#but it would take so long to sort through all the different layers of assumptions and misinterpretations and just Garbage that its just like

[gibbearish]

me: humans tend to fear death and will imagine that its not permanent, and if youre raised in a religion that validates that rather than actually teaching you how to cope with death and grief, you will treat people differently because you will FUNDAMENTALLY, SUBCONSCIOUSLY have a different level of respect for the value of life. you also will lash out at things that call your religion into question because you are SUBCONSCIOUSLY defending yourself from fear of death, because you were never taught how to cope with it outside of your religion, your religion has to stay in place so that you dont have to question it

ppl:

- um☝️🧐the ancient egyptians had an afterlife, are you stupid?

- why are you excusing bigotry, do you think if a bigot is pointing a gun at you thats a good time to discuss the afterlife?

- are you saying christians are going around thinking "i have to be homophobic because the bible says gays are bad and if the bible isnt real then heaven isnt real"? thats so dumb why would you think that 😂😂

- op i wasnt raised christian but heres how i think christians brains actually work, based on um well uh you see uh

- actually op no one ever has motivations for their actions subconscious or otherwise, bigots are bigots because they like being mean for fun, trying to understand where theyre coming from / their thought process / their subconscious motivations is excusing their actions

- bigots are bad. also im gonna say a slur now

smth i think ppl who werent raised christian need to understand is that a) fear of death will make you do things you wouldnt otherwise do and b) being raised christian fundamentally kneecaps your ability to process death. most christians are the way that they are because if the bible isnt true, if god isnt real, then neither is heaven. if there is no heaven, then all their loved ones who have died arent actually waiting for them, there is no place theyll get to spend forever with the people they love now, there is no eternal reward for being good, there is no guarantee of any afterlife whatsoever. and as science progresses and christianity becomes harder and harder to maintain, as various claims in the bible get disproven and we learn more about how life actually came to be, that possibility that Death Might Actually Be Something They Have To Fear After All gets stronger, and so that protection of the idea must get stronger too. the bits of the bible that are too hard to defend have to be removed or papered over or talked around, the rules that dont make sense have to be explained or maintained without question, the people who dont believe must be agents of satan sent to damn their soul to hell. the way they learned to cope with death is to say it didnt happen, not really, not in a way that mattered, theyre still out there somewhere, youll see them again someday. and with that came a promise that their death wouldnt be permanent either. it all has to be true, that heart has to be maintained, because otherwise. otherwise, this is it, and we dont know what happens next. otherwise, death becomes scary again. otherwise, death is no longer the loading screen before your eternal reward. otherwise, they have to think about what might come next, how their actions affect others here and now, fully grieve the people theyve lost, grieve the eternal life of happiness and love they were promised from birth. and that is. hard. and while obviously none of this excuses the way they treat people, i do think that like. keeping that in mind during interactions with them, being aware of how high the stakes are for them, can very much effect the way you approach those conversations.

at the heart of every horrible christian with bigoted views and worse actions is a scared little kid who doesnt know where you go when you die, because the answer they were given when they first asked is turning out to be full of holes. and while you may not be able to work with the adult in front of you here and now, maybe you can at least find that little kid for a moment. maybe you can sit down with them and say yeah bud, that is pretty scary, isnt it? it's scary not knowing what's gonna happen to you. it's scary learning something you thought was true might not be. maybe you can tell the kid that theyre allowed to be scared, that being scared doesnt have to mean hurting others. and maybe the kid wont listen, maybe youll have wasted your time, who knows. but maybe not. and even if you did, youll have learned something about how to find that kid in others, so was it really a waste?

[redroom-rainbowguts]

A Gross Experiment

Word Count: 1950

Tw: Sexual assault, blood, kidnapping, drugs, medical horror, self harm, non con

The blonde haired woman forced her eyes open, drowsiness quickly dissolving into panic as she realized where she was. White pulled up a stool, shifting his weight so the wheeled legs propelled him forward towards her. He glanced up at the woman he’d strapped to a vintage medical table. Though old, most of the mint green bed was in perfect condition, save for some bits near the edges that had cracked to reveal the foam cushion inside.

“You know, you’re pretty lucky,” he said. She squirmed against the leather restraints holding her arms and legs in place. “Most people don’t get any sort of anesthesia. If I wanted to fuck with a compliant subject, I’d just grab someone from the morgue or something, you know? Why go out of my way to rob someone of life if I just wanted to play with a bunch of lifeless organs? The screams, the fighting, the gaze somewhere between rage and despair, that’s what makes it feel like I’m actually doing something. What can I say, it feels good to make a difference.

But you, you my dear, I’ve got plans for you.” White stood up, peeling tape from the woman's head. She winced as layer after layer ripped the hair from her head; he’d been meticulous in wrapping it around not just her mouth but her neck as well to ensure she couldn’t simply work it off with enough moisture and patience. Her lip quivered. 

“W-What are you going to do to me?” She asked. He trailed a finger along the IV connecting her arm to a bag of fluid. He twisted a small clamp at the base free, and the clear liquid dribbled down the thin tube into her vein.

“Assuming my theory is correct, something that’ll feel really, really good.” Too many questions to choose from left her silently incredulous. White smiled. His gloved hand wiped a stray tear from her cheek as he spoke again. “I may have brought you here unwillingly, but I’m not a liar. I’ve been nothing but open with you about my intentions, haven’t I? I’m simply a student studying and working hard to further my own education. Even when we met I said I bet you’d be a fantastic lab partner.” White traced a few of the still healing cuts lining her abdomen- an appetizer he’d selfishly indulged in as she’d slept. “And I was absolutely correct, working with you has been lovely.” 

The woman opened her mouth, but no words came out. Whatever was being fed into her veins was making her limbs feel heavy. No, not just heavy, they didn’t feel at all. A violent tingling washed down her body, leaving pure nothingness in its place. She may as well have been a consciousness capable only of sight and hearing. She managed to squeak out a confused gasp just before the paralytic stole that from her as well. White perked up. 

“Ah, I was wondering how long it would take for the anesthesia to kick in. Like I said, it’s not often I use it, so I wasn’t entirely sure just how long it would take.” He scribbled down a few notes. “I’ve put a lot of work into ensuring what I use is as fast acting as possible, though I have to sacrifice some degree of speed or else it’s far too volatile. I don’t need you dropping dead on me before we’re done, it’d be such a waste!” 

The woman couldn’t decide whether his rambling was making the situation better or worse. It humanized him, somewhat, a bit like when a doctor explains everything going on to a nervous patient. But on the other hand, he had obviously drugged her at some point to kidnap her, and now he was not so much speaking to her as he was speaking at her with the same calm disconnect as a mortician referring to a cadaver.

“I’ve always had a soft spot for bugs. They’re so often misunderstood, and people generally make assumptions about them without putting in any real effort to understand them.” White rifled through a set of medical instruments he kept under the table. Every so often he placed one onto a nearby metal shelf, making clear his enthusiasm whenever fear broke through the anesthesia and caused her breath to hitch.

“Take slugs, for instance. They’ve got no shell to hide in like snails do, but this allows them to hide and squeeze through much smaller spaces, getting away from predators with much more ease than just hiding in a flimsy shell. And their slime, it’s actually so thick and viscous that they could slide over a razor blade without taking any damage, isn’t that cool?” 

She stared at him.

“That’s actually what made me think about this. People create a fluid that smooths over the friction involved in sex. Sure we can stretch, but that can only go so far, especially with an unwilling participant.” He nonchalantly pressed a hand against her bare crotch, pausing for a moment before giving it a few gentle strokes. 

“I just want to know how far that extends. If a pussy can accommodate a dick, then what else can it take? Sure, I could probably just collect a sample, figure out its structural integrity, blah blah blah and call it a day, but-” White pulled a syringe and a little bottle from the shelf, making a show of loading it and flicking away the air bubbles. “-but I’m really more of a hands-on learner.” He finished, sliding the needle into her mons pubis. Within moments the nothingness was replaced with a burning ache localized specifically to the surrounding area of the injection.

White nodded excitedly as her face, though numb, still reddened. “I’m actually really proud of this one. Stumbled across it by accident awhile ago when I was still using myself to experiment on. See?” he interrupted himself. “I’m nothing if not fair. I am more than willing to take the pain I dish out if it’s in the name of science.

Though,” he chuckled sheepishly. “I admit I was a bit too squeamish to do this one. That’s where you came in! I’ve given you a drug that actually coats the veins in a kind of shield that blocks the effects of the anesthetic within a very small area. That way you’ll stay nice and still for me while I, to put it crudely, fuck around and find out.” He laughed at his own dry humor for a moment before placing his hand back into her folds. 

Furrowed, concentrated brows replaced his smile as he rubbed her clit in soft, patient circles. By all accounts it should have been at best ineffective and at worst uncomfortable. The assault, the drugs, the way he tried to eke arousal from her in an unnervingly clinical, mechanical way, nothing about this was anywhere near putting her in the mood. But seeing as her entire sense of touch both started and ended where his fingers danced over her skin, the woman found herself relieved that the paralytic was stopping her from pressing even harder into his hand. She tried to think of something, anything else that would take her out of this moment. As he slipped a finger into her ready opening, she felt guilty wishing he would have added even more. 

“You’re really red, y’know. Feels good, huh.”

Right. This was torture. Bizarre, sure, but that didn’t change the horror of her predicament. Bodies are made to adapt to bad situations, so of course hers was only responding like this until- Fuck. FUCK! White added several fingers, rubbing against her walls as they trailed closer to her g spot. He inched forward before drawing back and deliberately delaying her gratification. He edged her again and again, making her desperation that much more intense. The woman had become so slick that every thrust, no matter the speed, elicited a thick squelch that was impossible to ignore in the otherwise silent room. His gloved hand as well as the table was more than soaked with her musk. She could smell her own arousal and wanted nothing more than for him to, at the very least, take away the rest of her senses too so she could pretend her body wasn’t so desperately into whatever weird ass experiment he was conducting. 

“Hm, I’d say you seem about ready.” 

Ready? Her eyes pleaded with morbid intrigue for him to elaborate, but she quickly wished they hadn’t. He pulled out a gruesome looking tool. It had multiple sharp edges lined up so as to form a cylinder of knives. Without skipping a beat, White took the tool to his own arm, looking her dead in the eyes as he peeled off a thin slice of skin. He winced, but remained cool in his composure.

“Do you like it?” He asked genuinely, waving the flap of skin before flicking it out of the way. Beads of blood lazily formed as his body got the message that it had been injured, but he ignored them and allowed them to dribble down as he spoke. “I wouldn’t say I’m a master welder, but I think this turned out pretty cool!” She felt sick; he couldn’t possibly be planning on- her stomach dropped. White lined up the contraption with her entrance, and carefully he began working it into her. 

Despite everything in her silently screaming in terror, her pussy hungrily clenched around the tool. There were no words to describe the sensation. Despite him remaining slow and gentle in his movements, it felt like the slowest rough fuck of her life. It was simultaneously maddening, and to her dismay, bliss. Her body craved more, harder. From what she could see, there was now blood pouring alongside her arousal. All she could think was this should hurt so much worse. White climbed up onto the table, straddling her. He placed a hand on her still numb chin as he drove the tool deeper inside. 

“There’s one final thing I need you to do for me.” he growled. His hand pistoned steadily, each time pressing right against her g spot. “Cum.” Her desperate pussy more than happily obliged. She throbbed and clenched against the bladed dildo. Each edge sank deeper and deeper into her walls as she rode each wave of euphoria the orgasm forced upon her.

The pleasure dissipated far quicker than it had built up. No sooner had she begun piecing her consciousness back together than when the reality of the situation was finally able to reach the rational part of her brain. It didn’t just hurt, it was agony. The woman’s lower body seized into what felt like the worst cramp of her life. The world began to spin, and she gazed lazily at the blood now covering her legs, the table, White, and a fair portion of the cement floor as well.

“Hey now, finally had enough?” White stroked her face which was now covered in both tears and her own blood. “You did a great job! I’ve never gotten this far into the experiment before a subject gave up on me! I’ll clean you up after I finish writing down my findings, okay? And then if you wake up again, I’ll make this up to you, I promise! I’ll share what conclusions we can draw, and we can-”

The woman’s hearing faded, and her vision followed soon after. With a sick sense of hopelessness, all she could think was I hope I lost enough to kill me. Not only to escape the living Hell White had thrown her into, but to avoid seeing him follow through on his promise.

[delimeful]

Helpless (2)

the next chapter in the drider virgil fic!

warnings: spiders, slight dehumanizing language, assumptions/jumping to conclusions

-

Logan was certain that he’d tracked down his quarry.

Of course, he’d also been certain the last two times he’d found promising evidence around a swath of woods, but this time was different.

He had learned plenty while traversing through the varied lands of his kingdom, and while physical evidence was ideal, word of mouth was one of the most useful tools a researcher could use to find leads.

That was part of the reason why he’d been so careful to observe typical travelers for weeks before his departure, the reason he was wearing worn, cheap fabric and staying at the second-cheapest room at this town’s inn, despite having plenty of money still hidden on his person. He didn’t want a single rumor about a suspiciously rich noble traveling alone.

The last thing he needed was for his investigative journey to be interrupted by bandits, or worse, would-be do-gooders attempting to return the missing prince to his place in line for the throne.

Logan resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the very thought, putting aside the last half of his travel rations and stopping at the edge of town to stare into the woods beyond. He checked his compass habitually, and he was pointed firmly westward, exactly towards the point of the woods that were occupied by a dangerous monster, according to the barkeep that Logan had plied for information last night at supper.

The whole town knew of it, even the younger residents, which was a point in favor of the creature really existing rather than just being another folk tale.

There was one other potential source on the creature, a town outcast going by the way others’ noses wrinkled at the mention of him, but Logan was more than ready to begin investigating for himself, and the odds that the outcast actually knew anything were low, anyhow.

Decided, he headed into the forest, prepared for the day-long trek that was sure to follow. If he was prone to less scientific notations, he might have jotted down that he had a good feeling about this particular town.

Exactly an hour and a half later, Logan had found himself almost entirely immobilized by layers and layers of gossamer threads strewn about the trees.

Needless to say, he was ecstatic.

Even the foolish manner in which he’d landed himself stuck in such an obvious trap couldn’t dampen his spirits, not when faced with undeniable proof that there was in fact a drider in these woods. He’d been too hasty in his attempt to collect some of the biological material, and by yanking too hard, had ended up pulled forwards into the thick of the intricate spider web.

His immobility was a bit concerning, but mostly frustrating, since he couldn’t reach for his journal to note down the surprising level of the webbing’s tensile strength. Still, proper scientists had to be prepared to hold onto their observations for as long as it took for them to be able to write them down.

Besides, he could hardly complain. His current predicament practically guaranteed that he would actually get to see the creature!

-

There was a person stuck in his webs, and Virgil was freaking out about it.

It had never happened before. Virgil very specifically made the webs closer to town thick and opaque so that any passerby would see them and avoid this exact situation.

Virgil peered around the cluster of bushes he had half-flattened himself behind. The stranger didn’t seem too panicked, at least, going by the way that the web barely swayed with his presence. He didn’t even seem to be breathing hard, which was… admittedly sort of strange.

Skies above, what if this was a trap? Virgil turned his head sharply to scan his surroundings, wary of human hunters suddenly popping out of the undergrowth.

Several moments of silence, and even with all his senses pushed to their farthest, he couldn’t detect anything. It seemed the only one trapped here was the human.

A pang of guilt curled unpleasantly in his first stomach. He grimaced, wishing desperately that Patton was here to mitigate the utter terror Virgil was surely about to inflict on this guy.

No point in drawing it out. He rose up to his full height, grateful that the human had gotten stuck facing the opposite direction, and quietly crept up behind him. All he needed to do was announce his presence and let the human know he wasn’t going to hurt them, but he was immediately distracted at the sight of just how tangled his webs had grown.

“How does one human manage to touch every single support thread at the same time?” he asked, voice incredulous.

The human stiffened, and he couldn’t help but tense in response, cursing his big mouth.

… Really though, he spent hours crafting these, and now this one would have to be completely reconstructed!

“Are you the monster spoken of in town?”

The measured voice snapped Virgil out of his thoughts as easy as a clap of thunder, and he shuffled a bit from side to side nervously. His many steps must have been louder than he’d thought, because the human immediately attempted to twist around and see him.

He failed, naturally, because Virgil’s threads weren’t exactly easy to wriggle free of, but Virgil’s nerves only grew. “I… why do you ask?”

There was a short silence, and then, “Considering my current situation, it’s only natural I would want to know, isn’t it?”

Virgil resisted the urge to wince at his own dumbassery. “Right. Well. Yeah,” he confirmed, already bracing for the fear that nearly every human bore when confronted with him. Even Patton had been afraid at first, though Virgil really thought him braver than any other human, to be so terrified of even normal spiders and befriend a Drider of all creatures.

“Oh, excellent,” the human said with clear excitement. “Would you mind coming around so that I can see you?”

Virgil blinked, befuddled. The last thing most humans wanted was for him to come closer. Maybe it was the natural fear of him being in their blind spot? The guy certainly didn’t sound very afraid, even with Virgil’s less-than-stellar first impression.

“Do you have a weapon?” he asked warily.

“I have a knife,” the stranger offered, “but I can’t exactly reach it at the moment.”

Virgil could see the glint of it, caught bladefirst at the very edge of a web as though it had been used on the threads themselves. He slowly circled around the clearing, watching the stranger closely for any sudden movements, until he stood before him, all eight legs and thorax visible.

“Fascinating,” he breathed, eyes blown wide as they skittered from point to point as though noticing every little detail. Virgil would have thought him afraid had it not been for the prideful little grin that sat on his face. “I thought maybe you were lying to me-- I hadn’t expected you to be so fluent in the common language, living in the woods and all-- but wow!”

Virgil felt his front legs rising up a little bit in an automatic defense against the unexpected reaction. He ran his tongue over his fangs nervously, trying to figure out whether or not he should be insulted about the language thing. And what exactly did this guy mean by ‘expected’?

The stranger’s hands twitched slightly, still stuck firmly in place, and irritation briefly flitted across his face as though he’d forgotten his position. He blinked, as though remembering something.

“Oh, right. Are you planning on trying to consume me, then?” he asked, the question as politely curious as an inquiry about the weather.

Virgil recoiled physically at the idea, skittering back a few strides and baring his fangs despite the difference in size and strength and trapped-ness between the two of them. “What? No!”

The stranger managed to drag his intrigued gaze away from Virgil’s fangs, his hands twitching again almost subconsciously. “In that case, would you mind helping me down? My leg has begun to go numb, and I really would like access to my journal.”

“I-- I mean, yeah, if you aren’t-- I can--,” Virgil stumbled over his words, drawing closer with his body lowered non-threateningly and waiting for the inevitable flinch or shiver of disgust.

It never came. The stranger continued to stare at him with no trace of terror in his eyes, even as Virgil grew close enough to reach out and touch him.

“Take your time,” he offered, despite being the one trapped in a monster’s web. Virgil abruptly felt a bit silly about his obvious wariness, and lifted his front legs to rub them together at the ankles. The stranger’s head tilted to the side slightly, watching the gesture intently.

“... It’s the oils that make the webs not stick,” Virgil explained. “I produce it naturally on my feet so I don’t get, y’know, stuck. I’ll have to touch the webs that are attached to you. With my feet. The spider ones.”

Virgil didn’t have any other kinds of feet, but the stranger graciously didn’t nitpick.

“A built-in solvent… I wonder if natural spiders have similar traits,” he mused instead, and then, “Do whatever you need, I don’t mind. The opposite, really, I appreciate the assistance.”

Sure enough, he didn’t shy away when Virgil began carefully plucking at the threads entangling him, sliding the sides of his legs along them to coat them in the anti-stick oils. Bit by bit, the entanglement loosened, and Virgil had just freed both arms when the human abruptly twisted around to reach for something on his person.

Of course, now that much of the webbing holding him in midair had been removed, his weight was significantly less supported. A few threads snapped, and he dropped a few inches with a startled yelp. If he continued, he’d be in for either a rough fall or getting caught in a whole new layer of webbing, and Virgil wanted neither of those things.

He quickly reached forwards with his human arms and lifted the stranger up and away from further entanglement, batting away any stray threads with his front legs. Belatedly, he realized he had forgotten to check if it was a weapon that the human had reached for. Even more belatedly, he realized that this was the second human he’d picked up in this impromptu carry.

Weird that it had happened twice.

“Perfect, thank you,” the guy said, and then he started writing furiously in a little book, occasionally glancing up at Virgil and locking onto a feature before returning to writing. It was as though he didn’t mind at all being held aloft like a human might lift up a misbehaving cat.

Virgil took the opportunity to continue cleaning any web remnants off the guy while he was distracted, his mind whirring. A stranger who had clearly never done a day of hard labor in his life, who didn’t seem at all afraid of him, and was taking notes.

... Oh, shit.

Virgil set him carefully on the ground while he was still preoccupied with scrawling out a label for a diagram of Virgil’s teeth. He backed up, softening his steps, and by the time the stranger pulled his attention away from his book, Virgil was already well out of sight and planned to keep it that way, regardless of the confused little call the stranger made.

He was not messing with what was clearly a mage out for his parts.

[wandsandwheezes]

Assassini | G.W

Warnings // 3.5k // SMUT 18+, Sex, knife play, assassins, murder, attempted assassination??, contracts, ownership, breath play, begging.

A/N // Hi I am literally obsessed with assassins creed that is the only thing that prompted me to want to write this. this is not by any means my best work i just couldnt get the idea out of my head. that is all. thank you @gcdric​ for helping me as historically accurate as possible. 

Your chest heaved as you stepped through the opening double doors and into a stunning reception area; rolling stone walls and a beautiful glass ceiling that showcased the fantastic hues of the Florentine sunset. You knew what you had to do, after all you would have never taken on the task if it didn’t fall within your capabilities. You rubbed your hands together before smoothing out your dress, you felt a fool coming to a high-class party on your own, knowing that the image of a stunning and well presented lady such as yourself standing on her own was sure to cause a scene among men, but with such an important target you couldn’t afford to be chasing around or keeping a date in tow; there was simply too much to lose. 

Feeling the cool metal of the dagger sheathed against your thigh brought you back down to reality, your mind had begun to wonder of a life away from the horrors that came with the trade, what it was like to be a trophy wife on the arm of a wealthy man. That was not the life you had been blessed with, instead you spent your days between contracts, taking out whoever you needed to to get the pay, taking your prize gracefully before you were onto the next. People feared your ability to be able to take a life without remorse and without question, that was the reality of who you were; a cold blooded assassin. 

The latest contract had been practically shoved down your throat, only just finishing up business before you were being shipped off to track the next target. No rest for the wicked. You were on your way to the grandest bash of your career, it would be packed with every wealthy man you could think of, every bachelor prancing around trying to find a wife but your eyes were dead set on finding one man - George Weasley. A very wealthy man, but ruthless, known well for the money of his family name but known better by the blood money that kept him feared by many. It was a contract that only a fool would take, failure ended in torture. You were no fool and you would not fail. 

You knew the person who had last attempted the Weasley Contract - not the brightest man but someone who was notorious for getting the job done, it all came as a surprise at the order when the news of his death spread through the halls like wildfire. His tactics were good; sneak past the guards and get him dead in the night, his downfall was that George knew he was coming, waited for him even. You were glad however, that despite taking on the failed contract, you had the element of surprise on your side, nobody suspects a woman, not even George. 

You caught sight of him standing with his hands pressed against the railing as he leaned over the balcony, eyes surveying the room as he spoke to someone standing beside him. George was tall, that much was obvious from the way he towered above most people standing around him, he had a chiselled jaw, dark striking eyes and long messy orange hair. He looked like a god, a pedestal he had placed himself on, and you knew that you had to get closer to him, better yet get him alone. 

You had never once whored yourself out for the sake of a job, your years upon years of training gave you a sharp enough edge that you wouldn't ever need to rely on a feminine touch but tonight was different, the way his eyes scoured the crowd, you knew he was hungry for some female attention and if you had to give in to anyone for the sake of the job, it would be him. 

You wore a beautifully detailed red gown, the corset pulled tight around your waist emphasised your ample breasts, threatening to spill at any moment and left not much to the imagination. Your plan was to catch his eye and you knew this was the dress that would do that. You followed his gaze and placed yourself directly in his line of vision, careful not to make yourself too obvious as to not attract unwanted gazes. When he caught sight of you he swore he could have stopped breathing, you truly were a vision of God. 

He couldn't take his eyes off of you from that moment on and you had to admit that having a lingering male gaze did make your cheeks flush, suddenly feeling stuffy under the many layers of dress. George instructed one of his men, rather curtly, to bring you to him, a task that was handled quickly and with hurry as one of his aides approached you. “Mr Weasley has requested your company.” 

Perfect, everything was going exactly to plan. As you were led up a grand staircase and past the guards that hadn’t even given you a second look. Now that you were on the private balcony, surrounded by members of the Weasley family and their company who were all schmoozing without any care in the world for the hundreds of guests below them, each one hoping they would be lucky enough to get that special invitation. Standing just behind George you were able to see with your own eyes just how much he truly did tower over you. Something inside of you bubbled and you refused to believe that it was anything but pure happiness for your plan going as well as it had. 

“What’s a pretty Lady like you doing here on her own?” He asked smoothly, eyes not falling away from the gaze they held over the bustling crowd. As you looked over the balcony you could see that the room was packed, spotting the way the men flirted with any and every woman they could lay their eyes on, couples falling to the edges of the room in passionate lip locks, uncaring for the vast group of people around them. 

“What makes you think I’m alone?” You quipped back, watching as a smile fell over his lips, finally pulling his eyes away from the crowd to face you. The moment your eyes locked again, this time inches away from him you felt that same bubbling feeling in the pit of your stomach. 

“No respectable partner would let their Lady come to a party with her breasts heaving like that, well… not unless the Lady wants to be seen.” His eyes scanned over your upper body before meeting your eyes once again. You weren’t sure why you were holding your breath but the second his knuckle was grazing over your exposed collarbone, brushing your hair over your shoulder, you finally let out a slow, shaky breath. 

“And to think I was just wearing a nice dress.” You sighed comically, turning back to lean your hands against the railing, taking a moment to compose yourself without having to stare into his eyes. Never in George’s life had a woman thought of talking back to him, so having you quip back at him with a tongue as sharp as his own, practically running circles around him in conversation made him even more determined to have you. 

“You’re a quick one, smart I assume, probably raised by men, or at the very least a strong minded woman. A fighter too, you have the shoulders for it, money doesn’t matter to you much from your lack of jewellery- Stop me If I’m wrong.” With every assumption that spilled from his lips, you realised that you had blown your cover, fear immediately building in the pit of your stomach until it reached your eyes. “So what brings you here, If not for a man, what for?”

“Who said I didn’t want a man?” You finally looked back at him, a teasing smile on your lips. You watched his face ease, taking a brave step closer to him as you realised that he truly didn’t have a clue.  You were brave for doing this, letting him see a vulnerable side to you, one that could leave you easily exposed. 

“I’m sure you know who I am, don’t you sweetheart? Yet I haven’t a clue who you are.” He was smooth, able to pull your name from your lips without even a second thought. Perhaps it was a bad idea to lead this way, fearing that a part of you would grow attached to his smile or addicted to his perfect laugh.

“Well, count yourself lucky that you’re up here then, all you’ll find is boys down there.” You weren’t surprised that George was the cocky sort of man, part of you found it endearing that he obviously had some sort of saviour complex about him, figuring that he would selfishly have you to himself and ‘save’ you from being surrounded by the inferior. 

“I’d be luckier alone with you.” You leaned in, whispering just low enough for him to hear. You were feeling brave enough to get suggestive with him, hoping that he would catch your tone and give you some time alone. You felt his hand pressing against the small of your back as he pulled you in closer, your mind wondering as soon as you could breathe in his scent, a part of you forgot why you were truly here as it became drunker off of the male attention. 

All it took was one look from him to his aide and you were being led by him, past his friends and family up another set of stairs. You heard the sounds of chatter, laughter and clinking glasses fade away as you were ushered into a private room, the doors swinging shut behind the two of you, finally realising that you were alone with him. 

“Are you going to tell me why you’re really here?” He sighed, pulling at your wrist to tug you into his chest, his hot breath fanning in your neck as you stood pressed against each other, uncaring for the huge amounts of space that the room had to offer. Being so close him made you lose all of your inhibitions and suddenly the contract no longer mattered to you, the one thing that did however, was bedding the man who had you in a trance. In all your years of working contracts, nobody came above the job but now as your lips were inches away from his, George Weasley was more important. 

"I'm here for you." You muttered, hand snaking up to tangle in his long, messy hair, giving the locks a gentle tug that made his eyes darken. Feeling him guide you backwards, taking small steps with him until your back hit a wall. His strong hand travelled its way up your leg, hoping to hitch it up to hook around his hip as he pushed every layer of fabric up so he could get a good look at the gorgeous thighs he wanted wrapped around his head. Your breath caught in your throat when you felt his fingers stop over your dagger, pulling it free from where it was held. 

As his eyes surveyed over the intricate detailing of the handle, you couldn't help but avoid his gaze, startled only by the chuckle that fell from his lips. "A mark of the brotherhood… They send you to bed me and leave me vulnerable?" 

You shook your head, watching as he pressed the dull side of the blade against your throat, his commanding eyes forcing you to look at him as he pressed himself closer to you. "They sent you to kill me?" 

He pulled the dagger from your throat, shoving it into your hand as he laughed, pulling away from you, letting the skirt fall back in its place as he turned around to walk away from you and deeper into the room. It was obvious that he wasn't afraid by you, certainly less the prospect of you being able to kill him. You didn't like being underestimated, much less by someone who would be easy for you to kill. You pushed yourself away from the wall coming up behind the man and tackling him to the floor, hips straddled directly over his as you pressed the knife against his throat, watching the way his eyes lit up with surprise, his hands finding your hips to grip onto tightly. 

"I like you, you've got a lot of nerve, probably one of the most gorgeous women I've ever laid my eyes on so tell me what's the contact worth?" He chuckled, hands tugging to grind your hips against his tentatively, watching as you fumbled to keep your thoughts straight. Composing yourself as you ignored the pleasurable feeling of your hips rocking against his, instead pressing the dagger closer to his throat. You were about to respond to his question when he cut you off quickly. 

"Whatever it is I'll double it, hell I'd even triple it under two conditions." He spluttered quickly, hands stilling as he realised that you weren't to be messed with. You cocked your head to the side, pulling the blade from his throat as you considered what he had to say, dragging the tip of your dagger gently over his jawline and down his chest with a sickly sweet smile, the alluring confusion evident in your tone of voice "Conditions?" 

"Condition one, Work for me and I'll pay better than any contract ever could and two, you're mine to have." He suggested, his tone coming across as commanding making it seem like you truly had no choice in the matter but you knew better. 

"I don't belong to anyone, Weasley, especially not someone I work for." You bit back, watching as he laughed softly, hand gripping at your waist as he flipped you over, the dagger clattering against the floor as he pinned your hands down, back pressed firmly against the cold surface, feeling him press his lips to your exposed neck. "You belong to me now, seems a waste of such perfect breasts for you not to be."

"Were you going to whore yourself out for me? That's precious." His lips travelled down, peppering wet kisses along your collarbone as his hands still gripped onto your waist. Any semblance of fight in you disappeared the minute his lips were on your skin, a sick part of you adored how he wanted you but an even sicker part wanted him to take you. 

"Where's the confidence, darling? Not ready to submit to me already, are you?" His voice was thick with arousal, hands finding their way to your hips again as he slowly ground his hips into yours, teasing you ever so slightly as he pushed himself closer to you. Somehow George had managed to shock you into silence, your head filled with nothing but the the image of him fucking you into the morning, not even room to think of a quick remark or retorting comment to quip back at him.

“You’re insufferable.” You breathed out, letting his strong arms pull you off of the floor, hoisting you up on his hips to trap you between the wall and his chest once again, his hand this time was quickly up your skirt once again, feeling the wetness that pooled between your legs that confirmed you wanted him just as much as he wanted you. “And yet you spread your legs for me with ease.”

He didn’t dare tease you any longer, pulling himself free and sinking into you like there was no time to lose. Just when you thought you were full, he had more to give and you were feeling stretched out beyond belief. Your nails dug into his shoulders as he pulled loud moans from you with every deep and slow thrust, the pleasure coursing through you had you rolling your head back which he only took as an invitation for him to wrap his hand around your throat, groaning lowly as his eyes flicked over the way your face contorted with overwhelming pleasure,  “You’re so fucking tight.” 

“George, please.” He hummed at the way your voice came out with the strained begging, feeling pleasure build in the pit of your stomach as you realised the churning movement you had been feeling throughout the evening had been butterflies, the building want and desire for the man who was now fucking you loudly into the wall. 

“I like hearing you beg, what do you need, sweetheart?” He hummed, pressing his lips to your exposed neck, right over where your vocal chords were, feeling the vibrations of your moans flow through his lips, pushing him over the edge to pick up his pace, focused intently on making you cum as he found himself growing addicted to the way you squeezed around him.

“I need to- George, It feels so good.” He shook his head, pulling completely from you, letting your feet drop to the floor as he spun you around so that your chest was pressed to the wall, whines still falling from your lips as his hands were back up your skirt, pulling your hips into the right position to push himself inside you again, this time his hands pulled at the strings of your corset, tightening it to a point where it only added to the pleasure he was making you feel.

