#i say human sized but I still think they would be like ten feet tall or something. They are incomprehensibly infinite so thats

[bionicboxes]

A ‘reduced’ version of The Nothingness, like a form they could take to be more Comprehensible to a human. Actually being human sized helps with that.

I imagine their ‘hair’ just endlessly extends in a direction (in this case upward) farther than anyone could possibly see. Its slightly more comprehensible than how it normally is because a lot of their ‘hair’ gets repurposed into something like clothes. In their normal form it would encompass everything completely in every direction. No matter what form they take the hole in their chest is always present; that’s where their little universe is after all, and rearranging their form to get rid of it would Destroy Everything.

[akoyaxs]

Tì'eylan Teaser ✮ Pairing: Aonung x fem!human!reader ✮ Trope: Friends to lovers ✮ Tags: mentions of sexual partners, talk of sex, size difference, fluff (no smut YET)

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“Tell me,” he says with a small, ponderous frown, as though something had just occurred to him, though you knew this look perfectly well to guess what he was about to say was not some casual thought that slid nonchalantly into his mind. “How have you been taking care of yourself?”

You look wearily up from your beadings to squint at him – all stretched out and full of lazy curiousity on the woven mat of your marui. This is how you often spent the warm afternoons in Awa’atlu; you beading or mixing herbs or cooking or something actually useful, while your friend bothers you.

You were still too weary of actually swimming with people, surrounded by beautiful, tall, slim, lithe na’vi girls, and although Aonung had tried to convince you a million times, those bikinis you brought with you remained secretly stowed away deep in the darkest parts of your marui.

Sometimes at night, you would slip out the walkway of your marui into the cool ocean below, but careful that there’s no one around to see. At least it meant na’vi were absolutely shocked to say the least when they saw just how curvy human bodies could get without your flowy clothing.

“What are you on about?” you sigh. “I’m perfectly healt-”

“I meant physically,” Aonung says casually. “Maintaining yourself sexually.”

Oh.

Your friend did have a habit of being carelessly blunt in his manners, but that was one thing that managed to take you by surprise.

“What do you think?” you laugh, throwing off your disconcertion and far too used to your friend - and all na’vi really - disregard for topics very much taboo for humans to be thrown off by the quite personal question.

“Well…” he shifts closer to gage your expression, a small furrow creasing his brow. “You are the only tawtute here, and I’m sure even your kind have sexual needs that must be met. So how…”

“Do I cope when I get horny?” you finished, raising your brows and wrinkling your nose at him. Aonung nods, throat looking a little tight but otherwise unbothered by the delicacy a conversation like this should typically have. “What sort of answer are you looking for, Aonung?”

He blinks, then shakes his head in a puppyish way and you grin.

“I don’t just take care of myself on my own, if that’s what you’re wondering,” you answer elusively.

You never told Aonung the truth. The truth that you have no shortage of Metkayina men offering to deal with your sexual desires, lost in their own curiosity of human-na’vi sexual experimentation.

And you’d be lying if you pretended you weren’t attracted to them. How could you not be?

Na’vi were nine to ten feet of practically pure muscle, cloaked in beautiful, smooth blue skin and glimmering with pretty glowing tahnì. They were slim and wire, agile and graceful in their movements and talented beyond anything a human could ever possibly possess.

So, discreetly, you would indulge in all sorts of capers. It was, admittedly, a lot of fun.

Sometimes you’d be offered pretty little gifts, clumsily complimented on your human looks and talents, or even simply carried away in heated moments of pleasure and experimentation.

But here was Aonung, nearly your best friend at this point, who just heard your vague answer to his curious question.

You can physically see the moment the connotation of your words sinks into his thick skull, and his eyes widen large as Pandora and his lips part in shock.

“Oh, don’t look so surprised,” you grin, flicking him on the shoulder. “You didn’t expect me to sit all tight and pretty and alone while practically stranded on an island of mega hot people, did you?”

Aonung looks as though he very much did expect that, or at least the thought of you fucking other members of his clan had certainly never crossed his mind. In fact, he looks nothing short of stupefied as he stares at you.

“Who?” he demands, an unmistakable scowl settling over his face.

“Really?” you laugh, rolling your eyes. “Like I’d tell you?”

“Why not?” he asks sullenly, muscles tense and jaw clenched.

“Because I know you, Aonung,” you smile. “And I know how you act around Tsireya with Lo’ak, and I don’t need your stupid ass scaring away my possible companions.”

“Companions,” he grunts with derisive amusement, before his scowl fixes once again and he furrows his brow once more. “You do know I do not see you as a sister, right?”

“Yeah well… don’t tell me that if I share who I’ve been with that you won’t get mad at them.”

Aonung pauses, and you can see he recognises your point; at the slightest mention of a name, Aonung would be up with the guy pinned up bruised and bloodied.

“So you like na’vi then?” Aonung questions. “Even though we’re double your height and could throw you twenty feet?”

“On the contrary,” you say with a sly, amusing grin, “that’s exactly what I like.”

When Aonung’s face slackens a little in shock, you laugh openly and shake your head.

“But who cares if I like na’vi- they’re hot and muscly, so it’s totally justified in my opinion!” you say with a wide, shameless grin. “The real question is why the guys were attracted to me – if humans are so small and weak looking or whatever else you giants think of us, then why would they want to fuck me?”

“That really is a whole other question,” Aonung sighs, rolling his eyes as though you’re being stupid. “But be honest, what do you think of me-”

He’s cut off by your pillow smacking him heavily in the face, and resurfaces to find your little frown a foot away from his.

“Hey, I was honest with you,” you scowl. “If you don’t want me going back to thinking you’re an absolute dick again- leave it.”

And he does, reluctantly.

All afternoon you can see him itching to question you more about it, burning with the desire to find out who you had been with, still shocked by the revelation that you fucked around with people in his clan, and he never even knew.

But he knows better than to push you, so he stays quiet, watching you work quietly.

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@hadesbabygurl @wavesarchive @kqlopsia @tadomikiku @ntymavtr @mommyanddadskiller @thehoneymushroomhealer @tsireyax @integers @tiyawnyana @whatevenisagrapefruit @oakbuggy @sunsetviper @blue-slxt @simplyawh0re@yootvi @narwhal-swimmingintheocean @vminlvxr @elegantfankidsoul @blue-slxt @neteyamssyulang @theunfortunateplace @lala-1516 @strongheartneteyam @kiskso @deadpool15 @vampirefilmlover @tysirya @universal-s1ut Please let me know if you'd also like to be added to the taglist :)

[miseria-fortes-viros]

you are born skinny. you are born bright red and wailing and a month premature and you are sick, and so is your mother. by the time your due date rolls around you look less alien and more human. there are rolls of fat on your thighs. your parents pinch them and say “nothing is cuter than a chubby baby”.

you are three when you first hear the word “fat”. your mother said it first about the cat, but now she’s saying it again while she looks in the mirror. she looks nothing like the cat. you ask her what it means; she tells you it doesn’t matter.

you are five. you have learned that your parents are poor, even though they’ve tried their best to hide it from you. you are skinny, too skinny, your face is gaunt, but you are not hungry. no food goes to waste in your household—anything left on your plate must be finished or packed up for another time. you make a friend in school. your mother calls her fat. you don’t understand why this is important.

you are nine. your mother works now, too. your family finally has enough. you are taller and you fill out your clothes a little better. your mother is a dress size ten, and this will not do. you don’t understand the problem.

you are twelve. your mother is a dress size six, which is better. you are as tall as you’re going to get. you are stronger than the other girls in your class. your shoulders are broader, your wrist bones twice as thick as your friends’ are, your feet freakishly large. your mother decides it is time for you to learn what a diet is, as if you have not been eating according to hers for four years. you know what “fat” means now, and you don’t think it applies to you, but you trust your mother. she was a cheerleader in high school; an old bridesmaid dress of hers is too small for you. your father is six foot four and played D1 in college. he doesn’t think you are fat. she doesn’t know why you are bigger than her. you have figured it out.

you are fourteen. you snack on almonds when you are hungry. you are hungry a lot. you do not eat gluten, or dairy, or soy or legumes or nightshades. you can bench press 215. your mother says your arms are too big. at family events, she proudly tells her sisters that you have lost thirty pounds. once, your mother caught you eating a cookie with some friends after a competition. she said you embarrassed her. your father looks at you with sympathy. he has never dieted before, and he has never been a woman, so he does not know what to do.

you are seventeen. you skip breakfast because it makes you nauseous to eat that early in the morning, but truthfully you borrowed that excuse from an old teammate. your lunch period is at 10:30. if you are hungry enough, you’ll buy a side salad. the dieting app you use to log your calories keeps telling you you are not eating enough. you have developed a tremor in your hands.

you are seventeen, and the thing that will define you for the rest of your life has just happened. you try to eat. you can’t. this is the first time you have ever tried to eat instead of trying not to. a child is dead. your hands shake harder.

you are eighteen. you have stopped dieting, but all that means is more variety in the health foods your mother buys. you do not have a sport to play anymore. for the first time in your life, when you look in the mirror and say “i am fat”, it is almost true.

you are nineteen. you have started art school; creativity was easier before you developed the tremor. the freshman fifteen everyone warned you about have found you. you do not care. those fifteen mean that for the first time in your life, you have complete control over what you eat. it is freeing. you are not trapped anymore. you look in the mirror and say “i am fat”. it is still not true. your mother worries about your health.

you are twenty-one. your mother is down to a size four. she is wearing your old jeans from middle school. she had to take them in so they would fit her. you shop in the plus-size section now. your chronic depression is worse than it’s ever been. you look in the mirror and say “i am fat”, and the truth of it hits you like a bus. you think of all the other times you said those words, how it has never been true until now, how you should have appreciated thinness while you had it. your mother suggests dieting. you think that if you try another five years of dieting, it will kill you.

you are twenty-two, and you are fat, and that is okay. you are trying to teach your mother body positivity. it is slow. she doesn’t think you should call yourself fat. she tells you about how bad she is because she had a few bites of noodles earlier. they were your noodles. she says she is listening to her body; she stops eating when she is satisfied and she drinks if she is thirsty. this rule does not seem to apply to hunger. she tries not to comment on what you eat. you try not to comment on what she doesn’t. she is worried for your health. you are worried for hers. your mother does not know she has an eating disorder. you don’t know how to tell her. your mother does not know she gave you an eating disorder. you will never tell her. you do not blame her. she is a victim of womanhood too. your hands still shake. they always will.

[jinkicake]

I think the mean men are taking rotations in my head,,,, bc now it’s Lucifer turn😞😞 I heard this dude on Tiktok do like a seep voice thirst trap and I literally was weak in the knees!! Like I was imagining Lucifer behind me and I folded like origami 😭 like pls I was pulling for scara today🙂 but it was something like “ surely you don’t think your own fingers can bring you as much pleasure as I can? Imagine how deep inside you they could reach; you seem distracted should I assist?” And I was on the floor gasping for air bc he does have nice hands😩like honestly the 5”5 men have been dragging me so I forgot I had a size kink so this tall asf man letting me sit in his lap and I can lean I to him like a beanbag 😔💦 like he would talk directly into my eardrums and it would be over for me like if he really wanted mc to behave he could have just seduced me ngl Belphegor can stay up there🥰🥰 but also seeing that my beloved wanderer is not as easily aggravated as he was before is SO great bc I can be the one to agitate him🤭 like he’s trying to start his redemption arc snd not beat people up; but there’s me to annoy him every step of the way. 100 would steal the gnosis to give it back to him bc ik there not gunna give it to Ei and wtf is that little napkin flavor baby gunna do?? Shes on house arrest!! He’s bit evil so give it back!! Behaving like a menace for dick>>>> like if him or Lucifer aren’t under my tree wtf was Christmas for??

omgggggg.... i've been waiting for this for so long. I knew lucifer would make an appearance, I just had to be patient!

you need to forget those anemo clowns and get a real demon! not a 5'0 puppet!!!!! (heheh just kidding xiao, you're not a clown!) speaking of puppet, have you pulled scaramouche yet? how many wishes have you spent T T I LOVE his playstyle like WHy did they give him the ability to fly because he's now the best character like he's so damn fun

no literally like if lucifer showed me an ounce, a mere pinch, of affection then Belphie would have stayed up in the attic until I died likeeeeee i'll be lucifer's little snitch for my whole life! his good human! if that is what it takes for some lucifer cawk!

also yeah i dont hate his redemption arc (i cant believe im saying that) omg i saw a video of scara in someone's teapot and he's SO sweet, so kind. he is not helping my delusional yandere scara addiction likeeeee yes i want him to be nice and kind to me while still being a complete psycho to others </3 you can hide me away forever! you know what's best, scaramouche!

no bc i'll literally kick nahida's ass like send that little archon flying across the room so i can give the genosis back to scara... i don't want to see him cryingggg HSDIUFHADSIJ SHE IS A NAPKIN FLAVORED BABYYYYYFSDF LITERALLY

yeah i would act completely fucking dumb for lucifer cawk if that pleases him.... if that is what it will take to get him under my tree.... i want scara in my stocking!

