#he would lose focus in his book and just stare at the words and wonder why the person is staring at him

[arcanescholxr]

What kind of Hot are you?

person on the train reading a book hot

you're totally their type. well, you're not. but that's what the passenger across from you is thinking as you sit there, completely oblivious. you're mysterious, and serene, and look so natural sitting there on the train they think your feet might be bolted to the floor the way the chairs and safety rails are. you're in your own world, you're reading something with an intriguing title, and without even knowing it passengers are praying for some reason that you'll look up and ask for their number. you don't, of course. and they don't ask for yours, either. how could they disturb such a peaceful moment? but despite the fact that nothing was said, they managed to fall in love with you for 15 minutes. for the rest of the day they think about what your voice might've sounded like, what your interests might've been, how you might've smiled at them like they were your whole world if they'd managed to make you feel that way. you have that effect on people, in case you didn't know.

tagged by: stole it from my dash

tagging: anyone and everyone

[cow-smells]

Worth your While | Opla! Sanji x reader

Request: I've read that you are in the need for some Sanji request or ideas so here's one for a fic :D

The crew gets into a fight ( it can be the Navy or anither pirate crew) and the reader gets badly hit and Sanji just loses his shit seeing the person that he cared for the most getting knocked out?? I just genuinely wanna see Sanji just go ape shit on people because of it XD and maybe hiw the others in the clue will react to seeing Sanji like that? @smolracoon25

Summary: You and Sanji have been playing the flirting game for way too long. When you get injured, Sanji shows a side of himself you had yet to see.

Word count: 2.1k

Warnings: none

A/n: I'm going purely off the live-action so pls have that in mind, also I'm just getting back in to the rhythm of writing after such a long time so sorry if this is poop/ooc/both, love ya :)

Read on AO3

“Don't you ever take a break?”

Zoro's voice coming from behind startled you, forcing you to break your longing gaze at Sanji who was fishing at the bow of the ship. “Huh?” came your wise response.

Zoro looked from you to Sanji. “You've been making moon eyes at him for months now. Don't you get tired? Or are you waiting for him to take his shift staring at you so that you can clock off?”

You felt heat rising to your cheeks. This was far from the first time crew members commented about you and Sanji's – whatever was going on between you two – but this was the first time Zoro called you out so blatantly.

When you didn't respond, Zoro went on. “I just came to tell you we should be docking soon. I'll leave you the pleasure of telling the cook.” with that, he left.

You closed the book on your lap. You really did have the intention of reading when you first head out to the deck, having some time to kill, but then... you noticed Sanji. At first you thought you'd go sit with him for a while, flirt and banter a little as you always do, but you found yourself absorbed in taking him in instead. He was different when he was alone. The way he looked so focused, so deep in thought when it was just him and the sea. Maybe even a little sad. So different from his usual sunny exterior that he put on when he was with people. Falling in to deep thoughts wondering what he might be thinking about – maybe about you? - you sat and stared, not reading as much as a word.

The book discarded, you felt a spring in your step as you made your way to the ship's chef.

The creaking floorboards alerted your arrival. Sanji turned to see who was creeping up on him, and when he saw you, he set his fishing rod aside as a wide smile grew on his lips, his dimples deepening and making your heart miss a beat. “There's my favourite girl. Come here, let me hear all about your day.” Sanji held his arms open, beckoning you to come sit on his lap.

The flirting was nothing new. When you first joined the Strawhats, Sanji was as flirty to you as he was to any other woman; he did not expect to meet his match in you. You were quick to play along, always one-upping him, dancing along the line that separated playfulness and seriousness, never quite picking a side.

The problem was, in reality, you had chosen a side long ago.

You would flirt and giggle and make him blush but never actually act upon anything. Neither would Sanji. He, however, took your playing along as though it was a battle to be won. Sanji would flirt, you'd reply with something raunchy, he would surprise you with something heartfelt. It was as though he knew exactly where to hit in order to get you a little closer to buckling, every time. As time went on he had become so devoted to your back and forth that you noticed he had gradually abandoned all other efforts flirting with other women, to focus entirely on you.

You had to remind yourself that this was a game to him. An instinct, almost. It hurt to think of your relationship that way, but you had to keep that thought at the forefront of your mind if you didn't want to fall even harder for him.

So you would continue to play along, even if that's all that you could have with him.

You chose not to indulge him completely – that was too dangerous for you – and so you opted to bend a knee over the armrest of his chair. Close, but no contact. “Come on, Sanji,” you bent your head in what felt like a bashful manner and said, “you know I spent all day thinking of you.”

You weren't sure if he was blushing or if that was just your wishful thinking. Composing himself, Sanji wrapped an arm around you to hold your waist, lightly tracing circles on your hip. “I beg of you, darling – next time, come find me instead of just thinking of me. I'll make it worth your while.”

You wanted to ask, how will you make it worth my while? Just to hear Sanji go in to detail of what you've been fantasizing about for months. But instead, you opted for a tamer response. “I came to tell you we're docking soon. Maybe I'll find you then and you could make it worth my while with a drink.”

Without missing a beat, Sanji took hold of your hand, bringing it to his lips. “There's nothing I'd enjoy more.” With that, he kissed your hand, his eyes never leaving yours.

Docking started out normal. Everyone knew what their usual chores were when you reached a town, restocking and fixing so that the ship would be in top condition for its next leg of the journey in your search for the One Piece. So while Sanji went in to town to restock on groceries (you didn't pay much attention to the others), you, Nami and Usopp stayed around the ship to fix up some of the damage it took when you last encountered a rival pirate ship. That also happened to be the reason it was just you three when the same rival pirates noticed your ship docked, ready to take their revenge.

The three of you had your individual talents, but you just weren't enough to hold up against an entire rival crew. They had attacked so suddenly and so fiercely – it didn't take long before you were on the sand, fighting to stay conscious. You lost that fight as you watched Usopp try his best to fight off three attackers at once.

You really thought that would be the end for you. You should have known better; it was Sanji's voice you heard as you regained consciousness, motivating you to open your eyes despite the pain that flooded your body.

The beach area all around you was covered with pirates who were taken down, just like you – only that they were your enemies. You first noticed Nami's orange hair – she seemed to be taking care of a bleeding Usopp, his condition worse than yours. Following Sanji's voice, you found him holding the last one of the rival crew by his shirt, throwing punches like you've never seen him before. It took you aback – thinking about it, you had never seen Sanji use his hands in combat. Too precious – need them for cooking, he'd once told you before adding, the only thing more precious to me is you. It had made you blush at the time before you had laughed him off. Now, you were questioning if it was a joke at all.

The man Sanji was holding wasn't putting up a fight – he was far too battered for that, but Sanji didn't stop. He was too far away for you to understand what he was saying to the guy, but focusing hard, you could just about make out half sentences – "to hit a woman" – "don't deserve to breath" – "finish you" – you searched for the strength to get up and stop him. You had never seen Sanji – your happy, cheerful Sanji – so angry, feral even. It scared you a little; but mostly, you knew Sanji would regret it if he were to kill a man who no longer posed a threat. So you grasped at the sand, forcing your aching bones to pick yourself up. But as you were regaining your balance, Sanji finally threw the man to the sand, a look of disgust painting his handsome features. "Finally made a date with her and you ruined it... You hurt her. You're lucky I don't kill you." The man groaned in pain.

In a sharp change, his features went from anger to concern as he finally left the man and turned to where he last saw you laying. His eyes were full of honest pain, until he saw you on your feet – then they read of hope. "Y/n!" Sanji called, rushing to you as he could see your struggle to stand upright. "You- I-" he scanned your body as he reached you, taking in all visible injuries. "Are you – are you okay? Can I help you?" he reached an arm around your waist, waiting for your approval before he held on to help you stay up, so afraid he might hurt you.

"Thanks." his arm around you really helped you to stay up. It was a practical measure, sure, any one of your crew mates would do the same – but when you look up and meet Sanji's eyes, you know that the tense feeling between you two wouldn't have been replicated with anyone else. "I mean it. You saved us. We'd... I'd be lost without you." at that, Sanji smiled that deep-dimpled smile of his at you, the playfulness not reaching his still-concerned eyes.

"Y/n," he started. "are you really flirting with me, at a time like this?"

It was strange how despite all your injuries, you felt less and less of the pain the longer you leaned in to Sanji, close enough to smell his fragrance. A half-smile reached your lips. You couldn't play this game any longer. "Did you really beat that guy up that bad because he ruined what should have been our... date?"

Sanji tensed, obviously not ready to have this conversation now. His gaze dropped momentarily before he wrapped his other arm around your waist, holding you tightly to him. "I had a hundred reasons to kill him," Sanji said, and you felt disappointment bubbling through you until he continued, "but the most pressing reason is that he ruined our date."

Sanji took the opportunity to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear and you couldn't help but smile so big you were embarrassed by it. "I really wanted that drink with you, away from the ship and everyone else. Just us."

You recomposed yourself. You needed clarity. "I'm not playing anymore, Sanji."

Sanji chuckled. "Fancy that. I was never playing at all."

You must have forgotten how to breath at all when he leaned down, his hand finding a rest on your neck as his thumb caressed your cheek. Nearly a whisper, he asked – "Can I kiss you?"

You leaning in served as the consent he searched for. After months of pining over each other, wondering what it would be like – his lips met yours, in a mixture of softness and passion like you'd never felt before. Forgetting you were injured at all you sneaked your arms around his neck, pulling him in, almost afraid of letting this anticipated moment of passion go. Sanji was more than happy to pull closer, a hand on your lower back holding you impossibly close to him.

The moment did, however, find its end as you heard your Captain whoop and holler from afar. "Yeah! Way to go, Sanji! About damn time!"

Breaking the kiss, Sanji nodded at Luffy, his smile lines prominent as he looked the proudest you'd ever seen him.

The crew was more than happy to make a quick exit that night, preferring to not stay around until the rival crew regained their strength. You were helping Nami untie the ropes anchoring the ship to the dock when she said, "I really thought he was going to kill him earlier." you didn't know how to respond. "I've never seen Sanji like that." Nami managed to untie a knot, and Zoro began pulling the rope up on to the ship. "He's really got it bad for you."

Despite that questionable context, you couldn't help but smile. In a burst of honesty you confessed; "I hope so, because I've got it real bad for him, too."

On cue, the ship's chef leaned over the ships railing, looking down to you. "Y/n, my love!" he called, as though the rest of the crew wasn't surrounding the both of you. "I hope you're finished down there, because I've got a candlelit dinner waiting for you up here. And drinks. You know, to make it worth your while," he finished with a wink.

From behind Sanji you could hear Luffy ask, "What about our dinner? Just because you're lovers now doesn't mean we don't need to eat..."

Sanji sighed and turned away from you, probably to go protect your dinner before Luffy demolished it.

"Right then, let's go," Nami said as you finished untying the last rope. "While there's still food to eat."

And for the first time, you boarded your ship not to find the One Piece or the All Blue – you were just happy to be there, with the man you loved.

[alexander-arcturus-black-lupin-r]

Definitely nothing gross cause I hate stuff like that too. Im absolutely obsessed with his hands, and so I was kinda imagining an early seasons Spencer who doesn't understand why reader always stares at his hands so she shows him 🤭

If no thats okay 😅👍🏻

Oooo

I love Spencer's hands.

HAVE YOU SEEN HIS HANDS FOR THE NON BELIEVERS LIKE BROOO

CW: Lwk size difference. consent?

A/N: Mistakes? Comment. Compliments? Comment. Problems? cOmmENT!!!!

______________________________________________________________

Spencer was sat beneath you immersed in a book he bought a few days ago. You tried to follow the words but you kept getting distracted. You let put a shaky breath as your eyes followed Spencer Reid's fingers, how the flexed before flipping the page. You were so focus on his fingers you didn't hear Spencer.

NSFW BENEATH BE VERY WARNED

Spencer Reid was a damn good profiler so when he noticed your irregular breathing, dilated eyes and unresponsiveness he wondered if it was your thoughts till he noticed what you were looking at.

Rolling up his sleeved he moved closer to you.

"Angel?" he asked for the 4th time before you jerked back finally coming to.

"Huh? did you say something?" You asked as you peeled your eyes off his fingers.

"Bingle-bongle, dingle-dangle, yickety-do yickitey-dah, ping-pong, lippy-tappy, too-tah."

You blinked twice before coming to your sense, what were you doing?

His gaze on you made your cheeks feel hotter than usual.

"Why are you quoting Doctor Who?"

"My girl's not here, figured the Doctor could bring her back." You scratched the back of your neck as you looked away.

"I'm here."

"A survey conducted by the Journal of Sex Research in 2007 found that about 30% of participants reported some form of partialism."

"Partialism?"

"A type of paraphilia involving sexual interest in, or fixation with, a certain part of the body."

"I-?"

"My hands. that's your current sexual interest."

"Sorry."

"What are you sorry for?"

"I don't know for maybe sexualising your hands."

"I'm your boyfriend, I don't mind...in fact, I'm interested in how you see my hands" his words made you gulped. Spencer smiled so innocently but his actions were anything but.

One of his hands disembarked from the arm of the chair and began to trail up your neck, a trail of shivers in it's wake. You froze, your breath caught in your lungs.

"Spencer..."

"Mhmm...?"

He knew what he was doing to you. How it affected you. His index finger traced your jaw before landing on your lips.

"Open." it was a simple order. You opened your mouth before your nerve disappeared like your reasoning. His finger trailed the inside of your mouth before landing on your tongue.

"Suck." your lips like clockwork clamped down on his knuckle and like someone with their favorite candy. You sucked. Your tongue wrapping around his finger.

His eyes were locked on your face. Only the whites of your eyes were visible as you all but sucked the skin of his fingers. He was losing his control by the day and it was you he wanted to take care of.

He chuckled at your eagerness. "You like how bigger my hands are huh? dirty little thing aren't you."

The sound that came from the back of your throat was primal. You didn't say anything but no words were needed.

Spencer pulled you down to the floor, his finger still in your mouth like a leash. HIs other hand moved to your bottoms and they were gone. He removed his finger from your mouth and you felt empty.

That was before you felt his fingers in you. Throwing your head back you realised the background noise wasn't just background noise. It was you moaning the entire time. Your thighs clenched around his arm as you wriggled and writhed under him.

“Such a slut you are, hm?” his tone changed slightly causing you to rock your hips even more. Teasing your entrance with his finger you wondered if he would give you his cock. "You’re so wet.” He chuckled breathlessly, you noticed just how much he was restraining himself.

His hair falling over his eyes , slightly hiding his lust filled gaze. Before He lowered his head towards his fingers.

The next few moments were heaven. Spencer ate puss like a starving man. Your starving mam

Spencer brought you down from your high, your breasts having joined the game, you briefly wondered when you lost your shirt.

"No nerd facts?" you finally spoke your throat slightly dry.

"You want, fuck, you want a fact?" his voice was breathless and windy.

"Yes."

"You drive me crazy."

You laughed as you laid on him.

"I'm glad, but i mean an actual fact."

"Alright but stop moving your hands." You tilted your head.

"It's my turn now."

You traced the buldge in his pants. Unzipping his pants.

"People who-who..." you palmed him.

"Who what?" you asked mimicking him. Tracing the tip you watch Spencer fight to stay together.

" A-Are hand fetish-fetishist usually admire the nails-" You pressed slightly along the sides.

"Long nails? short nails?nail-polished? clear?"

"Angel..." his voice was horse.

"Alright, no questions."

"And enjoy licking or sucking one's hand or fingers and the acts made with the hand (handjobs, fingering, slapping, scratching and so on)" You moved your hair as you began to do just that.

Licking

Sucking

Nibbling

Spencer came apart minutes later all over the floor, his head falling into the chair. His chest rising slowly again. He raised his arms and brought you closer, his face disappearing slightly in your hair.

"Angel, I love you so much." he mumbled.

"I love you too Spence."

"We should get cleaned up..." he began making no motion to get up.

"We should..." slumping into him further.

"Are we getting up now?"

"Oh no, you turned me into Spaghetti legs!" you exclaimed.

__________________________________________________________

Spencer Reid smut has been served. I don't know if I like this or not but what matters is that i overcame my writers block at 2am

[danikamariewrites]

Hi I hope it’s ok if i request this you really don’t have to do it. But a Xaden riorson fluff and angst where the reader gets really hurt but they are trying to help people so she hides it from Xaden and when he finds out he’s really mad at her but he’s really just scared of losing her and hates seeing her hurt with a happy ending. I hope this is ok and there is no pressure to do this I completely understand if you don’t want to.

My Greatest Fear

Xaden Riorson x reader

Note: I haven’t written for Xaden in so long, I’ve missed him. I’m so ready for Onyx Storm and I kind of want to do something to celebrate. Should I do a countdown with fics for each FW boy for the week leading up to the books release? I hope you like this fic anon and thanks for requesting :)

Warnings: mentions of blood, injuries, and stitches

More than anything you want to sneak away from the crowded hall. To blend in with the shadows of Riorson House and limp away to your bedroom. Clutching your side you skillfully dodge riders, healers, and everyone in between.

“Y/n! Can you assist over here?” Violet calls to you, her arms full of bandages. You meet her pleading gaze, putting on a generous smile and nodding as you make your way over to her. The slash on your ribs can wait. Others with worse injuries need help.

Pulling the laces of your vest tighter with shaking hands you take the bandages from Violet to help distribute them. “Thank you,” Violet breathes out. She rushes off to take another box from Liam, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek.

A small sigh escapes your lips at the sight, making you wonder where your own boyfriend is. Xaden wasn’t among the injured, not that he would ever let himself be seen like that thanks to the Colonel’s words in the last Assembly meeting. But this wyvern attack has been the worst one yet. Healers are still bringing people in and you don’t want to thank the gods until you lay eyes on an unharmed Xaden.

————

After an hour you were exhausted and light headed. The more you felt the cut on your side dripping blood the tighter you pulled your vest, hoping to keep your skin together. Slumping on the ground you rest for a moment.

Taking deep breathes you try to focus on the chaos around you, tuning out the pain.

Opening your eyes you see Liam staring down at you, a worried look on his face. “Hey,” he says softly. “Xaden is back and asking for you.” Your heart picks up at the mention of your boyfriend.

“Is he ok?” Liam smiles at you. “Of course he is. He’s Xaden.”

You chuckle, “Don’t let him hear you say that. It’ll go right to his head, it’s already big enough.”

Liam holds his hand out to help you. You brush him off, using the wall to help you stand. Liam eyes you as you take a shaky breath. Pulling yourself together you do your best not to limp toward Xaden. You can feel Liam’s gaze burning on the back of your head at your slow movements.

Whipping around — as slowly as possible — you scowl at him. “Stop it. Are you coming or not?” You snarl. Liam holds his hands up in surrender, hurrying his steps to catch up with you.

Stepping into the throne room you take another steadying breath, using the wall to help keep your balance. As leaders of the rebellion mingle, discussing the wyvern and Venin, your eyes immediately find Xaden. You let out a sigh of relief at the sight of him unharmed.

Before you can make your way to him Liam waves him over.

The first thing Xaden notices is how pale you look along with the dark spot growing on the side of your uniform. He wordlessly reaches for your ribs, watching for your reaction. Your hand flys out to grasp his wrist. Your grip weak. “Don’t,” you whisper harshly.

“What’s wrong?” You shake your head. You’re struggling to breathe now. Xaden looks to Liam for answers but all his brother can do is shrug, mirroring his worry.

Your other hand grips Xaden’s bicep as hard as you can. “I can’t…I need,” Xaden holds you closer to his body. His hand gently touching your side. You hiss at the contact and try to push Xaden away. “What do you need baby?”

You don’t know what happened after that. When you blacked out all you heard was Xaden yelling for help and your vest being ripped apart.

When you came to the dizzy feeling is still with you. You try to sit up but a large hand on your shoulder stops you. “Don’t even,” the worry clear in Xaden’s voice. You stare up at him with big eyes, remaining flat on the bed.

Xaden sits on the edge of the bed with a huff. He looked like he was struggling not to scold you. “Why?” Is all he asks.

You knew what he meant. Why walk around tending to the injured when you were bleeding out. Truthfully, you knew it was bad. The Venin you went hand to hand with fought nasty.

“Colonel Gerault yelled at me last time, saying leaders shouldn’t look weak even if we feel weak. You know how he gets about image. Violet needed help and so did our other riders. I needed to know they were ok before I asked for help.”

Xaden let out a deep sigh, annoyed with your selflessness. He rolled his neck while simultaneously clenching his jaw. The tension this man holds in his whole body is astounding. “That’s not true and you know it.”

The two of you sit in silence for a while as Xaden contemplates his next words.

He gently holds your hand, running his thumb across your knuckles. “Do you know what the biggest loss in this war would be to me?” You shrug as the possibilities run through your mind knowing Xaden can hear your thoughts.

With each passing thought his frown deepens. “Not this house, not my dragon, or my father’s legacy. It’s you, sweetheart. You would be the greatest loss for me. I can replace a house and all that other shit. But there is no replacing you.”

A tear escapes down your cheek. Squeezing Xaden’s hand you give him a sad smile. “I need you.” He whispers, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead. “I’m sorry.”

Xaden shakes his head. “There’s nothing to be sorry for, baby. I just need you to get better.” You hold out your pinky for him. Your sacred tradition when making sure one sticks to their word. “Promise.”

He wraps his pinky around yours before adding, “And, you will stay in bed until that wound is fully healed.” You open your mouth to protest but Xaden gives you a look, lifting your entwined fingers. Showing that you are bound to do as he wishes while you’re hurt.

“Fine.” You agree begrudgingly. “Thank you.” He drops your finger, pressing another kiss to your head, then your lips. You grab the back of his head to deepen the kiss. Xaden moans at the feeling of your tongue swiping against his bottom lip. After a few more minutes of passionately making out Xaden pulls away.

You whine at the lack of lip contact. “You need to rest. If we do what I want to do you’re going to need new stitches.” He smirks at you. “Guess I better get to healing.”

[crowsoundsonly]

dr. barnes

pair: fbi instructor!professor!bucky barnes x fem!student!reader

word count: ~6.5k

summary: you ask for some advice from your reclusive and very attractive professor.

warnings: teacher student relationship so slight age gap but i had pictured it being less than 10 years, super soft bucky, smut at the end (~1.3k), fingering (f rec) but not super descriptive, crime scene descriptions, descriptions of blood, some christian/religious references at the crime scenes, (let me know if i missed any !!)

a/n: this one held me hostage for weeks. i literally could not stop thinking about it. do i have uni exams this week? yes. but did i spend my time writing this? also yes. i hope you guys like it !!

“Explain the killer. What does he do? What motivates him? How would you catch him? A thousand words printed by the next class. Have a good weekend,” your professor, Dr. Barnes, announces with a nod, cueing the shuffling of laptops and bags belonging to FBI trainees eager to get home on a Friday afternoon.

You load up your things, your mind still thinking about the brutal crime scene photos shown on the slides of the lecture today that made your stomach turn over. While you know you have chosen to be at the FBI, you can’t help but wonder sometimes what you are doing there. Your degree in psychology and doctorate in criminology has led you to the FBI Academy, but your mind still swirls when the most horrible acts of violence are placed in front of you. You chalk it up to you retaining your humanity and sanity, so you are not exactly upset over the fact. It just makes your job more difficult.

Dr. Barnes’ class is always the most brutal, but it is by far the most fascinating class you have. It does help that your professor is the most fascinating part, being very good looking and extremely private. He shares very little personal information, telling you only that he used to work homicide at the police department before beginning teaching. You notice that he does not talk to students often, simply giving his lectures, packing up and leaving after the sea of students flood into the hallways.

You are curious about him, about what he is like when he is not lecturing, and figuring that you have little to lose, you decide to come back after your classes to ask for some help. 

…

“Dr. Barnes?” you call out as you step into the lecture hall that is still lit, leaving you to believe that someone is there. You take a few more steps and find your professor sitting at his desk, photos piled around, staring intently at the laptop in front of him. He makes no movement to acknowledge you, his focus completely locked onto his work.

You walk all the way up to his desk, repeating his name which does little to deter him. You reach a hand out and give his shoulder a slight squeeze, causing him to jump in his seat and look up at you, eyes wide. 

“Sorry, Dr. Barnes. I didn’t mean to scare you.” 

At your words, he scans your face, recognition dawning on his features. 

“Sorry, I didn’t hear you,” he says quietly, his eyes focusing on the books you are holding in your hands. 

“It’s okay, Dr. Barnes,” you assure him.

“Is there something I can do for you?” he trails off a bit at the end of his question, asking for your name in its absence.

You fill in your name and explain, “I just have a question. I’m writing a paper for another class and was hoping that you could give me some insight on the topic. I’m really just looking for another perspective.”

“Of course,” he says as he leans back in his chair. There is not another chair, so you take to sitting on the edge of his desk.