“You only get to cum when you ask for it.” With every thrust, it felt as if he was tugging your corset that little bit tighter. Pushing you closer and closer to the release you craved, so desperate for it that the only word that fell from your lips was ‘please’. Not what he wanted to hear. One of his strong hands pulled your hair into his fist, pulling your head back to rest on his shoulder, a smirk evident on his lips through the tone he used, “Please, what?”

“Please, I need to cum, George” You whined, hand coming up to wrap around his forearm, nails digging into his skin as his pace picked up finally, the hand still attached to the strings of your corset giving a final tug as you released around him, becoming a mess of spluttering moans for him as he pulled out of you, spinning you around once again to thread his fingers into your hair and pull you into a passionate kiss. 

Something about the way his lips tasted made you never want to pull away, finding yourself chasing his lips as he pulled away to gaze over your features, a smile on his lips as he took in just how beautiful you were, feeling like for a moment he may have truly met his match, watching as your chest heaved while you slowly drank in the high he had given you. “Next time I hope to see these beautiful breasts in all their glory,” 

“Next time? Thought you knew I have to kill you now.” You laughed as his fingers tucked your hair behind your ear, an action that sent a shiver down your spine. You watched as his tongue darted out to wet his lips, head shaking slightly to sway the hair out of his eyes, an action that made you melt at the knees.

“Very funny, now about your first contract.” He spoke quickly, tucking himself away and making himself presentable before pulling you deeper inside of the room, standing you by a large painting, tilting your chin up to avert your gaze to a particular individual, “Know who that man is, angel?” 

You swallowed thickly, eyes gazing over the large, pristine painting, well aware of who he was. The man that had set the contract over George’s head. You nodded at his question, his arm slinking around your waist as he leaned down to press a chaste kiss to your ear. “Good, I want information; You tell him I’m dead and find out what his next move is, if you get me that, I’ll know you’re loyal, just for that I’ll pay you more than you’ve ever seen.” 

“George, he’s the one that requested this cont-” You spoke quietly, his hand tugging you closer to his body, a deep sigh falling past his lips, leaving you in silence for a few moments until his warm toned voice spoke up once again.

“I know, and you’re going to find out why, understand?” He sounded genuinely upset, the man who had ordered the hit on him was a close family friend, but yet someone who craved the power that George had. Part of you knew that it wasn’t just Cedric Diggory that wanted him dead but he was the only one with enough money to make the bounty worth it, and yet you had found yourself wound up on his side. “Good girl.” 

Your chest was still heaving as you stepped through the opening double doors, this time hand in hand with the man who you had come here to kill, something had changed in your time alone and you knew that you would be the last person to hurt him. You were running off the high of belonging to someone, a new contract and the willingness to submit. You were George’s new personal weapon, a force that even he didn’t know the true extent of. Better to have you on his side than against him, as good as you felt against him after all. 

taglist //  @starlightweasley​​ @slytherinsunrise​​  @gcdric​​​ @theweasleysredhair​​​ @whiz-bangs78​​​ @pansydaisy​​ @vogueweasley​​​ @vivianweasley​​​​ @feetoffthetablee​​ @thisismynerdyself​​​ @witch-and-a-half​​ @loony-loopy-lupinn​​ @rip-us​​ @hopemalfoyweasley​​ @pigwidgexn​​

[pockydays]

unravel me

⤷ characters: tsukishima x gn!reader

⤷ synopsis: in which you notice tsukishima struggling to peel the tape off his fingers during study hall. what you didn’t notice, however, was how much he had the ability to find his way into every aspect of your life, until it was too late.

⤷ word count: 6.3k (longest fic to date woohoo!)

⤷ contains: fluff, slight angst, acquaintances to friends to lovers (?), mild language, my (insanely) wordy writing

⤷ a/n: i’m not even lying this took me weeks to write and it’s my baby :] most of the dialogue in this is probably hot shit but if you enjoyed please leave a like/reblog :3: mwah mwah ily all thank you for being patient with my slow ass <3 and thank you to my dear friend abby for beta reading the first chunk of this story, if you read this ily <3

You've always considered yourself as someone who wasn't especially generous. But you weren’t incredibly selfish, either. You were in some sort of grey area, too indifferent to care about what society says about people who aren't willing to go so far as to sell their souls to the devil for the common good. But you weren't heartless, either. You cared, usually out of mutual convenience. Isn't that what everyone does? Ninety-nine percent of the time, helping others (undeniably) involves genuinely good intentions, but they coexist with selfish motives as well. Then what about that one percent?

That one percent, in fact, came to you in the most inconspicuous of times: during mid-day study hall.

You found yourself going through the motions of your everyday routine: walking into the classroom, saying hi to your friend in the third row, putting your bag on the desk, pulling out your chair, sitting down, taking out your notebook and pencils, and waiting for approximately thirty-nine seconds until a (supposedly attractive, or at least according to whispers among your female classmates, which was bold of them to assume that he even liked girls in that way — you weren’t one to burst their bubbles) tall blond guy with glasses walked through the door, and greet him with a nonchalant "hey" and a wave.

And after that, if he responded with a slightly snarkier tone than usual, you knew he was having an especially bad day (more likely than not, it was because of the volleyball teammates he often complained about). But as for the real reason why, your guess was as good as anybody else's. He probably had piss in his Cheerios every morning and his trousers in a twist until the end of time for all you knew.

But today was slightly different than usual. For one, a full minute had already passed after you took out your pencils and yesterday’s chemistry notes, and there was still no sign of him. For some unknown reason, you couldn't stop the worry gnawing its way into your conscience. You rested your chin in one hand and drummed your fingers on the desk with the other, trying not to think about your classmate with a sharp tongue and a glare that could kill. Of course, trying to not think about something is a form of thinking about it, so that didn’t exactly work out.

The bell suddenly rang, jolting you out of your thoughts as well as your seat. Tsukishima Kei was now officially late, according to the school rules. Thankfully, your study hall advisor was lenient and understanding enough to not mark anybody late if they arrived within a reasonable time as to not tarnish their transcript, but you knew Tsukishima well enough to know that he wouldn’t care about a single unsavory comment that would only have the slightest potential to alarm admissions officers in those money-hungry institutions.

That was one thing you admired about your classmate. His ability to judge what things to put his effort into and selectively choose what he could get away with doing half-assed was unparalleled. As far as you could tell, volleyball was something he didn’t deem as worthy to put his all into. You weren’t usually wrong in such judgements about people, but then again, you’d only been right, let’s say, a total of three out of three times. You weren’t sure if it was considered a really good or really bad track record, so you’d always kept those sort of assumptions to yourself.

“Not going to say hi to me today? That’s awfully rude of you,” a voice said, out of the blue. You tense, wondering who had the audacity to call you rude.

“What?” you asked incredulously before you could realize where the voice came from. “Oh, it’s you,” you said, recognizing his inhumanly tall frame and the pair of white headphones around his neck. I should’ve guessed; of course only he’s brash enough to say something like that. 

You rested your chin in your hands again, the tension in your body visibly dissipating. You were glad that it was just Tsukishima and not some other person, because they would be a pain in the ass to deal with. Plus, he was just about the only person you allowed to speak without a filter; one, because it’s fun verbally sparring with him, and two, it makes his stunned silence after you counter with an especially witty phrase all the more satisfying.

This time, though, he sat down at the desk to your left without a word. Usually, he would never pass up the chance to have another round of firing tasteful insults at you. Today was indeed slightly different than usual. 

As he clicked the top of his mechanical pencil, you couldn’t help but notice a flash of white one his hands out of the corner of your eye. Did he always have that on his hands or was I just horribly unobservant before?

Leaning over to his seat at a dangerous angle, you asked, “Hey, what’s up with your fingers? You have leprosy or something?” in hopes of lightening his supposedly gloomy mood.

“Shut up,” he muttered irritably. “If I had leprosy, my fingers would’ve fallen off by now and I would’ve put one in your lunch as a keepsake,” he added. Shifting away from you in his chair, he tried as much as possible to make his (in your opinion, unconventionally lanky) body as far away as possible from your general vicinity.

“Okay, okay, geez! At least tell me, because now I’m curious and it’s all your fault.”

“If I tell you, will you stop bothering me?” he asked, rubbing the bridge of his nose in frustration.

“Maaybee...?” you replied slowly, trying to find an answer when a simple “yes” or “no” didn’t suffice.

“If you’re not going to stop bothering me, then I don’t have a reason to tell you, so no,” he frowned, crossing his arms self-righteously.

“Alright then, keep your secrets, mister. I don’t care whether you tell me or not.” Which wasn’t completely the truth, since some tiny part of your conscience thought that wrestling the answer from him was for the better. “But just know that I’ll continue to be my annoying self, so don’t say I didn’t warn you.” With that, you turned your attention back to your chemistry notes.

A few silent minutes passed before you leaned back over to his desk on the left.

“Hey mister, do you have some pencil lead? I think I ran out,” you whispered to Tsukishima.

He heaved what you thought was the biggest sigh in the universe before responding, “Point-five or point-seven?”

“Tsukishima, you wound me! I thought you knew that I write exclusively in point-five!” you exclaimed with a hand over your chest, feigning offense. 

He rolled his eyes, and out of the corner of your eye, you saw him count out three pieces of lead. Three, that’s generous, you think to yourself as you suppress a small smile.

“Thanks, mister,” you whispered as you plucked the delicate sticks of graphite from his fingers. Taking a quick glance at his hands, you noticed that his fingers were wrapped in some sort of adhesive tape. Before Tsukishima could catch you looking for too long and make some snarky remark about how absolutely positively beautiful his hands were for you to be staring, you abruptly turn back to your notes and refill your (actually already lead-filled) pencil. If he wouldn’t answer your question, it wouldn’t hurt to take things into your own hands and figure it out for yourself, right? 

You looked back to the notebook in front of you, but with your curiousity still unsatiated, you couldn’t help the thoughts bouncing off the walls of your mind, competing for your undivided attention.

Ask him about it! a voice yelled.

Mind your own business, you creepy fuck! another (particularly foul-mouthed) one screamed.

At this point, you’d probably read the first line of your notebook about thirty times without comprehending a single thing, so you decided to give up and resort to banging your head lightly on your desk.

Apparently, 'lightly’ was an understatement, because a voice on your left hissed, “What’s your problem?!”

Oops.

“Nothing,” you replied softly with your head still on the desk.

Tsukishima sighed in exasperation. “Well, now I’m curious and it’s all your fault,” he scoffed, using your own words from earlier.

Now it was your turn to sigh. Stubborn person number one meets equally stubborn person number two: one of life’s most aggravating experiences. 

“C’mon, let me see your hands,” you demanded, your own hand outstretched. You’ll say ‘no’ no matter what I ask.

“No.” Tsukishima pushed his glasses further up the bridge of his nose and turned away.

Point proven.

You had always considered yourself to be somewhat generous when circumstances permitted, yes. But being yourself around others was something you considered yourself to be quite good at, as well.

Sometimes you imagined what it would be like if people’s hearts had metaphorical layers of thread surrounding them, winding, twisting, wrapping, and sometimes tangling around and around the ugliest, scariest, or most precious parts of themselves. The people you met would either unravel a bit of your heart, even if just a little bit, or they would cause you to wind the threads of your heartstrings even more tightly. 

You had strings that were (sometimes laughably) effortless to unwind, but once someone got to the last layer of thread, they refused to unravel any further. In other words, you weren’t afraid to be ninety-nine percent yourself around everybody. But that one percent? You’d keep it safely tucked away behind the impenetrable fortress of that last previous layer of thread — for both the good of yourself and everyone else.

Sometimes, you also wondered what the threads wrapping around Tsukishima’s heart was like. Not because you particularly had more of an interest in him than your other classmates, but because he was a sort of enigma to you. You had countless questions: How hard is it to unravel those threads? and What lies beyond those tightly wound strings? and What did he have to hide that is so unsightly? et cetera, et cetera. He was a puzzle you wanted to piece together, although you weren’t sure what the finished product would look like, or if there even was a finished product. 

You had a lot more questions about Tsukishima than you did answers.

You must’ve been deep in thought for a while, because it took an utterance of some rather coarse language to bring you back to reality.

“Fuck,” Tsukishima muttered, fiddling with the tape covering his fingers. It was evident, after about ten seconds of observing him, that he was getting nowhere. At this point, you were presented with two choices: to help him or to leave him to wallow in his own frustration and suffer. Admittedly, the latter option seemed rather entertaining, but for some unknown reason, you opted for the former.

“Here, let me help,” you said, hand extending in front of you as an offer. “You obviously aren’t getting anywhere, so let me put you out of your misery.”

“You better get it all off then,” he grumbled, outstretching his arm, letting it limply dangle in front of your face. Huh, I didn’t expect him to actually agree so easily.

You gently took his hand, and starting with his pinky finger, you worked your nails under the end of the tape. As the tape unraveled further, you couldn’t help but notice how elegant his hands were. They were long and slender in ways that yours weren’t — the magnum opus of all things relating to hands. If God played favorites, he certainly did when it came to Tsukishima’s hands. Geez, knock it off, you cringed inwardly. You’re literally worshipping his hands at this point.

“So, uh, why are your fingers covered in tape?” You hoped to break the awkward silence between the two of you, and asking him questions that he probably wouldn’t answer (especially to plebeians like you) seemed like the last resort.

“Volleyball practice,” he responded simply. 

Oh. I didn’t expect an actual response.

“This morning? You guys sometimes have practice early in the day, right?”

“Last evening,” he corrected.

“You had these on your hands for that long?! I see you’re finally getting serious about volleyball, my dude, but you have to be able to ask other people for help." People other than me, but if I’m your last resort, then I’d be happily obliged to help.

Tsukishima scowled, which, thankfully, you missed, busy undoing the tape around his fingers. At least you didn’t criticize him for being hypocritical regarding his attitude about volleyball, which was relieving. 

There was a substantial (and slightly awkward) pause as you peeled the white adhesive strip of cloth off of his fingers, working slowly enough so that it wouldn’t hurt, or so you hoped.

“There we go!” you exclaimed proudly as the last of the tape fell away from his fingers. He wiggled them experimentally, not unlike a newly hatched butterfly would flap its fresh new pair of wings. 

“Thanks,” he responded curtly. 

As if on cue, the bell rang, marking the end of study hall. It was time for chemistry class.

Over the course of your next class, your mind with occupied with thoughts that weren’t even remotely related to chemistry. You almost had a close call with the teacher when he called on you to answer a question, but thankfully, your friend sitting next to you whispered the answer in your ear — though not before giving you a quizzical look. You were too embarrassed to say that you were actually thinking about why the hell you actually agreed to help the guy sitting the next seat over whom you should have absolutely nothing to do with.

I did not just touch his hands no no no — I did not just hold hands with Tsukishima Kei — It wasn’t really of my own volition and he looked like he really needed help and I was feeling generous and it conveniently benefited the both of us, right? He got to finally be free from his misery and I— I got to touch his hands—

Your thoughts spiraled out of control as you buried your face in your hands, and perhaps some of the threads around your heart unraveled themselves that day.

Thus, after that day, your everyday routine changed in more ways than one. You would into the classroom, say hi to your friend in the third row, put your bag on the desk, pull out your chair, sit down, take out your notebook and pencils, and wait for approximately thirty-nine seconds until a tall blond guy with glasses walked through the door, and greet him with a nonchalant "hey" and a wave. If he still had tape around his fingers (which was quite often), you’d ask him if he needed help; he’d say yes, and you would spend the next however many minutes undoing the adhesive strips of cloth.

Today was no different. You carefully eased the tape away from Tsukishima’s fingers. When you got to the base of his ring finger, he hissed in pain. The skin there was red and raw as if it had been recently injured. Not as if, it had been.

“Sorry,” you whispered, wincing as if you were the one in pain. “How’d you get hurt?” This time, you were genuinely concerned for him, which was rare for anyone, especially him.

“The one time I put some more effort into volleyball as if it were actually worth something, it comes back to bite me,” he muttered, gritting his teeth.

You looked up from his hand. 

“What?”

“I said, somehow I always give the things that I swear off from my life a second chance, it never, ever, works out,” he muttered through gritted teeth.

“Did anyone ever tell you that you can’t get better out of sheer will? You’re bound to slip and fall on your butt at least a few times. Or a lot,” you responded. 

“Nobody told me that falling would hurt this much, though,” he replied. He looked off to the side, too embarrassed to meet your gaze.

“It’ll get better, trust me. You just have to get back off your ass and stand up.”

You left the conversation at that and continued undoing the tape on his other hand. 

I want to kiss his hands like I’m greeting the crown prince of a foreign kingdom, you thought, lips twitching, fighting back a small smile.

Oh my God, stop it! you mentally slapped yourself. You had to restrain yourself from actually slapping yourself in the face. Meanwhile, the uniform you wore began to feel a bit too warm — it was quite convenient that Tsukishima couldn’t see your face at that moment.

Unbeknownst to you, however, Tsukishima's thoughts weren’t nearly as calm as his cool and collected exterior. 

After all, what was he supposed to do when he could feel your breath fanning on his hands (could he tell you were desperately trying to keep them steady?) and your meticulous fingers on his?

I must be going crazy, he thought.

He imagines holding your hand, and not because of that dumb finger tape-

He shook his head, as if to dislodge the idea from his memory. No, I’m definitely going crazy.

“So, do you like him or something?” your best friend asked out of the blue during a sleepover, the both of you laying in the darkness on your sleeping bags.

“Who?” you asked, though you had an idea of who she was referring to. 

“Tsukishima. That guy who sits to your left during study hall.”

“No, why would I like him? I mean, how can you even tell if you like someone or not. It’s not like there’s a radar that detects crushes and blasts ‘OH MY GOD YOU’RE HOPELESSLY IN LOVE’ on speaker,“ you replied dryly.

“Do you feel different around him?” she asked.

“As in the cliché symptoms of love that you read in romance novels? Like you feel like your heart is going to burst out of your chest and you have to clutch your shirt like it’s gonna pop out onto the floor if you don’t? If that’s what you’re asking, then no.”

“I mean that could be a sign, but you don’t have to feel like that to like someone. I mean in the way that you’re willing to show them who you really are, including all the ugly parts of yourself that you wouldn’t show to other people.”

Of course not! you thought to yourself. There’s no way I would fall in love with someone that I argue with for fun, right? 

“Why do you always complain about those tryhards on your volleyball team? You can always quit, you know,” you asked after Tsukishima was in a particularly bad mood about something, presumably about volleyball (as it usually was). As per your daily schedule, you were unraveling his finger tape during study hall once again.

“Don’t they know that the more effort they put into something, the more it’ll hurt when they find out everything they believe in is a lie?” he asked.

You paused. Oh, it was an a genuine question, you realized. And he wants a genuine answer.

“Such as?” you asked, your mouth acting quicker than your mind. I probably shouldn’t have pried deeper into something that’s obviously his business.

He went ahead and responded anyway, but not before taking a deep breath.

“When I was little,” he began, “I looked up to my older brother a lot. I really respected him, you know? He was my idol; he was perfect and infallible in every way. He played volleyball in junior high, so it was only natural that I played the same sport he did. And he continued playing throughout high school, or so I thought.”

“Or so you thought?” you repeated.

“He lied to me.” With those four words, you heard years and years of resentment and bitterness through his shaking voice, barely above a whisper. 

“To be honest, I should’ve expected it,” he continued, laughing humorlessly at himself. “I was too enamored to realize that when he was trying to stop me from watching his games, he was also trying to stop me from finding out that he was a liar. He wasn’t even a starting player. Instead he was on the bench, cheering for the team he was supposedly on.”

As those words left his mouth, you realized how little you understood Tsukishima. No, it was honestly ridiculous how you could consider yourself his friend when all you did was unwind strips of tape from his fingers for a mere few minutes every day.

Despite that, you held his hands a little tighter.

“If you don’t mind, I had a similar experience in junior high as well. This girl that I was really close friends with apparently had a huge circle of friends outside of school, and she would tell me and my other friends about all the rich guy friends she had and how well they treated her and shit. But I found out years later that they were probably all made up so that she could have something to tell us. So that she could keep us in her friend group. I realized they were fake.”

You let go of his hands, your arms limp at the memory.

“And how are you two right now?” Tsukishima asked. “Your relationship, I mean.”

“Surprisingly, we’re still on good terms,” you said. “She still doesn’t know I found out. But despite her pretending to be someone else in front of us for all those years, I still don’t think she’s a bad person. I’m actually kinda glad she got the attention she wanted. But man, the past still hurts like a bitch,” you chuckled in an attempt to forget.

“I see,” he replied. With that, you picked up his hand once again, continuing to undo the tape around the rest of his fingers.

That day, both you and the once unyielding, stone-faced Tsukishima left the classroom knowing just a bit more about each other.

You didn’t know that day that Tsukishima had his first real conversation with his brother after ‘the incident’.

He didn’t know you gave that friend from junior high a call for the first time in two years.

And the threads around your hearts unwound themselves just a bit more.

“No, I don’t,” you finally responded after a long pause. “I don’t like him in that way. He’s just someone I can rant to about the shit that happened in junior high—”

“Say that again, but slower,” your friend interrupted.

“He’s someone that I can rant to about all the... stuff that happened in the past,” you repeated. Did she not hear me the first time?

“Exactly, that’s my point,” she responded. “You never talk about those things with anybody, and even when I bring it up, you just brush over it.”

The weight of what your friend was implying took far too long for your brain to register, but when it did—

“Oh shit, I think I might actually like Tsukishima.”

It was in the classroom of your mid-day study hall where Tsukishima Kei stole your heart bit by bit through the conversations you had with him while unraveling his finger tape; it was where you opened your heart and he opened his. 

“You and Tsukishima aren’t a thing, right?” a voice asked you out of the blue in the hallway after the dismissal bell rang.

“What?” you asked, turning your head to see who it was. You recognized her, although you struggled to put a name to her face. “You sit in the back of our study hall classroom, right? And to answer your question, no, we are not a thing.” 

Such questions were becoming all the more frequent these days, and you had the same two-letter answer to all of them (although you secretly hoped you could answer yes, but how Tsukishima felt about you was a whole different story).

“Yeah, I do. But are you sure you two aren’t dating? Like you could just be going out with him and not know it,” she answered.

You held back a snort that almost escaped your lips. 

“No, I’m sure we aren’t,” you said with a sigh, trying to keep your tone remotely cordial. “Besides, I’m not sure if he even considers me as a friend.”

“Oh, I’m sure he considers you as more than that,” she replied with a tone you couldn’t quite decipher. “Trust me.”

You barely knew her, so you couldn’t say how credible her statement was (though you desperately wanted it to be true). You glanced at the clock, itching to end the conversation.

“Alright, then. I’ll take your word for it. I have to get home now though, seeya.”

“Seeya around then,” she replied with a wave. Why does that sound strangely ominous?

“Bye,” you answered, too mentally drained from the conversations that began with the same question: ”Oh my God are you dating Tsukishima?” (Answer: no, no you weren’t). Nonetheless, you couldn’t ignore the nagging voice in your head that you haven’t seen the last of her just yet.

She appeared the very next day, in the same spot at the hallway after school ended. That’s... strange.

You decided to ignore how off-putting it was. Maybe it was her wide smile — so much so that you could see her dimples and her blinding white teeth. Or maybe it was the way she spoke, like she was trying to get something from you. Whatever it was, you didn’t have what she wanted.

“If you’re asking whether Tsukishima and I became a thing within the past twenty-four hours, then no,” you said in exasperation. She was now walking by your side with an odd spring in her step, a bit too close for comfort despite the empty hallway.

“No, that wasn’t my question,” she said with a chuckle. “You keep denying that Tsukishima doesn’t like you, but I think he does.”

You had to scoff at that.

“In what way?” 

“In that way,” she responded with a knowing glance. “You’re already in the talking stage with him! He never talks to anyone other than that one friend he has, so I’d say you’re off to a good start.”

“And that totally means that he’s in love with me.”

“Please, don’t lie to yourself. You’ve gotten farther than anybody has, even if they tried for their entire life. How did you do it?”

But I didn’t do anything, you thought. 

“I just talked to him about stuff,” you replied slowly. The look she gave you said go on, so you did. 

“I just talked to him about myself and deep stuff and shi— and such. I really didn’t do much, so I’m probably not the best person to ask. Why don’t you try and ask his friend Yamaguchi?”

“No, I think I’m good,” she said with an unreadable tone. “Well I gotta go, so see you tomorrow!”

“....Bye,” you replied halfheartedly. You tried to shake the unsettling feeling from your chest, but you couldn’t help thinking, What if he does like me back?

The volleyball made a resounding smack against the court behind the middle blocker instead of his hands. Tsukishima clenched his fists, gritting his teeth. Another ball that I couldn’t block?

“Hey, use your smartass head for once and pay attention!” Kageyama yelled across the court.

Tsukishima ignored his taunts. 

“Oh, the smart mouth finally doesn’t have any words left to say? Finally some peace and quiet,” Kageyama muttered. 

Practice continued for far too long, but the whistle finally blew, signaling everyone that it was time to go home. Finally, Tsukishima thought. I don’t have to listen to the King spew nonsense anymore.

He and Yamaguchi gathered their belongings and made their way out of the gym.

“Something’s on your mind,” Yamaguchi commented as they walked back home side by side.

“No there isn’t,” Tsukishima replied a bit too quickly to sound convincing.

“Right.”

A long silence ensued, the two of them kicking pebbles on the road and twiddling their thumbs in the cool night air. The buzz of the electric street lamps felt much too loud, feeding off the tension in the air. 

“How can you tell that you like someone?” Tsukishima was the first to break the silence, but it was the question, not the fact that he was the one that spoke first, that was more jarring.

“So I was right,” Yamaguchi responded after a slight pause. He fought back a small smile and added, “I thought something bad happened that I didn’t know about, but it turns out that you’re just in love.”

The taller one of the two sighed.��

“I’m asking you to tell me if I... like someone in that way, not for you to tell me that I am, Tadashi.”

“I can’t make a judgement if you don’t tell me anything. Tell me.” Yamaguchi lightly punched his friends arm.

“There’s this... classmate of mine. They asked if I needed help peeling off my finger tape during study hall and I said yes.”

“I figured as such.”

“What?” 

“You always come into first period with your fingers still wrapped but it’s gone by the time practice starts. I always wondered why but I never got around to asking you. But I’m even more surprised at the fact that you actually agreed.”

“Yeah, I surprise even myself sometimes,” Tsukishima deadpanned. “Especially the fact that it would become something that they would ask pretty much every day, and I would say yes every time. I just don’t know whether I have feelings for them in that way or not.”

“Well, do you look forward to talking to them everyday?” Yamaguchi asked.

Yes.

“Do you want them to know you for who you really are instead of what people think you are?”

Yes.

“Does your mind wander to them all the time?”

Yes.

“If you flipped a coin to decide whether you do like them or not, would your gut tell you the answer before you looked at whether it landed on head or tails?” 

Yes, Tsukishima answered silently, knowing he’d finally have to accept the truth: he was in love and there was nothing he could do about it.

One thing you didn’t know about having a crush on someone was that you suddenly realize how often they appear in your life. You knew where you’d cross paths with him in the hallway before and after school, where his locker was, and worst of all, every goddamn love song reminded you of him. 

Even all the little mannerisms people had circled back to him: your friend would push her glasses up her nose the same way he did. Your mother would furrow her eyebrows like him when he was thinking about a particularly annoying math problem. Your English teacher would spin a pen between his fingers, just like him (although you had to admit that you preferred watching the latter do so; his hands were prettier). 

Maybe this was just some twisted manifestation of the Baader-Meinhof Phenomenon, but your brain couldn’t recall enough content from psychology class to be sure. Either way, you were going insane.

That is, until one rather unremarkable day; there was nothing out of the ordinary. Everything came and went according to schedule — the same time spent with Tsukishima during study hall and the same boring class lectures. But as soon as the dismissal bell rang, you were surprised to find that the girl who would pester you in the hallway asking about you and Tsukishima’s relationship status (you still didn’t know her name) as if anything had changed (which it had not, of course). 

Apparently, her presence had already become routine enough for you to notice her absence. 

It was a welcome change, though; it wasn’t like you wanted her to be around. No, you absolutely didn’t need her nosy questions. So you just shrugged it off and made your way to the school’s exit like you normally did.

But a very familiar voice from a nearby classroom made your ears perk up — coincidentally, from your study hall classroom. You peered into the room from the doorway.

“Um, I think I like you, Tsukishima! I’ve felt this way for a long time and I just had to tell you!” The same boisterous girl who only had one topic of conversation with you (Tsukishima, of course) now had her hands coyly clasped behind her back, in all likelihood holding something meant for him.

As soon as you heard those words leave her mouth, the world around you seemingly ground to a halt — and so did you. As if your body stopped functioning for a moment, your heart stopped and your brain took much too long to process what she said. 

What did it matter anyway? You didn’t take your chance and look where that got you.

You turned on your heel and half-walked half-ran outside the school.

The second thing you didn’t realize about having a crush on someone, you realized as you laid in the darkness in the middle of the night, is that it physically hurts. Someone might as well have put your heart in a jar of acid and screwed the lid shut — no matter how hard you tried, it still hurt. And hurt it did.

You felt a stray tear slide down your cheek, and you angrily punched your pillow. You didn’t even have the emotional capacity to be angry at the girl who confessed to him. It was too obvious that she liked him, from the way she would stand a bit straighter when you mentioned Tsukishima’s name to the way she seemed a bit too satisfied when you said that you weren’t dating him. Were you too much of an idiot to notice? 

But most importantly, you were angry at yourself. Why were you crying over someone who you knew wouldn’t like you in the way that you liked him? Maybe you were too much of an idiot to not think things through; you’d just assumed that your feelings for him were so intense that he had to like you back. In retrospect, that was a stupid idea. But then again, in retrospect, you were the idiot all along.

It was in the classroom of your mid-day study hall where Tsukishima Kei stole your heart. It was in the same classroom where you got your heart broken for the first time.

The most annoying thing about the universe was that it was ruthlessly, unrelentingly cruel. The earth kept spinning even if your world stopped mid-orbit, too traumatized by loss to continue. 

This was the brutal irony that you came to realize in the classroom where it all began and ended, supposedly. The very next morning, you had to pick your sorry self out of bed after however many hours of sleep you were able to get and go to school. And now half the school day had gone by — it was study hall time once again. 

“Are you gonna help me get this off my fingers or not?” The voice that you wanted so desperately to get out of your mind after months of replaying in your head plagued you once again. Indeed, the universe was cruel.

“No,” you replied meekly with your head on the desk. “It’s been long enough for you to know how to do it yourself by now.”

“I insist.”

You hesitated. A second passed, then two.

“Fine.”

Ever since you realized your feelings for the other boy with a cold stare and an even icier glare, you couldn’t help but be hyper aware of yourself, and today was no different.

You could hear your own heartbeat in your ears. Could he? (It wasn’t that obvious, was it?)

You could feel yourself getting warmer by the second. Could he tell? (You were too busy looking at his hands; so let’s hope not.)

You knew that your heart was tugging you in his direction, urging you to do something. Was his doing the same? (You scoffed at yourself — you went over this last night and came to the conclusion that no, there was no way he could ever like you back.)

But maybe you wanted to be wrong this time. Being proven wrong wasn’t something you particularly enjoyed, but you would rather take the pessimistic point of view in this circumstance so you wouldn’t get hurt. And yet you still got your heart broken. 

That didn’t stop your erratic heartbeat and staggered breaths whenever your fingers brushed over his, though. While slowly unwinding the tape down his fingers, you wondered how many threads he unwound from your heart for it to hurt so much when it broke. Too many for your emotions to be left undamaged by something like this, you reckoned. Not that it was his fault, of course. It was your own for becoming so naïve and vulnerable.

But, the universe was full of irony. While you had your head down, too embarrassed and dejected to say anything else, Tsukishima was thanking whatever gods existed that you couldn’t see how flustered he was. 

Turns out, even people with hearts of stone can fall prey to the symptoms of falling in love. With a million thoughts collectively running through your minds, he was the first to blurt out:

“I think I’m in love.”

You let go of his hands, the loose end of the tape still dangling. There were too many questions raised at the utterance of a single sentence: With whom? When? How? Why?

Before you could organize your thoughts and form a coherent sentence — as if he could read your mind and peer into your soul — Tsukishima answered:

“With you.”

And as soon as the last two words fell from his lips, the last of the threads surrounding your worn, beaten hearts unraveled themselves, and fell away.

[kuroopaisen]

tiny love || i

➵  as tooru’s younger sister, falling in love with iwaizumi hajime is easy. your feelings aren’t ignored, either.

warnings: f!reader

wc: 3.8k

m.list ↠ ch. 2

“Can’t you let me win once?” Tooru whined, turning to Iwaizumi with his best puppy dog eyes.

“Not a chance in hell.”

“Iwa-chan—”

“Call me that again and we bring this fight into the real world.”

“You’re so mean.”

“You should’ve thought of that before challenging me to a one-v-one.”

“You know, most people have fun while playing games.”

“There’s no space for fun here,” Iwaizumi grunted. “Only winning.”

“This isn’t the court!”

“Doesn’t matter.”

You watched the two of them battle it out on Smash. You knew well enough that challenging Iwaizumi to a battle on there was a death wish. But Tooru had an insatiable need to win all the time – even if he liked to act otherwise.

