero’s here to save us!”

You peered through the small, meshed slits of your costume at the man before you, who had his grenade arms ready. He enacted confidence in his stance, challenging the dangerous villain without a single ounce of hesitation.

“Hey, Bunny Face!” he yelled, eyes never leaving his opponent.

Bunny Face? Your brows knitted together.

“Y-Yes?” you replied, voice coming out hoarse through the dense layer of foam.

“Get those kids out of here, I’ll handle the villain!” he commanded, and you did not disobey. You hastened the children by your side to make a break with you to the gates and safely meet their parents again, leaving the explosion hero to defeat the threat.

And defeat he did. The villain stood no chance against him as his attacks were all eluded by the Pro Hero’s high evasion and trained skills that had the goon edging the end of his rope.

“Screw this! I’m outta here!” he shouted, turning toward the opposite direction to attempt a getaway. However, Bakugou was already one step ahead of him, propelled and positioned in front of the enemy once more.

“If you’re going to escape, you shouldn’t yell your plans out loud, you fucking idiot,” was all the explosion hero gave, his hands effused with nitroglycerin that quickly emitted a radiating heat.

“Now DIE!!”

At his triumphant roar, his palms ignited a tremendous explosion forward, making clean contact on the villain who stood aimlessly at the flash of light that enveloped his body in a fever of nuclear energy. By the time the smog cleared, Bakugou was crossed with an unconscious, smoking body.

He dragged the villain toward the gate, where the police and his sidekicks gathered, along with the other fair-goers. They applauded him for his victory, saving the day once again. As the hero scanned through the crowd, he caught sight of you in the throng thanks to your bulky, bright costume that stuck out like a sore thumb. 

When your gazes met, you finally hauled the large bunny head off, revealing yourself to his red eyes that widened slightly upon grasping your true appearance.

He couldn’t help the stare fixed on you while you approached him, noting how your pretty eyes glistened, complimented by the balmy rosiness adorning your cheeks and the delicate flow of your hair that danced lightly at every step you took.

Fuck, she’s cute, his thoughts blurted out without him realizing you were now right in front of him.

“Ground Zero, right? Thanks for helping us back there. We didn’t know what we’d do without you,” you thanked, your words acting as the catalyst that finally brought his mind back to the cusp of reality. He shook his head in an attempt to ward off the flush of red reaching his cheeks due to your gratitude and the small proximity between your faces. Your voice—once veiled by that abominable voice box in your suit that did no justice to how sweet your tone was—did not help him maintain his indifferent facade. He opted to turn his head to the side for now.

“N-No problem,” he cursed at the way his deep timbre stuttered out his reply.

“No, really, thank you! I didn’t know how long I could protect those kids, but you managed to come in at the right time before things got bad!” you expressed your gratefulness while inching closer, much to his dismay.

“Look, it’s nothing, alright?! I’m a hero, it’s what I fucking do,” he brazenly stated, projecting as much poise as he could muster despite finding the dazed gloss in your eyes, and the way you gingerly pushed a strand of hair behind your ear, cute. Just even a peek of your soft-looking lips in his peripheral vision was enough for his demeanor to betray him.

Calm the fuck down, Ground Zero, he urged himself.

“What’s wrong? Do I look OK?” you called out his series of glances, subconscious about how you appeared after staying hidden beneath the sweltering hot ensemble for the majority of the afternoon. In your head, you thought you must be a complete mess in front of him, with your hair strewned all around and face a bright, crimson hue. However, Bakugou saw differently, and through his eyes he tried to fathom how one could still look so pretty in spite of that cumbersome costume you wore.

“You look fucking fine,” he assured, though his words were an understatement in comparison to the rampant thoughts imbued in his head. A smile lined your lips thanks to his affirmation.

“Oh, here, have this!” You reached your pink pad of a hand into the front pocket of your costume’s overalls and pulled out wads of yellow tickets. “Some free admittance tickets for the fair! Maybe you can use them when it opens up again.”

You offered the stack to him at which he was going to reject and cooley state he didn’t have time for shit like that, but he pulled his brakes upon realizing something.

“You.. work here, right?” he asked, though it should be obvious considering the hefty costume no regular person would wear on a hot day like this. Or on any day for that matter. The bunny honestly was, without a doubt in his mind, quite fucking hideous. However an endearing girl like you got roped into this job was a mystery to him, but he eventually received an explanation.

“Yes, though I’m not usually the one wearing the mascot costume. My coworker bailed today, so I was forced to take their place,” you answered, mentally pained when remembering what you had endured throughout this hellish day.

“Your coworker must be an ass.”

“Oh tell me about it,” you agreed with an exasperated sigh leaving your lips. “Anyways, I usually work at a game stall next to the ferris wheel.” You pointed to said attraction that was somehow still standing in one piece despite all the chaos that transpired today.

“You’re welcome to visit me if you want, Ground Zero,” you said, and at that, Bakugou gladly took the tickets from your hands and accepted your proposal, knowing it meant he could see your pretty face again.

“Fine, but when you see me, it’s Katsuki. Bakugou Katsuki,” he informed, babbling about how you couldn’t call him by his hero name or risk bringing him unnecessary attention he most certainly didn’t need to deal with during his free time. Though in actuality, he just wanted you to be familiar with him and utter his name in that syrupy voice of yours that sounded like melodies to his ears.

You giggled, the laughter coming from your lips saccharine and the expression on your face rivaling a meadow of flowers with the colorful bloom in your eyes.

“Alright, Bakugou Katsuki.”

And then you finally thought that maybe today wasn’t so bad after all.

Ending Notes | I hope this request was ok! If any of you want to request something of your own, feel free! My ask box will stay open until whenever

[dabis-girl]

Living Arrangements ~ Dabi x reader x Hawks

𝗔/𝗡: Only I would come back from an extended hiatus with a fick that on one asked for. This is my blog and an attempt at chasing serotonin so ima write to my hearts content. And also I spent way to much of my time looking for a font app that was worth a damn for my ✨asetheic✨ so I care at least a little 🤷🏾‍♀️

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬/𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: 𝐬𝐞𝐱, 𝐩𝐨𝐥𝐲 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩, 𝐩𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐬𝐞 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤, 𝐬𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐝 𝐝𝐞𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐧𝐢𝐩𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐮𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐚 𝐬𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐥𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐩𝐞𝐭 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲.

*𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐦𝐟 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐭 𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐝 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐥 𝐬𝐞𝐱 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐞 *

“Fuck, what time is it?” You said looking to your boyfriend who was hovering above you, shirtless with his fingers tucked underneath the elastic of your shorts.

“Does it matter?” He replied tugging your shorts down your thighs.

“ Yes, I have a class in at- in two minutes.” You said pushing him off before scrambling to his desk that was littered with trash and weed crumbs, you opened the computer to log in to class. Behind your boyfriend swiftly pulls your shorts down while you are entering the meeting password. “Dabi fucking sto-” you protested slightly before you felt him press into your surprisingly inviting pussy. Dabi let out a low groan as he bottomed out inside of you and the piercing at the tip of his dick nestled against the opening of your cervix, but he didn’t move.

“Dabi.” You whined pushing your hips back against him, completely forgetting your class.

“ Shutdaup, finish longing into your class.” He instructed and as he sat in the desk chair keeping himself sheathed inside of you.

Following his instructions, you entered the class and kept your camera off. But you knew that wouldn’t last long Dabi encouraged you to turn on your camera and you had to frame it perfectly so that he couldn’t be seen. Now that you were sitting his dick was rubbing your insides differently. It was hard to keep a straight face as you kept shifting around, Dabi’s fingers were digging into your hip trying to still you. He gritted his teeth trying to keep his composure as your walls quivered around him. Every so often you would back over your shoulder at him, begging him with your eyes. Eventually, he cut you a bit of slack, snaking his hand between your legs to toy with your clit. You placed your forehead on your hands in an effort to conceal your expressions from the camera

“Focus.” He said tapping his finger to the desk

It was hard to focus on biochemistry with your boyfriend’s massive dick marinating inside of you and the pads of his fingers relentlessly you couldn’t help but wonder if your face was showing through on the screen or if anyone was even paying attention. You were knocked out of thought by your boyfriend shifting underneath you causing a whimper to fall from your lips and immediately you looked to the screen to see a few faces of awe and thankfully the professor said nothing but you knew that would come back to haunt you if she ever watched the class recording. Dabi continued rubbing circles on your clit and he was driving you crazy and it wasn’t long before your cunt was spasming around his cock

“What if I just fucked you right here on this camera in front of all of your precious peers and that uptight professor.” He chuckled as his hands ran up to your breasts to tweak your nipples causing you to start rocking your hips back and forth. “Fuck,” he moaned. “Yeah, that’s what you want right?” He teased still letting you rock yourself on him. You could stop your eyes from rolling to the back of your head and your mouth lolled open. “Jesus fucking christ cut the fucking camera before I embarrass you doll.” His voice was shaky as he dug the tips of his fingers into your hips.

Before you had gotten the chance to turn your camera off Dabi slammed your laptop shut, bucking his hips so that the tip of his dick pressed flush against the opening of your cervix. His bottom lip was tucked between his teeth trying to keep his composure as profanities fell from his mouth. Not a word was spoken as he proceeded to lift you up before slamming back down of his dick eliciting a yelp from you he did this a few more times before instructing you to get up. He positioned you so that you were leaving over with your face pressed against the mattress with a firm grasp on the back of your neck so that he could take you from behind. Lining himself up with your dripping entrance he was at a point where he could no longer keep his composure his hips snapped against yours at an unbearable pace. You had inched yourself up enough to the point to where your hipbones rutted into the box spring, the slight feeling of discomfort meant nothing with the way Dabi was mercilessly pounding you into the mattress.

At this point he had your right leg hiked up on the bed as he pistoned himself inside of you. Reaching around he gave your clit a few harsh slaps before continuing to rub you. You moaned uncontrollably at his actions knowing that any advantage you had was gone, he had a way of tuning your body like an instrument. He was like a guitarist tuning and plucking the strings of his instrument. You were working up a release when you heard the door open and shut, you weren’t worried knowing it could only be Dabi’s roommate Keigo. His presents excite you causing your cunt to flutter around the dick inside of you even more gaining Dabi’s attention.