“The paper is about female serial killers, and I was wondering what you think the most common traits and motives are. We have discussed some examples in class, but I wanted to ask what your experience has been.”

He thinks for a moment, taking his glasses off and rubbing his eyes. “They usually work in health care professions. They’ll, um, they will be married or have been married before. They usually kill to improve their situation, so they’ll target people they know, usually men. But not all women,” he stops and looks up at you before continuing to explain a case he had while working homicide where they investigated a series of killings that followed the signs of a male killer but ended up being a woman. 

Dr. Barnes runs a hand through his hair when he finishes, leaning back in his chair. You can’t help but notice how good he looks in this position and at this angle. His dark hair tousled and glasses twirling between his thumbs, you think about how it would feel to reach out and feel his hair between your fingers. You school yourself, your face becoming hot at the idea. He is your professor, and you would do well to remember that. 

You continue the conversation, asking him questions and prodding for more insight. When you figure you have taken up enough of his time, you bow your head a bit and begin getting up from your place on the desk.

“Thank you for your help, Dr. Barnes. I really appreciate you taking the time.”

He nods in acknowledgment, a small smile adorning his lips which you watch perhaps a little too intently as he says. “It was nothing. I’m glad I could help.”

You begin walking toward the door of the lecture hall but are stopped by your name being called out.

“Would you actually mind taking a look at these pictures? I’d like to know what you see.”

You turn back around. The look on his face is one of curiosity. You wonder why he would want to ask you, and part of you wants to believe that it is because he wants you to stay, but you know better. 

“Sure,” you shrug, making your way back to his desk. “I’m not sure I’ll be of much help, though”

“Just take a look. It’s not a test, if that’s what you’re worried about,” your professor says, standing up to hand you the crime scene photos.

They are gruesome, but you don’t know what else you could have expected with Dr. Barnes. You examine them all the while trying to ignore the way he leans over your shoulder as you fail to concentrate. You are so close that if you took a single step back, you would be flush to him. 

Pushing those thoughts away, you focus your attention on the photos, flipping through them, noticing the odd blood splatter near the baseboard that doesn’t have a body laying anywhere near it. 

“What would make the killer climb on top of the counter to shoot someone, get down, and move the body?” you think out loud as you turn your head to look at Dr. Barnes. You notice how close your faces are and let out a breath at the discovery. “Dominance?” your voice is more shaky than you wanted it to sound.

“I was hoping you could tell me. My guess is they were waiting there, but it still doesn’t make sense,” he says, looking past you and to the picture you are holding. You look back down as well, grateful you did not make eye contact, the idea of the intimacy of it alarming.

“If they were standing on it, that would make sense, but the angle doesn’t really fit. It seems as if they were waiting for them to get home, and they sat, swinging their legs, completely calm and casual about shooting this person,” you pause, mulling over your words before saying, “Maybe they even knew this person. The proximity to the counter could mean that the victim was comfortable enough to approach them, and that the victim was unaware of what was going to happen.”

He hums in agreement in your ear, and a feeling of satisfaction washes over you. Turning back around, you hand the photos to your professor and take a step back. 

“I think you may be right,” he says with a nod, a small smile again creeping onto his features. You make eye contact and keep it, somewhat entranced by it.

“I’m glad I was able to help,” you smile. “Thanks again, Dr. Barnes. Have a good night.”

…

You anticipate going back to classes on Monday, knowing that you have to attend Dr. Barnes’ lecture. You don’t know if anything will be different after the night you spent talking to your professor. Part of you knows that nothing should be different. While there are only a few years between you, you are still his student.

But part of you wants things to be different. The entire weekend, you could not get out of your head the image of his face so close to yours or the sight of him as he leaned back in his chair, legs casually falling open. 

Dr. Barnes is not in the lecture hall when you arrive for which you are grateful. You settle into your seat and wait for the lecture to begin by fiddling with your laptop. When your professor does come in, you notice that he combed his hair today, letting it fall neatly over his forehead. The plaid shirt he wears still doesn’t match his suit, but you find it charming. He slips his glasses on and begins teaching.

The whole lecture you try valiantly to focus on the subject, but you fail rather miserably, unable to think of anything but how you stood right where he is, your back a foot away from his chest with him humming in your ear. It is going to be a long term if this is how every lecture is going to go.

You are brought back to reality when Dr. Barnes makes eye contact with you. He smiles which you quickly reciprocate, then he turns around, gesturing to the screen before anyone notices.

It is definitely going to be a long semester.

…

Weeks go on with you and Dr. Barnes smiling at each other from afar, both of you knowing that you would be playing with fire if you do anything more than smile. But the longer you go simply smiling, the more you want to do something about it.

And one day, he does something about it. On your way out of the lecture hall, Dr. Barnes stops you, calling out your name. You walk over, anticipation coiling in your stomach.

“I’ve another case I’d like your opinion on. Do you have time tonight to take a look?” he asks you quietly so as to not draw the attention of the students still exiting the room.

“Yes. Here at 7:30?”

He nods, making a flash of eye contact which you return with a smile. 

…

You make your way to Dr. Barnes’ lecture hall, your stomach roiling with nerves. You have thought too much about him, fantasized a little often for you to not think about it when you talk to him. The soles of your shoes click on the tile as you walk the hallway. You take a deep breath and open the door.

Dr. Barnes is reclined behind his desk, crime scene photos in his hand as he flips through them intently. At your entrance, his head flicks up to find your figure approaching his desk.

“Hey, thanks for coming,” he says as he stands up. 

“Hi, yeah. It’s – yeah it’s no problem, Dr. Barnes,” you manage to get out, tripping over your words more than you would have liked. Another deep breath to collect yourself. “What can I do to help?”

He leans against the front of his desk and reaches behind him to grab the photos he was examining before. You take a few steps closer to grab them from his outstretched hand.

“A recent set of murders. It’s odd to say the least,” he starts, watching you intently as you study the photos. 

The scene is horrifying, blood smeared across the walls, not as blood spray or splatter, but in an image. A lamb. Your mind spins as you look through more of the pictures, each of them showing blood splashed on the walls. You wonder what the killer did in order to get that much blood. There is too much for it to have come from just one body.

“How many people were found dead?”

“Only one,” he answers, leaning in to help you find the image of the body heaped over the table. You can’t help but notice everywhere his body touches yours, how his breath flutters against your neck, but you cast those thoughts away to focus on the case at hand.

“There had to have been more. There’s too much blood,” you mumble as you cart through the images again, counting as you go. A beat passes as you take in the scene, contemplating before constructing ideas.

“What do you see?”

“In ancient religious practices, a lamb would be sacrificed and the blood would be sprinkled around seven times. There are seven places where the blood was thrown on the wall,” you pause to show him each one. You glance up at your professor who is looking on intently, urging you to continue. “Then you have the body placed on the table. It could be sacrificial. The lamb was supposed to be perfect. Without blemish. Maybe – maybe the killer saw this person as their perfect – their perfect lamb, as someone who would put them in favor with God. The sacrificial lamb is sacramental. Symbolic. Messianic. It’s an act of repentance. So what was the killer repenting from?”

A hum from Dr. Barnes pulls you out of your reverie and breaks your focus from the crime scene photos. You lean around his form to place the pictures back on his desk, your shoulder brushing against his arm. His eyes follow you before he brings a hand up to rub his eyes, almost like he is physically rubbing away the images.

“Do you think the killer knew the victim?” he asks quietly, bringing his hands down to meet your eyes.

“I think they could be family. Family or close friends. They were their savior,” you answer, matching his tone.

Dr. Barnes nods in agreement and in that moment, you can see that he looks like a man who is carrying the world on his shoulders. He slouches forward slightly, his hair strewn around his ears with bags under his eyes. It takes everything in you to not reach out a hand to touch his cheek, to rub a thumb across his lips as you have in your dreams.

Appalled by your own thoughts, you take a step back to give yourself space to halt that train of thought. The movement makes him stand, subconsciously trying to keep the close proximity between you. You don’t break eye contact, making the moment intimate. Intense.

“This case has been keeping me up at night,” he confesses as he brings a hand to run through his hair with a sigh, breaking eye contact. “I wonder where the other bodies are. I can’t seem to get my mind around it.” 

“I’m sure you’ll figure it out,” you say in nearly a whisper. “You’re good at what you do.”

“Thank you for your help. It’s some really great insight you had.”

“It’s no problem, Dr. Barnes.”

“Bucky,” he says quickly, rushing it out like he knows he shouldn’t let it pass his lips.

“Bucky,” you repeat, trying the name out on your tongue. 

You then fall into easy conversation, learning more about each other. You discover that Bucky has a PhD in criminology as well, and that he used to be a field agent but decided to leave it to become a teacher at the academy. Part of you wants to ask why, but you figure that it isn’t a conversation he wants to have while still getting to know you. He asks about your life, your family, your education. He is interested in why and how you landed at the academy. You answer him honestly, not inclined to hide away as you normally do when people ask those questions.

Bucky is surprisingly sociable. Based on his reclusiveness when it comes to students, you were not expecting to hold such easy and fun conversation. It makes you want to spend the whole night chatting, joking, exploring. But you know you should not stay. 

When the conversation lulls, you glance at your watch and ask, “Is there anything else I can do for you, Bucky? I think I might head home.”

Before you can even register what is happening, he takes a singular step forward and leans in to meet his lips to yours. In shock, you stand limply, not sure how to respond. You can’t deny that you have thought about this moment for weeks, dreaming about it, imagining what it would be like to kiss him. Bucky. But you hadn’t expected it to happen tonight.

And before you have time to respond, he pulls away, opening his eyes to look at you with wide ones of his own.

“I’m sorry, I–”

You don’t acknowledge his apology, instead leaning in to kiss him again, only you are prepared for it this time. He responds immediately as his lips move slowly over yours, testing the waters. Your hands are still by your sides, but his come to settle in your hair and over your arm. His kisses are controlled and soft, not pressing for more than what you are willing to give. A sigh flutters from your nose which ghosts over his cheeks.

Breaking away for a second, you open your eyes and find his already looking at you. The both of you know that you are playing with fire. You are still his student, and he is your professor, but the feeling of his lips on yours overrules any rational thought at the moment.

You give a slight nod and he takes that as a green light to kiss you again. Bucky pulls you closer, and your hands find their way around his torso, snaking up into his hair. It is his turn to sigh at the action which causes satisfaction to roll down your back in waves that has you leaning further into the kiss, opening your mouth ever so slightly. He takes advantage and kisses you deeper. A soft moan escapes you at the feeling, followed by a shaky breath.

He pulls away, a triumphant smile playing at his mouth. 

“I’m not sorry,” he whispers.

“Me neither.”

He kisses you once more, chaste and short, but it carries more meaning than any of the other kisses. It tells you that he has thought about this, too. It wasn’t a spur of the moment, impulsive decision. And it tells you that he plans on doing it again.

…

You settle into a routine with Bucky. After class on Fridays, he stops you on your way out and quietly asks you to come back to look over a case or his lectures. You always nod and come back at 7:30. 

The unspoken truth of the need for secrecy looms over your blooming relationship, but you are almost spurred on by the illicitness of it all. You haven’t done anything more than kiss. You haven’t even interacted beyond the walls of the lecture hall. You both know that it is safest that way. 

The more time you spend together, the more you find yourself falling in love with Bucky. His quirks make you smile. The way he perks up when you walk through the door makes your heart flutter in your chest. You have never felt so valued by anyone before. He trusts your opinions. He respects your honesty. You admire his dedication to what he does. You find his quiet nature calming. 

The list of things you love about Bucky keeps you up at night as you replay scenes of kissing at his desk behind your eyes as you fall asleep. Bucky kisses you like you are ice cream on a sunny day, slow and hungry like he savors every second of your mouth on his. He never presses you for more, only going so far as to set you up on his desk, pulling your hips to his, allowing you to wrap your legs around him as you wind your fingers in his hair. He always sighs when you tug at it which gives you the opportunity to kiss at his neck, your chin always getting scratched by his stubble. 

You love the routine. However, it makes it hard to concentrate during the lectures since all you can think about when you look at his desk is how good his hands felt on your hips and how his lips were pressed to yours when you were propped up on the wood yourself.

The semester continues on following your routine. If anyone suspects anything, they don’t say. You can’t imagine that someone hasn’t picked up on the soft smiles he sends your direction during lectures, and stragglers leaving class late on Fridays must hear his whispers for you to come back. 

Steadily approaching the end of the term, you begin to question how long your routine will continue. You will no longer be Bucky’s student. Could you actually date? Would he want to? Is that what you want?

…

The familiar tug of nerves settles in the pit of your stomach as you walk to class with Bucky — Dr. Barnes if you were still professional, but you figure that his lips have kissed you a few too many times and in a few too many places for you to call him that. It is your last class in his lecture hall, meaning that beyond today, you are free to make a decision as to whether this is serious or not.

In your heart of hearts, you want this to keep going. You love how you feel around Bucky. While you have not said it out loud, you love him. You feel yourself aching to hear him say it, too. 

When you arrive in the room, Bucky is already there, nervously flipping through crime scene photos while running his hands through his hair, creating a rather haphazard mess on his head. He looks more anxious than usual, and it takes everything in you to not to stride to his desk and ask him what’s wrong. 

Instead, you brush past him, trailing a quick hand over his arm, hoping that it has a calming effect over him. His eyes flash to yours as you cast a look over your shoulder, smiling at him. He sends you a tight lipped smile back as his shoulders shrug down from their place beside his ears. 

From your seat, you watch Bucky pace around a bit, obviously concerned about something. You rub your palms over your thighs when you discover them clenched in worry. You wonder if his stress has anything to do with the reason you were nervous coming to class today — the talk you know is coming tonight. You figure it does when his eyes glance over at you every few minutes before beginning the lecture.

You find yourself becoming sentimental about the semester as you look around the room, taking in the feeling for the last time. If you and Bucky do decide to continue your relationship, you can never take one of his classes again. If you don’t continue to see Bucky, you doubt you will want to take one of his classes again. You will miss his funny side comments that come out of left field. You will miss his mismatched suits and disheveled hair. 

The sound of Bucky announcing the end of class breaks you out of your thoughts, and the shuffling of backpacks and feet brings you back to reality. A stream of students thank Bucky as they flow out of the classroom for the final time. You stall a minute, waiting for the throng to exit out the doors before approaching your professor.

“Hey, Bucky,” you say quietly, clutching your laptop to your chest. 

“Hey.”

You watch him lean against his desk, hands pressed to the edge of the wood. 

“How are you doing?” you ask the question that has been waiting to erupt since you entered the lecture hall an hour previous. “You seem nervous.”

A chuckle that comes out more as a sigh escapes him. “Yeah. I’m fine. I, uh, I just didn’t get much sleep last night. How are…how are you?”

“Wistfully contemplating the end of my time in your class,” you reply playfully, hoping that the happy tone will hide the melancholy you really feel about the idea.

This elicits a laugh from Bucky as he looks at you through his lashes — a look that always has your knees threatening to come out from under you. You take steps closer and set your laptop down on his desk, then place your hands on his shoulders, running them down his arms to settle in his hands.

“Do you want to get dinner with me tonight?” you ask, the words barely more than a whisper. You want to catch them in the air, afraid that your proposal to disrupt the routine will be rejected.

But Bucky smiles immediately, thinking for a moment before saying, “Why don’t I cook dinner?”

Your stomach flutters at the thought of watching him in the kitchen. You nod in response.

“7:30?”

“7:30,” you repeat before letting go of his hands to walk out the doors, throwing a smile over your shoulder as you go.

…

The drive to Bucky’s house is quiet but comfortable. About halfway through the trip, your hands link together, resting on your thigh. You talk lazily, asking questions about each others’ days since your morning lecture. There is something so calming about Bucky. You trust him. You love him.

Every once in a while, your eyes flick over to watch him drive, eyes intently focused on the road ahead. He can feel your gaze, so he sends a glance over to you with a soft smile playing on his lips. 

“What?” he asks when you don’t shy away from his eyes.

“Nothing, Buck. I just like being with you.”

“I do, too.”

The sweetness of his simple confession does more to your confidence than you ever thought possible. You feel comfortable around Bucky. You need only be yourself when you are with him, and hearing that same sentiment from him gives you hope that he wants this to continue just as much as you do.

You squeeze his hand, at which he laughs softly, squeezing yours back, brushing his thumb over the knuckles on the back of your hand.

Gravel crunching under tires and the faint sound of dogs barking indicates that you have arrived at your destination. You open the car door and follow Bucky to the front steps of a small house on the edge of town. A large open field is situated behind his house, neighbors nonexistent. Given Bucky’s personality, you are not surprised to discover that he lives alone, away from people, away from the city. 

A flash of nervousness pricks at your mind, as no one would be around if Bucky shows you that isn’t the guy you think he is. But you trust him, and you trust him enough to accept your fate if it does prove to be your downfall.

The door creaks open, and Bucky flicks on the light. Two big dogs come bounding to greet you both, circling his feet until he crouches down to give them the attention they are begging for. To see Bucky with his dogs makes your mind go fuzzy and warm, the tenderness of the scene eradicating your doubts from before.

“Charlie and Duke,” Bucky says, showing you which dog belongs to which name, rubbing each of them affectionately before standing and grabbing your hand.

“They’re adorable.”

“They’re good dogs.”

He leans in for a quick kiss, the domesticity of it causing your breath to catch in your throat. He pulls away smiling, then tugs you into the kitchen where he drags a chair out from the table for you to sit on.

“Sit,” Bucky says with mirth in his voice.

You laugh but do as you are told. 

“I was thinking of making steaks. Is that okay with you?”

“Sounds great.”

You watch Bucky make his way around the kitchen, obviously having done this a lot. He looks comfortable. He catches you staring, meeting your gaze head on, an easy smile adorning his mouth before asking, “What are you smiling at?”

“You. I like seeing you here,” you say quietly. 

“Not as much as I like seeing you sit at my table. I’ve thought about this a lot,” he admits with his back to you as he throws the steaks in the pan. “I like being around you. I’m more comfortable with you than anyone else. You make me feel — you make me feel normal. Most people don’t do that. They don’t — they don’t want to understand me. My old friends can only think about who I was before I quit the force. They don’t — they don’t want to like who I am now.”

The words spill out of Bucky before he can stop them, opening up to you in a way that he has not before. He has let you in here and there over the months you have been spending together in the lecture hall, but he has stayed rather private even then. Not sure what to say in response, you simply move from your place at the table to stand behind him, wrapping your arms around his torso, resting your cheek on his back. You can feel him relax into your touch, and it is a comfort to you both.

“Bucky, I think I am in love with you,” you whisper into his shirt. His body tenses, the sizzling of the meat in the pan filling the silence. Your heart pounds in your chest as you wait for him to say something. Burying your face further into him, disappointment and embarrassment creeping in your stomach, settling heavily when he doesn’t say anything. When a minute that feels like an eternity passes in silence, you mutter a quiet, “I’m sorry.” 

You let go of Bucky and take a step back. He quickly takes the pan off the heat and whips around to face you, pulling you back to him, whispering your name. 

“I love you,” the words are sure and confident coming from his lips. “I know I do.”

He looks at you intently, not shying away from your eyes before leaning in and kissing you softly. You get lost in his kisses, the pounding of your heart racing at a steady quick beat. Bucky backs you into the counter where he cages you with his hands as you weave one of your hands into his hair, the other running up his spine.

“Stay the night,” he mumbles between kisses.

You pull away and nod, meeting his eyes again, kissing him once without breaking the contact.

…

Settling on his couch after laughing yourselves silly over the dinner table, Bucky is close behind you with bowls of ice cream in hand. He hands you a spoon before sitting down right beside you, pulling your legs to stretch over his lap. He runs a hand absentmindedly over your shins as the two of you eat your ice cream. 

“Why did you come talk to me that night?,” he asks between spoonfuls. “You didn’t really need my help. You knew everything I was telling you.”

You smile like a child caught with their hand in the cookie jar. “I did need your help,” you assert before admitting, “but I also just wanted an excuse to talk to you.”

The sound of his laugh makes your heart flutter the same way it does when he looks up at you from behind his desk. 

“Hey, not all my professors are attractive recluses who deserve a starring role in my nightly fantasies.”

“Oh, so you fantasize about me,” he presses, the smirk on his face unlike any expression you have ever seen on him. He looks smug, proud, teasing. It makes heat flash to your core.

You hum but it comes out more as a squeak, your focus turning intently on the ice cream melting in your bowl.

“Do you want to know what I’ve fantasized about you?” Bucky asks lowly, grabbing the bowl from your hands, causing your eyes to lift to his. You watch him set it on the floor. Your heart begins pounding again as he moves to climb over you, settling between your open legs.

“What have you fantasized about, Bucky?” you ask quietly, voice shaky.

You take a breath when he leans in, capturing your lips in a soft kiss. You open your mouth to deepen it, and he takes advantage, his tongue pressing to your upper lip. The feeling has your hips rolling and sighs falling from your throat.

He pulls away to murmur into your neck, “Every time I would sit on my couch, I thought about laying you down and kissing you until you can’t remember your own name.”

Your eyes are screwed shut as you tug at his hair, his words forming pools of heat between your hips where his own apply pressure. Your words fail you, only a whimper escaping you. His lips move along your neck, working their way back to your mouth, giving due attention to the places on the way that have you squirming beneath him. You hands tug at his shirt to slip your fingers beneath the fabric, skimming up his back, scratching lightly.

His kisses become feverish at the feeling of your nails down his back. One hand hooks your knee to pull your form even closer to his, hips slipping into place. You can feel yourself becoming wetter by the second, the slow circling of his hips against yours creating friction that has you moaning.

In one swift motion, his hands are gliding up your sides, taking your shirt with you. You lean up to help him before settling back down against the pillows. He sits on his heels to take his own shirt off which allows you to see him in the faint light casted by the lamp in the corner.

You notice a shining scar that extends from one hip to the other below his navel. Fingertips reach out to touch it, barely making contact before his own hand stills your movements. 

“Is this why you quit the force?” you ask barely above a whisper.

He only nods, his feelings of vulnerability silencing him. You aren’t disgusted by it. It doesn’t change how you see him. You don’t pity him. You are simply curious. And amazed at his strength. He survived whatever left him this scar.

“Can I see it?”

Bucky takes a fluttering breath through his nose then nods again. You climb to the floor, resting on your knees between his legs. You glance up at him and see his head lolling to the side as he looks down at you, eyes hazy and soft. His eyebrows are scrunched, letting you know that he is concentrated, but the dam of secrecy surrounding Bucky is breaking with every passing second.

Tentatively, you stretch a hand forward, your fingertips grazing the scar. His stomach flexes beneath your touch. 

No one has seen his scar since the doctor sewed him back up. He has a fear of pity. He knows that people won’t see him the same when they see the effects of what happened to him — of what was done to him. But he doesn’t see pity in your eyes. He sees awe and amazement. 

Without warning, you press your lips to his stomach, the intimacy of it rendering his mind blank. You hear him swear quietly which urges you to keep going. You kiss all along the scar, his hips, then upwards before you climb into his lap. You find his lips again and kiss slowly, surely, passionately.

“I love you, Bucky.”

“I love you, too.”

You share a few more kisses before he stands up, pulling you with him to his room. He fumbles through his dressers to find a shirt and pair of shorts for you to wear. He hands them to you, then rummages through the bathroom cabinets to find a new toothbrush for you to use.

You thank him after he says that he will meet you back at the bed. The calm and comfort of being with Bucky is undeniable. The domesticity of the night has your heart skipping beats. You quickly change and brush your teeth before making your way to his bed. Noticing books stacked on the nightstand on one side, you slip under the covers of the other, sighing contently when you settle in.

Bucky comes in a moment later with only sweatpants hanging low on his hips. He decided to not put a shirt back on, relishing in the freedom that being with you gives him. He doesn’t climb into bed immediately, but rather stands and looks at you for a moment, curled up in his sheets.

“What have you fantasized about here?” you ask teasingly, but your voice comes out thinner than you had intended. 

At your words, his tongue darts out to lick his lips. He approaches the bed slowly, kneeling down beside you. 

“I want to know yours,” he says, his voice husky and low. You bite your lip, your eyes widening. A shaky inhale.

Soft kisses line the inside of your knee, trailing a path up your thighs. You let out a hitched moan when he places a kiss to your clothed core, your hands winding themselves in his hair. You tug slightly, inviting him to come up to the bed with you.

When he climbs up, you lean back, your shirt riding up over your stomach. Wordlessly, you pull his hands to your body, his calloused palms caressing the exposed skin. He runs his thumbs under your breasts, causing you to arch into his touch. Bucky can’t believe that you respond to him so keenly. He barely touches you and you are curving beneath him, aching for more. 

His lips find your neck, behind your ear, sucking gently. Your hands pull his hips to yours, rocking steadily into him. You suck in a breath, gathering the courage to grab one of his hands to lead it to where you want to feel him the most.