[O.M.G. also... why have we NOT as a society (society being you and me LOL) talked about how good dilucs jpn va is. LIKE i was playing w him today bc i wanted to hear giorno and his va went to work like i kick my feet and giggle every time i do his burst andddd KAEYA TOOOOO like today i played JUST w kaeya and diluc to hear their vas...... it had my heart racing! their voices make them ten times hotter like omggg hottest characters in the game (itto and ayato-gaara look the other way]

[jadequeen88]

Accidental Valentine

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This is my fic for The Citrus Dome Server Lover’s Day Literature Collab! Please go check out The Masterlist and support all of the amazing artists and writers that have contributed.🖤

A/N: WHEW guys... I don’t think I’ve put this much work into a fic EVER. I’ve been feeling pretty bad about my body and wanted to write a reader who struggled with it as well. Who better to boost your confidence than DILF Kiri feeding your praise kink?! I was heavily influenced by this amazing drabble by @rat-suki​ and got permission to use it as my inspiration for this fic.🖤 (for reference, reader is 30 and Kirishima is 42)

Thanks to @afictionalwhore and my dear friend Orchid for the beta read!🖤

RetiredProHero!Kirishima x YoungerF!Reader

Word Count: 5.3k

TW: size difference, oral (both receiving), daddy kink, praise kink (lots and lots of praise), TBH the sex is pretty vanilla but very passionate, both are insecure about their bodies.

When you trudged into work this morning, you didn’t ever dream of meeting your childhood idol/crush, but here you are, staring up at a beautiful mountain of a man. Eijiro Kirishima, or retired pro hero Red Riot, had never come into your coffee shop before and you’d never imagined he would. He was huge. Nearly 7 ft tall and built like a brick house. His hair was back to his natural black with flecks of silver at his temples and hung long and wild around his shoulders. He had on a pair of glasses and wore a dark maroon sweater and jeans.

Even though he’s aged, he looks just as handsome as the young man you fell for as a girl.

The year he made his debut, you were only six, and like most other six-year-olds, you idolized the pro heroes. Most of your friends loved Deku or Dynamite, but you always loved Red Riot. His smile, warmth, and his fiercely protective nature made your tiny heart burst with admiration. Throughout his hero career, you kept up with all of his interviews, the battles he’d been in, the awards he’d won, and his hero rankings. You’d also gotten as much merch as possible over the years and still wore your worn-out, oversized Red Riot t-shirt to sleep in. When he retired a couple of years ago, you still scanned articles online trying to gather bits and pieces of information about the hero, but he wasn’t one to seek out the spotlight. You think that’s probably why he’d always been your favorite. He was a true hero. Serving the citizens and keeping them safe was his top priority. You didn’t want to admit it, but you kept up with him for one main reason… You wanted to know if he was seeing anyone.

You remember being eaten up with jealousy when you’d see his arm around another woman going to galas and award ceremonies. Your sixteen-year-old brain knew that of course, he’d date women. He was a grown man and a pro hero. But your heart would ache, wanting to be the one his soft eyes and pointy-toothed grin was fixed on.

Now those same eyes were fixed on you, his mouth moving and forming words, but you were too star-struck to hear what he was saying. When you snapped out of your daze and remembered you were supposed to be taking his order, you were mortified.

“I-I’m so sorry sir! Could you please repeat that?”

“Sure thing!” his bright smile was hypnotizing, “Just a venti-sized flat white. Have you had your coffee yet? Ya looked a little far away there for a second, kid.”

Your heart leaped at the little nickname. “Yeah, sorry about that! I guess I should get a couple of shots of espresso in me before I try to be productive.” You chuckle nervously as you scribble his order on the cup and turn to make his drink.

“Oh, uhh…” he peeks around the counter to get your attention, “Do you need my name? For the order?”

You freeze realizing you forgot basic, barista 101 etiquette…

“Actually,” you face him, a sheepish grin on your face, avoiding eye contact, “I know your name. You… umm, were my favorite hero,” you blush, and your eyes widen in embarrassment, “you know when I was a kid...”

You turn back to your work, kicking yourself for being so awkward. 

“Really? I think you’re the first person to recognize me since ya know,” he circled his head with his pointer finger, “I stopped dying my hair..”

You turned your head to peer up at him through your dark lashes, a light dusting of blush still on your cheeks, “Well, I like it. It looks good on you.”

The retired pro’s heart was bursting at how damned cute you were. Was this pretty, young girl… embarrassed? Over him?! He watched your tiny hands move as they worked on his drink order, wondering how small they’d feel grasped in his massive ones. Your soft hair caught in the sunlight making you look like a literal angel and he sighed. You reached up to grab a canister from the top shelf and a sliver of soft skin between your t-shirt and jeans peeked through. His gaze became far away and he damn near drooled at the sight. Just how long had it been since he’d touched another woman? Kirishima wasn’t one for casual flings. He always got too invested in whoever he was seeing. So when he and his long-time girlfriend broke things off a couple of years ago, he wasn’t rushing back into the dating scene.

However, things were a little more… complicated than just not finding the right girl to commit to. He was getting older and it was starting to show. Over the past few years, he’d lost his confidence. He’s bulkier around the middle no matter what workouts or diets he tries. Overuse of his quirk has caused stretchmarks and scars all over his skin. He was starting to get crow’s feet and he was overall just TOO big and TOO hairy. He felt like some sort of gorilla walking around in human clothing. Kirishima isn’t stupid or trying to fool himself. A young, gorgeous thing like you wasn’t looking for anything from an old, washed-up man like him. But, fuck… It was nearly impossible for him to move his gaze away from your ass… Oh, the things he’d do to you if he were a few years younger...

You turned to look over your shoulder and notice his gaze… and it’s apparent that he’s checking you out. He looks like a man starved, eyes glued to your ass.

“Well, well, well… maybe he wasn’t so annoyed with my fangirling after all.”

When he realized you’d gone still, his eyes met yours and he quickly averted his gaze. His cheeks turned as red as his hair used to be. You busied yourself with the milk steamer to hide your big, goofy grin. With a new burst of confidence, you decide to take a chance and when you go to write his name on his to-go cup, you write

 “Big Red <3” 

You pause, bite your lip, and think to yourself, “why the hell not?” as you scribble your number underneath the nickname. You turn to give him his drink and your nerves almost make you retreat and make a whole new drink. Then he meets your gaze and your world stops spinning. His vermillion eyes crinkle at the edges as his scared lips turn upwards into a syrupy sweet smile.

When Kirishima takes his drink from you, your fingers brush his for the briefest second and he can tell they’re trembling. “Oh no, I hope I haven’t made her nervous or uncomfortable.” He wanted to go crawl in a hole… That was until he saw what you’d written on his cup.

He stammers, looking from the cup to your face like he’s checking to see if you’re pulling a prank on him or not. Before he can say anything, you bite your lip and look up at him. 

“I’m off work this Sunday. Just… if you’d like to hang out or something.” your gaze shifts and you tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. 

After a moment or two, his face lights up in a huge grin. “Y-yeah, great!” he turns and walks a few steps, then turns around and motions at the cup, “So… I should just, ahh… text you?”

You giggle and it’s the sweetest sound he’s heard in a long time, “That would be nice, yeah.”

“Okay, great!... Talk later then!” He waves and leaves the coffee shop, feeling light as a feather and ten years younger.

*****

Sunday rolls around and you spend the morning making sure the place is cleaner than it’s been in weeks. Your place was small but cozy. For a fleeting moment, you’re a little insecure about how modest your apartment is. You don’t know exactly how wealthy pros are when they retire, but you know he’s more familiar with much nicer places than yours. You decide he probably knew just what to expect on a barista’s salary and tried to put it out of your mind. You checked on the cookies baking in the oven. When you found out through your text conversations that he loved chocolate chip cookies with the large chunks of dark chocolate baked in, you went out and bought everything to make them the same day. You kept watching over them like a hawk to avoid burning them. They still looked pretty gooey, so you decided it would be safe to get changed into something a little nicer. Just as you were about to turn the corner into your bedroom, your doorbell rang.

“Shit!” you looked at your phone and sure enough, you let time get away from you. He was here and you were still in your cropped leggings and t-shirt, sporting a messy bun and dirty apron. You groaned as you realized you couldn’t leave him on your doorstep while you changed. Defeated, you hurried to the door.

You opened the door, hoping that you at least didn’t have flour in your hair, and looked up into the much larger man’s eyes. The realization that THE Red Riot was standing this close to you made your stomach flutter and a goofy grin slide across your face. While you stood there star-struck, he broke the silence.

“Wow, it smells amazing in here!”

“Oh!” you jumped a little then promptly ran over to your oven, “Sorry! Please come on in!” you said over your shoulder as you were pulling your oven mitts on. 

Kirishima walked into your cozy apartment and instantly felt at ease. He couldn’t pinpoint just what it was, but something about your place felt more like home than any place he’d ever lived before. As he finished scanning your apartment, his eyes landed on you taking the cookies out of the oven. The comfortable, domestic feel of the place coupled with your ass on full display as you bent down to remove the cookies from the oven had his jeans tightening. You stood up and he averted his gaze before you turned around, not wanting to get caught checking your ass out for a second time.

“Fair warning, I’m not a talented baker by any means,” you removed your oven mitts after placing the cookie sheets on the cooling rack and flashed a sly grin his way, “But when Red Riot tells you what his favorite cookies are… Ya kinda gotta make them, right?”

Oh… If you only knew how pent up this man was… he debated bending you over right then and there and fucking you until you couldn’t walk. He really hit the jackpot with you… a hot, younger woman with the perfect ass who bakes him cookies and for some reason thinks he hung the moon? Kirishima would have given you a ring right then and there if he didn’t think it would scare you off.

“Well,” he radiated warmth as he looked between you and the cookies cooling on the rack, “If you’re not the sweetest thing! I, ahh… might have gotten you a little something too.” he then held up a 6 pack of your favorite cider. “Because when Y/N, L/N tells you what her favorite cider is… Ya kinda gotta get her some.” he winked and you felt your knees buckle and your cheeks burn. You felt like you were in a fairytale.

Then you remembered that the princesses in fairytales definitely did not wear flour-riddled black leggings, old t-shirts, and dirty aprons.

“OH! Umm, I need to go get cleaned up. I’ll only be a minu-” his massive hand wrapped around your wrist as you walked past him. It covered half of your forearm and a shudder ran through you. You wanted those giant hands to roam every inch of your body.

“Please don’t,” his eyes were half-lidded and his voice was low, “...I think you look beautiful like this.” his calloused thumb traced little circles on your skin not meeting your gaze. His deep voice was impossibly tender.

Now that you’d felt his skin on yours, you couldn’t contain your churning desires any longer. You wanted, needed, more. Rising up on your tiptoes, you curled your fist into Kirishima’s shirt collar and pulled his face toward yours.

You felt him tense up for a moment, then relax into the kiss. His massive hands found purchase on your hips, digging into the pliant flesh there. A needy whimper caught in his throat spurring you on to deepen the kiss. 

It was like your bodies were working around each other in perfect harmony… lips parting at a slow pace, like honey dripping from the edge of a spoon and tongues meeting in the middle to taste each other. You both savored the kiss for as long as you could, eyes lazily drifting open and shared breaths causing your hearts to dance out of your chests. 

You saw him falter, his gaze dropping, and you feared that you overstepped. 

“Kirishima I-“

“Ejiro,” he stopped you with a hand against your cheek, “Call me Eijiro…” his thumb caressed your bottom lip slowly, back and forth. His touch held so much devotion in it.

“Eijiro…” you sighed, looking up at him with pleading eyes, “I need you…”

The giant of a man before you swept you up into his arms and began walking down your hallway. You quickly wrapped your arms and legs around his hulking frame as if you were climbing a tree. 

“Second door on the right,” you were panting into his neck, leaving sloppy kisses all over it. 