You knew that hunger would take him far. And you weren’t the only one. Everyone always knew that Tooru was going to leave an impact, no matter what he chose to do.

“Hey,” Iwaizumi called out to you, giving you a small smile. “Would you like to have a go?”

“Not against you,” you laughed, shaking your head. “I’m not mad.”

“Fight Oikawa then,” Iwaizumi smirked, nodding at him. “You’ll crush him easily.”

“Hey!” Tooru whined, waving his arms dramatically. Sometimes, you thought that Tooru should’ve pursued a career in the dramatic arts alongside volleyball. There was certainly some wasted potential there.

“You might do better if you didn’t scream every time I punched you,” Iwiazumi smirked. You could feel the fondness in his voice, even if it was buried under a layer or two of mock contempt.

“I can’t help it!” Tooru wailed. “It always takes me by surprise!”

“Alright,” you grinned, getting to your feet.

“I’ll lend you a hand,” Iwaizumi said, patting the space between him and Tooru on the couch.

“That’s not fair!” Tooru whined, pouting at the two of you. “There’s no way I’ll win if you work together.”

“Oh, definitely not.” Iwaizumi flashed him a wicked grin.

Tooru turned to you with pleading eyes. “Please don’t. I can’t handle this.”

Your brother knew exactly how to pull on your heartstrings – even though he was the older one.

“He’s bullshitting,” Iwaizumi cut in, quelling your guilt before it even had time to build.

“I’m not,” Tooru huffed. “I’m terrified.”

“That’s no excuse,” Iwaizumi shook his head, flicking through the menu.

Tooru watched him, hawk-like. “What are you doing?”

“I’m giving her Meta Knight.”

“That’s not fair!”

You grinned, patting your brother on the back. “I am new to this game. I’m going to need all the help I can get.”

Tooru glared at you for a long moment. It almost felt like you were having a proper fight.

“Don’t let him get to you,” Iwaizumi chuckled, handing the controller back to you. “He’s just a sore loser.”

You couldn’t have thought of a better way to describe your brother.

But you were just glad to make an attempt to reach across the gulf between you, that impassable abyss you felt you had no hopes of leaping across. For once, it felt like you belonged in your brother’s life. 

✧ ✧ ✧

“Shit,” you grumbled, patting your pockets.

“Don’t let Oikawa hear you speaking like that,” Hajime chuckled, looking at you from the corner of his eye.

The two of you were standing in line at the local boba shop, a frequent after-school haunt for the two of you. It’s usually a little busy, swallowed up by the after-school rush of students who either didn’t do their extracurriculars at school or simply didn’t care.

“What my brother doesn’t know can’t hurt him,” you mumbled half-heartedly, looking up at Hajime with your best puppy eyes. “I forgot my wallet.”

“Again?” He grinned. “I’m starting to think you’re doing it on purpose.”

“It’s not my fault Tooru won’t lend me any cash,” you shrugged. 

Not that long ago, your brother was responsible for financing your after-school snacks. 

But since entering high school, Tooru had discovered girls. And girls had discovered Tooru.

You hadn’t expected your brother to be so highly-sought after – seeing as he was such a brat – but you weren’t about to complain about it. If he wasn’t volunteering, he usually had a date on Tuesday afternoon, which left Hajime free to walk you home.

And he never failed to do so. Every single Tuesday, Hajime would wait for you at the school gates, ready to do his duty and escort you safely back to the Oikawa household.

Of course, these trips were rarely ever linear.

You suspected Iwaizumi abhorred studying. Sitting in one spot and reading page after page of academic jargon didn’t suit him. He never complained – and he reminded you time and time again that it’s important to stay on top of your studies – but he wasn’t above finding excuses to avoid it. 

The two of you always found ways to waste time, doing absolutely anything but studying or heading home.

His favourite of these little escapades seemed to be sitting and watching the mountains. There was always something wistful in his gaze, a sense of serenity that you’d never experienced yourself. He was only one year older than you, but he always seemed a little older than everyone around him – even if he loved monster movies. 

Regardless, you never cared much about what the two of you did. You were just willing to do whatever made him smile.

“Did you get a haircut?” He asked, shocking you out of your thoughts. He was walking over to the waiting area. You scurried after him, cheeks slightly flushed.

“No,” you shook your head. “Why?”

Hajime peered at you for a second, his brow furrowed. “It looks nice.”

You scoffed. “What, are you saying it doesn’t look nice normally?”

“No,” he sighed, rolling his eyes. “It just looks… different.” He paused, eyes flicking away from you. “But your normal hair looks nice too.”

You stood there like a marble statue, praying to every conceivable deity that your face wasn’t glowing.

He always said things like that. Things that felt like they were meant to be compliments, but so laden with awkwardness that you could never tell.

And he always got so flustered. Not that you were any better. No, in some ways, you were worse.

You just couldn’t stop yourself from hoping. You loved moments like these, stolen away with Hajime in a small pocket of your week. You weren’t even sure if Tooru knew about them; were they perhaps a secret you shared?

Of course, Tooru knew that Hajime walked you home, but not what time you got home.

You always wondered if he tried to make these little trips last longer. You certainly did.

But if he ever noticed you ambling, he never reprimanded you for it. He always slowed down to accommodate you, his arm occasionally brushing against yours. It was always enough to make your heart beat just a bit faster.

Today was no different.

“You know,” Hajime said, taking a sip of his boba. “Oikawa’s still upset that you didn’t pick up volleyball.”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Hajime smiled. “Something about how he can’t believe how his ‘precious little sister’ should’ve followed in his footsteps.”

“He just wants to brag,” you huffed, sipping up a pearl with vengeance. Hajime chuckled and your heart fluttered. You couldn’t help but be proud whenever you were the reason he laughed. 

“Is that why you don’t want to play?” He asked.  

You frowned. “Sort of?”

“You don’t sound certain.” 

“I don’t know…” You chewed on your lip, turning the question over in your mind. You knew that some people expected you to follow in your older brother’s footsteps. They assumed that his skill was due to overwhelming talent. For some, the natural assumption was that it must run in the family. 

You, of course, knew otherwise. If anything, the ignorance towards Tooru’s hard work was the most insulting thing about this particular assumption. 

 “I guess… I just…” You weren’t quite sure what you wanted to say. If you had any intention to ‘follow in your brother’s footsteps,’ it would be to emulate his passion and dedication. That’s what you wanted — not to be an incredible volleyball player in your own right.

“I want to find something I excel at, you know?” You admitted. “If I even try and get into volleyball, I feel like I’ll always just be Tooru’s younger sister. Like… it’d be hard to feel like I was getting opportunities on my own merits.”

That much was true. Just as much as you abhorred how people ignored Tooru’s hard work, you feared the thought that if you did follow him into volleyball, your own efforts would be ignored. Or, worse yet, played down. 

Besides, it would be hard not to get overshadowed by Tooru. Not when he shone so brightly. 

“If volleyball is what you want to do, you shouldn’t let that hold you back,” Hajime sighed. 

You shook your head. “I don’t think I want to play volleyball though.”

Hajime paused for a moment, lips pursed around his straw. The two of you had never really spoken about the future, about what either of you wanted to do with your lives. Tooru didn’t even need to say that he wanted to pursue volleyball; that much was a given. 

“Do you know what you want to do?” He asked. 

You bit the inside of your cheek. “I don’t know.”

Part of you felt silly for that. It had been so easy for Tooru — once he’d found his passion, he’d dug his heels in. Never once had he wavered, not even when he was at his most insecure. He knew what he wanted to do. He had a hunger for it. 

You could only wonder what that felt like. 

“And that’s okay.” Hajime’s voice was soft. Softer than it usually was. It’s like he knew what you were thinking, even though you hadn’t given voice to those deeper insecurities. 

“I just… I don’t know. I know that nobody else knows what they’re doing either but, like…” You almost regret starting this thought, but you’ve never had this opportunity before. It would be foolish to let it pass by. “Tooru’s always known. It’s kind of difficult to not feel like I should know what I want to do.”

Even your parents seemed to pay you less mind. You’d never really felt like you were less loved; but Tooru burned so brightly it was inevitable that you were cast in shadow. You’d worked tirelessly to root out any bitterness, but… 

“You’re allowed to be unsure,” Hajime said, interrupting your train of thought. “I know that’s redundant, but it’s true. You’ve got time.”

It was cliché. But there’s something about the way he said it that made you feel like you were floating. Maybe because it almost sounded like “It’ll be okay. I’ve got you.” 

A hand was suddenly ruffling your hair. You flinched, looking up at the boy standing next to you. 

He was smiling gently, a warmth in his eyes that made your heart beat a little faster. 

“You’ll find your strengths. I know you will.”

You held your breath for a moment, heat blossoming across your cheeks. Perhaps this boy would be the death of you. 

“Thanks, Hajime.” 

✧ ✧ ✧

There was never any damn food in your house. It was the curse that’d plagued you since you were young – many a late night expedition to your fridge turned up fruitless.

Tonight was no different.

It was past midnight, but you couldn’t sleep. No matter how hard you tried, you’d just laid there, staring at your ceiling while the hours crawled on.

So you’d scampered down stairs, phone in hand and hunger brewing in your stomach.

You squinted into the grim white light of your fridge, that familiar disappointment settling over you.

You hated nights like this. You couldn’t just lie in your bed for hours on end, thinking of nothing and everything. But you couldn’t even eat to escape your boredom.

You let the fridge door swing close with a muted thud, sighing heavily.

You turned around with a deep frown.

A figure stood in the corner of your kitchen.

A hand flew to your hand to contain your surprised yelp. ‘I have early morning training, you know,’ Tooru would say whenever you accidentally woke him up late at night – though you contended that he was just a very light sleeper, and it wasn’t your fault that the sound of the toilet flushing was enough to rouse him from his slumber.

But it wasn’t Tooru who was standing in the kitchen with you.

“Hajime,” you gasped, placing a solid hand on your chest. “Shit, don’t sneak up on me like that.”

He chuckled quietly, shaking his head. “Sorry.”

“You should be,” you mumbled, gripping your phone.

You felt stupid, but standing alone in your kitchen with Hajime was enough to make your heart race.

You glanced down at your phone quickly for a distraction. By what might be divine providence, Amaya’s name lit up the screen. You weren’t quite sure why she was rambling about the stars at 12:41 AM, but you weren’t going to judge her for it.

“What’s so interesting?” Hajime teased, his head suddenly hovering over your shoulder and much too close to your face.

You flinched, almost dropping your phone. “I—Uh—Amaya,” you managed to splutter out, quite grateful for just how dark your kitchen was.

“She’s the tall one, right?” Hajime asked, making no effort to move out of your space. You could usually deal with the fact that he was often around at your place late in the evenings – and honestly, trying to ensure that you were more presentable than usual was more exhausting than you’d given it credit for – but you weren’t used to him being this close.

Most of the time, you just stayed in your room while Tooru and Hajime spent time together. Wonderful as he was, Hajime was stressful to be around. It was hard enough keeping your feelings a secret from him. You didn’t want to think about what Tooru’s obnoxiously observant eyes would be able to notice.

“You alright?” He frowned, moving to stand directly in front of you.

You realised what was happening a moment too late, mortification digging its heels into your stomach. “Oh, uh… yeah. Yeah.”

Hajime flicked your forehead gently, chuckling.

You pouted at him, completely unsure of where to take the conversation. Usually, you could hold yourself together enough without embarrassing yourself too much. But at 12:45 at night? Impossible. Humiliation was inevitable. 

“What’re you doing up?” He asked, leaning against the kitchen counter.

“What are you doing up?” You shot back, somewhere between defensive and playful.

He grinned. God, he was aggravatingly handsome, even for a teenage boy.

“I can’t sleep,” he shrugged. “I thought I’d just watch a film or something until I got tired.”

“And then you decided to give me the fright of my life instead.”

“You could’ve been a burglar.”

“And if I was?”

“I would’ve thought of something.”

You took a moment to scan him up and down. “I feel safer already.” That was only half a joke. You were well-aware of just how buff he was. 

He chuckled, standing up to full height. “Anyway, I’m going to go and set up the TV. Feel free to join me.” He started walking off, pausing to look over his shoulder at you. “It’ll be more fun if you’re there.” 

Your heart stuttered in your chest. 

Well, how were you supposed to say no to something like that? 

✧ ✧ ✧

For someone who’d been so adamant that they couldn’t fall asleep, you were pretty quick to doze off once bundled up on the couch in the entertainment room.

Hajime had set up the original Godzilla quite efficiently, despite his technological ineptitude. He may have been bad with machines, but there was little that could separate him from his beloved monster movies. 

You’d settled yourself down on the couch, waiting patiently for Hajime to join you. You were already overthinking it. How close would you be to him? Would he be comfortable with you resting your head on his shoulder? Would it be weird for the two of you to share a blanket? 

He switched the light off and you flinched. 

“Here,” Hajime said, handing you one of the blankets as he sat himself down on the couch. He was just a hair’s breadth away from you, your shoulders barely touching. 

You always seemed to be one step away from overt affection; bodies pressed together close enough to be suspicious, furtive glances when you thought the other wasn’t looking, ‘secret’ afternoons spent revelling in each other’s company. 

God, this was so frustrating. And so adolescent. But even if you wanted to, you couldn’t work up the courage to actually say something. 

The fear of rejection was too strong. 

“You ready?” He asked, turning to look at you. 

“Hm?” 

“To start the movie.” 

“Oh.” Your brain was far too addled for this. “Yeah.” 

Hajime nodded, pressing the play button. The screen went black for just a moment before fuzzy black and white images flickered into motion. 

You tried your best to pay attention to the movie. You really, truly did. 

But you were finally getting tired. You were vaguely aware of the fact a couple ships were destroyed, and a big dinosaur-shaped monster, and something about the government. But you couldn’t keep up – not when Hajime was so close to you. 

Perhaps you should’ve gone to bed. But you didn’t want to stop spending time with him. 

But even that wasn’t enough to help you keep your eyes open. Against your sheer determination, your eyes kept fluttering closed. You were sure he’d tell you off for not just going to bed, but you still weren’t ready to leave just yet. 

But he was so warm pressed against you, the dim light of the room so soothing, the din of an old movie a quiet lull… 

“Hey.” 

A gentle voice came from above you. 

You opened your bleary eyes, only to immediately squint. Wait, what was going on? Where were you? 

“Wake up.” 

Oh, that was Hajime’s voice. Why was… That’s right. You were watching a movie with him. 

And now, you were....

Oh, shit. You were leaning on his shoulder. If you were a little more lucid, then maybe you would’ve repositioned yourself. 

But you were tired, and he was comfortable. And, he hadn’t pushed you off yet. 

“What time is it?” You mumbled, stifling a yawn. 

“It’s two.” 

“Oh.” You blushed. “Whoops.” 

Hajime chuckled. “I thought you said you couldn’t sleep.”

“Yeah,” you groaned. “But then I got sleepy.” 

“Then you should’ve gone to bed,” he chided. But there was a playful tone to his voice. 

You huffed, shifting yourself off his shoulder to get a better look at his face.

Even in the monochrome half-light of the TV, he was still obnoxiously handsome. Maybe not in the most classic of ways – there was something rougher about him, something unpolished, unrefined. But you’d always liked the honesty in his face; you felt it matched his personality perfectly. Some of your friends thought he looked kind of intimidating, but you’d always disagreed. To you, he looked kind. Maybe not in the most traditional sense, but in a way that was truly his. 

Oh man, you were drowsy. If you were more lucid, you’d have known better than to just sit and stare at his face. 

But he was staring right back, a certain tenderness in his eyes. You’d seen it before, on your walks home and in the quiet moments you shared. But he’s never been this open about it before. If you caught him, he usually looked away, cheeks turning a slight shade of pink. 

But tonight, he seemed to be fearless. 

You wondered – no, you hoped – that maybe, just maybe, your suspicions were correct. That he did indeed feel the same as you. 

A hand came up to cup your cheek. You leant into it instinctively, letting the weight of your head rest against his palm. 

Hajime smiled, stroking a gentle thumb over your cheek. His hands were a little rough, just as you’d expected, but they’re so gentle. 

You were about to go into cardiac arrest. You could feel it in every inch of your body. There’s no way he couldn’t hear your heartbeat – not when it was thrumming so loudly in your ears. 

“You’re so cute.” 

It took you a moment to process what he’d just said. 

Wait, he called you cute? While looking at you like that? There was no way you were making it out of this room alive– 

He leant in, pressing his lips against yours softly. You froze, every nerve in your body now on high alert. 

Iwaizumi Hajime? Kissing you? No way. No. Better yet, your first kiss? You had to be dreaming. There was no way this was happening. 

And yet the burning of your cheeks, the swelling of your heart, the feeling of his lips pressed against yours all said otherwise. This was happening. 

It was a little clumsy, a little stiff. But you didn’t care. What mattered was that it was happening. That your heart was hammering in your chest at an inhuman speed. That finally, finally, you could express this affection you had for him. 

You wanted to move, to touch him, to hold him close. But you were too dumbstruck to move, content to just stay like this for as long as he’d let you. 

He pulled away after a long moment, eyes half-lidded as he gazed at you. He was smiling widely – a rare, full-bodied smile. 

Oh. He was smiling like that because of you. Against all odds, your heart found a way to beat even faster. 

“We should go to bed,” he said, voice a few shades deeper than usual. 

The red of your cheeks deepened.

“Different beds,” he added quickly, clearing his throat. You’d thought that much was obvious, but you weren’t about to tell him that. God, you hate being seventeen. 

Somehow, you managed to get yourself out of that little room and up the stairs. He was right behind you, close enough to keep your mind muddled and your heart thrumming. There was no way you were going to be able to sleep. You’d be thinking about this all night. 

You said nothing to each other as you bid farewell, simply giving each other a small nod. You weren’t sure if it’s because he wanted to be polite, or if he was left just as speechless as you were. 

But as he walked away, he turned to give you one last smile for the night, letting it say everything he couldn’t. 

You took a deep breath as he walked away, the ghost of his kiss on your lips and your head whirling. 

You were excited for what the morning would bring.

a/n: !!!!! big thank you to ren, as always, for beta’ing this :( we’re in for a ride, fellas 

[who-is-page]

We sort of started this discussion at Chimeras' Othercon panel, but I wanted to keep it going so I figured I would send an ask. What do you think it would mean for our community to drop the focus on voluntary and involuntary identities? I agree that we fundamentally should, but a bunch of things immediately jump to mind.

Our community has spent years leaning heavily into the lines between voluntary and involuntary identities and taken special care to make massive distinctions between them, leaving little to no room for grey area. It's no bit surprise that alterhuman spaces have had actual, legitimate, longstanding issues of grilling and gatekeeping. Nonhumans with nuanced and complicated identities are forced to shove themselves into a box to fit into the community, and the ideas we have about certain identities needing to be involuntary are absolutely baked into many aspects of our community and its history.

At the same time, we have used this unjustified gatekeeping in part to protect the community from genuine threats and appropriation of our terminology. The way we have limited our concepts of who is allowed to identify in what ways is generally wrong and has no doubt harmed a subset of kin, but at the same time is understandable in the sense that it has a cause. Yes, this was an issue even before KFF, but KFF certainly don't make it easy to create space for genuine voluntary kin and other voluntary alterhumans.

How do we create the space for nuance and fluidity and complexity in these terms and identities after we have spent so long defensively creating rigid boundaries and restrictions regarding the ways people are allowed to identify? How do we address community gatekeeping while also protecting our community from the people who use our identities and terminology in bad faith?

I have a lot of ideas, but this is obviously a very complex topic that we can't just solve in a day. I was just curious to hear your thoughts, if you had any. Hopefully once our personal website is up one of our first essays will be about this issue. (Also, how is Page? /hj)

So I know we’ve been sitting on this ask for... -checks watch- ...almost two weeks now, but it’s genuinely because I just wasn’t sure how to answer it for a good long while, and I didn’t just want to throw out some haphazard, half-hearted answer to such important questions. So here’s our thoughts on the debacle.

Voluntary and involuntary is a focus I doubt we’ll ever see any of the alterhuman communities permanently drop, for several reasons.

The first and foremost being that, by the definition of the term “alterhuman,” defined here as “a subjective identity which is beyond the scope of what is traditionally considered ‘being human’,” both experiences at their most extremes technically fall underneath the label, rendering the distinction (to some) vitally important to helping understand and define their identity/identity labels. The difference between KFF as an alterhuman identity and forms of otherkinity as an alterhuman identity, for instance, as you mention.

And then there’s the societal factors to consider. People like nice, neat little boxes: people like to be able to compartmentalize their communities, with no overlap, with no spillage, with no complications or grey areas or nuance. It’s a fact of life that people often instinctively want to water down labels and identities into more easily digestible formations, though there are arguments around why people precisely do it. And, as you point out, that often means alterhumans and nonhumans with more complex or nuanced identities typically get shoved into one box or another that they may not perfectly fit into.

When we zero in on specifically the otherkin community, this becomes even more complicated given the community’s rife history: abusive p-shifter groups, the appropriation of language by roleplayers and fiction writers, zoophiles attempting to forcibly associate otherkinity with pro-bestiality movements, and the blatant general misinformation spread by laymen and academics alike, just to name a few relevant problems the community has faced and continues to face. The community is stubborn to a fault, largely because it’s had to be in order to survive. It holds to its preconceived notions and rigid boundaries like a dog with toy aggression to their favorite plush stegosaurus. Fittingly so, really.

So how do we take that stubbornness and change it to be more inclusive to our own? How could we, while still surviving all that onslaught and more? That’s the big question.

In regards to the larger alterhuman community, we’re blessed in the fact that it’s still such a young concept: it hasn’t quite yet had to face the “pathological anger” Religious Studies professor Joseph Laycock has described otherkin as bearing the brunt of. It’s still a community figuring itself out, with much of the anger you find related to it aimed at specific subsets of community within it, rather than at alterhumanity as a whole. And I think the fact that the alterhuman community is still metaphorically air-drying on a table means we have the opportunity to prevent anti-nuance and anti-complexity attitudes from taking hold in it. How we do that is another battle in itself-- I feel like the encouragement of inclusive dialogue, of open discussion intermingled with considerate or civil attitudes, within alterhuman-marketed spaces is a good starting point. I also think that the encouragement and legitimization of “alterhuman” as its own standalone term would be a positive force, where it functions as a broad, diverse identity label in addition to being an overarching, joining umbrella label. A label where someone doesn’t have to give details away of their identity if they don’t feel comfortable doing so, or shove themself into a box they may or may not actually feel they fit into. Something functionally similar to how many people use “queer,” if you will.

But that still leaves aside the issue of identity and terminological misuse, I am aware. And that is...an abstract thing to ward against, at absolute best. I think that the defining of our own spaces not only through our words but also through our actions would perhaps be the best thing we could do, realistically. The cultivation of websites, of group projects--books, zines, comics, pictures, forums, anything!--, of community-led conventions and meet-ups and howls and gatherings. Things which foster and build a community identity of sorts is the best defense against those who would try and distort that which makes us, us.

Zooming back in on the otherkin community, these answers change slightly, because--going back to the clay metaphor--the otherkin community has already metaphorically been glazed and baked (in the fires of hell). That history is cemented, the ways people have wronged it and continue to try and wrong it is cemented, the assumptions and attitudes are cemented.

With the otherkin community, I think that the burden of changing minds and pervasive attitudes falls a bit more onto the shoulders of “community leadership,” because of how the community functions and values both community experience and articulation. There’s a reason we don’t have a term comparable to “greymuzzle” in any of the other alterhuman communities, after all-- it’s a well-known and often aggravating quirk of the otherkin community, to hold certain individuals in such high esteem and put them on a pedestal because of their longevity and the things they’ve done and said. I hate to say that they have to set an example, but in the otherkin community that really is one of the best ways to advocate for change, or to push against those gatekeeping and grilling attitudes--by those who are largely well-respected putting forward ideas that have previously been mocked or disavowed, pushing debates on their legitimacy into community consciousness until it eventually trickles into community normalcy and foundation.

(This is, as you can imagine, a double-edged sword depending on how it’s used. But that’s a discussion for another day.)

That’s not to say that the ideas of creation and creativity with the goal of cultivating an inclusive community identity, like I suggested for the alterhuman community, is inapplicable to the otherkin community: but the otherkin community already has a long-term community identity, so it’d moreso be creation and creativity for the sake of formative inclusion. “History is always written by the winners” is a very, very literal phrase in its application to the otherkin community. Our community memory, for lack of a better way to put it, sucks from individual-to-individual. The future of the otherkin community, its eventual-history, is determined by its historians and creators of today: day-to-day arguments and discussions, unless deemed historically relevant by one archivist or another, disappear to the sands of time, and much more long-term recordings such as essays, websites, comics, etc., often go far beyond just its creators hands and get passed around and down for years, potentially. If you want a more nuanced and inclusive community, you have to dig up the clay for it, shovel by shovel, and bake it yourself, brick by brick, and eventually, with luck, or enough backing prestige, or just because those bricks are so astoundingly solid people can’t resist taking some to build their own foundations to nonhumanity, things will change. It will take time above all else, but once it’s there it will be impossible to remove, because people will just assume those bricks have always been there given enough years.

But those are just some of my thoughts and opinions on it. It’s an issue with so many layers of complexity to it, that there’s really no perfect answer out there that I can offer, and I know even what I’ve shared here has its flaws and drawbacks. I’m sure plenty of my followers also have additional thoughts on the subject, and I’d love to hear from other people what they think in the replies and reblogs.

(Also, Page is a very tired boi.)

[antarax]

𝐇𝐮𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐟𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬

It's late at night when Damian makes a stop by your house with the intention to confess his feelings for you.

Damian Wayne x Black!Reader, gender neutral.

Words: 2,105

AN: Happy Valentine’s to all the beautiful black people in the fandom!! I dedicate this one to all of us, who rarely get any works that include us or are actually vague enough to. Hope you enjoy it 💞

It was a quiet, cold night in Gotham. Neon city lights blurred into your room as the muffled sounds of the videogame on the old TV kept you company, the blue hue of the fluorescent lights washing over your bedroom even through half-pulled curtains. 

The day had been a slow and uneventful one. For you, at least, after the hope of receiving someone's valentine had been completely blown off, the same energy manifesting itself in you as the night also dragged itself along. 

You almost jumped out of your skin at the sound of your window opening, having had no expectations of anything more for the day –that, and the fact that it was well into the night already. You saw Damian standing outside with his hand on the window sill, a bag in the other, Robin uniform dirty and tattered as his cape fluttered violently with the breeze. 

He seemed stuck in his place, as if he had been the one surprised, frowning like he hadn't expected you in your own room. 

The slight semblance of a smile grew on your face, "Well, come in," you said, pausing the game. 

It wasn't uncommon for Damian to stop by your building after a busy night, the moon shining beautifully in the sky and the clouds a beautiful swirl of the light as he came through your window expertly quiet. But, even then with the known comfortability and trust you two had managed to reach in your relationship, it also wasn't uncommon to feel like remnants of the younger, more insecure Damian still clung to him slightly. 

Slightly as in  heavily. 

You watched him as he moved into the small space and set down the bag on the floor, taking off his gloves and mask with the rough delicacy you associated with him. 

He stood as if he was tightly wound up, like perhaps he could breathe wrong, or whatever new, unspoken rule he'd created for himself plagued his mind now. 

It was a little funny. 

"I'm not going to eat you, you know?" 

Damian rolled his eyes, "I'm aware." 

"Doesn't look like it," You muttered, glancing down at the controller in your hands, "What's in the bag anyways?" 

"I— Things." 

You raised a brow. 

"Food, sweets. Drinks." 

"Really?" 

"Yes," Damian replied, sitting down and sagging against the wall underneath the windowsill, chest rising and falling slowly as he exhaled deeply. Damian grabbed the bag again, putting it down next to you, "They're yours." 

You set aside the controller and rummaged through the bag, the thoughts racing in your head. Damian knew you well and you him, your friendship spanning over a few years now. There had been a lot you'd trusted him with. Secrets, worries, embarrassing shit you'd done that still haunted you and Damian had been no different. He let you in on his bigger secret, how he carried the mantle of Robin every night. Some of his deepest remorses were ones that you had knowledge of; although never diving too deep in the murky waters of Damian’s life, you still valued the clear trust he had in you. 

And along all these moments, every opportunity you've had to know each other, slowly and softly peeling aside the layers covering the people you were, a warm intimacy rooted itself in your growing friendship. A comfortable sort of intimacy. 

Every once in a while you stopped by the manor on the quiet days where it was only Alfred and the animals. You helped Alfred in the kitchen whenever he was practicing for a new recipe or baking a dessert for the family later in the day. You spent hours with Damian in his room, where his cat Alfred would always curl up next to you on his bed as he worked on his art, walking around the manor or playing around with Titus and Batcow in the manor's backyard –which, really, was just an enormous open field that they were too humble to call so– and sometimes you'd even earn an invitation to dinner. 

As for you, Damian tended to visit at night more so than day, but there were moments where he would show up on a sunny afternoon when everyone else wasn't home, slumping down on your couch for an hour or two before going back to his own things. Sometimes he'd drop by books he'd seen at the library, a small trinket he'd bought at the store and various other paraphernalia that, somehow, you always ended up loving. 

Damian knew your taste well, and there was no doubt he'd spend countless amounts of time pondering over each of his gifts before they ever reached your hands. All things that while anyone else might have brushed over you appreciated immensely. 

"You know," you began as you leaned back into the foot of your bed, ripping off pieces from a napkin you'd taken out of the bag, buying time. Hesitating, "I actually— sort of, was hoping for a valentine this year." 

You gazed at Damian's eyes, your interest boring into them, digging as deep as you were allowed. They looked nervous, hilariously so. Almost like he'd been caught. But caught... doing what, exactly? 

Perhaps caught in the middle of staring back at you as he'd tend to do; how he'd tend to do and assumed you didn't notice. 

Or maybe caught when he would discreetly drop off something in your room or your locker after having seen it at the store or the cafeteria and knowing immediately you'd like it, always behind the guise of simple complacency. Caught, in his true intentions, what truly made him do all these otherwise insignificant things that were much too small even for somebody as detail-driven as Damian. 

Olive-colored eyes still shifted uncomfortably in front of you as the sole giveaway of the true nervousness Damian was drowning in, refusing to show anything more of himself, even when it mattered. 

Especially when it mattered. It was frustrating. 

"You were?" 

"Yeah," You shifted in your spot, "I was." 

No one could ever, ever know something about Damian that he didn't share. It's just not something you could do. Not when it came to him. Anybody who knew anything at all about who Damian Wayne is, at his core in existence, knows it only because he's allowed them to. 

And he'd allowed you to know this too, and yet now he was hesitating. 

"You wished to have... a valentine. Anyone?" 

"Anyone." 

"You could have, easily, if you wanted it," Damian rolled his eyes. 

"I could?" You smiled, and the twinkle in your eyes was nothing short of mischievous. 

"Yes." 

"Reeeally. How?" 

Damian slouched against the wall, "Well, you'd simply have to ask," he said it as if it had been an obvious fact, "I'm sure anyone at the academy would've said yes." 

Your smile widened as you raised your brows, "Oh?" 

Damian frowned, "You are making fun of me." 

"What do you mean? How." 

Damian crossed his arms as you laughed. 

"You think I'm making fun of you," you protested, "I'm not." 

"TT." 

"There's something you want to say, isn't there? Just spit it out, Damian." 

Damian's eyes lingered all over the room. His hands had started to sweat a while ago and by then, his heart had sped up so much he was sure it was making some attempt at breaking through and out of his chest. 

Originally, his plan had been to drop by and bring you a gift, but then he'd gotten nervous and internally malfunctioned, because he'd bought a double of everything so that you wouldn't assume it had been a gift and instead just him coming by to hang out like he always did. 

He had planned to come by, tell you he'd... harbored a few unwanted feelings towards you and hoped you would have been tired enough that you wouldn't have realized it, but clearly, his plan had flipped over backwards and blown up in his face. 

Damian took as deep a breath as possible with his collar putting him in a choke hold, as if trying to push out his words while simultaneously wanting to keep them buried the deepest he could. 

"I— hm," He stared intently at the floor, for the first time in a while feeling like the small child who would trip over his own emotions again, but he was resolved to tell you, "I like you. I suppose." 

It hadn't been surprising to Damian. More that it was hard to accept. He'd mulled over it for a long, long time. In fact, the reason he'd visited you tonight, made up his mind to tell you so, had been his ridiculously embarrassing performance. 

Being surprised by petty thieves and thrown out of the loop by measly codes, none of which happen, ever, not to him at least. Damian was far above such childish mistakes, at least so he thought until he started taking a closer look at his own thoughts and realized your eyes had gone from brown to 'beautiful pools of honey', your skin a beautiful, shining shade of brown. 

He was an artist, after all. He'd spent afternoons studying his environment, the shapes and colors, how everything fit in together; you were no stranger to his thoughts. 

Which of course, you wouldn't know. If you had, you would have taken the jump much earlier. You would have never acted based off of assumption alone, but having the confirmation, well. 

By now you had to contain your smile because surely, surely, your cheeks would be sore afterwards. 

"Wow," you raised your brows in obvious mocking, "Really?" 

Damian scrunched up his face in disgust, like he'd witnessed the most foul thing yet, crossing his arms tighter but refusing to meet your gaze as he turned to the wall. 

"You know, Damian." 

"Yes?" 

"The valentine I was hoping for this year… was yours. You could've easily made a card and thrown some glitter over it and that would be the end of that." 