Bucky follows your lead without resistance, kissing you softly in an expression of consent. He helps you pull your shorts off, then presses two fingers to the wet patch on your panties. The pressure has your hips jutting into his touch, overwhelmed by the sensation when his fingers push the fabric to the side.

Your hips move in circles with his movements, his lips kissing you through it all. Moans slip and tumble from your mouth, leaving you hiccupping in pleasure. The cords in your stomach begin snapping when he speeds up his ministrations, your body contracting through your release.

“You did so good, sweetheart,” he whispers to you as he helps you come down from your high. 

Your eyes are crimped shut, but after a moment’s respite and a few encouraging kisses from Bucky, you come back to yourself. You open your eyes to find him watching you intently. You smile lazily then breathe, “Your turn.”

a/n: yayayay !! thanks for reading this !! let me know if you want to be on my taglist :):) and here is my masterlist if you want to check out my other work ! and check out MY SLEEPOVER going on right now !!

[gothamite-rambler]

Bruce is beekeeping age, but Artemis would still smash

I respect and agree.

Artemis (thinking out loud): Jason, your dad is at “beekeeping age.” You know what that means?

Jason refused to respond; he already knew where this conversation was headed. But Artemis took his silence as an invitation to elaborate on the slang term.

Artemis: It means he’s an attractive, middle-aged man—usually in his 40s or 50s. You know, the kind of guy who would keep bees and make his own honey.

Jason (monotone): That’s not something he does.

Artemis (undeterred): He doesn’t have to do that exactly. It’s just cute how he’s the cape crusader at night, but at home, he’s such an emo dork—like a businessman and a cool dad. He's good at so many things and I've heard a lot of praise about him when I was on Themyscira if you know what I mean.

Jason pretended to examine his soda can, regretting that he had said anything at all. He wondered how the conversation had even started.

Artemis (enamored): He's tough, tall, and kind of handsome. Little specks of grey in his hair. How old is your dad?

Jason brought his hands together, trying to block out the thoughts swirling in his head.

Artemis: He’s definitely at "beekeeping age." Some Amazons even call him a DILF.

Jason (whispering to himself): I wonder if I killed myself and got thrown in the pit, would I forget this?

Artemis (looking longingly): He reads books, he’s always there for you guys. He protects you like he protects Gotham. I never had a dad, but my mom wasn’t there for me like that either.

Jason refused to respond, taking a long drink from his soda can instead.

Artemis (wistfully): The crazy thing is, none of my former partners—besides you, of course—have made my heart flutter like Bruce and guys like him do. I know you two aren’t close, but a strong man who loves you, supports you, and is conventionally attractive… that's something every woman- I mean child wants.

Jason examined his gun, debating what Artemis would say next while struggling to keep his boiling annoyance at bay.

Artemis (twiddling her fingers, lost in thought): Jason, I think I want to fuck your dad.

Jason (glaring at his ex-girlfriend): No, really? I couldn’t tell!

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

Later that day, Jason made a surprise visit to Bruce to discuss the earlier conversation. If he was going to live with that moment replaying in his head, the man connected to it would have to hear about it too.

Bruce: She said I was “beekeeping age?”

Jason (staring at his feet): Yes. And before you ask, it’s a term for an ‘attractive’ middle-aged man, usually in his 40s or 50s.

Bruce: How did she know I was in my 40s?

Jason (shouting): Oh my God, that's what you focus on?!

Bruce (alarmed): Sorry, sorry! I’m just thrown off by the fact that she said it... she’s your age, and that felt wrong to hear.

Jason: Yep, yep, yep, she called you a DILF too.

Bruce: What’s a DILF?

Jason covered his eyes, cringing at the word.

Jason: Look it up. Because if I say the full acronym, I might shoot you in your kneecaps!

Bruce shrugged, then pulled out his phone to search for the definition. After reading it, he buried his head in his hands, exhausted by the world.

Bruce (defeated, disappointment tone): Oh, I’m so tired of this. Why can’t people just see me as fairly attractive and move on?

Jason: We’re on the same page about that. I would honestly prefer if people thought you looked like Quasimodo over... everything I heard from Artemis.

Bruce: Yep... yep, I already had to get Selina to stop calling me "Daddy."

Jason nearly vomited at the thought of that word connected to his foster dad.

Jason: This is going to be a full session in therapy next week. Anyway, avoid her forever, or I'm going to lose my mind again.

Bruce: I promise, I’m not going to do anything with her. That may have sounded wrong, but I wouldn’t because it's all kinds of messed up. I’m with Selina—she's my partner. Even if I were single—

Jason shot Bruce a glare, clutching a letter opener. Bruce nodded, cutting himself off before he could say anything that would make Jason want to stab him.

Bruce (ashamed): Have I paid you this month? I have not! Let me get my phone; I’ll be right back!

Bruce hurried out of the office, leaving Jason to collect his bearings. He pondered whether he deserved an extra paycheck after just getting paid last week, then shrugged.

Jason: Works for me.

[starhvney]

ackk i hate sending you this becuz i know you are stacked in requests;;; but i cant help but ask if you would be interested in a zenix fic (pdh) where both he and reader have a crush on each other but they are scared to admit it

so reader or him confesses in a round about way (example: reader describes zenix as their crush without outright saying his name, so when zenix finally realizes who you were talking about, it clicks in his head that you have a crush on him) ueueueueu sorry for dumping a request on your pile!!

𝐌𝐄?

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: pdh zenix x fem!reader

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: while he teaches you how to skateboard, you let your little crush slip out like the wheels from under your feet

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒: fluff, friends to more, mutual/returned feelings

𝐂𝐖: cussing

𝐀/𝐍: one time i tried to go roller skating and i busted my ass so hard my tailbone hurt for a whole week and i haven’t attempted any sort of balancing on wheels since

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

there’s no one left in the skate park as the light begins to fade from the sky. nearby street lamps turn on and birdsong transitions into the chirping of crickets. the air feels damp and electric as dark clouds cover the sky like a blanket.

“i think it’s gonna rain,” zenix mutters, squinting up to find no moon in the sky.

you stare at his face, observing every feature and flaw as his focus remains up above. when he gets no response from you he tilts his head back down, face wrinkling at you in confused annoyance.

“hello? did you just go brain-dead or some shit?” he questions, making you lightly shake your head and pretend to snap out of zoning out. 

“i was just thinking about… someone.”

you miss how his face nearly flinches at your words, his frown deepening as his arched eyebrows flatten in disappointment.

“someone?” he quotes you, scoffing as he tries to play off the drop in his mood. “no wonder you keep messing up, having you been thinking about some… crush of yours this whole time?”

you don’t miss the jealous intonation in his voice, however, making a strange confidence brew in you. 

“maybe…” you trail, steadying yourself back on the skateboard below you by once again holding on to zenix’s arms.

you’re sure by now that you could probably at least balance yourself on the board on your own, but he doesn’t have to know that. your leading foot shifts as you position yourself to push off. you look back up at him with a confused frown, however, when he takes a step back away from you. 

“nah, i’m not gonna hold your hands this time, try and do it on your own,” he shrugs, hands dropping to his sides as he stares down at your uncertain feet.

despite the uncaring nonchalance that he tried to display, he walked alongside you as you slowly and clumsily attempted to skate forward on your own.

“i’m doing it!” you cheer, pumping your fists in celebration and consequentially losing your balance.

you brace yourself as the board slips out from beneath your feet, expecting broken skin and bruises in a second. instead, zenix quickly reacts, arms shooting forward and hooking under yours. your face meets his chest instead of the concrete, an alternative that was much more welcome in your book. 

“that thing’s a death machine,” you mutter in embarrassment as he lifts you to your feet.

“or you’re too busy thinking about some stupid crush rather than balancing,” he mutters. “or you’re just uncoordinated as hell. or both.”

“hey!” you frown, lips forming into a pout.

before you can protest against his bullying, you feel a large droplet land on your face. and then your shoulder. and then your head. zenix groans, muttering a “told you it was gonna rain” before kicking up the board and waving for you to follow him back to his car.

between the time you two left where you stood and ran to the entrance of the parking garage, the sprinkling of rain turned into a downpour. zenix’s fluffy brown hair had flattened, droplets of rain dripping down his now heavy curls. as you two make your way to the garage elevator, he shakes his head in your direction, flinging water onto you.

“that’s so not cool.”

he only snickers in response, hitting the button to head up. the elevator button doesn’t respond, and you both awkwardly stare at it as you wait for the sound of the elevator moving to meet your ears. after a few seconds of silence, he presses the button again, groaning and spamming the dead button as if it will do anything.

“great,” he sighs, turning to the door that leads to the staircase instead. “guess we’re walking up a couple floors.”

he tugs on the metal door and is met with a dull thunk as the lock clashes against the threshold.

“you got to be fucking kidding me,” he groans, turning back to you with a glare when you laugh at his exasperation.

“guess we have to go up the long way,” you shrug, hugging your cold, wet arms as you begin to hike up the incline to the second floor.

zenix stares at you for a moment, eyebrow raised at your optimism before he trudges on beside you.

“who’s this person you have a crush on, anyway?” he questions suddenly, avoiding eye contact with you and instead focusing on the graffitied concrete next to you.

you bite your lip, staring up ahead.

“he’s really cool. i think, at least.”

zenix rolls his eyes, groaning at your less-than-vague description.

“thanks for the description, i can really picture him in my head now,” he sarcastically drones.

“what do you want to know about him?” you laugh, heart thudding unevenly against your rib cage.

“i really don’t care as much as you think,” he scoffs, making you frown as he stubbornly looks away. “…do i know him?”

“uhh… yeah.”

“but you’re not gonna tell me his name?”

“…no. you have to guess.”

he groans, rubbing his eyes as he finally looks at you in exasperation.

“guess based on the scraps you’ve given me?”

“okay! i’ll give you some hints,” you nervously concede, raising your hands in surrender. “um… he’s in your grade.”

zenix frowns, jaw clenching as he concentrates.

“he has brown hair, and these really pretty eyes.”

a poorly concealed sigh.

“and… he likes the same music as me…”

a glance in your direction.

“he likes to skateboard.”

was he always walking so close to you?

“and he skips class a lot.”

you two are almost near his car now, but you find yourself trapped between him and the concrete barrier next to you as his arms trap you from walking any further. you look up at him, his face close and expression serious as he stares you down. from this close you can concentrate on the red tint both in his hair and his eyes, and how a stray rain droplet had slowly began to drip down the slope of his nose.

“tell me who you’re talking about.”

your eyes shyly drift down to his lips.

“guess.”

he doesn’t answer you with words. instead, he dips down, hesitantly brushing his lips against yours. you push forward, meeting him in a kiss with the noise of the rain and your heartbeat rushing in your ears. the kiss is surprisingly soft and unsure, something sweet that you wouldn’t have expected from the boy.

slowly he pulls back, eyebrows furrowed as he stares at you slack-jawed.

“me?”

“what gave it away?”

“you’re stupid.”

you giggle, and his lips upturn in a rare soft smile.

“…i like you too,” he mutters, pulling you into a hug to hide his embarrassment at the confession.

while you can’t see his face, you can feel his heated cheek warm up the cold skin on your neck. both of your damp hair sticks to your skin, not helping how you were now chilled to the bone. 

you shiver into the hug, making zenix sigh under his breath. he reluctantly pulls away, shrugging off his thick zip-up and wrapping it around your trembling shoulders.

“come on, i’ll drive you home.”

©starhvney, 2024. please do not steal or repost my works as your own.

[thatlongspringnight]

Seven Days a Week

Pairing: Jeon Jungkook/female reader

Rating: M for mature

Genre:  slice of life? Non!idol au

Warnings: Smut, being followed around by Jungkook, mentions of scrapes and bruises, arguing

Summary: Every hour, every minute, every second - Jungkook wants to be with you. This is based loosely off the MV. 

Word Count: 2489

Monday

He’s late. You glance down at your phone, woefully free of any texts - any updates from your boyfriend. He’s LATE, and you’re staring down at the half-empty wine glass, the clean table. You can feel the pitying stares from the people around you, 

They think you’ve been stood up. 

Have you been stood up? That thought hadn’t exactly crossed your mind, at least until now. That was not…sure Jungkook had been busy lately, and he’d missed a few promised chill nights at your apartment. But to stand you up on a real date? At a - a fancy restaurant, that had been on your calendar for over a month - 

“Ah, I’m so sorry.” Jungkook’s voice breaks your spiral, at least for a moment. “Gah, I just - I lost track of time.” And he’s there, alright. A suit jacket and black pants paired with….a muscle shirt. You grip the napkin in your lap tightly, trying to temper the absolute incandescent rage building in your chest at how he looks.

Hair still damp with sweat, you know exactly where he’s been.

“And where exactly did you lose track of time, Jungkook-ah.” You ask, watching the way he tenses at your tone. 

“Well, I was just…I mean, I was -”

“Boxing, you were boxing, and by the looks of your outfit, you planned it.” And he runs a hand through his hair, making you internally curse at how it falls so nicely, thanks to how damp it is.

“I forgot the shirt.” Jungkook admits. “And I lost track of time. I know, i suck.” “Oh, you more than suck.” You resist the urge to toss your glass of wine onto his stupid white tee. “Jungkook, I can’t keep doing this with you.” And you can see the way it sinks in, the frown on his pretty face.

“What do you mean? I was just a little late -”

“No.” and you hold your phone up, the time flashing. “You were 32 minutes late, Jungkook, and not even dressed for the occasion. You knew this was important to me, but apparently I wasn’t important enough for you to even send me a text saying you’d be running late.” And once you’ve gotten started it's hard to stop. “I am worth more than this, Jungkook. I know it, and so should you.” 

“I - I know it.” Jungkook repeats you, sort of. “I know you’re worth more than how today has gone.” “Not just today, I shouldn’t…it shouldn’t cross my mind that you would stand me up, Jungkook! I shouldn’t be having to worry about it, or spend a whole day that was supposed to end in a beautiful, fancy, well-planned date, completely ignored by you. Not a single text!” And you’re on your feet. “So - so you can sit here, by yourself. We’re done. Done done. We are over.”

“Wait -” and he’s grabbing your wrist, on his feet, as you two are now fully making a scene in this restaurant. “Wait, I’m sorry, you can’t - this can’t be the end of us. I can fix this, we can go back to your place and - “ but you’re shaking him off.

“No, no more, I don’t want to see you again.”

Tuesday

“No, no more, I don’t want to see you again.” Prove to be famous last words on your way home from work, the train ride, normally peaceful, disturbed by a familiar warmth sliding into the seat next to you as you try to focus on the book in your hand, the headphones in your ear.

He’s warm, and he’s serious, not saying anything, at least until you huff, closing your book. Then his mouth opens, but before he can say anything, you’re on your feet, flat out ignoring him as you walk to the front of the train car, wondering if he will simply get the hint, but…

But you know him better than that.

“Please.” He asks, so sweetly, his hand reaching for yours, in the divider space between the train cars, rocking gently. “Hear me out, I’m sorry. It's not an excuse but…talk to me.” He sounds so earnest as you glare at him, a look that only makes him smile, like he’s being scolded gently, and not like you broke up with him yesterday. 

“No.” You shake his grip off. “No Jungkook, you don’t get to just weasel your way back in after yesterday. I don’t care that you have those sparkly baby doe eyes, it's not going to work. So just - “ 

The train grinds to a halt as you slide into the next car, it's close enough to your stop that you’re just shrugging it off, walking out with the crowd of people exiting.

He doesn’t follow you, and you don't hear him softly mumble something about how you still think his eyes sparkle, even when you’re mad. 

Wednesday

Is nothing sacred? You are watching the torrential downpour outside as the hum of the laundromat helps the thrumming beginnings of a headache. This is YOUR time, your time, as the person who has been nothing but a thorn in your side since Monday evening sits behind you on the counter.

And he’s such a fucking - You groan aloud in frustration, he looks so fucking good you almost want to forgive him on that basis alone, this little dance you two are playing getting old quickly. He’s in those stupid too-ripped jeans and a fucking tank top, with a fucking comfy jacket and its SICK.

It’s sick how much you want to FUCK him, to grab him by his chiseled jaw and kiss him till you’re breathless. To - to ride him on top of the fucking laundry counter till he’s crying. But right now, you’re ignoring him instead, focused on folding your half-dry clothes so you can set them into the hamper you brought them in with.

Broken - the laundromat has sprung a leak, water pouring into the building as you focus on anything but that, but him.

“I can help.” He speaks up, kicking his feet like a little kid, before hopping off the counter. No one is even bothering to glance at the two of you, too busy trying to gather their things. Too  busy deciding if the rain outside is worse than the water flowing on the floor. 

“I don’t need your help.” you answer, just for him to pull out one of your shirts and start folding. “I said no Jungkook - “ “Let me show you.” His voice is firm, way more than yours. “Let me show you. If you don’t want me to talk, let me show you that I’m sorry.” “Fuck you.” You answer him, snatching the shirt from his hand. “Big talk - “ “It's not talk.” he keeps his cool- sort of. No doubt fueled by your own obvious weakness, the way you can’t stop yourself from brushing your hand against his when you take your shirt back. Of course, this only pisses you off more. “You’re it for me, and I’ll do whatever I have to do - “ He is following you as you hastily shove your clothes into the hamper. 

“Really, Jungkook?” And finally, you slam the hamper down onto the counter, turning to face him so you can jab a finger against his chest, so you can shove him back lightly. “Really? Now you’re everywhere I am? Now you’re on time? You’re early? You want to be around me? Where was that energy  Monday night?” 

“I made a mistake.” He throws his hands up, and it knocks his jacket off his shoulder, exposing a sliver of skin you know would look better if your mouth  was against it, leaving darling red marks - the thought sets you on edge. “I made a mistake but it doesn’t mean I didn’t want to be there.” and he’s reaching for you again, just for you to slap his hand away. 

“Doesn’t seem like it was a mistake. Doesn’t seem like you wanted to see me at all.” And you make a choice, grabbing your hamper. 

“I always want to see you - every hour, every minute, every s-“ 

Fuck it, you’ll risk the weather. You’d rather get sucked into a tornado than spend another moment with him…because you know you’ll forgive him if you do. 

Thursday

“Jungkook.” You’re staring at the yellow sunflowers, looking at the man in front of you with something like frustration - but not quite, especially when he thrusts them into your arms, the sunshine-colored petals almost blinding in their brightness. “Flowers, really?”

“Your favorite.” He clarifies, voice steady like you hadn’t just watched him sprint a block to catch up to you. “I was going to knock on your door but - I mean, I’m lucky I saw you.”

“Lucky?” Your voice is dry. “What does that make me?” But even as you’re talking, you’re clutching the flowers to your chest, idly brushing at the silken spring petals. 

“It - it shows you that it’s fate.” Jungkook answers, so damn earnest your heart thumps out of rhythm at his words. “Fate that I was able to see you, and give these to you and say I’m sorry again.” And his eyes…

It’s really unfair how they are so big, so beautiful and soft, and how pretty they look with the sunflowers reflected in them. 

Or how he’s smiling at you, like you hold his whole heart in your hands. Which is why you don’t toss the flowers into the street, or make a scene of throwing them to the ground…you just… 

“Yaaah, can’t you give it a rest?” Which gets nothing but an adamant refusal from him, a shake of his head that would normally make you laugh. 

That you manage to resist laughing at, thank fuck. 

“Never.” And you know he means it, even as you roll your eyes, letting your footsteps take you away from him. “Hey! W-wait - you aren’t getting rid of the flowers?” It’s confusion and elation all at once. 

And you don’t, in fact. When you finally make it home later you set them up in a pretty vase, letting your gaze drift to them as you think about him. 

Fate, huh? 

Friday

It’s been raining all day, and instead of soothing you, you feel…antsy, staring at your phone, listening for a knock at the door, pausing to look back at the sunflowers on your table. 

Jungkook, you bite your lip, huffing as you look down at your phone again. Even if you don’t have any plans today for him to barge in on….he could certainly send you a text. 

As the hours tick by and the storm gets worse, your thoughts shift to worrying that he will come over, that he’ll brave the weather like an idiot just to tell you that he’s sorry, when you already have forgiven him. 

Then your phone lights up, a text, and you almost drop it from how quickly you go to look. 

“There’s been an accident.” From Seokjin. 

Your breath leaves your lungs. 

Saturday

“I literally can’t believe you.” You are staring at Jungkook, who looks pitiful. “I thought something had happened! I thought you were hurt!” And sure - maybe there is a scratch on his cheek, a skint knee, but he’s fine. 

Thank God he’s fine. You could kiss him on the mouth, just to make sure. 

“That’s not my fault!” Jungkook whines “Hyung sent that. I didn’t know - I mean, there was an accident, but I’m fine.” 

“You’re fine.” And you find yourself kneeling on the floor by his couch. Pressing a hand gently against his cheek. “You’re fine, but you could have been hurt - I mean you wrecked your bike -“

“No.” Jungkook shakes his head. “Not my bike, I mean, I - I want you to keep worrying about me, but it wasn’t my motorcycle.” And his cheeks are flushed. “Namjoon-Hyung left his bike at my house, his bicycle. So…so I decided to take it back to him, then Jin-Hyung and I were going to uhm…” and the redness has reached his ears. “Okay we were going to think of new ways for me to - to get your attention.” 

“I’m going to kill Kim Seokjin.” You mumble and it makes him laugh, his hands coming up to hide his face. 

“Yeah be mad at Jin Hyung and not me.” Jungkook answers, a little giggle on his lips. “I - I like that better.”

“Jungkook.” you grab his hand, twining his fingers with yours. “You…you have my attention. No need to get your hyung in it, no need to - to almost break a rib for it either.” “I’d do anything.” He says, squeezing your fingertips. “Anything for you.”

Sunday

“A-ah!” Jungkook’s fingertips are digging into your thighs, your own planted firmly on his shoulders as you rock your hips against his. Damn him, you think, eyes briefly trailing to the vase of sunflowers on the table, then back to him, to his toned chest and the way he is literally fucking you while you’re on top of him.

Bringing you up and down with his strong grip, somehow even making your couch squeak from the effort.  “Ngh - y-you feel so good.” He breathes, a steady whimper that makes you feel weak as you find his mouth messily with your own.

“Yeah?” You answer, letting your nails leave crescent moons against his toned skin. “Y-Yeah? So good?” “F-Fuck - “ He whines outright. “Just, I love it when you ride - I love you - “

“Ha-ah ~” You appreciate the moment, also how he slows just a bit, his hand sliding into the space between the two of you to truly show you the depths of his devotion, roughened fingertips making you tense as they rub your clit. “I love you too.” You rub your nose against his cheek, tracing his jaw with your tongue, making him shiver. “Even if - if you’re insufferable. Even if you’re a mess. You’re MY mess.” 

“I wanna live i-in this moment.” he groans. “I wanna be like this every day - “ “Fucking me?” You answer, before you leave a sweet little love bite against his pulse point, but his answer is lost against your lips, and long forgotten by the time he sends you over the edge, long forgotten as the condom finds its way to the trash and you find your way into his arms.

You feel satiated, relaxed, glowing even, as you curl against him, forever the big spoon as he grins sweetly at you.

“Do you forgive me?” He murmurs, chasing your lips after you plant a kiss to his forehead.

“What do you think?” You reply, and he giggles, his eyes sparkling in the light.

“I think you kept my flowers.” and now it's your face that feels warm. “I think you wanted to forgive me then.” But all you do is twine your fingers with his, shushing him with another kiss, more than willing to take him up on his offer.

Every hour, every minute, every second - just loving him.

tag list: @hesperantha​

@xjoonchildx​

@miscelunaaa

@vyduan

@starlostjimin

@minisugakoobies

@sahmfanficbts

@augustbutwinter

@minisugakoobies

@wwilloww

@hobi-gif

[anzynai]

Day 8 - Nuzzles

Jack and Epel (TWST)

a/n: i actually really liked writing this one. theyre friends, but really kinda implied here. lots of romantic undertones methinks.. idk. ANYWAY, i don’t have much more to say but enjoy!!

——

it was weird how affectionate jack could be, epel thought, when jack laid against him, his ears twitching every so often. epel had always wanted to scratch behind him ever since he had met the other, but didn’t, afraid that that was weird, but when he finally gave in to his urges, it turned out a lot better than he had thought.

apparently jack really liked getting his ears scratched, and epel had to admit, it was kinda cute.

now, they sat underneath a tree, epel was sitting with his legs straight out and jack was laying down, his head resting on epel’s lap. epel wasn’t totally sure if this was just platonic friend behavior, but he found himself not minding either. either way, epel was reading a book, one hand offhandedly scratching behind jack’s ear comfortingly. at a certain interesting part, he got distracted, not realizing he had stopped.

that was, until jack tiredly nuzzled against his hands.

“gah, sorry, jack.” he said, resuming.

jack continued nuzzling him, though, even scooting in closer. his ears and hair nuzzled against his sides and his arms, and epel let out a giggle.

