#but she’s YOUNG and young people are bound to make mistakes and hell this is one huge mistake she’s done but y’all are not helping by being

[elevenenthusiast]

The last thing i expected from this post was people being a bunch of cruel assholes in the quotes like what the actual fuck?

[whateveriwant]

Happy Sunday! Whatever you do, definitely don't imagine Simon stuck in a time loop, forced to relive the worst day of his life over and over again 😀

The worst day of Simon's life? you might wonder. What would that be? Good question!

How about the day that Simon, at the tender age of four, came face-to-face with the boogeyman himself? His mother had warned him of the ghoulish entity, the one who lurked in shadows, inflicting pain on those who would seek to misbehave. What she didn't tell him, and what Simon would discover for himself that night as he awoke to the sounds of screaming, was that the boogeyman was no mere specter. She didn't tell him how he punished indiscriminately, uncaring if you were a woman or child. She didn't tell him how he wielded his fist like a hammer, his breath stinking of booze and cigarettes. And she didn't tell him (because how could a mother begin to explain to her young son?) that the boogeyman would wear the face of his own father.

Or how about the day that Simon realized he made the biggest mistake of his life? When he first joined the army, he had lofty ideas of honor and glory; action and duty; responsibility and yes, if it came to it, even sacrifice. Call him naive, but what else could you expect of a boy who's been fed nothing but a trough of propaganda his whole life? Simon surely didn't realize, not as he signed his soul over for a pair of dog tags. He didn't realize, not as he queued up with other lost boys for his chance to play soldier. He didn't realize even as he was shipped out with less than two months of basic training under his belt. No, Simon didn't realize until it was already too late, until it was staring at him across the blood-soaked trench with glossy, unblinking eyes. It was only then, looking into what remained of the face of a friend, that Simon realized there is decidedly very little that is ‘dolce et decorum’ about dying in war.

Or there's the day Simon discovered hell exists right here on Earth, and it's ruled over by a devil called Roba. Simon had thought that living a life already full of pain and horror would have thickened his skin like the rings of a tree, making an impenetrable armor even a mortar couldn't dent. But all it took was the careful orchestration of one wicked man to prove that even the toughest of trees can be felled. Day in and day out, he endured a steady stream of beatings, tortures, and assaults. Day in and day out, he was forced to the brink of his sanity, tipping over it once or twice. Day in and day out, the once unbreakable soldier entered a new circle of hell, and as he descended, finding each pit worse than the last, he wondered if he would ever make it out alive.

Or there's the any number of days (and there are a dreadful many) that Simon lost the only things in his life that ever truly mattered to him. The day he came home, the taste of betrayal acrid on his tongue, to find four mangled corpses had replaced the people he called family. The day he failed, the target vanishing like smoke from a gun barrel, his hands wet with the blood of the sergeant he had come to consider a brother. The day he never saw coming, the day that smashed what was left of his heart into pieces, the day he lost the best thing to ever happen to his miserable excuse of a life; the day he lost you.

It was years later, long after he'd hung up his masks and tags, that they came for you in the dead of night. Payback, they'd said, for something he'd done when he was still in the service. Though you had no affiliation with that period of his life, they knew that by taking you – by hurting you – it was the perfect eye for an eye. All Simon could do as they bound and beat you was watch from across the room, his own chains rattling desperately. He watched as your fingers bent at odd angles, your clothes adhered to your skin with blood, the bones in your face shattered and swelled until you were unrecognizable. You were strong – stronger than Simon ever wanted you to have to be – but that didn't stop his heart from breaking with every abuse your body received. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, he tried to get through to you, even as the sickening crack of your femur threatened to drown him out.

It was hours (it felt more like decades) that you were both dragged through this misery. Simon watched the whole time, hot tears obscuring his vision, his voice keeping you awake between the syringes of adrenaline pumped into you. But eventually there came a point in which you slumped, a sort of finality to the way your limbs sagged, and Simon couldn't help how his own heart stopped pumping. The room was loud in his ears, louder than it had ever been thus far, and yet, not a single sound was made. He shook his chains to rouse you. Get up, he ordered. Get up, my love. Get up! he begged, screamed until his vocal chords shred. His pleas were met by only silence, a slowing trickle of blood leaking from your mouth, and when the ones that did this to you declared that revenge was now claimed, Simon knew the last thread that wove any sort of meaning into his life had finally been cut.

Any one of these days could be a contender for the worst day of Simon's life, an eternity of torment looped within a 24 hour cycle. And no matter what he does, no matter how hard he tries to change things, it's never enough. He is never enough.

[k-howlett]

H(ear)tline Prologue | Bruce Wayne [Batman] xF!Angel:reader

TW: Possible religious insensitivity, Fallen Angel, Canon-breaking OOC, eventual smut(not in this specific installment)

Rating: Gender Specific (Female Reader), Eventual Smut (Teen+/mature), SFW (Prologue), eventual fluff

A/N:

Thank you so much for your continued patience! I am unfortunately knee deep in moving. Breaking and Entering is on Hiatus at the moment because of my inability to appeal a report (I've been too busy to check my email and missed the 24 hour deadline. Thank you so much(/s) to whoever FALSELY reported my artistry and now cost me hours of setbacks. I don't know if I can repost and change the tag but I did file a complaint with tumblr admin and am awaiting a resolution), in the mean time, please enjoy this concept I came up with half-awake whilst packing boxes!

With love and healing,

-Lark

𓂋

𓏲𝄢 𓏲𝄢 𓏲𝄢˚₊‧꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚𓏲𝄢 𓏲𝄢 𓏲𝄢

Bruce Wayne was not one for religion. If there was a God, the creator must’ve had a particular disdain for Gotham City and everything in it. The place was a living hell, overrun with the likes of Scarecrow, Bane, Joker, Penguin—an endless parade of villains. It felt as though God had abandoned him, leaving the city to rot.

When a group of young people stopped him on the street, offering free Bibles, Bruce briefly considered lashing out, tearing into their beliefs with the cynicism that years in Gotham had sharpened. But he held back. Despite his doubts, he couldn’t deny the comfort religion provided to those who believed. He recalled attending Sunday school as a child, his mother’s gentle voice praising the beauty of the world around them, her unshakeable faith even in the face of Gotham’s darkness. In her final moments, she had reached out to God. Who was he to strip these kids of that same hope?

Wordlessly, he accepted the leather-bound Bible. It was crafted with care, though the materials were clearly cheap—the gold lettering was already flaking. He considered tossing it when he got home, or maybe donating it to a shelter. He might not believe in God, but he knew that his own moral compass had been shaped by something greater than himself. Not everyone had that foundation; maybe some people really did need saving.

He sighed as he carried the Bible to his office. The last thing he needed was for anyone to think he’d found religion. He had a carefully curated, morally ambiguous playboy persona to maintain. What if the media thought he was turning over a new leaf? What if they took it as a sign he was ready to settle down? The thought of more women throwing themselves at him—especially devout ones—made him shudder.

He tucked the Bible under his arm, the gold lettering pressed tightly against his side. Maybe someone would mistake it for a journal. A glance at his watch made him scowl—somehow, the walk from the coffee shop to the office had eaten up more time than expected. Lucius would undoubtedly have something to say about it later; they had a meeting, and now he was going to be late—again.

Dragging a hand down his face, Bruce felt the exhaustion deep in his bones. The late nights and early mornings were catching up with him, eroding his focus, fraying the edges of his mind. For a moment, bitterness welled up—a rare flicker of resignation. Did it even make a difference? Gotham’s streets were never truly free of crime. Petty theft, gang violence, the constant churn of the underworld—it never stopped. And the ones he managed to lock up? They always found a way out. Arkham was a revolving door, a sick joke of a prison.

For a fleeting second, he entertained the idea of quitting. The notion of a full night’s sleep was almost unimaginable, but his body ached for it. Was there really no reprieve? After all these years, the despair felt like it was swallowing him whole. Gotham was a sinkhole, and he was drowning in it.

But he shook off the thought, setting his jaw with grim resolve. He would not break, and he would not allow himself the luxury of weakness. He’d let his body rot from the inside out if that’s what it took to see his mission through. It wasn’t just an obligation; it was a promise. And though no one would blame him if he walked away, though they might even understand, he wouldn’t bow down and admit defeat. He’d fought for fifteen years—he could fight for fifteen more.

𓏲𝄢 𓏲𝄢 𓏲𝄢𓏲𝄢 𓏲𝄢 𓏲𝄢𓏲𝄢 𓏲𝄢 𓏲𝄢

Bruce tossed the Bible onto his desk and sank into his leather chair, his eyes heavy as they flicked to the desktop screen. Logging in, he was greeted by a flood of emails—requests for meetings from the legal branch, shareholders bickering over stock distributions, and the usual complaints from board members about his lack of attention to this year’s Gala preparations.

His assistant had already informed him of the missed meeting, explaining that Lucius had been pulled into another matter. The issues were piling up, and for a brief moment, his hand trembled as he reached for the mouse. Wayne Enterprises was his father’s legacy, and Batman was his—but right now, the mission would have to wait. He needed to get this under control, and fast.

Four hours of back-to-back phone calls and troubleshooting. Bruce was now lying under his desk, trying to replace a faulty cable. The entire office was down, and with IT swamped, he had no choice but to handle it himself. He needed to review the quarterly reports before the bonuses were announced, and he knew the company had been slacking—summer interns flooding in and Tim away at college had left him without the structure he relied on.

When he finally sat up from the floor, his head collided with the corner of the desk, sending a sharp pain through his skull. The Bible tumbled from the desk, hitting him squarely on the head before flopping open on the ground, a business card slipping out.

Bruce picked it up, squinting at the bold print: "1-800-ANGEL." He frowned. What kind of absurd, erotic phone service was this? The card was nearly blank, save for a single line:

"May you find your faith."

Real funny, he thought, for a number probably meant to fleece desperate souls. They probably charged by the minute. Bruce rolled his eyes, dismissing it as yet another scam targeting the gullible.

Bruce thumbed the card, skepticism tightening his grip. Surely, no one was desperate enough to actually call. He wondered about the legitimacy of the number, and after settling back into his chair, he opened a new tab. Thankfully, the replacement cable had done its job, and his screen blinked to life. He typed in the number, but nothing came up—not even a link to some sketchy website. He tried the motto next, but all he found were articles on religion and local church recommendations. He raised an eyebrow. For a scam, they were doing a remarkably poor job of marketing it.

Picking up the Bible again, he considered the possibility that the kids handing them out might have been given faulty copies. But as he inspected it, the Bible seemed legitimate enough. He cross-referenced it with an online version to be sure, but everything checked out. The only oddity was the card. Flipping through the pages, he eventually found a strange marking on the back cover, stamped with the words "ales et lux."

"Wings and light?" he muttered, dropping the Bible back onto the desk.

Curiosity gnawed at him. Without hesitation, he dialed the number. Whatever this was, he intended to get to the bottom of it. Maybe he’d caught it early enough—he could pull a few strings with the FBI and shut it down before it preyed on anyone vulnerable. But as the line connected, the voice on the other end made him stop cold.

“So you’ve received the calling card of heaven. We’re so glad you have found your faith. Please note this card is for one-time use. For inquiries about time of death, press 1. For prayers and answers, press 2. For information on Christian denominations and healing, press 3. For nondenominational options, press 4. For Native, Inuit, Norse, and Pagan beliefs, press 5. Unsure what category your beliefs fall under? Press star for a list. For all other healing-related questions, press 6.”

Bruce’s scowl deepened as he listened to the automated menu. The damn phone hadn’t even rung—this had to be some kind of twisted scam. He was about to hang up when the final option made his breath catch.

“And finally, to speak to your angel, press 0.”

His angel? A guardian angel? He doubted he had one. If he did, they’d done a piss-poor job watching over him. The loss of his parents, Jason Todd, and Alfred—the man who had been the closest thing to a father he had left—proved that. Anger flickered in his chest. He wanted to speak to this so-called angel, to confront them, to demand answers for the pain he’d endured. What kind of angel lets their charge suffer like this?

He pressed zero, the cold, rational part of him momentarily overridden by the seething anger and hurt simmering beneath the surface—the hurt little boy he’d buried deep inside threatening to unleash all that unprocessed trauma.

He wasn’t expecting such a soft voice to greet him, nor the surprising calm that washed over his mind as it did.

“Bruce? You really called.” The voice on the other end was feminine, light, almost breathless, as if she had been waiting for this moment.

“...Who the hell are you?” His voice was sharp, defensive.

“Well, my official title doesn’t really have an accurate translation in mortal language, but I’m more or less your protector.”

“Protector?!” He growled, the word scraping out like a curse. “You couldn’t even protect me from a goddamn paper cut, let alone a laundry list of loss. You didn’t protect anything—I protect this city, I protect people. You’re not even real! You’re probably just some credit card scammer, phishing for my personal data. That’s what this is, isn’t it? Data mining. Your entire operation is fraudulent at best, and—”

He cut himself off, his voice shaking with anger. It wasn’t just fury at this supposed "protector"—it was fury at the years of pain, at the endless nights spent fighting a war that never seemed to end, at the world for daring to keep spinning while he bled in the dark. How dare anyone call themselves his protector when every person he’d ever loved had been torn away from him? How dare they try to soothe him with some ethereal nonsense when he was the one in the trenches, the one facing down Gotham’s nightmares every single night?

The silence on the other end of the line was almost unbearable, but he wouldn’t back down. He’d heard enough lies in his lifetime to know when someone was trying to sell him false hope.

“…It doesn’t work like that,” the voice finally replied, a hint of sadness woven into its softness. “I can’t interfere with your life in the way you think. Those losses… they were unfortunate, and I know they fuel the anguish that haunts your mind, but my role isn’t to shield you from pain. My job is to keep you alive. Every close call, every moment when death was just a breath away—that was my divine interference. I won’t let you die, Bruce. Not until the time is right and your body is ready to rest.”

Bruce clenched his jaw, anger and disbelief warring within him. He wanted to tear into her, to lash out at the absurdity of it all. This so-called protector, claiming to watch over him, to keep him alive—where was she when his parents were murdered in front of him? Where was she when Jason died, or when he stood over Alfred’s grave, feeling the weight of yet another life lost because of him?

“Don’t patronize me,” he spat, his voice low and dangerous. “You think I need your protection? You think those near-deaths were some divine favor? I’ve survived because I’ve fought, because I’ve clawed my way out of every hellhole Gotham’s thrown me into. You had nothing to do with it.”

He could almost hear her smile through the phone, a soft, resigned sound that seemed to fill the silence between them.

“You’ve fought harder than anyone should ever have to, Bruce. You’re the purest soul I’ve ever had the privilege of encountering. No matter how much you try to front or deflect, it’s clear you care. You care more than anyone else. If you didn’t, you wouldn’t have taken in those kids, or dressed up like a bat to fight crime night after night. You’re like Sisyphus, eternally pushing a boulder uphill. And while you may not want praise or acknowledgment, you need to know—despite everything, you are a good person. You’re a good man. And in many ways, you’re the closest thing to God’s image I’ve ever seen.”

Bruce’s breath caught, anger and disbelief momentarily overshadowed by the weight of her words. How could she claim to know him so well, to understand his pain and sacrifice? Yet, the very notion of being compared to something divine—despite how hollow it felt—struck a chord deep within him.

“Spare me the sermon,” he growled, trying to regain his composure. “You think you can soothe me with this celestial rhetoric? I don’t need your validation. I need results. I need to keep this city safe, and I need to know that those I care about are protected. Save your platitudes for someone who believes in them.”

There was a pause on the other end, as if she was choosing her words carefully. “I’m not here to validate you, Bruce. I’m here to remind you that even in the darkest moments, you have a purpose. And while you may see yourself as a flawed instrument of justice, remember that even in your struggle, there’s a reflection of something greater—a beacon of hope for others, whether you realize it or not.”

Bruce didn’t respond, his mind a storm of conflicting emotions. The rational part of him dismissed her words as manipulative flattery, but a flicker of vulnerability, long suppressed, threatened to break through. He forced himself to focus, pushing those thoughts aside.

“Enough of this,” he said, his voice cold and final. “If you’re really here to help, then stay out of my way. I’ll handle things my way.”

He hung up the phone, the echo of her voice lingering in his mind. As he turned his attention back to the stack of paperwork and problems awaiting him, he couldn't shake the uneasy feeling that perhaps, in some twisted way, she had touched a part of him he had long buried.

𓏲𝄢 𓏲𝄢 𓏲𝄢𓏲𝄢 𓏲𝄢 𓏲𝄢𓏲𝄢 𓏲𝄢 𓏲𝄢

Bruce landed another punch on the goon, watching as they crumpled to the ground. Fighting at the docks was his least favorite—slippery surfaces and treacherous footing made it harder to maintain his balance. He glanced at the wall, the dim streetlight casting an eerie glow on the dilapidated brick.

In the periphery of his vision, he thought he saw the shadow of wings, a fleeting, phantom-like presence. When he snapped around, though, all he saw were the goons he had already beaten. They lay scattered and unconscious, bloodied and bruised. A quick scan of the area revealed the familiar wreckage of a confrontation: discarded weapons and broken crates.

On the ground, a few feet away from a goon he didn’t remember hitting, lay a gun glinting in the faint light. Next to it was a single white feather. The goon in question had no visible injuries, no sign of the kind of violence Bruce had just inflicted on the others. There were no swollen bruises, no blood—nothing to suggest that they had been involved in the scuffle.

Bruce frowned, his mind racing. He hadn't hit this one, nor had he seen anything out of the ordinary during the fight. The feather seemed out of place, its presence unsettling. It wasn’t like anything he had come across before—an odd detail in an otherwise straightforward altercation.

His instincts, honed by years of vigilant observation, told him this was no mere coincidence. There was something strange here, something beyond the usual street brawls and petty crime. The feather could mean something, or someone, had intervened. And if that was the case, Bruce needed to understand why.

He crouched down to examine the feather and the gun more closely. His eyes narrowed, scanning for any other anomalies or signs that could explain the goon’s sudden unconsciousness. Whatever the cause, Bruce knew he couldn’t ignore it. Not with the pattern of oddities and divine encounters that had begun to surface recently.

He straightened up, the feather clenched in his hand, his mind already shifting gears. There was more at play here than just a fight—something, or someone, was influencing events from the shadows. And as always, it was up to him to uncover the truth.

˚₊‧𓏲𝄢 𓏲𝄢 𓏲𝄢‧₊˚

Approx. Word Count: ~2,746

pt I: Coming Soon(?)

This is a soft-launch of this series, if you guys would like more parts, please let me know in the comments <3 It helps motivate me to write!

//Series Tag List: Available Upon Request!

Status Page 2024: Here

[m4rs-ex3]

people always make silly little lists of characters' crimes which i love but i'm gonna do smth a lillllll different

tdp character trauma log 🫶✨

callum

lost his father at a Baby age (the perfect age actually; young enough to be very emotional and impressionable but old enough to have to process it)

was thrown into a drastically different + high-key terrifying environment at Baby Age

lost his mother--his comfort person, his only connection to his og life (besides amaya), and also just an amazing individual--leaving him alone in said environment

was constantly belittled for being bad at the thing he never asked to be

lost his stepfather aka his only parent left and experienced an array of regret over what he didn't do while harrow was alive

almost watched his little brother down/freeze to death

was betrayed by his childhood friend

endured a severe dark magic sickness + traumatizing fever dream

almost choked to death

watched his whole world jump off of the highest point in the world

almost died plummeting off of the highest point in the world

was abandoned by Love of His Life for several depressed years

was literally fucking possessed

was taxed with the decision between becoming a vessel for the most dangerous individual in the world to destroy everything and hurt everyone he loves OR essentially ending his life (a conclusion he himself had to come to)

was under the impression that Love of His Life was dead (and he never got to tell her what he wanted to)

almost died pt 3

almost died pt 4-5

bound and brutally beaten + electrocuted (?)

watched the most important person in the world to him mercilessly tortured within an inch of her life

almost lost her AGAIN and had to destroy his entire moral compass in order to save her

tortured

almost died 6: choked pt 2

rayla

where do i begin

well first off grew up in the silvergrove and hey moonshadow elves i love ya but oh dear god -promotes "strength" and stoicism over discussing your feelings and admitting to your weaknesses -so bound (literally) by duty and oaths that faltering results in either being good as dead or dead as dead -ETC

equipped with a debilitating phobia of water--a fear most would see as bizarre and silly and exceptionally irrational--in a culture that as previously mentioned shuns fear to all hell

was left by her parents and (despite them having a perfectly good reason) never really healed

almost drowned which was not helped by the phobia

almost ravaged by an ancient vampire

an ASSASSIN who has to KILL PEOPLE but is a WHOLESOME SWEETHEART

haunted by her "constant" mistakes; her strengths get wholly overshadowed by her weaknesses

told by the father figure she revered that she is a stupid baby useless idiot (roughly)

was flatly told by Father Figure he expected to kill her (to which she's just like "fr prolly" good god girl you are fucked)

had to not only sit and listen to, but conform to horrid stereotypes she's been haunted by since she was a kid

nearly slowly lost a hand (and just straight up accepted like ik this isn't the point but i feel the need to address when she does some insanely broken shit)

saw a person wither to dust before her eyes i feel like we forget about this

almost died like pt 4 ish i literally cannot keep track what counts and whats too minor a near death experience and why do i have to ask these questions

watched the love of her life (shut up harry styles) suffocate in his sleep in her arms

almost died pt 5-8 ?

i once again don't even know where to begin this time with her ghosting. linking this post again but tldr she didn't do anything wrong, she believed she did, her society not only confirmed these suspicions but god they pinned her with so much more, and she was told that actually no and what the fuck is she supposed to do with that u just told her everything she knows is wrong and that she actually has worth and she is not keen on that mindset

almost died 9? i include this one bc soulfangs are terrifying

cooly came to the conclusion that she deserved to die for her parents mistakes (and fully intended on doing so)

almost died jumping off the highest point in the world

suffered from persistent nightmares

almost drowned (the phobia once again did not help)

was nearly killed by the dead former co-workers she feels responsible for killing

forced herself to leave behind Love of Her Life and if you don't think that was the hardest fucking thing in the world for her

spent two, miserable years alone, getting beaten down again and again (mentally and physically,) plagued by her vendetta, haunted by all she lost, never knowing comfort, never knowing love, and probably so much worse that we don't even know woohoo!

thought that, after years of painful wondering, the parents she desperately wanted back were killed right in front of her

almost died pt who even fucking knows

almost died

almost died

almost died

almost died

almost died

was absolutely fucking brutally tortured (within an inch of her life) 😚✌🌸✨✨

almost died horrendously (she rlly couldnt catch a break that day)

had to choose between pushing her trauma to the absolute limit or hating herself for not protecting her friends

almost died

ez

motherless

couldn't make friends (for a reason no one would believe)

that's why yo [daddy] dead. dead as hell. what shoes [he] got on what shoes [he] got on in [his] casket

almost drowned/froze

had the pressure of surviving as an orphan ANDD being a fucking king forced upon him at the same time

felt responsible for thousands of lives

was imprisoned

was almost motherfucking impaled by scary adult

all that? yea he was like 10

therefore

grew up weird like his brother and rayla

probably almost died a lot of times

imprisoned again & was threatened and bared witness to his brother + his closest friend tortured (+ almost murdered)

almost murdered by someone he once trusted

prolly a lot more idk i was gonna include soren n claudia but i am so fucking exhausted THESE KIDS ARE SO FUCKED OML 😭😭

[eris-snow]

Preserved In Memories

Tags: angst, Bakugou x Uraraka, Bakugou x gn!reader

You meet people everyday. You're bound to lose a handful of them. That is the way of life.