"A card, with glitter?" Damian snapped his head at you, seeming almost bored as he spoke in a deadpan voice, "Is that how lowly you think of me?" 

At this you did laugh, almost too loudly for one in the morning, that you had to push both your hands against your mouth. 

Damian frowned, "Please do know that if I were to ever make something so miserable, it must be because I've been replaced. Which would not happen. Ever." 

You stood, shuffling over to Damian and sitting down next to him. 

He looked pretty underneath the moonlight coming through the window, the curls over his forehead looking soft and shiny. 

Damian looked right into your eyes, for the first time that night not looking away, he was trapped now. Not truly, he could leave, but did he want to? Not at all. 

Softly, Damian touched your hand, something perhaps akin to fear in his eyes as if he still expected rejection. 

"Damian?" 

"Hm?" 

"I'm going to kiss you." 

"Oh." 

"Unless you don’t want me to." 

"Please do. I mean—" 

It was a shy and quick kiss, but so, so exciting as Damian's grip tightened around your hand and you leaned into him. 

When you leaned away, it was with a mischievous glint in your eyes. 

"Please do—" 

Damian frowned again, clearly not amused. After a few seconds though, your laugh died out. Truth is, your stomach was churning. Because, while you were very much happy and excited, you were also incredibly nervous. 

Both of you were stitching your thoughts back together, seconds of silence passing by. You were still holding Damian's hand. 

He closed his eyes, frown deepening considerably and quickly before he spoke, vile spilling out of his mouth, "A card? With some glitter thrown over it?" 

He looked downright furious, disgusted even. 

"Seriously?" 

"It's not that big of a deal," You chuckled, "Get over it." 

"Hm." 

Damian looked out the window, and you followed, the moon standing beautifully in the middle of the sky. 

Damian sighed, "I have to go." 

"Oh... okay." 

He didn't move. Neither of you did. 

Damian gave you a quick kiss again, looking absolutely scandalized when he pulled back. You stared at each other in complete disbelief before he stood up and started putting his gloves on again. 

He pressed his hands onto the windowsill and took a deep breath.

Damian looked at you, tenderly, "Goodnight, Y/N." 

"Goodnight, Damian." You smiled. 

Damian gave you a small smile, "Hm." 

You watched as he jumped off, grappling to the nearest building and laughed when you saw him standing still before disappearing into the night. 

[secretshinigami]

making the most of it

Author: @realtruesuccessor For: @yagami-raito-kun Pairings/Characters: Near | Nate River/Yagami Light, background Linda/Matsuda, Near | Nate River, Yagami Light, Linda (Death Note), Matsuda Touta, Watari Rating/Warnings: Teen and Up Audiences, No Archive Warnings Apply, just typical superhero/action movie stuff Prompt: Near is a superhero, Light is a supervillain, they get set up on a blind double date and have to roll with it to protect their secret identities Author’s notes: This was super fun to write! Thank you for the amazing prompt! I hope this is what you were looking for, and that you enjoy it!

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

Nate River had never given much thought to the idea of romance. He had experienced fleeting crushes in the past, but never any serious feelings, and he had never even been kissed at the ripe old age of eighteen. There were much more pressing issues in his life besides the lack of social milestones, so Nate wasn’t too concerned about his deficits in romantic experience. 

  Unfortunately, his roommate Linda did not have the same opinion. 

  “You’re going to die alone if you keep this up.”

  Nate looked up from the small toy robot that had been occupying his attention before Linda opened her mouth. “You’ll have to be more specific.”

  Linda sighed, crossing her arms over her chest. “I’ve never seen you go on a date,” she said, as if that clarified anything. 

  “So?”

  “So, you’ll end up alone and unhappy unless you find yourself a nice man.”

  Nate raised an eyebrow, and he lifted his hand to curl a finger around a strand of wavy white hair. “You’re making an awful lot of bold assumptions.”

  “Am I wrong?”

  Nate paused, took a moment to consider the brief crushes he had in the past, and then admitted a small concession. “Not about my preference for men, but about my impending lonely fate? That remains to be seen.”

  Linda approached Nate’s spot on the floor, where he was surrounded by tiny action figures. She sat down next to him, and picked up a small gray object from the circle of toys around him. “I’m worried about you, Nate,” she explained. “You’re always holed up in your room, messing around with these toys, but I think you should get out more and I have the perfect idea to help with that.”

  Eyeing the object in her hand, Nate uncurled his finger from his hair. He reached over and plucked the tiny gray circle from her grasp, then stuffed the item into his pocket. “Your concern is noted,” he said, perhaps a bit too sharp. “Unfortunately for you, I disagree.”

  “Can you hear me out, at least?” 

  “You’ve given me no compelling reason to do that, so the answer is no. Please leave me alone.”

  Silence rang throughout the apartment, echoing with the sting of Linda’s hurt feelings. Nate didn’t feel sorry in the least; in fact, he felt entirely justified. After all, Linda had barged into his room and insulted his lifestyle. He was in the right to be short and snappy with her.

Nate watched impassively as Linda’s face fell. His roommate’s usually bright smile turned into a sullen frown, and her blue eyes became downcast. If Nate had been a different sort of person, he might have been moved by this display, but as it was, Linda’s wounded emotions did nothing to stir his heart or change his mind. 

  “Well, that’s disappointing,” Linda muttered, her voice small and hurt.

  “I have no idea why you’re suddenly so invested in my romantic life, but whatever your reasons, you brought this on yourself by disparaging my hobbies.”

  “Okay, okay, I guess you’re right. I should have gone about this in a different way.”

  “Yes, you should have, but there’s no changing the past and no use lingering on this topic anymore. Weren’t you leaving?”

  With a heavy sigh, Linda got up and left Nate to his own devices.

  ~

  The city was dark at night, lit only by the occasional street lamp.

  “Where is the tracker now, Watari?”

  Near made his way through the gloomy city streets, dodging the warm circles of light cast by the lampposts. He stuck to dark, shadowy corners like glue, crouching behind parked cars and navigating narrow alleyways. 

  A voice crackled over the communication device in Near’s ear. “One block away, Near,” Watari said. “The location is pinging from that abandoned grocery store on the corner.”

  As Near approached the store, he tugged his dark cowl down over his hair and eyes, shielding them from view. The streets were mostly empty, but he didn’t want to risk being identified, even by the vagrants who frequented this part of the city in the dead of night. After all, his white hair and gray eyes were rather distinctive. If Near ever let his guard down, it wouldn’t take a genius to eventually trace the actions of the vigilante Near back to the identity of one Nate River.

  “Alright, I’m standing in front of the store now.”

  “Yes, thank you. The tracker you placed on that nasty fellow is still pinging from inside that building.”

  “Hmm, I really do hope this doesn’t end in physical violence. You know how much I hate fighting.”

  “I’m aware of that, and I also know that you’ve had a very long night already, but at least Lidner will be pleased to hear that you were finally able to put some of her training to good use.”

  Near made a face. His mouth twisted into a displeased frown. “That’s not funny.”

  “I wasn’t trying to be funny, I’m being completely serious. She’ll love to hear that you fought off a villain with a stick.”

  “First of all, this isn’t exactly a stick. It’s a bō,” Near corrected. “Second of all, perhaps you’re correct. She seems to puff up with pride whenever I acknowledge her skills.”

  “Yes, people tend to do that when you pay them a compliment.”

  Ignoring Watari’s snark, Near began the task of sneaking into the dark building. He crept forward, towards the front of the store, keeping low to the ground. There wasn’t any light coming from the windows or the door, but Near had learned from experience that one could never be too careful when dealing with villains. The building seemed lifeless and empty from the outside, but there could be traps set inside - or even the villain himself, tracker and all. So, Near was sure to be stealthy as he peeked into the store from a low, dirty window.

  The interior of the old shop seemed to be exactly what Near had expected. Mostly empty, save for a few shelves, and thick layers of dust covering every visible surface. Clearly, the store hadn’t been active in many years. It was the perfect place for squatters to take refuge - or for mysterious villains to set up a hideout. 

  “Best entrance route?” Near asked, eyeing the door in the corner of the shop, which appeared to lead somewhere deeper into the building. If Near had to guess, he would say that the door probably led to some sort of old office or employee break room. The door was dark and heavy-looking, with a shiny silver knob that could have easily been rigged with a villainous trap. 

  “You mean, besides walking right through the front door?” Watari teased.

  “Watari, please, this is serious.”

  “Alright, alright, I understand, I’m searching for an aerial view now.”

  As Near waited for Watari’s next message, he took another look around the interior of the store. None of the dust seemed to be disturbed; the floor and the shelves all appeared to be completely untouched by human feet or hands, at least for the past few months. 

  Still, Near considered, the room could be monitored with hidden cameras and microphones. Best that I don’t use the main entrance unless there’s no other option.

  “According to the aerial view, there’s a skylight towards the back of the building,” Watari announced. 

  Near frowned, and reached up to rub a strand of his own white hair between two fingers. “I don’t see a skylight from my current location, so the skylight must lead into the back room of the store. I can skip the main shop area entirely.”

  “Well, that works out nicely.”

  About fifteen minutes later, Near found himself on top of the roof, breathing heavily from exertion. “I’m never doing that again,” he managed in between gulps of air. 

  “Never say never, Near.”

  After catching his breath, Near approached the skylight and peered through it. The bright moon illuminated the room beneath the glass, casting everything in a soft white glow. Through the skylight, Near could see the back room of the shop, which appeared mostly empty, save for a wooden desk. 

  “I’m entering the building now,” Near said, reaching to unlatch the skylight.

  “Wait, Near!” Watari cried out, at the exact same time an unfamiliar voice whispered: “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

  Near whipped around, bringing up his bō staff in a fluid motion.

  A masked man stood before Near, with his gloved hands raised in mock surrender. 

  “Who are you?” Near asked, his tone dark and serious. 

  The man smirked, then nodded to one of his hands. A familiar, small gray object rested between the fingers of his red leather-covered hand. 

  The tracker.

  “Shit,” Near muttered under his breath.

  “Looking for this?” The man asked, sounding carefree and quite pleased with himself. His voice was slightly deeper than Near had imagined, but it suited him just the same.

  On impulse, Near jabbed at the mysterious villain with his staff.

  As though he moved through the shadows, the man expertly evaded Near’s attack. He dodged, twisted, and kicked out. His dark boot landed in the center of Near’s chest, pushing the hero back. 

  Near stumbled back, tripping over his own feet. His ankle hit something behind him, probably a ledge of some kind, and suddenly, he was falling. He felt a sinking feeling in his stomach as the world warped around him. 

  Like something out of a movie, Near found himself falling in slow motion - legs bending, glass cracking from somewhere behind him, his body descending further and further into darkness. 

  Before Near could even process what was happening, the villain turned away. His silhouette was illuminated by the bright backdrop of the moon. He glanced over his shoulder as Near fell through the skylight. His brown eyes sparkled with the dual flickers of triumph and pride.

  The villain’s smug grin was the last thing Near saw before darkness enveloped him completely. 

  ~

  “I can’t believe you finally roped me into this nonsense,” Nate River said. 

  Linda and Nate sat on a bench together, as the sky darkened and the air became thin and cold. She wore a coat and a light scarf over her dress, while he was dressed in only a collared button-up shirt and comfortable pants. The bright yellow bulbs from the nearby carnival casted the two roommates in a soft glow. Despite the warm light, Nate shivered, and Linda looked around frantically; her foot was tapping incessantly against the hard concrete of the sidewalk. 

  “Yes, well, this nonsense is going to do wonders for your social life, if those silly boys ever show up,” Linda said, glancing down at her phone with a frown. 

  Nate rolled his eyes. “First of all, my social life is perfectly satisfying as it is, thank you very much. Second of all, I’m sure they’ll be here any minute now.”

  “I guess you’re right about that second thing,” Linda conceded, pointing towards a pair of young Japanese men who were quickly approaching their bench. “And we’ve already been over the first thing.”

  The two men arrived at their bench, and Nate got a good look at both of them for the first time. One of the men, whom Linda greeted as ‘Matsuda’, had dark hair and big brown eyes that suited his handsome face and gentle expression. The other man was introduced as Light Yagami, a close friend of Matsuda’s and a fellow Japanese exchange student. Light’s hair was significantly lighter than Matsuda’s, and although his eyes were a similar shade of brown, his gaze spoke of a sharp intelligence that far exceeded his bumbling friend.

  Nate knew those eyes.

  That attractive pair of brown eyes had smirked at him, only a few nights ago, on a moon-drenched rooftop.

  “Light Yagami, was it?” Nate clarified, his eyes traveling over every inch of Light’s pretty face. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  After a beat, Light smiled at Nate. His smile was polite, but had an air of deceptive falseness about it. There was something lurking underneath the surface of that mask - some dark and dangerous secret that only Nate could truly see. 

  “It’s a pleasure to see you too, Nate,” Light said. His voice was familiar to Nate, just as deep and attractive as Nate remembered.

  Unlike Matsuda, Light spoke English with a near-perfect American accent. 

  As Linda pulled Matsuda towards the carnival, Nate fell into step beside Light. The pair of them walked in silence for a bit, each of them calmly observing their surroundings. Nate noticed that the lights from the carnival complimented Light’s warm brown hair very well; his pretty locks seemed almost golden under the electric buzz of the soft outdoor string lights. Not even Linda’s incessant babbling could distract Nate from his careful observation of Light Yagami’s lustrous hair.

  Suddenly, Light tore his gaze away from a crowd of people near the food vendors. As the group he had been watching moved on, Light turned his head to face Nate and looked at him - truly looked at him - for the first time. 

  “Are you cold, Nate?” Light asked, glancing down at Nate’s chest. 

  Nate could see that Light’s preppy jacket protected him from the slight chill of the night air. After all, Light wasn’t shivering at all, whereas Nate couldn’t help but tremble at the brush of a breeze against his pale skin. He really, really couldn’t help it - he had always been sensitive to temperature changes, ever since he was a young child. It wasn’t a particularly debilitating condition, but it could sometimes be annoying. 

  Such as, right now.

  Nate’s brain was suddenly filled with images of Light offering him his jacket, like a scene straight out of a cheesy romance movie from the 1980s. 

  “No,” Nate said, like a liar. “I’m not cold.”

  “If you insist. In that case, perhaps you’re simply eager for this double date to be over with, so you can go home?”

  Nate raised an eyebrow, suddenly very thankful that Linda and Matsuda had moved out of earshot. “That’s awfully observant of you.”

  Light shook his head, and a small smile crept onto his face. “No, I’m just projecting a bit, I think.”

  “Ah, I see. So, you don’t want to be here either.”

  “That’s correct. Matsuda wanted me to come along though, and I had no good reason to say no. If I had alternate plans, trust me, I wouldn’t be anywhere near this place.”

  “You couldn’t have said that you were studying, or something like that?”

  Once again, Light shook his head. He glared at a flimsy-looking carnival ride. “Matsuda is my roommate, and one of my oldest friends from back home in Japan. We also share many classes together, and he knows my schedule almost as well as he knows his own. He knows I don’t have any exams or major assignments coming up anytime soon.”

  “Hmm, I see, that must be difficult.”

  Light nodded. 

  A moment of awkward silence stretched between them, before Light broke the silence with a question.

  “And what about you, Nate? Why are you really here, if you’re not actually interested in dating?”

  “Similarly to yourself, I was compelled by my roommate to attend this little meeting. She made it clear that Mr. Matsuda wanted to go on a date with her, but he insisted on a double date, and so she needed me to step in and serve that role.”

  “That makes sense,” Light said, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Matsuda has always been anxious about romance and relationships with women, so he thought more company might take the edge off of his nervousness.”

  Nate glanced over at Linda and Matsuda, who were standing a few booths away, at one of the carnival games. Through the crowd of happy fairgoers, Nate could clearly see the wide smile on Linda’s face. Matsuda said something to her, and she threw her head back and laughed with abandon. Nate recalled Linda’s pleading face from earlier, when she had practically begged Nate to go on the date with her, and her appearance now was certainly a stark contrast to that face.

  Unable to stop the small smile from creeping onto his face, Nate turned away from Light. “Well, they seem to be having fun, so I suppose this night isn’t a complete waste of time.”

  Light nodded, eyeing one of the nearby game booths. “Perhaps we can have some fun as well?” He asked, gesturing to the booth.

  “You can’t be serious. I thought you didn’t want to be here.”

  “True, I’d love to just go home right now, but I can’t without letting my roommate down, so I might as well make the most of this night, right?”

  “I suppose you have a point.”

  With that, Nate and Light approached the game booth.

  Ten minutes later, Nate was holding a giant fluffy white bunny - a stuffed animal that Light had won at the silly dart game. 

  Nate frowned, staring down at the offending rabbit. “You’re better than me at darts,” he grumbled.

  Light chuckled. “No, I think I just got lucky,” he said, looking at Nate with a curious expression on his face. “Regardless, I hope you like it. Are you going to give it a name?”

  “Yes, as a matter of fact, I am,” Nate said. He stared at Light’s face, observing the other man with a careful attention to detail. “His name is Kira.”

  There was a beat of silence.

  “Oh? You figured that out rather quickly, didn’t you?” 

  Nate nodded, then glanced away. Light’s expression and words told him everything that he needed to know.

  “And? What are you going to do with Kira, now that you have him?” Light asked, his voice laced with double meaning.

  Scoffing, Nate hugged the bunny closer to his chest, and continued to avoid Light’s gaze. “I’ll turn him over to the proper authorities, of course.”

  It was Light’s turn to scoff. “You won’t do that.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because Kira is helping society, and also, you’re wildly attracted to me.”

  Nate almost dropped the stuffed rabbit. He turned towards Light, and a soft pink blush spread across his cheeks. His eyes went wide.

  “Kira kills people,” Nate managed, cursing himself.

  “Only rotten people,” Light corrected. “This world is rotten, but Kira is making it better, so good people can live happy and peaceful lives.”

  Nate shook his head. “Murdering a few corrupt politicians and businessmen isn’t going to magically make the system just or right. All it does is make Kira a murderer.”

  “Hmm, well, if Kira is simply a murderer and a villain in your eyes, what about that vigilante? Near, wasn’t it?”

  “Near doesn’t kill people.”

  “Yet, the police are still hunting him with the same energy that they use to hunt Kira. Isn’t that interesting? I imagine they’d be grateful to receive any hint of Near’s true identity, no matter the source of the information.”

  Well, that was a threat.

  At that exact moment, Linda rushed up to them, holding a plate full of funnel cake. “Come on, guys, Matsu bought me this cake and I can’t eat it all on my own! Share it with me!” 

  Nate looked from the cake, to Light, and then back to the cake. After a moment of hesitation, he reached up and grabbed a small piece of fried dough from the plate. He held the piece up towards Light’s lips. 

  “Here,” Nate prompted. “Have you ever tried funnel cake before?”

  Light’s eyes widened, and he stared at Nate in disbelief. “No, I haven’t,” he admitted, shocked and quiet. 

  Nate held the cake up a little closer to Light’s face, and Light leaned forward slightly, meeting him halfway. When Light took the cake into his mouth, his lips brushed lightly over Nate’s fingers. The lips were warm, and felt almost electric against Nate’s skin. Nate resisted the urge to shiver. Something deep and primal was stirring inside of him, something that he couldn’t really place, but certainly didn’t feel familiar. 

  Something that made him want to be closer to Light Yagami, despite the knowledge of his date’s true identity. 

  From that point onwards, the date proceeded normally for the most part. Nate and Light attempted to act naturally around Linda and Matsuda, saving all double-life talk for later. After all, neither of them wanted to duke it out in front of their roommates, or the dozens of other citizens strolling around nearby. So, they made more polite conversation as Linda and Matsuda dragged them around to different booths and rides.

  Finally, the night seemed to be reaching an end. Linda and Matsuda had snuck off somewhere, presumably to say goodbye to each other properly before parting ways. Nate and Light were left alone, near an empty patch of grass. 

  An awkward silence hung between them, not for the first time that night. Nate wasn’t exactly sure what to say, or if he should say anything at all. He couldn’t exactly leave the carnival and go turn Light over to the police - for one, he didn’t have any physical or concrete evidence that Light was the villain known as Kira, and perhaps even more concerning, Light had vaguely threatened to out him to the cops if he was ever caught. All of which put Nate in a very uncertain position: he knew the identity of the villain Kira, but wasn’t in any position to do anything about it.

  Light cleared his throat, which drew Nate’s attention. When Nate glanced over, he saw that Light was staring at him with another odd expression on his face, a look that Nate couldn’t really identify. 

  “What?” Nate asked, shifting uncomfortably, and clutching the stuffed bunny tighter against his chest.

  “I--”

  Whatever Light had begun to say was cut off with a sharp BANG! 

  Nate nearly jumped out of his own skin. His upper body grew very tense, very quickly, and he shuffled closer to Light. 

  On what must have been some kind of protective instinct, Light reached out and put his arm around Nate’s shoulders. “It’s okay,” Light said, suddenly calm and soothing. “It’s just the fireworks.”

  “Fireworks? Linda didn’t say there would be fireworks.”

  “Maybe she didn’t know? I take it you’re not a fan of loud, sudden noises, huh?”

  Nate shook his head. “I’m not a fan of them in the best of times, and these happen to be the worst of times, so you can only imagine how I feel in this moment.”

  Light winced, and pulled his arm away. Nate found, quite strangely, that he missed the subtle warmth and pressure of Light’s hand on his body, even though it had only been there for a short while.

  “I want to apologize,” Light said softly, barely audible over the continued explosions from the fireworks. 

  “For what?” Nate asked, genuinely confused.

  “For your tumble through the skylight. I know you seem to be fine now, but I’m sure falling through a window and landing on a hard floor hurts like hell at first.”

  Nate blinked. “Yes, it does. And no, I don’t accept your apology, because I don’t believe you’re actually sorry for what you’ve done, or for what you continue to do.”

  Light didn’t respond to that, only gazing at Nate in an impressed silence.

  Suddenly, Linda and Matsuda reappeared, both of them pink-cheeked and out of breath. Before Nate and Light could say much more to each other, they’re both pulled away by their respective roommates, pulled apart, and brought home.

  ~

  At home, in the quiet and darkness of his room, Nate felt a strange mixture of relief and disappointment. 

  A sudden buzz lit up his phone, and he glanced down without thinking - only to see a text from an unknown number splashed across his screen. He read the message silently, and then smiled softly to himself. 

  Nate knew that he would eventually be the one to bring Light Yagami to justice, regardless of the cost to himself. But he still had to gather evidence to prove his case, and in the meantime, well...why not have some fun and make the most of it?

[xenteaart]

Apocalypse Chronicles

Pairing: Five Hargreeves x Reader

Summary: Getting stuck in the apocalypse certainly has its ups and downs, and this is somewhat of a dairy with little glimpses into the life you two had.

Warnings: mentions of vomit

Note: This is sort of a part 2 to this fic. Also you can check out my other fics on this Commission AU right here!

Hopefully, this is a rollercoaster.

Day 548.

You and Five were currently on your way… somewhere. You rarely had any particular destination in mind, if you were being honest. Mainly, you were just moving from one place to another, seeking shelter and looking for food and other essentials such as clothes, medical supplies and many other things, most of which were really hard to come by.

It’s been a very long day, and a fairly hard one as well because the weather seemed to get harsher with each passing mile and moving one foot in front of the other was beginning to feel like an impossible task. So, since all of your focus and concentration went into walking, naturally, you’d stopped listening to what Five was saying about thirty minutes ago. Funnily enough, it took him that long to notice you completely zoning out and ignoring his passionate ranting.

“Hey! Have you been listening?” he asked bitterly, mostly just annoyed by the fact he’d been wasting his breath.

You quickly snapped out of your daze and blinked a few times.

“Charming.” Five added as he rolled his eyes. It was this very moment when you realized something and couldn’t help but smile widely, and he raised one eyebrow in confusion as to what could be making you so happy right now.

“Your voice is starting to crack,” you pointed out. He clearly didn’t expect you to say that, and it caught him completely off guard, making him forget he was mad at you mere seconds ago.

“My boy is turning into a man!” you exclaimed; tenderness, pride and just a tiny bit of sarcasm radiating from your voice. Five shook his head and scoffed at your observation as he was trying to conceal his embarrassment; rather unsuccessfully, you must say.

Getting stuck with a slightly older girl and going through puberty was, in his opinion, beyond humiliating.

You wrapped your arm around his shoulder and squeezed it lightly, pulling him closer as the sound of your joyful giggling was filling the air.

“Can’t wait till you start getting facial hair too,” you teased him and immediately felt his elbow kick your ribcage, the impact too mild to leave a bruise but certainly sudden enough to make you go “ouch!”

Day 1325.

“Five Hargreeves, you may wanna propose to me right now,” you screamed from a distance as you were still rummaging through the ruins of what used to be a grocery store. Oh, you knew he was going to love this.

After spending almost 4 years by Five’s side, you’ve come to know an impressive amount of facts about him, most of which were mundane and in the grand scheme of things, he would say, insignificant. But you didn’t see them as such and kept them all in mind, waiting for the right moment, and today was your lucky day.

“What?” he yelled back, a little confused by your assumption that seemingly came out of nowhere. Not that he didn’t like your company but marriage wasn’t on his to-do list quite yet.

As you awkwardly climbed over the debris, obviously carrying something in your hands but trying to hide it underneath your ill-fitted parka, you said, “Close your eyes.”

Five seemed hesitant, so you insisted.

“Come on, I know you don’t like surprises but it’s the nice kind, I promise.”

He finally complied and exhaled loudly as a means of communicating his growing impatience. You promptly pulled out a coffee pack from under your clothes, swept the dust off its surface in one quick motion and handed it over to Five.

“Look.”

“No way,” he opened his mouth, sincerely shocked you had managed to find something whole and completely untouched. And it happened to be coffee.

“I think I deserve at least a kiss on the cheek, wouldn't you say?” you grinned at how fast Five’s expression turned from grumpy and tired to excited and grateful.

In no time his tight grip found your waist, and he effortlessly spun you around, making you squeak in surprise as you clawed into his shoulders for support instinctively. His movements were smooth and confident as if you were light as a feather or rather weighed nothing at all, and you caught yourself really enjoying the warmth of his hands on your skin.

“You deserve a lot more than that,” Five replied with a sigh as he put you down carefully, his tone suddenly losing its playfulness and blossoming with something a titch more unexpected, and if you had to put a name on it, “affection” would be the most fitting.

Fortunately, the smudges of dirt on your skin were doing a very good job at hiding just how red your cheeks turned at the comment.

Day 1557.

“God, do you ever shut up?” Five snarled irritably, interrupting you mid-sentence, and your jaw dropped in shock. You could have sworn it felt exactly what getting stabbed in the stomach would feel like.

You were a very short-tempered individual and in any other context you would have snapped back, making some scathing comment and walking away with your chin up. This time - not a single word left your mouth as you were paralyzed by Five’s unfiltered hostility. You felt your eyes burn and immediately turned away to wipe away the tear rolling down your cheek, too proud to let him see how much it hurt.

In your defence, you weren’t much of a talker before the apocalypse but it didn’t take you long to find out that being locked up in your own head in a deathly quiet world was not a good way to spend your days. So you kept talking, for both Five’s and your own sanity. It made things feel less real, however paradoxical it may sound. But, more importantly, it was a gesture of care.

You spent the rest of the day without saying a word, and, to your disappointment, Five wasn’t willing to break the silence either. Not talking, however, didn’t mean not looking after each other, and you, of course, made him dinner while he organized a safe place for you both to spend the night.

Since there was never a roof over your heads, you tended to sleep very close to each other, exchanging body heat to keep each other warm. At first, it was only a safety precaution but the habit slowly transformed into something more meaningful, somewhat of a necessity to know and feel that the other was still alive and breathing, still there, safe and sound.

As the two of you were lying in your improvised bed, which was essentially just a few layers of blankets on the hard and unfriendly concrete, you felt Five’s hot breath against the back of your neck as he cuddled you from behind. The big spoon.

“I deeply regret saying that,” Five whispered and sighed in frustration at his own self. He knew he royally fucked up.

“Please, don’t ever stop talking. I need it and I need you, okay?” he uttered so quietly that it was almost inaudible but you caught every word.

You clenched your teeth.

“Okay.”

Day 1866.

Birthdays were never a happy event in the apocalypse and you only kept track of them in order to know your own age.

Every birthday was nothing but another reminder of how much time you’ve spent trapped in this nightmare, and there was truly nothing either of you wished to celebrate.

However, this time you decided to make an exception. Five was turning eighteen and, despite the fact that your circumstances were far from perfect, it was a big day nevertheless.

To say you had limited resources would be saying nothing at all. No cake, no candles, no decorations, no anything to create an environment for having fun, and the only thing at your disposal was your contagious enthusiasm. It wasn’t much but it was surely something.

“Wakey-wakey, sleeping beauty,” you whispered into Five’s ear as you tapped on his shoulder, gently breaking him out of his sleep. He murmured something incoherent and placed his hand over his eyes, trying to escape the bright and intrusive daylight.

“Come on, I’ve made you a birthday breakfast,” which wasn’t at all different from any other breakfast but you believed a sprinkle of love that you so thoughtfully added was definitely going to make it taste a bit less like wet cardboard.

“We have plans for today,” you stated proudly as you were waiting for Five to get up. He glanced at you suspiciously, and you were quick to reassure him.

“You can do your clever math things till evening but after that we’re celebrating. There are two bottles of wine that you didn’t know about, and we’re going to drink them and dance. But not ball dance, properly drunk dance. No sadness allowed. Instructions clear?”

Five nodded, feeling a weary yet content and cheerful smile touch the corners of his lips.

Maybe, it wasn’t going to be a shit day, after all.

Day 2587.

“Come on, don’t you dare die on me, you idiot,” Five hissed after pressing his lips against your forehead and coming to a disturbing conclusion that your fever was only getting worse.

“You can’t get rid of me that easily,” you laughed weakly as you looked up at him, and in less than a second a violent wave of nausea washed over your body and swallowed you whole, leaving you with very little chances to escape the overwhelming feeling. You’d been throwing up non-stop the entire day, and the severe dehydration you were suffering was becoming a genuine concern.

The two of you didn’t have the luxury of medicine, and most days you were doing just fine. This time, however, sleeping it off didn’t seem to be doing it for you, and Five was beginning to panic.

“Don’t say that,” Five said coldly, and you winced at the sudden change of mood, almost offended that he wasn’t trying to distract you from your mysterious illness with humor.

“I’m just worried about you,” he clarified as he noticed a gleam of sadness in your eyes.

It was absolutely killing him to see you like that - in pain, sick and exhausted, and he simply couldn’t afford to have “sad” on the list as well.

If there was one thing that Five despised more than anything else in this world, it would be helplessness, and now, as he was facing the invisible enemy that was threatening to take you away, he was feeling exactly that. Helpless. Useless.

You closed your eyes and tried to breathe through another urge to vomit, inhaling through your nose and exhaling through your mouth loudly, but the agonizing sensation didn’t seem to have any compassion or mercy for you.

“Okay, I can’t hold it back any longer,” you warned, and Five nodded in silent understanding.

He’d been sitting by your side and holding your hair all day, thoughtfully keeping it away from your face while you were restlessly puking your guts out, and, as you were doing so, not a single muscle on his face cringed in disgust. The only thing that was truly bothering him about this marathon of vomiting was how soon you were going to recover from it.

Thankfully, your immune system was strong enough to get you back on your feet without any external assistance, and you began to get better eventually. But even during your weeks of sickness there wasn’t a single day when you didn’t feel loved and cared for, and the precious moments of Five holding your hand during your feverish nightmares were going to be imprinted on your mind forever.

[nahimjustfeelingit-writes]

Trois:

Chapter One. 

The leading lady will be introduced eventually but I feel like with the way this is written I need to focus on Adonis and Erik first. 

Warnings: AU!Erik, AU!Adonis, smut, bisexual, mentions of blood, threesome.

The 2019 Comic Con at the Los Angeles Convention Center was populous to say the least. Adonis Johnson felt like he was elbow-to-elbow with the animated and roused crowd of event goers. Everyone is grouped like teenagers in those cheesy high school flicks. You have your Nerds—never worried about being challenged to prove their knowledge about the gaming character or superhero on the shirt they're wearing, yelling out quotes in a spirit of shared fandom. Then, you have your cos players—rehearsed smiles on their faces whenever they are stopped to have their picture taken, sort of deteriorating and looking less magnificent as the day goes on due to wig issues, broken weapons, or itchy and hot costumes. Then, there are those individuals like Adonis who endure the hectic universe. 

Adonis is wearing a faded orange muscle tee with a mixture of his favorite anime characters such as Saitama, Goku, Sasuke, L, Yusuke Urameshi, and Spike Spiegel. He styled the tee with a pair of Nike Dri-FIT Basketball shorts in black, black Jordan socks, and a pair of orange and black Air Jordan 1’s on his feet. He couldn’t forget his layered silver chains and finger rings to make it more stylish, or his charcoal black Coach backpack to carry his essentials like the sun screen he needed and some water from standing in that long ass line in the blazing afternoon sun. The cast of Zombieland: Double Tap will be there, and over 800 exhibitors. Adonis didn’t even know where to start or end and at first he figured the map in his hand that he grabbed at the entrance was a great idea but he tossed it in the closest receptacle. 