“hehehey! t-thahahat tihihickles, stop that!”

jack looked up, a cheeky smile on his face, and epel couldn’t will alway his blush upon seeing it.

“you’re ticklish?” jack asked, almost incredulously and very curious. epel felt a bit embarrassed under his gazed.

“j-just a little… ain’t everyone?!” epel muttered, feeling increasingly nervous at the childlike wonder in jack’s eyes.

“maybe, but that’s not the focus of the matter right now.” a moment of silence.

“..wh—“

“can i tickle you?” jack asked, interrupting epel.

“WHAT?!”

“i’m curious. i want to.” jack stared. with anyone else, epel definitely would have said no and ran away, but for some reason, he couldn’t find himself to say no.

he couldn’t really say yes either, so he mumbled out some word that even he didn’t know was supposed to sound like, but apparently it was good for jack because he leaned down, immediately squeezing epel’s sides.

epel jolted, a smile automatically appearing on his face. “eek!” he cried, embarrassed at how fast he had reacted. jack leaned down further, moving so that he was in front of epel and nuzzled the top of his head on epel’s tummy. it was not really a way he had ever been tickled before, but it was apparently very effective.

“g-gahahaha! jajahahahack!”

“hmm?” jack paused, looking up at epel.

“thahat tihihickles!”

“…well, yeah.” jack replied and epel wanted to groan, wondering what in the world had possessed him to make him say yes to such a request in the first place.

apparently be had been silent for too long because jack repositioned himself to tickle him again, pinching his thighs and scratching at his knees.

“AHAHAHACK!” he cried, squirming and trying desperately not to kick jack in the face. jack was looking like he was having the time of his life, studying epel’s reactions.

“oh, you’re pretty ticklish here,” jack noted and epel tried to shut his mouth, but he was feeling too sensitive.

“nanahahahaaha!” even if epel wanted to reply, he couldn’t. he cursed himself for being born so damn ticklish.

seconds later, he felt he was slowly losing his insanity. jack was a thorough tickler, that’s for sure, he realized, as jack had tested nearly every spot a person could be ticklish. epel even found out some spots he didn’t know he was ticklish.

“O-OHOHOKAY! EHEHEHENOUGH! T-thahahat’s eheheHENOUGH!” he cried at least, and jack nodded, stopping his attack, allowing for epel a chance to breathe.

“you okay?” jack asked, trying to not look concerned. he seemed worried he had gone too far, so epel was quick to reassure him.

“i’m good. just, uh, when did ya.. get so good at that?”

“at tickling?” jack tilted his head.

“y-yeah.”

“well, i didn’t really know i was “good at tickling”. i guess i just have younger siblings so…” jack shrugged, and epel nodded, getting what he meant. “that was fun.”

“it was?” epel asked.

“yeah, your reactions were cute. you’re.. cute.”

“huh?!” epel shouted, feeling flustered suddenly. jack jumped, almost shocked at himself for even saying it.

“sorry, i meant— uh— i know you don’t like being called cute.. i don’t know, forget about it.”

“no, it’s okay. i don’t usually like it,” epel admitted, and jack’s ears drooped just slightly. “but i guess it’s okay time to time. i mean, cuteness has it’s own charms and i’m starting to learn that now.” epel smiled, hopefully in a way that jack considered reassuring.

it seemed it was, because jack smiled back. jack rest his head back on epel’s lap, and if every once in a while, jack would nuzzle against epel’s tummy and make him giggle, neither mentioned it.

[ill-written-god]

T | 649 | m/m Steddie human/demon | it's part of the Temptation universe, monsterfucker Steve, demon!Eddie

Sometimes, when they are inside, especially in Eddie's trailer, he slips up without thinking.

He doesn’t shift fully, but somehow the mix of familiar setting and people makes him feel safe enough to let go. It’s on a day like that, when he’s on the floor, taking notes for his next session, that his tail shows up swaying behind him, back and forth. 

Steve can’t take his eyes away.

They are waiting for Robin to finish her driving lessons, so they can go to the movies together. It’s been an excruciating twenty minutes since he got there and he was already losing his mind. The tail had a mind of its own and was trying to hypnotize him. 

And he was determined to read the comic in front of him. The Teen Titans that both Dustin and Robin seemed to enjoy, so he decided to give it a go.

Based on the little he knew about the characters so far, he wondered if Eddie was like their private fusion of Raven and Beast Boy. The demonic and shapeshifting parts, respectively. Although Raven’s powers were more akin to Eleven’s…

“How’s the comic?”

He nearly jumps out of his skin, when Eddie addresses him out of the blue. He lowers the issue in his hands to look back into his mischievous eyes. 

“Uh, it’s good.” 

He remembers nothing from the past ten pages.

“Maybe you should try Marvel instead. It’s more suited for casual readers.”

Steve frowns. 

“What is that supposed to mean?”

Eddie chuckles.

“Absolutely nothing,” he sing-songs, his tail swinging. Only then does he seem to even notice it. “Damn, sorry. Do you mind?”

Steve shakes his head furiously, flabbergasted that he even has to answer that question. Eddie should be aware by now how little he minds. 

The metalhead settles back down, tail swinging with new vigour, even letting his horns grow out in full. 

Steve is far from settling down. He doesn’t even bother with picking his comic back up. Why would he care about fictional characters with superpowers when there was a real one literally in front of him?

“Steeeve,” Eddie's voice is reprimanding yet playful. “You’re distracting me.”

Steve lets out a huff. 

“Well, I'm trying to read, and you’re just-” he waves his hand in Eddie’s general direction 

“I’m what?” Eddie leans on his elbows to look up at him properly. “Waving a dick-shaped appendage right in front of your face?”

He fumes, slapping his comic book down and straightening up.

“So it was on purpose!”

Eddie laughs. Laughs so hard he almost rolls over on the dirty carpet.

“No, I wasn’t even thinking about it, honestly. But it’s good to know that’s how you interpret it.”

Steve tried to fight the blood going to his cheeks. Was probably failing. So instead, he picks the comic back up and tries to focus on it.

“Steeve.” He can hear the boy crawling closer. Stares harder at the blurry speech bubbles in front of him. “Steve, sweetie.” A warm hand lands on his knee and he gives up quickly. Lowers his comic faster than before, because the hand on him is big.

Eddie has shifted, and while still on his knees next to the bed, was already towering over Steve. And that, unfortunately, worked on him. 

“There’s still over an hour before Robin gets here,” he says, his tail rubbing tantalizing circles into his calf. 

Steve hesitates because what they're doing is weird, and not because they are both men or because one of them is partially a demon. It’s weird because Steve is unable to name it. It’s further than flirting, more than casual, but not enough to call it dating. But his gut churns with the promise of what Edie can do to him, and with his next words, his dick comes alive.

“And I remember someone wanted to be fucked with my tail.” 

[arazialotis]

Gabriel(a)? - Part 4

Characters: DeanxReader, Sam, Jack

Word Count: Around 4000

Warnings: Season 14 Spoilers (Does not follow plot exactly, but takes from main ideas), Swearing, Sexual Tension, Promiscuous Situations 

Summary: Team free will seems to be out of answers and hopeless as one of their own falls sick. Yet a micheavous and annoying mystery girl pops up out of nowhere and may be able to offer a solution, if not more.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

This is purely for a hobby and my enjoyment. Maybe some of you will enjoy it too. I am by no means a writer so I apologize in advance for any mistakes or grammatical/spelling errors. I appreciate any feedback or suggestions!

---

This had to stop. It was getting out of hand. Your leg bounced uncontrollably. You were supposed to focus on the material before you, but all you could think about was the man across the room. Your fist was pressed against your lips, and you gently bit a knuckle. Dean was in the same boat as you. He looked up to catch you staring, so you averted your eyes back to the book. It went on this way for a better part of an hour and a half. What started as a fun distraction for both of you was now working its way under your skin. And everyone in this room had bigger things to focus on other than a petty fling. Michael.

Even with Jack mostly recovered, though he still had much to learn, it wasn’t time. Michael was not going to be found until he was ready. Everyone knew it, yet they were determined to take the offense, spending hours pouring over potential leads and plans.

You looked back to Dean, who hadn’t taken his eyes off you. Was he thinking the same thing as you? Watching every minute tick by until it was reasonably acceptable to call it a day? Waiting for that moment when you would finally be able to escape reality and enter a world where just the two of you existed.

You cocked your head to the side. No, it had been on his mind, but that was not what he was thinking at this moment. He was analyzing you. Reading you, or at least trying. It was your leg. You forced it to stop bouncing. You went back to the text and took a deep breath. You needed sugar. Skittles. A small pile appeared on the desk beside you, and you dove in. The sweetness instantly alleviated your nerves. You were losing your edge, and if you didn’t keep composed, they’d figure it all out eventually.

Dean cleared his throat, drawing your attention back to him. This time, the way his eyes drank you in, his thoughts had returned elsewhere. At 3:15, he decided he was finished for the day. This wasn’t like regular employment, where a supervisor would pop out of nowhere to fire him for cutting hours. His chair scraped back, echoing in the silent hall. Your eyes followed him across the room, and just before he exited, he glanced at you, giving the slightest nod as an indication to follow him. You smirked and wondered if you had unintentionally Pavlov’d him into desiring sex anytime you summoned sweets.

Giving him a few minutes head start, you flipped a page and scanned the words. Three others remained; Sam, Maggie, and Ryan. You were relieved Jack was not there. Though you could still get away with what you were about to do under his watch, it would simply require extra effort if he were present. Focusing, you created then projected an image of yourself in the same position you currently were in. Once it became solid and followed your movements, you disappeared. Autopilot would take care of the rest were someone to ask a question or approach you.

You were correct in assuming Dean would be in his room. As soon as he clicked the door locked, you appeared. The need was clear, and the magnetic pull to each other was instantaneous. Both of you pounced.

Clashing together was like two storms meeting; thunder roaring, lightning cracking, and winds howling. The force in which you met had Dean up against the door. Your lips roved over each other, seeking to fill a hunger that was never satisfied. His hands were at your waist, riding up your shirt, desperate to feel your skin. Your lips traveled over his jawline, landing just below his ear. Greedily, your hands were already tugging at his belt. As you found the clasp, you gently scrapped your teeth against his neck.

Breathing heavily, you said, “I’m going to fuck you into the next millennia.”

He took control and pushed you against the adjacent wall, pinning your hands to the concrete. His length strained in the denim, pressing upon you. Grinding, you responded, starving for the friction you had been deprived of all day.

“Is that a promise?” He purred into your ear.

“It’s a guarantee.” Your eyes sparked with anticipation.

His fingers gripped tightly around your wrist but then released, traveling down your arms and then your side, wandering back up under your shirt. With free hands again, you ran them through his hair and pulled him in, kissing him deeply. A soft moan escaped your lips as he pushed you further against the wall.

In one swift movement, his hands found the back of your thighs, and he hoisted you up so that your legs were straddling his waist. Even with the barrier of clothing, how he rubbed into you sent shivers down your spine.

Now that he had you pinned, one arm kept you hoisted, and you may have assisted a bit in keeping yourself suspended. (What was the point of having powers if you weren't going to use them?) With his free hand, he sought a target under your bra. He found the destination, and the fabric pulled away with ease. You huffed a laugh. The devil had unclasped your bra without your knowledge. Dean Winchester was a god-damned force to be reckoned with.

The humor of the moment vanished as he took the stiff peak between his fingers and pressed upward with his thumb. You tilted your head back, and your praise of him sounded to the ceiling.

He buried his face into your chest, biting the collar of your shirt and pulling away so he could sneak a view of what lay beneath. He twisted his fingers. Another moan. He glanced up at you, gauging your reaction. Two could play at this game. Your hand snaked down to where he had you pinned, taking the bulge into your grasp and squeezing gently. Your shirt snapped back as he hissed in response.

"I have this overwhelming feeling," He paused to kiss you intensely. "That you're going to be the death of me." He said as he pulled away. The forest in his eyes deepened as they searched yours. You would have challenged him if he didn't appear so sincere. "I wouldn't have it any other way."

Your jaw clenched, and he mirrored the gesture, unsure of your lack of response. He continued to stroke your breast as the two of you stared each other down. A tinge of delightful pain shocked through you as he tightened his grip.

"Enough of the teasing." You nipped at his lip. "Are we going to do this, Winchester?"

Dean was about to shift when pounding at the door startled you both. You were both too stunned to answer. Another knock.

"Dean," Sam called from the other side.

You looked at each other. A wicked grin crossed your face. Dean swallowed the lump in his throat and shook his head. Whatever devious thoughts were running through your mind, he didn't even want to know.

The lock jiggled, and Sam knocked with the heel of his palm.

"Dean, wake up. I got something." He urgently said.

Dean rolled his eyes and backed away, the moment lost. "Yeah, yeah. I'm coming."

He wiped his hands over his face and through his hair, trying to center himself. A few moments of deep breathing and thinking about baseball made him, at the very least, presentable. Dean cracked the door to find Sam anxiously waiting with his laptop in hand. Having kept yourself suspended for a few extra moments, you realized the moment was over and slid back down, landing on your feet.

Sam instantly noticed something was off about Dean. “Oh, sorry if you're not up...."

Dean cut Sam off before he finished. "No, I'm fine, I'm…."

Dean stopped as you simultaneously responded, unaware only he could hear you.

"Oh, he's up." You leaned over for a better view, second-guessing yourself. "Or he was a second ago."

His head snapped to you, and he pinched his lips together before shooing you like he would a fly. Oh, he was going to pay for that.

"You sure you're okay?" Sam asked, pushing into Dean's room.

Dean looked between the two of you; Sam headed to the desk to set the laptop down, paying you no attention. Dean shot you a deadpan look as he put two and two together.

"Shh." You pressed your fingers to your lips with a wink.

"Dean?" Sam called again.

He waved you away again before answering. "Yeah, yeah. I'm good." Dean moved to sit on the bed adjacent to the desk to get a better look. "What do you got?"

"Do you remember the start of the apocalypse? Our first apocalypse." Sam clarified. Dean widened his eyes at the absurdity of the question. "Of course you do."

"Get to the point, Sam," Dean stated, hoping this conversation would be over soon so he could resume other activities.

He felt the bed dip and turned to see you prowling toward him. His heart thudded inside his chest. He turned back to Sam and gulped.

"We've seen that strange weather patterns can indicate significant angelic activity." Sam angled the screen towards his brother, showing a news story. "Uniontown, Pennsylvania. Five tornadoes within seven days for a state that sees an average of ten total a year, and it's outside of the season."

"Anything else to go on?"

A shiver ran down Dean's spine as your breath kissed his neck. He could feel your lips hovering a mere touch from his skin.

You leaned in closer, whispering in his ear, "Agree to go, so he'll leave us alone. The details will come later."

Your hand reached around and grazed the inner length of his thigh. Dean squeezed his eyes shut and thought long and hard about when the Texas Rangers last had a shot at the world series.

Sam was speaking, and it took all of Dean's energy to focus on his words.

"... Comatose since the accident. Her doctors are saying her recovery is nothing short of a miracle." Sam finished.

Your lips nestled in the crook of his neck, nursing the spot that drove him near feral. The tips of your fingers trailed over his zipper.

"Ahhh.. mmm… mmhmm." Dean altered his moan into something of a sound of understanding.

He grabbed your wrist and pinned it to the bed, struggling to keep his composure. Your free hand stroked his cheek and then over his lips. His mouth parted.

"Are you sure you're alright?" Sam repeated.

"Yeah." He squeaked out. Sam switched tabs to another article, but Dean was ready to call it. "It sounds like…."

You pulled your lips away from Dean, skimming over the article. "Wait, no, this is interesting." You shifted and sat up, getting a better glance.

Dean blinked rapidly. "I mean, there's even more, to go on?"

"Hey." You called from the hallway, knocking on Dean's door before entering. "Everything alright, Sam? You left in quite a hurry."

Dean was seeing double. He looked between your two figures, barely able to wrap his head around what was reality. You planted a peck on his cheek and morphed back into one, the form they both could see.

"Oh hey, Gabriela… or Y/N?" Sam still was confused on how to address you. Other than Dean, everyone else always referred to you as the former.

You did not help the situation and did not offer clarification.

"You find something?" You asked and pointed to the laptop. "Here I've been digging through books all day when Google has never let me down once."

"Yeah, I was just running it by Dean before addressing it with the group, but since you're here, we might have a lead in Pennsylvania. It started with tornadoes…." He started to explain.

"Weather, miracles," Dean interrupted, knowing you had heard it all before. "You were just getting to the good part."

"Right. Two murders." He switched tabs again. This time to a database he shouldn't legally have access to. "Both with their eyes burned out."

"Well, you could have started with that," Dean said, exasperated.

"That's a really good lead." You agreed.

"Too good." Another voice called from the corner. Castiel. "Certainly a trap."

Dean stood up and paced his room. "When did the privacy of a bedroom become nonexistent?"

Castiel's brow furrowed in confusion. "We've all been in this room before without there being concern. Have the terms of our relationship changed?"

"What? That's not…." Dean was too flustered to explain. "You make a good point."

"About our relationship?"

You coughed a laugh.

"No, Cas. About it being a trap." Dean waved his hands.

"I don't see what other choice we have," Sam interjected. "This is the only lead we've had in months. If we have any shot at stopping Michael, we need to make the most of this."

Castiel sighed but nodded his understanding. "Then we have to go in strong."

"With a rogue angel, two nephilim, and a bunker packed to the brim with amateur hunters, I'd say the odds are in our favor," Dean concluded.

“While I appreciate your enthusiasm Dean, this is not the time for false optimism.” Cas retorted.

“It’s just one angel.” You stepped in. Castiel was about to argue, but you stopped his voice from speaking, proofing your point further. “Yes, I’m aware he is the most powerful archangel in existence, and we don’t have a way to kill him yet. But theoretically, we just need to outsmart him. Lay a trap ourselves with holy fire or containment with Enochian sigils.”

“The handcuffs,” Dean suggested to Sam.

“Handcuffs?” You couldn’t stop from blurting out. Dean gave you a second glance as you subconsciously licked your bottom lip. Why had he not spoken of those before?

“It's worth a shot.” Sam agreed. “We should get going and plan the rest on the way. Lessening the chance Michael moves on or realizing we are on our way.”

Sam got up, and Dean was already going for a duffel in his closet.

“Jack and I will meet you there.” You stated. “Good opportunity to hone in those teleportation skills.”

Cas eyed you wearily, and both brothers could sense the tension. It was clear a few people in this room still didn’t trust you.

“Of course, Castiel, you are welcome to join us. I’m sure you can give the kid a few pointers.” You offered.

He accepted the proposition with a nod and vanished to prep Jack.

“I’ll inform the others,” Sam cleared his throat and left the room.

Dean turned around but found you had vanished as well. Dammit. He had hoped to sneak in a quick round while the others were scrambling to leave. Resuming packing, he parted the shirts in his closet and nearly jumped out of his skin as you appeared from within.

“Jesus, Y/N.” He snapped. “Are you trying to give me a heart attack?”

You ignored his rhetorical question. “You’ve been holding out on me, Winchester.”

Dean rolled his eyes. His last name must be the replacement you liked most after the pet name debacle. You raised your hand and let one end of the cuffs fall out of your grasp. You bit your lip, imagining the possibilities.

If Sam or Cas knew you got your hands on those, Dean knew you would both be done for.

“Give me those.” Dean chastised you while taking them forcefully from you.

“Trust me. That was my every intention.”

You closed the gap, snaking your fingers through his hair and pulling him in to find his lips yet again.

“Somehow.” He said between breaths. “I find it hard to believe,” He stopped again as your mouth parted in a moan, allowing him further access. “That these would have any effect over you.”

You smiled against his lips. “These are powerful sigils, Dean. And while they may not render my powers completely useless, they may be enough to even the playing field.”

Finally, you were able to unclasp his belt and began tugging it through the jean’s loops.

“But there is no certainty until we try.” You said before gently biting his lower lip.

He pulled back, searching your eyes for permission. When he found only confidence and no hint of hesitation, he took your wrist.

“Dean,” Sam called from outside the hall. “You ready to go in five?”

Dean was going to say he wouldn’t be ready until tomorrow morning, at the very least, nightfall, but you beat him to it, your voice shaking in a defeated laugh.

“To be continued.” You pulled him in for one last kiss and disappeared.

“God dammit,” Dean swore.

***

The roar of the Impala’s engine rumbled through the entire vehicle as Dean pushed her to her limits. Sam had his eyes closed, drifting in and out of sleep in the early hours of the morning. Dawn was close to approaching as the sky turned shades of periwinkle.

The clock read 4:30 AM when Sam woke with a stretch and yawn.

After a few minutes of coming too, Sam offered, “You wanna switch?”

“Nah, I’m still good.” Dean had been going since 10:30 PM. He lifted his hand off the steering wheel to check the gas tank. “Though baby could use a fill-up, and I wouldn’t say no to a spot of coffee.”

Sam yawned again and nodded his agreement before checking his phone. “You hear from anyone yet?” Dean shook his head no. “Jack, Cas, and Y/N should be there by now.”

“I’m sure they're fine,” Dean assured, yet there was a tinge of worry in the back of his mind he wasn’t ready to acknowledge.

Sam rejected his answer and dialed Cas and then Jack, but neither answered.

“They are probably just taking a look around while they wait for the rest of us to catch up.” Dean attempted to convince Sam as much as himself.

Glimmers of orange joined the symphony of colors in the sky after Sam and Dean had stopped. Each of them now sipped on a cup of crappy gas station coffee, but at least this early in the morning, it was fresh.

Now that Sam was awake, Dean began to tune the radio, looking for something other than morning talk shows. Finally, found a station that played the 70s and 80s. Sam huffed a laugh as Kim Carnes’ voice joined the classic synth riff and waited for Dean to start his search again.

“Here,” Sam went for the box of cassettes under his feet. “Seems like your outta luck.”

Dean blocked Sam’s before he could put a cassette in. “No. no. This is fine.”

Sam chuckled again in disbelief but wasn’t going to argue. He returned the box to its resting place. “Too early for rock n roll?”

“What are you talking about?” Dean challenged. “This is rock. Soft rock.” He justified.

“Mmhmm.” Sam hummed skeptically.

Dean increased the volume a tad and softly drummed along on the steering wheel. He’d spent enough time in the car with Sam not to be shy about his off-key singing. Even so, he sang softly as his voice cracked, attempting to hit the notes.

“She’ll take a tumble on you; roll you like you were dice until you come up blue. She’s got Bette Davis eyes.”

Sam's mouth parted, and he stared at Dean, who was too into the music to pay him any attention. Had it not been so early in the morning, the pieces would have come together more quickly and clearly.

“She’s ferocious, and she knows just what it takes to make a pro blush. All the boys think she's a spy; she’s got Bette Davis eyes.”

The words paused as the riff took back over the song, and Dean looked to Sam, instantly on defense.

“What! What?” He did not apperciate Sam’s flabbergasted face.

“Wow.” Was all Sam said and went back to his coffee.

“Stop that.” Dean’s brow furrowed as he turned the station to two hosts who weren’t as funny as they thought they were, and he focused back on the road. He leaned his elbow against the door and ran his hand through his hair.

“I didn’t say anything,” Sam argued.

“Yeah, but you were thinking it.” Dean snapped back.

“I’m just surprised.” He said after another sip.

Were they really going to have this conversation? Now? It required at least two more cups of coffee.

“Surprised by what?” Dean pushed.

Sam sighed but gave in. “I thought you were just fooling around, but you’ve developed feelings, haven’t you?”

Dean pressed his eyes closed, then remembered he was the one driving. How had Sam figured it out? You’d been more than discrete. “What? No. Feelings? For who?”

Sam pulled out his phone to browse the web and see if any more developments had been reported in Pennsylvania overnight. “Just… be careful, Dean.”

“I know what I’m doing.” He assured.

Sam’s brow rose in question, but he surrendered. He knew he couldn’t convince his brother otherwise, and a lecture would only raise more resistance like that of a defiant teenager. They rode in silence until just outside of Columbus when you appeared in the back. Three fresh coffees and a bag of pastries were in hand.

“Heya, boys.” You greeted them, sounding tired yourself.

“Shit!” Dean swerved the car out of surprise and quickly regained control.

“‘Ey, watch the coffee!” You chided in a thick New York accent.

Dean pushed right back. “A little bit of warning next time.”

You stared each other down in the rearview mirror. The storm that was put on pause yesterday was still brewing. You retreated first, unable to handle the heat building in your core. If you didn’t push your thoughts elsewhere, Sam would be in severe danger of losing his driver. Clearing your throat, you passed two coffees up front and the bag, not before snagging a pain au chocolate.

“Call off the troops.” You instructed Sam. “It’s not Michael.”

“How do you know that?” Dean asked.

Sam pulled out his phone and asked, “We were waiting for you to touch base all evening. What happened?”

“I just know.” The way they looked at you in the rearview mirror knew that answer wouldn’t cut it. “Call it angelic radar. It was how I was able to recognize Cas immediately.”