“Ah- Keigo fuck she’s happy t-to see you.” Dabi’s words came out broken as he proceeded to plow into your sopping core.

“ Keeeiii-gooo,” You said with delight in your voice.

Dabi. Keigo and you had a mutual agreement, Dabi was your boyfriend originally and asked if you would ever be open to a threesome, at first you thought he meant bringing another girl into the bedroom which you weren’t opposed to but you were taken back when he mentioned Keigo. The first time you were all together it was better you could ever imagine, their unrelenting hands all over you. It was just better this way always having someone by your side, having all your perverted little fantasies filled by having dick available to you at all times. Simply put you were more than fulfilled.

“ I thought I heard you guys in here.” Keigo smiled. “I have some time to kill before this exam,” He began pulling his phone out of his pocket to check the time. “Mind if I join?” He said while climbing up into the bed, the question was directed more at Dabi than you. Keigo proceeds to pull his shirt over his head exposing his perfectly chiseled chest, meanwhile, Dabi had withdrawn himself from you completely for the impending position change. “She came yet?” Keigo asked as he situated himself at the head of the bed leaning against the wall with his legs spread. “C’mere little bird.” Dabi’s grip on your neck released as he allowed you to crawl up the bed to greet Keigo. You gave him a kiss before cuddling up to him.

“She came once already, I wonder how many she’ll give us today,” Dabi said as a devilish smirk crept across his face while he pumped his dick. Keigo positioned you so that you were leaning with your back against his chest and were sprawled open Keigo made quick work of pulling your shirt over your head to gain access to your budding nipples. With one hand he was tweaking your nipples while the other trailed down between your legs to manipulate your throbbing clit.

“Oh, my little birdy is soaking.” He said pulling back his hand to give your aching cunt a few taps. He sunk two fingers into your pussy before spreading them and pulling them out, your hips involuntarily chased his fingers while you whimpered at the emptiness, and the boys couldn’t help but notice.

“Aww, Keigo don’t tease her,” Dabi smirked crawling up onto the bed and positioning himself so that his hips lined up with yours. He then began to tap the head of his dick agist your clit and dipping himself between your folds gathering your slick. Your whimpers snowballed into full-blown moans and you knew what he was doing, he wanted you to beg.

“D-Dabi.” You whimpered writhing in Keigo’s arms. “ fuuck.” you proceeded to moan as needed to be filled. “Please Da-ah.” You couldn’t even get it out all the way before Dabi shoved his dick back inside of you.

Dabi’s pace was relentlessly paired with the stimulation coming from Keigo you knew that you would last much longer. Your light whimpers morphed into moans that Keigo swallowed as he pressed his lips to yours. Of course, Dabi couldn’t have that your little mons were like music to his ears so he thrust himself inside of you so hard that you yelped and he could feel your pussy tighten around him causing a gutteral moan to fall from his lips.

“Oh my God I can feel you slutty little pussy sucking me in.” Dabi breathed. Keigo took that as a sign to apply some more pressure to your sensitive bud and you clamped down harder on dabi’s dick. His thrust were getting sloppier as he reached his edge.

“Are you gonna cum little slut?” Keigo teased peering down at you with half-lidded eyes, blonde tufts falling into is face. “Come on princess are you gonna come for me? You look so good when cum.” His words paired with the way dabi was snapping his hips were enough to send you over the edge.

“Oh fuck she squirted.” Dabi gasped before went over the edge himself filling you up in the process. Your cunny was still squeezing him as he tried to pull out.

“I loved to help you get cleaned up little bird but I have to book it to the testing center.” He leaned down and planted a kiss on your forehead. “But I’ll be back for you little one.” He shifted off the bed and you could plainly see the tent pitched in his pants. “Make sure she’s alive when I get back yeah?”

[one-boring-person]

Requested by: @phantomshadow13

I'm sorry it's a bit short, but I hope you like it!😊💛

Keep It.

John Rambo (Rambo II/III) x reader

Warnings: very vague female nudity

Context: I've set this just after the second movie, with the idea that the reader and John worked together during the events of said movie, and have shacked up in an inn type thing somewhere for a little while

Masterlist

By the time I'm finished in the bathroom, John is already sat on the edge of the small bed, tracing over the healing scars on his hands and arms, head tilted in quiet contemplation. His hair hangs into his face, no longer held back by the filthy strip of cloth he used before, shielding his expression from my view as I go further into the dingy little room, heading straight for the battered vanity table. Looking into the cracked mirror, I run a finger over the ugly scar twisting along the line of my jaw, grimacing at the mark.

Sighing, I step away and strip off, taking up a nearby tank top and pulling it on over my bruised body, donning my underwear once more as I comb my fingers through my knotted hair, glad that I managed to get it clean again. I grunt in frustration as my fingers catch a few times, the strands pulling painfully on my scalp, particularly where a healing cut is concealed, near my temple which elicits a sharp wince from me. At this, I notice John look up at me, his brow furrowing as he sees me, his drawn face creasing into a look of amusement as he reaches beside himself to pull something into his lap.

"Hey, (Y/n)? Think that might be mine." He informs me, gruff voice lighter than it's been for days.

"Huh?" I look at him in the mirror in confusion.

"Your shirt. It's mine." He clarifies, leaning back on his hands on the bed.

Frowning, I glance down at myself, only now realising that he is right, the black shirt hanging loosely around my smaller frame, the garment made to fit snugly around the veteran's toned torso, rather than my curves. Blushing furiously, I fiddle with the hem of it, pulling at it so it covers me a little better, given that the neckline dips quite low on my chest. John only chuckles, lidded eyes watching me lazily from where he is.

"Keep it." He tells me, shaking some hair from his face.

"Thanks, sorry." I mutter, embarrassed, going to the bed, where I sit on the other side.

"Don't worry about it." John reassures me, turning to face me, "I do have one thing to ask, though." 

Curious, I look over at him, resting against the headboard, ignoring the creak it lets out under my weight; everything in this tiny inn creaks with added weight, but at least the place was affordable for two ex-soldiers returning from a harrowing mission in the jungle.

"What's that?" I question, cocking my head.

My eyes widen as he lifts his other hand, heat rushing to my face as I see the bra dangling from his finger.

"When did you get this?" He asks, lifting an eyebrow, "I thought you only had one with you."

Struggling for words at first, I feel my mouth open and close before I manage to say anything.

"Er, when we got those new clothes, three days ago. It was going cheap, and my other one was ruined in the jungle…" I hastily explain to him, flushing at the thought of explaining this to my companion.

John nods, biting back a grin as he admires the piece of clothing, running a finger over it, an action that is oddly intimate, particularly when he flicks his eyes up to meet mine after, lip twitching up into a smirk.

"It's nice, I like it." He compliments, placing the bra down on the floor as he lies back in the bed, pulling the cover over his muscular body.

"Thanks?" I say, confused as I do the same, aware of the awkward space between us, doing my best not to acknowledge it.

"No problem.".

We stay quiet for a little while, listening to each other breathe, doing our best to ignore the biting cold that has crept into the room. The thin covers do nothing to insulate us, leaving us both shivering after seconds of trying to get to sleep.

"You cold, too?" He eventually asks, voice husky now. 

"Yeah." I affirm, forcing down the butterflies that came to life in my stomach upon hearing him speak.

He doesn't reply immediately, instead shuffling around a lot, rocking the bed a little as he does so. After a moment, I feel his arm snake around my waist, hesitantly flexing as he pulls me back, hand spread on my stomach. I don't say anything, only too happy to oblige to his touch as he wraps his body around mine, his chest pressing flush against my back, the other arm coming round to hold me tighter. Warmth starts to seep into me as I relax into him, breathing in his familiar scent as I do so, placing one of my hands on his as we lay like that, chests moving in unison.

John presses his face into my hair, legs intertwining with mine, his usually tense body slowly relaxing until he's lax under my touch. Smiling to myself, I try to recall the last time I saw him so comfortable and unstressed, enjoying this a lot as he lightly presses a kiss to my head.

"Thanks for being there, (Y/n)." He murmurs into my hair, squeezing me gently to reinforce this.

Leaning back into him, I rub my thumb over his knuckles, feeling over the rough callouses.

"No problem, John. I'll always be there." I reassure him, kissing his arm where it lies near my head, "Thanks for being there for me."

"Always." He replies, before the two of us lapse into silence, eventually drifting off together.

[alrightberries]

strawberries and cigarettes (always taste like you)

❈ pairing: levi ackerman x reader

❈ genre: angst ❈ word count: 4k

❈ summary: Levi celebrates Christmas Eve the only way he knew how: getting drunk and high on a rooftop while thinking about you.

❈ trigger warnings: drinking and smoking. mentions of violence, gore, blood and death. brief mention of sex. profanity.

a/n: canon compliant but also kinda not? idk if they have cigarettes in the aot/snk universe or if they celebrate christmas so just roll with it.

Smoke puffed out of Levi’s lips, slowly dissipating in the chilly December night. The breeze that passed by caused goosebumps to rise on his skin, a product of the winter’s unforgiving coldness, and the thought of getting off the rooftop where he sat in silence briefly crossed his mind. His office wasn’t that far and it wouldn’t take that long to quickly grab his coat, but the longer he stayed and stared at the dark sky, the more he found himself not caring about the cold breeze or the below zero temperatures. 

He took another puff from the cigarette in his hand, eyes drifting towards the barracks where the rest of the regiment most likely was at this hour. The torches and lamps scattered around the base glowed a warm orange-y yellow, a contrast to the whites and blues of the snow and darkness. It looked gorgeous, almost, and Levi silently chuckled to himself at the sickening thought of finding anything beautiful at this fucked up time of year.

Christmas Eve.

A time for friends. A time for family. A time for people to gather around the fireplace and drink warm beverages as they sang songs, told stories, and eagerly waited for the stroke of midnight to open and exchange their gifts.

What a load of bullshit.