You blew a cool stream of air along his damp skin and felt him shudder. A giggle bubbled up from your chest at being able to weaken a retired pro-hero known for being a human shield against the worst villains Japan has ever known. Your little stunt resulted in a grunt and a firm, warning squeeze to your thigh.

“So that’s what we’re doing today, huh?” he tosses you on the bed just hard enough to make you bounce up a little… then he’s on you, placing light kisses all along your neck as he prods your sides looking for a ticklish spot. You can’t remember the last time you laughed this hard and the fact that it was your idol drawing it from you made you dizzy with joy.

“Mercy! Mercy!” you were breathless and your abdomen ached from the forceful laughs Ejiro was pulling from you. He blew a raspberry on your neck as a final tease then relented, sitting up to meet your gaze.

You were absolutely smitten. You caressed the lines around his eyes and the scar that split his lips as your eyes roamed across his features. Every crease, every scar… you wanted to kiss them all. When his gaze faltered and he pulled away to sit beside you on the bed, the feeling you’d done something wrong resurfaced. You sat up beside him and placed your hand on his thigh.

“Eijiro…” your voice was barely above a whisper, “I’m sorry, I know I can come on a little strong sometimes, and I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. I just…” your eyes meet and his gaze is unreadable.

“No, no…” his ruby eyes drop to the floor, “It’s just that,” he chuckles nervously, “Well, it’s been a while. I’m not very good with casual flings and the like. So I don’t really date much…”

You rise to your feet and move to stand in front of him. Sitting in front of you on your bed, you’re only slightly below eye level with him. You place your tiny hands on his thick thighs and nudge them apart so you can slot your hips between them.

“When I told you that you were my favorite hero,” you reach for his wrist and remove the hair tie from it, “What that actually meant was that I’d watch the news every day just to make sure you were safe.” 

Slender fingers move through his wild mane of silver-flecked hair untangling any knots, “It meant that when that villain with the sludge quirk put you in the hospital for a couple of days, my mom let me stay home from school because I was so distraught,” you pulled all of his untangled hair to the nape of his neck and began wrapping the hair tie around it.

“It meant that my silly sixteen-year-old heart would ache when I saw you hand in hand with a girl in a magazine going out on a date,” you grinned at how silly you felt admitting that. Once his hair was secured in a low ponytail, your hands trailed along his broad shoulders.

“Now that I’ve thoroughly embarrassed myself, I’ll get to the point.” your intense gaze held years of longing for the hero in front of you, “Nothing about this is casual for me.”

Tears pricked the corners of Kirishima’s eyes. Had anyone ever showed him this much tender devotion? All the years he’d taken beating after beating, a glorified human shield, content with leaving most of the game to his friends. He was all rough edges and bulk. He was the one doing the protecting every time. Even in his romantic relationships, he was the one who would give, and give, and give… never asking or expecting to be taken care of. Being handled with such care was utterly foreign to him and it stirred up a deep need he never knew was there.

“Eji…” his glassy eyes met yours, “Can I take care of you?” you sank to your knees, hands sliding up his thighs.

“Please…”

Your hands made quick work of his button and zipper. He shifted his hips upwards to help you ease his jeans down his thick thighs and you pulled his jeans and boxers down in one slow pull. Nothing would have prepared you for just how huge he was. Your eyes widened for a fraction of a second, wondering how you’d get that thing to fit inside your cunt, much less your mouth… but it was something you were eager to find out.

Looking up at him from under your dark lashes, you made a show of lewdly licking your lips. You flattened your tongue and drug the wet muscle from his base right above his neatly trimmed patch of black hair, all the way to the swollen, red tip of his head. You felt the powerful muscles in his thighs clench as his head rolled back and a delicious moan escaped his open mouth. Making your hero come undone with one lick to his cock was intoxicating. 

“Fuck, baby…” Kirishima fisted the sheets praying he wouldn’t come just from your teasing. He’s not sure his pride could handle it. It became a very real threat when he dared to look down at you kissing and licking all up and down his length. Once your mouth had gotten him wet enough, your soft hands joined your warm mouth in worshiping his cock. You met his gaze as you kissed his tip and licked up the pre that was escaping in pearlescent beads. When you had teased him to your contentment, you swallowed him down as deep as your throat would allow, wrapped your hand around his base, and moaned.

Kirishima had many blowjobs in his life. In fact, he’d had some that he would say were pretty amazing… but in all his adult life, he’d never been so thoroughly and enthusiastically devoured like this. He threaded his fingers of one hand in your loose bun and fisted your bed sheets in his other to ground himself. After a minute or two, he felt his release creeping up much faster than he wanted.

He placed his hands on either side of your face causing you to stop bobbing your head and look up at him. He ran his thumb against your swollen bottom lip and you leaned into his tender touch. He bends forward and places a kiss on the top of your head.

“Lay down on the bed,” he whispers into your hair. Nerves starting to catch up to you, you shook slightly as you stood from your spot on the floor. Before you lay down, you remember to take your apron off then lay on your pillows, heart pounding awaiting further instruction.

Kirishima hovers over you reminding you yet again just how tiny you are compared to him. His warm hand covers your knee and slowly travels up your thigh, stopping right before he meets your throbbing core. He runs his hand back down your thigh to gently nudge your knees apart. Leaning on his forearms, he positions himself between your thighs and you gasp at the friction created where your bodies meet. While planting tender kisses on your neck, he whispers, “I need you to promise that you’ll tell me if I need to stop or if something doesn’t feel okay. Can you do that?”

“Y-yes…” you moan as he nibbles on your earlobe, teasing with his sharp teeth but not breaking your skin.

“Mmm,” he places sweet kisses all along your jaw, your breath catching in your throat, “Good girl.”

Receiving praise from him made your chest swell. You wanted nothing more than to please this man you were rapidly falling for. He sat up, legs folded under his body, and slowly slid his hands under the hem of your oversized t-shirt. You felt his hands still on your stomach and looked up from where you were laying on your pillows to see what had made him freeze.

He met your gaze with a devilish grin, “Baby girl…” his thumbs run small circles on your skin, “Did you wear this for me?” 

When you realize what he’s talking about, you hide your face and groan into your hands. You completely forgot that you were still in your old Red Riot t-shirt that you usually slept in. “Oh my god, this is so embarrassing!” you mumbled behind your palms.

Kirishima chuckled and shushed you, “No, no, no… This is the sexiest thing you could have possibly worn.” He pulls the hem of your t-shirt up to expose your tummy, burying his face in the soft skin there. Gentle kisses were placed all along the waistline of your leggings, every squishy part and every little stretchmark that decorated your skin like tiny spiderwebs were lovingly caressed with his plush lips. Having the part of your body you were the most self-conscious of worshiped like this felt more vulnerable than sex.

As the kisses traveled higher, they became sloppier and more desperate. You lifted your arms to allow him to remove your shirt, exposing your plain white cotton bra. The feel of his stubble against your skin as he moaned into your cleavage sent shivers down your body. Instead of paying attention to your neglected nipples, his warm mouth carved a path up the column of your throat, head thrown back to give him as much access as possible.

Kirishima whispered against the tender skin under your earlobe, “This okay, baby?” two large fingers dip into the front of your leggings. You nod enthusiastically, unable to form a coherent answer, “Mmm… I need words, sweet thing. You can do that for me, can’t you?”

“Yes… it’s more than okay,” your chests are touching as he works his hand down the front of your pants.

When Kirishima’s thick fingers slid between your drenched folds, you arched your back and grasped his forearm. Slowly, he spread your slick around, dancing past your clit with each stroke. His teasing was turning you into a whimpering mess underneath him. 

He had all the time in the world and having you melt underneath his touch was the best way he could hope to spend it. After what felt like an eternity of him gently brushing against you, only slightly dipping into your needy hole and barely grazing your clit, you were openly panting and whining. A steady stream of praises flowed from his lips.

“You’re such a pretty girl… such a pretty little pussy.”

“Look at how wet you are for me. Like this, huh? My pretty girl likes my fingers teasing her?”

“I can’t wait to lick my fingers clean. You’re gonna taste so sweet.”

You were so worked up that tears began to form in your eyes, “Eji… I-“

“Hmm? What is it, baby girl? Need something?” His finger drags around your clit slowly, adding a fraction more pressure. 

“Please, I need more Eji,” your nails digging into his forearm were leaving little crescents in his thick skin.

“Sweet girl,” he meets your mouth with a slow, wet kiss, “you can have whatever you want.”

Without hesitation, he sits up and pulls your leggings down with your panties. A groan rattles his large chest when he sees a thread of your slick attached to the crotch. Once his face is buried in between your thighs, it’s a real possibility he might come just from eating you out. 

All the teasing had brought him to the edge as well and he was out of patience. With a few hurried kisses to each thigh, he dove into your dripping cleft. His tongue plunged into your core as he nudged his nose into your puffy clit. 

You cry out and convulse around his face. His arms wrap around your thighs, firmly but gently holding your legs open to give him full access to eat you as thoroughly as possible. When he moves to suck your clit, you know you won’t last much longer. As he nurses on your sensitive nub, you feel the familiar tightening in your lower body. He picks up on this and moans into your skin as he greedily sucks. 

“Ahh… Ahh, I’m- I’m gonna….”

“Oh that’s it,” he encourages you by praising you and massaging your thighs in his massive hands, “let me have it, baby girl. Come on, I’ve got you, I’ve got you.”

Your toes curl and back arches as you’re thrown over the edge. “Oh FUCK!! Coming, coming…. ooooh god… ahh D-daddy!…”

“Daddy, is it? Goddamn”

Kirishima felt his dick twitch and his breath caught in his throat.

He wipes his face on the back of his hands and makes a show of licking his fingers clean as he leans over you, nose touching yours.

“What was that baby?” His voice was strained as he pressed his dick into the warm, damp skin of your thigh…

You bat your lashes and ghost your lips over his as you whisper, “Daddy… please let me ride you. I need you inside me.” The nail in Kirishima’s coffin was when you licked his bottom lip then quickly followed with a chaste kiss.

You waste no time wrapping your thighs around his waist and twisting. He follows your lead and lays flat on his back letting you straddle him. You grab the hem of his shirt and similarly tease him, leaving a trail of kisses along his broad stomach. Kirishima flinches a little, self-conscious of his skin and how soft his middle had gotten over the years. You meet his eyes as you pull his shirt over his broad shoulders and run your hands back down his body. 

“Mmm, you have no idea how long I’ve wanted this,” hands and eyes roamed over the expanse of skin in front of you, “It’s even better than in my dreams.”

He wondered for the hundredth time how got this lucky. You really loved his body? Maybe… maybe he wasn’t in as bad of shape as he thought…

“No,” his hands rubbed your hips, kneading your soft skin, “You’re better than I’d ever hoped to find.” He sits upon the headboard and pulls you closer into his lap, “Now,” he pulls your hair free of the messy bun, “Can you be a good girl and come on my cock?”

You lift your hips and place his tip at your entrance. That alone caused a delicious stretch and you knew it would be a slow process getting him to fit comfortably.

“Yes, Daddy,” your hands wrapped around his neck and he growled as he pulled you into a rough kiss.

“Good fuckin girl.” 

He helped lower you onto his cock with lots of kisses, praises, and gentle squeezes. When you got closer to his base, the pain was too much for a moment. Kirishima used his thumb to rub circles into your clit, shushing you sweetly against your parted mouth. 

“Are you okay, baby?” He brushes your hair off your sweaty forehead with his free hand while his other is still working your clit over.

“Yes, Daddy,” you whisper, “You fill me up so well. I love your massive cock filling me up.”

“You’re gonna make me crazy, you know that? Huh?” He pulls your lower lip into his mouth and sucks. You both sit for a while, exchanging kisses and whispers while you adjust to his girth.

“Are you ready to move now, sweet girl?” 

“Yes, Daddy…” he helps you move, dragging your hips up and down his shaft.

After a few deep thrusts, you both increase your pace, matching each other’s movements. It’s not long before your head is thrown back, tears escaping the corners of your eyes. Loud moans and curses escape your mouth as one nipple is pulled into Kirishima’s mouth.

“Oh, Daddy! Fuck, fuck! Right there, right there… I… I’m… AHH!” Before you can even say anything, you’ve come undone, spasming around his cock. 

“Oh, good girl, good fuckin girl,” you go limp and bury your face into his neck while he slams your hips onto his, chasing his release. The feeling of him using your body to get off makes you dizzy with joy. You lean into his ear whispering, “Please come inside me. Wanna feel you come inside me, Daddy… please, need your come inside me, Daddy.” 

Your slurred pleas against his ear send him over the edge into a mind-numbing orgasm. As he comes down from his high and looks into your face full of adoration, he knows he’s caught… hook, line, and sinker. 