“He could be hiding,” Dean said, unsatisfied with your conclusion.

“True, and I would think that if it wasn’t for the copious amounts of sulfur all over the town.” You showed little concern about the situation as you unwrapped the pastry.

“Great.” Sam sighed. “If we didn’t have our hands full enough with Michael, now we have miscreant demons running about unchecked."

“I thought you had given them the shakedown?” Dean asked.

“Apparently, the message didn’t stick,” Sam concluded. He sent a message to the groups following them to turn back home and keep digging for clues about the archangel.

You paused to bite into the croissant and moaned at the perfection of the flaky crust, chewy interior, overall butteriness, and hint of sweetness from the chocolate morsels.

Dean was taken aback by the sound he had become all too familiar with. “Do you want us to leave you two alone?”

“Jealous?” You snickered.

Dean looked at Sam, who was finally done texting but taking precious time to dig through the bag.

Dean snatched it from him. “Give me one of those.”

“As for the second part of your interrogation,” You sighed. “Jack had some trouble with the teleportation. He’s there and safe, but it took five jumps. The potion I gave him healed his sickness, but without his own source of grace, I think his abilities are severely limited. I can only lend him so much of my own before I start losing strength too. And despite being family, I will not set myself up to go against Michael at half power.” Sam clenched his jaw. “Castiel will confirm this theory if you think I’m spinning a tale.”

If Dean had any reservations, he didn’t voice them. He was currently occupied with breakfast. “God, where did you get these?”

“Oh, that also took up a chunk of time. I jumped over to the Leelanau Peninsula, where this wonderful little bakery is. Remind me to bring you a pie from there sometime. But terrible cell reception in that area. If you were worried, should’ve said a prayer.” You patted Sam on the shoulder. “You can always reach me that way.”

You leaned back in your seat and pulled out headphones for the remainder of the drive. Dean snuck a glance at you again, and the corner of his mouth slightly upturned. A feeling of comfort flooded him seeing you there. Like you were always meant to be there, and he had been stuck waiting.

Dean looked over to Sam. “So we still following through on this case or turning back?”

Sam shook his head, conflicted as well. “We're almost there anyways. And we shouldn’t give demons a pass to run rampant just because we have bigger fish to fry.” He rubbed his brow. “We’ll have plenty of people looking into Michael back at home, and with….” He jutted his chin to the mirror, indicating you. “It should be an easy enough hunt.”

"Good chance it will reinforce your warning as well, causing less problem in the future." Dean looked back to see you had since stopped paying attention, turned in the seat, and now had your legs stretched out. “Hey!” He swatted at you and missed. “Feet off the upholstery.”

You pulled out an earbud. “What was that? You want me to take a shift behind the wheel?” You knew very well what he had said but wanted to rile him up.

“Yeah, right.” Dean scoffed. “When Hell freezes over.”

A cheeky smile was painted on your face as you returned to your music, but your feet remained planted. Dean shook his head but let it go. They were only a few hours away anyways.

---

Part 5

[casspurrjoybell-26]

Too Old For This - Chapter 24 - Part 2

*Warning Adult Content*

"I was worried we weren't on the same page."

Leroy dropped to his mattress, sitting down as he stared at the door of his bedroom.

"And what page are we on?" he asked, pinching the bedsheet fabric, with his free hand.

"That we're not just friends," Zachary said, in a matter-of-fact tone. Leroy sighed, touching his forehead as he tried to decode what Zachary was saying.

"Is that it?"

"Yes," Zachary said, quite frankly.

"Okay, then what are we? What's the same page?"

"I don't know what we are but you're not just my friend and I'm not going to talk about you like that," Zachary said, probably referring to how he spoke to his sister and the few internet connections he kept.

"You're someone that I'm seeing."

Leroy felt the corner of his lip twitch when he heard that.

'That's just... adorable.'

The overwhelming feeling in his chest made his face hit up and his stomach fluttered with butterflies.

Was Zachary talking about him like a boyfriend?

Gosh, he wished he was.

"That's disappointing. I thought I was more important than that," Leroy muttered.

"I thought I was your boyfriend."

There was an uncomfortably long pause at the other end of the line until Zachary dragged out a sigh.

"Err..." he trailed off, looking for his words.

"Since when."

"Since now," Leroy said, smiling a little.

To be fair, they'd already spent a considerable amount of time together and it wasn't like Leroy didn't think about it.

He'd been more concerned that Zachary wouldn't be into it or might call it out as an impossibility but hearing Zachary get defensive about their supposed title, meant that he did care and he did want them to be together regardless of the limitations.

"Oh..." Zachary trailed off.

"Oh, okay..."

Leroy wasn't sure if Zachary was baffled or just shocked into losing all his words but he didn't want to focus on it too long in case the man changed his mind on the spot.

"Well, like I was saying..." he trailed off.

"My manager was wondering if you'd like to be contracted with us. You'd get to be a consultant and bill us by the hour and work however you like. It should be flexible enough that you won't get burnt out or get in trouble for making too much with the government. I thought about anything that could possibly be a problem on my transit home and honestly, I think it's perfect. You don't have to worry too much about how long something takes to deliver. Fuck, I'll type for you if you want..." Leroy paused when he realized that Zachary hadn't interjected once.

"Zachary, are you still there?"

The sound of the older man shifting on the other end was audible but he didn't say anything.

"I'm your boyfriend?"

"Oh, for fuck's sake, please pay attention," Leroy said, laughing through the mix of frustration and amusement.

"I'm listening... I just wanted to make sure I heard that part right..." he muttered.

"About the job. It seems great but I've never worked for a company. A few clients here and there that ran small stores online but like... it was never a whole company. How the hell did you manage to get me the one thing I've been looking for, for years?" Zachary asked and Leroy took that in, remembering all the time the older man would explain how working had just been mostly impossible for him because he couldn't keep up with his work with his disability and that no one was also willing to hire him for unusual hours.

"Well," Leroy started, undoing the tie that was beginning to feel uncomfortable.

"It's luck and your work spoke for itself during the presentation..."  

"It wasn't my work..."

"We would have lost a marketing deal if you hadn't pointed that out," Leroy said, not letting Zachary deny his involvement.      

"You're a genius," Leroy said.

"Literally one, I suppose but whenever I'm with you and we watch movies, talk about books, discuss politics here and there you're extremely good at boiling things to bone and you have an amazing understanding about what makes writing work... it doesn't matter if it's the plot of a movie or how the ingredient list on a shampoo bottle is formatted. You must know and it's the most impressive thing I've ever seen anyone do and it bothers me so much that you've never gotten the accommodations you deserve to do what you do and you should be so much more confident than you are."    

Zachary didn't say anything, and Leroy sighed, lying on the bed as he looked at the ceiling.

"Fuck. I don't care how slowly you write your novel idea. I just know it will be amazing when it's done and I know they'll pay you out of their nose when you get this job to keep your business."

There was still no response from Zachary and Leroy was getting desperate.

"Come on Zachary, just send me your C.V. and portfolio. If you think I over-sold you or something, they'll make up their mind when they have that."  

"Please?"

 "I'll send it. Just text me your email," Leroy sighed, as the tension in his nerves loosened up.

"You won't regret it."

"Leroy?"

"Hmm?"

"Just to make sure when you said we were boyfriends, you weren't just teasing me, right?"

"Oh, my God. No, I wasn't teasing you," Leroy groaned, chuckling as he brought his fists to his face.

"Are you going to confirm every other hour now?"

"I might, just in case," Zachary said, in a tone that didn't seem ironic.  Zachary's response sent Leroy into another fit of laughter.

Zachary was so peculiar.

'His boyfriend' was so peculiar.

[mosslarose]

Puffskeins

Summary: Poppy and Soren have an argument and Poppy ends up going missing. They have to face each other one way or another

Word count: 3,500+

Masterlist here

Poppy wonders over to Soren where he sits alone with a book at the Ravenclaw table during lunch. She sits beside him with a joyful smile, nudging him a little to grab his attention.

“Hey Soren!” Poppy says with such insufferable glee. They’ve only been in school for a week since sixth year started, already Soren is tired of all the students. Since that night in the repository, he hasn’t stepped foot into this school. Hasn’t seen his sister or his so called friends. He disappeared for three months, and now he’s back everyone appears to be walking on eggshells around him, especially Maisie. He supposes only she is aware of what truly happened. Everyone else just knows he helped save Hogwarts at a great cost, what cost? That the others do not know. And because of this, people are wary of him. All week people have barely spoken to him, feeling like they haven’t even tried to. Except for Poppy. She being the only one giving him smiles in the corridors and during lessons, slipping him notes with smiley faces on or funny moving characters. Though he never reacted, never laughed or even smiled. He hasn’t allowed himself to feel. It’s a weakness, should be abolished and forbidden.

“Good afternoon, Sweeting” Soren says with a monotone voice, barely indulging her, focus still set on his book before him.

“How have you been?” She asks sweetly, she gently places her hand on his arm, the one holding his book. As soon as she places it however, he nudges her off, pulling his arm away. Poppy won’t say it, but that hurt a little. Soren never answers her question, just sips from his chalice and continues to read. “I’m here for you. You know that right, Soren?” Poppy is trying to be comforting, trying to be there for him, but he is making it incredibly difficult.

“I’m in need of no pity, Sweeting” Soren continues with the monotone voice. He hasn’t looked at her once since she sat next to him, barely even acknowledged her.

“Let me help, Soren” Poppy practically begged. Yes, Soren has always been a bit emotionless, but never with her. He would smile and laugh with her, talk and be vulnerable with her. Why has so much changed, especially between them. They were so close.

“I don’t need your help” Soren’s tone is full of authority, it’s loud yet quiet at the same time, it taking Poppy off guard. Soren suddenly gets up and walks out the great hall, Poppy practically jogging after him, struggling to keep up with his long strides. She manages to stop him and pull him aside just outside the hall. She gasps, she’s never been so close to him before, his face, the giant scar that spreads from his right cheek, up towards his eye and also down his neck.

“Soren, what happened?” Poppy asks, instinctively reaching out to touch it. Soren is fast to grab her wrist and stop her. His grasp is tight, too tight. He holds it there for too long, too long for her liking. “You- you’re hurting me” she stutters out. She feels like she might cry, pain travelling up her neck and sticking in her throat, begging to be let lose through her tears. He finally lets go, shoving her hand away. “Why are you being so cruel? Soren what happened? Talk to me please?” She can feel her tears begging to to be set free.

“I don’t need your help or your pity, Poppy Sweeting” He says so emptily, voice and face completely desolate of any emotion. “Emotion is for the weak” Soren simply states.

“So what? Everything we went through? Means nothing to you now?” Poppy almost cries, hands slightly shaking as she looks up at the man before her. Soren shrugs in reply before looking away and then back at her. “Emotion isn’t weak! It makes us strong!” She says as a few tears slip down her cheek, settling on the collar of her shirt.

“If that is truly what you believe” Soren says as he stares emptily back at the smaller girl.

“Are you trying to say I’m weak! Am I too weak for you? Is that it?!” Poppy wants to scream at him, beg him to stop being an idiot. She wants to hit him and shove him but pull him in and hug him. She hates this, all of it. Soren just stares at her, saying nothing in response. “I hate you, Soren Addams” Poppy finally says before she walks off towards the Hufflepuff common room.

~

It’s been a week since Poppy and Soren had their argument, and Poppy has very much not been herself, barely smiling or making silly jokes. Everyone has noticed it, tried to talk to her and see what’s wrong. However, she’s shut them all off, saying she’s ‘fine’ and it’s ‘nothing to worry about’. That is until one day no one can find her.

“What do you mean Poppy’s gone missing?” Sebastian asks as Maisie frantically walks back and fourth in front him.

“I went down to Hufflepuff common room this morning and all they said is she wasn’t in there, that she hasn’t been there all night!” Maisie said, her voice full of worry “I couldn’t find her in the library, or the green house, or even by the magical beasts class. I have asked around and no one has seen her!” She almost yells in a panic.

“Have you spoken to Soren?” Sebastian asks and Maisie stops mid pace to look at him, she looks away guiltily. “Maisie?” Sebastian repeats.

“He’s avoiding me. Avoiding everyone” she says as she raises her arms and gestures to the whole castle around them. “I’ve tried talking to him! But barely got a word in since beginning of term” Maisie says with a waver to her voice. Sebastian can see the way her eyebrows dip, how she looks sad when his name was mentioned. There is something she isn’t telling him.

“Why? I know Poppy tried talking to him too. They had some kind of argument?” Sebastian sort of asks and sort of states, Maisie nods as she bites her thumb in nervousness. “Maybe that’s why she’s disappeared. She’s been so miserable lately, it’s hardly a surprise” Maisie shoots him a glare and Sebastian just shrugs her off. “What happened Mais? Down there? To make him act this way?” He finally asks and Maisie sighs in defeat.

“He took the power” she says with slight hiccup to her voice. “I messed up! We were containing it! We were gonna win!” She says with such exasperation “but fig… he was dying! I let go… the magic was too strong for just Soren and he couldn’t hold it for so long. I was so mad about Fig dying, about my family and all that magic took from me…” she pauses for a minute, preparing her next words “I was going to take it, all of it… but Soren realised, and took it in before I had the chance” she quivers as a single tear rolls down her cheek, she hastily wipes it away. “He apparated away, splinching himself in the process” Maisie points to her cheek as she says that. “I hadn’t seen him myself since the beginning of term, just like everyone else.” Maisie looks at Sebastian, awaiting his disapproving or disappointed face. Instead, it was comforting and kind.

“I understand, it’s okay” Sebastian says from his spot on the bench, elbows on his thighs as he talks. “It actually makes a lot more sense now” he says with such calmness that it even calms Maisie a bit. “But, you still need to ask him about Poppy” Sebastian said that last but quickly, as if he knows Maisie probably isn’t ready to face that conclusion right now. But she has to. She hesitates and looks around for a second before simply nodding in agreement and walking off to Ravenclaw tower, Sebastian following suit.

They both get to the top and ask a Ravenclaw student sitting outside to go get Soren. They shake their head no.

“What why?” Maisie asks dumbfounded by some stupid Ravenclaw.

“Cant you see I’m busy” the student simply said as they pointed to their book as if it were obvious.

“You’re a bit rude” Sebastian mutters from beside Maisie and the Ravenclaw student just tuts before going back to their book. Maisie looks up at Sebastian who’s just as stumped as she is. She shrugs before walking up to the door and simply knocking. What could go wrong right?

“What has a face, but never smiles?” The door asks. It takes Maisie off guard but then she looks to her side at Sebastian who also looks confused, looking round before he gasps and his eyes widen:

“Ominis!” He almost shouts, full of confidence, but the door doesn’t open. Maisie simply slaps him from the side. “Or Soren, i don’t know” Sebastian mutters while rubbing the back of his neck nervously. Maisie is trying very hard not to laugh. She can hear the Ravenclaw tutting them from behind and she is fully debating whether a detention is worth a right hook. “This is impossible, I would hate having to answer a riddle every time I wanted to go into my common room” Sebastian says as he throws his arms in the air in frustration.

“You’re just a dense imbecile” The ravenclaw student mutters from behind them. Both Maisie and Sebastian shoot the student a glare, and Sebastian has never wanted to use an unforgivable curse more in his life.

“Oh shut it you pretentious flobberworm” Maisie shoots back, completely irritated by them. Maisie looks up a little and sees a clock behind them. She squints at it for a moment before realising. “A clock! A clock has a face but can’t smile!” Maisie almost yells, extremely proud of herself. She completely misses the way the Ravenclaw student rolls their eyes at her and how Sebastian gives her a fond smile. The door opens and they both step in cautiously, very worried about being in a common room that isn’t their own. They’ve been in Hufflepuff a few times but that’s it. They walk up the stairs, getting many stares and odd looks from the students whole others whisper around them. Maisie heard people saying like 'what on Earth are slytherins doing here’ or ‘the audacity’. She has never felt so self conscious in her life. Maisie quickly walks up to a student she recognises, Amit, and asks “hey, Amit, do you know where Soren is?”

“Oh hello, Maisie! Pleasure seeing you here” Amit said sweetly as he waves to her, face full of surprise by his slytherin friend being in the wrong common room “little far from Slytherin” he says as he laughs a little at his own joke, trying to ease whatever is the discomfort Maisie is clearly showing - doesn’t quite work.

“Yeh Yeh, where’s Soren?” Sebastian says too quickly. Maisie shoots him a glare for being rude then gives Amit a sympathetic look.

“Sorry, we’re looking for Soren. It’s about Poppy.” Maisie says more kindly and Amit just nods with a kind smile.

“Oh, this way” he says as he waves a hand to follow them. They go into a room next to them and in the corner is Soren sat on a single chair, all alone, reading.

“Thank you, Amit” Maisie says and Amit nods before walking away. Maisie walks up to Soren and immediately is cut off from saying anything.

“What now?” He simply says, not even looking up at her. Maisie is shocked to say the least at how blunt he is. He’s her brother, barely spoken a word to her in almost four months and appears annoyed in her accompany. How impudent.

“Poppy is missing” Maisie said- might as well get straight to the point. Soren looks up quickly, hiding whatever emotion he is currently feeling with a squint.

“How so?” Soren asks. Maisie is already irritated by the way he is speaking.

“She didn’t come back to her dorm last night, hasn’t been seen since dinner” Maisie said and she swore she could have seen something on his face. Worry, anger, upset. It was only there for a second, but she saw it. Though, she did not mention it.

“She’s not in the castle?” Soren asks and both Maisie and Sebastian simply shake their heads. “Why haven’t you taken it up with the head master? Or professor Weasley?” He asks axiomatically.

“We knew wherever she was or could be doing would likely cause exclusion, or even possibly expulsion” Maisie said, her eyes begging for help.

“What has this got to do with me?” Soren asks matter-of-factly. Maisie wants to strangle him and his ignorance.

“She hasn’t been okay since your… argument. I’m assuming her disappearance has something to do with that” Maisie says with a sigh and Soren shrugs. Sebastian can feel the heat radiating from Maisie, can sense the anger bubbling inside her. He gently and subtly rubs his index finger along the back of her hand. It’s barely noticeable to others around them but he can tell that brought her back down a little bit. Suddenly, Soren sits up, clearly deep in thought as his eyes wonder the room.

“Not on Castel grounds did you say?” Soren asks and Maisie shakes her head. Immediately Soren stands and strides off. Maisie and Sebastian both walking after him.

“Where are you going?” Maisie asks as she follows him up one set of stairs, into another large room before going up another set of stairs in the middle to an outside area. “Soren, what are you-” and before Maisie can think, Soren has grabbed a broom and flown off. “Soren!” Maisie yells after him, to no avail.

Soren has elected to flying over to the forbidden forest, unbeknownst to Maisie and Sebastian who he just left on the roof of Ravenclaw.

He gets to where he had intended, a small hidden area, known to be a home to many puffskeins. He looks around, hiding his nervousness as he does so. He finally sees a little poppy, curled up in a corner, covered in the fluffy little creatures as she soundly sleeps. Soren walks over carefully and gently taps her shoulder. She doesn’t so much as stir.

“Poppy? Poppy wake up” Soren eventually says, not even trying to whisper. The small girl yawns and stretches as puffskeins roll off her. She looks up at Soren and smiles before frowning.

“How did you find me?” She asks angrily as she strokes a baby puffskein in her lap.

“You would always come here when upset” Soren said simply with a shrug “you were missing, never turned up at your dorm last night. Had people worried” Soren said again with his monotone voice that makes Poppy want to scream.

“Why do you care” Poppy asks snidely.

“I don’t” Soren stated and Poppy felt the pain of that comment in her chest “but people were pestering me and it gets on my nerves” he added.

“So why didn’t you send them instead of coming out here yourself” Poppy asks, genuinely curious of the answer. She is still sat on the floor, a couple of the creatures surrounding her. Soren stood before her, hands connected at his front. Soren just stares at her, not a word for a question that he himself didn’t quite know either.

“Poppy just- come with me, it isn’t safe to be out here too long” Soren says as he starts to get more and more irritated by the minute. Putting his hand out for her to take and looking around to check for any risks.

“I thought you didn’t care” Poppy mutters as she slaps his hand away from her spot on the ground, folding her arms and puffing up her cheeks in annoyance.

“Poppy-” Before Soren can say anymore, a flash of light shot past his face and hit the rock beside Poppy. He looks in the direction the blast came from and as he looks up, he realises that many poachers have surrounded their exit. Poppy is immediately up, wand in hand, ready to protect the small, circular, fluffy creatures. Soren, however, is instinctively trying to step in front of Poppy, a hand out in front of her.

“Soren…” Poppy mutters quietly from beside him, he can here the wobble in the way she says it, she’s scared. Soren is quick to pull his wand towards himself and fling it back out with dark blue sparks soaring towards a poacher, he flings them back and forth, slamming them on the ground before they are out cold- or possibly dead, though Poppy doesn’t like to think of it like that. He does the same to another, but this time, turning them into a chicken. At least that way Poppy knows they aren’t dead…

“Just- stay behind me” Soren says as he continues to stay in front of her. Poppy looks up at him, and this time, she can see something on his face. Is it… fear? But Soren never gets scared, though by the way his hand is slightly shaking and holding Poppy away, maybe he’s scared for her? Soren looked away from the poachers for a single moment, there were so many, too many. He looks to Poppy, completely serious, “Run” he whispers. Poppy looks up at him and just knows, the way his jaw is clenching and eyes set, she knew he could handle himself, and protect the puffskiens while doing so. And before she knew it, she was running through the forbidden forest, struggling to keep up with her own feet as she moves quickly through the trees.

Behind her she can here all sorts of explosions and spells and incantations. Then all of a sudden it stops. All the noise, the banging and crashing, the yelling. Silence surrounds her, engulfing her senses as she listens carefully. She jumps at the sound of a twig snapping. She turns instantly and sees her centaur friend Dorran. She feels a wave of relief wash over her.

“My friend- he- he’s surrounded by poachers- he’s protecting the puffskeins” Poppy says frantically, pointing in the direction she ran from. Dorran nods in understanding. Suddenly many other centaurs come out and Dorran is commanding them to follow him as they gallop away to where Soren is. Poppy takes a moment to catch herself, calm down and comprehend what’s going on. Then she’s off back to Soren, back to where the silence echoed with cross fire.

When Poppy gets there, she sees many poachers on the ground, probably all dead. She’s frantically looking around, trying to spot the familier face amongst all the strangers.

“Soren?!” She cries as she’s running closer to the centre of the puffskein home. She still can’t find him. She feels fear boiling in her stomach, rising up her chest like the beat of a drum, heart pounding in her ears as her chest becomes weighted with anxiety. She can’t breathe, Where is he?!

“Over here!” She hears one of the centaurs yell and she’s running so fast for such a small person that she surprises herself. She reaches him, led on the floor and she practically skids as she kneels down beside him, still moving. No care for the damage she knows she’s just done to her skirt or the grazed knees she will have to deal with later. She pulls him up to her chest from where he was just led on the floor, completely unconscious and way too much blood leaking from his noise. Poppy puts her head to his chest, checking for a heartbeat. She instantly relaxes a little at the dull thump that reverberates from his chest all through her ears. She lifts her head and pulls out a little yellow handkerchief and tries to wipe the blood from underneath his noise, trickling down his face.

She’s trying to wake him, she’s crying out his name, begging he wakes up. Shaking his shoulders, trying so hard to hear his voice, know that he will be okay. She can feel the tears now, streaming down her cheeks. Weak? No, she’s not weak, she just cares for her closest friend.

Suddenly Soren is gasping for air as he sits up, Poppy has never felt so relieved in her entire life. She looks at him and doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Soren looks at her and smiles, his first smile in too many months. It’s genuine. Poppy loving the way the corners of his eyes crease, how his teeth show and little dimples appear on either side of his cheeks. She pulls him in for a hug, never hugging someone so tightly in her life. She may be sat uncomfortably on the floor, knees scraped up, Soren half sideways, but this is the best hug ever. She needs it and so does he.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, Soren” Poppy mutters into his shoulder, sobbing while doing so. Soren holds her tighter, pulling her in close in comfort.

“You’re not week.” Soren says simply, voice mildly shaken from what just happened. “You’re the strongest woman I’ve ever met” he mutters into her hair, his face crushed into her shoulder as he’s still being devoured by their tight hug. Poppy laughs lightly as tears still slip, wetting Soren’s shoulder in the process - oh well.

[nessinborderland]

Live Undead

Pairing: Yoon Gwinam x Reader

Genre: Smut, Angst, Dark fic

Word Count: 6.6 k

Summary: You knew he was bad, and you knew it was bad to tell him no. Still, you did. And you will come to regret it.

Warnings⚠️ Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Rape/Non-con Elements, Zombie Apocalypse, Mild Gore, Bullying, Vaginal Sex, Creampie, monster fucking ? Rough Sex, Rough Kissing, Sexual Harassment

Notes: It's finally here! Far from being my best work, but still happy with how it turned out. Hope you enjoy!