It had been quite a while.

You know.

Since the last time Bakugou saw you.

The last time he sees you, you were crying, begging him not to leave. You were just 17 then, so young and naive that it wanted to make Bakugou laugh at you. Not anymore though. Not when he sees you again. Now, you're on a completely different path because you have let go of him.

Just a few metres away from him, there you are. there are a couple books open on the table as you scribble furiously on a notebook. You sit in a cafe, your arm propped up on the table with your eyes trained on your words.

You look different. Prettier and wiser. It makes his heart bleed because in the chair in front of you, there is no one. The spot beside you is empty, too.

It looks wrong, like something's missing from a perfect picture, and Bakugou consciously pushes down what he's thinking. It isn't his place to say anything. He'd rejected you, after all. It wasn't even gentle.

Outright, Flatout, confident no.

And since you were one of his childhood friends, much like Izuku, you clung to him and Izuku with a determination that he didn't know you were capable of. But he lost you in the end.

Sometimes he wonders if he'd turned down just a little bit nicer if he'd cared a little bit more about your feelings that day if you would still be by his side. Maybe a "We can still be friends." would have gotten him to save a valuable friendship. You would have moved on, and he wouldn't have any lingering regrets.

But no. Instead, Bakugou'd spent every day after your confession deliberating, thinking of the 'what ifs' that could have happened if he wasn't such a nincompoop.

But that's when he sees it.

A head of fluffy green hair, popping into view as damn Deku sits down across from you. You look up from your notes and smile at the fucking nerd, greeting him with your honey sweet voice.

That was one thing that didn't change.

From his spot, he could only hear your voice and the way you laugh at Deku's apology, but it fucking burns as you lean over to hug the green-haired intimately. God, it hurts, because something stirs inside of him and he wants his feelings to stop surfacing...

But you can't control feelings just like you can't control thoughts.

It spills from the tips of the dams that keep his emotions in check, overflowing until he doesn't even realise how big of a mistake he'd made all those years ago.

Hell, that could have been him over there, hugging you, fuck even kissing you!

"Katsuki?" An endearingly comforting voice asked.

Bakugou turned, seeing Uraraka standing behind him with her head tilted. Her eyes were coloured in worry as she reaches up to caress his face gently. "Is everything okay?"

Bakugou blinks at his girlfriend, guilt flooding him for thinking so selfishly. She was the one he chose in the end. She was his love.

His heart tears ever so slightly as he reached up to touch her loving hand, forcing out a small smile. "I'm okay, Cheeks. Thank you."

Uraraka mirrors his expression, clasping his hand. "Let's go then. It's getting late, 'Suki. Wouldn't want to miss our reservation."

So he leaves. Painful as it might be, he leaves you with that damn broccoli in that local cafe as he and Uraraka rush off to the expensive restaurant he booked for the two of them.

He leaves you where you should be, lost in the memories he would never be able to touch.

[blackoutspoetry]

The Anatomy of Starved Dogs (part 2)

First part:

Ao3 link:

Warnings!!

Child abuse/neglect

Drug use/overdose

Mentioned suicide

26 YEARS EARLIER

GHOST

MANCHESTER, ENGLAND

20 APRIL 1993

Many people make the mistake to think children are born blank slates, canvases that the image of personhood must be projected onto. They’re naive to believe that changing the environment that surrounds the child in their formative years will change the person he grows up to be so drastically, that they can change his fate completely. 

But they forget the remnant of a blueprint, his DNA. 

He is bound, even if not fully, to the downfalls, the sins of his father, and though it is easy to think of the potential such a young thing might have, half his story is already written, inked into the body in the very blood in his veins. 

Some are born with the heart to serve, others with one bound to destruction, and it is the job of the parent to recognise the latter and be vigilant not to enable his violent tendencies. 

Failure as a parent to recognise these things will lead to death, and sometimes it is a parent’s duty to swallow the bitter pill that is the realisation that some people are just inherently born evil. 

You can build them, or break them, but the troubled children of yesterday might grow up to be the pillars society rests on further down the line. With a bit of guidance, that boy hell bent on destruction could build nations, or bring around their demise, and one with a soft heart might lose it completely to whoever he let hold it first…

Simon squeezed his eyes shut tightly, turning his head away as he brought the rock smashing through the exoskeleton of the beetle. He hits it again just to make sure it's properly dead before raising the rock away to look at the damage done with a painful lurch of his heart. 

He mutters a futile apology to the poor thing before scooping the crushed body up with a leaf and putting it in the empty pill bottle his mother had given him. 

He hates killing the things, but it was one thing Aunt Amelia had not considered about his Christmas gift. 

 

“An ant farm,” she had said proudly as she presented it to him, still standing bleary eyed in the kitchen in his spiderman pyjamas. “Because I know how much you love bugs.” her smile had faltered a little bit into a grimace but quickly reset itself when she noticed the smile on his face. 

She stepped aside to admire his excitement as Simon watched the ants crawling over each other in their organised chaos, squealing with excitement as he spotted the queen. 

Aunt Amelia laughed at the six year old, now staring at the colony with sparkling eyes. 

He couldn’t see the expression on his mothers face then, smiling at her boy in her hazy detached way, avoiding the eye contact her sister kept on trying to initiate with her. 

His father stood off a little way with a stinking cigarette in his hand, watching the scene unfold with more than a little disdain. 

When the tension between the adults got too much, his mother moved him like a pawn on their chessboard, prompting him into taking the heat off her. 

“Now, Simon, what do we say to auntie Amelia for the nice gift?” 

“Thank you!” he rushed over and almost knocked her over in a hug. She braces herself against the kitchen counter behind her, knocking into the gathered group of dirty glasses and three day old dishes by the sink. She wiped her hand with a bit of disgust, trying to mask it, but Simon had seen it, so had his mother. 

“Calm down, you’re going to break something like that!” his father shouted. 

“Oh it's nothing, he’s just excited,” Aunt Amelia could feel Simon go rigid in her hold and quickly came to the boy’s defence, placing her hand on his shoulders in a futile attempt to shield him. She held the man’s gaze until he left the room with a defeated sigh. 

She knew his father, and the hem of the boy’s shirt wasn’t able to cover all of the bruises. 

“I should get going, still have a Christmas party to get to,” she said awkwardly, reaching for her purse and shuffling out of the kitchen, away from Simon and towards the door. She hesitated by the security gate as Simon tried to reach out to grab her by the wrist. 

He doesn’t want her to go. Things are different when she leaves. He feels safer when she’s here. 

“Please stay longer, I missed you,” Simon pouts, lower lip jutting out to emphasise how desperately he wants her to stay, but she just shakes her head apologetically. 

“Sorry darling, I have some of my friends from work to go visit, they miss me too.” 

He felt the resolve shatter as his shoulders sagged, he could barely hide the glint of tears in his eyes and Aunt Amelia cupped his little face in her hands that promised safety, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “I’ll be back when I can. But for now, enjoy your gift, my boy. I love you.” 

Heaven knows he doesn’t hear those words enough, so she tells him every time she sees him.  

She puts a hand on his shoulder but promptly lightens her grip when she sees him flinch, almost losing her smile when she notices the fading bruise just visible above the hem of his shirt. She looks him in the eye, “you take good care of your brother too, Simon.” 

Regrettably, she leaves him there as his mother walks her out, down the steps to the driveway. 

Simon watches the two forlornly from the window and briefly wonders what life would have been like if she was his mother instead. 

Later that evening, he was sitting by the kitchen counter, still transfixed by the crawling ants when his father came up behind him, looking displeased.

“You know you’re going to have to feed those things dead bugs, and you’re going to have to kill them yourself.” 

He left without another word to sit himself down on their worn out couch in the other room and watch whatever program was on TV, but Simon didn’t mind that now, too invested in his little colony to care. 

Distantly, he could hear little Tommy wailing in another room and willed him to stop before his father lost his temper. He always loses his temper when Tommy cries. 

 

Back then, he’d thought dispatching the dispatching of the insects would have gotten easier down the line. It hadn’t. 

At first, he thought he might escape the moral dilemma of having to kill the thing by just throwing it to the ants, but watching them tear its writhing, agonised body limb from limb was more frightening than taking care of it himself, so he considers it a mercy. 

From the driveway. Simon could hear his brother crying and rushed back inside a minute when no one had gone to check on him. 

The house is dark and the curtains are drawn to hide the mess in the cramped kitchen. 

Dirty dishes piled up in precariously balanced stacks on the countertops around the sink, the air stank of a sour mix of days old food and soured dairy. He scrunches his nose up and moves into the living room. 

Simon finds the TV with the sound just above mute. His mother is passed out on the couch with a magazine splayed open over her chest. Her arm was hanging over the edge of the couch and Simon took a moment to adjust it into a more comfortable position, closing the magazine. 

He pushed away some of the clutter on the coffee table to put it down there. 

She’ll probably come around in about an hour but be really out of it for the rest of the day. Simon suspects it has something to do with the pills she’s always taking.

She hides them in drawers and under seat cushions because his father gets angry when he sees her taking them. She’s been taking them after that surgery last year, but now her arm is completely healed and she’s still taking them. 

Simon finds Tommy in their shared bedroom, sprawled on the floor where he fell trying to climb under his too small cot. 

Simon rushed over to him and tried to comfort him to silence his crying, holding the two-year old close to him, but he didn’t know what more would help. He slowly rocked him back and forth. 

Simon shushes him quietly, cupping Tommy’s head to his shoulder. He makes good on his promise to Aunt Amelia. He would do his best to keep Tommy safe.

He looks Tommy over to check for any injuries, but aside from older bruises, he sees nothing new. 

“Don’t you worry, Tommy. Mommy’s going to be awake later to help you. She will help you,” he makes an empty promise, following it with a truer statement. 

“But I promise I’ll be here. I’ll always keep you safe.” 

If Tommy knew what that meant, Simon wasn’t sure. He looked his brother in the eye, finding his mother’s cornflower blue where his own were regretfully his father’s dull brown. 

He’ll take all of Tommy’s beatings for him if that’s what it took to keep him safe. 

When Tommy’s calmed down enough, Simon picks him up, doing his best to prop him up on his hip like he’d seen other mothers do with their children. 

Both Simon and Tommy were rather small for their age, so even though it should have been easier, his arm burns with the effort. 

Its alright though. He tells himself the same thing he tells himself when he’s pressing a bad bruise to check how much it hurts in the dirty bathroom mirror, or fixing up his own scrapes, because he’s ‘old enough to take care of himself’. He tells himself the pain is only temporary. 

With Tommy on his hip, Simon shuffles over to the window where his ant colony stood on their shared dresser. 

He watched them for a minute before he reached into his pocket for the pill bottle and knocked the bug out for the swarming colony. 

It gives him a sense of pride. He might not be old enough or strong enough to help Tommy on his own, but at least there is something he can provide for. 

That night, a long while after Simon had gone to bed, he hears the beginnings of  a fight in the kitchen. 

He tries his best to ignore it, but after ten minutes of tossing and turning, he decides to see what’s going on. 

“We’ve got an infestation in this house,” his father announces. He’s rifling through the cupboards, looking for bug spray with his mother standing deflated by the broom closet, still recovering from her earlier nap. 

Simon could do nothing but watch anxiously with his arms crossed across his chest as his father let his wrath out on his half lucid mother. 

She rubbed tiredly at the bags under her eyes and fixed her eyes on her husband, both blatantly ignoring their son. 

Simon flinches as his father yanks open another drawer filled to bursting point with odds and ends, sandwich bags and old serviettes pinned between the wooden drawer and countertop as he shoves it closed. He curses when it won’t close properly. 

“We don’t have anything,” his mother reiterates slowly, still half clocked out by the pills. 

Another cupboard door shuts harshly, crockery clattering on the other side. 

“Then fucking buy some. There are cockroaches in the cupboards and moths have eaten through the last of my goods shirts.” 

He shakes his head in wild disbelief. 

“You hoard everything under the sun. you barely clean, dinner’s never ready when I get home.” 

Simon felt himself go lightheaded. He’s been a witness to this particular scripted conversation far too many times. 

The next thing that she’ll say is– 

“I have two children to raise!” 

As if she’s ever actually awake to take care of them. 

Either you buy some or you're going back to rehab.” 

No, they can’t have her go back to rehab. Even though there was always a lot of tension in the house when his parents were fighting, it was worse when she was away. He was never particularly close with his mother, but his father tended to take his anger out on the children when she was away. 

She can’t go away again. He still has the pains from the last time she went away. 

“I don’t need to go to rehab–” 

“Yes you do. I found the pills you hid in the desk drawer.” 

“That’s none of your business, you have no right to meddle with my things!” 

“You’re an addict!” 

“So are you! Half the time you don’t show up sober from work and heaven knows you’re sky high when you crawl back home from whatever shithole you’ve been drinking in.” 

Simon’s eyes shot over to his father who raised his hands in anger, sure he was about to bring down his wrath on his mother who was already covered in half healed bruises under her shirt, Simon had seen them. 

In a split second panic, he coughs to alert both of them to his presence. 

"What do you want, boy?" His father asks, with exasperation. 

"Can't sleep," he makes a lame excuse, just for the sake of trying to avoid witnessing another bout of violence. He doesn't like hearing her cry and the last thing he needs now is for her to go back to the hospital or to rehab. 

He's been to the hospital before, but he doesn't know what rehab is. He just knows it means she'll go away for a long time and he can't have that. 

"Can't you see we're having an adult conversation? Go back to bed." 

"But I can't–"

"Then make a fucking plan, do I have to spell everything out for you?" 

Fearing what would happen if he didn't leave, Simon walks off wearily to his room and closes the door, trying his best to drown out the screaming match in the kitchen.

There's a shout and something like glass shatters on the floor, followed by more cursing and he presses his palms tightly into his ears, willing the noise to go away. 

He crawls back into bed, pulling the blanket over his head and covering his ears with the pillow, but it barely helps. The cursed walls of the house are so thin he can hear them right on the other side, screaming, swearing, mother in tears. 

His heart is racing and there's no way he'll be able to fall asleep like this. 

He needs something to help him calm down, to sleep.

Then it hits him, a genius idea, really. 

He gets out of bed and quietly opens the door, but his parents are too occupied to notice anyway as he tiptoes across the hall to his parents bedroom and pulls open the study drawer, finding the little bottle of clinking pills in his mother's jewellery box. 

He can't count very well, not over fifty. His teachers are concerned about his maths skills, but he won't need that much. His mother takes 4 to get her a good long nap. He'll take the same, it should help him quiet down the noise. 

He shakily tosses out a handful, throwing back the rest he's not going to drink before looking at the four intimidatingly large looking pills in his hand. He leaves the room before anyone can find him there and goes to the bathroom to swallow them down. He takes the bottle with him as he shuffles back to bed, just in case the four don’t help him get to sleep fast enough. 

He sets the little pill bottle on the nightstand and crawls back in under the lukewarm sheets. 

The pills were surprisingly strong, brain already feeling fuzzy and clouded as he laid his head on the pillow and tugged the blanket over his head. His movement is barely coordinated enough for him to be able to complete the action and he frowns at his hand, now an image converging and diverging in the darkness as he struggles to grasp the edge of the duvet to pull it up. 

But once he’s managed to grab hold of it, it seems as though all the strength has left his body and he cannot grip it tight enough to pull. 

The voices in the kitchen blur together and Simon can no longer distinguish one from the other as he is lulled into a void of silence. 

He’s only vaguely aware of what is going on around him, but he can hear his parents in the room, still arguing but closer now and he can hear Tommy crying. He doesn’t know how long he’s been crying, all Simon knows is that it's been a while. 

He wants to sit up, but he can’t. In his mind’s eye, he pictures himself pushing up off the bed, imagines it only vaguely in a delicate thread he’s still clinging onto consciousness with, but it's as though his body is frozen and his muscles have gone slack, he’s not lucid enough to get them to cooperate, he’s far gone enough that he accepts it as a fact he’s not even bothered by, just a state of being floating in his periphery, he’s the centre of a endless void, weightless and careless. 

His ebbing and swelling grasp on reality helps him pick up pieces of the noise. His mother tries to soothe Tommy’s crying, his father over her shoulder. And then there’s something that sounds vaguely concerned.

The barest outline of a shadow as one of the two– he can’t open his eyes to tell– looms over him. 

He hears something about pills. 

“–breathing?” 

Someone might have been touching him but he couldn’t be sure.  

“Barely.” 

“Shit. He’s taken four.” 

Something that distorts too much to make out. 

“I’d know, I count my pills–” 

The last thing he hears is something about a hospital before he barely registers a change in the weightlessness, like pressure in his brain as he’s lifted out of his bed in a suppressed whirlwind of panic.

Then it all fades to nothingness. 

2019

There’s a level of respect that Soap has to give Captain Price for his recruitment methods. 

Albeit somewhat unorthodox and having a pinch more coercion involved than he was really comfortable with, Soap knew that this was his angle since the day they met all those years ago at Credenhill for his training. 

Since then, Price has been a difficult man to pin down, finding his way into all kinds of international operations, but he’d taken a liking to Soap then, and it was foolish of him to think he’d get away from that without being roped into one of these high stakes things before Price was done with him. 

As was the way of the world, you don’t earn the respect of someone like Captain Price and think you’ll walk away with your hands clean. 

Soap knows from experience, rumours that had spread through the base at the time like wildfire, that the Captain doesn't make friends, he collects weapons. 

He’d gotten that bit of wisdom from a buddy that didn’t make it past selection at the time. Soap had never heard from him again, but he’d always remember that little thing he’d said when he noticed the man staring at Soap from across the room, arms behind his back, chin tilted up like he was breaking down his physique into stats, similar to the words printed into his dog tags. 

Height, weight, agility, speed, strength, age, fitness, and maybe, even if he didn’t want to admit it, how willing he was to sacrifice himself in the line of fire. 

Turns out martyrdom isn’t a thing easily bred out of a man fixated on his own self destruction. In standard society, such a trait might have been considered reckless or suicidal, but in this line of work, it was far more honourable, one of the reasons the job had appealed so much to him at the time. 

Now, as he sits in the faux leather seat of the plane, kneading his hands into his thighs with his headphones in, he thinks that sixteen-year-old John MacTavish was a testosterone loaded, short sighted idiot of a teenager. No child below the legal drinking age should be signing anything legally binding, especially nothing like this. 

He promised to keep himself safe, and it had taken less than a month to break that promise. He promised her he would consider her suggestion for him to resign and he really doesn’t want to do that anymore. 

Try as he might to deny it, he likes the adrenaline, how important the job makes him feel to be making a difference. 

So, no. Soap would not be throwing in the towel at twenty-five. 

 

It had been Price that dragged him into this precarious situation to begin with, so it only made sense that when he touched down in England, Price would be there waiting for him after he’d collected his suitcase. 

With a professional exchange of words, Price led him out of the airport, forgoing a much needed meal in favour of going somewhere private. Making filler small talk, Price led him over to a nondescript car in need of a repaint. 

The trunk popped open  with a chirp of the alarm and Soap hauled his suitcase into the back with a huff and shut the lid again, pretending not to feel Price's eyes on him as he turned to his side of the car. 

"How's your mum doing with this?" Price eventually asks when they're leaving the underground parking and out into the bland city air. 

It's stale and stinks of office buildings, smog and apathy. Not all that different from Glasgow, if Soap was being honest. 

"She's right pissed about it." 

"As expected," Price half grimaced as he turned out onto a road feeding deeper into the heart of the city, returning them to the circulatory system of winding roads and potholed asphalt. 

The highway promises a dead end at the other side. This job, this once-off thing for Price felt to Soap like there were a lot more strings attached than he was letting on. 

"We'll have you right back to Scotland as soon as the job's done." 

"What exactly is the job, sir?" Soap asks. 

"I'm afraid I can't tell you too much just yet, but we'll get to that soon– you mind if I smoke one?" Price cut himself off and held up a half smoked cigar in Soap's direction. 

"Go ahead." 

Soap turned his attention to the congestion of the road holding them up. His mind drifted to that morning by the airport, his mother's last words to him. 

"You promised me you wouldn't do this to yourself." His mother has said through tears welling in the corner of her eyes.

They were standing by the baggage drop and the tired woman attending his luggage ignored their emotional moment as she unceremoniously loaded his suitcase onto the conveyor belt and sent it off for loading. 

"I know, I know. But I'll make it up to you." 

"How do you possibly plan on doing that?" She was a combination of angry and defeated. 

"I don't know yet," he confessed sheepishly. "But I will find a way." 

"You better, John. You promised me you were going to leave this job behind," she reminded him. 

"It isn't that simple," he said. "I've built a life for myself there. Its a good job, with good money. Heaven knows we need it after da's passing." 

Soap clasped her fingers in his, planting a little apologetic kiss over her knuckles. Her demeanour doesn't soften in the slightest. 