*****

The rest of the evening is spent eating cookies on your couch, drinking cider, and watching your favorite crime drama. The sweet kisses and touches sprinkled throughout the night feel so natural… Like you’ve been together for years instead of hours. 

You end up with Kirishima’s head in your lap, running your fingers through his hair as he closes his eyes and relaxes into your touch. The clock on your wall reads 12:30 am and it dawns on you what day it officially is.

“Eji?”

“Hmm?” He opens one eye and reaches up to scratch your scalp. 

“Will you be my valentine?” You bite your bottom lip to stifle a silly grin.

He sits up and pulls you into a bear hug. 

“What kinda silly question is that? Of course. I don’t ever want another valentine besides you.”

Your heart explodes and you kiss him, grabbing his cheeks in both hands. 

“Sixteen-year-old me is absolutely losing her shit right now,” you giggle, rubbing his nose with yours.

“Well,” he grabs your ass and raises an eyebrow, “Forty-two-year-old me is losing his shit right now over finding such a sweet girl with such a sweet ass on her,” he nips at your neck and you squeal.

“Ooh, you ready for another round, old man?”

He growls and throws you over his shoulder. A swift spank to your ass causes you to burst into a fit of laughter. 

“Oh, so I’m dealing with a brat now? You want me to show you what this old man does to little brats?” He squeezes your thighs as he makes his way to the bedroom. 

“But I’m your good girl! Remember?!”

“Yeah, yeah… We’ll see about that.”

[midday0nightmares]

27 - pry on the weak (m).

Previous chapter in your arms (m).

m.list.

warnings: this series contains themes of yandere\mafia, blood, violence, mental health, drugs, non-con.

author note: this is pure fiction and it is not intended to romanticize any of the situations mentioned bellow.

The door was shut, it won’t open, it was cemented on every side expat for the small slit under it, you try knocking, shout for someone, anyone, but to no avail.

you try the window, it opens, but the sight is even scarier. The city is quiet, too quiet. No traffic in its usually busy streets, every window in the near buildings were closed, no birds in the sky, not a single sign of life, even the sun seems stuck in its place, time isn’t moving.

Outside the closed door, you can hear muffled sounds, you peak under the door and see the familiar white socks on a pair of feet moving around the room, it’s jaemin. you shout and scream for him, but he doesn’t even flinch, he just keeps going through his day. 

You were forgotten, lost forever in his room.

You jolt out of the claustrophobic nightmare, everything around you looks sound and in its right place, including jaemin, who’s sleeping next you, it was a nightmare.. you didn’t think that a nightmare would have the audacity to visit you while you were sleeping in his arms.

You snuggle closer to him, too close, not minding if he wakes up right now, it would be ideal if he can listen to you telling him about the rude nightmare and sho It away..  

.

.

.

He buckles under your pleads, 

“fine.. you can come too”  

The high pitched squeal you let out almost made him change his mind.

You wore a simple, body fitting black dress, a safe choice, you walked to the living room where jaemin was waiting for you, he was wearing a black suit, the black trousers making his long legs look extra inviting.

Jeno whistle from behind you when you spun to show jaemin your outfit, you roll your eyes at his ungentlemanly behavior, 

But the way jaemin’s eyes were shinning, and the compliment “you look beautiful” made your heart flutter, but the butterflies were shot dead when jeno’s hand landed on your ass in a sharp slap.

You link arms with jaemin and make the short trip to the door across the hallway to chenle apartment, the door was open, you were welcomed by upbeat classical music, not what you’ve expected.

Inside, the apartment looked like an entire house by itself, it was three times bigger than your apartment, the atmosphere was intimidating, everyone looked expensive and beautiful, there was three type of guests, men, gorgeous women, and you. 

Bite sized appetizers and trays of champion were being served along side an open bar at the corner, chandeliers were hanging off the ceiling and the big glass door opens to the terrace.

Your heart sunk and your stomach turned over inside of you. You cling to jaemin’s arm when you spot that face, haechan’s face.he approaches you and they all greeted each other, you keep looking else where, doing your best to ignore him. 

“Hey man! Long time no see.. what are you doing here? You know chenle?” Yes good question jaemin, what is he doing here?

“Yeah yeah..” He leans closer and lowers his voice “he’s one of my top clients” he gestures to the tens of girls around.. and it clicks in your head that they were all escorts, brought by haechan, they were his girls. you didn’t even try to hide the look of disgust that was showing on your face.

“Hey handsome” a tall, brunette, doll like girl throws her arms around jeno, “haven’t seen you in a while” she seamlessly pout. He giggles and turns into a harmless puppy in her hands, she must be one of haechan girls too, of course he will pay for company, who would want to spend time with him.

Your attention turns back to the hushed conversation between haechan and jaemin,

 “… no, his father is the of a one the leaders of the Chinese communist party, powerful man. and he’s the sole hire of multiple companies” haechan says.

“What is he doing here?” Jaemin asks. 

 “don’t know.. but based on what I have heard, he’s not staying for long..” haechan cuts himself as soon as he notice your interest in their conversation, “And how have you been doing sweet thing?”

oh the rage that went through you, you wished you could claw his eyes out, your distain is loud on your features. jaemin’s hand reach and hold yours, giving you a gentle squeeze, silently apologizing for breaking his promise of not having to see haechan again. 

And of course Hacehan is anything but dumb, he reads your mood and turns back to jaemin “come, I want you to meet someone” .. “haa you never stop working, don’t you?” Jaemin let go of your hand and slips deeper into the crowd, leaving you standing awkwardly next to jeno and his baby.

You stomp with no destination in mind. you look around, amazed by everything, but you feel misplaced, the looks that were thrown your way, you didn’t belong here and everyone knew it, there was an underlining screech the luxuries mood.

You catch the back of jaemin’s head through the crowd, an unsuspected punch of something was delivered to your heart, throwing your mood completely off. he’s with a group of giggly girls, practically drooling over them.  

you regret insisting on coming with him.. you should have known, but it’s too late now, you look else where and meet the sister eyes of haechan staring at you. he winks at you, you throw him the dirtiest look you have and move out of his sight line.

You pick a glass of champagne and lean against the wall, tipping the tall glass and drinking it in one go, and another.. starting to feel better. Chenle’s bright hair stands between the crowds, he gracefully moves around greeting everyone, you didn’t notice before but he’s quit charming.. he catches you staring at him and smile at you, rising his glass towards you, you fumble almost dropping your half empty glass.. when you mange to get a grip on yourself and rise your glass he had already return to his conversation. 

“Hello, mind if I join you?” The stranger man stands next to you even before you could’ve answered him, “what’s your name?” He looks like he was operating on twice the normal human energy, fidgeting and unable to stay still for more than three seconds, his smile twitches, the look in his eyes is frantic.. his pupils are blown, he’s on something. 

He speaks again before you can answer “hi Im yangyang, what’s your name?” why does his friends have wired names? 

You watch him like he was a train wreck happing in slow motion, “here try this” he hands you one of the two glass he was holding in his hands, a pink cocktail with raspberry, you smile politely and take the drink, he stares at you with his frozen smile.. but something behind you catches his attention, he kinda looks like a cat, just like that he leaves as fast as he came, he’s kinds cute.

You move to the open terrace for some fresh air, the breeze flowing through your hair, you zone out as you watch the city lights.. a hand graze the small of your back brings you back, you jump in surprise. “sorry didn’t mean to scare you” chenle apologize, placing a tall glass of champion in front of you, his round cheeks flushed, he looks breathtaking in this proximity, or maybe it’s just the alcohol in your system.. 

“To be honest sera, Im a little offended” he confess, your eyes grow double the size “offended.. why?”, 

he gives you sad puppy eyes and looks around “you don’t seems to enjoy my party”.. 

“oh no, I do. Your house is very beautiful and everything looks amazing” you try to convince him but he’s not buying it, you just give up and sigh, “im just tired” looking down to the busy streets..

He hums “tired or jealous?” Pointing at jeno who was too busy sucking that girl’s face, you roll your eyes and chenle laughs.

 “im not” you bring the glass to your lips, drinking more, a pathetic attempt to suppress whatever have been twisting your insides. 

Someone calls for him cutting your interaction short, “Alright.. well if you need anything come find me” he says before leaving you. You stay at your spot, distracting yourself with silly thoughts while the party behind you was growing wilder.

Your stomach growls, you feel sick and about to throw up.. heat rising through you, you sweat and feel lightheaded, you must have had too much to drink you are not used to it.

You stumble inside and through the crowded room, looking for the closest bathroom before it’s too late, haechan grabs your arm “sera.. are you ok?” His voice is far away although he’s standing next to you, you yanking your arm out of his hold “don’t touch me..”,

The room starts spinning, you hold the wall for support, after that it all went dark.

.

.

.

When you came back and opened your eyes, you were laid in a bed, the strong cologne filling your noise, upsetting your empty stomach. For a minute you don’t remember where you are or what had happened, the unfamiliar bedroom doesn’t ring any bills, your head is pounding, threatening to explode you move too much, you try to get up but a sharp pain shots through you, your hips feels like they were dislocated, your thighs bruised and had blood on them, your pulled up dress and torn underwear, it all indicates to one thing. 

You mange to hold yourself through the initial shock, not breaking down. With a plan to find jaemin you fix your dress to cover your exposed breast, you force yourself up, picking up your discarded heal off of the floor. You limb your way out of the room, the party has quite down, it has turned to something else.. 

everyone looked like a living zombie, you look for jaemin, you open every door on your way, you open a door to a bedroom, and you see group of men gathered over a passed out girl, watching them felt like an outside body experience, like you were rewatching yourself. They were unfazed by your presences as they continue their assult.. 

you close the door to the hellish scene, you keep looking for him but he’s nowhere to be found.

You reach the main area, being met by jeno and haechan snorting whit powder of the coffee table, surrounded by loopy girls.. jeno tries to grab you, to pull you down with them but you escape his claw like hand.

You can’t take this anymore, you were starting to crumble. you did’t feel safe anymore. you head to the door and walk out, you seek the comfort of a familiar surroundings, their apartment, a hot shower, clean clothes, your bed.. but you don’t have a key and you don’t know the passcode, you try random combinations but nothing works, the door stays closed, duff to your cries.

You break down, tears streaming your face, you give up on the door and slid to the ground, leaning against the wall you sit alone in the hallway waiting for jaemin’s return.

[sanguinescorpios]

Still Alive

dream x f!reader

PART ONE

summary | Just under 20 years ago, the world slipped from humanity’s grasp and fell into the lap of mutant creatures. While most humans hid from the variants, some, like reader, grew restless in the bases they grew up in and needed out. What will happen when reader realizes that she doesn’t stand a chance in the wild on her own, and can something deeper blossom from a survival-based alliance? 

warnings | none!

word count | 1.7k

I had never seen a flower before. At least, not that I could remember. Things like that didn’t exist within the confines of the city walls, the beautiful, living things. The things that reminded you you were alive. My gaze fixated on the object before I even knew what I was looking at. Its petals swirled with pinks and purples, hues I had only seen in worn-out wool and peeling paint. Deep emerald leaves adorned a similarly colored stem, all woven together intricately and standing out amidst the field of brown. I marveled at the plant, bending down to hold it delicately between two fingers. It was incredible, even better than in photographs.

I spent months looking through the old textbooks Zoe had found, simply admiring the anatomy of different flowers and plants from the Old World. She was so excited to show me. I can still picture her jumping up and down as she entered my room in her tattered sports jersey and two-sizes-too-big jeans, a huge stack of books cradled like a child in her arms. Her tight curls were always pulled up into two buns, perfectly placed on the top of her head and bouncing with her childlike movements. I had quirked up an eyebrow at her as she wordlessly dropped her findings on my cot with a thump.

“Books,” she had said, looking at me with a newfound glimmer in her eye, “textbooks. We can learn!”

There was plenty of other information in those textbooks, but the flowers fascinated me. They caught my attention not just for their beauty, but for their mechanics, too. As I read, I began to appreciate how their roots anchored them to the earth, how their stems acted as passageways for water and nutrients, how they came in so many shapes, shades, and sizes. I wanted to know everything I could about them. I had always been that way, I guess.

A nearly foreign feeling emerged in me as a smile curled its way onto my face. The muscles were rusty from a long hibernation and they weren’t sure how to react to the sudden use. Dust found its way into my eyes as my cheeks rose with the grin, so I brushed it away quickly. That, I was used to.

“A cosmos,” I said to no one but myself. Of course, it was a cosmos.