Adonis scratched at the steri-strip on the corner of his pouty bottom lip since the regular stitches were removed by his doctor almost 48 hours ago. Adonis earned that busted lip from a fight he triumphed in. He didn’t get that wound from the type of fights you see on paper view—he’s an Underground Boxer who participates in Street fighting. Yes, Adonis fights in ‘unlicensed’ matches. This means it operates outside the governing bodies of the sport and is susceptible to rules being broken and fights being fixed. It is illegal in many countries because it is dangerous and disruptive to daily life—running the possibility of being charged with several crimes especially. It’s Adonis’ personal fight club, a badge of honor for him. 

Adonis was introduced to the idea of a fight club by a childhood buddy of his that died five years ago. His name was Clark Wilson. Adonis and Clark used to be in Juvie together—two angry kids who used their fists because of the violence and hatred surrounding them. When Adonis’ father, famous Boxer named Apollo Creed’s wife Mary Anne came looking for Adonis while he was in Juvie, she took him in as her own son and started him out in therapy and anger management groups. For the most part, Adonis felt as if his anger was suppressed but he missed the way fighting made him feel——alive. First, Adonis had to understand the reasoning of a Fight Club. Fight Club is about releasing his anger and stress; about fighting his problems; about going against normalcy and the safe little bubble he has become accustomed to living in. 

Rules were put in place and Adonis found a private property hidden from the public eye so that the authorities can’t interfere. Adonis uses a basement of a record shop for his Fight Club location. If someone would die in Fight Club, there isn’t anything anyone could do. There has only been one case where someone died in Adonis’ Fight Club and he swore to make sure it didn’t become deadly. Brutal, yes, but no murder. Pinching the steri-strip on his lip to keep it in place, Adonis visits an exhibitor—Comic Madness. Pulling out his iPhone so he could use his Apple Pay, Adonis sifts through the comic books to find the ones he wanted. The price tag on them was a bit much but this was a once a year weekend event so he could break the bank. 

Entrepreneur of a fitness company called Elite Body Edge, Erik Stevens strolls through Comic Con after checking out the Hellboy cast members doing a Q&A. Stylish per usual, dangling gold cross earring in his right ear, yellow and black camouflage cargos on, all-white creaseless Nike Air Force 1s, and a lax graphic tee with The Lost Boys on it, Erik pans his Canon PowerShot G7X Mark lll Camera around him, Vlogging his Comic Con experience for his YouTuber’s. When he’s not recording fitness and nutrition videos, Erik is vlogging about his daily life or giving advice to the anonymous subscribers who send him emails. He wanted to edit the video to look like a VHS video for a different aesthetic. Erik strolls past a group of cos players dressed as The Avengers and stops to record them, smiling at the enthusiasm and flashing his gold canines. 

Erik sips from his souvenir cup, the straw making an annoying suctioning noise since it was nearly empty. Shaking the cup, ice chips clanking around, Erik stops to get some more footage. Just when he was about to end his vlogging, there was a rather sexy, good-looking dude with chestnut eyes, amber skin so smooth and velvety looking. The muscle tee he was sporting didn’t leave anything to the imagination. Clearly, he’s lean, and chiseled. Erik haltingly lowers his camera, his inky black eyes trailing over this mystery guys frame with enthrallment. Just when Erik thought he would be coming to Comic Con for some fanboy fun, he spotted a distraction with a nice ass. Erik is a bi-sexual man. Friends jokingly called Erik a hoe that got off on pussy or dick—a reckless hoe that played with fire. Married couples, closet homosexuals, threesomes with women, anything that caused mayhem and wreckage with relationships. Anything to get his thick dick wet. 

Erik’s Adam’s Apple bobbed in his neck and his lips parted. When the mystery guy turned around Erik grunted deeply. Lips so thick and plump. Oooh. His breath became ragged and he felt himself swelling. Why did this have to happen to him right now? Donnie must have felt Erik’s hard eyes burning into the back of his skull because he looked back over his shoulder at him with a raised brow and obvious annoyance. The corners of Adonis’ eyes crinkled with suspicion. Erik found it comical, giving Adonis a sly half smirk when their eyes connected. Adonis shook out his shoulders, focusing back on the stacks of comic books in front of him. Why is his heart skipping a beat and his stomach in knots? The back of his neck prickled and he glanced over at Erik again before he cocked his head to the side. The devilish smirk on Erik’s face sparked Adonis’ short temper. 

Thinking back to his anger management tips, Adonis tried to take a timeout by using “I” statements—to stay in control. Think before you speak, don’t make assumptions, calm yourself. As much as he wanted those methods to work, Erik’s smiling, smug face bothered Adonis. Who is this random ass nigga and why the fuck is he smiling like there’s a joke? Adonis started to feel more and more uneasy about Erik staring at him. Does he know about the Fight Club? That seemed to invigorate Adonis’ irritation because he began charging through a group of cos players and walked right up to Erik with his pectoral muscles puffed out and his hands in fists so tight he could feel the aftershocks from his fight almost two days ago. Erik stood his ground with a single brow raised, waiting for Adonis to cause a scene. As soon as Adonis crowded his personal space that was already so little with how many people surrounded them, Erik made it his business to allow his inky black eyes to drop to Adonis’ crotch and back up swiftly. 

“The fuck is your problem staring at me, nigga?” Adonis spoke with a harsh whisper that caused his jaw muscles to clench, “You know me or something?” Adonis paused before he nodded his head slowly, “Let me guess...you wanna fight me?”

“Fight you?” Erik’s eyes become slits, “Why would I want to fight somebody I don’t even know?”

“Well, then you must have heard about me…” Adonis says with a questioning tone. Erik licks his lips and with no regard allows his piercing eyes to memorize the shape of Adonis’ mouth. Adonis couldn’t fight the urge to do the same. He’s turned on. Just as the tension between the two of them reaches a fever pitch, Adonis steps away before he could even realize what he was doing. Adonis didn’t even know he had been holding his breath until he drew in a shaky tone. He’s noticeably quieter now, his aggression tampered. He knew his bewilderment was written across his face. Adonis squared his shoulders and shook out his limbs as if Erik had a bind on him. 

“You good, fighter?” Erik asks sarcastically, “You’re a boxer? I can tell by your reflexes. For a second I thought you were gonna try and knock me out,” Erik smiled. Adonis swallows a hefty amount of spit to calm the tingling sensation in his abdomen. 

“Yeah...I box...underground,” Adonis clarified, “Been doing it for seven years now.”

“Ahh, dirty boxing, I see,” Erik strokes his goatee, “how does one get into that shit anyway? I’m interested.” 

“You don’t choose it like you choose your next meal..you gotta be initiated in...they like to weed out the weak ones…” 

“That hardcore?” Erik took a few steps towards Adonis.

“Hell yeah,” Adonis stares at Erik’s feet as if he were overstepping, “I can tell you more about it if you’re serious.” 

“As long as it’s from the pro himself I’m all ears.” 

This foreign feeling that washed over Adonis’ body was something he felt before when he questioned whether or not he wanted a man to suck his dick. He looks back at Erik just as he smiles and Adonis rolled his eyes away slightly. What the fuck is happening right now? 

“I don’t even know your name, bro,” Adonis held out his hand to give Erik dabs, “I’m Adonis.”

“Erik,” He raised his hand to shake Adonis’. He didn’t want to linger too long but the feeling of his calloused palm teased his hand and it made him want to stroke it. When Erik let go, he allowed his fingertips to brush across the center of Adonis’ palm and that little touch caused Adonis’ biceps to flex. Good to see him react. 

“you gotta be serious...this shit is...it’s rough,” Adonis cleared his throat, “Ain’t the place to really discuss this—“

“Nah, I’m cool,” Erik says with a chuckle—a teasing grin on his face and his eyes now following the definition of Adonis’ arms. Adonis didn’t like Erik staring at him so openly. Maybe Erik got the wrong vibe from Adonis—believing him to be a possible fuck he could conquer after this crowded event, “I’ll stick to boxing in my gym. This underground shit sounds like some kind of deadly contract.” 

“It’s not for everybody,” Adonis says with a smirk, “But if you change your mind, how do I reach you? I usually don’t recruit fighters out in the open like this.”

“Here you go,” Erik pulls out his black leather wallet, retrieving a business card before handing it over to Adonis. It’s a black business card with a gold metallic painted edge for his fitness club Elite Body Edge. The business card is twice as thick as standard cards, since they are printed on 32 pt. uncoated cardstock, offering a superb heft and feel everyone will notice. Erik’s contact information is at the bottom of the card. 

“I’ve heard of this fitness club, all good things too, I’ll keep in touch if you’re ever interested.”

“I’d like to come and watch the fights at least...is that cool?” 

Adonis ponders for a bit, “We have people come and watch but it’s mainly members…”

Erik notices Adonis’ hesitation, backing away a little, “Listen, you hardly know me, I don’t want to intrude on your little secret society. However, you have my card, you can stop by the gym anytime. We have boxing equipment that you can use too.”

“Aight...cool...I’ll come and check it out,” Adonis pockets the card, “Nice to meet you, Erik, sorry for the way I came off at you earlier, my anger can be a bit out of control,” Adonis lets out a nervous chuckle. 

“A bit? I get this vibe that it’s more than just a bit,” Erik turns to leave, “Don’t hesitate to stop by and get a good work out in! Enjoy the rest of your time here at Comic Con.”

“Will do,” Adonis salutes Erik before turning away and disappearing into the sea of people.

________________________________________________________

Elite Body Edge is designed with the purpose of building strong foundations by balancing flexibility, mobility, strength, conditioning and nutrition as well as giving you the perfect sculpt to turn heads; because a strong and sculpted foundation makes a power house. With an arsenal of knowledge, from competition preparation to rehabilitation to strength and conditioning, Elite Body Edge can design a program for any body habitus to achieve any fitness goal. They offer one-on-one training, group sessions and accountability programs to best fit your needs. Why train with Elite Body Edge? No contracts with affordable month-to-month membership, a safe environment to learn proper technique from experienced trainers, a flexible schedule with a variety of group classes to fit your schedule, and an encouraging atmosphere to make working out fun.

Elite Body Edge is a high-end gym experience. Some of the club amenities include, locker rooms complete with sauna and massage chairs, rooftop deck, group fitness classes, premium strength and cardio equipment including LifeFitness, HammerStrength, Precor, and Star Trac, and an amazing aquatic area for swim-fitness. Some of the classes include Restorative Yoga, H.E.A.T Camp, TRX, Feel Fit Naked, Boxing, Self defense, Spin, H.I.I.T, Yogalates, Circuit Burn, and many more. It’s located at 8053 Beverly Boulevard, Los Angeles, CA. It’s striking architecture was designed by National Design Award winner Ian Jackson of Studio Sofield. It’s 30-foot video wall for virtual-reality cycle classes is exceedingly popular, and it’s soaring 25-foot ceilings supported by illuminated linear columns and over 40,000 square feet of state-of-the-art equipment, Elite Body Edge is a modern-day escape straight out of a sci-fi film. 

Erik is no stranger to the gym. Over the years he has received multiple certifications in performance enhancement, TRX Suspension and is a EliteFirst Certified Level 1 trainer, which he has employed as a strength and conditioning coach for the nationally recognized Fremont High School Basketball Team which has produced multiple athletes in the NBA. He supports the youth and employs them to stay active and live a healthy lifestyle. The fitness mogul himself was wrapping up a TRX tactical training course. Most of the occupants are military trained or athletes and with Erik’s skills it can keep them performing at the highest level. Sweaty, heart rate spiked, muscles fueled, and a round of applause, Erik puts up one hand with a black training glove to settle the cheers from his hard working pupils. 

“Nah, y’all should be clapping for yourselves,” Erik wipes sweat from the tip of his nose, “You guys did an amazing job today. The shit is tough but I see improvement and progress. We’ll meet at the same time next Wednesday. Remember, get some rest, stay hydrated, and eat a well balanced diet.”

Everyone gathered their things and exited the class. Erik grabs some cleaning solution and a few disposable cloths to wipe down the equipment. Gym playlist on, you wouldn’t be able to keep Erik’s energy down for one second. He’s so amped up that he could go for another training session; work on his hamstrings and calves some more. Satisfied with his cleaning, Erik exits the classroom, the double glass doors closing behind him. The energetic, hip-hop music pumped up his clients to finish their workout sessions. The air circulating the gym masked the usual odor that comes with sweating and his gym staff are very vigilant on keeping the place tidy. His staff wears black workout gear from head to toe with the gym logo on the front. 

As Erik walks through his gym, checking things out, a familiar face catches his eye. Training on an Everlast Powercore Dual bag with a speed bag attachment is the eye-candy from Comic Con just a week prior. He’s shirtless with a blue Adidas face mask on and fingerless black MMA gloves. His gym shorts hung low on his hips and his feet danced back and forth in his Speed-Flex boxing shoes in time with his fierce punches. Erik wondered when he became a member. He didn’t expect for Adonis to even take up the offer on joining the gym. Smirking, Erik strolls over towards Adonis at the same time as one of Erik’s pilates trainers, Andrea does. Andrea is wearing a black sports bra with the gym logo and black biker shorts. Her sleek platinum blonde pixie cut made her glistening peanut skin pop. Her dark brown eyes held recognition as well as lust. 

“Donnie?” Andrea says with a sultry voice, “I knew that was you,” Andrea popped her hip out, staring Adonis up and down with a big white smile, “How are you?”

Adonis takes off his face mask, those thick lips extra moist from the perspiration on his skin, “Andrea, w’sup? I’m doing good…” Adonis seemed to be thrown off by her presence. From the way he looked at her with his chocolate eyes, they must have had an interesting relationship. Erik took note of the way Adonis sucked his bottom lip into his mouth and Andrea licked her lips and touched his arm with her fingertips. 

“Why don’t you come and see me anymore? We used to have a good ass time...what happened with that? Got tired of me?” Andrea says with a single brow raised.

“I’ve been busy,” Adonis looked away awkwardly, the fresh scar above his right brow catching Andrea’s attention. 

“Busy getting into a brawl? What’s that scar about?” 

“You know me…” Adonis turned away, “Can’t pass up a good fight.”

Andrea didn’t hide her sexual appetite for Adonis from the way her eyes swept over his body, silently telling him how his ripped physique turned her on. Just when she allowed her eyes to drop to Adonis’ crotch, Erik was there next to her, the form-fitting Under Armor short sleeve grey top he wore drenched and molding with his well-built curves straining against the fabric. Two sexy men with twin facial features that made her drool like a love-sick dog. 

“Didn’t think you would show up,” Erik held his hand out to shake Adonis’ hand, “How are you liking it so far?”

“It’s dope, I love the set up, I especially enjoy this boxing section...I mean, you have everything I need to help me train.” 

“Where were you training before?” Erik asked.

“Delphi Boxing Academy, but I need more free roam, too many new people to train.” Adonis replies. 

“...so, you know Andrea?” Erik looks over at her, her peanut colored skin immediately turning red and the top row of her teeth chewing on her pouty, pink bottom lip nervously. 

“Yeah, we got history,” Adonis cracks a smile, “Maybe I should catch one of your Pilates classes...watch you do that seated toe touch.” 

Erik arched a single thick brow at Adonis’ words. It wasn’t directed towards him but the seductive way he said that had a pool of desire filling the pit of his stomach. Erik knows exactly how that seated toe touch looked. Seated on the floor, knees drawn towards your chest, feet in the air and toes pointed to the sky, a complete view of a woman’s phat pussy or a man’s hefty bulge straining against the fabric of their stretchy leggings or shorts. Erik enjoys fucking a woman with a malleable body just as much as Adonis does it seems. He wouldn’t mind seeing how malleable Adonis can be.

“Let’s see if you can keep up,” Andrea gives Adonis one final look up and down before walking away, “my number is still the same.” 

Adonis watches Andrea walk away, “you got a good selection on your staff, bruh.”

“Yup,” Erik agrees, head tilted to the side, dreads shifting across his forehead before he grins, baring his teeth, “gotta have options, a pretty face brings guests, it’s all business.” 

“Well, I admire your business. The dedication and strive to pull something like this together is inspirational. I put my membership in a day ago and was trying to meet with you for a personal tour but your front desk staff said you were out for the day.” Adonis says. 

“Yeah, I’m also a Biological Science Lab Tech two days a week pulling twelve hour shifts.”

“Damn, how the hell do you function?” Adonis says with a shocked voice. 

“You gotta love what you do. You should know, with your own fight club and all, living a double life...working a regular 9-5 during the day I’m guessing?”  Erik says with curious eyes. 

“I’m a Senior Trading Analyst for Smith Boardley Financial Group so, yeah, it’s like living a double life. They don’t ask questions though, which is good.” Adonis’ face shows annoyance as if he didn’t want to talk about his job. Erik senses that maybe Adonis isn’t satisfied with his daytime life, that he feels more free at night and in the ring. He hardly even knew this guy and yet he wanted to know every little detail; ask him questions. He has so many layers to fold back, and besides his reasons behind fighting, Erik hopes to make Adonis admit to his attraction to him. Only thing is, Adonis has to believe it. He’s still uncertain and confused. 

“Why do you fight?”

Silence settles between them for a short while before Adonis finally speaks. 

“Freedom mainly. I want to stop controlling everything and just let go,” Adonis closes his eyes briefly, “if it’s not working out for me...I need to find something that doesn’t...something that doesn’t define me as this perfect dude with a perfect job, and all this fucking money. The things you own end up owning you. The people around you can drag you down. When I fight, I lose control. I’ve been taught at a very young age to bottle up my aggression but all I wanna do is use my hands and to experience some feeling in this numb world...this ‘cocooned society’.” 

“So it’s not about the violence for you? I can understand that. I guess working out is a release for me...that’s an interesting method that I support,” Erik’s eyes scan Adonis’ body, taking a step back so he can blatantly check him out, “I wanna know how this fight club operates...you think I can come watch?” 

Adonis lets go of a laugh, his dimples flashing, “Yeah, man, you can come watch. I’m gonna warn you now though, it can get pretty graphic.”

“Blood? Broken teeth? Nasty scars? That shit don’t phase me,” Erik smiles, allowing his eyes to drop over Adonis’ body. Adonis leans down to grab his water bottle, taking a sip of it and completely avoiding Erik’s unwavering eyes. Why were those eyes making Adonis’ nerves spike up with excitement. It disgruntled him and had Adonis frowning from the feeling. 

“Listen, just don’t be late,” Adonis spoke with finality, placing his face mask back on, “Can’t have people wandering in at the last minute. Come by tomorrow night around 10.” 

Adonis’ change in demeanor has Erik chuckling. He has a habit of wearing his emotions on his face. 

“Will do, bro. Catch you tomorrow...champ,” Erik jeers before leaving Adonis to his training. 

____________________________________________________________

Going Underground Records was Erik’s destination for the late evening. Founded in 2001, Bakersfield's Going Underground Records is Central California's largest and longest running vinyl record store and has recently expanded with a new brick-and-mortar location in Los Angeles. They buy, sell, and trade LPs, 45s, stereo equipment, local concert promotional items (posters, flyers, one-off recordings, etc.) and more. They purchase collections of all sizes, so whether you have a handful, or thousands of records to sell, call or stop by any day of the week. They buy daily and travel to you for large collections. It seems completely deserted from the front but Erik’s instructions from Adonis’ text was to go around back through a basement door. Parking his red Audi R8 across the street, Erik puts out his weed, leaving it in his car. Opening the door, Erik’s left foot hits the wet street. 

Fully out of his car, Erik closes the door, turning to walk across the street towards the record shop. Erik is wearing a camouflage pullover hoodie with black sweats and white Jordan 1’s with a low cut style. Bringing his hood up to cover his freshly twisted locs, Erik saunters down a narrow alleyway before making a left turn ending directly behind the record shop. As soon as he approached the red stainless steel cellar doors, Erik knocks twice, stepping away just in time as a tall, carob-skinned man with a bald head and a single gold hoop earring dressed in a black bomber jacket with a dark purple T-shirt and dark blue denim jeans opens the cellar doors. He looked at Erik in an angry or threatening way, his bug-eyes practically sizing Erik up like he wasn’t welcome. Erik was expressionless, no signs of fear towards this shaq looking man whatsoever, instead, Erik pockets his hands and clears his throat to speak. 

“I’m here for rebellion.” Erik says. He was told to say this at the door from Adonis’ text after the gym yesterday. Erik stopped him before Adonis took off in his matte black Chevy corvette. They exchanged numbers so that Adonis could text him the address and password for entry into the fight club. 

“Why do you seek rebellion?” The man spoke with a voice as hard as the blade of a shovel. 

“Because of this effeminized society that forces me to live a dull and meaningless life,” Erik says with an even tone. 

“Come in, quick,” The man says, “I’m Damion, the owner of this record shop.”

“Erik,” He shook hands with the man before entering the basement of the record shop through the cellar doors. There are metal shelves filled with boxes and janitorial items. Following Damion, Erik could hear hoots and hollers growing louder and louder within the basement. A black drape ahead separated Erik and Damion from the fight club. When the drape was pulled back, the badly lit room with a boxing ring and a crowd of at least thirty people awaited Erik. The shouts and roars are angry and free in Erik’s ears. It smelled like sweat, liquor, weed, and Vaseline mixed with coagulate. 

There, in the middle of the ring with his fists tightly clenched, black boxer shorts hanging low on his hips, and left nose bleeding is Adonis himself. What would be his excuse this time when he went to work the next day? Maybe that he tripped and fell face first, bloodying up his nose. He bares his teeth that are just as bloody as his nose, punching his opponent so hard that they fall to the floor of the ring, his head pinched between the floor of the ring and Adonis’ left knee. Adonis kept slamming his fist into the bridge of his opponents nose——a beefy looking white man with ginger hair and a large leprechaun tattoo on his broad back. He did it again and again in flat hard packing sounds you could hear over all the yelling until the ginger-haired man caught enough breath and sprayed blood to say, stop. Just as those words fell from his lips with difficulty, Adonis stands to his full height, fisting the air with triumph. 

“WHO WANTS NEXT? The night is just getting started!!” Adonis yells, voice like a rising storm, “THE RING IS FREE!”

“I’ll take him on!” A random black guy wearing a FedEx uniform says, pointing to a tall blonde-haired alternative-looking white guy with arm tattoos and nails painted black, “He’s been giving me a dirty look all night, let’s see what your hands are like. I had a long fucking day too,” The FedEx worker removed his hat revealing a clean faded haircut with waves, “Lets go!!! Don’t act scared now!!”

The ginger-haired white man was pulled from the ring, a bloody trail from his face following him. Adonis slid between the ropes and hopped out of the ring, walking through the crowded room until he reached a table with a series of water bottles and towels. Adonis grabs a bottle of water to drink, his grip crushing the plastic bottle before he tosses it away. Erik’s attention was brought back to the ring when the black guy kicked the air out of the alternative white guy then landed on him pounding him limp. The white guy clawed his neck for him to stop and that’s when he backed off with a viscous laugh. The blonde took this opportunity to give him a taste of his medicine. His left fist connected with the black guy's face, spit flying from between his full lips. 

Yeah! Yeah! Kick his ass! 

It was like a raging storm in that room. Erik walks further into the room, bumping shoulders accidentally with a wild amped up Al Pacino look alike with slicked back hair and what looked to be a waiter’s uniform on. These men came all the way here from their boring jobs to relieve some tension. Erik took his spot in a corner, his commanding yet piercing eyes scanning the room. He sought out Adonis again, finding him shouting into the ring. Erik was standing under one of only several lights in the after-midnight blackness of a basement full of men. In the ring two new guys are fighting. One of the men has his opponent's arms behind his head in a full nelson and rammed his face into the ring floor until his teeth bit down on the inside of his cheek. He kept going, even when the guy yelled stop. Adonis jumped into the ring, yanking the guy away and earning a right hook to his face. Erik hisses before grabbing his own jaw as if he could feel it. 

“WHAT ARE THE FUCKING RULES, HUH?!” Adonis head butts him, knocking the guy to the floor before looking down on him with vengeful eyes, “WHEN THEY YELL STOP! YOU FUCKING STOP! Get up,” Adonis throws up his fists, “I said get the fuck up!”

Yeah Adonis! Teach him a lesson!

Body glistening from sweat and muscles perfectly sculpted as if they were carved out of limestone, Adonis beats this man down with just his fists, no special combo move like he’s some wrestler. The guy had enough, throwing his hands up in surrender. Adonis smiles with his blood stained teeth. There’s grunting and noise at fight club like at the gym, but fight club isn’t about looking good. There’s hysterical shouting in tongues like at church, except this isn’t a holy sanctuary like your grandmother would drag you to every Sunday morning to praise and worship. Erik briefly wondered who is responsible for mopping up the blood and sweat from the ring floor after all of this is over. Just standing there watching has his adrenaline spiked. Adonis raises his head towards the ceiling before opening his eyes, the low light making the blood on his face glisten. 

His chocolate eyes scanned the room and when they landed on Erik he seemed to freeze with shock but then a knowing smile appeared on his face. Erik returned the same smile bobbing his head in greeting. Adonis left the ring and squeezed through the small crowd of men before finally coming face to face with Erik. Erik’s eyes sparked as they quickly swept Adonis’ drenched body. He had to suck in a quick breath to calm the pulse coming from his dick. All this charged up, aggressive energy is what Erik craves every time he fucks a man. That fighting back before surrendering to him when all his fat dick enters them. Adonis looked like the type to fight back, Erik really wanted to see that for himself. He hoped it would be sooner rather than later. 

“Looks like underground street fights are a new favorite of mines,” Erik chuckled. 

The corners of Adonis’ eyes crinkled as he smiled, “Didn’t think you would really show up.”

“I’m not all bark and no bite, bruh. When I say I’m gonna be somewhere, I make it happen. Anyway, I ain’t never seen shit like this so I wasn’t about to pass that up,” Erik’s lashes fluttered and his tongue glided across his bottom lip, his gold slugs twinkling in the low light like diamonds. Adonis’ brows knitted and his eyes fell to Erik’s lips. He caught himself staring and backed away, scratching the tip of his nose and taking a deep breath, his pectorals dancing one at a time. Erik’s eyes flickered with mischief and he crossed his arms over his chest. 

“I broke the code inviting you here, you know that?” Adonis looks around, “I’m surprised nobody called you out to fight them. When that happens, you have to fight. That’s the rules.” 

“I don’t abide by rules easily,” Erik’s eyes are ablaze but his voice is like melted honey, “And clearly neither do you. I do my own thing. Is there some contract you have to sign to be involved in this shit?”

“First thirty names on the list get in, if you get in, you set up your fight right away, if you want to fight. If not, there are guys that do so maybe you should stay home.” Adonis points to his left brow, “A couple of stitches fixed this, some of these guys leave here with injuries so bad they need a bed in the hospital...It ain’t for everybody.” 

“But yet here they are getting their asses handed to em’,” Erik shakes his head, “Looks like you need a drink.” 

“I do, I was actually headed to the bar around the corner after this,” Adonis lifted a single brow as his eyes peered into Erik’s, “You’re welcome to join me if you want...I can tell you more about the fight club...looks like you’re interested in joining.” 

“Maybe,” Erik surveyed Adonis’ face, “We could get to know each other a little? You know, I feel like you’re a cool dude, wouldn’t mind kickin’ it over drinks.” 

“I don’t see why not,” Adonis gives Erik a quizzical look before backing away, “Meet me at The Spare Room around the corner from here.” 

Erik chuckles as he watches Adonis back away, stroking the length of his beard while he takes in the vibe of Adonis’ body language, “Aight, I’ll be waiting for you at the bar.” 

_____________________________________________________________

“I ordered for you if that’s cool? Whiskey.” 

Adonis is sporting a black and grey Nike zip-up hoodie with matching track pants and black AirMax on his feet. He settles next to Erik at the bar before drumming his fingers nervously on the polished wood of the bar countertop. The bartender serves them two glass tumblers filled with whiskey and a black cocktail straw. Erik removes his straw and drinks straight from the rim of his glass. Adonis stirs the ice in his glass around before taking a hefty sip over the rim as well. 

“What are you going to tell your job tomorrow about that purple bruise under your eye and that bloody nose? You tripped and hit your face against a brick wall?” Erik cracks a smile.

“I’m off tomorrow,” Adonis touches the bruise under his eye, wincing a bit, “That punch was brutal.” 

“I felt that shit myself. Damn, he got your ass good.” 

“And I got his ass right back,” Adonis proclaimed. 

Erik finishes his drink before calling on the bartender for more.

“After a fight I usually get some pussy to calm me down but good pussy is hard to come by these days,” Adonis stretches his back, “I ain’t been in good pussy in a minute…”

Erik’s jaw clenched at the way Adonis said pussy. He glanced over at Adonis, watching him drink from his glass. 

“Shoot Andrea a text, maybe she’ll stop by and give you that pussy you’ve been craving,” Erik motions for 

Adonis to pick up his phone, “The night is still young, ain’t too late to get in that puss...ain’t never too late.”

Adonis arched a single brow at Erik, “...You fuck her?”

“She yours?” Erik twirled his glass while studying his drink.

“Nah, she’s not...but did you hit?”

Erik bites his bottom lip, “Once, around the time I first hired her. She got it.”

“I know, I been it before,” Adonis shakes his head, “You fuck all the women on your staff?” 

“Yeah, if they want this fat dick.” 

Adonis stirred in his seat, “Another round, homie.”

The bartender fills his glass, the liquid sloshing around the only sound between them until the bartender walks away. 

“You mad I dipped into Drea?” Erik asks casually.

“Can’t be mad at that. She’s not mine...remember?” 

“I got this feeling that if she was yours...you would use this bar top to crack my head open,” Erik flashes Adonis a dimpled smile, “That’s if you can though.” 

“You talk like you would want that,” Adonis squinted his eyes. 

“I like aggression,” Erik says with a hushed tone. Adonis looked away, pondering Erik’s words. He couldn’t explain it but the way he said that felt as if he were flirting with him. Adonis pulls his phone out of his pocket at that exact moment to find Andrea’s number. He shoots her a quick you up text before returning to his drink. 

“You from around here,” Adonis asked to clear the growing tension. It only worked a little. 

“South Central. You?” 

“Crenshaw up until the age of twelve, in and out of Juvie until my dad's wife found me…”

“Your mom wasn’t around?” Erik asked.

“She died when I was ten. Never knew my dad until his wife took me in...from there I moved to Tarzana to live in this mansion. My whole life changed. Found out who my pops was too. Apollo Creed.” 

“Shit...you serious?” Erik’s eyebrows disappeared behind his dreads, “Bro...that’s WILD...why didn’t you follow in your father's footsteps?”

“I didn’t want to be known as Apollo Creed’s son and expected to be the next Creed star. I wanted to do my own thing, you know? That pro boxer shit didn’t stroke my curiosity. All the fame, all the attention. Nah, underground street fighting is my thing.”

“I’m sure your old man would be proud either way though, you’re a hot head just like him.” 

Adonis smirks, “That’s what I’ve been told.” 

“I know mine would be proud of me...lost him to the streets back in 92’ when the riots were going on. He was an activist like my momma. He protected me from getting shot on my tricycle. It humbled me...Still got my momma. She moved back to New Orleans two years ago.”

“Those riots were crazy. I’m sorry about your father...shit is tough.” 

Erik sighs, “It is, but it just reminds me of how lucky I am to have him as a father. Made me the man I am today.” 

“Yeah...I got nothing but love for my dad even though I never met him. Took me a while to get here though, it wasn’t a walk in the park. Got siblings I didn’t connect with in the beginning but now we’re tight. Mary Anne...that’s my step-mom’s name, she didn’t have to raise me, could have left me in the system.”

“What was your real mom’s name?”

“Vivica. She was an aspiring model. My dad met her at some Hollywood party. They slept around for a while but then Mary Anne found out so he ended things. My mom got pregnant, kept the pregnancy a secret until she passed from a brain aneurysm. By then my pops was already gone. Mary Anne found out and raised me.”

“Man,” Erik dragged his hand down his face, “This whole conversation turned heavy so quick. Let’s fill up these glasses, we need more liquor.”

“I second that.”

The bartender gladly refilled their glasses. For a little while longer, Erik and Adonis talked, learning more about each other. They argued about their favorite Anime, the best clubs in LA, and other random shit that had them laughing. They had only met about six days ago and they talked like old friends catching up. Adonis asks for a bottle of water since he has to drive. The bartender brings him his bottle at the precise moment that his phone buzzes. Picking up his phone, Adonis unlocks it to find a text with an image attached from Andrea. Opening the text, Adonis’ eyes became stormy with lust and his bottom lip poked out with need. 

“Goddamn,” He muttered. Andrea always knew how to get him worked up. She’s on the floor naked with her legs spread wide in front of her floor mirror, peanut skin glistening from whatever body oil she used and that phat, creamy pussy with all her glistening pink spread open and freshly waxed for him to come play with. He remembers how sweet she tastes. Adonis’ tongue rolled around his teeth before forcing his eyes away, locking the phone and placing it within his pocket. He was about to be all up in that pussy. 

“Andrea?” Erik says with a sly smirk. 

“Yeah...she really miss me,” Adonis retrieves his wallet from his pocket, “I can cover the drinks—“

“It’s already on my tab, bruh. Don’t worry about it. Go ahead and handle your business.” 

“You ain’t have to do that, Erik,” Adonis stands from his stool.”

“Think of it as a victory drink for the champion of underground street fighting,” Erik held up his glass to Adonis before knocking back the rest of the contents. 

“I hope that’s your last drink, your eyes are so fucking low.” 