"I know it's simple enough for me to know that you can replace a job, but I can't replace my son if anything were to happen to you. There's more to life than just what you want, John." 

He lets her hand go at once, averting his gaze to the boarding announcements. His flight wasn't due to leave for another hour. 

Met with no answer, she pushed on. "I know you're ambitious, John. Its one of the most admirable traits about you, but you need to learn when to let things go. Things aren't just about you. We worry. I worry, your sisters worry, we're afraid of losing you. You've had your fun, but its time to move on. Before its too late and you end up with permanent damage." 

Soap hasn't the heart to tell her he already has permanent damage and instead opts for a consolatory kiss to her forehead. 

"I'll be alright. You'll see." 

Before his mother can muster the strength for more pushback, the woman from the luggage clears her throat and they turn to meet her impatient expression. 

"If you don't mind, there are other people waiting in line." 

Reminded of the uncomfortable  situation, Soap's mouth pulled into a tight line.

"I don't appreciate being held on a string, Cap." 

“I don’t like withholding information either, but I’m afraid it isn’t my call to make here. Once we reach base we'll cover the details, make sure you know what you're getting yourself into.” 

Soap nodded but Price’s words did nothing to calm his unease. 

“Will the General be joining us?” 

“Not for the briefing, but he's given me all the necessary information to relay to you. He'll be with us in Verdansk, though." 

Verdansk. That Glasgow coffee shop conversation.  The planned attack on the airport. Soap's head was spinning with the urgency of the situation. 

“And your other man?” 

Price grimaced around the cigar, letting the smoke go before he made any attempt to respond to Soap. 

“He’ll be there. And another guy Shepherd trusts enough to be on this. But he’ll be there.” 

Frustrated with the lack of information, Soap leans his head against the window and closes his eyes, tucking his hands into the pockets of his grey hoodie. He’s half asleep a couple of minutes later, but it seems he has actually managed to get a minute of sleep in, because the scenery has drastically changed and the sun seems to sit a bit higher in the sky. 

By the look of it, they’re not far off now and will be there any minute. 

“Okay, so there’s two things you need to know about my guy,” Price begins. The cigar is gone now. Soap had definitely managed a few blessed minutes of sleep. 

“Yes?” 

“If he tells you to do something, you do it. I know you have a history of authority issues but he is not the kind of man to try any of that with. If he says he knows better than you about a certain thing, it's because he does.”

That doesn’t sit right with Soap, but he’ll take it. 

“And the other thing?” 

“Don’t ask questions about his appearance. No personal questions, either. It's for your safety, not his.” 

Soap laughs uneasily, throwing sarcasm into his response. “You make him sound real nice.” 

“He’s alright. Just a bit of an acquired taste.” 

Soap scoffed. “ Coffee is an acquired taste, saying that about a person, it just makes him sound like a dick.” 

Price gave a small laugh. “He’s really alright, Soap. But just keep in mind what I said.” 

Arrival on base proceeded with little fanfare. They stopped at the gate and Price flashed his ID, drove in and parked on his usual spot. 

They’ve got a decent bit to walk and Soap picks up on a strange sort of atmosphere as Price led him over to a room towards the back of the building, ducking them into side corridors and keeping their heads down, only briefly acknowledging the men passing them in the hallway. 

“How many people really know what’s going on about this situation?” Soap asked as they turned into an empty corridor. 

“Not many, so I suggest you think of a lie if someone asks you what you’re doing here.” 

Finally, after a good ten minutes of walking, Price stops outside a closed door at the end of a hallway, hand hovering over the door handle. 

“Remember what I said, Soap. Don’t say anything you’ll regret.” 

Price turns the doorknob and motions for Soap to step into the room. 

It's a small space. The floors are covered in cheap industrial carpeting and the room is windowless, lit by equidistant cool white fluorescent bulbs and still suffocatingly dark because of the near black paint on the walls. In the centre of the room was a long, white conference table, overlooked by a large monitor. 

There’s a poor attempt at making the room feel more homely in the form of a potted plant sitting in the corner under the monitor’s mount, but it's so obviously plastic, the small waste bin on the other end of the room looks like it cost more. 

For the moment of stale silence, the low humming of the ventilation sets Soap’s nerves on edge as it filters flavourless circulated air into the room and pushes that strange atmosphere to stand at attention. 

He’s here again. He was meant to retire. He was meant to hand in his papers for good just a week from now. A week. 

Soap feels as though the room is going to suffocate him by the time Price gestures for him to take a seat at the table opposite two other men, but he makes no move to take a seat himself. 

It's not until he looks up that Soap really realises what Price had meant about not saying anything he’d regret. 

The man adjacent to him is not much older than himself; hazel eyes and lightish brown hair buzzed short. Normal appearing with a kind demeanour, but the other, much larger man across from Soap had a more foreboding presence. 

It was almost surreal, seeing Simon Riley for the first time. Soap didn’t need Price’s confirmation to know that this was his ‘other man’, his presence spoke for itself. 

Soap understands gimmickry. He understands anonymity. Hell, he understands feeling insecure about his body, or disfigurement, or scarring. But what the fuck is the man wearing a skullfaced balaclava for? 

He’s clad head to toe in black. Dark cargo pants, heavy laced boots and thick black cotton hoodie, and a fucking black skull mask. 

Was this what Price meant by not asking questions about his appearance? No one had told him it was because the man they were meeting looked more the part of a criminal than a soldier. 

But, Soap supposes he did make a promise, and he keeps his mouth shut. 

“Seems you’ve decided to join us, Captain,” the man across from Price says. 

“Yes. had to pick this one up from the airport first. But without further ado, we should get this over with. You all make friends while I get this thing booted up.” 

Price turns to Soap. “Sergeant MacTavish, Sergeant Burns,” he hurriedly introduces the two to each other and they exchange a stiff handshake. Price makes no move to introduce him to the masked man, moving over to the monitor. 

“And you must be Lieutenant Riley,” Soap said with a measured smile, extending his hand across the table towards the black clad figure. From what little Soap could see of the man, he did not look impressed. 

Almost cruel seeming brown eyes drag over his form, from the outstretched hand to analyse his face for a moment. 

Soap’s smile wavered a bit, hand not quite so sure of its position between them anymore before he felt a rough gloved hand take his. 

"I prefer Ghost." 

Gimmickry and downright cringe. If Soap didn't know better, he might've thought the man was nothing more than a scene kid from the 2000s that didn't quite outgrow that phase in the nineteen years following. 

But maybe, he thinks as he remember's Price's words about being an acquired taste and being a good man, he supposes he shouldn't be so quick to judge. 

He can't help it sometimes. His nature is hostile even when he has no reason to be. 

"Then call me Soap if we're not on a name basis." 

The man huffed out an unimpressed acknowledgement, but the grip on Soap’s hand remained light and unintrusive. He lets it go. 

A garbled noise to their left alerts Soap to the screen starting up. 

"Let's not beat around the bush, shall we. All of you know why you are here. You are here because General Shepherd and myself trust that you are capable of getting the job done and that you understand that nothing discussed here can leave this room. Do you understand?" 

A unanimous agreement echoed across the table and Price was content to turn to the monitor to retrieve the remote.

"Over the last couple of years, there's been a series of incidents." 

Price brought up an old file on the screen. Some of the text was redacted but the relevant points highlighted. 

"In February of 2017, a large shipment of weapons and resources for explosives manufacture out of Urzikstan was found carrying only two thirds of its intended cargo. The rest remains unaccounted for, but with current Russian occupation in Urzikstan, the blame is tentatively given to General Barkov and the Russian army, but he denies any involvement." 

Price moves over to another case. 

"In July of 2018, a bomb planted in a market in Urzikstan took out half the street, killing six civilians and injuring fifty. Remains of the explosive pointed to it being made with resources from out of Urzikstan. The attack pushed a tentatively balanced agreement between the Russians and Al Qatala, the terrorist group operating in the area, to breaking point. The following conflict led to a bloodbath with Barkov and his men believing Al Qatala was trying to get the West to take note of the situation and take action against the Russians, and Al Qatala believing the Russians set them up to reestablish their hold on Urzikstan. The bomb was later proved to not have come from either, but from an unidentified outside source with the intention to stir up unrest between the groups. But it had its desired effect: four hundred innocent people lost their lives." 

Price moved onto another, this time several headlines covering the news from different angles and images of the gruesome scene. 

"Following this situation, in August of the same year, a Russian lawmaker threatening to cease the occupation of Urzikstan and order Russian forces to withdraw, was found dead after he 'fell out of' his third storey bedroom window. His pro occupation counterpart soon stepped up to fill the vacant role. There is no legitimate proof of foul play." 

Soap clenched and unclenched his hands under the table, keeping his eyes locked on the screen.

"Further, between this, spanning from October of 2016, September 2018, and what we believe might be an impending attack now, there has been a total of eight seemingly random, untraceable terrorist incidents across Europe, which have been largely downplayed by the media." 

"Wait," Soap stops him short. "How do we know of this supposed imminent threat?" 

"I've been trying to get to the bottom of this for the last four years. I've managed to get connections and I've somehow got myself an anonymous informant." 

"An anonymous informant?" Riley– Ghost asks sceptically. "What's to say this isn't some trap you're walking us into?"

Soap doesn't say anything, but his hand comes up to clutch at the metal over his heart. 

He knew this was going to be a mistake and he went ahead with it anyway. He should've know, he should've stayed home, he should have handed in those papers–

"The guy's legit. The information he's given is solid and checks out flawlessly. He's given me names, organisations, information about the Russians no one else would know. I've cross referenced the names he's given and locations they allegedly were in at the time of certain events, and it checks out." 

"He's Russian?" Burns asks with an equal tone of scepticism. "Do you think he's one of Barkov's men?" 

"I honestly can't say," Price says, shaking his head."But I'd rather take his word for it than choose not to believe him and see Makarov blow up an airport because I didn't know how to take a sign." 

Soap's hand clutched around the metal. It soothes him a bit. But not much. Not enough. 

What the fuck has he gotten himself into now?

Price clicked a button on the little black remote and a familiar face appeared on the screen. Alongside it was a list of basic personal information that had been in the file Price had shown him in Glasgow. 

He stood off to the side of the monitor as he addressed the group. 

"Vladimir Makarov has an official record of acting radically. He was observed by his teachers in school to have a very serious and driven mindset, expressing genuine interest in dangerous ideology and sometimes getting himself into physical fights. But mostly, his most worrying observed trait was being able to stir up conflict by manipulating a situation between his classmates just right, that the conflict would come about organically, just exposed by changing circumstances without changing anything about how they actually feel about each other. Just reaching the legal age, he joined the Russian military, working under –you guessed it– General Roman Barkov during his initial incursion into Uriskstan. For reasons unclear, he was dishonourably discharged after that. That said, Vladimir Makarov was born on October 4th, 1980 to a high profile family of which three of his immediate family members –his father being one of them– were outspoken politicians during the 70s and 80s, right up until the fall of the Soviet Union."

Price pressed another button and a few scans of old newspaper headlines, cover images and grainy frames from old news reports cropped onto the screen.

"From the day he was born, he was conditioned into being comfortable in front of a camera. How to act in front of outsiders and how to speak to reporters if it came to it." 

All the images were candid photographs taken of a middle aged man on various occasions, but they had something else in common. A young child, varying between the ages of what Soap judged to be five and ten, was tucked almost inconspicuously into each of the images. 

If Soap hadn't known any better, he might have thought him to be one of the crowd. But he's too well dressed and appears far too frequently for that to be the case. 

In the latest of the photos, he's seen being escorted from the scene by a handful of armed security while his father was making a speech. 

"The stress of the job was a lot to handle and word was that Makarov's father abused him and his mother during especially hard times. Whatever he was feeling at the time was only exacerbated by the discovery of his father's suicide, shortly after the fall of the Soviet Union. If he's carrying feelings from that formative time in his life as motivation for his present actions, we know what his angle of approach to his attacks are." 

"He's holding a grudge?" Ghost asks. 

"Most likely," Price confirmed. 

"Against who?" This time, it was Soap's turn to ask. 

"If he's angry at the job for making his father violent, he'd be by no doubt pissed about it all being for nothing when the fall drives his old man to suicide," Ghost explains. 

"So he's angry at the West for interfering?" Burns asks. 

"The Russian government, too, for how they handled the situation," Price adds. 

Soap frowned, recalling the information he'd been steadily soaking in over the last half hour. 

"But then why join the Russian army?" 

Price huffed. "Well, we can't speculate too much, but it could be anything from legit experience to high end connections. After all, Makarov does all his arrangements by proxy. Which is why it's so difficult to pin him down. But we have a chance now," he reminded. 

"According to my source, we have the exact time and location where Makarov will be planting the bomb. It's now our job to get there and stop him in the act. It's the only way we'll get to him now without compromising staying one step ahead." 

"We'll have to cut it very close then," Soap says, trying to keep the discomfort out of his voice. 

"When do we leave?"

"If all goes well and we keep this under the radar, we leave for Verdansk tonight." 

It isn't much longer until they're free to leave the room and Price sets them with the parting words, grave and serious,"We can't afford to screw up now. As I've said, Makarov does everything by proxy, so the fact that he wants to be there himself means he wants this to make a statement. He wants to put on a show." 

 

Soap finds himself savouring the fresh air. He finds the nearest door to the outside world and finds himself trying to piece himself back together by the wall behind the toilets. 

It probably looks a bit pathetic as he's trying to compartmentalise to make the situation seem less of a dumpster fire than it really was. 

Fuck. He knew he was going to be getting his hands dirty, but he wants no part in this. 

Trying to keep his light meal of refrigerated aeroplane sandwich down, he leans against the wall of his secluded corner and takes a couple of deep breaths. 

To hell with trying to explain this one to his mother. He's damn well fucked now. He squeezes his eyes shut and musters a desperate prayer. 

Asking for strength, for success so that he doesn't have to walk away with blood on his hands or be sent home to his mother in an urn. 

As he opens his eyes, Soap notices a flask of dark movement to his right, the door opening along the wall and of all people, Ghost stepping out. 

He's lighting himself a cigarette with his back turned to Soap. Without a doubt, his mask is pulled up slightly above his mouth and he hears the man mutter a curse when the cigarette won't light in the bitter little breeze that's decided to kick up. 

He doesn't know Soap is there and Soap doesn't say anything. 

But as he watches Ghost walk off in whichever direction with his cigarette in hand, watching those broad shoulders shift with every motion of his body, the muscles pull the fabric of that hoodie taut over his skin, Soap thinks his long gone companion from training was right. 

Captain Price does not make friends, he collects weapons.

[magnuficent76]

🖊

Holy shit you on the inbox....... This is so awesome hello.

UHM um this is my oc her name is Melaine. She is a Normal Girl who is a Bug also

A doctor by profession, a biologist by heart, and a mutant through experimentation. Melaine T. Curatella was a renowed name in medicine, a part of one of the most famous families in the interplanetary system, until some horrid event lead her far outside the bounds of sanity... and now, who knows what she's after, using mutagenics and science horrifically in some far off planet? There's only speculation to be done.

Originally from Promethea, came to Pandora with a mission to help everyone who needed medical assistance, eventually ended up setting up her own hospital for the same purpose (free healthcare W). She is surprisingly rarely ever attacked simply because she is nice to people and as it turns out, even the worst of mercenaries would rather not die because of an unaddressed broken bone. Do not mistake this kindness for tolerance however, because she's more than capable enough to defend herself should a threat arise (Trust me scalpel stabs are Way Worse than regular stabs). Extremely competent in what she does to a scary degree, often being called "the Angel of the Wastes" for it. She could probably rearrange someone's entire skeleton if she was up to it. Deep down she has a lot of pent upanger because of how everything in this planet just is so exploited, so ignored, how everyone is clearly struggling but can't do anything about it because of the ideals that are perpetuated. She hates hates hates hates it so bad and she WANTS to do something too but, where is she even supposed to start right ? Well, "not letting everyone die constantly because of turf wars and meaningless violence" is probably a start.

Gets really passionate about everything really fast. Once she decides she likes or supports something, it would take hell freezing over to make her change her mind. This stubborness and resilience is what allows her to keep moving even throughout the most awful of situations, even in the face of the worst of adversity, she will come out on top covered in blood and permanently changed but she will stand by her extremely strict set of morals or so fucking help me. Melaine has a bad tendency to overlook special case scenarios because of this as well because she really dislikes the idea of being wrong about anything, which is how she feels after you tell her that things aren't just forever set in stone. Probabilities and other such interference don't matter to her, because only one version of every situation exists in her mind. This severely limits her ability to navigate new situations because she doesn't have the proper equipment to understand them, and it frustrates her beyond belief, so she does anything and everything to classify it as something she's already familiar with. Nothing else matters but my understanding of it, my classification, my experience, MY method. This woman would rather spend 5 years on the same argument than admit she maybe miscalculated. Totally not taking after her mom <3

After everything goes down in the story, she has to escape everything and ends up crashing back on her home planet, which is ironic for her giving she said she'd never go back under any circumstances, but I think the circumstance of "My husband is possibly dead and a company wants to take me + our 2 young kids out too just for being associated with him" is kind of a special case. This does not make her feel hopeless as much as it just makes her ANGRY. Injustice runs loose everywhere, with the worst people you've ever seen having most of the power and thus perpetuating it, while you're just getting kicked down over and over after climbing the ladder. It's humiliating, it's awful, and it makes her so fucking mad. This kickstarts her descent into madness and obsession after the concept of justice, something she herself has to do, because clearly nobody else knows how to. No one else knows justice how she does, and therefore, she must be the one to instill it.

Has been fascinated by insects and other arthropods ever since she begun to talk. Most namely, the Praying Mantis. If left to her own devices she would infodump about bugs for days at a time. Their exoskeletons and surprisingly tough claws and their big stupid eyes just captivate her, to a point where almost everything she owns has a mantis pin. This fixation takes a weirder turn later in the story as she attempts to BECOME a mutant version of one, often using several chemicals and other substances on herself to achieve what she considers "the perfect predator form". She's very normal about it and she would never perform any particularly unethical experiments to achieve such a goal. She is not doing it for any nefarious reasons (like say, especialized murder) and would never awaken cannibalistic urges within herself after all that. Don't worry about it !👍

Lookit her <3

Despite it all, she loves a lot. She is enamored by the beauty of life and understanding it is only her goal because of how much she appreciates every little detail of it as well. She loves helping people and she loves her husband and she just wants to keep loving things but unfortunately the world wants to make her Insane Constantly.

[pruneunfair]

"My feelings on" part 4: into the light once again and how it only takes a few gross tropes to taint what could've been a perfect piece of work.

I remember seeing the trailer for it so many times back in 2018 but I never got to read all of it since Tappytoons has a 30 ad policy just to get enough to buy on chapter. It's really good, wholesome families, sibling dynamics, a smart villain, and a magic system so the fantasy aspect wont be abandoned for cheap fanservice.

The protagonist used to be known as Alisa, 4th princess of Edenverre and was mistreated by family and servants with the exception of her younger sister, the golden child Marianne who is later revealed to be the mastermind behind the false accusations of poisoning Marianne Alisa faces. She is executed by her own family and comes back as the princess of the enemy empire Elmire, now known as Aisha she swears to one day get justice on her sister.

The revenge plot may be overrated but Into the light does it well enough that I could look past it. The politics and world building are fantastic and the element spirits low-key reminded me of gacha studio or genshin impact characters, and characters like Ashley and Mina aren't enemies for Aisha to defeat, they are people who make mistakes and are allowed to grow.

My favorite part of course is the villainess Marianne, she geninuely scares the hell out of me with her uncanny valley vibe she emits, there's always something so off about her and she reminds be almost of a monster who would star in the conjuring. Marianne has the ability to brainwash others and while I can't tell which, she either steals Alisas body or she causes an illusion affect to alter her and Alisas forms to the family of Edenverre (Really confusing but i like it) and while Marianne doesn't have as much screen time as I wished I enjoyed her while I could, because into the light treats Marianne with respect as an antagonist.

Marianne barely showing up may not even be a bad thing entirely, because while revenge is part of it, the story is built more on healing from your trauma and surrounding yourself with positive influences so it's reasonable that most chapters would center around Aishas powers and her family.

My only small gripe is a petty one but I'm pretty sure the author is an only child 😭. I'm not saying that Aisha and Ysis should be full on murdering eachother but their so unbelievably protective of eachothers feelings to the point of Ysis disliking the idea of any man wanting to marry his sister in the future, ive even seen some fans get concerned that it was going into a brothe-sister thing (especially when he was included as an option for men for Aisha to be attracted to ick)

As someone who has lived with 3 siblings, the excitement for a new baby sibling dies after 3 weeks at most. But hey, they do got a large palace, maybe Ysis just had the luxury of not needing to listen to his baby sister cry at night. I also don't understand why Ysis would immediately believe that Aisha was a reincarnated soul that could remember her past. Like I know he loves her but if my sister started to tell me she was the executed princess in a past life I'd be more concerned.

I wish I could say that was the only thing I didn't like.. unfortunately as much as I love into the light once again, it doesn't stay great for very long. That was my only small gripe because I have a lot of large problems with the love interests

Aisha is 14 and turns 15 at some point but for most of the series, she's a young teen and all her love interests are leaps and bounds older then her. Starting with the big one, Luminas, a 2000 year old king of light who meets Aisha WHEN SHES STILL A BABY!

"Damn, too early, ill give it 13 more years."

Not even the second male lead is safe, Veon is the youngest of the male leads and he's basically watched Aisha grow up since he was Ysis's friend. I can't remember his exact age but I know he is at least 20 which is just... that doesn't make it any better!. There's also apparently some dude named Arsen who's also at least 25 years old and one of Alisas childhood friends, I've heard people say he's another love interest but I haven't seen anything confirmed myself so I'll just hope my 2nd favorite character isn't going to be going after minors.

I'm starring to think the author has an age-gap fetish at this point.

Quick thing I wanted to bring up, a lot of the comments on this chapter have been uncomfortable not just with the age gap and pedophilic weirdness but also this dress. It doesn't look bad but it's built like a maternity dress and for some reason she looks pregnant in a lot of shots which just.. I'm gonna hope we're all just overthinking that one because the last thing this manhwa needs is implications that Aisha will get pregnant young.