You could feel his constant stare on you even when you had your eyes down on the open book in your lap, the words losing focus as you grew more and more irritated. You hated when he did that, feeling like a rabbit being preyed on by a wild dog, your fight or flight response making you unable to think about anything else. But you were not a rabbit and he wasn’t a dog – even though you were pretty sure he could smell fear – so you tried to ignore the feeling of him watching you as you waited for your friends to get out of class.

He had been your friend too, once upon a time, but that was when you were both children and the highlight of your day was playing catch with each other at the park. Then you both grew up, but he – very much unlike yourself – only became a taller and meaner version of the boy he was. It started slowly – like hanging out with the wrong people and smoking behind the school gym – but escalated to small acts of vandalism and just being a bully with no regard for others. But you knew now that he and his friend group did a lot worse than that. Fortunately – or unfortunately – for you, you had long stopped considering him a friend. Still, that didn’t mean you didn’t fear what he could do, especially considering his growing… obsession with you, if you could put it that way.

He had never been clear to you about his feelings – he was way too proud for that – but you still suspected from the way he acted. From the long stares to just casually bumping into you in the hallways or following you home; everything he did remind you of a stray dog that was too scared to get close because it feared rejection. Now, you weren’t afraid of him because of what he had done to you; he had never touched you and you barely spoke. But you had seen what he and his friend-group of bullies had done to others, and you feared the moment you would become their next target. You had been on his radar for so long that it was only a matter of time until he got his figurative fangs on you too, it didn’t matter if he liked you or not.

Someone shadowing you from the sun took you out of your thoughts, and you looked up from your book to stare into the face of the person that had been on your mind since you had been transferred back to Hyosan High School.

“Need something?” you asked before looking back down like he wasn’t worthy of having your full attention. In your opinion, he wasn’t, even though you still couldn’t shake the apprehension of having Yoon Gwinam so close to you.

You heard him let out a huffed sound before the book was pulled from your hands.

“You’re such a weeb,” he snickered as he went through the pages with disinterest, “always with your manga books. Is this shit about furries?”

You sighed as you got up to take your Beastars volume 6 from his hands, cursing him under your breath as he held the book high above his head, making it impossible for you to reach it. The smile on his face got bigger while your patience got shorter, and you wondered if a knee to the groin would be too much in these circumstances.

“Give it back!” you settled for ordering, slapping his chest instead; he wasn’t worth a stain in your school resume. We don’t want to get on his bad side either, the voice in your head reminded you.

“Make me,” he retorted with a smirk on his face. He looked as happy to have your attention as a cat in cream, and that only annoyed you further.

“Fine, keep it,” you replied as you grabbed your stuff, not wanting to amuse him by playing more of his game.

As long as you didn’t anger him, ignoring him was a good choice when he acted like this. He was like a child throwing a tantrum; he would stop when he finally understood that no one was paying him any mind. What he wanted was a reaction out of you, and you weren’t about to give him that.

“Hey, I was kidding, why the fuck do I need this for?” The tone in his voice wasn’t humorous anymore, and you let out another sigh as he grabbed your bag, forcing you to stop in your tracks before giving you the book. “Where are you going, anyway?” he asked while positioning himself in front of you.

“Searching for my friends so I can go home,” you said matter of factly as you tried to walk away. He surprised you by throwing his arm over your shoulders and pulling you to his side, giving you no chance but to walk alongside him as he practically pushed you towards the exit.

“Let me take you home.” It didn’t sound like an offer. “My friends are by the gate, we can go together and hang out for a bit.”

“No, thank you,” you politely declined, swiftly moving from under his arm. You didn’t really fear him when he was on his own – well aware of your power over him as long as you kept him happy enough – but being with his friends was something else altogether. “I really don’t think I should.”

Wrong words! you thought as soon as you said them. His features got darker, like his eyes sharpened in the second it took him to process the rejection. He put his hands in his pockets while straightening his back, practically towering over you as he took a step closer, his threatening aura making you take a step back that he matched with one forward.

“Why?” he asked, brow raised. “You think you’re too good to hang out with us?”

“I just…” you hesitated, “I just don’t like your friends.” You decided for honesty again, omitting the part where you didn’t exactly like him either. “They’re not good for you.” That part was true too.

“Hmm… and you know what’s good for me?”

“I know it’s not them.”

You looked into each other’s eyes for a short moment where he seemed to judge your words. Then his features softened and you felt like you could breathe again.

“Fine, suit yourself,” he said with a shrug before turning his back and leaving.

You watched him go as he met his friends, locking eyes once more before he finally left the gates, your shoulders instantly sagging in relief as soon as he was out of sight.

“Damn him,” you whispered to yourself. Why did he have to choose you to fixate on? You wondered again when he would stop playing nice. You felt that moment coming like a storm on the horizon, especially after the recurring dreams you kept having. You could barely remember what they consisted of, but you would wake up drenched in sweat, body burning hot and heart racing as the memory of his face close to yours faded away. He was stressing you out so badly that you couldn’t escape him even in your dreams. It couldn’t be a good sign.

Your thoughts were interrupted when someone called your name, and you smiled as your friends approached you, the ever-threatening presence of Yoon Gwinam lurking in the back of your mind.

Seeing him again so soon didn’t surprise you. Finding him in the park – usually sitting on the swings he was way too old to use – in front of your apartment building was a daily occurrence, and you couldn’t exactly blame him for that; he did live in the building next to yours, after all. But trying to ignore him and his friends as you passed by was something difficult to master, especially when the whistles in your direction started coming. You were glad for the children playing close by and the familiar neighbor walking his dog; they wouldn’t dare to do anything to you with other people watching.

“Hey!” someone called your attention at the same time a pebble was thrown at your feet, barely missing your ankles as it flew past you. You flinched and looked to your right, where Gwinam and his friends sat by the picnic tables, one of them with a handful of pebbles ready to throw at you if you ignored them again.

You did exactly that, fastening your pace as you power walked to the front stairs of your apartment building, more than willing to be hit by a stone if that meant you wouldn’t have to interact with them.

A ruckus of discontent noises let you know they didn’t like that one bit, and it only made you walk faster, fingers trembling as you rushed to put on the entrance code. A hand around your wrist pulled you before you could even press the first number, and you yelped as you were dragged down the stairs.

“Let me go!” you shouted as you tried to stomp on Gwinam’s foot, his annoying laughter pissing you off as he dragged you back to his friends like you were barely fighting back.

You tripped when he released you, falling to your knees right in front of the leader of his group. You didn’t know his or the others’ names, but you knew that he was the worst of them all, with his mean smile and the confidence of someone that was never punished for his wrongdoings. He looked down on you with interest – like you were a particularly interesting bug that he might or might not squish to death – while the others stood around watching with amused expressions on their faces.

“Look at who bothered to join us,” he said with a lick to his lips, making you trip again as you tried to stand up. “Really rude of you to ignore your friends calling you.”

“You’re not my friends,” you said as you glanced around you, hoping that someone would be watching and do something. Unfortunately for you, the children playing on the other side of the park weren’t paying you any attention, and you didn’t see anyone else around.

“True, we’re not,” he replied with a shrug before extending you his hand in a clear sign for you to hold it, like a friendship offer, “but we could be.”

“No, thank you,” you said as politely as you could while trying to control the disgust you felt from his tone from showing on your face.

“Why not?” the bully asked in fake surprise. “Afraid to upset your boyfriend?”

You glanced at Gwinam standing to your left, not surprised to see his shoulders tense despite the fake mocking smile on his face. He wasn’t exactly liking this either, but he was too much of a coward to say something about it, just like you knew he was.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” you said as you tried to stand up again, this time successfully as the leader focused his mocking stare on Gwinam.

“Did you hear that, you’re not her boyfriend,” he laughed like you had just told the funniest joke. Then his hand gripped your arm like a snake bite, pulling you closer as you tried to get away. “That means we can do whatever we want with you, right?”

You controlled the instinct to fight back and slap him; that was a sure way for things to end badly for you. So you froze instead, holding his gaze as you tried not to erupt into tears as his hand slithered up your arm to grab the green bow of your uniform.

“You sure you don’t wanna come with us?” The threat in his tone was clear as day, the grip in your bow growing tighter as he pulled your face closer to his. “I promise we will have loads of fun.”

It will be worse if you go, you remind yourself before you made the stupid decision of letting them drag you somewhere else. You thought back to last year when the disturbing video of a crying naked girl touching herself had been leaked for the whole school. The girl in question had dropped out soon after when no one at school or the police did anything about it. Everyone knew who had filmed and shared the video, but no one talked out of fear. Those same people were now bullying you, and you let out a sob as you wondered if you would be the next girl forced to do something like that.

“P–Please let me go,” you stuttered as you weakly pushed him away. “I have to go home.”

“Myeonghwan, maybe it’s better to stop.”

Gwinam’s hand on your shoulder made you gasp in surprise as he slightly positioned himself between you and the shorter bully, eyes down as he nodded to the right.

You looked to see a familiar old man, walking in the direction of the apartment building but with his eyes locked on you, brows furrowed. You sent a mental plea to the man, hoping he would at least intimidate them enough for you to go home.

“Is everything alright with you kids?” your neighbor stopped as he assessed the situation.

Mr. Ahn was a widower that lived on the ground floor with his Yorkshire Terrier. He often looked grumpy and unapproachable, but you couldn’t be happier to see him right now. You were getting ready to ask for his help when Myeonghwan’s face turned into a polite smile, hand quickly releasing you before he tapped Gwinam’s arm in a clear order to take a step back.

“Everything’s fine, sir, we’re just joking around.”

“Hmm,” the old man grunted, clearly not convinced before asking you directly, “You okay, girl?”

You nodded as you took a step away from the young men before approaching Mr. Ahn, not even wanting to pretend that everything was alright. It was far from it, and all you wanted was to get home and try to forget about it. Maybe then they would forget about you too. You whispered a trembling thank you, bowing as you passed by the older man before running towards the door, not staying to listen when he started scolding the bullies.

You were able to put the code in this time, almost running towards the elevator before finally letting out a sigh of relief as the door closed without a sign of anyone chasing you.

Your home was dark and empty at this hour of the afternoon, and you closed the door to your small apartment before sitting at the kitchen table, burying your face in your hands as you calmed down your breathing. They had been so close to hurting you; you had to make sure to thank Mr. Ahn properly the next time you saw him.

You stood up and filled a glass of water, taking small sips as you checked your mom’s schedule on the fridge’s door to see that you were dining alone once again; it was like her job was trying to keep her away from home later and later. You were still shaky from what just happened, so you took a quick shower before getting in bed, unable to focus on your homework as you wondered what would’ve happened if your neighbor hadn’t intervened.

….

“I think he likes you.”

“He what?”

“He likes you,” your friend Minji repeated like it was obvious, glancing over your shoulder to look at what you knew to be Gwinam. “He keeps looking at you.”

You had felt him come in the moment he set foot in the cafeteria, his dark aura impossible to ignore as he started cutting in line with his friends before passing by to sit at the table right behind you. You felt as tense as a bowstring just from their presence close by, suddenly not hungry anymore despite barely touching the food on your tray. You just couldn’t eat when you felt so watched, like you were waiting for him to pounce on you while you were at your most vulnerable and with your back turned. It was unnerving, to say the least, especially considering what had happened the day before.

“Don’t be silly,” you said as you tapped your foot in impatience, making a gesture towards your friend’s tray. “C’mon, hurry up and eat, we still need to finish that math homework.”

“Wouldn’t it be cool if you dated him, though?” Minji pressed on, ignoring your words. “No one would mess with us if you did. And he’s handsome and tall, you could do worse.”

“What makes you think I like him?” you asked, both confused and offended. How could Minji say something like that when she knew firsthand how much he unnerved you? “He’s a bully and he scares me. You know that I want nothing to do with him.”

“I know but–”

You gasped and froze as you felt cold liquid run down your head to your front and back, soaking your school uniform and sending a chill down your spine. The cafeteria was suddenly very quiet except for some mean laughs, and your cheeks grew warm as you felt everyone looking at you. Your friend’s wide eyes were locked on someone behind you, and you didn’t have to look to know who it was.

“Oops, my bad,” his voice in your ear made you shudder and make a sound that reminded you too much of a squeak, his teasing tone leaving you with no doubt that he had done this on purpose. “Looks like your shirt is all wet. Why don’t you take it off?” you jumped in place as you felt his knuckles against your side. “I can lend you mine…”

“Asshole,” you whispered as you hurriedly got to your feet, pushing him away before running out of the cafeteria in search of a bathroom, tears stinging your eyes as you tried not to cry from embarrassment.

The bathroom you chose was blissfully empty, and you locked yourself in a stall as the first sob erupted from your lips, shivering as you tried to take off your milk-soaked clothes. A curse left your lips as you sat on the toilet seat in only your skirt and bra, wondering about what you should do next. A teacher would intervene, right? Someone would do something.

No, they won’t, the logic side of you said.

The bathroom door opening made you stop and hold your breath, wondering if someone had come to check on you.

“Minji?” you called.

“Try again,” a male voice you recognized very well said in a mocking tone.

“Y–You can’t be here,” you warned as you instinctively covered your chest even though there was a door blocking him from seeing your undressed state. “Leave!”

“Calm your tits, just came by to give you my shirt,” he said like you were being unreasonable. “Or would you prefer to walk around in only your bra…”

“I just want you to leave,” you hated how your voice trembled, but you blamed it on the cold of being covered in milk. “I’m sure someone told a teacher already, y–you’re gonna get in trouble.”

“Are you sure about that?”

You gasped in surprise as you heard his voice coming from above, and you looked up to see him staring down at you over the other stall. His expression wasn’t amused like you imagined him to be, but more serious as he took in your disheveled, half-naked, state. The glint in his eyes made another shiver run down your spine, and this time it wasn’t from the cold.

“I’m gonna leave it here,” he said as he threw you his shirt, “then let’s see if you’re gonna need it or not.”

You just sat there as you saw him disappear and heard him leave, closing the door with a bang that made you jump in place. You held his shirt in your hands, unsure if you should put it on or not; certainly, Minji or someone else would try to at least find you a change of clothes, right?

Wrong.

You didn’t know how long it took, since you had left your phone in your bag in the cafeteria, but at least an hour passed until you finally realized that no one would come for you. The ring announcing the end of lunchtime came and went and not once did anyone get in that bathroom, either to help you or just to use it. You had no doubt who was to blame for that, and you tried not to erupt into tears again as you begrudgingly buttoned up his shirt over your chest, cursing him under your breath when his particular scent caught your nostrils over the smell of sour milk. You tried to rinse as much of the milk out of your hair as you could, but you just saw a mess as you looked into the mirror. Going home early seemed like the best option, right after telling someone what had happened.

That will make it worse, your inner voice warned.

You understood that that was the truth as soon as you stepped outside the bathroom, almost bumping into Gwinam as you tried to decide where to look for your bag first.

“Looking for this?” he asked, standing there in the empty hallway, your bag in hand.

You nodded as you put your eyes down, cheeks warming in embarrassment as you fetched your bag, trying not to remind yourself that you were wearing his shirt. You passed by him without a word, walking as fast as you could without running, hoping he would just stop following you. But you could hear and feel his presence behind you as you walked towards the exit, disappointed that there had been no adults in the way to stop you and ask what was going on. Then maybe you could have said something, instead of the inevitable call to your mom and scolding the next day that you would have to endure for skipping class.

The walk home was probably the most stressful walk you had ever endured, with Gwinam five steps behind even when you told him several times to stop.

“Can you please stop following me?!” you exasperatedly shouted when you entered the park in front of your apartment, not caring that you were in public. You were beyond irritated with his antics, but it was even more frustrating when he just decided to act like a creep.

He just looked at you for a moment before averting his eyes to the side.

“Let me make you a proposition,” he said, eyes going back to lock on yours. You noticed then how red his ears were, how awkward he looked before he said the next words. “Be my girlfriend.”

You took a long moment processing his words, not exactly surprised but still taken aback nonetheless. You would never expect him to confess – if you could call that a confession – especially not after how he had acted just less than two hours before. You knew he was attracted to you but you also knew he didn’t care for you. He didn’t love you, didn’t matter how chivalrous he thought he was by offering you his shirt and asking you to date him.

“Are you kidding me?” the words that left your mouth sounded as dumbfounded as you were feeling, and you didn’t care that you might upset him then. He deserved what you were about to say. “First you stalk me and intimidate me, and now you’re asking me to be your girlfriend?! Why in the hell would I ever date you?”

The tone of disgust in your voice clearly hit him as you spoke, his eyes darkening and his cheeks turning red from anger and embarrassment.

“You done?” The low tone in his voice was beyond threatening, making you instantly regret your words as he took the necessary steps to almost bump into you, his chest pressing against yours as he looked down into your apprehensive eyes. You knew he could feel your fear, but you still held your ground, gulping as his fingers slightly pulled on a strand of your half-wet hair. “I’m just gonna say this once. Date me and you’ll have nothing to worry about, even with Myeonghwan. You’ll be untouchable. But if you deny me…” he shrugged, “then I can’t help you.”

You hesitated. It was not like you wanted to say yes – far from it – but saying no was scary, especially when he was so close and looking at you like that. It was like saying no would activate a new world of pain for you. You thought back to the video of that girl, how much you feared becoming her, or worse…

You gulped, gathering courage you weren’t exactly feeling. “No.”

His brow raised as well as the corners of his mouth – rejection clear despite the front he was trying to put on – as he said nothing for a moment. Then he let out a huffed laugh, a cruel glint in his eyes.

“Have fun surviving hell, then.”

….

Gwinam was right; you were in hell. But not in the hell you thought you would be when you rejected him. You expected endless days where you would be bullied relentlessly until you gave up and finally gave him what he wanted. You were expecting spilled milk, constant harassment, and lots of tears.

But you never expected zombies, of all things.

You covered your mouth as you tried to control your crying, hearing the monsters outside your door search for someone to sink their teeth in. You had been locked in that broom closet for hours and hours at this point – the lack of windows not helping you with the time – and it was starting to get harder to stay in there when you were hungry, thirsty, and ignorant about what was going on outside the door. To add salt to injury, your phone was dead and you were covered in blood that – at least – was not your own. You had managed to lock yourself in there when a large group of flesh-eating monsters swarmed the cafeteria, biting and killing everyone in their path. At first, you had been confused and terrified, but now you just felt more tired than anything, unable to sleep even though your body was begging for it.

You had stopped having faith in the chance that someone would come to save you; all you heard now were the growls of the dead and the occasional scream as someone was devoured. Leaving by yourself was not an option either when all you had was a bucket you used as a toilet, cleaning equipment, and a bunch of boxes filled with rolls of toilet paper.

Maybe I can use that mop? You thought to yourself, quickly pushing the idea aside; you would die in a heartbeat as soon as you put a foot out the door, armed with a mop or not.

You sighed as finally stopped yourself from crying, eyes heavy from the tears and lack of sleep as you allowed yourself to close them and lean against the wall. The door was closed and you were safe for now; having a nap would only do you good. So you did, falling into a light sleep as you prayed for someone to come rescue you.

Your eyes shot open at the bang of a door opening and closing, a dark form coming in and covering your mouth before you could even open it enough to scream, even less understanding what was going on through your groggy state of mind.

“I knew it was you…” a familiar voice whispered in front of your face, his warm breath making you wrinkle your nose at the sickly sweet smell.

“G-Gwinam, how–”

Your words were interrupted when he pulled your face to his, pressing his lips forcibly against yours in a kiss that tasted nauseatingly of blood. You tried to pull him away as strongly as you could, yelping in pain when he bit your bottom lip before shoving his tongue in your mouth, a hand keeping your head angled for him as the other went down to palm your ass over your uniform skirt.

The sound of your slap hitting him right on the cheek sounded loud in the suffocating room, and you pushed him away as strongly as you could before pressing yourself against the wall, feeling dizzy from his attack and the smell of blood and decomposition all around you.

“What are you–”

You choked at the feeling of his palm suddenly squeezing your throat. You couldn’t see him clearly in the dark room, but you could feel that there was something wrong with him. Not in the regular sense, but something more, way more terrifying than you allowed yourself to try to understand. You tried to fight him off again, and he bumped your head against the wall so hard that your knees buckled under you.

“Stupid bitch,” he growled before pushing you roughly against the wall, pressing his front against your back as his lips tickled your ear. “Stay still or I’ll break your fucking neck.”

You froze at his words; it was like some kind of compulsion, obeying someone that you knew wouldn’t hesitate to hurt or kill you. You had never felt this way before, but being pinned down by this Gwinam left you more terrified than everything that had happened in the last twenty-four hours. You wanted to fight or run, but your body didn’t obey, frozen like a rabbit in a dog’s mouth.

“G-Gwinam?” you said his name amidst tears, body trembling as you heard him sniff along your neck and hair.

You were hyper-aware of his body against yours; one of his hands was still on your head, keeping your cheek pressed against the rough surface while the other grabbed a fistful of your sweater vest, closed hand pressed against your stomach. His chest was fully against your back, one of his legs in between yours like he wanted to keep them apart.

“You smell so good,” the way he said it – lips hovering the back of your neck – almost sounded like a purr, and it made a shiver run down your spine while you arched your back without thinking about it. He growled when your ass ground against his thigh, hands jumping to grasp your hips in place as he pressed himself even more against you. “Do that again,” he panted in your ear, “and I’m gonna fuck you so hard you won’t be able to run anymore.”

You weren’t completely ignorant to what was going on; you could feel his hard-on against your ass, the way his hands slid up your body to cup your breasts in a painful squeeze as he started nibbling on your neck. You also couldn’t ignore the way you felt in between your legs, core hot and throbbing as his words struck something in you, thoughts hazy like you were stumbling through fog. It was hard to think, it was hard to speak and it was hard to move, but you had to do something before–

The daylight and growls that suddenly overflowed your senses took you out of your hypnotized state and sent you back into the nightmare of zombies and the smell of blood. You wasted no time then, escaping from under the arm of a surprised Gwinam before sprinting out the open door, dodging every zombie in your way while completely possessed by the adrenaline of the situation.

You ran for your life as you heard every monster in the vicinity start to hunt you down, including the one you had just left behind in the hope of being eaten, now screaming curses as he sprinted after you. It only took you a second to register all that before your animal brain inevitably took over, yelling at you to RUN! You ignored your name being called and the threats as you heard his shoes squeak on the floor, realizing you were way more scared of getting caught by him than by the zombies; at least with one of them, your suffering would end quickly.

An open door at the end of the hallway caught your attention, the open window inside looking just like the easy way out you needed. You didn’t hesitate as you ran inside – preparing yourself to jump and fall down the first floor if necessary – when you felt a strong pull on your clothes. You yelped as you were thrown into a bathroom stall, screaming in pain as you hit the toilet inside before falling on top of the closed lid, gasping for air.

Gwinam killed zombies as easily as he pushed them out of the bathroom, the monsters ignoring him as they tried to get to you. You blinked as you struggled to stand up, confused by the scene you were seeing while trying to figure out what was really going on. They were not attacking him; why? And since when was he strong enough to throw you across a room?

Something isn’t right, you thought again.

You were sure of it when he closed the door, locking it before he turned to you, completely ignoring the growls as the zombies tried to get in. You stared at each other for a moment, your eyes wide as he slowly approached you. He was dressed in a white jacket that clearly wasn’t his, hands red with dried and fresh blood, tousled hair sticking to his forehead with sweat. But what made you gasp was his face.

“Your eye…”

His left eye was gone. The eyeball that was supposed to be there had been pushed inside his skull, the wound in its place a red and gory crater that had clearly left him blind. But he didn’t seem to care about his injury as he casually touched the wound.

“Oh, this?” he asked with a shrug. “Don’t worry about it, I’m gonna get it back.” You tried to make yourself as small as possible as he got in the stall with you, an evil smile on his lips as he analyzed you with his good eye. “Now, where were we?…”

You screamed as he grabbed you by the hair and dragged you out of the stall, tears freely falling down your cheeks as he pushed you against the sink.

“Look at us,” he ordered, gripping your hair harder as he forced you to look at your reflection. “You think you’re so much better than me, always acting like a fucking bitch even when I try to be nice. But who’s in power now, hm?” You knew this was coming; you knew it the moment you told him no. You were full-blown sobbing at this point, struggling to get out from under him as you felt his hand under your skirt, cold fingers ripping your tights before forcibly pulling your underwear down. “You should be the one begging me to fuck you, not the other way around.”

“I–I’m so sorry, I–”

“Shh, too late for apologies now,” he laughed, a low, cruel sound. “You can say no all you want, baby,” you panicked as you heard a zipper before roughly feeling him poking at your entrance, “I don’t take orders from others anymore.”