The world before me was barren, a bleak expanse of land that seemed to never end. How the fuck was I supposed to survive out here? Despite my extensive studying, I wasn’t necessarily well-versed in survival. I had no protection out here, no roof over my head, and no soldiers with weapons on watch for intruders, or worse, for variants. A shiver ran down my spine at the thought. Variants were the one thing I knew almost nothing about, despite how hard I tried to get information from the watchmen and neighboring families. In all honesty, we didn’t know much about them, just that they didn’t seem to like us too much. One week the world was our terrain and the next it was theirs. I had never met one and I wasn’t planning on doing so, but I no longer had control over that. I chose to leave and there was no turning back.

That didn’t make it any less terrifying.

Adjusting my pack on my back, I grabbed my flask and poured a bit of water over the stubborn flower.

“Hope we make it, little guy.”

One last look at the distant confines I used to call home, then I was walking again, this time never turning back.

. . .

As it turns out, walking across one huge expanse of dust and dirt isn’t very fun! In fact, it’s fucking brutal. I had no idea where I was going, that much was clear not even ten minutes into the journey. Leave the city, that was my only plan. A shit plan, in hindsight. I reached into one of the many pockets of my pack and pulled out my water bottle. Last sip, that’s not good. If I could just go a little longer and reach the forest, I’d be okay. Much of the landscape had been torn apart over the years, but there were still occasional patches of green, at least that’s what I had been told. Just a little farther, surely I would reach it soon.

The hours dragged on, all melding together into one blurry week of sleeping in a ripped tent in the middle of nowhere and barely eating or drinking. When my eyes focused on a small dot of green in the distance, I nearly brought my hands up to rub the mirage from them, but I knew better than to do anything like that before washing. Especially after the week I’ve had, too much dust and not enough water.

I had been preparing for my lunch break when I spotted it, excited to get my hands on my tenth granola bar of the week. All desire for a break left my body, replaced by the desperate need to get to that forest before nightfall. There could be water in there, shelter, food, the possibilities were endless. I picked up my pace, feet moving with fervor despite my obvious exhaustion. My pack threatened to slip off my back, but I ignored it.

I reached the edge of the forest by nightfall, a shudder running through me at the thought of spending the night alone in the dense environment. Anyone or anything could be living here, and they could be hungry. The ground didn’t feel safe, too open and vulnerable of a place to sleep, but the sliver of moonlight shining down on me wasn’t enough to find anywhere else. This would have to do.

A few restless hours passed before I had finally fallen into a deep sleep, my back pressed uncomfortably against a tree and my pack serving as a makeshift pillow. I didn’t bother to set up camp, figuring I’d pick up and move in the morning anyways. I expected to get a few good hours of sleep at least, but that wasn’t the case. Instead, I was shaken awake by unfamiliar hands and a gruff voice.

“Get the fuck up,” the voice barked as my eyes adjusted to the morning light, peering up at the shaded figure looming over me.

“Wha-what?”

“Get. The fuck. Up.” The figure grabbed my pack from underneath my head and I groaned at the rude awakening. In my early morning haziness, I barely questioned the individual’s orders. My body moved before my brain told it to, pulling itself out of the fetal position and standing up, unsteady but sturdy enough.

As I rose to my feet, I took a good look at the person for the first time. He stood tall, towering over my frame with long legs and broad shoulders. Underneath his hood, a mask shielded most of his face from me; it looked to be made of some sort of wood and with the jagged smile that was carved into it, it was borderline terrifying. Dark blond hair toppled out and around the thing, curling messily at the ends. He sported muted green cargo pants and a thick belt bearing a multitude of knives and other weapons I didn’t even want to imagine. A black T-Shirt spread across his torso, strong arms emerging from the sleeves and gloved hands gripping a satchel against his hip. If this went south, I was outmatched.

“What made you think sleeping on the ground was a good idea?” he hissed out a few minutes later as he led me through the trees, taking angry steps at least two yards ahead of me.

“I didn’t have many other options,” I responded simply, not sure what he wanted from me and still groggy with sleep.

“Well, you picked the stupidest option.”

I rolled my eyes, who did this guy think he was? Sure, the ground wasn’t the smartest choice, but it was all I had! I huffed, kicking at a rock as he stopped to check...something — who knows what he was doing.

“You got a name, mask boy?”

He shushed me, holding up his index finger as he looked around at our surroundings.

“It was just a question-”

“Dream,” he cut me off, “now shush.”

He said it simply, like it wasn’t the most absurd name anyone had ever heard, and went right back to surveying the space around us. I poked my head around at him, trying and failing to get this mystery man’s attention.

“Is that your real name?” I inquired, making awkward eye contact with the mesh-covered eyeholes of his mask and wishing I could see his face when he answered. Maybe then I’d know if he was bluffing or not. Or if he planned on killing me.

“It’s what you’ll call me.”

There was a finality in the way he said it, a sternness in his voice that I wasn’t about to argue with. A beat passed in utter silence, me waiting for him to continue the conversation and him already three steps ahead of me on the path. Dream isn’t a chatty guy, noted.

I jogged to catch up to him, slowing as I reached his side. He didn’t seem like he was going to kill me as soon as night fell on the already dark forest, but keeping him in my sight was the safest bet.

“You’re not gonna ask my name?” He turned to face me, raising an eyebrow and bobbing his head as if to say ‘go on’. I gave him my name and he grunted in response — men.

He persevered through the forest, cutting away branches and leaving a green mess in our wake. I had no idea where we were going or why I was following his lead so easily, but he seemed confident and I trusted his confidence more than my own.

“So…” I dragged on, twiddling my thumbs and shooting him a look, “do we have a plan here or are we just gonna wander for the next five hours of daylight?”

He rolled his eyes, letting out an “ugh” as he pushed through another set of leaves. I wasn’t wrong; the sun would be setting soon, and based on how he reacted this morning, he wasn’t a night owl.

“Our camp is set up a few miles north. We should get there before nightfall.”

Did he say our?

[yoichichi]

To Call You Mine

college!tsuki x reader series

Ch. 1 - study buddies

warning(s): swearing, early early mornings 😵‍💫, second hand embarrassment LOL

a/n: ahhhhh!! Here’s chapter one of my first series!! I have the masterlist and details linked above but for some quick info: this is a college!au multi chapter fic about tsuki and the reader :) if you’d like to be added to the taglist let me know!! And as always I really appreciate your thoughts and comments n all that :) my inbox is always open!!! Enjoy <3 psps - don’t forget to check out the playlist linked above hhehehe

You’re not sure what woke you first; your alarm, the pain shooting up your back from the stiff cot your university has the audacity to refer to as a “bed”, or your own sour attitude from having to be up so early.

Five am. Five am. It takes a certain kind of sick and twisted individual to suggest meeting up to study at five in the morning. Although, you have to admit, it does take a different kind of person to actually agree to those terms.

Why, why, why, why, why.

Is the mantra you chant to yourself while you mindlessly dress and pack your bag, not even bothering to snatch a power bar from your nightstand for breakfast. Water will have to do.

You make an effort to click the door shut behind you quietly, not wanting to wake up your more than sweet dorm mate who’d surely be focusing on being just as careful as you were right now.

“Oh my gosh, don’t you have that study date in the morning sweetie? You should be sleeping right now.” Bonnie, said dorm mate, leans over the back of your desk chair to peer down at the page of your calculus ll textbook you’ve been staring at for the past ten minutes. Concern is evident in her voice and her body language as she brings up a hand to gingerly rub your shoulder, hoping her small sideways smile will give you a sense of comfort. Or maybe even convince you to give it, and yourself, a rest.

“I know, I know. I just want to be prepared is all. I’m already dropping past a C at the speed of light and I’m sure my professor thinks I’m an idiot, hence him actually setting me up with a tutor, and I don’t need this guy to think I’m one too.” Your head falls in your hands at the end of your sentence, a dramatic groan feeling needed to really emphasize your point, too.

“Okay, just head to bed soon.” She placed a kiss on the top of your head before crawling into her own bed, using a storage container to prop herself onto it properly. She almost made you homesick with the way she doted on you like she was your mother.

You looked over and tapped the screen of your phone to see it read 9:14, not too late. You could reasonably cram in one more lesson.

You scoffed at yourself with the door fully shut and locked. You should’ve listened to Bonnie when you had the chance, it was just past midnight when you finally tore yourself away from last weeks review and decided to get ready for bed. Barely even four hours later and you’re up and getting ready to look at it all again.

You could at least appreciate how quiet the dorm hall was this ea-

“Mornin’, you!”

You internally banged your head against the wall at the bright voice that came towards you with such heavy and loud footsteps, how can someone’s footsteps manage to be so loud on carpet?

You substituted a hello with a gentle smile and wave as your R.A., who definitely didn’t remember your name - which is fine cause you didn’t remember theirs either, rushed past you.

Sighing deeply, you left the warm confines of the dorm building and stepped into the cold and brisk morning, starting your trek to the library.

He couldn’t have even chose a coffee place or something?

You had some, thoughts, about this guy. You didn’t know much about him, only two things.

One, his name: Tsukishima Kei.

Two, he was a good enough student to be assigned to you as a tutor.

You swallowed your slight embarrassment at the thought of your professor reaching out to someone on your behalf and instead chose to focus more on how weird this guy has to be.

Waking up before the sun rises on a Sunday was not something you looked forward to, you don’t think anybody would truly; especially to meet someone for the first time; yet this guy thinks it’s a great idea. So much so he didn’t even think to ask first, just tell you when and where to meet.

Thursday 4:14 pm

- ‘It’s Tsukishima. See you at 5 in the library this sunday.’

- ‘Oh hi!! Oh ok, am or pm?? lol’

Thursday 7:43 pm

- ‘am.’

- ‘Ok cool, see ya then!’

And that was it. Neither of you have texted since, which was three days ago on a Thursday afternoon. It kind of bothered you really, I mean, what kind of self righteous ass-

You took a deep breath and chose to think happy thoughts instead. You’d much rather be in a somewhat pleasant mood when you meet this guy than have some grudge against a stranger. And he probably talks different than he texts, right? You’re sure he didn’t mean to sound like a complete jerk.

You shook your head as if you were shaking away your thoughts as you started to walk along the path to the library. It was a fairly nice walk, about five minutes, and being alone was kind of peaceful on the way there this early.

Your feet shuffled only slightly on the cold concrete surprisingly enough considering the way your fatigue was starting to creep into your joints - but surely the cold wasn’t helping.

It was that kind of morning cold that stung your nostrils when you breathed in and tickled your cheeks and ears. It made your hands clench and unclench in your coat pockets, debating whether or not it’d be worth it to pull the cold metal of your jacket zipper just a centimeter higher in hopes of keeping your neck warmer. The morning fog leaving droplets on the synthetic material of your coat, making it squeak awfully when you moved your arms. And there was the dew on the grass that’d cling onto the tops of your shoe when you had to walk through it.

But the way the old fashioned light posts lit your walk and illuminated the fog kind of made your slight discomfort worth it. And by the time you reached the tall brick library, you could almost say you were in a pleasant mood, almost. And then you remembered why you were here.

You took one final deep breath as you reached the heavy doors of the university library. It was a grand sight really.

The building had its own separate spot on campus, towering at about four stories high, which although didn’t sound ginormous, it definitely felt that way when you had to climb those stairs to the top floor for a book you really didn’t even want. The brick with the foliage creeping up the sides to cover some of the lower windows even gave it an almost magic feeling when you took it in from the outside, it’s too bad that sense of wonder couldn’t be mirrored on the inside.

It was too quiet, especially this early, it smelt almost stale, and everything seemed to have a layer of dust no matter how new a book was. And the bathrooms? Old. Most stalls didn’t even have usable locks at this point. It’s arguably all apart of the charm of such an old building, but it’s not as charming when you have to reach out to keep the stall door closed with your fingertips just to use the restroom. And the water from the sink that never seems to get warm enough when you wash your hands doesn’t help either. Yet the water fountains are always too warm curiously enough.

You made little to no noise besides the occasional rustling of your jacket and squeaking of your shoes as they padded across the dingy off-colored carpet towards the back of the first floor.

There were various sizes of tables spread out throughout the space, few actually matching in color or style. The chairs varied less - but you could still find the oddball desk chair, or the chair with the wooden frame just a tad to wide to feel like a normal seat but just as evenly too small to be a bench.