“It is, I gotta get home, I’m pretty tired,” Erik tells the bartender to close his tab before standing from his seat. He dabs Adonis, bringing him in for a brief bro hug, pulling away so that his cologne wouldn’t have his dick brushing up against his. He didn’t need that to happen so soon. 

“I’ll holla at you, Erik,” Adonis turns to leave the bar. 

Erik watches him exit before short, heated breaths escaped his mouth. Erik signs his receipt before leaving himself. While walking to the car, Erik pulls his phone from his hoodie pocket, scrolling through his messages, and finding the person he was looking for. 

Erik: Still on for tomorrow night with you and hubby?

Jodie: Absolutely💕 we’ll see you tomorrow night! Can’t wait 😘

______________________________________________________________

Andrea has an apartment at the Madison Toluca in North Hollywood, CA. It’s a three bedroom, two bathroom apartment with a black, red, and white color scheme. Adonis arrived shortly after 12:30 AM and knocked on her door. Her All black Yorkipoo—-a mixed breed of a Yorkshire terrier and a poodle, named Cookie was barking at the door when he knocked. Andrea could be heard yelling at Cookie before opening her door. Andrea beamed at Adonis with her big round eyes bewitching and her smile wide and pretty. She was wearing a teal blue Nike sports bra with a pair of black high crotch panties and bare feet. Her platinum blonde pixie cut is wet and slicked back from her shower and her peanut skin still glowed from the oil on her body. 

“I didn’t get a response from you so I didn’t think you would show up,” Andrea stepped to the side to allow Adonis entry, “What made you text me tonight to see if I was up?”

“You know how I get after a fight.”

 Adonis closed the space between them and grabbed the back of Andrea’s neck, tilting her head back enough to have her back bending before his thick tongue slithered up her neck and to her lips for a kiss. Adonis always itched for sex after a fight. His dick on swole and his hands unexcused Adonis cuffed Andrea’s ass, damn near pulling her from the ground. They continued to kiss, suck, and lick all over each other’s mouth to savor the taste. 

“Damn, got my dick heavy right now, girl,” Adonis squeezes Andrea’s ass, “come on, I want that pretty pussy.” 

“Donnie,” Andrea moaned, voice as pure and sweet as if from heaven, “I miss the way you used to fuck me.” 

“Uh-huh?” Adonis lifts Andrea off her feet, wrapping her legs around him, “How I used to fuck you?” 

“So good baby,” Andrea thumbed Adonis’ pouty bottom lip before peppering light kisses along them, “I miss your lips on my pussy too.” 

“I can’t wait to taste it again, is she still nice and creamy?”

“Always, daddy,” Andrea’s body shook with anticipation in his arms, “Damn...I’m shaking.” 

“It’s because you need this just as much as I do.” 

“I miss your big dick stuffing me,” Andrea dragged her kisses down Adonis’ neck. 

“You miss the way daddy used to give it to you?”

“Ooh, yes—“ 

“I’ma tear you up, Drea.” 

Adonis brought Andrea to her bedroom, flopping down with her straddling his lap. Andrea giggles like she always does while Adonis kisses along her neck and tongues her cleavage. Andrea’s breath is coming out shallow and fast. Adonis grabbed her face, making her look at him. 

“Breathe,” Adonis pecked her nose, “This dick ain’t going nowhere,” Adonis smirked, “It’s all for you, girl.”

“This my dick?” Andrea leans back so that she could grab for Adonis’ crotch, “It’s so goddamn thick goddamn baby.”

“I’m tryna make you cream all over it.”

Adonis was in an intense tongue-lock with Andrea while she stroked him through his track pants. She broke the kiss with a trail of spit before lifting from Adonis’ lap and dropping to her knees. A constant hiss escaped her mouth as she fumbled with his track pants. Discovering his waistband, Andrea pulls his pants and briefs down and around his ankles. That fat, long, swinging dick almost hit her in the face. Andrea grabs it before putting it right in her mouth where it belongs. While Andrea Gluck-Glucked Adonis removed his hoodie and the black T-shirt beneath it. 

“I just wanna fuck your face and eat your pussy until you can’t take it anymore,” Adonis tilted his head back, “Drea, fuck.” 

Adonis curses under his breath when Andrea gave his heavy balls some attention before bringing her lips back to that fat tip. Adonis dragged his fingers through her wet, short platinum blonde strands before palming the back of her neck and forcing more dick into her mouth. The loud slurping was something Adonis missed heavily. His hips were practically off of the bed now, lip between his teeth and eyebrows knitted together. 

“I miss this fucking mouth,” Adonis fucked Andrea’s mouth, “Shit, Drea, you still got it girl, this mouth is still a beast.” 

Andrea smirked before stroking his spit covered dick while sucking the tip. She really missed his dick from the way she was eating it up. Adonis wasn’t about to stop her, he simply widened his legs and laid back on his elbows. 

“You finna have a nigga bust,” Adonis’ abdomen flexed, “I needed this so fucking bad, make me bust, girl.” 

The eye contact she was giving him had Adonis balls so full with his tasty cum. 

“Just loving on me,” He says before chewing on his bottom lip, “Mmhmmm,” his eyes closed and his brows pressed together tightly. 

Andrea planted her hands on the bed and started bobbing her head up and down his dick while moving her head in a circular motion. 

“Slow down...yes, yes, like that,” Adonis’ lips parted. 

He could literally feel the corners of the inside of Andrea’s mouth and her tight pouty lips nice and steady on his dick. She manipulated that muscular organ in her mouth to flick back and forth on the base of his dick and his balls each time she went down. 

“Love on my dick, babygirl, Drea I’m about to bust, you ready?” Adonis’ eyes squeezed shut and he completely fell back against the bed, “good girl slurp all that shit up oh my fucking God,” Adonis exploded in Andrea’s mouth damn near making her choke. 

“Get up here,” He says, picking Andrea up and bringing her on the bed. Andrea was on her knees, shaking her slim thick booty in his face, her pussy wide with anticipation. Her cream made a mess of her pussy and it was begging to be licked up. Adonis smacks each ass cheek before giving both of them a nice, appreciative kiss. His lips tickled and they felt so moist against Andrea’s skin. She widened her thighs and arched her back more, practically pushing her pussy into Adonis’ face for him. 

“You shoving this beautiful pussy in my face?”

Andrea nods her head with a bite of her lip. Adonis turns around, laying his head between Andrea’s thighs before wrapping one arm around her waist with the other hand occupied with jerking his fat pole. Andrea sat on his face fully before grinding Adonis’ lips. He leans forward to place his lips on her pussy, serving her tongue with long trails of spit. The wiggle of his wet tongue had her lifting up on her hands, thighs shaking. Adonis takes both of his thumbs, peeling her open.

His damn tongue.

“Ooh, yes, Donnie.” 

Her entire body shivered.

Adonis’ tongue was dripping with spit and warm against her inner folds. He was in the middle of spelling out his name with the tip of his tongue all up and down her slit. With the D Andrea’s body shivered. With the O she started shuddering in breaths of gasping completion. With the two N’s Andrea clawed the bed. The letter I made a shape over her clit at the right angle. After the E He sucked her pussy into his mouth. 

“When you lick me you never miss a spot,” She said with a voice like the harmony of angles. Adonis lapped at her pussy some more in response to her words, “Donnie, please don’t stop, baby...I’m gonna cum, Donnie keep doing that to me.” 

Adonis gave her sloppy suction kisses down to her entrance and back up to her clit, keeping her lips apart so he could really get inside. He repeated and repeated, slurping and sucking and licking and kissing. He went faster and faster and she bucked her hips into his mouth, cries getting louder and louder.

“Mmmm, yes, do it like that,” Andrea said with a sensual voice. 

“How bad do you want to cum?” Adonis said before he slurped on her clit and her labia at the same time, moaning himself feeling his precum wet his fingers.

 “Really bad daddy...I wanna cum so fucking bad from your dirty mouth...make me scream.”

“Fuck. You may be a sweetheart but you a freak for sure.” 

Adonis concentrates on tonguing and sucking all the spots that have Andrea’s hips bucking and her pussy smothering him. 

“Daddy...guess what?” Andrea’s eyes watered and heat crept up her body. 

“Uh-huh, I got that pussy cumming?” Adonis’ words are muffled with the way his lips trailed all over Andrea’s pussy. 

With that Andrea’s body froze as her orgasm washed over her. Remembering how good Adonis ate her pussy wasn’t enough for her. Now she was experiencing it again while sitting on his face. He was going for round two from what it felt like. He kept saying over and over how much he needed her beautiful phat pussy and how he was going to dick her down just like that with her back arched. Andrea was ready to crawl off of him when her second orgasm hit her. She squealed so loud her throat went raw. Satisfied, Adonis resurfaced, his lips and freshly shaved chin glistening from her juicy folds. 

“Come taste how sweet you are.” 

Andrea turns, wrapping her arms around Adonis’ shoulders before licking his lips. She hummed with satisfaction while pulling him down on top of her body. 

“Pussy is gushy baby,” Adonis held all his body weight up on one hand while the other played with Andrea’s folds, “That pussy just needs me in it...I could tell from how your eyes lit up when you saw me… miss the way I bust this tight kitty open...I wanna stick my dick so deep in it.”

Adonis leans down on his elbow to kiss Andrea again while he rubbed her clit. His dick is like a swinging pendulum between his legs right now, desperate and hard for Andrea’s pussy. Adonis has enough of teasing Andrea with how fast his heart beats and how painfully hard he is. Grabbing his dick, mixing the wetness on his fingers from her pussy on his pre-cum laden dick, Adonis lined up with Andrea’s pussy before thrusting in slowly, widening her thighs at the same time. Adonis groaned when he was fully inside, making sure to watch her face so that he could see all of her expressions. 

“Ahhh, yes, that’s it.” 

Adonis’ muscular body was mesmerizing from that angle. He began to roll his hips, working all that girth and length in and out of Andrea. Adonis felt Andrea’s pussy squeeze his dick and it only made him go harder. Adonis pulls Andrea’s sports bra off, her perky breasts with dark brown nipples reminding him of Hershey kisses blessing his eyes. Adonis sucked on each titty while he strokes her pussy. The double sensation has Andrea creamy and the macaroni and cheese sound of her pussy grew louder and louder between them. 

“You taking this dick just like you used to,” Adonis pushes her thighs back, “Fuck all that moaning call me daddy while I’m in it.” 

“Daddy,” Andrea whispered. 

“Look at it Drea,” Adonis whispered back. 

Andrea’s eyes traveled down the length of Adonis’ magnificent body to his long, thick dick spreading her open. She couldn’t put into words how full she felt. 

“Pretty, ain’t it?” Adonis whispered, “This how Erik fucked this pussy?”

Andrea’s eyes flicked up to Adonis’ face quickly. She went red with embarrassment, ragged gasps leaving her mouth. 

“What? Answer the question,” Adonis pushed his dick all the way in. Andrea could feel it tickle her navel. 

“Yessssssss,” Andrea answered with an uneven breath. 

“He fuck this pussy in your bed, Drea?” Adonis’ hips were smacking into the back of her thighs, “What he do, girl?”

“He-he fu-fucked me in my b-bed,” Andrea stuttered. Adonis heard himself grunt at her response. Had he ever gotten off on another man fucking the same chick as him? No. Probably wouldn’t have cared in the past but for some reason, knowing that Erik hit Drea too has him harder than he was seconds ago.

“You call him daddy?” 

“Yes!!! Donnie, baby, it’s so much dick,” Andrea’s face frowned with ecstasy.

“And this pussy is good so you’re getting all this dick, baby,” Adonis reaches up to grab onto Andrea’s headboard and she knows what that means. Andrea held onto his waist with a death grip to prepare herself. Adonis started descending his dick all at once in Andrea’s pussy. No pause, no warning, just nothing but a fat dick with all its length sinking into her drenched pussy fluently. It felt like she wasn’t in control of her body anymore. 

“Donnie, please please please,” Her mouth opened, no words escaping. 

“Did he call you his nasty little girl?” Adonis says with a voice so gruff and guttural. He looked down at his dick working the hell out of Andrea’s pussy. The muscles in his back and arms burned in a good way. He was tearing Andrea up from this angle, “Got me going crazy in this pussy...I needed this pussy.” 

“Daddy, daddy I’m gonna squirt,” Andrea’s toes curled. Her body didn’t feel like it belonged to her anymore with the way Adonis was taking her pussy. Andrea trembled while her pussy leaked it’s sweet juices all over his dick. 

“Got that pussy cumming?!! You ain’t answer my question...he calls you his nasty little girl?” 

“No,” she spoke faintly, “He called me his nasty little bitch.” 

Adonis bit down on his lip hard. He pumped her fast a few more times before withdrawing from her tightness, flipping her over and arching her back deep. 

“Nasty little bitch? Huh? You like that name?” Adonis sounded harsh, “Keep that ass up Drea, come on baby...I got something for you.” 

“DADDY!!” Andrea wasn’t prepared for that big surprise just now. Adonis has both of his large hands on her waist while he plowed her. She never had this rough amount of treatment from him. 

“Daddy, shit,” her shoulders fell forward against the bed. High-pitched moans filled the room and her cheeks smacking and ricocheting off of Adonis’ rock hard hips was stinging her flesh. He was hostile and she loved the change. Sure, Adonis’ much gentle side was always just as good but to see him use her body the way he was it had her squirting and she never experienced squirting while having sex with him. She needed more of this. 

“Throw it back, Drea, keep going, baby,” Adonis watched her struggle. It didn’t matter to him, his big dick was nice and wet. 

“Nasty little girl, huh?” 

“Yes,” Her breath was rattled. 

“Come on and make this dick cum.” Adonis grabbed her hips, forcing her back to take all his length. Andrea screamed.

“That’s how you do it, so do it, girl, I’m not showing you again,” Adonis watched her do it right this time with a smirk, “That’s my nasty little girl… take this dick...keep taking this dick.”

“Daddy-“

“Why is this lil’ pussy so fat? Damn,” Adonis felt his nut sack jump, “Look at this beautiful, fat pussy, go ahead and cum Drea, go ahead baby.” 

“Yes, daddy, Unh!!!!!” 

Andrea slows down, Adonis taking over again, giving it to her and moaning the closer he got to cumming. 

“That pretty pussy, fuck, take this nut girl,” Adonis’ words were stuck in his throat the second he let off in her pussy with his thick cum. Thank God she was taking contraceptives because she would be pregnant with all his damn babies with how thick and heavy his load is. Adonis retracted his hips, dick sliding out and his cum dripping from Andrea’s gaping entrance. His dick left a serious imprint with how much wider her slick hole is. 

“Damn,” Andrea’s body turned over, “That was some kind of fucking,” she giggles, wiping sweat from her face, “What’s gotten into you, Donnie? baby, you were wild in this pussy tonight.” 

“Lack of pussy does that to you,” Adonis stood from the bed, stretching out his back muscles. Andrea tilted her head while staring at his dick. 

“Round two?” Andrea begged. 

Adonis sighed, “I need some water first.” 

“How do you know Erik anyway?” 

Adonis shrugged, “Comic Con. It was a random situation. He gave me his business card and that’s how I ended up at his gym.” 

Andrea gave Adonis a playful smile, “Are you mad that I fucked him? It was only once, Adonis.” 

“Nah, I’m not mad,” Adonis gave Andrea a once-over with his chocolate eyes, “But you liked that I brought it up...that pussy was choking my dick.” 

“I did. Maybe we should have a threesome. I would love it if you both fucked me.” 

Adonis felt his chest grow tight from her words. His face twisted up with confusion at the feeling. Was that...anticipation? Nervous excitement? 

“Maybe, you should get on all fours again so I can come back and get some more of that pussy,” Adonis responded before leaving her room to grab them both some water. 

_____________________________________________________________

Parked on a hill on Valley Ridge Ave. in View Park, CA,

Erik pulled out his phone to remind himself of the address. 4515. DVSN- Still Pray for You stopped playing when Erik turned his car off. Air Jordan 3 Retro’s, Khaki cargo pants, white T-shirt, a denim jacket, and layered gold chains was Erik’s outfit for the evening. His dreads are side swept, a few of them falling in his eyes. He slouched slightly in his gait, oozing confidence. The home is an iconic 1930 Spanish Revival with stunning city views, exceptional vintage details, custom modern updates, a large beautiful private yard with a tiered flat grassy area, patio, and an herb garden. Jogging up the steps, Erik knocked on the green door, stepping back before swatting away a moth that lingered near the porch light. 

The door unlocked, Jodie standing before Erik with a glass of red wine in her hand and a long charcoal grey T-shirt dress with a high slit, coffee brown eyes fringed with false lashes and copper skin looking soft and silky. Her lush lips are glossy and her blue-black hair is in a sleek low bun. Erik’s eyes traveled from her toes that are painted a fuchsia pink up her shapely legs, over her poked out hip and up to her heart-shaped face. Sweet notes of apple and apricot wafted from her skin the closer Erik got to her. He leaned down to kiss her glossy lips delicately, his tongue tasting the gloss. Jodie’s oval-shaped pink ombré nail skimmed Erik’s jawline with fascination. 

“Hi,” Jodie said with a pleasant voice. 

“Hey,” Erik whispered back, the suave way he said it causing Jodie to nibble on her lip. 

“Do you want some wine?” Jodie offered. 

“I’ll take some wine,” Erik closes Jodie’s front door, “Where is the party?”

“For now, in the living room.” 

Jodie pointed towards the area in question before walking away with a sway of her extremely thick hips towards the kitchen. Erik found the living room, Jodie’s husband, Vance, seated on the couch, smoking some weed, denim cut-off shorts on, an olive green linen short sleeve button-down shirt with a bandanna print open and revealing his athletic body. The deep brown complexion of his skin looked satiny beneath the living room lights. His chiseled face with sharp cheekbones made him look like a male model and Erik especially loved the nose ring on his broad nose. His full lips smirked at him before taking yet another puff of weed. That fresh fade with glossy waves and perfectly groomed beard has Erik lusting even more. 

Vance spoke with a husky voice, “Erik...glad you came.” 

“Me too...let me hit that.”

Vance shared his weed with Erik. 

“Training TRX on Wednesday next week?” Vance asked. 

“I am. I’m not here to talk about my gym though, you know that,” Erik said, savoring the weed, “I ain’t know you went both ways, Vance.” 

Vance cracked a smile, “Yeah, I’m bisexual. Me and Jodie. We’ve been trying to hook up a threesome with a man for a while and then Jodie said she saw you out a few weeks ago at the Avalon with some dude tonguing him down.”

“A date I met on Tinder, fucked him good that night too,” Erik’s head relaxed against the couch, licking his lips to the memory. 

“I bet you did,” Vance passed the weed, “He takes it well too?”

“He needed to be trained, but I’m good at that..have them coming back for more in no time.” 

“Mm,” Vance’s eyes glossed down to Erik’s crotch where his dick print was visible on his left thigh. Vance shook his head as his breath rushed out. Erik was a big boy. 

“You looking for something?” Erik spoke softly, the sensation of the weed sweeping deeper, “it’s right here,” Erik squeezed his dick, the cargo pants molding around the shape of it, “You want this dick?” Erik’s eyes looked at Vance’s big lips and he just knew those juicy lips would feel fucking fantastic sucking on him. 

“I do, I want that dick.” 

“Put that weed out and come get it, that’s why I’m here right? Get the fuck over here,” Erik takes off his denim jacket, widening his thighs, “That pretty ass mouth you got...I need my dick sucked now…do it slow too.” 

Vance’s hand gripped Erik’s dick through his pants. Erik made it jump against his hand. Vance let out a groan. 

“Come on, boy, my shit is thick right now.” 

Vance went to work on Erik’s pants, pulling them down and around his ankles. He couldn’t wait to satisfy the beautiful massive dick in front of his eyes. Slide that big dick in his hungry mouth and drain his balls. Speaking of balls...they are heavy and soft to the touch. Erik slouched, pulling his T-shirt up to reveal his taut abdomen, defined pectorals, and bulging biceps. His dick was standing up and the veins looked like a work of art on his chocolate pole. 

“From the way you’re looking at it I can tell you’ve been wondering just how big this dick is...right, nigga?”

“Yes…”

“Yeah...it’s here for you and your wife...where is wifey at anyway? Jodie!” Erik called for her.

“I’m here—Ooh,” Jodie sauntered over and placed Erik’s wine on the coffee table. She’s in her purple lace bra and panties set. Jodie dropped to her knees next to Vance. She stared at Erik’s dick in a trance. 

“Let me feel those soft ass lips, Vance,” Erik slapped Vance on the cheek, startling him, “Yeah, you taking too long, baby boy, all this fat dick in front of you. Show your wife how you suck some nut out of the dick.”

“Damn, Erik,” Jodie’s eyes are love-struck. 

Vance gripped Erik’s dick and pumped him nice and steady, making sure to squeeze a little just beneath the tip of his dick so he could watch his pre-cum spill from his slit. Spreading the pre-cum along the sides of Erik’s dick, Vance’s big lips engulfed half of Erik’s dick, bobbing his head while reaching down to gently squeeze his balls. Erik kept his gaze pointed downward, looking from his dick being sucked by Vance and Jodie watching with envious eyes. Jodie has to grab hold of something so she placed her hand over Vance’s erection, his visible erection pressed hard against his denim cut-offs. 

“Two big dicks just for me,” Jodie spoke with excitement. 

“Don’t worry, ma, you’ll have some of this dick in your mouth too, Fuckkkk...yeah, suck that shit...suck that fat dick...oooh, you really wanted this shit, hungry ass nigga...don’t get too greedy your wife need some of that too.”

“Yes I do,” Jodie has Vance’s jeans and briefs down with his dark chocolate dick in her hand, nice and warm. It’s more so long than girthy. She jerked him while watching Vance slurp up Erik. 

“Vance...baby...get that dick,” She whimpered. 

Erik will never get over how good Vance’s lips feel. He thrust his hips, forcing more girth and length into Vance’s greedy mouth. Damn, he can deep throat too. 

“Look at you deep throating this wood, boy. You miss big black dick in your mouth, yeah? Miss a nice pair of heavy balls too? I got a load waiting just for you...all you gotta do is be a good boy…”

Erik’s eyes went so low that his long lashes made them seem like they are closed. Jodie’s hand twisted Vance’s erection and each time Erik’s dick hit the back of Vance’s throat, his dick would jump in Jodie’s hand. She arched her back and brought her lips to Vance’s dick. Jodie wasted no time slurping along Vance’s dick. One look at Jodie’s ass in the air has Erik reaching down, his thick fingers clawing her lace panties and yanking them from her ass in pieces. That action made her lips tighten around Vance’s dick and Vance moaned. 

“How that dick taste Jodie?” Erik asked. 

“Delicious,” She said before slurping Vance up some more. 

“Got that phat ass in the air...I already know that pussy phat with the way it sits in your leggings at the gym…”

“Mmm,” Vance cast his eyes upwards watching as Erik’s toned abdomen is exposed, reaching up to run his hand along the deep ridges of the cut muscle, slurping along his dick. He worked more of Erik into his mouth until his nose touched his trimmed hairs, feeling his length curve down his throat as he took him all the way. 

Jodie was in the middle of gagging on Vance’s dick, her spit staining the carpet the more she tried to swallow him. She reached beneath her, hand finding her creamy pussy before spreading her folds to rub her clit in circles. Erik could hear Jodie’s pussy from his seat on the couch. He groans deep, mouth hanging open from the way Vance was sucking him. He tilts his head to watch Jodie while holding the back of Vance’s head to fuck his throat. 

“FUCK!” Erik let out the curse before gripping Vance’s throat, hips jerking from how purposefully tight Vance’s lips are as his mouth slipped off, “Let Jodie have some.” 

Jodie’s lips popped off of Vance’s dick. Erik gazed at Vance’s dark brown dick. All that dark chocolate. He’s long as fuck too. Ain’t nothing Erik can’t handle down his throat. Too bad tonight was his night to get all the work. Jodie moaned before gripping Erik’s spit covered dick. Her tongue flicked Erik’s dick before she locked eyes with him, batting her false lashes like she’s innocent with all that fat dick in her mouth. 

“Damn, girl, crazy with it,” Erik leaned forward to slap both of Jodie’s cheeks hard, “Got all this hard dick down your pretty little throat...got your Hubby taking off his clothes...you see your wife sucking my dick, Vance? She a dick hungry bitch.” 

Vance is completely naked now. He pumped his long dick while leaning over Erik’s lap to hope for Jodie’s lips to slip off so he could take over again. Jodie lets her throat get fucked, gagging only slightly before fighting it back down, eyes turned up to watch the pleasure on Erik’s face as she feels Erik’s dick stretching out her esophagus. Jodie moans around his length, reveling in the taste of Erik on her tongue.

“Jodie,” Vance calls to her while gently squeezing Erik’s balls, “put his dick in my mouth.”

“You want some more of his hard, thick dick? Here,” Jodie feeds Vance Erik’s dick, “Suck it baby…”

“Husband and wife working together...Jodie...let me see that pussy,” Erik showed her how wide his tongue is. 

Jodie climbed onto the couch, turning with her ass facing Erik before bending over on her knees. Her pussy lips are pushed between her thick thighs. Two slippery lips that he wanted to kiss. 

“Spread your cheeks so I can see all that pink pussy...mmmmm,” Erik hisses, “Pussy creamy as fuck,” Erik licks his fingers before resting them on Jodie’s protruding clit and labia. He loved how smooth and soft she is. It looked like chocolate and from the way she tasted on his fingers it was just as sweet too. 

“Come here,” Erik spoke firmly, slapping Jodie’s ass, “lay on your back and spread your thighs so I can finger fuck you.”

“Unh—“

“I wanna feel how tight this little pussy is.” 

Vance jerks Erik’s dick before slobbering on the tip of his dick, “It’s tight...she’ll grip you.” 

“That’s what I want, right Miss Jodie?” 

“Yes, daddy,” Jodie says with a lick of her lips. 

“There you go, baby boy, suck that fucking dick up, suck daddy’s dick up,” Erik demanded. He could feel his balls grow tight and he knew what that meant. He didn’t want to cum yet, not until he had his dick in Vance’s ass and Jodie’s pussy. 

“Erik,” Jodie called to him with a melodic voice. 

Erik watched her bring her knees to her chest, that pussy wide open and her slippery hole winking at him. Erik couldn’t hold back from rubbing Jodie’s clit back and forth before slapping it, causing her to whimper. Erik smoothed his fingers down her pussy before pushing two fingers inside, biting his lip at the way Jodie gasped. 

“Tight fucking puss,” Erik strokes with a curl of his fingers, “I’m digging baby?”

“Yess,” She cries.

“I hear that pussy,” Vance says with spit hanging from his mouth. 

“Come suck her clit,” Erik commanded. Vance and Erik got down on the floor between Jodie’s thighs. Vance spreads her pussy lips so wide that her labia stretched. Erik was astounded when he saw how much cream spilled from Jodie’s pussy. Vance’s tongue curved at the tip while he teased her big clit. 

“Clit big as fuck, Vance stop playing, suck that shit up. Clit nice and phat like that you better suck it.” 

When Vance’s lips wrapped around Jodie’s clit she moaned to the ceiling. Vance reached up to pull the cups of her bra down, her big, round breasts spilling over, creating a mouthful. Erik damn near drooled. He sucked one of her nipples into his mouth while his fingers played all in Jodie’s pussy. Vance was slurping loudly on her pussy and it had Erik slapping Vance’s firm ass. 

“Yeah, nigga,” Erik says, “Got the whole puss in your mouth, make this bitch cum...say, I’ma make this pretty pussy cum.” 

“I’ma make this pretty pussy cum,” Vance says before French kissing Jodie’s clit. 

“I’ma make it squirt,” Erik flicked his tongue on Jodie’s nipple before showing some attention to the other. Jodie gripped his dreads when he went back and forth with sucking her nipples. He had her thrusting her chest into his mouth. 

“Grip me like that again, go ahead, ima put my face in your pussy next,” Erik spoke roughly. 

“Eat my pussy up,” Jodie widened her legs, “There’s plenty...slurp me up daddy.” 

“Nasty bitch, I like you,” Erik was face to face with Vance, “Let me see how that clit fit in my mouth.” 

Vance chuckles before giving Erik some room to eat on Jodie. He helped him by keeping her pussy lips open. Erik was still working his fingers, practically stirring all in Jodie’s creamy cavern. Erik kisses Jodie’s clit, the pecks slowly turning into full blown French kisses that has him opening his mouth wide to wrap his lips around her. 

“Mhm,” Erik’s eyes rolled shut.

“Taste good, yeah?” Vance said while extending his neck to kiss Jodie’s lips, “That’s your pussy on my tongue.”

“Mmm, I taste lovely.” 

Erik spits on Jodie’s clit before working his tongue with so much gusto that Jodie and Vance watched with awe. 

“Ooooh, He’s stroking my pussy with those thick fingers...oooh, I’ma squirt…Vance, baby, he’s gonna make me squirt, baby,” Jodie grabbed for the back of the couch. She became spasmodic and Vance had to hold her down and kiss her lips to distract her so Erik can keep going. That bitch was leaking all in Erik’s mouth. He sucked her up again before tasting his fingers. Vance leaned over Jodie’s lap, getting some of Jodie’s pussy too. 

“Pussy is so goddamn good,” Erik gripped Jodie’s jaw, pressing his lips into hers, “I can’t wait to bust your shit wide open, let’s take this shit to the bed.”

Pulling his lips away, Vance stands with Erik, both of them picking Jodie up. She had her legs wrapped around Erik while Vance stood behind her cupping her titties. Erik bounced Jodie on him like he was fucking her standing. Vance kissed and sucked on her neck at the same time. All three of them took their fun to the bedroom. Jodie grabs some condoms from her dresser, begging to watch Erik fuck Vance first while she rode his face. Vance went to lay on the bed, his knees drawn to his chest. Erik was blessed with the sight of Vance’s tight asshole and heavy balls with his dick resting against his toned abdomen. Jodie climbed on top of Vance’s mouth, turning to give Erik the condom and lube. 

Erik spits on Vance’s asshole before sticking his finger inside. With his free hand, Erik jerks Vance’s long dick 

To keep him solid so he could have something beautiful and chocolate to look at while he banged his ass. Jodie was currently popping her pussy on Vance’s tongue, legs in a squat so her pussy could be nice and spread for him to suck up. It was a beautiful sight. Erik almost wanted to bust from that alone. Staring at Vance’s body now made him think about Adonis. He tilted his head back and stared at the ceiling. Adonis. Nice big lips, sexy rock-hard body, aggressive and competitive, sexy smile, chocolate eyes all intense at one minute then gentle the next, the way he fights…

“Erik I love the way your finger feels in my ass.” 

Vance’s words broke him out of his trance.

“Yeah? Ain’t shit compared to this dick, boy,” Erik removes his finger, grabbing up the magnum to place on his dick. Rolling it over his glans all the way down to the root, Erik applies a little bit of lube for some extra slip. Bending his knees, Erik forced Vance’s thighs back before slapping the weight of his dick against his ass, sinking inside of his warm, tight ass. 

“Damn boy...damn...ass tight as fuck,” Erik started grinding his hips, “Feel all that thick dick pumping?” 

Jodie looked over her sweaty shoulder and saw Erik’s fat condom covered dick thrusting in and out of Vance’s ass. She felt chills all over her flesh and the sexy moans against her pussy and groans from Erik made her cream even more. Jodie can see Erik and Vance’s muscles ripple and flex with their movement. Jodie turned around so that she could 69 with Vance, grabbing his long dick up and going straight at it with a bob of her head. Vance clapped her cheeks before eating both of her holes. 

“Fuck, that’s what I’m talking about Jodie, eat that dick up,” Erik pushes her head down further, “There you go, deep throat that shit.”

Vance was working his hips to take all of Erik’s dick, Erik caught that, rolling his hips to meet Vance half-way so that his dick could be all up in his ass. 

“Got this nigga working his hips to get all this wood,” Erik bites his lip, “ass is creaming already too.” 

“Mmm, I wanna see,” Jodie jerks Vance’s dick while admiring her husband's creamy asshole grip Erik’s dick, “Vance...baby...he got you creamy, mmmm, Vance.

Vance moaned into Jodie’s pussy with each suck. 

“That’s it baby, make this pussy cum...oooh I feel you tugging on that clit, make me nut baby,” Jodie’s eyes almost crossed, Oh God...Oh God...fuuuuuuckkkkkkk babyyyyyyyyyyy—“

“Face hella sexy when you bust, girl,” Erik wrapped his arms around Vance’s thighs and started ramming his dick deep, big balls slapping against his ass. Vance’s core tightened and it seemed to shoot straight to his dick because now he’s cumming in Jodie’s hand. Jodie licked as much away as she could but he kept on erupting. It was Erik’s pounding deep in that ass that had him making a big mess. 

“Oh shit, Erik, fuck,” Vance stared between Jodie’s thighs at Erik, “Dick is all up my ass——“

“I’m taking this ass?” 

“Yes, daddy.”

Jodie could not stop looking at Erik’s hard dick fucking Vance so good. Erik leaned over Vance, his naked chest and those gold chains hanging over Vance’s body. His dreads hung low and he bit down on his lip, working his hips fast and skillful. Jodie needed that dick in her pussy. 

“Ima nut again,” Vance’s handsome face crumbled, “Fuck, Erik, ima bust—-“

“Yeah, nigga, I’ma make that dick cum while I beat this ass up good.” 