Christmas Eve was Levi’s version of a pain in the ass. It was a holiday filled with a bunch of cadets greeting him with a warm and cheery ‘Merry Christmas, Captain’ every time he passed them in the halls, and he would only respond with either silence or a brief nod of acknowledgement. Not to mention, it was also the time where Hanji would try to get him to celebrate different festivities in an attempt to cheer him up. 

It was technically a week-long headache for Levi, with the eccentric soldier- for an entire seven days prior to Christmas- trying just about everything in the book in attempts to get him to sit around the fire with the other squad leaders or even do something as small as switch out tea for hot chocolate to match the holiday spirit. It seemed like Hanji’s excessive invitations would always get worse around Christmas Eve, but of course, it never worked.

Levi took a swig of the whiskey he’d brought with him onto the rooftop, extinguishing the cigarette he was holding and lighting a new one once it had reached its end, before taking another deep inhale of the stick of nicotine.

Indeed, Christmas Eve was nothing but a pain for Levi.

Perhaps Hanji thought of him as lonely. Maybe Erwin had even just half a mind to worry about his well-being. But truth be told, Levi did celebrate Christmas Eve in his own little way: at around 10 o’clock at night, without fail, Levi would make his way onto the highest rooftop of their current base carrying nothing but whiskey, nicotine, and strawberries. From there, he would drink and smoke until midnight came, at which point he would start to eat the strawberries he’d brought. Then he would drink and smoke some more until he felt like his liver couldn’t handle it anymore, before eventually making his way back to his quarters at 4 o’clock in the morning and attempt to get his drunk and high mind to rest.

It was his fucked up little Christmas Eve tradition. 

The first year Hanji had noticed that Levi wasn’t around the base for their Christmas Eve celebration, they went around asking people if anyone had seen him, to which everyone would reply with ‘No, I haven’t seen him, sorry.’ When the second year came around, Hanji once again noticed that Levi was gone and no one had seemed to know where he was. So when the third year came around, they waited for him to leave his office and stealthily followed him around the base to find out exactly where Levi runs off to during the holidays. Hanji got caught, of course, and by the third time they’d gotten caught (and almost strangled each time) they knew it was best to stick to pestering him rather than following him.

Levi grimaced at the memories of Hanji trying to follow him around, him sensing it immediately and going around the base in an attempt to shake them off his tail, failing, and eventually just resorting to telling them off (Oi, four-eyes, how much longer do you plan to stalk me like a creepy old pervert?)

He sighed.

He wasn’t always like this. He used to enjoy Christmas Eve and doing all the cliche holiday traditions that came with it; sitting around the fireplace with Isabel and Farlan and playing the guitar, pretending not to care about their tone-deaf voices as they sang their own version of holiday songs, never really knowing the lyrics but knowing the tune and making up words to accompany the melody as they go.

Where did he go wrong?

It was around his second bottle of whiskey and his second (or third? He couldn’t remember but didn’t really care at this point) packet of cigarettes when Levi’s fuzzy mind would finally unlock the memories he’d kept at the very back of his mind- a place where he couldn’t reach them and they couldn’t reach him. Memories he’d repressed years ago, never to be thought of, never to see the light of day. Except on Christmas Eve.

He closed eyes as he exhaled, lying down on the rooftop’s snow-covered shingles as he carefully set down the bottle of whiskey next to him, just within his reach. He went through cherry-picked memories of his life Underground once again, relishing in the warmth and happiness he once felt when he was with Isabel and Farlan. But at the very corner of each memory, always within his peripheral vision, was a fuzzy character- a person, no doubt- laughing. Smiling. Holding his hand. Playing with his hair. Kissing him good night. Bandaging his wounds. Showing him tricks with a knife. Making tea. Talking with Isabel and Farlan.

He took another swig of the bottle of whiskey, eager to make the fuzzy memory vivid in a way that only the drink that burned his throat could do. His heart skipped a beat as the blurry edges and lines he’d superimposed into his own mind cleared and revealed the one person that made this living hell a bit less terrible, and the only reason why he ever did his little Christmas Eve tradition.

For a moment, it felt like he was floating on air as he finally got a good look at the character that he’d tried so hard to erase from his mind but never could. His mind may have forgotten but his body still remembered, and he felt the tips of his fingers tingle not from the cold but from the memories of a touch, a touch so endearing, a touch so warm, a touch that felt like home. A touch that was unmistakably you.

Mind fuzzy from the alcohol and head just a little light from the nicotine, Levi can faintly remember the moments he’d shared with you during his time in the Underground.

He remembers being homeless after Kenny had left him, then meeting you as you both ran into each other- quite literally, at that- when you stole bread from a bakery and made a run for it as two angry adults chased after you, cutting him a deal that if he helped you get out of it alive then you would share your measly loaf of bread with him. He remembers teaming up with you from that day onward and watching each others’ backs, sleeping in alleyways and taking shifts for safety, rummaging through garbage cans for food before Levi decided that enough was enough and robbing a stall so you both could eat that day. 

Faintly, he also remembers the day he joined a gang that promised him food, shelter, and a steady paying job if he could prove how strong he was by beating up a rival gang member. He remembers getting jumped by three other people as he beat up the man he was told to pummel, fighting them off and winning without so much as a sweat. He remembers the gang he wanted to join eagerly inviting him after the fact, and he agreed on the condition that you came along too.

He remembers the first time he’d taken a shower after years of being filthy, and how clean and fresh he felt without the dirt and grime caking his clothes and his skin. He remembers hearing the door to his small room open- knowing that it was you- and turning around so he could marvel at how clean he felt. But his words died on his tongue as he took a look at you, hair clean, face visible, dirt free, and looking ever-gorgeous in the clothes he’d bought you the day before using his blood money. The clothes weren’t fancy in any way at all, just simple clothes that he bought on a whim when he realized that you’d been wearing the same unwashed garments for years, but he remembers it was enough for him to decide that, even though he didn’t understand what it meant when his heart sped up and the tips of his ears started to burn whenever he was around you, he liked looking at you when were clean. He liked being clean.

He remembers the first time you kissed him. He was sat on the bed of your shared room, gritting his teeth as you stitched up a cut on his forehead and berated him for being so careless, being too confident, on one of the jobs his boss had assigned him. He finished the job, of course, his ability to get the job done without fail being the main reason why he was assigned so many assignments in the first place, but it didn’t make you less angry when he walked into the room with bruised knuckles and a large gash on his forehead. He remembers staying silent, breathing through the pain of what was essentially surgery with no anesthesia as your berating slowly died down and he could finally see in your eyes the worry you tried to conceal with anger. He remembers taking your hand in his after you’d finished cleaning up the materials you used to administer first aid, gently pulling you down to sit next to him as your hands reached out and cradled his face, careful not to touch the freshly sewn skin as he slowly leaned in until his lips met yours.

He remembers the first time he had sex with you, how it was nothing short of awkward and clumsy as two teenagers tried to figure out what goes where and how to do this and that. You were both each others’ first, that much he knew, and though the first time wasn’t as hot and steamy as everyone had worked it out to be, he still enjoyed it because it was you. He remembers cradling you in his arms that night as you fell asleep, a small smile on your peaceful face, and he made his first silent promise that night: that he’d do anything within his power to keep you safe and happy.

He remembers Farlan and the support he gave as Levi worked his way up to a higher position in the gang’s ranks, inevitably becoming the leader through his skills and hard work (a result of the second silent promise he’d made to himself: that he would work hard and become successful enough that you wouldn’t have to lift a finger to live a decent life.) He remembers taking you out of your small shared bedroom and moving you to an actual house that you could call your own; it was barren and filthy and needed a lot of tender love and care, but it didn’t matter- as long as you were with him, he was home. 

He remembers getting his hands on some ODM gear through the black market, training Farlan to become his right-hand man as you stayed within the base and administered first-aid to any member of his gang that needed it. He refused to let you learn how to use the gear, fearing that if you were to be seen doing his dirty work with him then you would become a target of both rival gangs and the Military Police. You didn’t mind, perfectly comfortable with staying at home and handling the more business side of things that involved pay distributions and document blackmails.

He remembers meeting Isabel that fateful day she barged into your home, scaring away the thugs who chased after her and accepting her into the group, your odd little family of dysfunctional orphans now complete.

He remembers spending Christmas Eve with his little family, sitting around the fireplace as you laughed at one of Farlan and Isabel’s stories, hand tightly clutching his as he silently reveled in the peace and happiness he managed to find in the least happy and least peaceful city within the walls. He remembers you telling him to close his eyes as the clock struck midnight, eagerly placing a cardboard box on his hands and apologizing for not wrapping it because you couldn’t afford the wrapping paper anymore, money already spent on the gift itself. He remembers his heart swelling as he opened the box, a beautiful porcelain tea set staring back at him as Isabel and Farlan proudly proclaimed that they also got him a copper kettle and some quality tea leaves to match your gift. He remembers scolding the three of you for spending so much money on such lavish gifts, but you dismissed him and said that it was alright, the little extravagance and months of saving being well worth his present for Christmas and his birthday (which were, coincidentally, the same day).

He remembers the Christmas Eve after that. He remembers the three of you shyly apologizing for not getting him a gift, still recovering from your lavish spending the year before, and he said it didn’t matter because he bought whiskey and cigarettes to share. Faintly, he could still hear Farlan asking him what the hell cigarettes were, and he explained that since the whiskey itself was expensive, he couldn’t afford cigars and instead opted for the cheaper synthetic version of it. He remembers being sat on the roof as you laughed and drank and smoked until sunlight peeked through the gutters on the ceiling of the Underground, clumsily making your way back inside your home to sleep (really, it was mostly you, Isabel, and Farlan who were clumsy. Levi had a high alcohol tolerance and though he grumbled about having to always babysit the three of you when you drank, he always made sure that you were all tucked into bed and snoring away before he himself went to sleep.) He remembers it becoming a tradition for your little family, something that you did every Christmas Eve after that.

He remembers the mysterious nobleman who sat in his little carriage, offering a job to Isabel, Farlan, and himself in return for a generous fee and citizenship to Wall Sina. He remembers rushing home and relaying the news to you as you held his hand, happy that they would be able to go above ground, a privilege that few had. He remembers kissing your forehead and promising to use the money that came with the job to buy you citizenship as well, promising that he would take you above ground and show you the sky. He remembers you crying, tears of joy falling down your face as you kissed him, silently thanking whatever higher being there was that you met Levi.