Your heavy eyes surveyed the dimly lit space in hopes of finding any sign of human life when you finally noticed a backpack haphazardly tossed onto a table, still zipped open. Pens were splayed across the table with a single notebook, scribbles scrawled across the pages too far from you to be read. Not seeing anyone occupying the seat pulled away from the tables edge, you took out your phone to take a peek at the time.

4:58 am

Wow, I’m early?

Shoving your phone back into your pocket you began to make your way towards the (un)occupied table, debating whether a seat closer or farther would be more polite.

If I sit too close that’ll definitely be-

“Hey.”

You felt your shoulders hunch up to your ears and a small gasp leave your mouth at the way the voice behind you so suddenly interrupted your train of thought.

You turned around to come face to face with the voice.

“Are you (y/n)?”

Damn. He’s kinda tall.

Kind of was certainly an understatement. God he was definitely above 6 feet, 6’2” maybe? No, maybe even a little taller.

A single earbud was still in his ear as the other hung down and rested against his chest. He took the time to take the other out and wrap the cord gently around his middle and index finger before shoving it into his coat pocket, presumably the same one with his phone, in an effort to prevent them from getting tangled most likely. He took a deep breath and eyed you up and down before chuckling softly to himself.

“Okay.”

The tall man, who you’re now beginning to realize is Tsukishima, gives you a quizzical stare with a quirked eyebrow as he looks you up and down one last time, definitely judging you and your silence at this point, before turning around and making his way to a table.

Well it’s a good thing he stopped you before you sat at some other strangers table. You don’t think your heart could’ve taken that today.

You watched his back as he made his way towards a table farther into the back, closer to a window peering out onto the foggy and barely illuminated field.

Oh shit

“Oh, sorry!” You clear your throat and begin again, your own sudden volume startling yourself for a moment, as you double your pace to catch up and walk beside him towards a table,

“Um, yeah. Sorry, it’s a little early, brain hasn’t woke all the way up.”

Silence.

At the lack of a response, you decide to awkwardly laugh rather than wallow at the fact he didn’t even give a pity chuckle at your bad attempt at a polite joke to ease the seemingly tense vibe between the two of you.

Okay, well he definitely seems to talk the way he texts.

Clearing your throat again, you tried once more.

“I’m (y/n) by the way, it’s nice to m-“

“I know your name.” He stopped at the table and turned to glance down at you over his shoulder, the tiniest of smirks resting on his face with raised eyebrows, before pulling out a seat to sit in.

Yeah, maybe being quiet for a bit would do you some good. You’ll try again later.

Still trying to shake the embarrassment, no humiliation at this point, you busied yourself with taking out all the proper materials and waiting while he did the same. Sitting patiently opposite of Tsukishima, you decided to finally get a good look at him. Take in what you see and make some judgements.

He shook off his jacket and draped it over the back of his chair, showing you his wide shoulders underneath the simple grey t-shirt he wore. You didn’t fail to notice how the sleeves were cuffed, either.

Hm. Nice look.

Points for Tsukishima.

His hands and ears were slightly pink from the weather outside, contrastingly sweet against the paleness of his skin.

Kinda cute, in like a Keebler elf kind of way.

More points, you guess, for Tsukishima.

He sighed as he opened up the calculus ll textbook, adjusting his glasses with long and slender fingers before flipping through the pages. You decided it’d be best to do the same.

It was quiet for a moment too long when you thought it might be a good idea to try and speak again, but apparently he must’ve had the same idea.

“So, why d-“

“Thanks for-“

Cutting each other off, you pursed your lips as he gave you some emotionless stare, one of you waiting for the other to start back up again.

Andddd, another awkward beat of silence.

Jesus, this was gonna be the longest hour of your life.

—————————

AHHHHH HERES CHAPTER ONE - I promise the next one will be full of tsuki and tsuki content ok, I just had to get the ball rolling and really wanted to post smth!! I hope you guys like and please please leave your thoughts or anything in my ask box or anywhere!! I’d love to talk :D MWAH I also have little footnotes in my tags too :) (more like commentary but yeah)

taglist for series: @plutowrites @c0rncheez @ruetaro @daniagabriela48 @toyas-wife @devilkou @anime-and-kpop-trash (if you’d like to be added or removed let me know! And if ur crossed off tagging didn’t work!)

[helpinghanikan]

Sleeping arrangements

Avengers (and Matt Murdock x Reader)

Sum:  It's late and the bed is so nice. It's time to sleep and to bring your heroes along with you. (Fluffy little snippets of sleepy time with the Avengers)

Steve Rogers:

It’s the last train home and only one thing in this world is warm. The wall of Steve Rogers your head rested against was beating softly through the jacket and shirt he wore. Keeping your arms around his center to keep any of the heat from getting away. His own arm protects around your shoulders, keeping you in and gibing his hand something to do instead.

He could’ve driven, he should’ve driven, instead he wanted to take the train. He wanted to walk around like he did years and years before, but this time with your hands intertwined.

Although far away the train has started to shake the earth. Taking you out of the almost sleeping world and back into this cold one. The change in worlds brings out a yawn and lets the cold back in. It’s been a long day. With your eyes closed and clothes heavier than they could ever be Steve was the only thing keeping you up. His chin rests on your head after a while, thumb rubbing over your shoulder as the train finally pulled to a stop.

Inside it was the same story but in a seated position. Guided into his lap and landing with a groan as it was just so much work. The practically empty strain allowed your legs to stretched straight out over the seats.

Steve could stay awake longer than most, but he was tired. He was cold and annoyed and really wished he had driven instead of taking this stupid train. He took his frustration out on squeezing you tight, holding on as if you were liable to fall right out of the seat if he let go. At least it was warmer inside the train.

Tony Stark:

Someone staying up late, not getting enough sleep, and making exhaustion their personality trait is funny for maybe week. But After days of trying to coax him to come to bed, to try something other than just giving up on sleep or even talking to a doctor it gets concerning. After weeks of these same issues, it becomes frustrating.

Everyone, from Pepper to Peter have done their fair share of lecturing. Happy has gone out of his way in helping you get the dumbass to appointments. All of which he has walked right out because, unfortunately, he was still an adult who could make his own decisions.

It’s only after using the nuclear word that he pays attention.

“Anthony,” You say just before he leaves the room.

Although speaking to his back he does stop. His shoulders have tensed under the t-shirt and he’s listening in.

There’s an audio book’s worth of things you could say about this issue. But it would all be a repeat that he’s heard before, from many different mouths. Instead, you kept it simple, not even bothering to turn on the light.

“You didn’t even try.” It comes out from a tired partner just wanting the best for him. Yet Tony walks away from the advice, again.

Thor:

Power doesn’t stop for sleep. It’s still in the air when he’s laying sideways towards the window. Because of the whole nighttime thing it’s hard to tell if clouds are actually coming in or darkening. Maybe you’re just insane but Mr. Weatherman didn’t say anything about rain tonight, right?

It was a jolt that really woke you up. Looking over your shoulder at the expanse of muscular back. Thor movements were always a bit too…loud for this world. Whether running through a fight or moving in his sleep it calls attention to everyone. He doesn’t mean to, but it does wake you up enough to see your glass is dryer as a bone.

As if reading your mind, the rain has come down. It could almost be described as torrential how hard it was all coming down. Matching the dramatics of rain, a lightning strike coming straight down into some poor tree.

This wasn’t the first time Thor had a nightmare. Asgardians just seemed to be humans 2.0, making Thor just as a victim to horror as we humans are. At the same time, he was still another worldly being, translating to giving him a few feet when waking him up.

Another strike of lightening and another tree is taken out of this world. Without the lights on that blast was your only moment of lightening. The rest of the journey made to Thor’s side of the bed was done in darkness and pounding rain. Following the outlined Asgardian until reaching his shoulder. A gentle hand on his should does nothing. A little shake and a whispered “Thor,” finally does the trick.

The two strikes of lightening outside somehow reached his eyes. For the briefest of seconds blue, cracking energy is directed right at you. Stopping just as quickly as they appeared, replaced with Thor’s regular blue eyes that blink a few times.

“What is it?” he asks.

There’s no point in telling him the truth about his nightmares and their effect. Then again, there’s no point in lying either. Instead, it’s better to distract. “It’s still super early. Back to bed.” You say instead, kissing with until he takes the hit and holds you.

Bucky Barnes:

Sleep is a luxury that isn’t worth chasing. With the pillows and sheets there were nightmares and enemies that could sense his weakness. Trying to get at least six hours and all that guarantees is waking up sweaty and a call to doc, making sure to get everything back in order before you could ever notice.

Instead, he takes walks. Maps out the city at night, the changes and differences that happened without him. He recognizes the buildings, the structures and bricks that were too strong to be a victim to time.

Most of the time he does this alone. Watching a show about nothing until you were asleep before starting his walk. But there were times you catch him, calling out to him like the neighborhood cat trying to get away. Getting on your own shoes and jacket quickly. Then enforcing the handholding during the little adventure.

It’s only when passing by something important that words are shared. “One of my buddies worked here when this place was a mechanic. Broke his leg just before the draft, I still think it was on purpose.” He’d say then never bring it up again.

These walks are always shorter than most. After two times Bucky learned when to make the loop back home with you. When your building comes back into view the handholding has gotten sweaty. The walking had slowed to a crawl and you were dragging him down by the arm. Even less talking was done after getting through the door; just landing face down onto the bed without bothering about the shoes.

These kind of walks were Bucky’ favorite.

Natasha Romanoff:

The bed was used almost exclusively for sleeping. As the couch was both comfy and expensive. And, as Nat puts it, “Should we do it with the lights off too? Under the covers like grandparents?” Although it was probably another reason to use the overpriced couch more often.

Like any good, and overworked, soldier Nat could sleep anywhere. When a mission is done, and there’s nothing to worry about, a shower and a nap is the best in the world.

“I smell nice,” She says walking into the living after the shower. Steam still behind her, hair wrapped up and a sweater purposefully bought to be several sizes too big.

She stretches and lays over you like a cat. Resting as close as possible so you, too, can smell the expensive shampoo she uses. Making sure that the body wash isn’t ignored either as that, too, was expensive.

“Might as well spend this pay on something,” She says when asked about the prices.

Although she asks what you’re up to she won’t be awake for the answer. Already teetering into sleep land when you answer.

Natasha was as athletic as she was heavy. Only sometimes managing to carry her bridal style and most of the time having to walk/guide her into the bedroom. Either letting her drop onto the bed with the same weight you had carried in, or she holds fast and takes you down with her.

Just like a cat, Natasha gets to decide cuddle time.

T’challa:

Although the mattress was new, the bed’s size was traditional, and passed on through generations of rulers. Forget California king bed, A Wakanda king bed was that and a half. Ten feet length, twelve feet tall. Combined with blankets, pillows and more it was easy to disappear into the thing. But it was also easy to get lost in it all.

In the middle of the night, in the very center of this ocean of bed, you can reach out forever. Finding pillows (both the decorative and the usable kind), smaller blankets or stuffed animals that have managed to be added. But it’s a tiresome journey, one that doesn’t seem to have an end even as you stretched to pointed toes and fingers.

It’s only after touching body heat that you can relax. Finally finding your king that turns to your touch. Making his own journey through sheets and bedding. Using you as the trail into his love. Neither of you thinking about the absolute nightmare it will be to make this bed tomorrow.

Pietro Maximoff:

For most of his life Pietro is moving. Be it running or just running his mouth, he’s not the kind of guy to sit still. Unfortunately, this also applies to sleeping.

“He’s been sleep walking since we were children,” Wanda once said. “Our father once found him crying in a puddle. He had slipped and woken up in the street. He’ll deny crying, though.”

As an adult Pietro doesn’t actively get up and walk around anymore. The man made up of strong and lean muscle still moves quite a bit. Waking up from freezing feet finding yours or because he’s sat upright in bed again. Using soft, but firm, pressure to get him to lay back down or to guide him back to his side of the bed. If you weren’t careful his arms would find you, almost dragging you back to his side of the bed.

He'd deny it in the morning. Smiling with barely open eyes as you’re still pressed against him. No matter how much you’re going to insist this was his fault he’d still mock you. Nuzzling in since you insist on cuddling so much.

Peter Parker:

There’s a time limit next when sitting next to Peter. You have ten minutes before his head finds your shoulder. If you don’t shrug or lean away he’ll stay there, slowly leaning in until he’s all settled.

Although not completely asleep he does rest. If your hands are held in those moments you could probably feel his pulse slow down as his breathing slows. Maybe his eyes manage to stay open, but his eyes do get heavy. Someone could say his name, and he’d respond, but it be from his throat. An annoyed groan directed to whoever was ruining this moment. Even if it was usually a teacher or adult.