It was like getting the wind knocked out of you. His first thrust inside you left you frozen, legs trembling as you gripped the sink so as to not fall, feeling like your core was on fire, so full that you couldn’t breathe. You let out a whiny moan as he filled you up even more, feeling the fabric of his pants against the back of your thighs. He looked at you through the mirror, mouth opened in a moan as he filled you up completely, a hand forcing you to keep your back arched as the other gripped your hip so hard you could feel his nails breaking your skin.

“I knew you would be tight as fuck,” he said, slightly pulling out before ramming forward, making you moan and cry out as he started fucking you at a fast pace, eye always locked on yours through the mirror. “Been dreaming about popping your cherry for a long time now.”

You wanted to look away, to hide, but you couldn’t. You couldn’t look away even when the tears clouded your vision and you felt so nauseated you wanted to throw up. You could only stay still as you let him use you as he had wanted for so long, it didn’t matter if it hurt. Your hip bones bumping against the sink hurt; his cock stretching you at every hard thrust hurt; his nails marking your skin hurt. The burn deep inside you that only got stronger every time you felt him hit that specific spot hurt too, but in a different way, so you focused on that.

“I know you like it too, I can feel your pussy squeezing me,” he moaned, covering you with his body and pressing his forehead against your shoulder as you did exactly what he had said. You moaned and closed your eyes as you felt his fingers touch your clit, only making you pulse even harder around his cock. “Shit, you smell so good I could fuck you into next week.”

Your moans were the only answer to his words. Nothing mattered anymore; you were being fucked against your will in a school bathroom, by a childhood friend turned bully turned monster, with flesh-eating zombies growling and banging on the other side of the door. If he wanted to have you, he could. Part of you wanted it to happen; he had done the worst he could to you, and you knew that he would protect you as long as you kept him happy. The other option was to be eaten alive, and that did sound like the worst when having him inside you felt like this. It was good if you relaxed and ignored the pain, his rough fingers toying with your clit only making the sensation grow.

So you let it happen.

You shook as you came, moans muffled as you hid your face in the crook of your arm, eyes rolling back as you pulsed around his cock. Gwinam cursed behind you before you felt him tense up, his grip growing tighter as his thrusts turned jerky and he buried his face in your hair. You only understood he had come too when you felt him pull out completely, followed by a cold sensation as something sticky covered the inside of your thighs. You stayed frozen in place, breathing heavily at your horrified reflection as you realized what had just happened. What you had allowed to happen.

Gwinam looked at you with a satisfied smirk, still behind you as he fixed himself back in his pants before pulling your skirt down to cover your bare ass. Then he pulled you straight against his chest, still locking eyes with you in the mirror as he started petting your head, an arm around your middle keeping you from falling to the ground. You were so tired you felt like you were about to pass out.

“Are you gonna say yes,” his voice made you jump like a spell had been broken, “or are you gonna feed the zombies?”

He was giving you a choice. Now you just had to say what he wanted to hear.

“Yes,” you whispered, barely audible even to yourself.

His smile made your heart leap in your chest. You would be fine. For now, you were alive, even if that meant staying with him. You didn’t fight him when he turned you to face him, lips leaning over yours.

“Good girl,” he said in a pleased tone, tapping your chin. Then he kissed you and you let him, returning the kiss until he moaned into your mouth. “Now get your clothes off and sit on the sink. I wanna see those tits bounce.”

----

Part 2 ->

[sofiaaaaaaaa03]

Your Benefactor

Summary: Y/n tries to lay low after the incident at the museum and keep an eye on Steven, however as Steven finds himself deeper into the mystery of the storage room key, Djehuty informs his avatar that they too must become more involved in this. 

Pairing: Marc Spector/Steven Grant x platonic teen gn reader

Rating: PG-13 (Cursing, mentions of wound and murder) Spoilers for episode 2 of moonknight.

Word Count: 6.2 k

A/N: I did not expect the amount of love I got for this series. Seriously, thank you guys so much again for the wonderful messages and likes. It really makes me happy that you guys are enjoying this as much as I enjoy writing it. Please, let me know how you guys like it and please enjoy this next chapter!

Part Two: Your Benefactor

Series Masterlist

“What the hell was that, Marc?”

y/n was slowly losing Marc, suit wrapped around him as the two walked out of the bathroom. They shoved their mace back into their backpack, frowning at the water they’d stepped in and hissed in disgust. The washroom was a disaster. Sinks demolished and water bursting from broken pipes. But there wasn’t time to focus on how their socks had gotten wet, not when Marc was walking out of the bathroom.

Behind the two, the defeated jackal disintegrated into dust. 

“Go back to your books, kid. You’re in over your head.” 

“Oh, you’re one to talk, ” they demanded, running up to the suited vigilante. Marc didn’t acknowledge their presence, making a beeline for the hallway exit. “He said that you probably weren’t well but I didn’t expect this-”

Marc stopped walking, his suit disappearing as he glared at the young teen. They fell silent at this. Back in his own clothes, Marc glared at them a moment, as though he was telling them to leave, before sighing. “What are you even doing here? I have too many problems on my plate to babysit right now-”

“Babysit?!” A sarcastic laugh escaped their lips, “Funny coming from the guy who works in a gift shop!”

“Don’t act like you weren’t begging for Steven to let me front.” 

Y/N pointed a finger up at Marc, a glare on their face. “I only said that because I can’t take care of the Jackal with him crying in the same room. You know what you’re doing. Guy’s gonna get himself killed.”

Marc pushed their finger out of his face with a small frown, though y/n felt like he was just trying to make the conversation end as fast as he could. “He’s gonna get someone killed, just like you will. Get out of here, I don’t want to see you again.”

“Don’t pull this shit again and you won’t.”

He turned his back to them, walking away. Y/N called to him, “We have another problem!”

“What?” Marc turned back, a glare on his face though y/n didn’t let that faze them. They frowned, was this really just nothing to him? 

“Steven knows about this,” They gestured a finger between them and Marc, “You’re able to hide from him. But I can’t. He’s gonna come to me for answers.”

Marc stared at y/n for several moments, his body leaning to one side and his arms limp. He gave out a scoff, a smirk on his face though it was quickly gone when he wiped his mouth quickly. “Thought you were smarter than that.”

Y/n frowned at this remark though they said nothing. 

“All it takes is to tie him to the bed and he’ll wake up thinking it's another dream.”

“Steven’s smarter than that, Marc. Soon enough your actions are going to affect his life. This?” You take a moment to gesture at the now flooding hallway they emerged from, “If the museum figures out this was him he might lose his job! He’s gonna start looking, searching, anything to convince himself that what’s happened is just a dream.”

Marc nodded but he probably was just dismissing their words. “Look, I can handle it.”

A moment fell between the two and nothing but the sound of spewing water filled the halls. Y/N, arm still stretched out, nodded at Marc, lowering their arms. They didn’t believe him. If he could, there would be no reason why they should be there with him right now. 

“Alright, whatever you say, mate.” Marc frowned at the mockery they did. 

Y/n sighs, grabbing the bridge of their nose with their fingers. They just wanted to go back home. Get some food on the way back. A good part of the day was spent following Steven around to make sure that he didn’t end up in trouble, so they hadn’t been able to eat since morning. They looked to the floor, hands on their hips. 

Ahead, Marc turns back to call out to y/n. “Are you coming?”

Looking up to meet his gaze, y/n pondered for a moment and shook their head. “I’d rather not be seen by the cameras. I want to keep coming back to the museum. The exhibits are pretty cool.”

Marc stared at them as though they were stupid, lips pressed shut. He nodded and spoke once more before walking out of the hallway and into the museum’s interior. “Alright. Don’t let me see you again.”

Blood boiled throughout y/n’s body at his last remark. They cupped their hands around their mouth and yelled loud enough to make sure that Marc could hear them.“Asshole!” They huffed, furious at the man they had to deal with and looked around at the mess they’d made. Part of them felt pity for the museum’s maintenance, and wanted to tidy up a little to help, but they were just too tired. Next time.

So it is true.

The voice bellowed from the depths of the washroom. Y/N, who had been picking off bits of ceramic that littered their clothing, looked up at the sudden appearance of a familiar deity. Towering above them and wrapped in linen clothes, Djehutey peered around the demolished bathroom, his body human yet his head of an ibis bird. The Deity gripped a long quarterstaff, and took a moment to dip the staff into the waters of the flooded washroom and watch the ripples it made. At the entrance, y/n watched him silently. 

The deity turned his attention back to the young thing.

I do not think that Khonshu is aware of the struggles his avatar is facing. It is only a matter of time before he realizes. 

y/n took a step forward, movements slow as though they were hesitant about disturbing the deity. “What do you want me to do?”

—--

Very little happened after that night in the museum. Though that was not to dismiss that nothing was happening at all.

Y/N had kept a close watch on Steven; however, they still had a responsibility to keep a check on all other avatar activities, not to mention their job at the library. So, on the rare occurrences that Steven was remaining at his home, they would return back to their scribing in the London Library.

It was convenient to work there, not only did the library house thousands of books, but it also housed generations worth of archives that allowed y/n to cross reference the information they gather of other avatar activity and write it down in Djehuty's scribes. Their time with the God was spent documenting every event that happens. Every now and then, they would travel to other countries, tasked to collect records and deliver documents to other avatars, however a majority of their time was spent in the library. Constantly learning, constantly writing, constantly observing. That was their job, and they did it well.

Back in their cozy front desk at the library, y/n occupied themselves with homework assignments when a large thud took their attention to the man in front of them. It was what they could assume was Steven, given the stack of egyptology books on the desk. 

They gave them a small smile, pushing their work to the side and leaned over to grab the books. “‘Bout time you brought me my books.”

“Y-yeah sorry about that, y/n,” Steven nodded, though his expression made y/n assume that he had more troubling his mind than just the overdue books. “How much do I owe?”

A flip of the book covers, “Three pounds.”

Steven pulled out his wallet and began to pull out the exact amount. y/n couldn’t help but smile at the glasses the man wore. He looked like a grandfather with them on.

“So,” They began, taking the money from Steven. “Does this mean you’ve been sleeping well? Haven’t seen you in a minute.”

“Ah, uh, no” He shook his head, “Guess you could say I’ve been faffing around, trying other things.”

Though he didn’t catch it, y/n shot a curious look to the man. There was an unfamiliar silence between the two, which troubled them. Normally whenever Steven visited he had no trouble filling the air with conversation. That was something that y/n liked about him. He made time to converse with you, a drastic change compared to other adults who simply checked out books and wandered off. Did Steven know about what had happened the other night? Marc said that he would have it under control, but there was only so much weight that could be put on his words. Does Steven remember them?

But they were quick to remind themselves. Their only job was to make sure that Steven stayed out of Marc’s work. Counting the bills in their hand, they frowned. “You gave me too much-”

“Ah, no. I actually printed some papers. It told me to come to the front desk for ‘em.”

“Oh, let me get them for you.” They leaned over to the printer, grabbing several sheets. Reading the pages, they gave Steven a glance, “Central Storage London? Can I ask?”

The gift shopist paused for a moment and slowly pulled his hand back to his body, as it was stuck out to grab the papers. Thoth suddenly appeared nearby. He approached Steven, leaning over the man as though inspecting him. 

Marc has grown sloppy. 

“Storage. I, um… I” Steven took a moment to sigh, lips pressed tight before he finally gave in. “I found a key in my apartment. I’m just trying to figure out what it opens.”

“That sort of sounds like an excavation. Good luck, Steven. Let me know what you find next time you’re here.” y/n nodded and straightened out the papers on top of the desk. They promptly handed them to Steven, who mumbled a thanks, and gave him a small smile. He stood there for a moment, and opened his mouth as though he wanted to say more.

“I, uh.” He began tentatively. “I got sacked. Something about a washroom… I uh, might be going a bit mental, I mean, I think I saw you there- sorry. No, what I meant to say is that, you won’t be seeing me at the museum anymore.” 

A frown fell on their lips. Fuck you Marc. “Sorry to hear about that, Steven. I know you loved that job.” 

“S’alright. All it ever was was jellies and long hours. I’sa.” The more he spoke, the more y/n felt like he was projecting despite trying to keep it in. “Well, I’m just trying to figure myself out right now. Anyways, I’ll see you later. “

 The (h/c) head panicked but maintained their composure. Steven waved y/n off and exited the library. The smile on their face dropped the moment he was out of their sight, eyes targeted on Thoth. 

“He’s going to find out.” Their eyes followed Thoth as he stalked over to the desk. On it, sat a small bowl of dark chocolates that was set out specifically for him. He hovered a hand over the bowl and picked one off the bowl. 

“Djehuty,” Y/N frowned at the deity, unsure of how to go about their question. “You know something, don’t you?”

Back turned to them, Thoth gingerly unwrapped the chocolate. 

As good as you are, there will always be something you won’t know until it is too late. 

He turned to his avatar, as small as they were compared to him. 

I’m sorry. I’ve gotten you far too deep into this without knowing the intentions of Arthur Harrow. 

The God took a bite of the chocolate and savored its taste before he caught his Avatar up on everything that had been happening. He continued explaining that if the rumors he’d learned about Marc Spector’s separate alters, then that would mean that Khonshu’s avatar was not fit to continue with the mission. At least alone. 

“No.” Y/N’s eyes widened as they realized what Thoth was alluding to. “No, the other day you just told me to keep my distance. Now you’re telling me to help Marc?” 

Is there an issue? 

Y/N looked at the bird, exasperated. “You were the one who put me in charge of keeping records of the mortal world, not following around some other avatar like a puppy. And Khonshu’s avatar? Really? He’s  been nothing but a pain in the ass since I’ve met him. All he ever talks about is ‘serving justice’ and ‘finishing his deal’. It’s annoying. I can’t stand it when he opens his mouth. Really, Djehuty, can’t some other avatar help him? I’d much rather stick to scribing.”

How often do I ask you to go into the field? I am not as treacherous as Khonshu, who exploits his avatar any chance he gets. Watch yourself, my mind can be changed easily. 

The tone of the deity’s voice was enough to put y/n in a silence spell. They stared into the depths of the bird’s eyes. So that’s how it’s going to be, huh? They bit the inside of their cheek, nodding to themselves as they knew there was no other way around this. 

They grabbed their phone, opening the messenger app, and texted their boss to inform them that they wouldn’t be showing up to work due to a family emergency. 

_____

It seemed that there was a third party concerned about the life of Steven Grant. Not only was it y/n and his alter Marc keeping up with Steven, but a woman too. Sitting on the rooftop of Steven’s flat, y/n listened to Steven and Layla’s conversations.

Following Steven wasn’t particularly hard for them, considering that they knew that Steven would go straight to Central London Storage. Steven was inside the edifice for quite some time, making y/n worry for a moment before he came screaming his head off and running into the woman. Now, there they all were at his flat, though only one made their presence unknown along with a ibis headed deity who’d perched himself atop a chimney. 

The mystery that followed the woman was quickly resolved. This woman, Layla, wasn’t involved in Steven’s life, but rather was Marc’s deeply involved in Marc's. She was his wife. Strange, y/n could have sworn that her name was Marlene on the documents.

A small scoff came out of their lips when they heard the conversation about Marc sending Layla divorce papers. It wasn’t something they would put past Marc. Asshole.

A knock pounded on the door of the flat and all parties grew quiet. Much to y/n’s dismay, Layla stepped out onto the roof to hide from the visitors. She climbed onto the ledge, pausing a moment to stare at the y/n, shocked to find the teen sitting on the roof. Shit. Quickly you placed a finger against your lips, though it was more out of instinct than to tell Layla, who knew full well to keep quiet otherwise their cover would be blown.

Together along with the Deity they sat in silence, not daring to budge until the detectives escorted Marc out of his flat. y/n waited a moment, listening for any sign of them entering once more.

The pair quietly entered the flat. 

y/n let their doubts be known. “I don’t buy that they’re detectives.”

Layla turned to them, confusion evident on her face as she stared at the teenager. Her stare didn’t faze them. It was something they had been receiving ever since they’d become involved in this whole debacle, what with their age. 

“Sorry, who are you?” 

“Someone here to help Marc.” A small silence fell on y/n before they gave her a small smile, “but call me y/n. Layla, right? Look, I know in these situations it's hard to trust outsiders, but another God is supportive of Khonshu’s current mission for Marc and sent me here.”

At the mention of Khonshu, Laylah’s expressions changed. If it was good or bad, y/n couldn’t tell, but whatever she felt was enough to give her some sort of trust in them. Hopefully this was a trust that y/n could build.

“I can track his phone.” Layla started, grabbing her belongings. 

“Don’t bother, I know exactly where they’re taking him.” 

Y/N approached Gus’s fish tank, hand reaching into their backpack. They pushed their hand around its content and pulled out what they were looking for, a vacation fish feeder. 

“Do you?” Layla inquired, surprised of this.

“I make it my business to know, part of the job. Do you have a metro card?” 

“No, but I have a moped.”

A small pause. y/n’s hand hovered over the tank with the food in their hands. With a small chuckle, they dropped the vacation food into Gus’s tank and gave him a smile, watching the fish swim around. Strange, didn’t Steven call Gus his One Fish Wonder? With two fins? 

“Right, forgot. Let’s go then. Don't eat all of that at once, Gus.”

—--

Layla and y/n followed the trail to Harrow’s neighborhood. Together, they watched Harrow lead Steven through the neighborhood and disappear into a building to continue their talk. It was when Harrow demanded the scarab from Steven that Layla made the first move. 

“I have it!” Scarab raised above her head, Layla caught the attention of every soul as she entered the room. y/n not too far behind her, keeping a close watch on those close to them in case any one of them were to approach. One of them, Steven, stared wide eyed to see y/n following the woman. Y/n met his gaze, and there was an unspoken resolve between them.

The night of the museum truly did happen, and y/n was indeed a part of whatever had been happening to Steven.

Y/n looked away from Steven, his confused gaze telling them that he was going to demand answers. But now wasn’t the time. He would just have to approach them later. Their focus now was on on the people around them. 

Among them was Harrow, who’d stepped closer to the pair as they slowly made their way to Steven. “You couldn’t possibly understand the value of what you’re holding. Let me have that. I’ll keep it safe.”

Layla turned to Steven, clearly ignoring Harrow.  “Summon the suit.”

“Sorry, what?”

“Summon the suit.”

“‘Summon the soup?’ What are you saying?”

“Oh my God, he’s useless.” y/n mumbled under their breath, a small smirk playing on their lips. Steven didn’t hear their remark, thank goodness, however even if he did and wanted to make a comeback he had no time. Not when Layla shoved the Scarab to his chest and pushed him to run away from the crowd. Y/n stayed behind for a moment, pushing back people with much more ease than Steven expected them to have before following behind Steven and Layla. 

The trio raced up the stairways of the building, dodging and fighting men who’d appeared out of nowhere. Y/n jumped back as a man came charging from their right, hand reached out as they had tried to punch them, in one swift motion they grabbed his arm and used his momentum to pull him off of the ledge and fall into the wooden boards below. They stopped for a moment and looked down.

Y/n jumped a little in agitation at the sight below. Harrow knelt on the ground, his scepter stabbed to the glowing ground. 

“He’s speaking in Coptic,” Y/n mumbled, wrapping their minds around the phrases that Harrow was using. Recalling the meanings of the phrases he was chanting, y/n jumped up and down for a moment. “Shit, not again.” 

Steven yelped, his attention tearing away from Layla fighting when y/n grabbed his arm and pulled him to continue running. They entered a storage room, Steven bolting the door as Layla surveyed the room for anything they could use to escape. The room was littered with sarcophagi wrapped in seran wrap and crates. At the window, the city shone though it was a sight to be enjoyed for another time. 

y/n studied the contents of the room, a frown on their lips. There was nothing big enough to push against the door. Well, nothing that would keep whatever was pounding against it from getting in. Deciding to save their energy, they ran around the room looking for anything that could help them. 

“Oh my God” Steven whimpered, “I’m going to die in an evil magician’s man cave.”

Layla, her attention now on Steven, ran and gripped onto his shoulders, trying to calm him before he spelled into another panic attack. She tried to get it into Steven’s head that he was actually Marc, however there was no recognition in his eyes at the name. There was nothing. This was a completely different man. 

y/n spared a glance at him. No wonder Thoth had been so adamant about their interference. 

Laylah pressed on. Unfortunately, it seemed like she wasn’t the only one that was speaking to him. Steven mumbled nonsense to her, repeatedly glancing between her and somewhere in the room though it was hard to figure out what exactly it was he was looking at. 

Y/n said nothing for a moment, their attention focused on the pounding of the bolted doors and the whimpering of the man inside. Layla’s tones turned furious. No, that’s enough. At the shouts, y/n clamped a hand on her shoulder to quiet her. “He’s not coming out, we’re moving on.” 

Layla ignored them and begged once more, “Hey! You can do this. I promise… Steven.”

y/n averted their eyes to Steven, his eyes wide in utter disbelief of what was happening around him. He stared at Layla, apologetic. “I can’t… I can’t. I just can’t do it.”

“It’s okay Steven.”

The librarian sighed in frustration at the wood splintering as the door shook. There was imminent danger and there was only so much time they could waste. God, why weren’t there more useful things in the room? 

“Yeah…” Layla simply sighed, patting Steven's shoulders. “We’ll just find another way.”

Another loud groan from the door and y/n jumped, running over and pushing back the doors with all their force. The wood breathed a shudder and groan, clanking against the frame and the shaking subdued a little. Steven watched in pure shock. There was just no way. The door, though shut by the hands of the teen, began to crack. Behind the door a loud roar could be heard. Whatever was behind was determined to the door. 

To their dismay, y/n was able to feel the door’s bolt break off.

“No, no no no no no shit-”y/n yelled, flying back from the force of the doors breaking open. They flew into the air and with a grunt landed against a sarcophagus groaning in pain from the land and laying disoriented. Their arms ached and there was a pang on their side. God, did they break a rib? 

Steven shook not too far from where they laid, paralyzed from fear of the monster that stood in the doorway. “Jackal! Jackal! Jackal!” 

The Jackal reared its body back before charging towards Steven, pushing the two out of the large window and disappearing into the streets below. Layla leaned over the broken opening to see what had become of Steven. 

Y/n slowly lifted themselves from the ground, rearing an arm back to ease the pain in their shoulder. They walked next to Layla, “Is he dead?”

“What the hell is that?” Below them, a man in a white suit stood below. 

Layla climbed out of the window, grabbing for the ladder nearby. “C’mon.” 

Falling off the ladder, y/n grunted as they landed, wincing at the pain in their leg though they ignored it noticing that Layla wasn’t waiting for them. They tried to catch up, pulling out their mace once more. 

A loud crash. Out of it came Steven flying from who knows where, though surely it was the Jackal that caused it. He grabbed onto a car bumper, pulling it off without meaning to. He looked at the bumper in his hands, uncertain as to how he was able to manage that. Now able to get a good look at his suit, y/n noticed the handkerchief accessorizing his jacket. Their eyes fell to the gloves on his hands, a little dirtied, and then, when they tried to meet Steven’s gaze they could see the Jackal slowly approaching the vulnerable man. 

Y/n didn’t give a warning and ran behind Steven, swinging their mace at the head of the jackal. The impact of the mace hitting its head sent vibrations all the way to their shoulders. The Jackal was not heavily afflicted by their attack, it actually recovered quickly. Before y/n was able to launch a second attack the jackal swung its arms across their chest and sent them flying back against a wall. They groaned loudly at the landing, laying on the ground until they were less disoriented. 

Pushing the Mace against the ground, y/n used it to help themselves stand up. They ran back to the scene where the Jackal had Layla suspended into the air by her leg, kicking and thrashing as she tried to get away from its grip. Steven had rammed a car’s rim against the creature. 

Again with the mace, y/n swung it against the back of the creature’s knees but was knocked back when the Jackal swung the tire rim at them, then at Steve.  A cry reverated from the jackal’s throat as it dropped Layla and ran a couple ways away.

On their feet again, y/n struggled to make sense of the situation at hand. They’d been hit in the head, though they knew that they would be fine in a moment. 

Meanwhile, Steven, who had removed his jacket, taunted the Jackal. He was adamant about distracting the creature away from Layla and y/n. Though this was risky. The jackal, now focused on Steven, made no hesitance to lunge at Steven. 

To y/n’s surprise, they watched him hit the Jackal with a force that he did not have before. Even he looked surprised at this, looking at his hands in pure astonishment. He threw his hands up in victory.  

“Wug wag! I did it! You got planted! Laylah? Laylah. Did you see that?” 

Steven let out a groan at the force the Jackal exerted when it lunged at him, sending them both to the London streets and into a brawl.

Y/n jogged into the open street, watching. They murmured in exasperation, hands running through their hair. Around them, pedestrians and onlookers stopped in their tracks because of the scene that Steven was causing. This wasn’t good. 

Steven wasn’t doing so well in the ring with the Jackal either, but you decided that it was best to stand back and protect the pedestrians from any damage that could come from them than interfere. Even if it meant that Steven would be pounded out of his mind. 