He remembers his last day in the Underground, gearing up with Isabel and Farlan as they prepared to execute their plan of getting “arrested” by the Survey Corps and taken above ground to finish the job. He remembers your sad eyes and the way you tried to conceal them with a smile, yet he saw right through your act and promised he’d be back for you. He remembers sarcastically asking what souvenir you wanted for him to bring back after the job was done, and you kissed his nose before saying you wanted strawberries, a rare delicacy in the Underground but commonly found above. He remembers agreeing, giving you one last kiss farewell before they set out to do the job.

He remembers sitting on the barracks’ rooftop with Isabel and Farlan, admiring the heavens. He remembers being in awe of how beautiful the moon and stars were, the way they twinkled and shined in the darkness of the night. It was the first time any of them had ever seen the sky. He remembers smiling as he sat between his two closest friends, a feeling of wonder and serenity washing over him as he made another silent promise to himself that night: that he would show you the sky the way he sees it now, with your little family.

He remembers the horror he felt the day after when he rushed back to Isabel and Farlan in the battlefield, finding nothing but Isabel’s severed head and Farlan’s torso on the ground. He remembers the pain, the anguish, the despair that ran through him as he yelled and cried, killing the titan that murdered his friends and ripped away half of his family before collapsing on the ground, realizing that there was no point because he was too late. He remembers Erwin telling him that he knew what he was up to all along, but he was more than welcome to stay in the Survey Corps if he so desired. He remembers agreeing numbly, mind still reeling at his loss. He remembers realizing it had almost been an entire year since he last saw you, but he was too ashamed and in too much grief to come back empty-handed. He had failed the job. He had no money. He had no citizenship for you. And he didn’t have Isabel and Farlan anymore.

He remembers working hard for the next couple of months, realizing that the longer he stayed alive the more money they would pay him. He remembers the day he realized he finally had enough money to buy you citizenship, immediately requesting for time off on Christmas Eve, planning to finally come back to you and fulfill his silent promises. He remembers stopping by the local market, buying a fresh basket of strawberries as an apology for making you wait so long (and also because he still remembered your request), before heading to the Underground the day before Christmas to surprise you.

He remembers feeling nervous yet giddy as he walked to the location of your home, thoughts of finally seeing you for the first time in so long filling up his mind. Nervousness was replaced with worry the closer he got to your home, and he realized that something was horribly wrong. He rushed to the house, fresh bodies littering the front steps as he tried not to step on them. Blood dripped around him, and he knew that whatever happened, happened recently. The door was already open, and Levi wasn’t sure what he was expecting as he cautiously stepped inside but he already feared the worst. Just then, he heard a loud thump followed by a groan coming from your shared bedroom, and Levi rushed inside. He remembers the way his heart stopped at the sight he saw: you, bleeding out on the floor, multiple stab wounds on your abdomen and struggling to breathe. He remembers dropping the basket he held, strawberries scattering around the floor as he rushed to your side, fear turning into panic as he clutched you in his arms.

“Levi,” he remembered you whispering with a weak smile. Your hand reached out to brush a stray strand of hair away from his face. “You came back.”

He remembers scoffing because of course he came back. He promised you he would.

He remembers trying to put pressure on your wounds but not knowing where to start because you had been stabbed so many times and there was only so much he could do since he only had two hands. He remembers you trying to stop him, telling him it was no use. He remembers yelling at you to shut up, okay? You’re not fucking dying on me. Not now. Not ever. 

He doesn’t remember crying, however. But he does remember you reaching out once more to wipe at his cheeks, and he was briefly aware that somehow his cheeks had gotten wet. He remembers you holding his hands that were still trying to put pressure on the wounds, begging him to stop, Levi, please. You and I both know it’s no use. 

He remembers the unmistakable sound of a grandfather clock’s bell, signaling the strike of midnight. He remembers holding your hand as you weakly looked up at his face, a small smile on your lips as you whispered “Merry Christmas and a happy birthday to you, Levi. I love you.” before your hands fell limp in his. 

He remembers collapsing, yelling out your name as he held your corpse in his arms. He remembers shifting, feeling an empty basket bumping against his leg, and he’s suddenly reminded of the strawberries he’d brought as he rushed to gather them all up with shaky hands and put them in the basket once more. “I brought you strawberries, just like you asked.” He remembered saying, pathetically placing it down next to your head. But it was too late. He was too late.

It was gang activity, most likely retaliation. He remembered the Military Police saying. You’re lucky, actually. They left just a couple minutes before you arrived.

He doesn’t remember what happened after that.

But he does remember that he broke all of his promises to you. He remembers that you never even knew that Isabel and Farlan were dead. He remembers that you never even got to see the sky or breathe in the fresh air. He remembers that you never even got to know what strawberries taste like. He remembers that he was too late. For you. For Farlan. For Isabel. 

He was always too late.

The feeling of something cold and wet on his cheeks snapped Levi from his reverie. He sat up, silently cursing the snow that fell on his face as his hands wiped at his cheeks, letting go of the bottle of whiskey in favor of blindly looking for the strawberries he’d brought up with him onto the roof. He felt numb. He wasn’t sure if it was due to the cold, the alcohol, the nicotine, or his own heartbreak at the memories he tried to suppress. He never allowed himself any time to mourn, instead choosing to keep all those memories under lock and key somewhere within the dark crevices of his mind, only to be opened on Christmas Eve, the day he lost it all.

The day he lost his entire family.

He shifts, suddenly aware of the small box in his pocket. As he took out and opened the small black velvety box, he noticed more snowflakes had melted on his cheeks, the gold ring staring back at his face for a few moments before he angrily closed it once more and shoved it back inside his pockets, its weight feeling as heavy as his heart.

He was too late.

Silently, Levi realizes that snow wasn’t falling. He realizes that the wet on his cheeks isn’t from the snow melting on his face, but rather, from his own tears as they slowly came down in gentle streams.

The bell tower rang throughout the base, signaling the stroke of midnight. Bitterly, he took a bite of the strawberries as he lied down once more, reaching for the bottle of whiskey.

Merry Christmas and a happy fucking birthday to me.

alrightberries © 2020. do not modify or repost.

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[wondernimbus]

a day in hogsmeade — ron weasley

pairing: ron weasley x female!reader

summary: ron weasley may be one awkward lad who can’t hold reader’s gaze for any more than ten seconds, but he is also terribly endearing. 

a/n: @glisseoo​ asked for some ron fluff so i shall deliver

requests are closed for now. please refrain from plagiarizing my work! 

"You do realize you've been staring at me for the past minute, right?"

The redhead next to her flushes the same hue as his hair and puffs his cheeks out, gaze skittering away. "I wasn't," he says indignantly, sounding far too defensive, snorting out a laugh as though the mere idea of it is outrageous. “Why would I be.. ha.. staring at you.. ridiculous.."

[Y/N] shakes her head, grinning.

Ron Weasley is one awkward lad; it has only taken her an hour into their date at Hogsmeade to realize this. Part of her had been expecting it ever since he'd come up to her in the Great Hall three days ago, a furiously blushing mess as he blubbered something about asking her out. Looking back on it, despite him having rambled on in front of her for about half a minute, all she can really remember—all she'd vaguely made out at that moment through his constant stammering—were the words "Hogsmeade" and "this Saturday" and "want to—um—go with me". 

She’d said yes, of course. Ron Weasley may be awkward, but she can't deny herself the pleasure of going on a date with a very cute—and apparently very funny, according to the rumors—redheaded boy. 

And to be honest, his awkwardness is quite endearing. [Y/N] finds herself laughing every five minutes or so whenever she spots him downright staring at her—and whenever she catches him, he always tears his gaze away and pretends to be preoccupied with something else.

Ron does it again now, as [Y/N] surveys the Honeydukes shelves and glances at him out of the corner of her eye. The effect is almost immediate; the moment her eyes land on his, he looks away, hand flying up to randomly pluck a box of—ah, Cockroach Clusters—off of the shelves.

"Interesting choice," muses [Y/N], turning around to properly face him, twiddling with a box of Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Beans in her hands. "Can’t say I’ve ever seen anyone pick up a box of Cockroach Clusters for their own enjoyment—it almost always has something to do with some sort of practical joke.”

Ron coughs and puts the box back on the shelf. "Was just looking."

[Y/N] purses her lips together to contain the giggles threatening to burst out from behind them. She smiles down at her feet for a moment, lips pinched in a poorly-concealed smile, and then gestures to the row of Cockroach Clusters. "Well," she shifts on her feet, "Have you ever tried them?"

Ron's eyes widen. He practically blanches and says, "Never. My brothers—Fred and George—tricked Percy into eating it once.. don't think he was the same ever since."

[Y/N] laughs at this. Ron looks up, seemingly pleasantly surprised at her reaction, and then laughs quietly under his breath, hand reaching up to rub the back of his neck. "That does sound like Fred and George," [Y/N] giggles. "Do you take after them?"

"Gah, no." They’ve started walking now, Ron keeping pace next to her in the narrow aisle, their shoulders brushing slightly. "Mum would have a heart attack. She’s got enough on her platter with two troublemakers in the family already."

[Y/N] raises her eyebrows and glances up at him. "You sure you aren't one? I’m in your Potions class, you know. I’ve heard you talk back to Snape plenty of times."

Ron flushes red not for the first time that day. "Can't really help it. He’s a bit of a git." And then he adds, "Sorry."

"Oh, don't be." [Y/N] waves a hand in the air as though to brush it off. "You’re not wrong. Can’t keep his nose out of other people's business—you know he gave my friend detention once for disrupting his class when all he did was sneeze?"

"I remember that. Wasn’t that Ernie?"

"Exactly—Ernie Macmillan. Snape made him clean the trophy room."

Ron makes a sound in the back of his throat like a snort. "Ah. The trophy room. Probably didn't have much to clean, then. I scrubbed the bloody hell out of those trophies four years ago when I got detention."