It’s only when traveling, and you’re sitting for a while, that he completely falls asleep. Progressing past just leaning his head and adding his arms. If you allow him, putting an arm around your back and the other over your center. With your own arm over his back, he sleeps in a position that, although sweet, always left a pain in his neck. Something he’d complain about until you ask if he want’s you to rub his shoulders.

Stephen Strange:

During aura projection Stephen’s body is dead weight. No muscles or bone working with the individual trying to help them. It’s just taken over by gravity and his entire weight wants to be on the floor. Sleep does the same thing.

Short of a bucket of water to his face he won’t wake up. Part of his experience in med school was taking every bit of use sleep could give him. Which leads to sleeping fast, and sleeping hard, usually opened mouth. No snoring yet, but the moment he does there’s an open target for shutting him up.

Matt Murdock:

It’s a mixture of meditation and caffeine that he is still functioning. Too busy, much too busy, as a lawyer for the two of you to share a bed most of the time. Making any comments you have about his sleep schedule mute.

Watching him doesn’t change give any information either. Coffee in the morning, some deep breathing and self-centering in the between moments at work, and sleep ins on days off were all you could gather. Between that it’s easier to just assume he’s fine.

Just laugh at his “not like I need to rest my eyes,” jokes and move on.

Carol Danvers:

After going through every time change known to man, alien and beyond Carol has developed a very specific still. Carol Danvers, woman with the power of a star and to sleep literally anywhere at any time. Be it a cleared-out corner of some ship, an open floor that keeps her hidden from passersby or on your lap. The latter being her personal favorite.

Like a massive golden retriever, she wants to be in the middle of your lap. Close as possible with a arm holding around your shoulder and the other on her toy, or phone.  A being of wiry muscle and heat keeping you pinned to the couch. Most of the time she’s out ten minutes into the movie, most of the time the remotes’ out of reach, and most of the time you gotta go pee.

[baka-monarch]

A/N: One day I was looking at Krackinnit fluff and said: what if angst tho, so then this happened. I'd like to preface by saying that this is platonic. This is based on the Krackinnit Au and its respective characters, not to be confused with the actual the content creators. Also, for reference, Tommy is around 250ish feet tall at the beginning. I hope you guys enjoy!

-EchoLocation

---Growing Pains---

<Krackinnit Au>

Warning: Swearing (There's like... one swear.)

Word Count: Around 1.7k words.

...

A would-be whimper was suppressed into becoming a low grumble.

He didn't want to grow. Not anymore. He hadn't wanted to grow for awhile but it... it just. kept. happening. Tears pricked at his eyes. He'd been so sure, so very sure, that the last time he grew would be his last. Kraken hybrids were supposed to be around two hundred feet. That's what all the library books had said, from the few that even mentioned krakens.

Weeks earlier, Tommy had come to the conclusion that he'd made it-(Through the helpful but awkward method of stacking his mer friends on top of another)- that he had made it, he had reached the end of his growth spurt. He had even excitedly confided to Tubbo that "That was the last one, I'm positive!" Tubbo, seeing Tommy's enthusiasm, hugged him tightly. "Congrats big man!" They maintained eye contact and wore matching smiles.

To Tommy, he would finally stop growing, finally have less pains, and finally be able to fit a home to his size. To Tubbo, he shared Tommy's joy, because he was glad that Tommy was able to win something, to celebrate something, after all of his past losses.

But of course the universe decided that it was a premature triumph. Tommy shook his head, bringing himself back to the present and deciding not to linger on his own self disappointment.

Fucking genetics, he thought.

His stomach gurgled in response.

But now...Now he was running as fast as he could towards the coast. If he transformed now, it would happen immediately, so that was not optimal. But if he did not transform soon, his primal instincts would kick in and nobody, nobody, wanted that.

If possible, he ran faster.

Moments earlier, Tommy and Tubbo had been spectating Dream's latest Manhunt challenge when Tommy heard a gurgle. He had reassured himself that he'd be fine, after all, he was in his human form and he hadn't eaten anything similar in size to his true height. A slightly irritated stomach was normal and happened quite often because he hung out with Tubbo. Then there was another gurgle. Tubbo had sent him a concerned glance while Tommy's mind raced to catch up with his thoughts. Two noises within a minute was unheard of- unless...

Tommy swore loudly as he rapidly rushed down from the spectator stands. Tubbo opened his mouth to ask, but Tommy had interrupted him with a shout "Gotta go! Enjoy the game!". Tommy bolted away. Tubbo, unsurprisingly, went after him.

...

His head was throbbing by the time he saw the outline of the beach. Despite not wanting it to, his body started to relax at the sight, and the moment he dived for the water his limbs shifted haphazardly and his tentkckle's broke through their disguise, eager to touch and feel anything. His form kept expanding and extending outward until there was a ginormous silhouette that blocked the view of the coastal water.

His head hadn't stopped throbbing. He was growing and knew that the discomfort would only worsen. His stomach grumbled again, reminding him of his lack of consumption earlier. Tommy grimaced, without food, growing was always more painful, choosing to leech off his own energy because of the absence of food inside him.

He curses at himself for his lack of foresight. Then, he eases himself back into the ocean as much as he can, and proceeds to lay on his stomach. His chin digs into the floor of the beach while his arms keep most of his face from the ground. The tips of his fingers claw and grip the earth harshly with familiarity.

His body wants him to endure the pain in the deep depths of the ocean. His mind argues back that the beach is more comfortable to reside on, especially when Tubbo is there with him.

At the same time, a small part of his mind whispers of how he doesn't want Tubbo to see him here, weak, and only able to squirm uncomfortably. Besides, the whisper adds, Dream's Manhunt would be fun, Tubbo could continue to have a blast.

Ten minutes, he compromises with his bodily discomfort. Agreeing along the lines of 'if Tubbo doesn't show up then out to the ocean it is', to suffer more quietly, but all alone.

It's not a surprise when Tubbo does show up -he always does- and is concerned -that too-.

...

Tubbo was carrying a bundle of various natural resources that mainly comprised of leaves. To Tubbo, Tommy's mood is obvious, there is displeasure written all over his features and he glares into the forest, but he turns his head to smile a sad smile at Tubbo. Tubbo returns the smile, but he doesn't know if Tommy can even see it. As if sensing something, Tommy returns to having a stare off with the trees of the forest.

Tubbo knows that Tommy's senses get jumbled during his growth spurts, and that Tommy gets sensitive with his hearing so Tubbo speaks up softly. "I'm right here with you, if you need anything, just ask. I'm going what I usually do, if you don't feel like that's helping, please tell me." Tommy's ear flicked in his direction, signifying he had heard Tubbo's words. No response. So this is one of the more painful ones, Tubbo realizes.

And with that, Tubbo placed the bundle on the ground, grabbed a large leaf, and pressed the leaf against the side of Tommy's elbow. Then he moved the leaf in a circular pattern. The leaf's purpose was to let the texture of the leave's motion serve as a distraction to Tommy's pain. Different leaves meant different textures. Whether the tactic worked efficiently was up to question. Tubbo liked to think it worked, after all, it had worked well enough in the past to help Tommy. Now though... well, Tubbo would continue try his hardest to help, even if Tommy's size kept minimizing said help.

And then their silence began. Well, Tubbo's silence. Tommy would continue to squirm and gurgle as time went on.

...

At one point, Tommy's eyes resigned to watching the tiny mop that was Tubbo's hair. Tubbo was so much smaller compared to when Tommy first revealed his kraken characteristics . Of course Tubbo had completely been dwarfed by Tommy's side, but now he was so so very small, like a sprinkle.

Without warning, Tubbo scooted backwards and Tommy blinked, realizing that he had started crying. They made eye contact, or at least, Tommy thought they did, Tubbo's head was tilted in his direction so...

"I'm sorry," Tommy mumbled, slowly bringing his hand to wipe away his tears. Tommy made sure he was gentle with his movements. Gentle, always gentle, especially near Tubbo.

"There's no need to apologize" Tubbo reassured quietly, but Tommy's ears picked up on it regardless.

"I-" Tommy started, "I really thought it would be the-the last one". One, two, three tears splashed on the shore's surface. Tubbo could see the glistening of Tommy's eyes for a moment before both of his hands were brought to cover his face. As a result, the sand shifted to accommodate the sudden movement. If it wasn't enough for the growing itself, the pain had a tendency to make him more emotional than normal, and now he was somber in a delirious sort of way. He was still crying. Tommy kept his hands in their position and tilted his face down to see Tubbo hugging his elbow.

"I know" Tubbo soothed. "It'll be alright. You'll be alright. We love you, and size isn't going to change that." He comforted.

Tommy didn't immediately respond. His attention was focused on his elbow and Tubbo's presence. There was no feeling. There was no pressure. He didn't feel anything. He didn't feel Tubbo. He DiDn'T FeEl TuBbO!

Tommy's breath hitched momentarily and then the water works fell down and decimated a bit of the shore line. Protect, protect, protect. Quickly, Tommy's hand jutted out to steady itself over Tubbo's head, keeping the tears from directly hitting him. The tears dripped from the sides of Tommy's hand, and even if Tubbo jumped he wouldn't be able to make contact with the ceiling that was Tommy's hand. Contact was key when it came to helping Tommy so... "You can hold me, if you'd like." he offered.

Tommy took no time in doing so, choosing to gently scoop Tubbo into cupped hands. Tommy extended his thumb towards Tubbo, but didn't touch him. There is uncertainty in Tommy's eyes, but that doesn't stop Tubbo from trying to help. Tubbo then proceeds to lean his forehead against the tip of the thumb and is able to partially wrap his arms against the side of it.

Tommy's posture shifts slightly and the tears come to a halt. He's finally relaxing. Tubbo smiles.

...

Tommy rejoices. There's a smile growing on his face by the second. He can feel Tubbo, and that's all that matters. Earlier must have been a false alarm.

Yes, he reflects on it, a false alarm. He focuses back onto Tubbo. It's not that much pressure, but it's Tubbo, and it is the feeling of touch.

Tommy eases his body closer to the shore and settles his hand next to his face. Tubbo climbs toward his face, and to Tommy, every single step is a reminder that he can still feel Tubbo, and a reminder that he isn't too big for it not to be true. Hopefully, he'd not ever be that big.

Tubbo settles into a crevice between Tommy's face and hand. The pressure is still there due to Tubbo's weight. They stay like that until the sun starts to set and the wind blows a bit colder.

...

It's time to move.

The growth spurt is over, and had been for a while now. Tommy peers at Tubbo, who has fallen asleep. He shakes his hand ever so gently, and Tubbo stirs. Tommy eases Tubbo onto the rest of his hand and places him on the shore. Tubbo watches, still a bit sleepy, as Tommy reverts to his human form. Tommy's form shrinks until he's shuffling out of the water.

They meet half-way, and this time Tommy is the one who hugs him. "Tubbo, I gotta say..." he begins. "I think George may have stronger arms than you. I mean we joke and all about his stick arms but-" Tommy cut off with a teasing smile.

"Oi!" Tubbo lightly jabs him in the side. "How's that for arm strength?"

"That's an elbow, Tubbo."

"Same thing."

"If you say so."

There's a beat of silence as they start heading toward the village.

"Thanks." He doesn't know what he did to deserve Tubbo.

"Anytime." Tubbo replies, as if what he's saying is actually true.

And, it is.

...

Edit: EEEEEEEE!!!!! THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THIS!!!!! I ABSOLUTELY LOVE HOW ADORABLE THEY ARE!!!! 💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗

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[atelier-dayz]

"I wish you would write a fic where": same age jangobi au, where bby jango is at the Coruscant temple for Some™️ reason (is he force sensitive? is jaster being hired to help out with smth? did bby jango slip away from jaster on a job and sneak into the temple just because his buir told him it'd be a bad idea?)

I already yelled at you about how much I love this prompt but AAAAAAH!!! Thank you for the prompt, CJ <3 I hope you like it!

Jango waits until everyone is preoccupied talking before taking the chance to slip out of the room. 

The meeting is important, he knows, but he's ten so it's not like he has an actual part in the talks. He has decided he could better spend his time exploring the temple. After all, he and Jas'buir are the first Mandalorians to set foot in the Jedi's temple in centuries.

Mandalorians and Jedi have been enemies for...ages, but recently there have been darjetiise poking around Mandalorian business, and if it's a choice between Jedi and darjetiise, history and good reason tell them to throw their lot in with Jedi. Less likely to get stabbed in the back, less likely for the galaxy to burn to the ground, Jas'buir says. 