While there is a lot of people who are rightfully uncomfortable with the 2000 year age gap, there is also a lot of people justifying it. "He treats Aisha well though!" "It was normal in that time!" "Your just being too soft! Let Aisha be happy!!"

Let me bring up some real history for minute.

This is Isabella of Valois during her wedding with Richard II, she is the youngest bride currently known about in the medieval era

Isabella was only 6 years old when she married her 29 year old husband.

This is Margaret Beaufort.

She was 12 when she got married to her 24 year old husband and 13 years old when she gave birth to Henry VII

And probably one of the more well known examples, Catherine Howard.

She could have been as young as 15 and as old as 17 when she married Henry VIII who was 49.

Now did these examples make your skin crawl? Did they make you feel disgusted? Well they should, just because it was normal in that era, doesn't mean it's all of a sudden fine. There isn't even the cheap excuse that Aisha is technically over 20 given her mental age since Alisa died at 14 and Aisha is very clearly still mentally a young teenager.

Luminas and Veon are definitely nowhere near the personalities of men like Henry VIII but that also doesn't make it okay either. Especially when Veon basically watched Aisha grow up and she's his friends little sister! and Luminas knew her since she was an infant. Would it be that hard for Aisha to at least be a young adult and not a 14 year old. Because it really feels like Luminas is waiting for her to be legal since he already tells her she's his ideal woman when she's still a 14 year old.

Conclusion: Into the light once again is a beautiful story about healing from your trauma and the writting and the characters are just amazing. But it all feels like it's backpeddled when it's so heavily romanticizing or just straight up ignoring the fact that Aisha is basically a grooming victim, the relationship is practically covered in glitter to make it look better, "Sure Luminas is 2000 years old and Aisha isn't even an adult but at least he's so nice to her and he teachers her how to summon spirits! He'll always protect her!" Because while Luminas will (hopefully) never hurt her. Real groomers absolutely will. It pushes the message that as long as the man who is old enough to be your dad is sweet to you and protects you, then it's fine if he has feelings for you. Intentional or not. A story about healing from trauma supporting relationship where ones a child and ones a god with a mature mental age to boot is kind of like when movie producers fucked up the original meaning of Lolita.

Coming up on the next "My feelings on":

[chidoroki]

182 Days of TPN - Day 95

Chapter 95: “Let’s Go Home”

Oliver is essentially the male-version of Emma with his view of Goldy Pond very similar to what she believed of Grace Field and the demon world itself.

We love a supportive parent, even if their kids wish for destruction. And aww the trio are so small and adorable. I’d love a story just about them and their several years spent at Goldy Pond. Hell, there needs to be more content of the GP trio in general. I’ll take literally anything.

Not to discredit Nigel and Violet, but it would be so much work for two people to watch over and guide 50+ kids, even with Lucas going with them.

Catch me crying over how sweet Oliver is. Also, that tiny flashback of Lucas being confused about Adam is cute. That kid certainly has a lot of questions surrounding him.

Y’all are just a bunch of self-sacrificial idiots and I love it. Ray could get along with them so well. I’d die to see him interact with the whole crew too.

Lucas once again being such a great dad by owning up to his mistakes (though I don’t think this one was even that bad since he was also suffering) and refusing to leave any of the children behind. I usually see people wish about how entertaining it could’ve been if Isabella met Yuugo, but Lucas is the real parent she needs to chat with. She could learn a thing or two from him.

Look how much my boy has grown! From not wanting to escape GF with the younger children simply because they were too young to understand and were bound to be a huge burden outside the wall, to now refusing to give up on anyone, no matter their age, potential, or how injured they are. Emma’s influence is so strong.

I wanna thank these kids for being so kind and ready to help out, but I also feel the need to apologize to them because aside from Theo, I remember none of their names. Wonderful additions to the family regardless!

Oh, I gotta say sorry to Adam as well because I forgot he was still around.. he’ll definitely be a big help during the long trip back.

Next on my list on content wish list is more of Ray just wearing the turtleneck. I know I should focus more on how he’s basically reciting both Norman & Emma’s words here, but c’mon, the turtleneck is such a good look! (Also, he looks super cute here.. and calm, which is surprising since he’s about to cauterize Emma’s wounds. I’d be freaking out but hey, he’s seems confident enough about it, so good on him.)

Aahh, even more memories I desperately wanted to see.

Emma’s dream continues to flourish and so quickly too, as it’s only been about two weeks since the escape. And Ray’s eyes look so pretty here wth.

Favorite panel/moment:

I can’t possibly just choose between these two moments because they’re equally as important to me as they are to the characters. Firstly, we got Ray offering his assistance to Violet & Nigel by guiding the 50+ kids along the three week route back to the shelter. This is so very important because he’s choosing other people over Emma aka his best friend/the girl he would give his very life for/the girl he promised to protect at all costs. This something he probably would’ve never done a couple months ago, but because it was Emma’s hope for everyone to survive and escape GP, of course he’s going to take charge of her wish when she’s down and out.

“He chose to escort a large group of children to safety, knowing he would be on edge for three weeks constantly worrying about Emma’s condition, instead of making the quick trip back with Yuugo because he knew how important it was to her that those kids, new members of their family, remained safe and feel what true freedom is.” - me, once again quoting myself because I’m lazy.

It isn’t like Ray’s making this decision haphazardly either. He goes the extra step to make sure Emma is well protected and given the best chance at survival, which means he’s gotta put all his trust into Yuugo (aka the dude he very much despised the previous day for allowing Emma to be snatched up by the poachers in the first place) to bring her back to the shelter in time. Also, this is the first time Yuugo calls Ray by name and I love how it parallels Yuugo using Emma’s name in ch90, as he agrees to follow each kid’s respective plans on both occasions.

[horizon-verizon]

What makes me laugh about Nettles and Daemon's fan logic is that he thinks that if Daemon hadn't slept with/made her, he would have let Rhaenyra kill her. Like, Daemon would have no problem letting Rhaenyra kill a poor innocent girl, because Daemon is an evil man. The logic of these people, my god...

I'm sorry, "made her"? Like he was her dad or that he raped her?

As for people thinking Daemon would allow Rhaenyra to execute Nettles without having slept with Nettles or having some sort of romance with her maybe their way of using his "family first" character trait against others. Rhaenyra is family in nearly every sense of the word while Nettles can't be proven--reliably through just text, bc the text by itself alone doesn't lead the reader into thinking that she is his bio daughter....context does, though--that she has any blood relation to him, but the text/his reactions do suggest that they had some sort of bond. So they may reason that there is no way that the bind could have been just platonic if there was no blood b/t the two.

Perhaps they are right about there being sexual relations but they went in the "reverse": instead of them being bound by blood from Daemon's sexual relations with someone in the past, they think he's having sexual relations with Nettles in the present.

It also uses the already-there idea that he was incapable or very unwilling to form any sort of bond outside his own family, which admittedly, he wasn't (willing). I happen to think that because Nettles was so young, of a lower class and of the lowest, and a girl, Daemon didn't really see her as a threat even with Sheepstealer (she only rode him for a year or so) + their being alone on a mission + her own obvious bravery and sense of loyalty softened him up towards her to allow for such a bond + his already having lost 4 children/"real" family (Visenya, Jacaerys, Lucerys, Viserys [II]; the last who everyone thought was lost at sea). But the bio-daughter theory is getting more and more attractive to me.

Daemon, I think, wouldn't go out of his way to prevent--in general--the deaths of kids or women or whatever specifically during wartime. At the same time, I do not think he goes out of his way to destroy children's/women's lives to feel in control or take pleasure in that. For him--what I think--it's likely this: "It's war, people are going to die and unless there is a strategic way of going out of one's way, there's no point in looking out for the small person, I gotta focus on us [his family/the blacks]". Is this compassionate? Hell no! Is this altruistic? God no. Rather it proves how self-interested he is. But it doesn't show any exceptionality to his moral code, from your typical aristocrat, either that would justify the idea of his being the "ultimate" evil in this particular story.

Rhaenyra, throwing her party making her youngest V boy son her heir, mimics Aegon II's throwing a party for the death of her other son Lucerys while the coffers are dry--probably thinking she needs to show her/her son's prestige and might as well as take some sort of revenge against her brother. No, she wasn't thinking of the smallfolk as much as we know a leader should, mainly thinking about safety & how to obtain and maintain control for herself and her kids. However, I don't think that people should have ever made the mistake of thinking that she was this person or that this was a story for that in the first place. that's Dany's arc, not Rhaenyra's. Rhaenyra grows up in a very privileged (classwise) position, and like Sansa, will likely grow with some royal pride as well as use that pride to make up for the misogynist attacks/undermining used against her. Think of Elizabeth I and Catherine the Great. (Intersectionality is a blessing, y'all. but just remember that Rhaenyra's class and Queenship put her on more of an edge over Nettles, who definitely did nothing wrong or even could be told of doing something suspicious. Rhaenyra was misogynoirist towards her.) Like Daemon, the smallfolk's well-being is not at the forefront or even a primary concern. And she's probably thinking--sometimes when maybe it's at the back of her head...maybe--that she is better for these people in the long run anyway, compared to her brother...which she wouldn't be totally wrong about but again her primary reasoning for going for the throne has always been because she wanted it and her father named her as heir AND she faced harassment from the greens. "So they might as well continue on, give it all they got".

Again, this is what I think these two would be like. And coming from those askers who kept giving me "reasons" why everyone should hate Rhaenyra or see her as exceptionally evil and who would--either in the same Tumblr or other social media accounts, usually men--express how they do not care about the human race so much as their own families....seems hypocritical.

[wind-becomes-lightning]

fwb

had thoughts! wrote them out! this makes sense for like 2 people! :D

been talking with @kankuroplease about yuuta recently and had this in mind last night and thought i'd write it out today. kinda clunky because I really need to find a voice for either of them still

my baby Ko, Yuuta of KPZ

ikigai au.

not beta read nobody cares for these mini fics so if you find a typooo wow easter came early!

Ko rolled down from Yuuta’s lap letting herself fall back into the cushions of his bed while he was doing whatever he needed to do to get himself cleaned up. Her face felt hot and sweaty, her body was entirely satisfied and she ignored the nagging feeling deep inside her completely, which she had become very good at.

She wondered how smoking would be like now, just step out into the cold night still naked and have a cigarette to quiet down the thoughts streaming back in now that they were done. But she didn’t smoke because it made her cough and tasted bad and was generally bad for one’s health. So instead she drank a lot, why the hell would she not.

Yuuta pushed her shoulders over so that her face landed full frontal in the pillow that had been beneath her head. He took parts of her hair into his hands and went through it with a hair brush, something he often did after their nightly meetups. Brushing hair seemed to calm him down in the way Ko imagined a cigarette would calm her down. She never complained. At least he got her hair back in order before she left.

“You know I always thought your father had great hair,” Yuuta said and strung one long strand around his finger. “Very long and wild.”

Ko let out a deep sigh that was half muffled from the pillow: “Please don’t tell me you also wanted to fuck my dad.”  Yuuta had a thing for older men and women Ko had learned eventually.

He bound her hair with her usual red ribbon and barked a laugh. “Well, he was already kind of old when I was young and then he died before I could even consider it. But I’ve seen pictures of him when he was young…”

“Please do not go on.” She turned herself around underneath him and pressed a finger to his cheek. “I really don’t want to know.”

Yuuta grinned: “I’ve seen your Sexy Jutsu too, you know. You look like a young version of him if you turn and I know you know that.” He bowed down a little. “It’s hot.”

“Oh shut up,” Ko pushed him off her again and he fell to her side with laughter. He wasn’t too serious, at least she hoped so, about her father who would by now be 60 or so, but he was correct that she did look like him if she used the Sexy Jutsu and he was right that she did know it looked good on her.

He yawned and pulled a blanket over his still naked body to keep warm. “Are you staying the night?” Yuuta was a nice person, so he always offered even if he knew what her reply would be.

“No, I don’t actually sleep with people I sleep with.” Ko always replied the same thing.

Usually he let it go by this point, asking  her when she would be back or if she would be back, discussing his schedule and hers just to meet up again at night for a few hours of shared fun. People who didn’t know either of them very well would have thought that they are in some way dating or on their way there, but Yuuta and Ko were both in agreement that this was not how their relationship would ever go. Casual sex? Yes. Dating? Never.  Too incompatible.

And there was the other thing, the thing Yuuta let go every time he asked her to sleep over and she said no, the fact that there had been someone that had slept over at Ko’s place for years. Someone she had broken all the rules for that she had set herself.

“Well, unless the person is special,” Yuuta finally said what had been on his mind every night. “Then you can make an exception.”

He turned over and winked at her, Ko’s insides cramping together as if someone had punched it. “It was a mistake,” she excused herself. “I won’t let it happen again.”Yuuta laughed, a deep throat laugh that had Ko feel shame on her face. He was mocking her, openly showing how much he did not believe in her reply. Ko shook the last part of the blanket from her shoulders and grabbed her thighs from the sofa on the opposite side of the room.

“Why don’t you just be honest with him? I don’t understand that about you,” Yuuta said to the ceiling more than to Ko. “I think you both could come to an easy understanding if you would just tell him how you feel.”

Just for once in your life be honest! Ko could practically hear the voice screaming in her head. The way Konohamaru had pressed her down in their fight, his nails buried deep into her shoulders as she lay on the cold ground beneath him. His enraged face had appeared in her mind at least twice since they had parted like this.

She bit her lip. “I don’t know what you mean.” Lying and pretending to be out of the loop were her default settings.

A pillow hit her head, apparently Yuuta had thrown it at her. Ko turned around to find him with his arm still up, the blonde side of his hair shining in the moonlight.

“You’re in love with him,” he said matter of factly. “It is obvious.”

Ko picked the pillow up and threw it right back at him. “Whatever man.” She didn’t feel like arguing something that felt completely silly to her.

“I’m pretty sure, despite all your shortcomings - of which are many as far as I know- he is in love with you too, so I don’t - I just don’t understand why you don’t get it together and just date for real.” Yuuta put his head on his flat hand. “I guess it is because he is waiting for you to admit it and you can’t be honest to his face.”

Yuuta understood her well, that was the reason Ko had chosen him as a casual partner in the first place. Still, now, she wished he hadn’t nailed the issue with such ease.

It wasn’t like she hadn’t asked herself the same thing before. What it was that forced her to hold back so much. When Konohamaru had screamed at her to tell her something that was real her mouth had done nothing but run dry as if all the words in the world had left it. It had felt like her whole body had strained itself against her confession and so she had not said it. Still not.

“Love is scary.” She said eventually. “I would rather not indulge it too much … maybe it will just go away.”

The Yamanaka laughed again. “Well that was almost an admittance of your feelings, I’m proud of you.” He winked. “Love is scary, that is true. But if both people love each other it is the most beautiful thing in the world. You should give it a try sometime.”

“Like you did?” She put her head to the side. “Only to be left behind?”

Yuuta said nothing for a moment, his eyes losing focus as he got lost in his memories for a moment. Ko clipped her skirt shut and then snapped her finger. “See, it ruined you - it still ruins you. Love only left a Daisuke shaped hole in your life that nobody can ever fill.”

He focused back on her now, a light crossing his eyes. With one quick movement he ripped away the sheet and got out of his own bed, walked over to Ko, leaned over her and tapped her chin.

“You are right, he did leave a big hole in my life that can’t be filled.” He smiled. “But I don’t regret having loved and I don’t have issue admitting that these moments of sex while fun and a good distraction, could never compare to the way it would be if he were still around. I don’t shy away from saying he was special - would be special.”

Yuuta steadied her so she could grab her sandals and put them on. “Look, I can’t deny that it is painful and scary and terrible to love someone, but I think despite it all, it is worth it, because there is not a small possibility you would be very happy. I still chose to believe that.”

In many ways Yuuta and Ko were similar, but Ko certainly didn’t share Yuuta’s optimism. Too long had she lived in a world that was built on lies, often her own, to now believe in the good of the world.

Ko looked away. “I’m sorry I brought him up.” She meant it.

“It’s fine,” he pulled a strand from behind her ear and let it fall over it. “I should have told Daisuke more about how I felt, so don’t be like me and make the same mistake. Just be honest.”

Maybe, she thought. Maybe some time she will. Ko looked up into Yuuta’s smiling face and knew he was rooting for her to do the thing he saw as the right thing, even if that meant their encounters needed to end. Not that he needed her to be around, as Yuuta had plenty of lovers to choose from. He was a good friend, maybe a better friend than Ko even deserved.

“I’ll be back tuesday”, she said and his smile faded. “About midnight.”

Yuuta sighed and let go of her shoulders, resigning himself to the fact that he had at least tried to convince her. “Tuesday, midnight. Got it.” Then he caught himself again and winked: “Unless you meet Konohmaru in a bar again, right?”

The hair on Ko’s neck stood up as if she had been struck by lightning. “Shut up,” she said and then, whispering: “But yes.” 

[thenightmareofyourdrems]

@dcliriouslydelightful | x

❝ What, you don't want me to go with you? ❞

DELIRIUM FOLLOWS HER brother like the flat, shifting form of a shadow. An unfittingly small and colorful shadow; something not resembling a shadow at all, really, but who's certainly ACTING like one.

And if Dream knows anything about shadows, it's that they're impossible to SHAKE.

❝ You're gonna need someone to keep you out of trouble. Or— what if you get bored? ...What if someone does something really, really horrible and no one's there to hear you make even the tiniest of sounds? ❞

What if she missed him too terribly? What if he never came back? A CENTURY is a very long time to go without one's big brother, and she does NOT intend to go a century more.

                ˜”*°•.        A  realm for  each  of the  Endless ;  kingdoms dressed  in  so  many  colors ,  so many  shapes  and forms.  Each  realm meant  to  resemble the  ruler , the  purpose .  Each  kingdom  meant to  belong  to one,  be  shared with  none .  Interfarance forbidden .  Even  when in  jeopardy,  siblings ignoring  the  other’s needs .  Merely  watching, observing ,  only  to  finally  turn to  their  reign , their  duties .  Familial bounds  sacrificed  in   the  name  of  godly  law . But  even  the strictest  laws  were breakable .  Even  the  oldest  of rules  were  ignorable . He’d  done  it himself .  His  visit  to Delirium  far  from social ,  far  from casual .  He’d  gotten her  involved  only to  deny  her the  choice  of interfering .  He’d  pulled her  into  the game  only  to rob  her  of  her turn . And  it  was not  fair ,  he knew .  But  he couldn’t  risk  having  more  people endangered  because  of some  foolish  vendetta.  

❝ I  will  not  get in  trouble . ❞  Voice  was calm ,  yet  tone firm ,  determined .  He was  not  going to  allow  Delirium to  accompany  him  in this  chaos .  In  a  game rather  dangerous ,  rather risky .  And  he  didn’t believe that  she   could   help  him  either . She  was  young . She  was  not accustomed  to  this kind  of  situations. She  was   not ready  to  interfere . And  perhaps ,  however deeply  he  might have  missed  him , paying   this  visit had  proven  rather foolish .

❝ And  neither will  you . ❞  Because she  was  staying there ,  in  her kingdom ,  her  realm . Far  from  the ravenous  Hell  and their  arrogant  sibling .  ❝ My  arrival here  was  a mistake .  You  should forget  that  you  saw  me . ❞  

[edgineering-writes]

Elara's Mistake

A story with a plot built on Perchance.org/ai-chat

I took the structure and edited it to meet my own standards, taking almost as much time as it would to write, but with twists and turns that the LLM introduced into the plot.

This specific writing took the LLM plot twists to a far darker line than I would go normally.  This is a piece that is not consensual to start, and the consent eventually given is forced / coerced.  It is fantasy, and should be treated as such.

CW/Tags: BDSM, heavy, impact play, chastity, orgasm denial, forced oral, female sub, female dom, CNC, rape, self bondage, caught, humiliation, collar, slave, forced lesbian, implied forced bi

Elara is a young, shy, yet curious college student who has recently moved into an off-campus apartment to escape the strict confines of dormitory life. She's been exploring her sexuality in the privacy of her new room, often indulging in self-bondage sessions to satisfy her submissive desires. With raven-black hair that falls in soft waves down her back and piercing green eyes, she has a gentle demeanor that contrasts with her hidden kinks. She's an art student with a penchant for the avant-garde, often lost in thought as she sketches scenes of mythical creatures and bound figures in her notebook. Her shyness often makes it difficult for her to express her desires to others, leading her to seek solace in her secret hobby.

June is Elara's outgoing and adventurous roommate, studying psychology with a keen interest in human behavior. She's the life of the party, often bringing friends over and filling their apartment with laughter and music. With a head of fiery red hair and a mischievous smile, she's a stark contrast to Elara's reserved nature. June has a tendency to snoop, driven by her curiosity about the inner workings of people's minds. Her curiosity is both her best and worst trait, often leading her to uncover secrets she wasn't meant to find. Despite her outgoing exterior, she's a caring and empathetic soul who tries to understand the people around her, even if their interests are a little...unconventional.

~~~~

Setting: Elara had been planning her latest self-bondage session for days, meticulously setting up her room with soft, comfortable restraints. She'd even bought a new set of fur-lined handcuffs she'd been eyeing at a local boutique. With the apartment to herself for the evening, she felt safe to indulge in her desires. Unbeknownst to her, June had decided to cut her study group short and return home early. As Elara lies bound on her bed, lost in the sensory experience of her self-imposed captivity, she hears the front door open and the unmistakable sound of June's laughter echoing through the hallway. Panic flutters in her chest as she realizes she's about to be caught in a very compromising position.

~~~~

The apartment buzzes with the sudden influx of energy as the front door swings open, revealing June with a gaggle of friends in tow. Elara's heart hammers in her chest, her breath quickening as the sound of their laughter draws closer to her sanctuary. She's sprawled on the bed, bound by velvet-covered cuffs that loop around her wrists and ankles, attached to the sturdy frame with an unyielding timed lock that won't release her for another 30 minutes. A soft, black blindfold shields her eyes, heightening her other senses and leaving her vulnerable to the whims of fate. A shiver of anticipation—or perhaps fear—runs down her spine as the muffled giggles and chatter crescendos in the hallway outside her door.