[Y/N] laughs, nudging him lightly by the elbow. "And you say you're not a troublemaker."

This time, Ron doesn't blush beet red; he actually laughs, and [Y/N] is pleased at how he's managed to ease up a little. Shrugging, he admits, "Suppose I am. Not as bad as the twins, though, as I’m sure you know."

"I and the rest of the castle," [Y/N] affirms, giggling. They’ve reached the cashier by now—and speak of the devil; the Weasley twins are standing in line, though their backs are turned. "Isn’t that them?" asks [Y/N] curiously, looking to Ron for confirmation.

But the sight she's met with is rather comical. All the color seems to have drained from Ron's face; he looks like he's seen a ghost. Gaping a little, eyes wide in what looks like panic, he clears his throat and says, "I think we should go."

But luck is not on Ron's side, because either Fred or George—[Y/N] can't really tell which one—turns around, and at the sight of their younger brother, beams widely and exclaims, "Ron! Fancy seeing you here, dear brother!"

"Fred," says Ron through gritted teeth, and then, once the other twin has turned around, "George."

"Shopping for sweets, aren't we?" grins George. 

And then, seemingly at the same time, their gazes land on [Y/N], who stands at Ron's side, amused. An identical flicker of surprise crosses the both of their faces before Fred manages to say, with his eyes darting between the two of them, "Is this what I think it is?" 

"Oh, my." George’s mouth has fallen open in an incredulous laugh. "Is ickle-Ronniekins on a date? with [Y/F/N], no less?"

[Y/N] side-eyes Ron to see that he has tensed and is glancing around as though in search for the nearest exit. She scoffs a little at the twins, and, sending them an exasperated look, scolds them by saying, "Oh, leave 'Ronniekins’ alone. He’s been nothing but sweet the entire day."

Their grins grow even wider. "Isn’t that right?" says Fred, tone still teasing. "Well, I must say: We're proud of you, Ronniekins. See you've finally found it in you to ask out the girl you've been obsessing over for two whole years now."

[Y/N]'s eyebrows rise up in intrigue. Ron's cheeks, meanwhile, flush an even darker shade of red. "I'm not—" he begins.

"And since you two are together—"

"We’re not—" Ron tries again. 

"—you ought to start teaching him how to play Quidditch, [Y/N], you being a Hufflepuff chaser and all," Fred continues smoothly. Up ahead by the cashier, someone has successfully made their purchase; the twins take a step back, moving up the line without even looking behind them. "Ron’s planning on trying out for the Gryffindor team next year, you see."

"What the—how do you know that?” Ron gapes. 

"We’d teach him ourselves," says George, sighing, "But Ron's temper is a little—ah—"

"Fiery?" Fred suggests.

"Let’s just say one time he grabbed my Beater bat in mid-air and whacked me upside the head with it."

An amused laugh leaves [Y/N]'s lips before she can even think about suppressing it. "Is that true, Ron?" she says, tone playfully scolding.

Ron rolls his eyes, grumbling, "That was after they jinxed my broom to let out farting noises every five seconds."

Another laugh. "Interesting," she hums. "Well, thanks for the tip, you two." And then, narrowing her eyes at them good-naturedly, "I’ll be sure to teach your brother Quidditch—with a method that doesn’t involve farting jinxes, of course."

Fred and George beam. They’re up next in line. "I bagsy best man at your wedding," Fred announces, swiveling around to face the cashier.

"No, I do—" argues George, turning around to pile up the sweets in his arms on the counter. 

Moments later, the twins are waving their goodbyes, all the while dramatically sobbing into their hands and saying something about their little brother growing up too fast. Fred pats [Y/N] on the shoulder as he passes by, saying in a hushed voice that he'd totally meant for Ron to hear, "Take care of ickle-Ronniekins for us."

And then [Y/N] and Ron are left in the Honeydukes shop, Ron with a flushed face and [Y/N] heavily amused. "That was.." she exhales, laughing as she slides her box of Bertie Botts' Every Flavor Beans across the counter. "Quite something. Are they always like that?"

"Every bloody waking moment," complains Ron, shoulders sagging as he practically deflates against the counter, leaning his hip on it. "Sorry about them, they're.."

"A bit much?”

"That’s an understatement," Ron comments, obviously still spiteful.

"Did you really hit your brother with his own bat?" she glances at him, eyes alight with genuine curiosity as she takes the paper Honeydukes bag from the shopkeeper with a polite "thank you". 

Making their way to the exit, Ron nods, his own eyes shining with a kind of fieriness that [Y/N] can't help but laugh at. Passionately, he says, "And I’d do it again."

She starts chortling at this, walking through the door as Ron holds it open for her. “Interesting group of brothers, you all are," she enthuses, smiling at him somewhat sympathetically once her giggles have faded. It’s still snowing outside; she pulls the ends of her scarf tighter around her neck.

[Y/N] purses her lips, falling quiet for a moment as though pondering over something, and then, her lips tugging up at the edges, she looks up at him and asks, "And have you really been obsessing over me for two years?"

Ron's eyes grow wide and they skirt away almost immediately, hand flying up to scratch the back of his neck like some sort of defense mechanism. "I—I don't—" he sputters out," I mean—not obsessed—" and then he pauses, as though to start over. Shoulders deflating, he mutters, eyes still downcast, "I've.. always found you really pretty, is all."

[Y/N] scuffles her feet against the ground. The smile tugging on her lips is far too insistent, so she just lets herself succumb to it and grin down at her shoes before she looks up at him, eyes alight with mirth, and says, "It's fine, Ron. That's really sweet of you." And because she has a feeling he doesn't want to talk about his—erm—feelings anymore, she asks, "Do you want to go into the Three Broomsticks next? Grab some butterbeer, maybe?"

Ron nods. But his eyes don’t fail to catch onto the way she’s rubbing her naked hands together—she’d forgotten her gloves. He doesn’t pause to ask and instead takes off his own immediately, handing them to her without quite meeting her eyes.

Despite the rush of gratitude this tiny act gives her (and the butterflies it lets loose in her stomach), she holds her palms out at Ron in a stopping gesture, hurriedly saying, “Oh, no—keep them, Ron, your hands will get cold—“

“Just take them,” Ron says, still abashed. “Can’t have you freezing to death.”

She pauses, another fond smile tugging on the corners of her lips, and then exhales defeatedly and takes the gloves from him, putting them on. “Well, I doubt I’d freeze to death,” she mutters, “but thank you.” Once the gloves have fitted snugly around her hands, she looks up at Ron, smiling softly, and says, “Ready to go, then?”

“Yeah, let’s—oh, blimey. I forgot. Wait here!”

Before [Y/N] even begins to register his words, Ron has disappeared and is dashing back into Honeydukes, leaving her standing outside, bewildered.

Isn’t he something else—leaving his date behind, alone in the snow. [Y/N] can’t help but laugh, giggling to herself as she clamps her hand over her mouth, earning strange looks from Hogwarts students passing by. 

Ron Weasley is awkward and a bit of a mess around her, but [Y/N] finds that it’s quite adorable. And it’s certainly an assurance to know that she’s not the only one venturing into unknown territory—this is her first date, after all. And to be completely honest, she’s enjoying it. Initially she thought she’d be having too hard of a time dealing with Ron’s overbearing awkwardness, but it’s quite the opposite, as she’s grown fond both of it and of him in general.

And that fondness only multiplies when Ron bumbles out of the Honeydukes shop a few minutes later, holding an entire block of wrapped chocolate in his hands, which he hands to her.

“Thought you might like it,” he says, abashed, only managing to hold her gaze for a few moments before his eyes are darting away again. “Would’ve bought it earlier.. got distracted..”

[Y/N] tells herself that the pink blush that is no doubt spreading across her cheeks is most definitely because of the cold and not because of a certain Ron Weasley.

Feeling a thousand things all at once—all of which (so be it) have something to do with Ron—she smiles, all crinkled eyes and dimpled cheeks, and stands on her tip-toes to press a kiss to his cheek.

Flushing, she pulls away. This time she’s not quite meeting his gaze, either, as she says, “Let’s get going, shall we?”

Without waiting for a response, she scurries away, cheeks a blazing shade of red as Ron stands there, hand coming up to brush against the spot on his cheek where she’d kissed him.

[starlightsearches]

His Pilot Ch. 5

Masterlist

Armitage Hux x Pilot! Reader (f)

Warnings: Language, angst.

AN: This one is a little short but I felt like this was a nice enough place to cut off. Chapter 6 will be out fairly soon since it's already half written!

I’ve been spying for the Resistance.

The air in your lungs solidifies, turning to ash as you freeze against him, like an animal in a trap. General Hux, a Resistance spy.

All those hours by his side, and you never knew—couldn’t read it in his palms when his hand rested in yours, or feel traces of it on his shoulders during any embrace. You couldn’t taste it, the lies on his lips when he held you in trembling hands and poured light into your empty and waiting soul.

How could he not tell you? How could you not know?

You’ve been blind. The answer comes as soon as you allow yourself to ask the question: Day. The general had always been so private about the purpose of these trips, and you’d ignored all the signs, too caught up in your own head to see what was right in front of you.

The general’s chest swells where you lay your cheek against it; he can’t stay still, his hands traveling over your arms with a feverish energy, his voice a low, urgent whisper.

“It’s alright. It’s alright. I’ve planned for this. We’ll return to the ship. You’ll tell the Supreme Leader that you have certain suspicions, and I’ll— and he’ll spare you, if you’re the one who tells him. You’ll be safe. It’s alright. You’ll be safe.”

Safe. The word disgusts you, and you force your way out of his arms, recoiling from him like you’ve been burned. Safe. Safe. Safe.

You’ve never wanted anything less.

And at such a steep cost. He’s offering you a half-life, one where he dies but takes more of you than you can live without. You won’t bear it. You need more time.

Forcing yourself out of his grasp, you search the cabin with frantic eyes and an unruly heartbeat—for what, you don’t know.

Until you see the blaster.

Someone must have forgotten about it. It might not even work, left behind after a mission as a defective piece of equipment, a bit of clutter for someone else to clean up, but you can’t worry about that right now.