They didn't think it would be an incoming car that would knock him out. The avatar cursed, noticing that Steven showed no signs of getting back up as the Jackal prowled around him. They had to intervene.

“I’ll buy you some time!”

The librarian called out and ran at the jackal just as it approached the pedestrian on lookers, calling out taunts to catch its attention. The Jackal, though looking in their direction, pushed back several people. Exclamations and gasps erupted from those nearby, oblivious as to what was happening. 

The Jackal lunged at y/n, and they swung their mace, getting a few hits in, before they were forced onto their back. Quickly they held their mace on both ends and used it to hold the Jackal’s mouth back as it hovered on top of them, claws on either side of their head.

A wind brushed against their clothing and swept their hair. Panting heavily, y/n cried out in frustration, pushing the jackal’s snapping mouth back by their mace. The teeth of the creature ensnared some of their skin, blood trickled down their arm and they hissed at the wound. They tried to ignore the pain, using all of their strength to hold the creature back. The mace began to crack between the pressure of the creature’s jaws, and y/n used one leg to repeatedly kick at the creature’s chest. 

And suddenly, the jackal left. Behind it was a panting teen who held the mace’s staff against their chest, it took them a moment to realize that the Jackal had left. They lifted the mace with one hand, inspecting its damage, and tossed it to the side. Silence had fallen in the streets, a staggered contrast from moments before. 

Layla approached, her curls in disarray.

“I’m guessing that was Marc?” Y/n breathed. 

Nodding, Layla looked at the rooftops where Marc had disappeared to. 

Y/n sat up, an ache in their shoulders from where the jackal had clawed them. It would need bandaging soon. 

“I’m going after him. Will you come with me?” 

y/n met Layla’s gaze, the woman staring down at them with a curious look. Though they appreciated the offer and was about to accept, their attention was more focused on a certain deity standing a little ways next to them. 

A sigh, and y/n shook their head. “I’m needed somewhere else. But thank you.”

—

y/n found Marc standing alone on a stage in the middle of a courtyard, speaking to himself through a mirrored sculpture. They quietly approached the area and took a seat among the many chairs arranged around the stage. This wasn’t for them to interfere with. 

“Look, when I am done. When I have repaid my debt. I swear to you, you will never hear me or see from me again. I promise you. We wouldn’t be alive if it weren’t for Khonshu. And my servitude is the price that I pay.”

There he goes again, thought y/n with a small, frustrated sigh. They'd heard this so many times before from the marine.

He continued bickering with Steven. Unable to hear both sides of the conversation, y/n began to understand why Thoth was so adamant about helping him. Marc, after everything he had gone through, had become a victim of exploitation. And this was what it had lead to. The guilty? Khonshu. It was evident that the deity felt very little regard for the turmoil Marc was going through. 

This was wrong. To see a man so blinded by the chance of freedom, it did something to you, even if it was Marc. 

They weren’t happy with the marine. Y/n had determined that since day one. But they liked Steven. Call it a soft spot. So even though they didn’t want to get themselves involved in what’s been going on, they figured it would be worth it so that Steven can finally have some peace of mind after. 

That is, if Marc doesn’t annoy y/n before they murder him. 

Bells of a belltower chimed loudly. Glass breaking against boots. Marc yelled and bashed his shoe against Steve’s reflection on the glass until the structure gave away and cracks replaced the face of the gift shopist. Marc seethed with anger, glaring at the broken shards between pants. 

Not too far from him, y/n stood up. 

—----

Marc’s attention tore from the broken structure when the wind picked up and blew away the chairs around him. Among the chairs stood a face that he did not want to see. Great. 

“I told you I didn’t want to see you again.” He called out. 

Y/n climbed onto the stage. Marc wasn’t able to get a good read on their expression.  He spared a glance at the broken glass he made before speaking again. “I’m fine. Look, I have control of my body and I’m gonna keep it that way. Stop worrying-”

“I’m not here on my own account, Marc.” Y/n interrupted. Marc could see that their gaze wasn’t on him, but rather behind. He turned back, and when nothing was behind him he turned back to the teen. Their god must be there. 

Perched atop the roof of the cathedral, Khonshu spoke loudly. You swore that he would not interfere.

“I know.” Marc turned to face his god. “ I’ll handle it.”

“Is that Khonshu?” Marc ignored y/n’s question.

You have proven you cannot.

“I will.”

Ungrateful! Marc, altering the terms of our agreement. You were nothing more than a corpse when I found you. You think you own this body? It belongs to me.

“We’ll find the scarab.”

The God towered behind him now. 

“You lost the scarab?!” Y/n interjected despite being unable to hear the grunt Khonshu gave to their response. “Jesus, Marc! You had one job!”

Steven shoved a hand to their mouth, pushing them away before they got too close. “Blame Steven, not me.”

“Djehuty,” Y/n pushed his hand away, flashing him the mingle finger and turned to what Marc suspected was their god. “Are you hearing this? He lost the scarab.” 

“Khonsu, is this necessary?” Marc gestured an arm at y/n. 

“Watch it, Spector, before I kick your ass,”

Enough.

Khonshu banged his staff on the ground, a loud thud reverberating throughout the courtyard. From the staff a burst of wind erupted. Marc sighed, looking up in an attempt to calm his anger. Y/n tried to fix their hair, now messed up. They turned away from Marc and his deity, possibly talking to their own God. Though Marc raised an eyebrow as they spoke quietly into nothing. It was not often that he encountered someone else under servitude to a God. Seeing his situation from an outside perspective was still odd to him. 

Again, he turned his attention back to Khonshu. 

This avatar is here to assist you. With all of these disappointing occurrences, I’ve lost some faith in your ability to maintain control. Djehuty and I are in agreement to this. Whether or not you like it, consider showing some appreciation to your benefactor. As generous as they are to offer their own avatar for our cause. 

This is your second chance, Marc. To convince me that you are still able to work with me.

Don’t blow it.  

Marc studied Khonshu as the deity spoke. He nodded, accepting the reality that the young teen next to him will be around for much longer than he wanted to. With a sigh, he continued. 

“Then we’ll find another way. We’ll get to Ammit’s tomb first.”

You know I’ll protect you with everything I have. You are worth protecting.

“I’ll do whatever it takes then.”

—--

Y/n finished speaking with Thoth, who had taken their attention away from Marc and his God. Watching the god disappear before their eyes, they turned to the marine. 

“Where are we going?”

Marc slowly turned around, meeting their gaze. Under his hard stare they could tell that Marc was not happy with the arrangement of Djehuty and Khonshu. To be fair, neither were they, but they were more willing to go through with the affairs of the gods than he was. 

“Here’s the deal, kid,” Marc began, his tone serious. “I’m handling this mission alone, despite whatever they say. If for some reason I do need your help, I will call you. Until then, stay out of my way.”

“Careful Marc, you’re supposed to prove to Khonshu that you can work well in a team.” 

A frown formed on Marc’s lips at their words.

“You’re bleeding.” He noticed the wounds on their shoulders. 

Y/n glanced down, “Yeah no shit. I don’t have a tuxedo like you do.” 

Marc harshly glared at them and internally y/n rejoiced at the fact that they were able to get under his skin.

The marine and the librarian stared at one another for several moments and Marc nodded, looking around the courtyard. He began to walk out, their next course of action was to get to Cairo as soon as possible. Time was imminent.

“Alright, do you have any travel documents?”

Taglist:

@nerds4life246 @samanthacookieone @thekaibabes @kiara-is-gay @pcotato @sagedgeek @blustalker @atzlena @xiernia

[monstersandmaw]

Male dremora x female character - Part Seven (sfw)

Disclaimer which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere.

This chapter came about because of the lovely support of those who donated over on Ko-fi on my new ‘sponsor a story’ idea. Thank you!! I hope you enjoy this next part, especially knowing that you made it happen!

Content: soft fluffiness, a touch of flirting, touch-starvation, a bit of standard fantasy/Skyrim bandit action, mention of loss of family and grief, and more fluff. Sfw.

Catch up here:

Part One (sfw), Part Two (sfw), Part Three (sfw), Part Four (sfw), Part Five (sfw), Part Six (sfw)

Alys stirred slowly in the soft, silver light that shrouded the world just before dawn.

Drifting between full wakefulness and the pleasant haze of dreams, she felt the press of a large hand on the small of her back and the warmth of a solid chest beneath her cheek, rising and falling with the steady rhythm of a deep sleep, and she blinked.

Smooth, charcoal grey skin with rust-red markings swam into focus slowly, gradually, and her heart leapt wildly as she realised she was still lying atop the dremora she had summoned from the Deadlands. It was the first time she had seen him sleep, and with that groggy realisation, she watched him more closely.

He had a slight scar on his chin, perhaps from the fight with the dremora warlord at Icepeak Keep, and the red lines on his face seemed less vibrant than they had when she’d first met him in the harsh contrasts of bright snow and dark trees. His lips were darker than the rest of his grey skin, and the urge to plant a soft kiss on their sharply-defined corner was almost overwhelming.

To distract herself, she continued to stare and discovered that he had a large, dark freckle underneath his left eye. His dark eyebrows were relaxed, his eyelids soft, and his long, thick lashes rested quietly in sleep. Were it not for his steady breathing, she might have thought him a carved and painted effigy. The way his horns curved, following the contours of his skull, also made her want to touch them. Were they cold? Did they have any sensation?

She sighed and looked away, wondering just what she was doing. If Dinn or Wil could see her now, they might have thought she’d cracked under the weight of grief, under the shock of losing her beloved aunt, but she didn’t feel like it. She felt… steady. Calm. Still.

“I wish you had a name,” she murmured, barely giving breath to the words so as not to wake him. His tapered ear twitched, and his eyebrows furrowed for half a heartbeat, but he appeared to slumber on while she ran options in her mind. Something old, she thought. No new, modern name would suit a creature like him, and she wondered if Gisela had kept any of her father’s old books. There had even been one written in Dovahzul, the language of the dragons. I’ll start there, she thought.

Reaching Falkreath would disrupt this new-found peace, she knew, and Alys suspected that the loss of her aunt would come crashing in again on her all too soon, but in that odd, timeless moment before dawn — before the day began and the birds started singing and the insects chirruping — she could just be. She nuzzled against the dremora’s chest again, closing her eyes and breathing in the quiet, campfire scent of him. She sighed softly as his left arm tightened around her, pressing her back into his side for warmth and closeness.

She didn’t realise she’d dropped off again until she blinked awake once and squinted at the advancing morning light that was flooding in beneath the shelter of the rocky canopy above.

With a deep inhale, she stretched and realised with an odd jolt that she was alone in the bedroll. Alert and wary, she sat up and looked around.

The movement drew the attention of her dremora, who was sitting cross-legged in his shirt and leggings beside a revived fire, and he smiled.

“Morning,” she mumbled.

He inclined his head and she calmed at the gesture. “I let you sleep. I hope that was alright.”

“Mmm,” she hummed vaguely, rubbing her eyes and stretching her arms out to either side with a huge yawn. “Thanks.”

“Breakfast?” he asked and she perked up almost comically. “I found some birds’ eggs not far off and there’s a hive just there with some honey. The bees didn’t mind sharing a little.”

“You making hearthcakes?” she grinned flippantly.

“Not quite,” he conceded. “But you had a small pan dangling off your pack that you didn't have before Whiterun. I thought we could make use of it this morning since it’s still raining and you didn’t seem to be in a rush.”

She lumbered out of the cosy bedroll like a bear from hibernation, drawn towards the promise of delicious food, and plonked herself down beside him. He looked down at her and smiled shyly. His plait dangled down his back and she felt bold enough to reach out and trail her fingertips down a section of it. “I’ve never met anyone with hair as long as yours. Do all dremora wear it like that?” She hadn’t been in a position to observe the dremora warlord’s hairstyle during the fray at the tower.

He shook his head and didn’t speak for a few seconds while she continued to touch. “No,” he rasped. His eyes fluttered closed and he rocked back a fraction, inhaling softly through his nose.

“You like that?”

“Mm.”

She smiled and leaned closer to him, nudging his shoulder with her forehead and laughing. “You’re such a softie. I can’t believe those mages in the tower were afraid of you.”

With a playful snarl, he curled his lip at her and revealed his double canines on one side. “I can be very dangerous,” he said in a voice like silk over steel. “But only at your command.”

Alys had not been expecting the thrill of heat that pulsed in her core and she squeezed her legs together, eyes going wide.

“And you like that,” he said, and it wasn’t a question.

“You already know the answer to that,” she mumbled, blushing hot at the embers of the fire.

He gave her a fond, warm chuckle and leaned down to kiss the crown of her head. “I do,” he said. “Here,” and he handed her a plate with an already-halved white roll to hold while he shunted the small fried eggs off the pan with the tip of his Daedric dagger and safely onto the waiting roll.

The yolks were still a tiny bit runny, and when she closed the roll and bit into it, she moaned. “This is almost as good as Hulda’s breakfast at the Bannered Mare,” she said through a thick wad of bread and egg. “Thank you.”

Again, he whickered a soft laugh and ate his own breakfast in easy silence.

He drew out a wide, flat leaf containing a small section of dripping, golden honeycomb once they’d finished the rolls, and they shared it on the same wooden plate that the dremora rested on his knee. Alys ran her fingertip through the last remnants and licked it off, and when she looked up, she found the dremora watching her with his eyes red.

“Why do they change colour?” she asked.

He blinked, not following. “Why do what change colour?”

“Your eyes,” she said. “Sometimes they’re completely black, and sometimes I can see the irises — when they glow red.”

“Oh,” he laughed and she watched little half-moon creases appear in his cheeks. He seemed genuinely amused and shook his head. “It’s just… something that happens.”

When she quirked an eyebrow at him, he kept laughing, but quietly; almost privately.

“It’s… It just happens,” he said again with an overly-nonchalant shrug. “When we use magic, when we feel something strongly, when we’re tired…”

He regarded her carefully and she realised with a pang of disappointment that the colour had faded away as quickly as it had come. Then, because he evidently knew what she’d been thinking, he added, “We can do it deliberately though.” As he spoke, his eyes flared again and he measured her reaction with obvious self-congratulation.

“You’re a menace,” she snorted and stood up. Behind her, the dremora was still chuckling to himself.

The rain was still falling beyond the bounds of their shelter in a dense, sheeting mizzle, and Alys sighed as they packed up the camp and left it as close to how they’d found it as they could.

“Seems like fitting weather for a homecoming,” she muttered as they tramped down the cobbled road and she tried not to slip on the algae and moss that slimed it. Obviously, the route to Helgen had fallen quiet in the aftermath of the dragon attack, and it saw little foot traffic. In a few years’ time, it would probably be swallowed up entirely by the surrounding banks that were sandy and soft and studded with fragrant heather.

All around them, bees were trying valiantly to fly in the damp conditions to gather nectar for their hives, and Alys had to admire their tenacity. Given the choice, she would much rather have been curled up by a fire with a book in her lap and a steaming mug of mint tea beside her. A drop down the back of her neck from a pine tree overhead brought her back to the moment with a yip of distaste.

After an hour or so, they passed a lonely little thatched cottage set back from the road on their right which the dremora eyed with deep suspicion, raising his nose and inhaling.

“What?” she frowned. “Looks like an ordinary house?”

He shook his head and jutted his chin down the road. “Keep moving. It smells… off.”

Trusting to his superior senses, Alys just shrugged and adjusted the strap on her pack as they went. She’d only been away from these parts for just over a year, but already it seemed wilder and more overgrown, and the dark, silent woods held a threat to them that they never had before. Or perhaps it was just the reminder of her grief, and the fact that she was now alone, that made her mind run along such paths.

Her dremora didn’t often start conversations, but he appeared happy enough to maintain idle chat as they went, and she found him opening up a little and allowing himself a few more questions of her in return. She told him about Winterhold and learning magic, and a little of her first year classmates, and by the time her stomach was rumbling to announce it was well past midday, they were rounding a bend in the road that had the dremora faltering again.

“Humans,” he hissed and then corrected himself. “No, an orsimer and a human.”

Alys strained to see through the trees and saw only a couple of wooden platforms up ahead, each flanking the path and seemingly empty in the misty wash of rain that had draped itself across the land.

“Stay here,” he said, and slipped away through the trees on their right. If his gauntlets and armour had made enough noise to rival a small Khajiit caravan the previous day, now he moved as silently as a Dark Brotherhood assassin. She turned to watch him go and was surprised to find he was already almost invisible though the trees.

Feeling vulnerable in the middle of the road, where anyone could have an arrow nocked and aimed at her from the trees and she’d be none the wiser, Alys shifted towards one side of the path and waited. There was no sign of the dremora.

A movement on the right hand platform and muffled cry of surprised pain was masked almost immediately, but it didn’t go unnoticed. The yell of an orsimer’s gravelly voice raised in a war cry split the quiet of the rainy day and sure enough, with a whir of fletching and the sharp ‘clink’ of steel on stone, an arrow ricocheted off the track just beside her feet.

She yelped in surprise and cast an armour spell around her, and then shot forward at an awkward sprint towards the flimsy wooden bridge that sagged across the roadway ahead. Her panicked thinking was that if she were directly beneath the platforms, the archer wouldn’t have a clear shot at her. It seemed to do the trick because no more arrows plinked down around her while she caught her breath. Her pack dug into her spine as she leaned against one of the platform’s support struts, but she ignored it, chest heaving and ears straining to work out what was going on.

A figure raced over the wooden slats above her like sailor on a ship’s rigging and she spun, watching, to see the dremora slide low on one hip before surging upwards and plunging his dagger through the chest of the orc who had shot at her.

The orc’s body fell awkwardly and a hunting bow clattered onto the boards, but before Alys could process what she’d just seen, the clunk of a lever sounded, and a deafening rumble filled the air on all sides.

“Alys!”

She barely heard the dremora’s panicked yell before she looked up to find boulders the size of carts thundering down out of a partially-concealed chute above her. In a last-ditch attempt to evade them, she flung herself back against the pilings that supported the platform with a scream and waited for one of them to land on her and snuff her out like a beetle under a boot.

It only took seconds for the rocks to blunder away down the road, and in the roiling dust of their aftermath, she saw the dremora leap off the platform that had to be twelve feet above her, with his black braid flailing like a whip. He landed light as a Khajiit in a soft crouch to absorb the impact and was up again in an instant, searching wildly for a few seconds before he found her standing shakily in the shadows at the base of the platform.

When he saw her, he sagged with a muted whimper of relief and then crossed to her in four long strides to cup her face in both his hands. There was blood on his right palm and it printed, cold and sticky onto her cheek while his eyes glowed with vibrant, crimson fear. Breathing heavily, he bowed his head. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “Thank every Divine you’re unharmed. The orc’s body fell against a lever when I let go of it… it must have triggered the trap. I’m so sorry. Gods, you could have been killed.”

“I’m fine,” she hissed, staring at him. “I’m fine. It’s alright.”

Her trembling hands found their way to his hips, resting on the loose metal plates of the carved and chased Nordic armour. It was an effort not to cling to him for support, but before too long the shock began to dissipate.

They shared a slow, careful breath before the dremora let go and stepped back. He grimaced in disgust when he saw the smear of orc blood he’d left on her face, but she washed it off with a splash from her waterskin, and they picked their way through the enormous boulders to continue into Falkreath.

“I don’t remember that being there when I left for Winterhold,” she said once they’d put a fair distance behind the bandit lookout and her heart rate had returned to normal.

The dremora seemed irritable and jumpy, and only scowled in response.

Alys laid a hand on his arm, halting him mid-stride, and he turned to look down at her with a scowl still carved onto his harshly beautiful features. “Hey,” she murmured. “You couldn’t have seen that coming.”

“You could have been killed,” he hissed, his words a bitter echo of his earlier sentiment.

“You told me to stay put, and I moved…” she said carefully, but he only scoffed.

“That orc would have shot you like a deer in a meadow if you’d stayed where I told you to. I wasn’t thinking.”

“But he didn’t, and I didn’t get crushed by their trap either. Please, let it go.” She hesitated and then narrowed her eyes. “Don’t make me make it a command,” she added dryly.

He stared at her for a long moment, eyes black and impenetrable, and then took a deep breath, releasing it slowly through his nose. With a nod, he softened. “I’m sorry.”

She smiled at him and squeezed his arm, not that he would feel it beneath the spiked plates of his Daedric gauntlets. The incessant rain had done nothing to cool the lingering warmth of magic in the metal though, and a shudder ran through both of them.

“Come on,” she said. “I’m cold, and I’ve still got to call in at the Jarl’s longhouse and the Hall of the Dead before I can get dry.”

The dremora seemed surprised by that, and as they walked he asked, “Why not go to your aunt’s cabin first?”

Alys kicked at a pine cone and watched it cavort off down the path as they approached an old, crumbling watchtower that had once formed a series of defences along the southernmost mountains that bordered the province of Skyrim. “I need to get Gisela’s key from Runil — the priest of Arkay — and the Jarl’s steward has the will,” she said. “Plus… I… I should visit her grave. And… my parents’ too…”

He must have sensed the aching grief that squeezed and choked her from the inside, but all he did was nod. For his quiet show of stoic support, she could have kissed him.

As they passed the watchtower, Alys broke the stretching silence. “Peakshade Tower is home to a spriggan,” she said, eyeing the foreboding structure that poked out of the trees like the stump of a rotten tooth. “Gisela told me never to pick the flowers around it.”

“She knows I’m here,” he muttered, casting narrow-eyed glances at the ruin. “I can smell her magic, and she can smell mine.”

Alys scowled at the tower. “Come on. Let’s not hang around.”

“Agreed,” he said, but he still stepped between her and the tower as they passed it, heading south-east.

They took a right hand turn down a curving clifftop path, and the smell of woodsmoke drifted up to them from the misty hollow beneath them, along with the regular clank of a blacksmith’s hammer as Lod pounded hot iron and steel into pots and pans and weapons for sale.

The dremora seemed curious about the settlement as they caught snatches of it between the trees but he carried a tension in his shoulders as he walked. “Am I coming with you?” he asked when the fork down to the gates came into view, “Or shall I conceal myself in the trees until you’re ready?”

Alys bit her lip. “I want you to come with me,” she said, “But the people of Falkreath are superstitious, and they don’t like anything to do with magic or the Daedra. There was a werewolf who lived here once, and he lost control. Killed a girl. The whole place was like a kicked bee-hive about it, until someone tracked him down in Bloated Man’s Grotto on the far side of the lake.” She sighed expansively. “They were selling canis root salves, ointments, oils — even cakes made with it — for months.”

“But… canis root is a harmful stimulant, even to Bosmer and Redguards,” he said with a scowl, looking disturbed.

She shrugged. “That didn’t stop the good people of Falkreath. There’s an old folk-medicine belief that canis root keeps werewolves at bay.”

“I’m not sure I’m comfortable letting you go down into the town on your own now,” he said dryly. “They might burn you for a hagraven.”

“Wow, thanks,” she scoffed. “I know I’m not Dibella incarnated, but you didn’t have to go that hard on me.”

“I didn’t —” he stammered with a horrified wave of his hands. “I just meant… what with you being a mage, and them… superstitious. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean —”

Alys cut him off by stepping in front of him so he had to draw up short or trample right into her. She placed her palms flat on his chest and looked up at him. “I might not be able to feel what you feel,” she said with a significant tap over his heart, “But I know you’re kind, dremora.” With a sigh, she raised one hand to his warm, smooth cheek and traced the red pattern of tattoos across the dark grey skin.

His breath stuttered and his eyes flared red beneath heavy lids.

“I’m glad to have you with me,” she said and let her hand fall away from his face. “Wait for me around here, and I’ll be back around dusk, if not before.” She paused and then swallowed. “I don’t know how well I’m going to take all this, but promise me you won’t come looking for me?”

He nodded, still looking a little stunned.

As she walked away down the path into Falkreath to face the memorials of her parents and beloved aunt alone, she thought she felt a gossamer thread of magic linking her to the dremora that she had summoned, and she knew that he would be there when the day’s ordeal was over.

It gave her hope as she made her solitary way beneath the palisade gateway, past the Dead Man’s Drink inn and the familiar faces of the guards on their patrol route nearby. They greeted her with careful smiles and gruff condolences. She blinked back tears as she crossed the triangular open space at the heart of the town, dodging deep puddles as she walked towards the Jarl’s long house to speak to the steward about her inheritance, and to enquire about the priest’s whereabouts.

The town’s feral, ragged nanny goat bleated a rebuke at her for not saying hello, and she paused to rub the goat’s forehead before turning with her heart hanging heavy in her chest at the thought of finally starting what she had set out for Falkreath to face only a few weeks earlier.

A tiny thrum of magic that was not her own pulsed in her ribcage.

You are not alone, it said, and she managed a weak smile as she set her hands to the rough pine wood door of the longhouse.

___

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Next time, Alys gains her inheritence, visits the cemetary, and finds comfort in the arms of her dremora afterwards.

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