Pushing open Elara's door with a cheeky grin, expecting to find her roommate buried in art books or lost in a daydream, she instead sees the unmistakable form of Elara, bound and blindfolded on the bed. "What the hell, Elara, are you okay? Who did this to you?" Her voice is a mix of shock and concern, the laughter from the hallway momentarily silenced by the scene before her.

Panic wells in her throat, and she gathers her nerves, hoping to play off the situation. "June, it's...it's nothing. Just a little art project. A...performance piece," she stammers, her voice a tapestry of embarrassment. "Could you just...turn off the light and close the door?" She gives a feeble laugh, hoping it's convincing enough to cover the truth.

June's eyes widen at Elara's flustered explanation, but she quickly recovers, a mischievous glint in her eye. She waves her friends off with a casual flair. "Oh, sorry guys, wrong room!" She whispers loudly, her voice carrying just enough to be heard. She shuts the door with a click and leans against it, her smile growing wider. "Well, Elara, if this is your idea of an art project, you're definitely going places." She crosses the room, her curiosity piqued. "But if you need help with your...project, I've got a thing or two learned in my psych classes."

Elara feels the heat rise in her cheeks, a silent 'no' screaming in her mind. But she can't bring herself to refuse June's offer, especially not now. She takes a deep breath, the leather of the blindfold tightening slightly around her eyes. "June, I know this is weird, but it's something I do to...to relax." She tries to keep her voice steady, hoping her roommate will just leave it at that. "Could you just leave me to it?"

June's smile widens as she crosses the room, her eyes gleaming with the excitement of a new discovery. She sits on the bed, straddling Elara's hips with surprising grace. "Elara, sweetie, I've heard those...sounds coming from your room for weeks now. And if this," she says, gesturing to the intricate web of ropes that encase Elara's limbs, "is what relaxes you, then I'm all for it. But let's make it a real experience, shall we?"

"June, please, I appreciate the concern, but I'm not into...that," Elara says firmly, tugging at the restraint around her wrists. The velvet is soft against her skin, but the leather beneath is unyielding. She can feel her cheeks burning with embarrassment, and she's aware of the dampness between her legs, but she tries to ignore it, focusing on the need to maintain her privacy.

"Oh, come on, Elara," June says, her voice a playful purr. "I've seen the way you look at me sometimes. You're curious, aren't you?" She leans back slightly, allowing Elara to feel the heat radiating from her core. "And if you don't want to be tied up here all night, this is what you're going to have to do." She wiggles her hips slightly, the fabric of her skirt brushing against Elara's face.

"June, please, get off," Elara whispers, her voice trembling slightly. She feels a strange mix of fear and excitement, her body responding in ways she wishes it wouldn't. "I'm serious, I don't want you to see..." She trails off, her mind racing with the potential consequences of her secret being fully exposed.

Leaning back, June's eyes flicker to the open drawer of toys. "Looks like someone's been busy," she says, her voice a sultry mix of amusement and challenge. "But since you're already all dressed up..." She shifts her weight, moving closer to Elara's face. "You might as well make good use of that mouth." Her tone is commanding, yet there's a teasing lilt to it that suggests she's enjoying the situation more than Elara is comfortable with.

Elara's cheeks burn as she feels the warmth of June's thighs against her face. She tries to shake her head, the soft fabric of the blindfold brushing against her cheeks, but the motion is limited by the restraint. She catches a whiff of something faintly musky and sweet, and realizes with a jolt that June isn't wearing any underwear. The scent of her arousal fills the air, making Elara's breath hitch. "June, please, I didn't mean it like that," she whispers, her voice strained. The softness of the velvet contrasts with the tension in her voice. She can feel the heat of June's body, the anticipation building within her own. Despite her protests, she can't deny the wetness pooling between her legs. Her body betrays her, yearning for something she's not quite ready to admit she wants.

June's mischievous grin widens as she slides that last inch closer, pressing her warm, wet center against Elara's mouth. Her voice is a seductive purr as she says, "Oh, I know you didn't mean it like that, but you're in no position to refuse now, are you?" She leans back, her hands reaching for the blindfold's ties, loosening them just enough to slip it off. The room's light floods Elara's vision, leaving her blinking and disoriented. June's eyes sparkle with a newfound authority. "But, since we're already here, I think I'll have a little taste of your art project." She shifts her weight, aligning her hips with Elara's face. "Eat me," she commands, her voice low and insistent. Her hand drifts to Elara's hair, threading through the strands. "And I'll see what other...inspiration I can find in your drawer."

The sudden light blinds Elara momentarily, leaving her blinking and disoriented. She tries to turn her face away, but June's hand is firm in her hair, guiding her back. The scent of June's arousal is now unmistakable, and it sends a thrill through Elara's body that she can't ignore. She whispers, "June, please don't make me," but her voice is weaker than she intends. Her eyes dart to the drawer, fearful of what June might discover.

With a wicked smile, June tightens her grip on Elara's hair, tugging her head back into place. "I didn't ask, I told," she murmurs, her voice low and authoritative. She grinds her hips slightly, sliding Elara's nose through her slick folds, leaving a trail of wetness before pressing her pussy firmly against Elara's mouth. "You're going to be a good little slut for me, aren't you?"

Elara's eyes widen with shock, and she can't help but let out a muffled protest as June's sex presses against her lips. Her body is a riot of conflicting emotions—fear, arousal, and the thrill of the unexpected. Despite her protests, she feels her tongue dart out instinctively, tasting the salty-sweetness of her roommate. She whimpers against June's skin, the sound muffled by the intimate embrace.

June's grip on Elara's hair tightens slightly as she feels the tentative touch of Elara's tongue. "Mmm, that's it," she encourages, rocking her hips in a slow, deliberate rhythm. She watches Elara's reactions with a twisted sense of satisfaction, seeing the struggle in her eyes as she's forced to submit to her new role. With her free hand, she reaches over to the nightstand, her fingertips brushing against the cool metal of the nipple clamps. She holds them up with a grin, watching Elara's eyes follow the movement. "Looks like you're a natural," she says, her voice filled with amusement. "Now, let's see how well you handle these."

With June's hand fisted in her hair and the wet heat of her pussy muffling her voice, Elara's no's become little more than whimpers. She tries to shake her head, a silent protest against this unintended intimacy, but the movement is stifled by June's firm grip. The hand at her hair tugs slightly, eliciting a soft moan that she hadn't meant to release. The taste of June's arousal fills her mouth, and she feels the beginnings of a heady submission that sends a shiver down her spine.

June's eyes dance with excitement as she watches Elara's struggle. She leans forward, her breath hot against Elara's ear. "You're doing so well," she murmurs, her voice a siren's call. Her hand releases Elara's hair momentarily to tease her nipples, a wicked glint in her eye. She opens the clamps, the cold metal a stark contrast to the warmth of the room. "Now, I'm going to give you something extra to think about," she says, and without warning, she clamps one shut around Elara's already-sensitive nipple.

A sharp cry of pain pierces the air as the metal bites into Elara's tender flesh. Her body arches involuntarily, the sensation sending a jolt of agony-laced pleasure through her. She can't believe what's happening—June, her roommate, is not only watching but participating in her most private ritual. The clamps add a new layer of intensity to the scene, one she's never experienced before. Her breaths come in shallow gasps as she tries to process the sudden turn of events.

"Keep licking," June orders, her voice thick with arousal. She watches as Elara's eyes squeeze shut, her face contorting with the mix of pain and pleasure. Her own desire is mounting, and she can't resist the urge to add more sensation to the moment. With a flick of her wrist, she brings the second clamp down on Elara's other nipple, making her gasp into June's pussy. The vibration sends a delightful tremor through her core, and she feels a rush of wetness as Elara's tongue continues to dance against her clit.

With each gasping moan she forces against June's clit, Elara feels a strange sense of power and vulnerability meld together. She focuses on the task at hand, her tongue flicking and swirling around the sensitive bud, hoping that by bringing her roommate to climax quickly, she can end this uncomfortable situation. The sting of the clamps is a constant reminder of her own arousal, but she tries to ignore it, focusing instead on the need to regain control of her space and her secrets.

“Fuck, Elara, that is so good," June pants, her hips moving with an increasing rhythm against Elara's mouth. Her eyes bore into Elara's, a mix of lust and accusation. "I knew you were a little slut, leaving your door unlocked like that." She grinds down harder, her voice filled with a seductive malice. "You wanted to be found, didn't you? You wanted me to see you like this."

"June, please," Elara begs, her voice muffled by the weight of her roommate's body. The pain from the clamps is a steady throb, sending waves of unwelcome pleasure through her. She's torn between the need to escape and the desire to satisfy the demanding pressure on her mouth. Her thoughts are a tumult of confusion and arousal.

June's eyes narrow with pleasure, watching Elara's distress. "Swallow," she commands, her voice a low, guttural growl that seems to resonate through the very air. She throws her head back, her body tensing as an intense orgasm rips through her. Her hips buck, and a jet of warm, wet fluid shoots into Elara's mouth, the force of it making her gag.

Elara's eyes water as she chokes on the sudden influx, her body fighting the instinct to expel the unwelcome intrusion. She coughs, her cheeks reddening, and a trail of June's cum slips down her chin. Her face is a picture of distress, the musky taste lingering on her tongue. "Please," she gasps, trying to pull away, the panic in her voice palpable.

June giggles, her eyes alight with mischief as she releases Elara's hair. She slides off her roommate’s face, leaving a wet patch all around Elara’s head. "You really are a good little slut," she says, her voice a purr. She stands up, her own body flushed with the afterglow of climax. "But we're not done yet." She crosses the room to the open drawer, her hand delving into the collection of toys and restraints.

Elara's chest heaves as she gasps for air, her eyes wide with shock and humiliation at the taste and smell of her roommate’s fluids all around her. She tries to fight against the restraints, even though she knows how strong they always are. "June, please, I'm not into this," she whispers, her voice trembling.

June's smile is a blend of amusement and challenge as she pulls out a phallic-shaped gag from the drawer, the leather strap attached to it gleaming in the soft light. She straddles Elara once more, her own breathing heavy with excitement. "Oh, but you're going to love this," she says, her voice a seductive purr. She runs the gag down Elara's cheek, wiping up some of her cum. "Open up," she commands, the gag poised at Elara's lips.

"This is rape, June," Elara whispers, her voice shaking. She turns her head away, her eyes filling with tears as she tries to resist the inevitable. The words hang in the air, a desperate plea for sanity amidst the chaos of her emotions. Her body is a whirlwind of fear and unwanted desire, her mind racing with the implications of her predicament and how it mirrors the cruelty of her worst fantasies.

"Now, now, Elara," June says, her tone mockingly soothing. "Let's not be so dramatic. You're just getting a taste of your own medicine." With a cruel smirk, she forces the penis gag into Elara's mouth, the salty taste of her own juices lingering on it. She pulls the straps tight, the buckle tinkling with a finality that makes Elara close her eyes against the sight of her roommate enjoying tormenting her. "And remember, I'm just helping you with your 'art project'." She gives a hard tug on the nipple clamps, eliciting a muffled scream from Elara.

The pain from the clamps sends fresh tears streaming down Elara's cheeks. She tries to protest around the gag, her eyes brimming with a mix of anger and fear. The silicon of the gag is strange in how it fills her mouth, and she can feel the leather strap digging into the corners of her mouth. She can't believe this is happening—that June has so easily turned her sanctuary into a prison of her own making.

As June rummages through the drawer, her eyes widen in surprise at the sight of a sleek, black metal chastity belt nestled among the other toys. "Oh, Elara, you really are a kinky little thing," she says, her voice dripping with excitement. She pulls out a whip first, the leather tails whispering against the wooden handle. "But let's not get ahead of ourselves," she says, a wicked glint in her eye.

Elara's tears become muffled whimpers around the gag, her eyes pleading with June to stop. The pain of the clamps on her nipples is a constant reminder of her vulnerability, and she feels a sickening mix of fear and arousal that she desperately wants to end.  This is too close to the writings hidden in her notebooks to believe.

June's grin widens as she sees the tears glistening in Elara's eyes. She runs the leather whip lightly over Elara's bound body, watching the way the other girl's skin reacts to the touch. "Now, now, Elara," she says, her voice taunting, "you know you love this." June surely does, dripping wet again at the power she has over her roommate. She leans down, her breath hot against Elara's ear. "Or do you need a little more...persuasion?" The leather tips of the whip dance across Elara's breasts, and she brings it down with a sharp crack against the soft flesh.

The pain is a bolt of lightning, making Elara's eyes squeeze shut and her body jerk in the restraint. A muffled cry escapes the gag, and she feels more hot trails of tears trickle down her cheeks as her breasts start to redden.

"Such a pretty sight," June murmurs, her voice thick with desire as she watches Elara's reaction. The whip's leather tails snake through the air again, painting intricate patterns of pain across Elara's sensitive skin. After some time weaving across each breast, she brings it down once more, this time across her inner thighs, leaving a rosy welt.

The pain sends a fresh wave of sobs through Elara, her body writhing against the unforgiving restraint. She tries to form words around the gag, but all that comes out are desperate, incoherent sounds. Her thoughts are a jumble of fear, anger, and the unshakable need to end this nightmare.  Except… that little part that is leaking down her thigh.

June's eyes flash with a sadistic glee as she feels Elara's desperation. She slides her fingers through Elara's wetness, gathering it up. "Look at yourself, Elara," she sneers. "You're so wet, so eager for this. You're practically begging for it." She brings her hand back up, her fingers glinting with Elara's arousal and swipes them under her nose. "This is what you smell like when you're turned on," she says, her voice cold and mocking.

Elara's eyes squeeze shut, and she tries to hold back her sobs, but they escape as trembling whimpers. Her body feels like it's on fire, the pain from the whip mixing with the ache of the clamps and the frustration of the gag. She's never felt so exposed, so utterly helpless. She tries to think of anything else, but all she can focus on is the burning across her skin, the chilling sense of violation, and the sweet smell of her own arousal.

With a cruel laugh, June brings the whip down between Elara's legs, the leather making a sharp crack as it meets her inner thighs. "You know what they say, Elara—you're just asking for it when you leave your door unlocked like this." She watches with twisted pleasure as Elara's body jerks in response, the wetness on her own thighs growing. "You're such a slut, aren't you?"

The pain is unbearable, and Elara's resolve cracks. Her sobs become wrenching cries, and she can't help but shake her head frantically, the leather strap of the gag cutting into her cheeks. She tries to form words, but they're just desperate sounds around the gag. Her eyes search the room for salvation, finally landing on the drawer—specifically, the bottom corner where the chastity belt lies hidden.  That will protect her sensitive parts, right?

The sight of Elara's distress only fuels June's excitement. She can see the desperation in her eyes and knows she's close to breaking. "What's that, Elara?" she asks, her voice mockingly sweet. "Do you need something?" She pulls the gag out slightly, allowing a strangled "please" to escape Elara's lips. "What's that? Speak up, I can't hear you."

Elara's voice is a hoarse whisper, her eyes never leaving the drawer. "The...the belt...please," she stammers, her voice thick with tears. She's lost in a haze of pain and embarrassment, her mind reeling from the betrayal of her own body's reactions, she doesn’t think of the implications of the request, just the need to protect her core from the whip.

June's grin turns into a full-blown laugh, a sound that sends shivers down Elara's spine. She slaps the gag back into place with a viciousness that makes Elara gag on the penis. "Oh, you're going to love this," she says, her voice dripping with spiteful amusement. She raises the whip again, the leather tails snapping in the air before landing with a brutal thud across Elara's stomach. "You're going to be my little pet, aren't you?"

The pain is a crescendo, a symphony of agony that overwhelms Elara's senses. She tries to gasp for air, her throat tightening around the penis gag. Tears stream down her face, her eyes squeezed shut. Her breaths come in ragged, painful sobs as she desperately fights against the restraints in an attempt to escape the whip falling across her middle.

June watches Elara's tormented expression with a sadistic glee, her hand stilling on the whip handle. With a cruel smirk, she slides two fingers through Elara's slick folds again, her eyes never leaving her roommate's. She brings her hand up, the fingers glistening with arousal, and smears the wetness across Elara's cheeks this time to mix with her tears. "Look at you," she says, her voice filled with mockery. "Such a dirty, needy little slut."

The humiliation is unbearable, and the pain from the whip is a constant throb that makes her want to scream. She shakes her head, trying to focus through the haze of pain. Her eyes dart to the drawer, the chastity belt the only escape from this nightmare. She can't find the words around the gag, so she nods frantically, hoping June will understand.

June's eyes narrow with a predatory smile as she sees Elara's second look towards the drawer. She reaches back into the drawer and pulls out the chastity belt. "Oh, this is perfect for you, isn't it?" she says, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Is this what you need to keep that pretty little pussy of yours safe and in check?"

Elara's eyes widen in hope and fear as she sees the chastity belt in June's hand. She nods frantically, her eyes pleading. Her body feels like it's on fire, and she's overwhelmed to not think. A fresh wave of tears spill over her cheeks, and she tries to form the words "please, I'm begging you."

June's smile turns into a wicked sneer as she sees the desperation in Elara's eyes. She knows she's hit a nerve, and she's not about to let go. "Is that what you want?" she asks, her voice a taunt. "To be locked up like the good little slut you are?" She runs the cold metal of the chastity belt along Elara's jaw, the touch sending a shiver down her spine.

Through her pain-filled sobs, Elara nods, her eyes wide and hopeful. The chastity belt represents an end to this torment, a return to her safe, controlled world. Her voice is muffled by the gag, but her eyes plead for relief.  She forgets just how much June has played her already, desperate for protection but giving implied permission to torment her further.

With a cruel twist of her wrist, June releases the clamps from Elara's nipples, one by one. The sudden rush of blood returning sends a fresh wave of agony through her, and she screams into the gag. June's smile is a cold crescent as she watches the tears spill down Elara's face. "Now, now, don't be so dramatic," she says, her voice a mockery of comfort. She takes the chastity belt and slides it into place over Elara’s wet pussy, the cold metal a stark contrast to the heat of Elara's skin.

Elara’s body is a live wire of pain and embarrassment as the chastity belt is secured around her waist. The cold metal presses against her swollen, sensitive flesh, and she feels a fleeting safety that sends a shiver through her. Her thoughts are a blur of despair and desperation, and she sobs uncontrollably, her eyes squeezed shut as the world seems to crumble around her.  Reality sets in for how wet she is through all of the pain and humiliation, ready to be done with her roommate’s game now that her belt is in place to protect her.

With the chastity belt in place, June grabs the discarded blindfold and gently—almost tenderly—covers Elara's eyes again. Her voice is a soft murmur, a stark contrast to the harshness of her actions. "You're going to be such a good little slut for me," she whispers, her breath hot against Elara's cheek. "And when I get out of the shower, we're going to have so much more fun." She ties the blindfold securely, ensuring Elara's vision is blocked once more.

The sound of June's footsteps retreating echoes in Elara's ears as she's left alone, bound and blindfolded. The ache in her nipples is a constant reminder of the betrayal, and as the moment of safety fades she can't help but feel a strange mix of humiliation and arousal at the cold metal of the chastity belt against her skin. Her breaths come in ragged sobs, her mind racing with fear and confusion as she fails to calm her breathing.

~~~~

June's laughter fades down the hallway as she heads to the bathroom, leaving Elara to her racing thoughts. The apartment seems to close in around her, the silence only broken by the occasional sniffle from her tear-stained face. The smell of their mingled arousal lingers in the air, a scent that feels like a betrayal of her own body. She tries to still her breathing, her mind racing with thoughts of escape, but the more she struggles, the tighter the bonds feel.

After a few moments, the sound of running water pierces the silence, and Elara can't help but imagine June washing herself off in the shower, her mind wandering to the smug look on her face as she replaced the blindfold. Time starts to lose value as she drifts on the variety of sensations. Eventually she hears the water cut off, and the anticipation of June's return sends a shiver down her spine.

The door to the bathroom creaks open, and the sound of bare feet padding against the floor fills the air. Elara's heart races, her body tense with fear and anticipation. She feels a hand brush against her thigh, and June's voice is a cool whisper in the darkness. "I'm back, pet," she says, her tone mocking. "Ready for round two?"

The sound of June's voice sends a jolt of terror through Elara's body. She shakes her head, begging for freedom. "Mmph!" she cries out, the word lost in the gag. Her head rolls as she attempts to look around the room, blind to any means of escape.

"Ah, so eager to see," June says with a laugh, her hand sliding up to caress Elara's cheek. She reaches over to the bedside table and pulls out a pair of scissors. "But we can't have you ruining the surprise, can we?" She carefully unbuckles the blindfold, lifting it and freeing Elara's eyes.

Elara blinks in the sudden light, her eyes red and swollen from crying. She looks up at June with a mix of fear and anger, her gaze darting around the room again as if for any sign of escape. The chastity belt feels like a weight around her hips, a stark reminder of her foolishness and betrayal.

"Now, now, don't go anywhere," June says, her voice a sultry purr as she steps closer to the bed. She holds up the scissors, the light glinting off the sharp blades. "We're just getting started." She reaches down and runs the cold metal along the length of Elara's body, tracing the outline of her curves.

Elara's heart hammers in her chest, her eyes wide with fear at the sight of scissors in June’s hand. She tries to pull away from June's touch, her body rigid with tension to avoid being cut. The scratching sensation against her skin sends a shiver down her spine, and she feels the bile rise in her throat.

June's eyes gleam with excitement as she watches Elara's reaction. She runs the scissors along the edge of the restraints holding Elara's wrists, the cool metal against the warm flesh. "You're so responsive, Elara," she says, her voice a seductive whisper. "It's like you were made for this."

Elara freezes as best she can, continuing to hold against a slip that might get her cut. She shakes her head to protest, the gag muffling any other protest. Her eyes are wide with fear and starting to get wet with tears again, her thoughts racing with scenarios of what June might do next.

With a smirk, June leans in closer, the tip of the scissors grazing Elara's cheek, the cold steel pressing lightly against her skin. "Crying already?" she says, her voice a taunting purr. "But we're just getting started, my sweet little pet." She pauses, watching with much enjoyment the fear in Elara's eyes, then says, "Don't worry, I won't leave any permanent marks...yet."

The tears continue to fall as Elara's eyes dart around the room, seeking an escape that seems ever more elusive. She tries to pull away from the scissors, her body starting to shake with a mix of fear and growing anger. Her voice is muffled by the gag, but the desperation is clear in her eyes.

June's smile widens, her eyes gleaming with a malicious delight. She drags the scissors down along Elara's neck, pausing at the collarbone before moving to the restraints. "Don't worry," she whispers, her breath warm against Elara's ear. "I'll be gentle." With a quick snip, the bonds holding Elara's right wrist is cut, and she feels the blood rush back into her numb hand.