The blaster rests heavily in your hand, the grip marks indented against your palm, the sharp edge of the trigger digging into the meat of your finger. You raise the weapon to eye level, focusing the sight on the center of the ship’s controls, willing your hand to stay still. You’ve never been that good of a shot, but there’s no way you can miss at such close range.

The control panel bursts into a shower of sparks, the blaster bolt peeling through the layers of wire and durasteel and machinery with ease, ripping apart what was whole and leaving a smoking cavern through the middle of it. The weapon falls as you move to shield your eyes, stepping back when the heat of it meets your skin. And then a different heat—Armitage’s hands at your waist, his arms encircling you, pulling you back from the ruined controls with enough desperation to pull you back in time.

You turn, read the dread in his eyes as he examines the panel’s mangled remains. He’s horrified.

“What did you just do?”

“If you contact the Order—if you give yourself up—I’ll tell them I knew. I’ll tell them I was part of it.” Your voice shakes as you cup his cheeks in your cold, aching hands. He looks at you, disbelief etched into every line and curve of his face, his long fingers encasing your wrists as he steps back, keeping you at a distance.

“Please—” he begs, softer now, “please don’t do this.”

His eyes shut tight to the world, breathing shallow and anguished, but he can’t stop it. Tears trail down his cheeks, gentle at first, then in a downpour. He thinks he’s saying goodbye.

You’re not ready for that.

What you have with him is new, and fragile, and . . . strange. It might not last. But you don’t want to go on without knowing. You want to see what grows from the seeds you have planted.

“We could run away.”

A sharp breath cuts through his chest as he drops his hands from your arms, folding in on himself, like the pain is eating him from the inside out; you take it as an opportunity to move closer. He has to feel it—your sincerity, the loyalty you have for him. It could be love. There’s no way to know just yet, but someday it could be love.

“We could. Together. The Resistance might help us, or we’ll . . . we’ll do something. Find somewhere to hide.”

“You don’t know what you’re saying.”

There’s lifetimes of abandonment behind those words, a skepticism that runs through his core. His fingers shake against yours, hands stiff with cold, and you hold them tighter.

“Maybe not—” you press the tips of his fingers against your lips, taste the leftover rain, let your lips trail down until you can kiss the center of his palm, urging him closer with each soft touch, “ but I know what I can’t live with, and what I can’t live without.”

His shoulders fall, lips parted in a soft sigh, the hesitant expression he wears overtaken by the slightest ray of hope.“What will we do?”

“We’ll go back to Day.”

You’re not sure what he’ll say when Day yanks open the heavy door of his estate as you and the general shiver, dripping wet on his front step. The corners of his mouth pull down into a frown, his eyes hard, the furrowed lines in his forehead much too deep for someone who smiles so freely.

He looks to the general, pursing his lips. “So, I assume you told her?”

Whatever you were expecting, it wasn’t that.

Hux sighs, watching Day with a pained expression, but the man makes no move to let you in, cocking his brow and crossing his arms over his chest. The two men stay locked like this, staring each other down, until Day gestures, holding his hand out as if to say go on.

The general folds, sending an apologetic look your way before resting his arm gently over your shoulder, pulling you in against his side, and your cheeks flush with heat at the surprising intimacy of the gesture.

“Please, Day, we need your help.”

Day pauses, dark brows curving thoughtfully over bright amber eyes; then he grins, ferociously, yanking both of you in through the door.

“Thank the Maker, general. I was beginning to think you’d never come around.”

He steps aside to reveal Alida, already waiting for you with a fresh pile of towels and blankets. Before you can manage to voice your surprise, she’s forced a warm cup of caff into your numb hands, fussing about with a towel and piling blanket after blanket over your shoulders until the shivering stops.

“Are you alright, my dear?” Day approaches you quietly as soon as Alida moves on, holding your face in both his hands like he’s inspecting you for damage. You nod, the stiffness in your cheeks melting away under the warmth of his touch.

“I’m alright,” you assure him, and feel that same assurance lift a heavy weight off your chest.

“I don’t say this lightly, darling,” he whispers, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face, “but you’re too good for him. You do know that, don’t you?”

Your eyes find Armitage in the dim light of the foyer. He’s holding his own cup of caff as Alida attempts to throw blankets over his shoulders, her arms too small to place them nicely, but he pays her little attention, scowling at the lack of distance between you and Day. Even in the darkness you can see his skin flush when you catch him staring, chewing on the inside of his cheek.

A smile that graces your lips, “I think you’re wrong.”

Hux is at your side again, trying to be subtle when he angles his body between yours and Day, “We need a plan, Day. We can’t stay on Arkanis for too long, the Order will come looking for us.”

“I’ll contact the Resistance and let them know you’re in need of protection, but it may take a few days for them to get back to me,” Day says, trying his best to conceal his grin, “but for now, you need to rest. Do you think you’re capable of that, general?”

“It’s just Hux, now, Day,” Armitage says, folding his hand into yours, looking down at you with too much affection, given the situation, “and I think I’ll manage.”

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[i-like-it-when-ju-sleeps]

I am the Apocalypse (Part 3)

Pairing: Jay Halstead x Sarah (OC)

Summary:  Takes place during Chicago Fire 3x18. Sarah is a doctor at Med and in a long term relationshp with Jay. She is at Med when the grenade goes off.

Part 1

Part 2 

The next hour was spent trying to help as many people as they could but at this point, they had seen everybody who needed to be seen and people were just really playing the waiting game. Sarah looked at the woman who was in the room with Hermann and came in, deciding to check on them.

“What you got?” She asked the two and Hermann answered instead of the woman.

“We need to patch in your boyfriend” he stated grimly, and the young woman nodded, getting her phone out.

“He was working with Marburg.” Sarah told the blonde woman as she listened to Jay’s information. “He injected himself with it.”

“What's Marburg?” Hermann asked.

“It's a viral hemorrhagic fever. The Soviets developed it as a biological weapon. Ask them which strain of the Marburg virus.”

“Yeah, which strain?” Sarah transmitted over the phone and listened intently before answering the woman. “Raven.”

“Okay. All right. Okay, so now I just have to see if he was past the incubation period and actually infectious.” She stated clearly and the doctor and the firefighter looked at her expectantly.  

“And if he was past the incubation period?” Hermann asked worriedly.

“It means Aleem was a walking biological weapon.” Diane announced and the three of them shared a look before glancing at all of the people outside.

“Alright,” Sarah sighed “Keep me posted, okay?” she asked the other woman before returning outside the room.  The ER was still dark and filled with smoke, people anxiously waiting against the walls. Right now, there was nothing left to do but wait, as everyone who could be treated had already been taken care of. Sarah sighed and sat down, a feeling of tiredness taking ahold of her now that she knew she couldn’t do anything more to help. She leaned against the wall and let her head fall backwards, a feeling of dizziness taking over and her head pounding. She lifted her hand to her forehead, where blood was coming out when the explosion happened. There was still fresh blood on the wound but it was not bleeding too much; She refused to believe that it was something serious. Still, she felt a bit nauseous but blamed it on the lack a clean air rather than a mild head injury. Will, noticing that she looked a bit pale, crouched in front of her and she perked up, looking at his concerned features.

“You okay?” he asked motioning to her forehead.

“Yeah….” She sighed “I’m fine. Just hit my head during the explosion.” She shrugged as if it wasn’t a big deal.

“And you still ran around for the past couple of hours? Not checking if it was serious?” Will frowned. She felt like a child being scolded.

“You know I’m a doctor, right?” she chuckled quietly. “If it really was serious, I would have noticed. I just felt dizzy because I’ve been on my feet for hours that’s all”

The man in front of her rolled his eyes and got a small light out of his pocket, checking her eyes.

“You could have a concussion, seriously you…”

“Seriously I’m fine stop fussing over me” Sarah cut him off, a little annoyed. She hated when people treated her as if she were made out of glass, and she did not want to have someone taking care of her when so many were in worse shape that she was. Still, she let Will grab bandages and securing one on her forehead, where the wound was finally stopping to bleed.

The young brunette stood up with a sigh once he was done, aware that he was still looking at her carefully, when movement got their attention. Hermann had just gotten out of the room with Diane Claman and wore a solemn expression.

“What is it?” Matt Casey asked worriedly from behind the two doctors.

“Not contagious” Hermann told everyone, a grin breaking onto his face. Sarah’s eyes widened slightly, and she let out a breath she didn’t even know she was holding.

“Influenza A tested positive, but the Marburg virus didn't have time to incubate. Whatever he had in his body died with him.” Diane then said, her helmet off. The crowd cheered, people letting cries of joy and relief. Sarah turned to Will and the two shared a bone-breaking hug, laughing as a way to let out the stress.

“Open up the ER” Will called out and Otis who was close happily complied. Over his radio, Matt informed the chief that it was all clear and cheers could be heard outside. Sarah looked over at Gabby who was still siting with the older man, Jim. She approached them and gave Gabby a side hug before looking at Jim.

“Ready to pull that thing out and get out of here?” She asked with smile and the man nodded gratefully. The two women helped him sit on a wheelchair and watched as a nurse started guiding him towards another part of the hospital. Before he left, he latched onto Gabby’s arm, thanking her for everything. Gabby blushed slightly and brushed it off quickly, watching him leave.

“You know” Sarah said watching her with a smile. “I still remember when you wanted to become a doctor”

“I sure have gone a long way, haven’t I?” Gabby answered with the same small smile.

“Yeah you have.” Sarah chuckled and gave her another hug.

“You know we still all miss you at the firehouse… You sure you don’t want to come back?” she joked

“As much as I miss all of you, I guess I was always meant to be there.” Sarah sighed looking over her shoulder at the doctors and nurses of Chicago Med who were walking around helping people out. Gabby was about to say something else when a very worried Jay made his way towards his girlfriend. He took a few long steps and engulfed the girl into his arms. Gabby left quietly, not wanting to disturb the two as Sarah’s arms went around her lover’s torso, burying her face into his neck. As they broke the hug, Jay’s hand went to her face, his eyes widening slightly at the blood on her forehead.