Jodie cupped her pussy and rubbed it up and down to the sight of Vance shooting out yet another thick load. Erik pulled out and rocked back on his heels, watching the way Vance’s ass quivered. There is a creamy puddle beneath his ass. Erik removes the condom, walking to Jodie’s dresser to grab another. Rolling it over his still hard erection, Erik walks up to Jodie picking her up and wrapping her legs around him. Erik sits back on the bed, Jodie over him with his hands cradling her ass.

“It’s time to get in you now...nothing but dick deep in your guts…”

Vance stood up from the bed and jerked his dick watching Jodie grab Erik’s dick herself, squatting over his dick before lowering her hips, that thick dick nothing but a flesh covered pole for her to fuck. Jodie was up on her feet, upper body bending over so she could bounce her hips. Her ass cheeks clapped with each bounce while she fed her pussy some dick. Vance went to lay next to Erik so that he could have a better look at his wife handling Erik’s dick. 

“You see that sexy little pussy taking all this dick?” Erik says to Vance before his eyes zeroed in on Vance’s erection, “Dick long as fuck...tear some ass up with this.” 

Erik started Jerking Vance’s dick.

“Get that dick, ma, nasty ass bitch...got my dick all in that pussy...I bet that ass looks real juicy bouncing…”

“This big ass dick.”

Jodie’s cream coated the condom.

“Good dick…” She moaned, “mmmmm, some good fucking dick...so thick...Unh, so good.”

“She’s loving that,” Vance says before grunting from Erik’s thumb stroking his tip, “I love that fat dick too.”

“I know you do, baby boy,” Erik gives Vance a sexy smirk. 

Erik liked the feel of Vance’s dick in his hand but he couldn’t stop wondering how Adonis’ would feel against his palm. Is it thick with a little bit of curve? Does it have length to it for Erik to deep throat? Is it soft to the touch yet textured from his thick veins? He couldn’t shake it. He let go of Vance’s dick and grabbed Jodie’s ankles, picking his hips off the bed and serving her more dick. He didn’t let up on his strokes, knocking the wind out of her chest and making her shout. Vance took over with jerking his dick while his eyes focused on Erik’s powerful hips. 

“KEEP FUCKING ME!” 

“Make her cum, Erik...Make that pussy cum,” Vance said.

“Ahhhhhhhhh,” Erik gritted his teeth, “cum on this dick, bitch...get you some of this dick...she about her business look at her,” Erik and Vance watched Jodie work her hips on his dick, “bounce that shit.”

“Hell yeah, I love watching that big dick pound her pussy,” Vance leans over to tongue Erik’s neck. Erik gripped his chin and flicked tongues with Vance. He broke away from him to moan out. His balls contracted rhythmically with his dick and that was a sign that he was ready to pump his fat load all over their faces. 

“Get down on your knees, both of y’all, hurry up, fuck, I gotta bust!”

Vance and Jodie are on their knees and Erik stands before them, snatching his condom off before fisting his dick. All of that cum squeezed out from his heavy sack all over Vance and Jodie’s face, mouth, and wiggling tongue. 

“Clean this dick up,” Erik spoke with a gruff tone. Both of their tongues battled for a taste. The feeling of two sets of lips on his dick made more cum dribble. Vance took over and sucked him, Erik pulling his dick from his mouth to give Jodie some. He allowed his dick to swing back and forth for them to catch and suck. 

“Y’all gon’ have me fucking again,” Erik shook his head, “Damn...y’all love this dick.”

Watching them attack his dick had Erik satisfied but there was still part of him that needed more. 

Adonis was going to be trouble...if only he would accept his attraction for Erik so he could really show him how badly he needs him. Erik wasn’t going to wait too long either. 

@tgigoldie​ @soufcakmistress​ @chefjessypooh​ @chaneajoyyy​ @pananegra​ @theblulife​ @becincere @blaqwidow91 @fish-outta-watah @eyeknowmywrites @crowngold @njadakillthiscookie @blktinkerbell @luvanxi @sheisexcellent1 @chocolatedippedinhoney @brandithecrystalgem @dababydababydababydababy @soulfulbeauty19 @btitannaaa @sunkissedebony97 @youngblackndgifted @harleycativy @rbhp @thee-germanpeach @thadelightfulone @palmstreesallday @skylahb @bakaris-shorty @nizzle-mo @truglori @queenflaws @ljstraightnochaser @theegoldenchild @scrumptiouslytenaciouscrusade @nickidub718 @vikkidc @thehomierobbstark  @abluesforlyssa @abeautifulmindexposed @fd-writes @chasingsunlight @sickaddiktions @munteanhorewrites @xo-goldengirl @tiava143 @33kiara@honeytoffee @asiasblackworld727 @momobaby227 @informalmelancholy @soulshinechronicles @hearteyes-for-killmonger @goddessofthundathighs @soulfxll @whazzzupmyhitta @seyven89 @lahuttor @janelledarling @shewritestheblues @fanfangal @kreolemami @thoughtsoftheantagonist @luvwitoutlimit1 @mygirlrenee @hippiesandpeacesigns @alittlejd @jaysaidhi @chaneajoyyy @walkrightuptothesun @shawnstacksss @theesotericqueen @mareethequeen @browngirldominion @ceeverse @therealmrsrhodes @sensitivelegend @cecereads209 @teheeboo @yomiloo @msreshel @bbygirrll05 @fahi0nanart @afteracouplepuffss @shaelyn102 @yaminax-kuss-a @lackbbaby @amyhennessyhouse @thattruckinwitch @dameshaemonique  @glittermakesmesmile @justgetitoverwith0  @notavintagecliche @pariahcolored @cydneyrenee4 @ajjiiaaahhhh @naeelyniecee @ambthegamer @efonteno @mikesteel20 @wisenerdcreator @draggingstxns @eevolsidog @xoxomyaah @asweet-serendipity @therealmrsmbjordan @ajspencer1892 @queengodiva619 @niqui87 @quietpoeticheart @itsjustyazz @dasia21 @woah-express @bbgiirrll @backandbetter2 @megabriahall @forbeautyandlife @queenflaws @queenbetter @yomiloo @daddys-baby-girl-t @lovinthemelanin @ladymac82 @ambitionwood @t3mporaa @toniilaney @iv0rysoap @sinfully-dope @lovehatecritique @chocolategirl605 @naysianaee @nyleveeee @erlebnissebliss @melinaasap1 @woahthatshitfat @that-chick212 @scarypumkin23 @sambuckyslayallday @vikki240401 @kuaua98 @enigmadivine @gingerylimonte @counterfeit-recherche @unholyxcumbucket @xdezaraex @missgigglesmoultrie @imrootingforeveryoneblack @dashhoney25 @oversorry @abluesforlyssa @honeybeejaes @admirehermind @wassuduoo @kaykay0829 @woahitslucyylu

[lovelivingmydreams]

Paper flowers: The little things

In life it’s often the little things that make the difference between a good day and a bad one. Your best friend and the person you just cant stand to be around.

This chapter Patton especially is confronted with how the smallest actions can cause big changes.

In the imagination, it’s noticing the little things that gives the nemessis an advantage.

Virgil was looking up at the clouds passing by in the purple sky of the field. In the edges of his vision he could see flowers in several hues of red and purple.

Suddenly a shadow fell over him and a face entered his vision.

It was Roman, his head cocked to the side, a smirk on his face. “S’up Princey?” Virgil smiled as he sat up. Roman sat down next to him and with a wave of his hand, a new species of purple flowers was added to the field. Forget-me-nots to be specific.

“I do appreciate the flowers Virgil, but may I ask what I did to deserve them this time?” Roman wondered curiously. He’d gotten in the habit of adding Virgil’s flowers to the field. Or well copies of them. The original flowers were held in a vase in his room. Was there a slight chance of someone walking in and seeing them? Yes. But he could play it off. Purple was a royal color and Roman only associated it with Virgil because he’d mentioned it was his favorite color in one of their early conversations, when the friendship was still new.

“Just… Felt like it…” Virgil couldn’t pinpoint it. He’d been feeling pretty down the past week and found himself grateful for Roman’s presence in his life.

The whole point of the flowers was to let Roman know Virgil valued him as a friend and a side without having to get into details.

“Well, thank you. I really appreciate your thoughtful gifts,” Roman offered looking at their doors, now each framed by rose bushes in the other’s color. Roman had considered giving Virgil the purple roses but that felt like regifting him the one he’d made him and that just wasn’t right.

He chanced a glance at his friend, gaging his mood.

"Soooo... you want to talk about what had you storming of this morning?" Roman asked casually.

Virgil sighed he should have known.

Virgil had joined breakfast more often since the first time a few weeks ago. And this morning as Roman was teasing him he called him Kevin again. Virgil had rolled his eyes and reminded Roman that that was not his name. Roman had beamed when he said he knew. He was way to proud of that. The moment of secret camaraderie was broken however by Patton suggesting they could call him Marcus if he preferred. That had set Virgil off. He'd said something about how they couldn’t force him into opening up to them and stormed off. That was less than an hour ago.

Knowing Roman, Virgil was rather impressed that he’d waited this long. He appreciated it though. It’d given him the time to calm down and sort through his thoughts.

“I just… Marcus… it’s the name of a villain. And I know that that’s what I’m going for. But… It makes me feel like I’m still stuck down there.” It was stupid, irrational, he knew. But it had triggered him none the less. “I’m fine with the character being called that. But Marcus… It’s not me.”

Roman nodded thoughtfully and let the subject go.

"Patton wasn't too upset with me right?" Virgil worries.

Roman shrugged. "He seemed mainly worried about you. I said I'd talk to you about it."

Virgil nodded. "Sorry. You shouldn't have to clean up my messes," he mutters as he plucks at the grass.

"Nonsence. Cleaning up each other's messes is half our dynamic. Sometimes you cover for me, and sometimes the other way around. You have the harder job. I get to play my overzealous Prince card. You have to play the bad guy."

Virgil took a deep breath and nodded. "Yeah you're right, I know you are... thanks."

Roman waved him of. "My pleasure. Oh about the next vine!"

 While Roman and Virgil discussed whether they should make another video about the rivalry or another Dark lord's least hated things episode (those were very well received), Patton was pacing in the living room.

He hadn't even noticed Logan standing in the doorway, contemplating wether he should offer assistance. This was most likely an emotional driven issue and that was not his area of expertise. Then again the one having the issue was the one he'd usually alert jn such situations. Who knows a voice of reason may be the solution.

"Patton. What is troubling you?"

Patton jumped a little at the unexpected voice.

"Oh, Logan. Didn't see you there bud," he smiled tensely,  trying to hide his turmoil.

Logan, wasn't fooled though. "Understandable. You were clearly preoccupied. Is there any way I could assist you?"

For a second Patton considered playing it off, he didn't want to put his worries on Logan. But if Logan noticed and found it necessary to comment on his mood, then it was probably best to come clean. And who knows? Logan was very smart. Maybe he'd help him figure this mess out.

He let out a long sigh and leg himself pretty much fall into one of the chairs. "I messed up Logan. Like in a bad way."

Logan took a seat. "If this is about Anxiety's outburst this morning, mag I remind you he's had similar if not worse fits in the past?"

Patton nodded. It was true but there were so many layers to this time. He decided to start with the one that stung the least, though it was also the one he most dreaded to admit.

"Why was he fine when Roman did it though?” he asked.

Logan frowned and thought about it. “Roman calls Anxiety nicknames all the time. You don’t. He might have taken your comment more seriously because of that.”

Patton’s eyes widened.  He had been trying to explain how things worked on their side of the mind to Anxiety ever since he decided to try tough love. And thinking back, maybe his phrasing  had made Anxiety think that Patton was pushing him to pick a name for them to call him.

“We could call you Marcus if you prefer.”

Patton groaned, how was he going to fix that? No wonder Anxiety preferred his fights with Roman over Patton’s attempts at friendship.

“I am sorry. Did I make it worse?” Logan wondered uncomfortably.

“No, I mean. I don’t feel better, but I’m less confused. So you are doing great actually,” Patton smiled tensely. There was another much more complicated issue he needed to talk about.

“Is there something else I can help with then?” Logan offered, hoping to make Patton actually feel better. It was the least he could do after all the effort Patton regularly put in trying to make everyone comfortable, even if he wasn’t always successful.

Patton let out a long breath. “You remember when Anxiety told us he could sometimes hear us in our rooms?”

Logan nodded, he had attempted to approach the subject again, but Anxiety had made it clear that he would not answer his questions under any circumstances. A source of mild frustration, but Logan assumed that Anxiety had his reasons to deny him this research. Anxiety was usually rather open to learning how things worked if it might affect them or Thomas.

“Afterwards,” Patton continued pulling Logan back to the present. “We talked… And he gave me a chance to open up to him. To prove that I was genuine in trying to be his friend. And I hesitated. I second guessed and he… He looked so hurt, and I didn’t know what to do and I let him leave!”

Patton confessed. Just saying it out loud helped him feel a little better already.

It had taken him by surprise, the brief look of rejection and hurt on Anxiety’s face before he went back to his usual detached sarcastic self. For a second he had proof that there was more to Anxiety than met the eye, sadly that was right after he messed up a chance of bringing it out.

Logan processed that for a minute. “Patton, Anxiety is hard to predict. But, just because you’ve had a small setback doesn’t mean there won’t be any opportunities in the future. Something made him try and reach out that time. So it could happen again,” he offered. It was the most he could do. Providing a rose colored outlook would be more up Roman or Patton’s alley. All he could give was facts.

“Do you really think so?” Patton wondered hesitantly.

Logan nodded. “Undoubtedly.” And that was the truth.

Paton smiled, his eyes still slightly watery but there was once more a spark to him that made Logan relax. He hadn’t even realized he was tense until now.

“Thanks Lo. I actually feel better now,” he told the intellectual side.

Logan smiled. “A pleasure Patton.”

Both sides promised themselves to keep an eye out for opportunities in the future. Though both had slightly different motivations.

One thing was sure. Next time Anxiety decided to invite either of them in, they’d be ready. They considered including Roman but decided against him. Patient was not his strong suit.

He’d probably scare Anxiety off with well-meant enthusiasm.

 The dark lord laughed maniacally. He had Prince tied up and at his mercy!

“Behold!” He exclaimed as he uncovered his surprise for the noble heir.

Prince gasped and then squealed. “Oh my goodness!!! How did you know my greatest weakness!?”

Dark lord flushed. “You said something about it in our first fight,”

Prince gasped, clearly moved. “I can’t believe you remembered,” he squeaks through an almost sob.

Important Question!!! 

“I did!” Dark lord announced. Raising a hand. “And now perish!!!” he pressed a button and as he let out a scream of victory his opponent screamed in horror.

Next: Assumptions

Do you guys want Prinxiety to be romantic in this story? Let me know, through a comment an ask a dm. Any way you want. Just let me know. I can understand that some are here because of the platonic prinxiety and i don’t want to take that away unless you guys are all waiting for these to to fall in love already. So...

Prinxiety! Romantic or platonic?

Also any other ships you guys are hoping for? 

[malfoymanortings]

silver tongue // part two

SUMMARY: charlie weasley was never the type to fall in love. his main focus has always been dragons. by the time he realizes he’s in love, it may be too late.

PAIRINGS: charlie weasley x fem!OC

WARNINGS: smut, and mentions of gore/injury.

well, here’s the final part to charlie’s story! i may write an epilogue of sorts in the future. and i may use luminita in a different story, i like her character! anyways, hope you all enjoy.

charlie and luminita fell into step with the order and the weasley family. charlie spent time catching up with his family and conversing with arthur on the foreign wizards they had gathered. luminita spent a fair amount of time with kingsley, who had taken a great interest in the girl. he said she was a great asset and a natural fighter, and she was assigned as a watch guard for the burrow while they were there.

luminita was surprisingly comfortable at the burrow. it made her realize where charlie got his decorating skills from; his shack in romania was filled with warm tones of mismatched fabrics and designs. it had always drove her crazy, she preferred a set tone and color palette. but now she knew charlie was just trying to have a piece of the burrow with him while he was with the dragons.

the day of the wedding, she was stationed to stand guard outside of the tent the ceremony was being held in. another wizard and witch, remus and tonks respectively, stood guard with her.

luminita had gotten to know the two fairly well, remus was a werewolf and he had soothed a lot of the concerns she had over her injuries. the only thing she had experienced was a likening towards rare meat, and restlessness during the full moon. tonks was a delightful metamorphmagus, and a strong willed fighter like her. tonks had suggested she would make a brilliant auror, but luminita assured her that her heart belonged to the dragons and romania.

tonks was the person who had given her a dress for the wedding, a silver cap sleeved gown that clung to her chest and torso, before flowing weightlessly to her feet. her wild thick hair was twisted up in a bun, showcasing the thin dragon scale necklace around her neck. she rarely had a chance to dress up, and she enjoyed it in spite of herself.

“it’s a beautiful day for a wedding,” tonks commented brightly, twirling her wand in her hands. “not too warm, not too windy.”

“thank you for the weather update.” remus smirked playfully at the purple haired witch, nudging her shoulder.

tonks glared at remus, with no real malice. luminita laughed, their banter heartwarming and yet painful at the same time.

“so how long have you and charlie been an item?” tonks asked luminita, winking at the girl whose eyes had widened at the assumption.

“oh, no, we aren’t together,” she let out a humorless laugh. “we’re both too focused on our work. he’s always said the dragons are enough for him, he can’t entertain a relationship while there are so many undiscovered dragons.”

tonks shared a look with remus, their expressions gentle. “sometimes you just need to convince a man otherwise. even if they’re stubborn.”

luminita smiled politely, her insides churning. it was a nice sentiment, but it wasn’t like that with charlie. she knew long before her feelings for him grew that he wasn’t interested in any relationship with anyone. she was just foolish enough to let herself be captivated by charming grin and muscular biceps, his infectious laugh and extraordinary personality. she had never met someone quite like him.

spending time around his family for the past few days, she was able to see where it had all stemmed from.

before long, the ceremony had conceded and music began blasting from the speakers within. laughter and the clinking of silverware echoed outside, and luminita couldn’t help but peek inside to take a look.

“oh, you can go on inside,” tonks waved towards the tent, her eyes flicking over to remus. “we can take it from here.”

luminia hesitated, but at their reassurances, she slipped inside the tent.

she had never seen so many redheads in one place. charlie had been the first and only redhead she had met, and she found it a bit jarring to suddenly be surrounded by them. she sought him out now, a smile appearing on her face when she finally caught sight of him walking towards her.

“lumi,” he greeted, giving her a hug. he pulled away, his hands still on her arms, his eyes raking over her body. “you look wonderful.”

she laughed, a blush coating her cheeks. “well thanks. you don’t look half bad yourself, i almost don’t recognize you without the layer of ash on your face.”

charlie laughed loudly, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “thanks, i think!”

they walked over to the drinks, each taking a glass of fire whiskey. a few of charlie’s relatives came over to talk with him

about his work with the dragons, and a few of them asked if luminita was his girlfriend. charlie would quickly shake his head, his cheeks would flush, and he would deny it. luminita would joke and say she had much higher standards, even if the words burned her mouth on their way out.

“would you fancy a dance?” charlie asked suddenly, as they had finished off their drinks.

luminita nodded, her lips turning up as she let herself be led away to throng of people twirling to the music.

she began swaying to the music, charlie’s large hands splayed out on her hips. she had her hands on his shoulders, and they moved fluidly together to the music.

“your family is really nice,” she told him, looking into his brown eyes. “fred and george have a nice amount of spunk in them. and ginny is a force to be reckoned with. she kind of reminds me of me when i was her age.”

charlie nodded in agreement. “the twins have really made something for themselves. i’m so proud of them. ginny, too.”

“oh, charles, you’ve gone soft of us,” fred appeared next to them, twirling a gorgeous blond as he passed.

“really, i think we may swoon.” george finished, a similar girl in his arms as they danced together.

“just wait until after this wedding, i’ll have the both of you in a headlock before you can say mum.” charlie threatened, giving the two of them a look.

“we’ll be waiting!” the twins had identical grins, and they led the dance floor, disappearing with the veelas.

charlie grinned, shaking his head, and he twirled luminita in a circle. she felt wild, carefree. the feeling of charlie’s warm hands on her hips and the feeling of his thick muscles under her hands made her feel invincible. they never got the opportunity to be intimate like this, and all they were doing was dancing.

maybe it was the rush of euphoria she received from being so close with him, his hands on her hips, his eyes watching her every move. or maybe it was the feel that weddings had, like love was an attainable thing for all to grasp. whatever it was, when the music switched to a slow song, she had to finally put her feelings for the burly boy out in the open so there were no more second guesses.

“charlie,” luminita bit her lip, their movements slowing. “i know how you feel about relationships. i know we’re in a war. i know we can die at any moment... and that’s why i need to just say this and be done.”

“luminita...”

“i care for you, charlie weasley. a lot. a damn lot, and who knows? maybe i love you. and perhaps it’s wishful thinking, but i think you like me too.”

she could feel him tense under her hands as her words spilled out in an honest confession. they paused in their dancing, and she waited with bated breath to hear his reply.

as charlie opened his mouth, everyone’s attention was suddenly turned to the opening of the tent, where a silver lynx landed a few feet away from charlie and luminita. she quickly reached under her dress for her wand that was strapped to her calf, holding it tightly in anticipation.

the patronus’ mouth opened wide, and it spoke in the loud, deep, slow voice of kingsley shacklebolt.

“the ministry has fallen. scrimgeour is dead. they are coming.”

everything was silent for a moment, most of the guests were still turned towards the remaining vapors of the patronus. then somebody screamed.

guests started running in all directions, many were disapperating. luminita swore, realizing the enchantments around the burrow had broken.

the death eaters came rather quickly. they were masked and cloaked, firing spells into the crowd of people.

luminita began dueling, her mouth set in a determined line. she was vaguely aware of charlie fighting at her side, firing off a few ‘protego’ as they fought together.

then luminita saw ginny, who appeared as though she was too busy searching for someone rather than looking out for her back. she was going to get herself killed.

“charlie,” she spat out of the corner of her mouth, firing a leg locking curse at one of the cloned figures. “where is your families safe house?”

“my aunt muriels,” charlie responded under his breath, stunning a death eater. “go there!”

“no chance in hell!”

she sprinted across the dance floor, kicking her heels off in the process. she dodged spellwork, twisting around to fire back as she ran.

“protego!” she shouted, blocking a curse that very nearly hit ginny. “ginerva! get a hold of yourself!”

“harry left,” ginny told her, her eyes wild. “i didn’t get to say goodbye.”

“you’ll see him again,” she panted, gathering the girl behind her. “where’s your wand.”

“i don’t know, i don’t know, i think it’s in the burrow.”

luminita cursed, scanning the crowd as spells continued blasting around them. molly weasley looked panic stricken, as she fired off spells at the death eaters, her eyes darting around in a worried haste. aunt muriel was next to her, looking as though she were going to hyperventilate.

she was looking for ginny.

“molly!” she yelled, grabbing ginnys arm as the quickly maneuvered through the crowd.

molly looked up at her, relief sagging in her features as she saw ginny beside her. luminita pushed ginny into her mother’s arms, and they clung to each other.

“go to the safe house, we’ll take care of things from here.”

molly nodded, and turned on her heel. with a crack, they disappeared.

luminita turned back to the crowd, and joined forces with remus and tonks, the three of them were soon joined by charlie. charlie and luminita fought back to back, alongside the other two.

it appeared the death eaters were only there for harry potter. once they realized he was no longer there, due to one of them shouting it in disappointment, they left in a cloud of black smoke.

the beautifully decorated tent was destroyed, the flowers trampled and decorations ripped, platters of food and drink strewn around the floor. a few areas had been set on fire and put out, the smoldering remains letting off plumes of black smoke.

“is anyone hurt?” arthur called out tersely, a deep looking ash on his forearm.

there were a few murmurings through the crowd, but no one appeared to be gravely injured.

“right, then, let’s clean up and then we can recoup.”

it didn’t take very long to get the place cleaned up, most of it just needed to be banished away as it was damaged beyond repair. bill expressed regret over the flowers being destroyed; fleur had wanted to save a few in a photo album of their day. but they were all wrecked, stomped into the ground.

the order members who had attended the wedding all apparated to muriels cottage, crammed into the small living room as they waited for kingsley to appear. he came at half past nine, looking worn and torn.

“was harry able to leave?” he asked, standing in front of the order members.

arthur nodded. “he, ron, and hermione left. no one was able to get them.”

“that’s good.”

they began discussing further plans for the order, and repairing the wards that had been broken at the burrow. they would all head back tomorrow morning to redo he magical charms, and resume their normal schedules.

as the order members aside from the weasleys and luminita began to file out, kingsley called to her and charlie.

“you two are heading back to romania tomorrow, right?”

charlie nodded tensely. “that’s the plan.”

kingsley nodded slowly, looking over at luminita. she forced herself to remain strong under his intimidating gaze.

“luminita, if you’re willing, i would like for you to stay behind. you’re an excellent fighter, and we could really use your help.”

she faltered, unsure of what to say. she hadn’t been expecting him to say that.

“no,” charlie answered, shaking his head. “no, she comes home with me.”

“charlie, think of what’s best for the order,” kingsley said firmly, turning his gaze on the man. “if she refuses, then that’s fine. but if she’s willing to help the order, that’s her decision to make.”

“im not leaving her here unprotected,” charlie’s voice was bordering on hysterical now. “miles away from where i could help her. where i go, she goes.”

the two men stared at each other, silence echoing loudly around them. luminita felt her heart thud at the way charlie was talking about her, and she very nearly said no. but he said she would be a great asset, and if she would be more helpful here... she couldn’t say no, especially not after the death eaters she encountered tonight. fighting like that... it gave a thrill that reminded her of trying to bond with a dragon. and if she could help innocent people and fight against voldemort hands on, well, she wouldn’t say no.

charlie looked at her, and his shoulders sagged as he recognized her expression.

“please, lumi,” his voice was low and pleading. “don’t stay. come home with me.”

she swallowed hard, and looked over to kingsley. she gave the man a firm nod, straightening her shoulders. “i’ll stay.”

charlie cursed, and stormed out of the room. the front door slammed behind him, and luminita shut her eyes briefly.

“tomorrow we’ll meet at the burrow and discuss your role,” kingsley held out his hand, and they shook firmly. “i have an assignment in mind for you already.”

kingsley left then, biding a goodnight to the rest of the weasleys. luminita took a steadying breath, and slipped outside. the grass was cool against her bare feet, and the wind was balmy against her skin.

charlie stood leaning against a tree a few yards away from the house, staring out at the vast forest that expanded beyond muriels cottage. his sleeves were rolled up, and the ends of his dragon tattoo poked out from his right bicep. her heart ached as she walked towards him.

“hey,” she said softly, crossing her arms as she stopped next to him. “can we talk?”

“how could you just decide that?” he turned to her, his words hard and fast as they came from his mouth. “how could you just decide to leave me and stay here?”

“charlie, you know i won’t back down from a fight. you know i’m not the type of person to run and hide. if there’s a chance i can be more helpful here then in romania, i have to do it.”

“even if that means leaving the dragons? leaving me? i thought you lov-“ and he cut himself short, the words snipped shut as soon as he thought them.

she shut her eyes, taking another steadying breath against the thud of her heart. “don’t do that.”

“do what? at the wedding, you said- you said you loved me. how can you just drop that on me and then just leave me?”

“are you kidding me? it doesn’t even matter charlie! you don’t feel the same way about me! the dragons will always come first!”

“fuck the dragons!” charlie roared, and he took hold of her shoulders. “i love you, damnit, and i can’t lose you!”

he crashed his lips against hers, and she lost her hands in his wavy hair. she opened her mouth, tongue and teeth clashing against each other. his deliciously muscular body pressed against hers, fulfilling many a fantasy she had ever since she saw him with his shirt off three years ago. his hands cupped her cheeks, pressing her harder against him.

every single one of her nerve endings were on fire as his hands ghosted down to her hips, gripping them tightly before he tapped her thighs, signaling for her to jump. she did, wrapping her legs around his waist as he turned around, pressing her against the tree.

as his lips trailed down her neck, nipping ravenously at her skin, she could feel his hardness pressing against her core. hardness that she caused. it sparked a fire deep in her chest, and she moaned loudly as he ground her hips into hers.

he looked up at her, his eyes dark. “do you want this?”

she nodded, her eyes fluttering at the feel of his body pressed against hers. “i’ve wanted this for years, charlie.”

at her admission, he pulled up her dress, and pushed aside her panties, slipping a finger into her wetness. her eyes rolled into the back of her head, and she gripped at his hair as he plunged his fingers deep in her pussy. his thumb rubbed circles on her sensitive clit, while his two fingers thrusted in and out in a fast pace.

“charlie,” his name fell from her lips among a string of moans, his hair still gripped in her fists.

“say my name,” charlie growled, biting down harshly on her neck. “say my goddamn name.”

“charlie!”

she could feel the knot in her stomach building, and just as it was about to unravel, his fingers left her heat. her unfocused eyes attempted to look at him in annoyance, wondering why he stopped, when his full length suddenly slammed into her with a force that brought tears to her eyes.

“you like it rough, don’t you slut,” he murmured, groaning as he rolled his hips against hers. “taking me so well.”

she threw her head back in both pain and pleasure as his cock pounded into her, hitting deep inside her as he continued sucking on

her neck. the pain subsided, and she nearly saw stars as he brought a hand down to rub circles on her clit.

the knot in her stomach returned, and with it came a primal need to mark charlie as hers. she lifted her head, bending towards his neck and searching for his soft spot. as he moaned when her tongue licked over a spot near the base of his throat, she bit down harshly, drawing blood that she quickly licked up, moving to suck on the other side of his neck.

“did you just bite me?” charlie gasped out, his hips flush against hers.

she tilted her head back, meetings his eyes as he continued slamming into her. “yeah, i did.”

“do it again.” he groaned darkly, moving his head back to expose the other side of his neck.

she did as he asked, sinking her teeth once more into the taught skin of his neck. she supposed the need to bite him and mark him as hers came from the werewolf scars, but she hadn’t expected charlie to be so open to it.

the knot in her stomach tightened, and she moaned as the pressure built. charlie’s thrusts became sloppy, and she knew he was close too.

“gonna cum,” he grunted, slamming his hips into hers. “fill you up like the slut you are.”

his words drove them both over the edge, and with one final thrust he came inside her, and she released on his dick. his hips stilled, still flush against hers, and he buried his head against her neck. she rested her head on top of his, her arms resting limply around his neck.

“so,” she said after a moment, a pleased smirk on her lips. “i’m a slut?”

charlie looked up immediately, his face flushing maroon. “oh, erm, i didn’t mean-“

“don’t take it back!” she exclaimed, a laugh falling from her lips. “it’s hot. dirty. didn’t expect that from you.”

charlie gave an exasperated sigh, shaking his head. he pulled out of her, setting her down gingerly. her legs felt like jello, and she held onto his shoulders to steady herself.

“was it too much for you?” he teased her, his eyes dark.

she swatted at his arm, forcing herself to stand on her own. “in your dreams, weasley.”

“oh trust me, this will be the center of my dreams for years to come.”

she rolled her eyes, pulling her panties back up. “if only you would have done this sooner.”

charlie nodded slowly. “if only... are you really going to stay?”

“i have to, charlie. if it’s in the best interest of the order, then-“

“forget the order,” he stated firmly, placing a hand on her hip. “what is best for you?”

she paused. “charlie. i wouldn’t be able to live with myself if i left when i could have helped people. not after what i saw today.”

“i suppose i knew that,” he sighed ruefully. “that’s just who you are. it’s why i love you.”

“so you do love me?”

he gave her a look. “i don’t just tell people i love them if i don’t mean it. of course i do.”

she nodded. “i love you too.”

she held out her hand, and he grasped it tightly. his large one engulfed her small

one in warmth, and they walked hand in hand back to the cottage. they didn’t specify a label on each other, but she didn’t feel they needed to. they loved each other. that was all they needed.

the next day, luminita received her first assignment from kingsley. charlie prepared to leave for romania. they spent their last night together in his childhood bedroom, familiarizing each other’s bodies in the tangle of his sheets.

but he had to leave, and she had to stay.

kingsley kept her busy, and she found she didn’t have much time to dwell on how much she missed charlie. it stayed with her, like a thorn in her side, but most nights she was so exhausted she fell into a dreamless sleep, only to wake up the next morning early to get a start on her duties.

she stayed with the weasleys in the burrow, and grew quite close with molly and the twins. she practiced dueling with the boys on her rare days off, which they greatly enjoyed.

but of course, all good things must come to an end, and when ginny returned home for easter break, ron was found traveling with harry potter and hermione granger. the trio got away, but the weasleys shot to the top of the death eaters most wanted list. they were forced into hiding, and luminita took on a heavier work load as the death eaters became more determined to destroy the supporters of harry potter.

eventually, she was stationed in hogsmeade, which meant that when the final battle began, she was one of the first to join.

“it’s unfortunate you’re seeing hogwarts in shambles as your first impression,” george called to her, as he hexed a death eater. “it’s bloody amazing in its full glory.”

“has to be, though,” fred chimed in, dodging a bat bogey hex. “it’s where we got our start! the infamous weasley twins!”

“load of braggarts, you lot!” chided luminita, sending a stunner straight to the chest of a burly death eater.

the three worked together, battling the emerging death eaters. at some point in the chaos, george split away from the two, and they were joined by percy, the weasley who had blacklisted his family.