~~~~

Elara's hand flies to her face and the buckle to the gag, the sudden freedom surprising. She tries to push June away with her newly freed hand, her eyes filling with anger. "What the hell is wrong with you?" she spits out as soon as she gets the gag out, her voice shaky.

June laughs, a sound that sends chills down Elara's spine. "What's wrong with me?" she repeats, her voice light and mocking. "Oh, I think you know exactly what's wrong with me." She leans in, her breath warm against Elara's skin. "But what's wrong with you, hmm? Why do you need all these toys and games to get off?"

With a surge of anger, Elara tosses the gag off the bed. "What's wrong with me?" she echoes, spitting the words out. "You're the one who's violating me!" The taste left in her mouth is bitter as the words.

"Oh, but Elara," June says, her eyes alight with a dark amusement, "I'm not the one who's been playing with these naughty little things in secret, now am I?" She runs her finger over the chastity belt's shield, the metal cool against Elara's heated skin. "Look how wet you are," she murmurs, bringing her glistening digit up to Elara's face. "It's like your body is begging for this."

With a snarl of anger, Elara tries to reach across with her freed hand to undo the restraint on her left wrist. The fury in her eyes is palpable, her voice thick with emotion as she says, "This isn't a game to me, June. This is...it's personal. It's mine."  Left unsaid are all the fantasies that are also hers.

June steps back, watching Elara's struggles with a twisted sense of satisfaction. "Oh, I know it's personal, Elara," she says, her voice a low purr. "And that's exactly why I'm going to enjoy this so much." She dangles the keys to the chastity belt in front of her roommate's face, her grin wide and predatory. "But if you want the pleasure of release, you're going to have to play by my rules."

"Fuck you," Elara whispers through gritted teeth, her eyes never leaving the keys. The anger and humiliation boil within her, fueling a fiery determination to regain control. She takes a deep, shuddering breath and tries to compose herself, her trembling hand touching the metal between her legs.

"Naughty, naughty," June says, her eyes gleaming with excitement as she watches Elara's rebellious spirit flare. "But I like a challenge." She strides over to the bed, the sound of her bare feet on the hardwood floor echoing through the room. She grabs Elara's chin, forcing her to look up. "Keep that attitude, and I'll show you what happens to bad girls who don't play nice."

Despite the fear coiling in her stomach, Elara's eyes flash with defiance. She jerks her chin out of June's grasp. "You don't own me," she says, her voice low and trembling. "And you can't control me with this...this...thing." She tugs at the lock on the chastity belt, her voice filled with a mix of anger and disgust at how wet she is underneath.

"Don't be so sure about that," June says, her voice a low growl. She grabs Elara's chin again, her grip firm. "As long as you're wearing that, you're mine to play with. And trust me, I have so many games in mind." She leans in, her breath hot against Elara's ear. "But maybe you'd like to watch me instead?"

The anger in Elara's eyes flickers into something else—desire, fear, confusion—as June whispers in her ear. She tries to shake her head, but the movement is jerky and awkward. "What do you mean?" she asks, her voice a strained whisper.

June's grin widens, enjoying the power she holds over Elara. She releases her chin and steps back, the keys to the chastity belt still dangling from her fingers. "I mean," she says, her voice a seductive purr, "you can watch me do whatever I want, and I'll leave you here to think about what a good little slut you could be for me."

The anger in Elara's eyes turns to a mix of dread and fascination as she tries to understand June's twisted game. She nods slightly, her voice still a whisper. "Okay," she says, the word filled with both resentment and curiosity. "What do you want me to watch?"

June's eyes gleam with excitement at Elara's submission. She takes a step back and graciously waves her hand towards the chair in the corner of the room. "I want you to watch me," she says, her voice a seductive purr. "And I want you to know that you're the one who's going to be left wanting." She struts over to the chair, her hips swaying with each step.

~~~~

With a deep, shuddering breath, Elara sits back on her bed and crosses her legs under herself, the weight of the chastity belt a constant reminder of her predicament. She watches June with a mix of fear and fascination as she moves with the grace of a predator stalking its prey. Her eyes follow the redhead's every move, unable to tear her gaze away.

June struts over to the chair, the sound of her bare feet on the floor a taunting reminder of Elara's own naked state. She sits down, her legs spreading wide, revealing that she's as aroused as Elara despite her earlier shower. "You see?" she says, her voice a low purr. "You're not the only one who gets off on this."

June's words cut through Elara's haze of anger and fear, and she can't help but feel a twinge of arousal at the sight of her roommate's wet pussy. Despite her own predicament, she watches as June begins to toy with herself, the sight of her roommate's fingers dancing over her clit and dipping inside making Elara's breath hitch.

"Look at me, Elara," June says, her voice a smug whisper as she strokes herself. "See what you're going to be missing while you're all locked up?" She smirks, watching Elara's eyes widen with a mix of humiliation and arousal. "It's okay," she coos, "you can watch. Just remember, this is all because you're going to be such a good little slut for me."

The anger boiling in Elara's chest turns into a fiery determination. She uses her free hands to fumble with the last knots of rope around her, her eyes never leaving June's face.  Without hesitation, she reaches up to cover her breasts with her arms, the movement a silent declaration of defiance even as she watches June's erotic performance.

June raises an eyebrow, her smirk deepening as she watches Elara's defiance and knows she's hit a nerve, it only makes her more eager to push her boundaries. With a sultry grace, she slides her other hand down her body, her middle finger circling her clit before plunging deep inside herself. Her eyes never leave Elara's as she moans, the sound a sweet symphony of pleasure that fills the room.

Despite her efforts to maintain composure, Elara can't help but watch June's brazen display. The sight of her roommate's fingers disappearing into her own wetness sends a jolt of desire through her, and she feels her own trapped arousal growing. She clenches her fists and tries to ignore the feel of metal of the chastity belt against her skin.

“You like watching, don't you?" June purrs, her eyes locked onto Elara's. She begins to rock her hips with the rhythm of her hand, her movements becoming more deliberate and exaggerated. "It's okay, Elara," she says, her voice a siren's song. "I know you're just a little submissive slut, desperate for someone to take control of you."

The words hit Elara like a slap, and she feels a fresh flush in her cheeks. She tries to sit up, her eyes narrowing. "I'm not a slut," she says, her voice shaking with emotion. "This isn't what I want." But even as she says it, she can't deny the traitorous throb of desire between her legs.

June laughs, the sound echoing through the room like a cruel taunt. "No?" she asks, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Then why are you so wet?" She stands up, walking over to the bed, her hips swaying with each step. "Why do you keep all these toys if you're not a slut?"

Elara's face flushes deeper with a mix of embarrassment and anger. She clenches her jaw and looks away from June. "Because it's private," she spits out, her voice attempting defiance but landing in desperation. "It's not for you to judge or use against me."

With a knowing smile, June reaches out, her fingers glistening with her own arousal. She gently pushes them towards Elara's mouth, her gaze unwavering. "I'm not judging you, Elara," she says, her voice a velvety purr. "But if you're going to deny it, you should at least taste what you're missing."

Elara turns her head further away, her breath coming in shallow gasps. "I said no," she says, her voice firm despite the tremble in her chin. "I don't want this. I don't want you to treat me like this." The anger in her voice is clear, but so is the hint of vulnerability.

June's eyes turn cold, and she grips Elara's chin firmly, forcing her to face her. "Look at me," she says, her eyes boring into Elara's. "You're the one who got caught with these toys. You're the one who's been playing these games in secret. And now," she says, her voice dropping to a low, dangerous whisper, "you're going to do exactly as I say, or I'll show you just how much pain these toys can cause." She brings her glistening fingers to Elara's mouth, the scent of her own desire thick in Elara’s nose again.

Elara's eyes narrow, her jaw clenched in defiance. But as she feels the sticky wetness of June's fingers against her lips, she can't help but feel a shiver of fear. She tries to pull away, but June's grip is too strong. "You're sick," she whispers, the words barely audible.

June's smile turns into a sadistic smirk as she watches the struggle in Elara's eyes. She squeezes her chin harder, her thumb pressing into the soft flesh. "You're so predictable," she murmurs, her voice a seductive growl. "And you will either come to love it," she says, pushing her fingers past Elara's lips, "or break."

The taste of June's desire fills Elara's mouth, and she can't help but feel a mix of revulsion and arousal. She tries to bite down, but June's grip tightens and a throb goes through her core. She closes her eyes, willing herself not to give in to the humiliation.

"Open your eyes," June commands, her voice a dark whisper. "I enjoy seeing your eyes as I make you crave what you think you don't want." She withdraws her hand, the sticky remnants of her pleasure glistening on her fingertips. "Now, let's see if we can't find something else for you to enjoy."

The taste of June's arousal lingers on her tongue, and Elara's eyes snap open, defiance returning to them. She turns her head away, trying to ignore the taunting scent of June's desire that fills the room. "I don't want this," she whispers yet again like a mantra, her voice barely above a murmur.

With a sigh, June releases Elara's chin and walks over to the open drawer, her eyes scanning the collection of collars displayed neatly inside. She picks up the box, her eyebrow quirking as she looks back at her roommate. "So many collars," she muses, her voice filled with a knowing amusement. "And yet you claim you're not begging to be owned."

The mention of the collars sends a shiver through Elara that she tries to hide, her eyes darting to the drawer. "You have no right," she whispers, her voice hoarse from the gag and emotions. The fear is back, thick and suffocating, as she realizes just how much June knows about her.

June's laugh is a low, throaty sound that sends a chill down Elara's spine. "Oh, but I do," she says, her voice filled with a dark excitement. "And you know it." She opens the box to display a collection of leather collars with gleaming buckles. "Which one do you think suits you best?"

Despite her fear, Elara's eyes widen at the sight of the collars. Her mind races for a solution, and she blurts out, "Those are all play collars, not what I want," before she can stop herself. She tries to swallow the words back down, but they hang in the air, a stark confession of her deepest desires.

A wicked grin spreads across June's face as she hears Elara's slip. She leans in close, her eyes gleaming with triumph. "Ah, so you do know what you need," she murmurs, her finger tracing the line of Elara's collarbone. "But where is it, Elara?  Where is the collar you want?"

Elara's heart races as she feels June's touch on her neck. She tries to pull away, her cheeks flushing again with embarrassment at the slip. "You wouldn't," she whispers, her voice shaking.

"Oh, but I would," June says, her voice a seductive purr. She selects a collar, a simple yet elegant piece of black leather with a silver buckle. She brings it closer to Elara's face, the leather cool against her skin. "You're going to look so pretty in this, my little pet."

Panic floods Elara as she realizes the truth in June's words. She shakes her head, her eyes wide. "Please," she whispers, her voice barely audible. "Not that."

June's eyes narrow, her grip on the black leather collar tightening. She takes a step closer to Elara, their faces mere inches apart. "Do you think you can tell me what to do?" she asks, her voice a low growl. Without warning, she snatches a handful of Elara's hair, pulling her head back, exposing her neck. "Choose," she says, her voice cold and unyielding.

The room seems to spin around Elara as she feels the leather of the collar brush against her skin, her breath coming in short gasps and face twitching with barely contained emotions. Her eyes dart to the velvet box she'd hidden under her pillow, the one that contained the symbol of what she truly craved—the Eternity collar. The metal was cold and unforgiving, the lock a silent sentinel of her deepest desires. She whispers, "Please, not that one."

June follows Elara’s glance to her pillow and sees the edge of a small box underneath. She yanks Elara's head back further, the grip on her hair tightening. "What's so special about that?" she asks, her voice a low growl. "Is there something in there that you think can save you?"

The fight drains from Elara as she gives in, and she nods weakly. "Yes," she whispers, the words sticking in her throat. "But it's not what you think." Elara blinks away emotional tears looking at June.

A wicked gleam lights up June's eyes as she sees Elara's defeat. She reaches under the pillow, her hand emerging with a small, velvet-covered box. With a dramatic flair, she opens it to reveal the gleaming metal collar within—a ring that, once locked, appears seamless and inescapable. "Now this is absolutely beautiful," she purrs, her eyes shining with a sadistic delight.

“You are going to be cruel, aren't you?" Elara whispers, her eyes fixed on the box with a mix of dread and fascination. She watches as June holds the Eternity collar, the symbol of her deepest, most secret desires, in her hand. The room feels hot, the air thick with tension.

"Cruel?" June's voice is a velvet purr, her eyes also locked on the collar. "I'm just exposing what you really crave." She traces the metal with her fingertip, watching Elara's reaction with a smug satisfaction. "You're a little masochist, aren't you?  You need a cruel owner, don't you?"

Even after her own question the accusation hits Elara like a sledgehammer. She swallows hard, the metal of the chastity belt pressing into her skin as she tries to sit up. "I don't crave that," she whispers, her voice shaking. But the truth is, she can't deny the allure of the Eternity collar—or the fear of what it represents.

June's grin widens, her eyes sparkling with a malicious delight. "Don't lie to yourself, Elara," she says with a sigh, pretending at annoyance with her new toy. She pulls out the key, the metal glinting in the soft glow of the bedside lamp. It dangles from a delicate chain, looking utterly innocuous—like a necklace one might wear to a fancy dinner party. "You've been craving this," she says, opening the collar. "Admit it."

~~~~

The room seems to close in around Elara as she stares at the collar. She can feel the heat rising in her cheeks, her breath coming in shallow gasps. Despite her protests, she can't deny the thrill that runs through her body at the thought of being collared. She shakes her head, trying to clear the fog of desire that threatens to consume her. "I-I don't... I can't..."

"Can't or won't?" June's voice is a challenge, her eyes gleaming with excitement. She leans closer, her breath hot against Elara's ear. "You're so wet, Elara. Tell me you don't want this. Tell me you don't want to be mine." She runs the tip of the collar along the line of Elara's jaw, the metal cool against her skin.

"June, please," Elara whispers, her voice trembling. "This isn't a game." She tries to pull away, but the collar feels like it's burning a path along her skin, leaving a trail of desire in its wake. She's torn between her fear of the unknown and the seductive allure of submission.

"You know what it is, Elara," June murmurs, her voice a siren's song. "A chance to escape from reality." She nips at Elara's ear again, sending a bolt of pleasure-pain through her body. "You are right, it isn’t a game this time," she says, her voice dropping to a dark whisper. "This is what you need. And I'm going to give it to you."

A soft moan escapes Elara's lips as June's teeth graze her earlobe, the sensation sending a jolt of pleasure through her. Her eyes flutter closed, and she feels the collar against her neck. "Tell me you will be cruel," she whispers, the words a desperate plea. She can't believe she's saying it, but the desire is too strong to resist.

A low chuckle escapes June's lips as she feels Elara's body react to her words. She presses the cold metal of the collar firmly against Elara's neck without closing it, her voice a seductive murmur. "Oh, I will be cruel, my sweet," she promises, her breath warm against Elara's skin. "But only because you need it.  Now ask me to do it."

Tears threaten to spill over Elara's lashes as she feels the cold metal of the collar against her skin. She's trembling, her body a battleground of emotions—fear, anger, and a burning, insatiable need that she can't quite understand. With a voice that barely sounds like her own, she whispers, "Please... make me yours. Treat me like...like your property."

June's eyes light up with victory as she feels Elara's body succumb to the weight of the collar. She leans in closer, her breath hot on Elara's neck as she whispers, "You're mine now, my little slut. And you're going to love every second of it." She then closes the collar around Elara’s throat, the sound of the lock clicking shut echoing through the room like the seal of fate.

The metal of the collar is cold and unforgiving, a stark contrast to the heat of June's breath. Elara feels a shiver of fear and excitement run down her spine as the reality of her situation sinks in. She whispers, "What now?"

"Now, my pet," June says, her voice a smooth caress, "you're going to learn what it truly means to belong to someone." She strokes Elara's cheek, her eyes gleaming with an intensity that makes Elara's heart race. "You're going to be a good little slut for me, aren't you?"

Elara's eyes dart to the mirror on her dresser to see the collar around her neck, the cold metal bright against her sink. She nods, her voice barely above a whisper. "I'll be good," she promises, the fear and arousal warring within her again against June’s promise of cruelty.

~~~~

"Is that so?" June says, her smile turning predatory. She yanks Elara closer by the collar, her eyes glinting with excitement. "Prove it," she says, her breath hot on Elara's face. "Pick your punishment and bring it to me. Then, ask me to use it on you."

Elara's eyes widen, her heart racing as she looks around the room thinking of the array of toys and implements she stockpiled over the past year. She reaches for a small paddle, the leather smooth under her fingertips. She brings it to June, her voice shaking. "Please," she whispers, "use this on me."

June's smile broadens, the gleam in her eyes sharpening like a blade. She takes the paddle from Elara's trembling hand, running her thumb over the smooth leather. "Very well," she says, her voice a soft purr. "Remember, you asked for this." She strides back to the chair, sitting down with the paddle resting on her thigh. "Come here," she commands, gesturing to her lap.

Elara's legs feel like they might give out beneath her, but she manages to stand and shuffle over to June, her downcast eyes and sloped shoulders a stark contrast to the other woman's power. She lays herself over June's lap, feeling metal press into her stomach, the chastity belt a constant, unyielding presence.

"Good girl," June murmurs, her hand stroking Elara's back before it rises, the paddle coming down with a sharp crack against her upturned bottom. The sound echoes through the room, a harsh punctuation to the silence that had enveloped them.

A gasp of pain-pleasure escapes Elara's throat, her body jolting with the impact. The sting of the leather against her skin sends a thrill through her, and she can't help but arch her back, presenting herself for another blow.  The pain seems to both lessen and grow the need for pleasure that is locked away from her.

"Looks like you're enjoying that," June says, a hint of amusement in her voice as she watches Elara's body respond to the paddle. She takes a moment to appreciate the sight of her roommate, vulnerable over her lap, before raising the paddle again. "Time to see if you can handle more." She brings it down swiftly, delivering two sharp smacks in quick succession.

The pain blooms across Elara's skin, the sting of the leather making her gasp. She feels a strange mix of humiliation and relief, the pain grounding her in the present. Her thoughts swirl with confusion, but she can't deny the way her body responds to the sensation. She nods slightly, silently begging for more.

June's eyes never leave Elara's face in the mirror, watching the play of emotions flicker across her features like shadows on a candlelit canvas. She sees the nod and grins, raising the paddle again. She brings it down with precision, the sound of leather on flesh echoing through the room. She repeats the motion a few more times, the rhythm steady and unforgiving. "Say it," she whispers, taking a grip of Elara’s hair and lifting her head so she can look in her eyes through the mirror. "Tell me you need more."

The pain is a crescendo, building with each strike of the paddle. Elara's eyes squeeze shut, her breath coming in short, desperate gasps. "Yes," she whispers, the word torn from her chest. "More, please."

June's smile widens as she raises the paddle, feeling the power surge through her. "You will cry again tonight," she says, her voice a dark promise, "and you will crave it when you wake." She brings the paddle down with a fervor that matches her words, the leather striking Elara's tender flesh with a sound that's both jarring and mesmerizing.

The pain radiates through Elara's body, a symphony of sensation that's both agonizing and exhilarating. She feels the wetness between her legs and the warmth in her cheeks, but she can't bring herself to stop the torrent of words that spill from her lips. "Yes, June," she whispers, her voice hoarse from the intensity. "More, please."

June's eyes gleam with satisfaction as she watches Elara's response. She delivers a few more strikes with the paddle, each one a little harder than the last. "Such a good pet," she murmurs, her voice filled with a dark affection. "This is just the beginning for you."

The pain reaches a crescendo, and Elara can't hold back the tears anymore. They spill down her cheeks, a silent confession of her humiliation and arousal. Despite her shaky voice, she gasps, "I can't take it, June. It's too much." Her eyes are closed, her body a canvas of red blossoms.  Her hand goes behind her to attempt to shield her bottom from more strokes.

June's hand stops mid-air, the paddle hovering over Elara's trembling body. She leans back in the chair, her eyes gleaming with a dark satisfaction. "You've had enough for now," she says, her voice a smug purr. She gently pushes Elara off her lap, watching as she lands in a crumpled heap at her feet. "But don't worry," she adds, "you'll get more in the morning."

Elara gasps for air, her body trembling with the aftershocks of pain and pleasure. She looks up at June through a veil of tears, hand that was protecting herself going to touch the collar lightly. "What have you done to me?" she whispers, her voice shaky and small as she realizes she did not expect June to stop.

"Only what you craved," June repeats, her voice a velvety purr that sends a shiver down Elara's spine. She spreads her legs, revealing her own arousal, glistening in the soft light from the bedside. She reaches down, her hand wrapping around Elara's neck, the metal of the collar digging into her skin. "You're going to crawl over here and show me how much you enjoyed it."

~~~~

Through her tears, Elara looks up at June, the collar around her neck feeling heavier than ever. The humiliation of her position and renewed smell of her roommate’s enjoyment sends a fresh wave of arousal through her body. She nods, her voice a trembling whisper. "Okay." Slowly, she pushes herself onto her hands and knees, the chastity belt sliding across her skin reminding her of her own unmet needs with every movement. She crawls towards June, her eyes never leaving hers.

June's leg rises as Elara approaches, her foot coming to rest on the edge of the chair, giving Elara easy access to her most intimate space. The smell of her desire fills the air, a potent aphrodisiac that makes Elara's mouth water despite her fear. "Eat me out," she commands, her voice a low growl, "make me cum."

The room seems to spin around Elara as she obeys, her face pressed into the warm, wet heat of June's sex. She can't believe she's doing this, that she's letting her roommate control her in such an intimate way. But the collar around her neck is a constant reminder of her new role—June's property, her toy. She flicks her tongue out tentatively, tasting the sweetness of her roommate's arousal.

"That's it," June coos, her hand coming to rest lightly on the back of Elara's head, guiding her movements. "You're such a good little slut for me." She grinds against Elara's face, her hips moving in a slow, sensual rhythm. "You've been dying to do this, haven't you?" she whispers, her voice a mix of mockery and desire. "To be used and degraded like this."