“It’s nothing” she reassured him with a soft smile. “I’m fine I promise”. Jay let out a deep sigh looking her in the eyes to make sure she was telling the truth before nodding and taking her into his arms again. As they broke their second hug, Will put his hand on his brother’s shoulder, and Jay turned to him, giving him also a tight hug.

It took them a long time to actually transport everyone to different wings of the hospital. Every member of the staff that had been in the explosion had been dismissed, but none of them had actually left, helping around as much as they could. Once the day was over, and every patient had been looked after, Sarah tiredly walked into the resting room, only to find Hannah Tramble, sitting down on the ground, tears in her eyes, and Will’s hand placed on her knee in an attempt to comfort her. Sarah gave the two a week smile, sitting cross legged across from them.

“One hell of a first day huh?” she asked Will, although her tone made it clear that she wasn’t expecting an answer. It was a dark question to end a dark day.

 Sarah had finally been able to go home and shower, to wash away the grime, dust and blood from the day. As she wiped the fog on her mirror, she took a look at her reflection. She looked pale, her skin contrasting with her dark brown hair, but also with the purple under her eyes. And on the top of her forehead, hidden among her hairline, there was a purple bruise, on which stood a red angry line. The young woman sighed before concealing her eye bags, applying a bit of makeup and going to her bedroom.

Jay sat on the edge of the bed, simply waiting for her to come out. He hadn’t really been able to talk to her since this morning, as both of them had been busy. He looked up as she entered the room, noticing the tired eyes of his girlfriend.

“We don’t have to go out, you know?” he said quietly “We could stay here and rest if you want to.”

“It’s fine” Sarah answered softly “Everyone is going out and I really need something normal today.” she explained.

Jay stood up and walked towards her, stopping only and inch from her. She could feel his breath as he looked at her, his hand slowly grabbing hers.

“I was so worried about you. When I heard, I hoped that you weren’t there. I just…” he struggled to find his next words, so he settled for simpler ones that he thought conveyed his feelings as best as possible. “I love you”

“I love you too” Sarah answered with a conviction in her eyes that made Jay smile. Jay’s hand rose towards her cheek, touching it as if she was the most precious thing in the world, before their lips connected, a way for them to express what their words couldn’t.

At Molly’s, the couple stood with their friends, beers in hand and laughing around when Chief Boden called for everyone’s attention. The room fell silent, looking at him as he spoke.

“Just a quick word.” He explained “Wanna take a moment and let you all get back to the fine cocktails that they serve here at Molly's.”

“Keep talking, Chief.” Hermann interrupted, which made everyone chuckle.

“To the good people at Chicago Med.” He said, raising his beer slightly. “You made us proud today. And we are very grateful for the service that you do for us and for the city. It's not said enough.” He told us, looking over at the different doctors, a small smile on his face.

“Thank you, Chief.” Sharon Goodwin answered for all of the staff that was here. “We want you all to know that every time those doors crash open, there are good people, strong people, people at the top of their game ready on the other side.”

With that being said, everyone raised their drinks, a distinct “hear, hear” to end and terrible day on a good note, surrounded by family.

Sarah leaned into Jay as they spoke to Brett, Mills and Will, and she stopped listening to the conversation for a minute, taking a moment to appreciate being surrounded by people she loved, and she smiled to herself, enjoying the beautiful moment she was living after a terrible day. She had hope that no matter how bad everything could get, she’d always get better.

[ask-spider-man-61610]

The Infiltration: Part Two of Three

In the ten years he had been a vigilante, Peter Parker had become very good at sneaking into places he shouldn't have been.

Air vents were useless. The vast majority of them were far too narrow for anybody to slip through without becoming amorphous, and even when the ducts were large enough it was impossible to move inside one without making enough noise to alert the entire block. The subceiling--the space above the ceiling tiles, but below the actual architectural structure--was a far better bet, but that was similarly cramped--and besides, only some buildings had gaps in the walls to allow for movement like that.

Using a disguise to sneak in was better all around, but it required a lot of skill and care. You couldn't disguise yourself as a scientist unless you were genuinely an expert in the field you were pretending to study. Nor, in this particular case, could you just dress up as any old agent--they had security levels. Executives were out, reporters were only viable if the people you were trying to fool had reason to believe a reporter was going to be there, and the less said about solicitors the better. The key was to attract as little scrutiny as possible, to not raise any questions you'd have trouble answering; because the second someone grew suspicious of you, your cover was all but blown.

Janitors, then, were perfect.

Nobody pays attention to a janitor. It's practically one of the perks of the job. Beneath notice means beneath scrutiny, and people only give custodians the slightest thought when a place needs cleaned. Even then it's just an assertion that a custodian needs to be there. Nobody questions what a janitor is doing in a room, even in the dead of night. Nobody questions why a janitor is wearing gloves, or where they got their ring of keys. There's no better disguise for going somewhere that people generally can't go.

Peter had been pretending to be a janitor in the main headquarters of the Cape Code Authority for several days now. He had listened intently as he'd mopped the floors, mapped out the layout in his head, figured out where the labs were and who had access to what while keeping his head down. He'd owned this coverall for years now, for infiltrations exactly like this, and now with the security cameras disabled he hooked his cart on the handle of his mop and dragged it towards the door the three agents had just left.

The door had locked automatically. Of course it had, all laboratory doors locked automatically around here, and even the custodians needed special permissions to get them unlocked. But as the door had swung closed, Peter had pressed the trigger in his palm under the guise of adjusting his grip on his mop, and now the door's latch was glued down beneath a small splatter of webbing. Pulling on a latex glove, Peter tugged the door open a crack and slipped into the lab.

He adjusted his hat as he glanced around the lab, the hat that had blond curls sewn to the inside to disguise his brown hair, and scratched at his false nose. The hologram table sat in the center of the room, still softly glowing even after its deactivation--an enormous waste of energy, but apparently nobody cared. Ignoring it entirely, Peter headed straight for the computer monitors against the far wall, grabbing a chair without breaking stride and only stopping to climb on top of it and crouch on the seat like a gargoyle on a rooftop.

Like everything Reed Richards ever touched, the computers were encrypted. But Peter had dated Johnny Storm for five months once, and he didn't spend so much time nearby his fellow supergenius without taking some time to figure out how to bypass their usual security. It took him just over five minutes to get through the firewalls, and then he stuck a translucent plastic sticky note to the screen and began to browse.

The sticky note was, of course, a data drive. Peter had learned about these only recently, but he was fast growing to like them; they were easy to conceal on his person and, unlike a USB stick, didn't require a specific size of port. As he opened up the computer's files, the drive pinged off of the computer's software and integrated itself into the system without leaving a trace. Cracking his knuckles, Peter typed a few cursory searches into the file browser and tapped Enter.

Perpetual Holographic Avatar/Nano-Tech Offensive Monsters had been a thorn in his side for over two years now. They didn't move like humans; their range of motion didn't have the limits that their skeletal shape implied; their systems adapted and learned and coordinated in ways that he'd never seen before in artificial intelligence. Even Octavius, permanently on the cutting edge of AI and biorobotics development, wasn't sure what the hell was going on with them. Last year, in the middle of beating the multi-armed megalomaniac's face in, Spider-Man had asked for Otto's thoughts on the Phantoms; the technology, both of them suspected, wasn't exactly beyond Otto's work so much as to the side of it. The systems were hyperspecialized: they had no connection to neural networks of old, and were practically useless for advancing them in the future. They were, in a word, alien.

Peter suspected Chitauri tech. The War of the Worlds had left countless remnants of the Chitauri on Earth; some of them still remained, like the Leviathan rotting in Maine, but far too many of them had seemed to simply vanish. Anyone who gave it more than ten seconds of thought could realize that governments of the world had squirreled the stuff away to study and reverse-engineer. Now, as Peter's eyes darted back and forth across the screen, he skimmed through the blueprints and models that he found in the folder and tried to see if any of it matched the distinctive look of the Chitauri.

Some of it did, he found as he kept searching, but not a huge amount. Reed had done some work with Chitauri tech in the past; traces of its influence were obvious in the composition of the Phantoms' gun barrels, and in the way their hard-light armor projected itself over the skeleton. Kid stuff, nothing that explained the problems he'd had with them. Peter's brow furrowed as he copied the files he found to his data drive and peered over his shoulder at the hologram table behind him.

What had Reed been saying to Flint in here only a few minutes ago? Peter had a spiderlike hypersensitivity to vibration; he could feel footsteps on the other side of the building rumbling through the floor, and the variations in air pressure caused by the fly drifting around the ceiling. But it didn't work like hearing did, nor was it interpreted by the same part of the brain. Though he had felt Reed talking in here, it just felt like a continuous drone of vibration against his skin--he hadn't heard him, and so couldn't interpret the words. And, like an idiot, he hadn't thought to bug the room beforehand.

He pushed his tongue against his upper lip in thought. Had it had something to do with why Flint had registered with the CCA in the first place?

Kicking a foot against the bottom of the desk, Peter rolled his chair over to the hologram table and set to work getting past the security there too. This took even less time than it had with the computer, now that Peter knew how Reed had updated his security measures over the last few years. Within three minutes of typing so fast an observer would have seen his fingers as blurs he was browsing through the most recently accessed files.

The image lifted out of the table and filled the room with its soft light, and Peter frowned at the image of the Phantom he saw. How on earth was this related to Flint's desire to Be A Real Boy? He typed a few commands into the table and watched the Phantom's white shell disappear to reveal the mechanical skeleton beneath. A few notes by Reed appeared to highlight key points, and Peter read through each with steadily rising concern.

Very little of the Sandman's mass was actually Flint Marko. When he had been disintegrated all those years ago, most of his body had become just plain old sand--only his nervous system had become anything different. Over the years, he had gained entire truckloads worth of sand and lost enough to fill beaches, but the gallon or so of milky white silica that had once been his brain and nerve cells had remained, scattered evenly through every shape and sculpture he made himself into. They assimilated granules of a similar composition through static cling, arranging them with an intricate electric charge that neither Flint nor Peter had ever fully understood, and now it looked like Reed wanted to apply that same static charge to the Phantom project.