“i was a fool, fred,” percy shouted hoarsely, shooting spells at the four hooded and masked death eaters that had them back into a corner. “an utter fool!”

“and a right prat!” added fred, ducking as a green spell whizzed by his ear.

luminita became separated from the two as the death eater split them apart, two took on her while the other two kept at the weasleys. she was forced to only cast shielding spells, as she was unable to do much else with the both of them constantly firing at her. but then, by sheer luck, she found an opening.

“ventura!” she shouted, jabbing her wand directly at the two.

a hurricane swirled out of her wand, gathering the two death eaters into its depths. they flung around the room, hitting the ceiling with a sickening crack before falling to the floor, their thick blood spilling out onto the floor.

she shouted the counter curse, and the hurricane disappeared.

“nice one, lumi!” fred shouted in approval.

jets of light flew in every direction, and luminita rushed forward to help the two weasleys; out of the corner of her vision, she saw harry, ron, and hermione emerge from the hallway.

one of the death eaters hoods slipped, revealing his high forehead and streaked hair.

“hello, minister!” bellowed percy, sending a neat jinx to thicknesse who dropped his wand and clawed at his rom in discomfort. “did i mention i’m resigning?”

“you’re joking, perce!” shouted fred with glee, as the death eater he was battling collapsed under the weight of four separate stunning spells. “you actually are joking, perce.. i haven’t heard you joke since you were-“

luminita felt the electric pull of the air, and her instincts kicked in. she reached out, grabbing hold of fred, just as the air around them exploded.

they flung through the air, and luminita held fred close to her chest with her wand gripped tightly in her hand, protecting his head with her arms. the yells and screams of their companions echoed around them, and the cold air that hit let her know the wall of the castle had been blasted away.

they landed with a crash, her head cracking against the floor of the castle, her leg bending the wrong way with a throbbing pain. fred slammed painfully against her chest, but she didn’t release her hold on him.

then the world resolved itself into pain and semi darkness; they were half buried in the wreckage of the corridor.

she looked down at fred, who had a dazed expression in his face. there was a gash across his forehead, dripping thick blood in his eyes.

“lumi, you have to let go of me so we can get up,” fred groaned, and she released his hold on him. “think you may have just saved my life.”

“that was the hope.” the words came out funny, and her head exploded in black stars. she wasn’t sure that the words had came out at all. there was something thick and sticky coating the back of her head, and when she reached her hand back to gingerly touch it, moaning at the pain, her hand came back slick with blood.

“percy! ron! help me get her out of here!”

she was vaguely aware of someone jostling her body out of the rubble as the pain coalesced into a blinding blackness of stars, and she faded away.

the next time she opened her eyes, she was staring at the twinkling ceiling of the great hall. she felt as though her head was filled with foam, and her leg had a stabbing pain reverberating through her shin.

“lumi?”

her eyes fluttered over to the worried face of charlie weasley, and her heart swelled. “charlie.”

he carefully gathered her in his strong arms, holding her against his chest. “i told you to be safe.”

she wrapped her arms around him, not fully believing he was there.

“luminita. never thought i’d see the day you weren’t tossing me a witty comment.”

she lifted her head off charlie’s chest to see billius standing near them, and a grin cracked across her face.

“oh, shut it,” she scoffed. “go suck on a dragon scale.”

“that’s my girl,” billius grinned, before pausing thoughtfully. “guess i probably shouldn’t say that. you’re charlie’s girl now.”

a warmth filled her chest as his words processed, and her head became less foamy. “yeah. i am.”

“you hit your head really hard and broke your leg,” charlie informed her, keeping her in his arms. “maria had to regrow the back of your skull, and a few of your leg bones. you’re still healing.”

“maria’s here?”

“all of our romanian allies are here. we got here just after the battle ended.”

she could hear the frustration in his voice. she knew it must have killed him to get here late and then find that she was injured. “you’re here now. that’s what matters.”

they caught up while her skull regrew, and the other weasleys came by as well. fred thanked her again for saving him, and molly nearly cried as she thanked her for saving her son. she waved them off, not caring for the attention.

before long, the battle resumed, and charlie had to leave her to help in the fight. she tried her best to get up against his orders, but her vision went blurry and her leg sent shooting pains through her body. so, she was forced to sit there while harry potter was declared dead. the war raged on.

then, harry potter was alive again. the war began turning for the better, and it seemed that they would win. the residents of hogsmeade joined in, and before long, harry had killed voldemort.

the war was over.

charlie came back to her immediately, taking her in his arms and holding her tightly. she wrapped her arms around his torso as his hands tangled in her hair, and he peppered her face with kisses.

“i love you, luminita,” he declared, cupping her cheeks in his hands. “marry me.”

“marry you?” she gaped at him, staring up at his heavily freckled face.

a grin broke out across his face. “are you deaf? i said marry me, damnit!”

her heart swelled with love, and she nodded fast, her head spinning from the movement. “charlie weasley, of course i’ll marry you.”

he kissed her passionately, lifting her in his arms. everything was right in her world.

the sun rose steadily over hogwarts as they celebrated, and mourned over the ones they had lost. luminita was saddened to hear that tonks and remus had died, she would never forget their kindness. she wished she was able to tel tonks that charlie had proposed, the delightful woman would been ecstatic to hear the news.

they celebrated, they mourned. clean up on the castle would begin tomorrow, but for now, everyone was invited to stay in the dorms or go home.

charlie and luminita decided to go back to the burrow with their family. they would head back to romania after the shock of the battle wore off, but for now, charlie needed to be with his family. luminita knew that.

as she lay in charlie’s arms that night in his childhood bedroom, she smiled genuinely. she supposed she had bonded with a dragon after all.

one

[meyerlansky]

since I watched u play thru marble nest and you had all those withheld Thoughts and Opinions can I ask ur thoughts on one aspect of the story: the way everyone in town seems to disagree on what kind of person dankovsky is, what he wants to do, etc.? it feels to me like it's meaningful on a story and meta level that he's so built up by others to be whatever they want to see?

admittedly most of those went unsaid because i’m inarticulate as shit when i can’t write my thoughts out and i lost my train of thought talking to npcs, and also all of them basically just end in "godDAMN i love him"

BUT YES oh man i definitely agree, daniil is on the receiving end of a TON of projection and assumptions, and i think the thing is, he sort of... cultivates it? like artemy gets people's assumptions projected on him too, but he's MUCH more vocal about correcting it when someone's expectations of him don't match up with how he sees himself. daniil, on the other hand, tends to wear people's perceptions of him like a second skin, and doesn't push back nearly as hard or as often when those perceptions don't sync up. i will be nice to my dash and put my rambly bullshit under a cut, but tl;dr i think daniil finds value in finding out how people see him and utilizing that perception to get what he really wants, and he's willing to play the villain in particular because a. negative perception is as useful as positive perception if you're clever enough to use it to your advantage, and b. based on some stuff in artemy's route but especially based on the particular circumstances of marble nest, he thinks that, to some degree, he deserves to be thought badly of.

so i realized halfway through writing this you probably meant marble nest's story specifically, but i think it's relevant to his characterization in artemy's route too, because... marble nest daniil is not that different from artemy route daniil, as far as i'm concerned—he's just more desperate and more beaten down. as for the actual question, overall i get the vibe that daniil's used to leveraging how he's perceived to get what he needs out of a situation, and he's waaay more comfortable playing the villain than, say, artemy is, if that's what people are putting on him from jump. it's less work, right? correcting people's assumptions is a waste of valuable time and energy, and people are hard to convince once they've set their mind to something. why bother when you can just play along and, if you're clever enough about it, get what you need out of the interaction anyway? he gets built up into so many different versions of himself by different characters because he's willing to be different things to different people without it eroding his goals or his sense of self. he has a flair for the dramatic, obviously, but i don't know how much of it is innate and how much of it is cultivated in service of that kind of perception leveraging. like, prime example, the day 1 conversation with artemy reads as EXTREMELY performative—from his word choice to his demeanor to the exclamation points in the dialogue to the fucking LIGHTING, he comes off like he's playing a role, and not a new one. and when the conversation's over, he's learned some things about what kind of person artemy is, what kinds of things get a rise out of him, all without really revealing too much of his own hand. but the front sloughs off the closer he gets to artemy, and it sloughs off QUICK, to the point that A DAY AND A HALF LATER he's gone from saying "you owe me" in the most facetious way possible to "i need your help" and "if this goes badly, i'll take the consequences" completely unselfconsciously, and subsequent conversations with artemy are complete turnarounds from how he approaches artemy and their relationship on day 1. on the whole, i think he cares way less about his reputation than he does about Getting Shit Done, and he's surprisingly willing to be the scapegoat for other people's fears and other negative emotions, as long as the end result doesn't hamper his goals. which makes some sense considering his corpus of research involves spitting directly in the face of natural law and the people who consider themselves responsible for enforcing it. you don't do that kind of shit if you care about being well-liked. so i think 99% of the time, daniil gets read multiple ways—often incorrectly—because he finds more value in utilizing those perceptions than he finds in correcting them and Being Known. as far as characters we see in the game go, artemy's the exception, which might change once daniil's route is out, but every comment everyone else makes to artemy about daniil leans on their assumptions about him, which means he's not going around showing anyone else what he really thinks.

i also think daniil has sort of... internalized that he's Unlikable, on a personal level. he doesn't walk into a single situation in p2 expecting to be liked, or willingly helped, or for his presence to be wanted beyond the utility he can provide. he relies almost entirely on his ability to deliver solutions [with, uh, declining success as the game goes on], the respect his reputation and his status as the kains' guest confers, and on the rumor that he's willing to get violent if things don't go his way. i think he's utterly convinced his ultimate goals will benefit humanity as a whole and therefore are fundamentally good, but i don't think he thinks HE'S good. there's a couple of moments in marble nest where he can pretty explicitly shoot down people saying nice things about him, and the "i guess i had to prove them right" and "do you condemn me?" lines in the shelter convo do not read to me like the words of a man who thinks he's 100% in the right in the way he's gone about achieving his goals. so like as much as i think he does have a very solid sense of Who He Is, i don't think it's a very generous self-image, and i don't think it's entirely accurate either, because i do think he's fundamentally a good person, despite people [in the game and out of it] not really bothering to push past whatever front he's put on. artemy pushes through it, and the kids in marble nest push through it, and i think it's somewhat telling that the kids in marble nest are... the only real people IN marble nest. georgiy undermining his authority as soon as he's indisposed is part of the fever dream; the soldiers and orderlies believing he's the one giving the okay to kill kids and civilians are part of the fever dream; the clerk assuming daniil will agree with his racist bullshit is part of the fever dream. all these negative images of himself are in his head—based on previous conversations with the real people, but at the time of marble nest, in his head. they're all things he, somewhere in his mind, expects people to think of him or expect of him, and to me, that's not the kind of stuff someone as arrogant and convinced of his own awesomeness as people seem to think daniil is would think about himself. but the kids worrying about his health and taking care of him while he's infected are real, and for whatever reason they think he's worth trying to save. THAT'S the reality, THAT'S who he really is, even if he can't see it himself, and i don't think he can.

so ANYWAY i think the multiplicity of daniils in marble nest in particular is to some degree a manifestation of the fact that he IS willing to be different things to different people, that he knows this about himself, and that he has SOME level of anxiety over the thought of the various masks becoming the reality, and him losing control over who he ACTUALLY is, not just how he's perceived. i think this bothers him in artemy's route as well—the last thing he says to artemy translates to "the greatest power is to have power over oneself" and i do not think he's talking about himself. i think he's talking about artemy, and the fact that, ESPECIALLY from daniil's perspective in artemy's route, artemy very much controls not only his own narrative, but at the very least strongly influences daniil's and everyone else's too. [there are also layers and layers with that line and the doll narrative but i am too tired to get into it right now and also the doll narrative fucks my feelings up in so many ways.] i have no idea if any of this makes any sense, but here it is /gestures weakly at All This

[arcane-aspirations]

The Frustration of the Experienced or, When Nothing is New* Anymore

I’ve recently picked back up attempting an active practice of daemianism. This form of daemianism is inspired by the animal-formed, corporeal representation of human souls in Phillip Pullman’s His Dark Materials series (best known book is The Golden Compass). I first read the series in 2005 or 2006 or so, and I am very sure I imagined what it would be like to have my soul beside me as an animal then. That’s the sort of person I was then - to imagine and bring forth what I experienced in stories that inspired me to my daily life - and indeed, hope to regain a powerful sense of being again.

I first encountered others who were daemians on the internet a few years later. I didn’t remain an active member, but I found The Daemon Page Forum and was fascinated with this community that developed detailed profiles for what sort of person would have what species as their daemons. It was like personality typing, with varying levels of commitment to an imaginary friend or what I would now recognize as a thoughtform.

Let me come back to that. “What I would now recognize.”

Over the years, although I didn’t post on TDF, I would check back every few months as I remembered daemianism and read over various species’ profiles that interested me. I have always been fairly obsessed with representing myself; I never felt like I had to explore or understand myself though - that felt intrinsic and obvious.

Though I always found it deeply frustrating that often the most common “default” characters and teams were the ones I related to the most, genuinely. I considered myself for a wolf-formed daemian for a very long time. That was also an issue for me being Gryffindor, an Autobot, Thunderclan... My archetype gravitated towards that that was popular, which often was annoying in that many who claimed the popular affiliation with something were frequently the ones just claiming an affiliation with the fandom or the popularity, rather than the soul behind it.

I digress. Mostly. That context of something being popular affecting my relationship with the thing itself isn’t completely irrelevant.

I would say the most important and active time in my beinng a daemian was a rough patch in my life around 2015 into 2016. I was lonely and had became my own worst enemy too, given that a precious friend turned enemy makes for the worst sort. The comfort of my daemon, this entity which was supposed to represent the real, true self, was incredibly valuable. Setting aside the slight reprieve it gave from ‘being alone’ - although of course, it was still unforgettable to me that, my daemon being me and all interactions coming from and only being perceptible by me, I was still alone - the sense that I valued, saw, and still was myself at a time where I had very much lost all of that elsewhere was invaluable for getting through that.

My daemon had a name, mostly, and a gender, mostly, and a few forms that were right, mostly. He didn’t do much but provide imagined cuddles from an animal companion friend - I really remember something  I did regularly where I’d imagine leaning our foreheads together - but I remember feeling at least sometimes happy and content as a result of the whole thing. But he wasn’t quite what people on TDF would’ve called a daemon.

Firstly, as much as I liked the idea of having an animal to identify my persona, my self, by, I didn’t like the idea of “settling” in one form. “Settling” indicated being an adult in Phillip Pullman’s series, which I have always reviled becoming and now being. That is, perhaps, a story for another time. Beyond that, it felt limiting - let’s put a pin in that one, too, though only for later in this post.

Secondly, my daemon occasionally wasn’t an animalic shape. In one vivid memory, I danced in my aunt’s kitchen when I was home alone one evening with my daemon in the form of N Harmonia from Pokemon. Is N Harmonia even someone I think is close in personality to myself, and thereby a fitting depiction of myself? Not at all, although I do think we’d be excellent friends.

Thirdly - here’s the woo warning for folks who’ve missed that my blog is witchy - I started having the sense that my daemon wasn’t “just” this thoughtform expression of my soul. I remember feeling like having this thoughtform that was me projected was sort of this... shell of my own self, that then this entity from very far away - in space, in time, from another life, who knows, it’s complicated, I never even felt comfortable saying whether it was real or not - I felt very connected to because we were of similar soul energy could inhabit. That was very much not related to daemianism. A pin here for later in post, too.

I don’t totally remember why my focus on daemianism waned for a bit after that. Things didn’t really get better for me, but my fixations do tend to move around. It may well just be that I got better enough to start playing video games again, and was checked out from my surroundings where a daemon would be projected to remind me where he was. Or it might have just started bothering me too much that he wasn’t “real” in so far as he couldn’t/didn’t exist outside what I projected.

It bothers me that I have to create and maintain so much of the things that bring value to my life myself. It’s exhausting. And those things don’t feel as real as things that exist independent of me and my influence. There’s power in “I invented that” and there’s a kind of resignation about one’s world in “I had to invent that, because it wasn’t there but I wanted so very much for it to be”.

And while there’s others out there, obviously, doing this whole daemianism thing, was that what I was doing anyway? Clearly I was taking it my own direction... or at least, combining it with other non-daemianism things that made it distinctly not quite exactly daemianism.

So while I’ve off and on projected my daemon back into the space around me - that’s the term for imagining and “seeing in your mind’s eye” your daemon existing in and interacting with your environment around you - since then, I haven’t done nearly as much.

I’m picking it back up recently and finding it rather difficult.

Some of the things I established as fitting and suitable back then, while still suitable and true in some lights, are hidden under a complicated tangle of things that don’t make them untrue but certainly obscure or make the way to the situations and perspectives where that truth is apparent difficult. There are roads I don’t walk anymore, even though those roads and how I’d walk them are still important to me. There are many roads I walk now that ...could? should? be acknowledged now that mean nothing to me but resentment that they’re where I walk. I still feel I am the same person I was; I just feel like I never get the same sorts of opportunities to be myself. 

So the forms’ fittingness to my personality feel a bit tangled in the context of my life I can’t control, where embracing that tangle feels like a near final step of losing myself. The name is roughly the same; I want a name that feels right and conveys something, and anyone who’s ever named anything to convey a meaning probably has experienced that problem.

And I can’t focus on forms suiting myself entirely, because I’m still bothered by knowledge of how a form is perceived popularly - or because of an animal’s popularity. That in and of itself feels like misrepresentation or miscommunication; I’m not able to communicate why I really feel that is right because there’s an assumption it’s what I chose consciously or unconsciously because it was popular; I’m not able to communicate through that sense of the popular thing that I feel incredibly different and disconnected from others; I’m not able to communicate what I’m saying because the most accurate denotative and personal connotative vocabulary I can find to communicate is full of connotations I don’t mean to others.

Let’s not even start with pronouns, alright?

But I think something in particular that’s frustrating is that daemianism is not the only thing on my mind when I think:

1. representation of the self

2. a form to indicate the self on an entity with malleable form

3. thoughtforms

4. animal representations of the self

I neither want to compartmentalize nor combine daemianism & daemons with witchcraft/paganism familiars/fetches, my polymorphic shapeshifter Otherkinity, souls, thoughtforms, and entities I may or may not share some kind of special soul-energy-woo bond with.

I don’t want to separate what has a resonance - except that resonance, frustratingly, sometimes shifts.

I don’t want to combine what could be varied and interesting, because now any community or representation of that thing is no longer what I am doing or can speak about and find any sense of connection through - or worse, what I am now taken to be misrepresenting or ill-informed about.

And this is the frustration of the experienced, visible here but far from exclusive to daemianism, spirit work, et al in my life: what I know I cannot but help connect to what else I know.

Connecting what  I know to what I know alters forever what I do and feel about what I know and what I learn next. I have opinions and feelings about so many things, and everything I encounter is layered upon my opinions and feelings about it all.

And I feel like that connection isolates me from ever being able to appreciate and participate in something new and fresh.

It isolates me from being able to connect to the experiences of someone else who doesn’t have the connections and syncretic perceptions that I do.

I never wish to be someone I’m not, but I frequently wish to be less experienced than I am.

*I don’t think ‘new’ is the word I wanted here, but I couldn’t find it. After the post, I feel fine recording that what I wanted to reflect was not just that something was new and exciting, but also that something was able to be fresh and untainted; able to be its own thing viewed on its own terms without being conflated, connected, or tied to anything else.

[frostsong]

9—07: speculate.

rating: T

characters: original characters, douceline de dansereau, archombadin de dzemael, jannequinard de durendaire

tags: polyamory (jannequinard/douceline/archombadin), pre-endwalker

summary: part of her wants to believe she’s not the reason why they’re coming along in the first place. the other part of her wishes for nothing more.

wordcount: 2920

And so it’s come to this.

Douceline, the Warrior of Light, the Savior of Ishgard, the Pillars’ own prodigal daughter—was to be accompanied by not only one, but two scholars of Ishgard: one, a son of the High Houses and current prefect of Saint Endalim’s Scholasticate, Archombadin de Dzemael—and the other, another (thankfully) lesser heir, belonging to House Durendaire, Jannequinard of the Athenaeum Astrologicum.

Neither took no for an answer in spite of her attempts at rebuffing them, and so she eventually conceded, while her fellow scions looked on with varying levels of amusement and exasperation (the latter notably belonging to a certain snow-haired dragoon, arms crossed and back pressed to a pillar while trying to keep the two lalafells at bay with their pestering questions as to what he knew of these two men).

Of course neither man intended to be a hindrance to their cause. Both were fervent in what they could bring to the table. Jannequinard’s was perhaps the most obvious, given his years spent studying (regardless of how productively he’d spent them) in Old Sharlayan, he would be a boon to their group in the know-hows and social etiquette of their destination.

 Archombadin sought to have a more diplomatic role, as one of the best minds the Scholasticate had to offer, and while his role was more subtle in contributing to their efforts, he—and a few vocal individuals in the House of Lords—wished for diplomatic relations between the two nations. Archombadin knew it would be a daunting task, for the Sharlayans chose to be removed from the world stage by policy, if their motto wasn’t enough proof of their stance. But clearly, it was the outsiders that needed to act first in their case—at the very least, some sort of trade or recognition could be had, and no matter how miniscule of a success they would achieve, he was adamant on being there to see it happen.

(Such a speech was one he’d given on three different occasions: one, to himself in his bedroom—two, to his elders at the dinner table—and three, to Douceline and the scions, under the Fortemps gazebo).

And how did she feel about all of this? Douceline divided her time between the Rising Stones and her home city, assisting in whatever ways she could (which were many, and for that her spare time suffered) while fulfilling whatever obligations she had promised on the way back and forth. Who would’ve known that in the approximate week she’d spent away at the Source could leave so much unattended business, so many requests-bordering-on-demands, all awaiting her attention. 

The people that knew her, loved her best, saw her less and less, and whatever chances she had to spend time with them were never enough.

So she supposed that having them with her could be a blessing in disguise. Douceline had revealed to them both the extent of the light’s damage on her body: the way her formerly pure-white scales were now veined in gold, and how that gold crept all the way through to the under-layer of her rose-gold hair. Bared under direct sunlight, Douceline shimmered and she hated it. As if the dragon blood that had been forced upon her years ago, bringing with it the scales and sharp canines had been a foretaste compared to what agony the light’s corruption had been to her. 

And of course they still took her in with open arms (or in Archombadin’s case, a tight squeeze of his gloved hand around her own) and asked of her safety, her well being. For even though she had been home at the moment, both men were smart enough to know not to depend merely on what they saw. After all, she had only been gone for a relatively short amount of time, only to return physically and mentally changed. 

And she answered them, elaborated for them, about the things she couldn’t say abroad, alone, or even amongst her other companions. About how she didn’t know whether or not she was doing the right thing. About whether or not she could do anything to help. 

About how she was actually very, very afraid.

(Part of her wants to believe she’s not the reason why they’re coming along in the first place. The other part of her wishes for nothing more.) 

Douceline raised her head, blinking as the doors of the Scholasticate library were thrown open.

Jannequinard, with his feet at a hurried pace under his alb, bore a widespread grin as he approached the two at the long table. 

“I say, if we’re to work amongst one another, we ought to all meet together in one place.” Dou offered him a soft smile over an open book, while her pale-haired companion grumbled something that most certainly wasn’t on the page he was facing.

“Sorry, Janne—I was just helping Chomby with something.”

“As is your wont, dearest!” The so-called astrologian’s praise caused Archombadin to clench his jaw, irritation spiking another notch higher. He could never comprehend what she saw in him. Insufferable, incompetent and incessantly talkative—at the most, he could only respect the fact that she cared for him. And unfortunately, her feelings were requited in full. 

It takes all the restraint he has not to slam the book shut.

“If you need her for something—” 

“As a matter of fact, I’ll be needing you both.” The Durendaire’s lithe fingers are on the edge of her seat from behind, aiding her to rise from the chair.

The prefect quirked an eyebrow in suspicion.

“Both.” He echoed, feeling the little strength in him seep away as he faced the man in full, grim scowl meeting a widening grin, with Douceline standing befuddled in the middle.

“Both. No time like the present for tea and collaboration.” 

“I said I’d teach you both a thing or two,” Janne lowered his teacup, meeting the matching plate with a delicate clink. 

“because you are both ever so dear to me—and with your well-being comes the well-being of our fellow countrymen!” He took a deep sigh, elated in the apparent righteousness of this odd arrangement all three of them found themselves in. Archombadin tried to focus on his reflection in the tea while Douceline nibbled on a checkerboard cookie, while the bespectacled astrologian continued his monologue:

“And to have you both at my side on my glorious return to the city, is a privilege I wouldn’t dare deny!”

“I’m glad you’ll be there too, Janne.” Dou parted from the lip of her cup with a tender smile, the tenderness evident all the way up to her eyes. 

“I was talking to Alisaie, actually. About what it’s like…” 

“Ask away, dearest! As your escort it’s only my bounden duty to be of service in whatever way I can.” And they carried on, while the fair-haired Dzemael attempted to fill his mind with other things. A handwritten list he was in the middle of finishing for Theomocent and the other prefects to use as a guide in his absence. A mental note to remember what items to forward to his servant to have brought as part of his necessities for their upcoming trip. And of course, whatever there was left to tell Lebrassoir next he visited, even if the door was closed and his former friend’s still turned the opposite direction...

“...but that is mere speculation. Archombadin, my friend, what say you?” 

The man in question blinked back into reality at the mention of his name. “We were talking about whether or not claw jewelry could be weaponized.” Douceline, the savior, elaborates before Jannequinard can guess that he wasn’t paying attention.

“...I suppose.” His brow knit in quiet contemplation, thumb and forefinger once again around the teacup handle.

“Though it would depend how much of a claw it would resemble...there is a difference between aesthetic and functionality.” Being the son of a heritage credited with the foremost skill and resources in developing their city’s architecture, he should know.

“Oh, there’s no need to consider whether or not they're pleasing to the eye!” Jannequinard blinked, as if perplexed at his companion’s assumption.

“They wind the fingers intricately. Like lacework. But with metals--gold and silver, I should imagine. Bronze is much too heavy for something on the fingers, no?”

“But Janne, you can use it as a weapon if they’re sharp enough, right?” Knowing all too well that her lover was prone to wandering off topic, Dou leaned in closer to bring him back to the matter at hand.

“Like the Ixali! Or the Amalj’aa. Or the dragons, even!” 

“Yes, of course! And we all know what damage they--” A screech of wrought iron against stone pavement, and Archombadin’s gaze shifts from the tea to the table in an instant. His eyes widened when he saw Douceline slumped from her chair, hand shielding her face and knees failing, sinking into a circle of rose-red fabric on the cold stone beneath her. Jannequinard stooped to her level first, hand on her back in both a protective and comforting hold, the merriment of his voice falling to a hushed, gentler tone. 

Bending to his knee, Archombadin cursed between clenched teeth--she’d complained of these sudden headaches happening more often, and absurdly requested for him not to worry. He could only guess how worse they had become since her return from that realm, where she claimed that a week in Eorzea felt like months in the place she’d been to. 

“H-here, darling--don’t worry, we’ll take care of you--” Jannequinard hoisted her up, one arm against her back and the other beneath her legs, where her skirts bunched thick and crumpled as he rose to his feet, sending Archombadin a look of what the silver-eyed seminarian could only perceive as badly-masked fear. In any other situation, he would’ve taken it for a sign of weakness--something he could dwell on with smug delight once alone. But now the Dzemael son wouldn’t dare, for he felt that same fear mirrored in the way he shuddered, lips parted in quivering breaths as he followed him back to the Belfry.

He sent a linkpearl message home explaining that he would be delayed.

Now, he and Jannequinard remained in the sitting alcove, not far from the guest room where a house chirurgeon examined the sleeping Douceline. Archombadin couldn’t find it in him to simply sit, though he stood perfectly still compared to the maddening pace at which the other man strode to, back and forth as far as the walls would allow him.

“Fine, fine, she’ll be perfectly fine.” He uttered under a shaky breath, earning him a scowl from his sharp-eyed guest, who remained cross-armed and back to the wall adjacent to the window.

“We have the finest chirurgeons under our employ!” As Janne ran a hand through his slicked red hair, Archombadin knew he could have been arguing with no one but himself. Not that he expected anything else of how Janne would react under pressure.

“...But, who am I to talk?” Jannequinard’s silver hues suddenly weighed with something he hadn’t seen in them before. Remorse? Regret? The Archombadin of the past would be reeling in ill-gained joy at seeing the black sheep of the Durendaires so beaten, so dejected. But now he was genuinely concerned for whatever it could be that ailed him. Not that he was no longer irritated with the man--but seeing Douceline collapse and being able to do nothing but wait behind a closed door for the chirurgeons to do their work left him a tad unsettled, for the lack of a better word.

“...All I can offer is what I’ve seen and done. Nothing by the lectures, or the texts I was given. Astrology is an art that can heal, and yet all I could do was hurry her inside and have someone else do it for me.” Jannequinard’s head felt heavier by burdens of his past failures coming back to haunt him once again, the words of his elders and numerous detractors rearing their ugly heads and bringing back a sting to a wound he long believed was on the mend.

“What if--no, no I can’t--” He stops himself, stumbling into a cold and bitter laughter, his hand finding its way to his forehead.

“...I can’t allow myself to--” Archombadin can do nothing but listen, blinking in confusion and interest at what could be going through the astrologian’s mind at this very moment.

“It’s...the next time. We won’t be here. You know,” Jannequinard licked his lips and swallowed hard, facing the carpet of the floor at their feet.

“...we’ll be in Sharlayan soon. We’ll have our friends, yes--but we’ll have our fair share of enemies, too. Heavens, maybe more of a share than we can chew--not again, no, I can’t-” 

“It’s perfectly understandable to have doubts.” Archombadin tries his best to reassure the man, who looked on edge of a breakdown. And he wasn’t looking forward to carrying him, especially when the man was in his own house.

“We’ll be going somewhere unfamiliar. Maybe to you it is, but we have reason to believe that much has changed since then. Or have you not paid heed to what the scions were discussing the other day?” He couldn’t help himself from falling back onto sarcasm once again, though this time it seemed to work a small bit, as Jannequinard nodded--though it seemed more to reassure himself back into a relatively healthier mindset than it was an answer to Archombadin’s question.

“Yes...yes, you’re right.” A trembling sigh, and though no smile appeared, the light in his eyes was a tad less dimmed than before when he turned to look at his companion.

“I just--I must become stronger. Though I’ve wasted years, it was thanks to the efforts of Douceline and Leveva, along with others that I’ve begun to truly learn and practice to my benefit--and more importantly, to that of others.” 

(With every word he seems to encourage himself, and perhaps that non stop tongue of his can be good for something, Archombadin thinks.)

“The stakes we faced were high. But because we overcame them, we are braver--stronger, because of it. And we’ll need to do even more of those things--and others--in order to face what awaits us in Sharlayan.” 

“I plan to do the same. Am in the middle of it, actually.” Could they really have found a rare plane of common ground? Wonders never cease.

“You use...the tomes, yes?” Janne blinked.

“Yes--amongst other things. But primarily the tomes. Grimoires…”

“I heard something about summoning soulkin. Is that the sort you do?” Archombadin cleared his throat, shoulders relaxing. At least they were on a less emotionally taxing topic...and one he could better contribute to.

And so he did well to explain the main points, starting broad and painfully narrowing to the finer details, enough for the other man to remain on track without going off on a tangent. Both had lost track of time when the door finally opened, and the chirurgeon reassured them of her state. To their relief, Douceline would only need rest and sleep, water and food. 

And of course, someone to make sure she was recovering just fine, though Jannequinard was generous to allow him to stay for the night.

Late into the night, she was yet to awaken.

Changed into sleep clothes, both men lay as borders to her sides: Archombadin on her left and closer to the wall, Jannequinard on the right facing the door. The three flames on the candlelabra flickered feebly as the still-conscious houseguest flipped idly through a borrowed book he’d found on the shelf, though the contents of the text itself dulled with Douceline’s sleeping face ever in his peripheral vision. Archombadin was ever wary of any subtle changes in her condition, and refused to act as the second pair of eyes while Janne had one arm lazily draped atop her waist, eyes half-lidded not from fatigue, but of an odd comfort. Archombadin knew that he must have been awaiting her all this time, as well--before, her visits to Ishgard had been few and far-between, and now they all had the extraordinary chance to finally come along with her. 

Though not from the best of circumstances, this was time he valued.  All three of them, having found mutual agreement and definition of what exactly was between them, could find a source of comfort in one another. Before all this happened, Archombadin could have never imagined himself  in such an arrangement, but he was beginning to see what good could come of it, and what good he could do beyond the roles he’d defined for himself.

When her mouth twitched at the corner, both men’s hearts practically stopped.

One, two, five and ten seconds later, her eyes failed to open; but her mouth opened in a wide, wide ‘o’, breathing a content yawn as she tucked her head back into the pillow, fingers loosely bent against the fabric, the rise and fall of her chest at a steady rate.

Janne gave him a knowing, quiet smile as he shifted closer up against her, but much to the pale-haired heir’s surprise he nudged her closer to where he lay.

“‘Tis not every day.” Short and sweet, for both knew the implication far too well than they’d like to.

With the candles snuffed out, Archombadin allowed his fingers to brush ever so slightly against her own, for sleeping mere ilms away from her face was already more than he could ask for.