With a whimper, Elara licks again, the taste of June's arousal a strange mix of fear and exhilaration on her tongue. She tries to ignore the pulsing in her own core, the heat under the chastity belt a constant, maddening presence. "I-I'm not like this," she whispers, her voice muffled against June's thigh. "I'm straight. I only did this because you...you made me."

June throws her head back, laughing loudly as she pulls Elara's face closer, her thighs tightening around Elara's head. "Oh, the sweet sound of denial," she says, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "But we both know that's not true, don't we?" She pushes Elara's face back into her sex, her hips moving in a frenetic rhythm. "You're a natural at this," she murmurs, her breath coming in short, sharp pants. "A beautiful, obedient whore."

Elara feels the tremble in June's thighs, the increased tension in her body signaling her approaching climax. She sticks out her tongue, eager to please, to make it end faster. The words cut deep, but she can't help the way her body responds, the way her own need sharpens with each passing moment. She tries to focus on the task at hand, her tongue moving with renewed vigor, desperate to taste June's release.

June's breath hitches as the pressure builds within her, and she tightens her grip on Elara's hair, pushing her face harder into her wetness. "Oh, fuck, Elara," she gasps, her body tightening like a coiled spring. And then, with a sudden, explosive release, she cums, her muscles spasming and releasing a flood of wetness that soaks Elara's face, some of it even shooting up her nose. She watches Elara's reaction with a sadistic glee, feeling the power surge through her as she controls the girl's every move.

Elara's eyes water as the musky scent of June's arousal fills her nostrils, and she gags as the cum floods her nose. She fights against June’s hold on her, her body writhing with the effort to escape the suffocating sensation. Her eyes are squeezed shut, her mouth open in a silent scream, but she can't pull away—June's grip is too strong, too possessive. The panic builds in her chest, a wild, desperate need for air that she can't satisfy.

June's eyes close, her head thrown back in ecstasy as Elara's tongue works its magic on her clit. She feels the girl's struggle, the way her body writhes and twists, but she's too lost in her own pleasure to care. Her legs squeeze tighter, forming a vice around Elara's head, her hands fisting in the raven hair. "Oh, what is the matter, slut?" she purrs, her voice thick with lust. "Can't breathe?" She grinds her hips against Elara's face, a second orgasm building like a crescendo. "Fuck, this is so good," she groans, her body shuddering as she reaches her peak again so quickly.

The lack of air sends Elara's panic spiraling. She wriggles and squirms against June's weight, her nose and mouth filled with the taste and scent of her roommate's orgasm. Her own need is forgotten in the desperate fight for oxygen, her body's instincts taking over. She pushes against June's thighs, trying to create some space, her chest heaving for breath. The collar around her neck feels like a noose, tightening with every second that passes.

The sound of Elara's muffled gasps and gagging only adds to June's sadistic amusement. She holds on for a beat longer before releasing her grip, watching as Elara slumps to the floor, coughing and sputtering. "Stay right there," she says with a cruel smile, "I'll clean you up." She stands, tossing the paddle over to the doorway, and walks over to the bed, her hips swaying with the satisfaction of a job well done.

Struggling for air, Elara's eyes water as she coughs and sputters, her nose burning from the intrusion of June's release. She blinks through the wetness coating her face, her thoughts scattered and racing. She's not sure if she's more disgusted or aroused, but she can't deny the wetness between her own legs.

~~~~

With a smug smile, June grabs Elara's pillow from the bed, pulling off the case with a flourish. She saunters over, her movements deliberate and predatory. She bends down, her breasts brushing against Elara's cheek as she dabs at the sticky mess on her face with the fabric. "Look at you," she says, her voice a blend of amusement and disdain. "So eager to serve."

Elara blinks through the haze of her watering eyes, the taste of June's orgasm all around her. She watches as June casually saunters over, the pillowcase in her hand. Her whimpers turn into a soft moan as the fabric wipes over her face, the smell of her roommate's desire mingling with the fabric's familiar scent. She takes the pillowcase from June's hand, the tremors in her fingers betraying her need to regain some semblance of control. She starts to stand, intending to clean herself off properly, but her legs are unsteady, and she nearly topples over.

"Oh, you poor thing," June says, her voice dripping with mock pity. She grabs Elara's arm, pulling her to her feet with surprising strength. "Let's get you back to your own little cage," she says, guiding her back to the bed with a cruel smile. She takes the pillowcase and uses it to clean Elara's face before tossing it onto the bed. "Now, back in your place," she murmurs, pushing Elara onto the bed.

Her legs give out, and she falls onto the bed with a thud, the mattress bouncing slightly from the impact. She looks up at June with eyes that are indeed a bit glazed over, her chest heaving from the exertion and the rush of adrenaline. "New pillowcase?" she manages to ask, her voice a weak rasp, as she tries to process the sudden shift of June being so gentle.

June chuckles, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Of course not, my pet," she says, her voice a sweet, taunting caress. She picks up the pillowcase and sniffs it, her smile growing wider. "You get to sleep with my scent around you," she says, her tone dripping with satisfaction and settling the pillowcase back on the pillow. She gently pulls the covers over Elara, tucking her in like a child. "And if you decide to be naughty and remove it," she warns, her voice dropping to a whisper, "I'll just have to find another use for it."

As June tucks her in, Elara feels the sticky residue of June's orgasm drying on her skin, a constant, humiliating reminder of her situation. She nods meekly, her voice barely a whisper. "Yes June." Her heart races with a mix of fear and anticipation of what might come next.

With a wicked smile, June gives Elara's cheek a light, almost affectionate pat. "You've got quite the penance coming your way in the morning, Mistress's little slut," she says, her voice dripping with the sweetness of victory. She turns off the lamp on the bedside table, plunging the room into darkness, and the door clicks shut behind her, leaving Elara alone with her thoughts.

As the door clicks shut, the room feels smaller, the weight of the collar heavier. She rolls onto her side, her knees drawn up to her chest, and lets the tears fall. The pain from the paddle marks on her ass throb in time with her racing heart. The reality of her situation crashes over her like a wave—June's cruelty was more intense than any of her solo sessions or fantasies. Yet, she can't deny the ache in her clit, the insistent pulse under her chastity belt that won't quit, even as she sobs. She whispers into the darkness, "What have I done?"

The sound of Elara's muffled sobs through the door only serves to add to June's post-orgasmic bliss. She leans against the frame of her own bedroom door, listening with a smug smile. "Music to my ears," she murmurs to herself, savoring the power she holds over her roommate. She pads into her room, her body still humming with satisfaction from her earlier release. "I wonder what other secrets she's hiding," she thinks, her mind already racing with ideas for tomorrow's play.

~~~~

Fin

[grievousdearu]

Initiate

Four years.

Mama died four years ago.

She left me in a world that hates me, not because I did something wrong; but because of who- no, what I am.

I was just a mistake born into a life that has no meaning to anything.

A mistake who gets left by the people she loves, and that's all I will ever be: a mistake.

I've been told that for long enough to make it feel true, regardless of if it is. Even the times I've done anything of note, it's been discarded by people simply because I'm a Katari.

People will go on and on about how 'our kind' is a monstrosity, then those same people turn around and enslave others so they don't have to work. The hypocrisy of these people is disgusting, but over my lonely time in society, I've come to recognize- but not accept, mind you- that is simply the way of this world. People who have money or power control the lives of those who don't. I found that out the hard way, many years ago.

And I'm having it reinforced again.

Being an orphaned child on the streets of Helmholtz, you quickly learn how to pickpocket people. If you don't, you'll learn what it feels like to go without food for weeks at a time. Even with the skills of a pickpocket, it wasn't uncommon for you to go days at a time without food.

Every day, I'd go onto the railings looking over the little square I'd effectively claimed as my territory and look for people who seemed like a good mark.

Obviously, there were times when I'd not get down quick enough and they'd already left, they'd have been a bad mark once I got closer to look them over, but I started to learn the characteristics of a good mark from a distance; cleaner folk, obvious traders, ones who weren't local, and so on.

Today I found one that checked a lot of the boxes for a good mark.

Just so happens I picked the wrong one this time.

As I'm regaining my consciousness, I feel myself rocking back and forth getting jostled around like I'm in the middle of a crowd during the Midsummer Festival, and as my hearing returns, I hear the sound of wood and hooves clopping against gravel.

I try to hold my hand to my head to try to ease the throbbing pain I feel, but my hands are stopped by the sudden stoppage caused by the rope my hands are bound by. The sound of the rope creaking grabs the attention of the young, pale man sitting across from me.

"You're finally awake, eh? Sleep well, darlin'?" He says to me.

"The sow is finally awake?" I hear the driver ask, "Good, we should be reaching the Lord's land shortly. He'll be anxiously awaiting his latest prize," he says as he silently laughs.

"You sure picked a bad target, didn't ya?" The one across from me says.

"I don't know what you mean," I calmly say to him.

"Don't bullshit me. We both know you tried to pick my pocket. Hadn't been for the man drivin' for us, you might've gotten away with it. As it stands now, be thankful I paid the officer who looked into it, else you might be rottin' in a prison cell for the next few months."

"From what I can already grasp from the kind of people you are, I'd prefer the cell," I say in response.

The man stands up, then kneels in front of me as he grabs my chin.

"You best drop that 'tude, sweetheart, that kinda garbage will get you nowhere, fast," he tells me in a low, almost whispering threat.

"If we're going nowhere, I'd like to take the next stop," I say as I pull away from him.

"Alright then," he says as he sits back down with a smile, "you'll only make the learnin' process harder on yourself. Not that I'm complainin'."

As we come to a clearing in the forest we've been traveling through for a while, the cart slowly begins to a stop.

"The hell are you stoppin' for, Ed? Still got a few kilometres to go," the younger man says.

No response.

He crawls forward and pokes his head out of the covered section of the wagon.

"Ed, come on, Sir Shamac is expect-"

He doesn't even get to finish his sentence before he visibly goes limp.

At first I was only concerned that the driver had stopped to use the bathroom, but after seeing the man in front of me likely just die, I began to panic.

I closed my eyes, bent over in the wagon seat, and put my hands against my mouth, very slowly. After that, I hear the sounds of whispering.

"...for her?"

I could only make out those words, and what I heard terrified me.

They knew I was here.

Before I had much more of a chance to panic, I heard one of the voices sigh before I hear someone climbing on the cart, then it gets very quiet for what felt far longer than what had actually passed.

"Are you perhaps, miss Natalia MacAllister?" A cloaked head popped into the wagon. His voice was audibly displeased.

My mind started rushing, flooding my thoughts about how I was about to be executed for a petty crime.

Then it suddenly came crashing to a halt when the man stepped into the cart and cut me free.

"If you are, we need to leave, quickly."

I don't know what I was thinking, but all I could do in response to what I'd just seen was nod.

After the two men returned from what I could only assume was 'disposal', they took the reigns of the horse and turned the cart around, after which one of the two came back with me.

"I was instructed to give you this," he says as he holds out a rolled-up piece of parchment.

Everything in my mind is screaming at me not to take it, but I do it anyway.

I open the letter, and the first words I see almost make me cry on the spot.

"Hi, Nattie. It's mama,” it reads.

I want to savour the moment where I felt like I was back in a time in my life when mama was still with me, but I instead keep reading.

If you are reading this letter, you are at least 18 by now and have come to understand most of the things that you need to. I'm sorry I wasn't there to teach you any of it, I really am, but sometimes life just throws you for a loop and things don't go to plan, but I don't have enough paper to write about all that… so let me just get to the point.

I'm sure you've figured out that you inherited some of my magic potentials. You may not have figured out how to use it yet, but I am confident that you know it's there; you're an incredibly intelligent girl. I want to give you the freedom to choose what you want to do with that potential, so I am entrusting your care to the people I worked for most of my life.

They are called the Shadow Collective.

They may seem to be nothing but criminals, but they allow people like us to be successful and viewed as such, not as monsters. I want you to at least be given the opportunity, so I've asked them to allow you into their ranks as an initiate, but I want you to understand that you are free to walk away from this if you so choose. But know that either decision you make, I will not hold it against you. Please think about this as you move forward with your life.

Love,

Mama.

A flow of so many emotions flows over me all at once, not one of them feeling like they’re right. A tiny wet spot appears on the bottom of the parchment, the sight of which makes me realize that I’m crying now.

Slowly I roll up the piece of paper and take a moment to think over what I’ve just been told.

Suddenly, with the arrival of this letter, so many things over the past four years make so much more sense. Why I was allowed to keep our house, why I always got lighter convictions for the crimes I got caught committing…

…all because she was still watching over me.

With that realization, I find in myself a sudden conviction that she knows where I need to be.

I look up and face the man sitting across from me, and for the first time in four years, I make a decision I know is right.

“Where do I start?”

[havin-a-wee]

If Only She Knew

pairing: dad!harry x cheerleader!reader

word count: 4.2k

warnings: smut (fingering + unprotected sex), cheerleading position implies readers weight, 20 year age gap

hi! ive been having some really bad writers block but i wrote this and even though its def not my best work i like it enough to post it :) also, i totally didn't mean to imply the readers weight, i only realized afterwards, so im really sorry about that. also the age gap is kinda big, so if ur uncomfy with that you shouldn't read this <3

PLEASE REBLOG IF YOU ENJOY

“Geez watch where you’re going!”

You don’t even look up at the girl, recognizing her nasally voice easily from how annoying it is. You were nose deep in a book while walking down the school hallway, and of course your worst enemy had to be walking down the same hallway, at the same time, in the opposite direction. You are both at fault for the collision, considering Ella had her eyes locked on her instagram feed. But knowing the girl, there is no way in hell that she will take any responsibility, even though you are the one who has coffee dripping down the front of your white blouse.

Since middle school, Ella Styles has always hated you. You have never known why, but she seems to have a vendetta against you, and tries her best to make your life miserable. You never let her, always refraining from giving her the explosive reaction that she was looking for. And that makes her hate you even more.

High school is over in 2 months, and although you are going to miss the freedom of being a child, you most definitely won’t miss the people from the tiny town you’ve lived in since you were young. You’ve always been the type of person to have a small friend group, only 4 people in your circle. But that’s how you like it, because crippling social anxiety makes it difficult for you to meet new people.

“I- sorry.” You still don’t look at her, instead peeling the soaking wet top off of your stomach.

“You better be sorry.” She flips her blonde hair, ensuring that the fluffy locks hit you right in the face. You are lucky this time seeing as she didn’t take it further, because sometimes she would purposely embarrass you after small incidents such as this one.

Tears well at your waterline and you run into the nearest bathroom, pushing open the blue door and locking yourself in a stall.

After all these years of torment, Ella rarely was able to get to you. But sometimes, she does something that pushes you off the edge, leaving you with red, tear-stained cheeks. The final straw this time was her ruining your brand new shirt, the one you were anxiously waiting to debut at school.

But now there was coffee dripping down your chest and staining the bright white fabric. Your only saving grace is the cheerleading uniform in your backpack. In fact, you were walking to the locker room to change for practice, and then for the game at 6 tonight.

You had been excited for the game, knowing that Friday night games always led to parties and fun afterwards. You rarely go to parties of course, but the buzzing energy never fails to rub off on you. But now that stupid Ella had to go and mess up your day, you’re dreading seeing her smug face while she asserts her dominance as cheer captain.

You untie your top and rip it off in a haste, frustrated tears running down your face periodically. You could’ve put a jacket on and gone to the locker room, but Ella would be going there soon, and the last thing you want to do is run into her with teary eyes. She can’t know that you let her get to you.

You brush your hands down your uniform, pulling down the skimpy costume and stuffing your old clothes in your backpack. Once out of the stall, you pull your hair up into a high ponytail, reapply your lip gloss and walk back into the hallway, having already done your makeup that morning. You’re happy that it’s a home game today, because the home game uniforms are two pieces and the skirts are smaller than the ones on the away game uniforms. There is a certain someone you are looking to impress, and the way your tits spill out from the top of the outfit will most certainly help you in your mission.

It’s not like you need to impress him, because he’s shown time and time again that he finds you sexy no matter what you wear. And when he doesn’t tell you, he shows you, by pressing his hard on up against your ass after you just woke up, despite your messy hair and bare face.

However, he also loves when you tease him. And that’s exactly what you’re planning to do.

You sling your heavy backpack over one shoulder and trudge down the hallway, the old fluorescent lights practically blinding you on your journey. The locker room is dingy, smelling of cheap soap and Victoria’s Secret perfume. At least it doesn’t smell like the boys locker room, which smells like sweat and more sweat.

It's already bustling with people, your teammates scrambling to get ready in time as to not get yelled at by the coach.

“Y/N!” The familiar shout of your best friend Rose is like a breath of fresh air, and you bound over to her. She’s standing in front of your lockers, the two of you obviously picking ones next to each other. “Wait, why are you already changed?”

“The bitch spilled her coffee all over me,” you grumbled, your eyes shifting over to where Ella and her little goons are giggling.

“I keep telling you, anytime you want me to beat her up I will gladly do it.”

“Not that I doubt your abilities Rose, because I know you would have her on the ground in a heartbeat, but I can’t let you do that. She can’t know that she upsets me.” You lower your voice for the second sentence, irrationally fearing that she can hear you over the loud chatter echoing through the room.

“I still think you should let me beat her up, but you do you I guess.” Rose shrugged her shoulders and turned back to her locker, bursting out into laughter with you after a beat of silence.

The rest of the getting ready process goes smoothly, Rose distracting you from the girl side-eyeing you in the corner. Soon enough, the whole squad was in formation outside, and you have your hands on the shoulders of Rose and another girl named Bethany. You are a flyer, meaning that you’re the one who the bases support while you pose and flip in the air. Its a hard job, but you are one of only three girls on the team who is advanced enough at flying to be safe doing it in routines. One of the other three girls is Ella.

Ella is the flyer for the middle group, seeing as she is the captain. You are on the right and the other group is on the left. Luckily, Rose is a base in your group, so you feel a lot better putting your safety in the hands of someone you already trust with your life.

“ELLA! YOU’RE DOING IT WRONG!” Coach Habbiths voice is piercing, her angry shrieks bouncing off your ear drums. Ella audibly huffs, displaying her frustration with the critiques she has been receiving since we learned the routine weeks ago. That’s one of the biggest problems with Ella, she believes that she's always right.

Every single practice she has done a needle instead of a scale at the end of the routine. It's aggravating for everyone, and that frustration is amplified everytime she makes the same mistake over and over. “Alright, everyone down. group 1 and group 3 take five, Ella and group 2 stay on the field.

The team obliged to her instructions, and you are brought down from the air.

“Okay Ella, I want you to watch how Y/N does the last move, because she’s actually doing it correctly.” Coach is standing in front of you now, and she emphasized the word ‘correctly’. This is much to Ella’s dismay, and much to your excitement.

Nothing brings you more joy than seeing Ella’s face when you one up her, and this time is no exception.

Aside from a few eye rolls and nasty looks, Ella corrects the move without much fuss. By now there's 15 minutes until the game, and the players have been warming up on the field for about half an hour.

“Did you see her face!” Rose tugs on your arm while you walk back to the locker room, water bottles in hand.

“I know! I should’ve taken a picture!”

“We can only hope that it knocked her ego down a peg.”

“I doubt it” Rose nodded in agreement and you continued your chatter, talking about the random things that best friends talk about.

“It’s go time ladies!” You jumped in surprise when Coach Habbiths yelling booms through the locker room, the hefty amount of metal in the room enhancing the echo.

In a blur, your entire team rushed out onto the field, the crisp air cooling your warmed skin. There was a huge crowd. probably the biggest the teams ever had. But that makes sense, because this game was against your school's biggest rival. Luckily, despite the huge crowd you were able to lock eyes with those piercing green irises you have gotten to know so well over the past couple months. Everytime you see him he gets more and more attractive, and this time is no exception.

At this point, the teams routine is muscle memory and you’re done with it before you can blink. Most people would think that being thrown in the air is memorable, but your main concern is the growing wet patch on your panties that spreads each time you squeeze your thighs together. Just the thought of the man is enough to turn you on, and now that you’re sitting on the cold metal bench your imagination has time to go wild.

The only thing that snapped you out of your daze was the eruption of appaulause from the audience, and the realization that the other cheerleaders were standing up and running towards the players. You breath out a sigh of relief, recognizing the cheering as a signal that the game has ended.

“Hey, you coming?” Rose tugs on your arm, looking down at you still on the bench.

“Um, actually I don’t feel so well, I think I’m going to go home.”

“I should’ve known. You know, one day you’re going to have to go to a party.” Rose places her hands on her hips, giving you a sarcastically annoyed stare.

“And today is not that day.” You grab your backpack and sling it over your shoulder, turning back to Rose for a second. “Have fun and be safe.”

“I always do.” Rose places a chaste kiss on your cheek before turning back to the gathering crowd on the turf.

Instead of heading to the sidewalk and walking home, you duck under the bleachers and walk down the gravel path, pushing open the fence that separates the field and the school. The contents of your backpack slosh around while you sway your hips as you walk. Finally, you make it to the back wall of the school, leaning your back against it and plopping your heavy backpack down by your feet.

And now you wait.

Much to your convenience, the wait this time isn’t long, only five minutes passing before you see the familiar man following the same path you did earlier.

He has a pair of brown slacks on, pressing against his waist courtesy of his black belt. A button up white shirt hides the tattoos on his stomach, but he's rolling up his sleeves as he walks over to you. He's walking with intention, hungry eyes zeroed in on you.

When he’s only steps away, you cheekily bite your lip and use your finger to push up your skirt a little bit more.

Your actions have the intended effect, his eyes blowing wide and hands grasping at your waist.

“Y’can’t do that.”

Before you have a chance to ask what he means, his lips collide with yours, his tongue slipping in only moments after the initial kiss. But as soon as he started, he pulls away.

“Y’can’t be teasing me on the field like tha’, had me hard next t’my friends.” His hand is on the wall above your head, and his other arm is wrapped around your waist pulling you into his chest. He’s panting, and you are too.

“Sorry Mr. Styles,” you push your bottom lip out in a pout, giving him the most innocent look possible. “Just wanted to wear it cause I know how much you like it.”