Looking through the notes, Peter could already see that Reed wasn't putting much effort into following through on his promise. The conjectures and theories put forth in them were ludicrous--ideas that Peter had discarded years ago in his various scrambles to stop one of Marko's rampages. But he read between the lines, read ideas that Reed had intended for his own eyes only, and his blood grew steadily colder in his veins.

It wouldn't take much modification to turn a Phantom into a suitable chassis for Flint's nerve granules, so went Reed's idea. The skeleton already contained organic elements, and they already received commands from a biological source rather than a computer. This flew in the face of Peter's assumptions about the Phantoms.

They were only partially robots. They were like Octobots; their processing units were very much alive.

Peter waved a shaky hand over the table. The hologram deactivated, which wasn't his intent at all, but he was too taken aback to care.

Deep in the bowels of the building, ignored by Peter until now but always scratching at the back of his mind, the vibrations of mechanical footsteps rumbled through the walls and floor. The central hub of manufacturing and deploying Phantoms was located fifty feet under the foundation--a fact he'd known all along, but which he had to investigate now. Now, when he knew that within those robotic skeletons were living and thinking beings. Now, when he knew that the drills whirring and 3D printing that he felt even from here were working tirelessly to imprison and enslave something. Jumping off the chair, he retrieved his data drive from the computer and took barely a minute to wipe all evidence of his presence from the room. Then, readjusting his disguise and checking for the presence of witnesses, he slipped out of the room and finally allowed the door to lock.

The route to the underground hub was a circuitous one. As the operations were almost entirely automated, not even the janitors were given clearance to enter that level; maybe four people had access, and Peter wasn't one of them. No matter. There were more ways to sneak around than just throwing on a coverall and mopping a floor. If Peter's disguise only took him this far and no farther, it was time to drop it. Some places you could only reach as the wall-crawler.

Had the security cameras not mysteriously lost power earlier that afternoon, they would've seen a janitor shedding his hat, kicking off his shoes, and beginning to unbutton his coverall. Without breaking stride, he snatched a small bag from where he'd hidden it in his cart before and pulled on a mask; whatever features, real or fake, a witness might have noticed, they were now hidden by dark red fabric and two gleaming grey bug eyes. In short order the coverall and hat were gone--wrapped up into a web-knapsack that he slung onto his back even as he swapped his shoes out for red spandex boots. Pulling on his gloves right as he reached the elevator, Spider-Man stopped to politely tap the call button beside the sliding metal doors.

With a ding, the elevator doors slid open, and Spider-Man immediately smashed straight through the emergency hatch at the top of the lift.

Elevator shafts were always a bit more complicated than one expected. Even Peter, who could feel the constant motion of the metal boxes through the building and their cables sliding against pullies, always needed a moment to figure out how to squeeze through the systems that controlled its rise and fall. He paused as he examined the mechanism of this particular elevator before he sucked in his stomach and crawled around the box with a few inches to spare. Then, once he was beneath it, he released his grip on the elevator shaft and let himself fall.

He caught himself fifty feet later, his fingertips sticking instantly to the concrete as he touched it. Just across the shaft from him was a set of elevator doors, which he hopped onto and began to pry apart. It was slow going. Like everything in the CCA headquarters, these doors were made with superhumans in mind, and they had a magnetic lock that Spider-Man found himself straining to overpower. He pulled on them for a few seconds, changed his mind, and crawled two feet to the left to begin messing with the wiring that controlled the lock. There was a moment of silence, a low, hollow ding, and the doors slid open.

With one hand still stuck to the wall Spider-Man lowered himself into the unlit chamber, dropping to the floor and landing there in a crouch. What little light had made it down with him reflected off his mask's glaring eyes. For a moment he was still, one hand pressed to the metal beneath him and his attention fully on the vibrations of the environment. Then, mentally sorting through the sea of threats that his spider-sense whispered and squirmed at, he rose to his feet and nonchalantly slapped the lightswitch on the wall behind him. Sparse florescent lights flickered on above him, and he blinked and furrowed his brow as he adjusted.

Now that he was down here the vibrations were sharper, like a the world coming into focus as you come up from underwater. They travelled through the air, through the concrete, and through a metal catwalk that served as a floor, branching into pathways and situated above buzzing, whirring machinery. No wonder it had been so difficult to discern what was going on up above, Spider-Man reflected as he glanced over the guardrail and watched robotic limbs carry a Phantom chassis through a gap in the wall and to another room. He turned his attention ahead of him, where similar chasses were held in racks upon racks that spanned nearly wall to wall across the room, black robotic skeletons awaiting deployment.

But there was a difference between these Phantoms and the ones he so often encountered on the battlefield. Frowning under the mask, Spider-Man stepped forward, leaned over the catwalk's railing, and set a finger against the nearest collection of servos and solid-light projectors. Yes. There it was, the constant, ambient tremor of air in motion; the chasses were hollow like the frame of a bicycle. Whenever he'd fought them, they hadn't displayed any such emptiness.

Right. Mechanical systems supported by biological processing. He took his attention away from the chasses, looking instead at that hole in the wall that one of them had vanished into as he'd come in here. He could feel the Phantom in the next room over being hooked up to--to something, metal vibrating on contact with metal and stabilizing with a little pop. His eyes narrowed. His fingers twitching nervously, his breath held, he began to pace down the catwalk towards the door to that room.

A window on one side greeted him as he stepped through, displaying the Phantom under maintenance. Screens embedded into the window offered diagnostics and schematics, all of which Spider-Man ignored. He turned instead to the far wall, where what looked like a large cabinet was anchored in place and had a hundred or so pipes no wider than test tubes leading into and out of it. A quick ripping of metal, and he tossed a mangled padlock over his shoulder as he threw the cabinet doors open. The interior was poorly organized, and called to mind a prototype rather than anything intended for widespread implementation: a screen with a series of codes flashing across it, a mess of piping and tubing, and in carefully arranged racks hundreds upon hundreds of test tubes, most full of some amorphous fluid.

Spider-Man's brow furrowed as he selected a vial at random. Working carefully, he unscrewed the valve that connected it to the mess of piping and slid it out of the vial's stopper--without it, the test tube's lid sealed airtight again. He held it above eye level and turned to see the light filter through from overhead. The fluid inside surrounded what looked almost like a pipe cleaner, thousands of copper wires branching out from a central silicon rod. As he tilted it one way, an air bubble slid up the glass wall, and out of the corner of his eye he thought he saw--

--a tendril, as black as the rest of the liquid, squirming in that air pocket in a bid for freedom.

Spider-Man's eyes widened behind the mask. Oh my god.

Dead Leviathans and alien technology hadn't been the only things the Chitauri had brought to Earth. It had taken the terrestrial armies, and the remnants of SHIELD that Spider-Man had fought alongside, far too long to realize that the shape-shifting battlesuits that their enemies had used were themselves a separate species. Earth hadn't been the only planet to face invasion under the Chitauri; centuries ago, those invaders had conquered and enslaved a species called Klyntar. Amorphous, shapeshifting, symbiotic creatures, the Klyntar had the distinction of being able to use every single cell as musculature, digestive system, armoring, and neurons. Nobody was sure how long the Chitauri had been selectively breeding and brainwashing their symbiote slaves into battle armor, and until now Spider-Man had assumed that practice had stopped with the aliens' defeat.

The little vial of Klyntar sample in his hand was far from his first experience with the species. He had, for six months during and after the war, worn a stolen symbiote as a battlesuit of his own, and even after he and Vee had separated he'd been up close and personal with the species many, many times. But he had believed that Vee's defection from the Chitauri had been a fluke; that they had been the only Klyntar to be recovered from the Chitarui alive.

But now Spider-Man stood in the basement of the Cape Code Authority, holding a vial that contained another member of that species, and right next to him were over a hundred identical vials. All at once, the control systems of the Phantoms became obvious to him.

Without hesitation he turned back to the cabinet and began yanking the tubes out of their holders. The brush-like machinery in each vial, he figured as he worked, must have been some kind of brainwashing system; the copper wires made contact with as many of the Klyntar's neurons as possible, with controlled electric shocks frying out whatever thoughts the aliens tried to form and replacing them with--with whatever programming was necessary to get the Phantoms working. As he pulled each tube out, he killed the electrical charge, but for now he didn't release the Klyntar within from their cells. Where would they go down here? Did they even remember what they were? At best they'd die, at worst the CCA would collect them again and make it even harder to get to them again. No, for now he stuck the vials together with webbing, bundling them together in a padded sack of sorts--he could keep them safe until he knew what else to do, but for now--

--for now, he could feel footsteps vibrating through the concrete fifty feet above. Could feel the elevator starting to move, and the frantic tingling in his head suddenly concentrated all its alarm on the man upstairs. He paused, but only for the smallest fraction of a second; then he worked even faster, his hands becoming blurs again. Grab, break, thwip, grab, break, thwip. The bundle of vials and webbing in his arms was becoming untenably large. He kept at it anyway, always careful not to smash the vials, always careful to separate them from their neighbors with a carefully padded layer of webbing. Even as he webbed up the last one, he wove backpack straps onto the sack and pulled them onto his shoulders. Then he turned on his heel and darted out the door, ready to make an escape.

But as the elevator began its slow descent towards him, he paced around the room and realized that there was no escape to be found. No windows or doors, because he was in a basement, and the air ducts were of course far too small to crawl through. If he didn't have the Klyntar vials, he would've been able to crawl past the elevator, but with that bundle on his back there was no room. If he wanted to save these Klyntar, he was trapped down here with them.

Well, decided Spider-Man as his pacing came to a stop directly in front of the elevator. If he was about to be discovered down here, he certainly wasn't going to let whoever was about to discover him get a dramatic moment about it. There would be no voice booming out from behind him as he frantically looked for a hiding place, there would be no cat and mouse as the person looked for him in this increasingly exposed room. He folded his arms and leaned against the guardrail right in front of the elevator, glaring at the doors. Waiting.

When the doors dinged open, Scrier momentarily hesitated, not having expected to see Spider-Man so out in the open. He blinked behind those blank white eyes, far more awkward than a supervillain wanted to be, before he lamely managed, "I thought that was you, Spider-Man."