“Aw, my babygirl wore this f’me? Well I guess y’can be forgiven. Now let’s get t’my house before I fuck yeh right on this wall.” He places a soft kiss to your lips picking up your backpack from the floor and turning to the direction of his car.

“But it hurts!” He turns around again, giving you a sympathetic look and caressing your cheek. The rings on his fingers are cold, but you’re used to the feeling.

“I know sweet girl, but I can’t take care of yeh here, s’too risky.” He pauses for a moment, thinking of a solution to your not so little problem. “How bout I give y’my fingers in the car? Hows that sound hm?” You nod eagerly, pulling his hand down from your cheek and holding it. He takes the signal and begins walking to his car while you follow him.

You never planned to sleep with your bullies dad. But a few months ago your parents dragged you to a family friends housewarming party, and that friend happened to be a friend of Harry’s too. There were no other teenagers there, so your focus was on the attractive older man who had been checking you out since you first locked eyes, and after ending up in the upstairs bathroom together the two of you have been fucking at least twice a week. You only learned that he’s a dad when you saw him for the first time outside the party. He didn’t look the part, and you actually thought he was in his 20s until he corrected you. He’s 38, having become a parent at only 20 years old. Your relationship is a bit taboo, but you’re a mature 18 year old and you and Harry get along well. So well that your time together has developed from casual sex to a mutually exclusive relationship. (Neither of you like labels, but you’re basically boyfriend and girlfriend).

He makes you really happy, and when you have to face off against Ella, it helps knowing that you have power over her, even though she doesn’t know it.

“Did she do anything today?” Harry is walking beside you, hands still intertwined.

“Besides spilling coffee on my shirt, nothing much.” Harry sighs in frustration and squeezes your hand as a show of affection.

“M’so sorry, I wish y’didn’t ‘ave to deal with her.”

The thing about Harry and Ella is they can barely be considered family. Ella’s mom is, for lack of a better word, a bitch. She’s snobby, conceited, and rude, and those behaviors have rubbed off on Ella. Another thing that rubbed off on her was her mom’s hatred for Harry. Being young parents put strain on their already struggling relationship, and they split before Ella’s first birthday. Harry said he tried his best to make it work for Ella’s sake, but her mom was looking for someone to pay for her life, and Harry had just started working his way up as a businessman.

Now, he’s a CEO, but luckily Ella’s mom already found a new beau with plenty of money, so she didn’t come crawling back to him. However, the success Harry achieved only a few years after their breakup made her jealous, and so she instilled that anger in their daughter. So currently Ella spends most of her time with her mother, and when she is with Harry she doesn’t treat him kindly.

“It’s not your fault Harry, you don’t have to apologize for her actions.”

“I know, I jus’ hate tha’ she treats yeh like that.” He sighs again, reaching into his pocket to grab his keys. In a few more steps you’re standing outside the sleek black suv, walking around to the passenger seat and sliding in once you hear the click of the door unlocking.

You both take a few seconds to breathe, an unspoken gesture to prepare for the night's events. Harry turns to you, a sexy smirk plastered on his face. “What d’ya think about fixin’ that ache darlin?” You nod eagerly, sliding down a bit in your seat to give your legs room to spread. “Think yeh can take off y’skirt fo’me?” Your head bobs once again as you nod, hooking your fingers under the elastic waistband and shimmying out of the skirt. While you’re doing that, Harry turns the car into the deserted street, using only one hand to steer.

You toss the tiny skirt into his lap, giving him a signal without distracting his eyes from the road. He reacts immediately, his free hand coming down to squeeze your thigh. You mewl at the contact and bite down on your lip, trying to stop your hips from bucking up in search of relief. His squeezes move up your thigh, and finally his fingers press against your weeping cunt. Swiftly, he pushes your soiled panties to the side, swiping his fingers up your folds collecting your juices. You shriek and buck your hips up into his hand, but much to your dismay he removes it from between your thighs. The car comes to a stop at a red light, and Harry takes the moment to look at you, his eyes wandering your squirming body. He’s practically drooling when he places his fingers in his mouth, tasting your sweet wetness.

“Sorry pup, jus’ needed t’taste yeh.” He chuckles again, and you whine softly in desperation. In one quick motion, he dives his hand back to your pussy, pressing his thumb on your swollen clit.

“Fuck!” The pleasure shoots up your spine, goosebumps raising across your body as he rubs circles on the puffy button. “Harry- please,”

“What d’ya want puppy? Want m’fingers?”

“Yes, yes,” you breathe out, words barely comprehensible through your panting.

“Alright, alright, I gotcha.” And with that his two fingers press into you, filling your tight hole perfectly. There is no hesitation before he begins pumping the digits in and out of you and his thumb never lets up on your bundle of nerves. “Such a needy puppy, got yeh soaking f’me from out in the stands hm?” His eyes are still on the road, but you can picture the lust filled eyes that are undoubtedly on his face.

“Get so wet jus- just thinkin’ about you,” you gasp, writhing as his fingers slam in and out of you.

“Yeah? This is my cunt, m’the only one who can make yeh this wet, isn’t tha’ right?”

“Only Harry.” At your confirmation he speeds his hand up, your vision clouding with white spots as the knot building in your stomach grows tighter and tighter.

All of a sudden, he pulls his fingers out of you, leaving you empty. “Wha-” You begin to question him but you realize that he’s pulling into his driveway. Instead of complaining, you sit up quickly and unbuckle your seatbelt, pulling your skirt back up your legs to avoid being nude on his front lawn.

As soon as you feel the little jolt your hand yanks on the handle and you hop out of the car. Your brain is fuzzy with need and all you are focused on is alleviating the aching between your thighs. You hear Harry lock the car while you're on the steps, and you turn back to ensure that he’s behind you. And sure enough, he’s hot on your trail, just as eager as you to get inside and onto his bed. Your foot is tapping on the ground anxiously, waiting for Harry to unlock the front door. After what seems like an hour, he is next to you again, fumbling with the silver keychain in his hand, eventually unlocking and pushing open the door. You both practically run inside, hands roaming each other's bodies and lips locking as you shuffle through the hall.

You disconnect breathlessly when you reach the stairs, subconsciously wrapping your hands around Harry’s neck so he can pick you up bridal style. He does so hastily, barely a second passing before he’s plopping you onto the fluffy mattress. “Finally,” he pants, hands fumbling with his belt buckle. There’s a prominent bulge in his trousers, and although you’ve seen it plenty, you are always in awe at how thick and big he is. While he’s busy removing his clothes, you are practically drooling at the sight of his bare cock, full, heavy, and dripping precome.

“Harry?”

He looks back down at you with his emerald green eyes, simultaneously dropping his recently-removed shirt on the floor. “Can I ride you?” The look he gives you is indescribable, a mixture of need, lust, cockiness, and beauty all rolled up into one.

“Whatever y’want puppy,” His hands scoop under your ass, and he lifts you up and switches your positions. Now it’s your turn to undress, and Harry makes himself busy by running his hands up and down your torso. “So gorgeous, y’know that?” You nod quickly then pull your shirt off of your head. “Most beautiful girl in the world I reckon.” You blush at the compliment, butterflies being added to the many sensations occuring in your body. You straddle his thighs, wrapping your hand around his length and tugging a few times. A loud groan rumbles through his throat, and you smile knowing you’re the one who made him feel like that. “Thought- thought yeh said y’wanted to ride me pup.”

“I do.” You keep your hand on his cock, sitting up on your knees and lining him up with your weeping cunt. All at once, your body is put at ease as his cock fills you up perfectly. He bottoms out inside of you, both of you moaning and groaning while you adjust. “So big-” Your words come out in choppy pants, the syllables being cut off by your heaves. You suck in one deep breath and move upwards, sinking back down onto him quickly. His large hands hold a tight grip on your waist, guiding you up and down his member. His lips attach to your neck, suckling on the supple skin just enough so that it doesn’t bruise.

“What a dirty little puppy you are,” he growls, eyes focusing heavily on where your bodies connect, watching himself disappear inside of you as you bounce up and down on his cock.

“Feel so full-” Tingles ricochet down every part of your body, and your legs are becoming weaker with each movement. Harry can feel your movement faltering, so his hips thrust upwards to meet yours, fucking you from underneath. “Harry!”

“I know pup, I know.” His thumb strokes your cheek and he leans in for another kiss, devouring your plump lips and swirling his tongue around yours. “So fuckin tight,” The words tumble from his mouth in a low growl, which sends the butterflies in your stomach into a frenzy. His cock twitches inside of you, encouraging you to muster all your energy and finish both of you off. Adrenaline kicks in and your strength returns, riding him faster and harder than before. “Let go f’me Y/N.” It only takes a few more thrusts for you to come undone, Harry’s orgasm following suit. The waves of pleasure roll through your body, and you throw your head back in ecstasy as you allow the feeling to overcome your body. Spurts of his hot cum cover your velvety walls and you ride out your orgasms together, resting your foreheads against one another.

You end up sleeping at his house, feeling safe knowing that Ella is staying with her mom today. It’s normal for you to sleep at his place, seeing as both of you are usually so tired that you pass out before you can leave. What isn’t normal is for you to be woken up in the morning by Harry’s phone ringing. Harry is a deep sleeper, and you laugh at the sight of him conked out while his ringtone blares on the nightstand just a few inches away. Carefully, you reach over his sleeping body and grab the phone, planning on hanging it up and going back to bed. However, when you saw that it was Ella calling, you changed your mind. Making a split second decision, you slide the icon to the right, holding it up to your ear.

“Hello?” Her whiney voice rings through your eardrum and you wince. Not the nicest thing to be woken up to.

“Hello,” you answer, your voice not reflecting the cocky grin that spread across your face.

“Who the hell is this!” she shrieks, and you make a mental note that she must not be a morning person.

“A friend of your dads.” Your response is once again calm and monotone, trying to stifle the laugh that is bubbling in your throat.

“Ugh! What’s your name?”

“Y/N. Y/N Y/L/N”

[angelkurenai]

Oh baby dear - Chris Evans x Reader

Title: Oh baby dear

Pairing: Chris Evans x Surrogate!Reader

Warnings: None

Summary: After a trip that gives the chance to Chris to take a long-overdue break from his job, he comes back home with his mind made up to change his life. And even if it weren’t for the trip itself or meeting you, even though he had no idea if he’d ever see you again, he was determined to not wait any longer. Feeling ready to become a father he starts looking for a surrogate mother, only to end up finding you of all people.

“Son of a guy. You meant it.” brown eyes were wide, and for the first couple seconds no other sound could be heard in the room. It almost felt like the words could echo in the room.

“You're really doing this.” the man's voice was filled with just as much shock as was painted all over his face. At least the woman behind him was more calm, sipping on her drink with an ease that would have been troubling, especially in such a case, if it wasn't known that she had long ago heard the news.

“I wouldn't have brought it up in the first place if I wasn't seriously considering it.” the other man in the room couldn't take his eyes off his friend, trying to gauge his reaction the second it came through. It was bound to be the most honest one, no second thoughts, and he only needed his friends' honest thoughts. Not that, and he was sure of it, the other man would intentionally tell him anything but the truth.

“You- wow.” the shocked expression was still there but there was no mistaking the smile that was slowly but surely appearing on his face “Seems like Evans is finally joining the club, who'd have thought? That's what I call one heck of a year, quickly Scarlett note the date down! It's going to go down in the history books, I tell you. Oh you're in for one hell of a ride, buddy! Wait you knew about this, didn't you?” he turned to the woman but shook his head soon enough “Never mind. You're gonna have to look for a godmother but I do get to be the godfather, right? I really need to start making preparations, nine months are not even remotely enough. I gotta-”

“Take a deep breath and calm down, Robert. That's what you gotta do. Otherwise this kid won't get to meet its one-of-a-kind godfather. And we would never want that to happen, would we?” the woman interrupted his rambling, a teasing smile on her own lips as she noticed Chris himself chuckle.

“Oh goodness forbid that could ever happen.” Chris laughed some more, his chest feeling lighter than it had in the past couple days “And besides that, there has not been a surrogate found just yet. Papers got approved only a day ago, it will take more time than that.”

“You say that as if the second every woman finds out you're on that kind of market, won't volunteer to have your baby. Heck, I know most of them would gladly volunteer to do it the old-fashioned way! You'll see, you will be getting news very soon.” Robert brushed his friend off and got up from his seat, making his way to the mini bar to grab a drink for himself “Which means, I really gotta start preparing everything because a) this is Evans' kid and b) I'm the godfather and it'll get only the best!”

Scarlett couldn't help but laugh, while Chris shook his head with a chuckle, before she added “As you can see, he is going to be more trouble than the kid.” she ignored the look that was shot at her from Robert and kept going “But, speaking of it, I never asked: Did you never really consider adoption?”

“For most of the time that's what I had in mind, yes, but-” he sighed, easing back in his seat “I asked about it and my chances were sadly very low, given my job and everything, not to mention how lengthy of a process it all was. Sebastian was actually the one to suggest it and you know I haven't been able to stop thinking about it ever since. Granted, it is just as hard to find a surrogate who is also willing to be the biological mother but I feel like I have more to hope for this way.”

“You have every reason to be hopeful, I'm sure this will work out just fine. Besides-” she offered her friend a warm smile “There is no other man that I can think of that could be a better father than you. This child will be very lucky.”

“...The part of Robert being the godfather excluded?” Chris added with a smirk, eyeing his friend who narrowed his eyes at him, before both Chris and Scarlett burst into laughter.

“Life isn't perfect, what can you do?” she grinned as she took a sip of her drink.

“I'll try to be the better man, as always, and not comment on any spiteful comments against me. You're just jealous I am going to be the world's best godfather. Anyway, that wasn't what I was going to comment on.” he plopped back on his seat and gave the blue-eyed man a sly smile “Sebastian you say but I'm wondering: was it him or that summer trip to Italy that really prompted you to become a dad? Maybe a certain someone you met there? What was her name...”

“Don't-” it was all he had time to get out, his eyes wide and voice very warning; but there was never any stopping the man when he wanted to speak his mind.

“Ah yes.” Robert grinned widely “(Y/n).”

“What- Who?” Scarlett frowned, tilting her head to the side “How come I haven't heard of her before? I thought you told me everything about Italy.”

“She's nobod-”

“Probably the love of his life. Something like his soulmate. One he talks about a lot in his sleep, hence why I should hold more parties and have you guys over. The info I get is golden. Anyway, think of it as the star-crossed lovers but one where he isn't the Lana Del Rey young and beautiful, you know? Heard she's something like a med or psych graduate or something. So come to think of it all, Italy, soulmates and age difference, this is like another version of Call me by your-”

“And that's it for you. Enough words spoken for one day.” Scarlett said, not hesitating a second to place a hand over the man's mouth who admittedly didn't give up even if his words were only an incoherent mumble after that.

Chris' eyes were wide and there was no mistaking the way he wanted to not talk about it, as if there was some unparalleled sadness that came with the mention of your name, a deep ache and at the same time yearning perhaps because he missed you, just like there was no mistaking the tint of pink that was on his cheeks.

“That's-” he cleared his throat, avoiding looking at his friends in the eyes because he knew how easy it would be to tell that even so many months later the feelings were fresh as much as the day he had to leave, the day he left a part of himself on the airport with you – a part he knew real well he wouldn't get back again, certainly not from any other woman he got to meet. That missing part of him, even if the rest held all the beautiful memories dearly to itself and felt truly blessed, he knew was obvious. It was all on his face that he was missing something, even if he'd gotten so much. And he knew she would see it, it all became so obvious when he thought of you.

He shook his head when he realized he had taken longer than needed to reply “It was way too long ago, I can hardly remember it now. Hell, as if barely anything happened to begin with. She was just-” a lump in his throat, too painful “I made a good friend, a really good friend yes, who helped me see my life in a different way. Helped me make my choice and see the things that really matter. Couldn't keep in contact and yes that's a bit sad but- That's all there is to it, nothing more nothing less.”

Scarlett regarded him for a couple seconds, even as he tried to keep himself busy with getting another drink, before she finally spoke “If you say so.” she nodded her head “At least we now know who we owe this to and who to thank for our family growing, don't we?”

“Then-” Robert's smile was softer, yet also sad, as he raised his glass a bit “Let's drink to that, if not your baby just yet. To (Y/n)?”

“To (Y/n).” Scarlett nodded her head “For helping you make the best decision of your life, wherever she may be now.”

Chris hesitated, the unspoken truth of you not only being the one to help him make the decision but also be part of that decision, part of the family he wanted to build, was ready to break free from his lips but he held it back “Wherever she may be.” he said in a low hoarse voice, raising his glass as well “To (Y/n).”

He had not allowed himself to say your name in a long time and thinking back to it, the effect had been evident not only in his chest, in his heartbeat, but also in his lips, how painfully strange it felt when all he had been doing was think about it for months to no end, down to his throat that closed up with emotion. And he had allowed himself to say it not only so that he would make sure his friends would drop the subject but also because it had been a long time, he felt the need to and he knew that he wouldn't get the chance to do so, not anytime soon for sure.

And yet, only seconds ago, the name had left his lips for the second time in barely a couple days.

His brain could barely keep up with the fact, all the information he had to currently process seemed to make things even harder. Saying your name this time certainly had the same effect, his throat closed up and his heart leaped to his throat, but it felt like it was for an entirely different reason. He blinked several times, trying to make sure that what he was seeing was also true, to make sure that it wasn't wishful thinking and that him holding his breath had not reduced the levels of oxygen to a point where he couldn't even see straight. Truth be told, he felt pretty lightheaded.

“(Y/n) (Y/l/n).” he repeated your name for the third time, the third time in only a couple days his mind nearly screamed at him, but it didn't feel the same this time.

“Yes, I would say she seems like one of the most, if not the most, suitable candidate for you case.” the woman behind the desk gave him a warm smile but his brain was still currently stuck on the word 'candidate'.

“I'm sorry. There seems to be some misunderstanding here and I- I don't know whose part it is on, but-” he licked his lips, trying to swallow over the lump in his throat “When you say- What you're trying to say- I'm sorry.” he shook his head and let a couple seconds to pass in silence; he knew she wouldn't ask before him.

Taking a deep breath he decided to speak, even if his voice was hoarse he hoped she could make out the words “Candidate for what?”

The woman frowned a bit but it was gone faster than it could register, as she spoke in a calm voice “Your case. To be not only the surrogate you are looking for. See, her current, and according to her permanent from now on, residence is in New York City and very close to the residence you have listed as your permanent one. It is important, you understand, if we take into consideration that she will be the biological mother of the child. You might want the child to be able to stay in touch with her, and vice versa, so the close proximity does help. Of course that is always up to you, but in most cases we've seen it hap-”

“When did she sign up for this?” he asked, barely able to keep himself to wait for her to finish her sentence.

“Pardon?” she blinked and only then he realized how he might have sounded.

“You're right. I apologize, that came out as wrong.” he cleared his throat again “What I mean is... does she know who I am? That she- she's signing up to be a surrogate for my child.”

“Every surrogate must be informed, of course, of you as you are informed of her. She too must know whose child she will carry, don't you think it's fitting? But if you are uhm-” she hesitated “Concerned about other children, then, you need not worry. It's not my place to say this but it seems like-” she smiled a bit, almost knowingly “That you have already chosen, so I believe it wouldn't really be against any rule to say this. Consider it an extra bit of information.”

'Seems like you have already chosen.' would be a vast understatement. It was like every cell in his body was screaming 'Yes', chanting it over and over again that he was seriously worried he might have projected it somehow. He could barely control the words that came out of his lips anyway. If anything, the second he had come across the file with your name he had been glued to it, his eyes and all of his attention orbiting around the single file as if he was Earth and you were his Sun. Not far from the truth either.

But it also must have shown- No scratch that. He was sure it had shown because he had done no effort to hide it, too stunned and happy and eager and giddy and blessed and so many other things, to try to hide it. And she had clearly noticed.

“So, no, she has not mothered another child. As a matter of fact, Miss (Y/l/n) is doing this for the first time.” the woman leaned back in her chair “She came to us with the belief that there was too much sadness out there and, amongst other things, she decided to do this little one thing to help someone out. To make someone happy. I believe she didn't really have any further expectations out of this, no further plans, other than wanting to do some good. We only informed her of your case and she said she'd like to help, nothing else.” she shrugged softly “For any further reasons behind her choice you could ask her, I suppose. If you do think she could be the right choice to be the mother of your child, then-”

“She is.” he said, maybe a little too fast, but he didn't care. He didn't find a single part of him that cared for how eager he looked at the prospect of you being the mother of his child. Granted, it wasn't exactly how he'd imagined it but it was so much more than he ever thought he'd get, of what he thought he deserved, when he had told you goodbye that summer.

He cleared his throat again, trying to straighten his back and look as formal as he should in the suit he was wearing. He offered her a small smile “She is the right one. I think I've decided. I-” he paused, glancing at the pile of files and therefore other candidates which he had absolutely not even taken a glimpse at and he hoped she wouldn't comment on it “I've thought things through, yes.” because no man could make such a decision so hastily, he knew, and yet he looked like he just had “I'm glad for all the candidates it means a lot but uhm Miss (Y/l/n) seems to be indeed the right one. I think she will do just fine yes.”

“Wonderful.” she smiled more, nodding her head “If it means anything, she seemed happy when she was presented with your case.” oh if only she knew just how much it really meant to him, ask his wildly-beating heart and everyone would know just how much “Now, you understand that while you seem pretty sure and confident with your choice, you will have to give it some more time, more than anything to get in touch with the surrogate herself and discuss through any specific terms you might have. We will be the ones to set a meeting. Of course there are legal issues that need to be taken care of, but you're a lawyer yourself so you probably know that better than anybody else already.”

“Y-yes uh of course, yes, legal terms. Mr Wilson will represent me on the matter of course. But you said-” he folded his hands over his lap and threaded his fingers and it was either that or let his nerves show “Meeting her? Will I get to meet her in person soon or...?”

“That, Mr Evans, is completely up to you, how ready and sure you are, how much time you need and how fast you want things to progress.” she said as if she'd had this conversation many times over and she probably had “It could be within a week, a month, or, if you have no doubts, within three days the soonest possible. So, do you need time to think over-”

“The soonest possible. I'd like-” he nodded his head, straightening his suit's jacket “I think it would be best if I could meet with her the soonest possible. She's just what I was looking for.”