So far, the Jedi Jango have met have been...nice. At first, surprised that he and Jas'buir are there, but then friendly. One of them, a Kel Dor, even slips him cinnamon candy.

The Jedi, he thinks, will be good allies against whatever the darjetiise are planning. But they have been cooped up in meeting rooms all day, and he wants to see more of the Temple. 

So he takes careful note of what room Jas’buir and the others are in and then sets off down the hall, back the way they’d come earlier. 

It takes him a bit, and a couple wrong turns, but he makes it back down to the great hallway off the temple entrance, and he takes a moment to just stare up at the tall columns and statues and vaulted ceilings. There's art all over the walls -- painted scrolls and tapestries and even intricate designs of curved lines and circles carved into the very stone. It's so pretty.

From the ways some of the others had grumbled about the Jedi, he hadn't expected their temple to be so pretty.

None of the Jedi he passes give him any trouble either, just a warm smile -- if their species is capable of it.

A soft bell tolls, marking the hour after he's wandered for a while. A few moments later, he has to shuffle up against the walls of the hallways as kids -- Jedi foundlings -- spill out into the halls. They chatter away about this or that in all kinds of languages. He keeps out of the way, and they pass him with little more than a curious look or a bright smile.

Eventually, all the kids disappear into different rooms or hallways, and he's able to walk freely again. He doesn’t linger anywhere for too long, still afraid someone might stop him and get him in trouble. He sticks mostly to the hallways, though he does peek into some of the open empty rooms he comes across -- classrooms, meditation rooms, and training rooms. Jas’buir had once mentioned the Jedi has a massive library, and Jango wonders if he’ll stumble upon it eventually. 

He’s made it onto another level, when someone says from behind him, “Hey, you shouldn’t be here.”

He spins around, hackles raised and ready to argue --

Then he blinks and stares, realizing that they hadn’t been talking to him. 

There’s a Jedi kid about his size on their hands and knees with their head stuck in the nook behind a statue. 

“Come on now, come on,” the kid is saying with a soft, lilting voice -- a voice someone might use on a small animal, actually. “How did you even get all the way here? Let me take you back home. Come on now.” The kid manages to squeeze into the nook, grabbing something, and then crawls out backwards until they can stand.

Jango finds himself staring at a human kid around his age, with blue-green eyes like the ocean, pale skin dotted with freckles, and red hair -- red hair that shines gold in the sunlight. 

“Nau’yc [1],” Jango says without meaning to, and then tries hard not to blush as the kid realizes he’s there. He belatedly realizes they’re holding a tiny baby tooka, tucking it securely against their chest as if it will run off -- though it looks to him like the tooka is perfectly content in their arms now.

“What?” asks the kid. 

“Nothing!” Jango says. “I mean--hello.”

“Hello,” the kid replies with a questioning tilt of their head. “You’re a visitor, aren’t you?”

Jango nods. “I’m Jango,” he introduces himself. “I go by he and him.”

“Oh welcome! I’m Obi-wan. And same!” the kid says with a smile. And then he  blinks, looking down at Jango’s feet and then his wrists for a moment, as if just noticing Jango’s armored boots and gauntlets. “Wait--” He glances around before asking in a whisper, “Are you one of the Mandalorians visiting?”

Jango frowns, not sure what he’s implying with that. “Yes, why?” Then he adds, “And how do you know about that? It’s supposed to be a secret.” 

Obi-wan huffs a laugh. “Well yeah, but of course if it’s supposed to be a secret, everyone knows about it,” he says. “It’s okay though, it won’t leave the Order.”

Jedi are, apparently, ridiculous gossips.

“And I don’t mean to...mean anything bad by asking,” Obi-wan continues. “I just thought you would all be meeting with the Council.” 

Jango wrinkles his nose at that. “It was boring,” he says. “I was just sitting in a corner all day.”

“So you snuck out,” Obi-wan says with a nod as if that’s what he would have done too. “Have you been exploring the temple?”

“Yeah.”

“Have you been to the Room of a Thousand Fountains yet?” 

“The Room of what?” Jango asks, his mind boggling at the idea of a thousand fountains. The temple is huge, but still.

Obi-wan’s eyes brighten as his grin widens. “The Room of a Thousand Fountains! It’s our greenhouse and biggest meditation garden -- well, gardens, actually. It’s also…” He lifts up the baby tooka, and the tooka meows cutely at Jango before Obi-wan cuddles it close again. “...where the tookas live. I’m going to take this little one back there, so want to come with me?”

Jango nods, because of course he does. 

Which is how he ends up spending the rest of the day exploring the Room of a Thousand Fountains -- which is huge and pretty and really does have a thousand fountains -- with Obi-wan. 

They both get in trouble when the adults finally catch up with them, but that isn’t important. What is important is their plan to meet up the next day to visit the Jedi Archives and the training dojos. 

Jango just doesn’t get why Jas’buir keeps smiling at him like there’s a joke he isn’t telling, but whatever. Adults are just weird sometimes.

Notes: [1] Nau’yc - directly translates as ‘illuminous’ or ‘shiny’. However, I’ve decided (for this AU at least) that since there isn’t an existing word for ‘pretty’, the Mando’ade call things (and occasionally people) that are pretty ‘shiny.’ :D

I’m sorry if the ending’s awkward, I couldn’t figure out the best way to end this alkdfja

[princess-of-riviaa]

Training

Pairing: Geralt of Rivia x Reader

Summary: After being attacked in the woods, you ask Geralt to train you in self defense, and he puts an interesting twist on your first lesson.

Warning(s): mentions of rape, gore, violence, anal, some fluff (if you squint)

Word count: 2,732

The ambush comes quickly. Neither you nor Geralt have time to realize what’s going on before you’re surrounded on all sides by ten men. Every last one of them is tall and wide with muscle, strong enough to make even Geralt look like a normal-sized human. There’s lust in their eyes as they take in the sight of you. You have no doubt they plan to kill Geralt and take you as a trophy, or just rape you before killing you too, leaving yours and Geralt’s bodies to rot.

Stupid plan, considering they’re going up against a centuries-old witcher.

Geralt is on them in a second. The four men closest to him keep their eyes trained on him as he slices through each body like they’re made of butter. Two of the men stalk towards you. Instinctively your feet carry you backwards--until you collide with the thick, unmoving bark of a tree. You’re trapped. The two men smirk and chuckle as they near you, noticing your predicament just as you do. With your heart in your throat you brace yourself for their cold, unkind hands to do what they want with you--

Nothing happens.

And then--

Warm, gentle, loving hands on you, cupping your face. You open your eyes to find yourself staring up at Geralt. His pupils are wide with the heart-racing blood lust that comes after a fight. His mouth is pulled back in a snarl, revealing teeth as sharp as vampire fangs. He’s shaking with power and energy, ready to fight an entire army now. Danger floods off of his body so strongly you can nearly smell it.

You’re his opposite. Startled and struggling to breathe, feeling small and weak after what almost happened to you. Your entire body is shaking with fear and adrenaline and you feel tired and weak. Falling asleep right here sounds like a good idea, save for the bloodied bodies all around you.

“You’re alright.” The way Geralt says it tells you that it’s more a relieved realization for himself than an assurance for you.

“G-Geralt--” Shit, even your voice is shaking. What is wrong with you? It’s not like you’ve never seen Geralt fight before. But you’ve never been so close to becoming a victim of wild, selfish men like that. Fear shocks your system until you can’t even move.

Geralt notices and picks you up in his arms. He begins to walk in the direction of the nearest town, holding you like you weigh nothing. At any other time you’d be turned on by this; you love how small and dainty you feel in Geralt’s thick, powerful arms. It makes your heart race and your core burn with aching desire. But right now, all you can think of is the attack you just escaped.

You find enough strength in your legs to walk on your own again when you make it back to town. You’re as silent as Geralt as he leads you to the nearest inn. You catch a glimpse of the stables in the back and hear Roach neigh at the sight of you and her master. Normally you would stop to stroke her mane and feed her apples while Geralt talks to her, but right now you want nothing more than to take a warm bath and fall into the safety of a new bed with Geralt wrapped around you.

The inn is nothing too impressive, and the room is small and cold, but you’ve stayed in worse before. There’s a small tub at the opposite corner as the bed. Geralt announces he’s getting pails of water to fill it before leaving.

You sit on the edge of the bed and look down at your hands, still shaking. That’s when you notice your dress is stained a dark red at the top of your thigh. One of the men must have cut you in the middle of all the chaos. Your adrenaline had been running so high that you hadn’t felt it when you were cut. There’s a slight sting now and a warmth around the open wound, and you know the pain will get worse by morning.

Geralt returns with enough water to fill the tub. You watch as he pours the searing liquid in, admiring the flex in his arms, shoulders, and back as he lifts the pail, empties it, and sets it down before reaching for another one.

“Thank you,” you say, your voice almost inaudible to your own ears.

But his witcher hearing picks it up and he pauses in his chore of filling the tub to look over at you. The cold, feral look he’d worn earlier is gone now. His eyes are soft as they take you in, but he wears no more expression than that. You’ve grown used to his masks of indifference and have learned to see past them. He’s grateful you’re not hurt, that you’re staying with him tonight, and you can read that all from that tiny flicker of light in his eyes.

“You don’t have to thank me for protecting you.” He rises to his feet and moves across the room in three large strides. He’s in front of you a moment later, leaning down to kiss the crown of your head. “I’d burn the whole world down if it meant keeping you by my side.”

You look up at him incredulously. After having known Geralt for a year--slowly becoming friends with him by bonding through your obscure knowledge of rare creatures and monsters; hearing him confess the depth of what he feels for you; being intimate with him as often as you can--after everything you’ve experienced with him, you wonder how people can believe witchers feel nothing. Geralt feels so much it’s overwhelming. Not just for him, but for you too. He makes declarations like this in the middle of a casual conversation, and it’s enough to take your breath away because you know he means every word of it.

But you don’t have a chance to respond to his words before his eyes move down your body and stop at the dried blood on your clothes. “Shit, you’re hurt,” he realizes.

“It’s nothing, just a scratch,” you insist, but he ignores you.

Once you’re undressed and in the bath, letting the burning water turn your skin a bright pink, Geralt helps you wash off. He’s mindful to clean out your wound before doing anything else. He washes your hair--something you would normally insist on doing yourself, if you didn’t know how much Geralt liked to do it, rubbing his fingers in circles over your scalp as you relax more and more with each passing second--and as soon as you’re out of the tub you switch places with your witcher. He has to sit up straight to fit inside the tub and you hold back a giggle. You forget about the horrors of today as you lose yourself in cleaning him off. Geralt must be feeling the same way too because he lets you massage his shoulders and neck. He has most of his scars on his back, and since they’re what he’s most self-conscious of, he doesn’t typically like it when anyone looks or touches that spot on his body. But he trusts you.

“You should teach me how to use a weapon,” you murmur as you begin to kiss your way up his neck.

He tenses. “Why?”

“So I can defend myself,” you explain. “If something like today happens again--”

“It won’t,” he growls, though you know he’s growling more at the thought of you being in danger than actually growling at you.

“You’re a witcher,” you point out, “and your lifestyle is a calling card for danger. And since I’m not going away anytime soon, learning how to defend myself is the smartest option.”

“So you want to learn how to fight,” he concludes.

“Eventually. I think I’ll need a lesson or two on how to hold a dagger properly first.”

Geralt finally rises from the tub, using the same cloth you’d cleaned yourself off with to dry himself. He steps out of the tub and closes the distance between your bodies. You don’t bother moving away from him. There’s no point to that when he has this look in his eyes--the look that turns the air between you electric and makes a fire lick up the inside of your body in the most delicious way. In one quick movement he picks you up and wraps your legs around his waist. You’re both naked, and without any layers of clothing to divide you, his hardening cock is already brushing against the folds of your pussy, growing wetter by the second.

“First thing about fighting,” he says as he throws you onto the bed and moves to hover over you, “find your opponent’s weakness.”

His mouth goes straight to the hollow of your throat, the spot that, when his mouth brushes against it with a featherlight kiss, makes your legs fall open and your nipples harden. You can’t stop the blissful sigh that escapes you. He loves that sound, if the way his cock twitches against your thigh is anything to go by.

You can’t help but grind your hips up against his. It’s an involuntary response, your body already desperate for the hot friction Geralt’s cock provides against your core. You moan as his tip brushes against your clit, sending a bolt of pleasure through you, but before you can grind against him again Geralt’s hands are holding your hips down.

He nips at your ear as he says, “The next thing: always let your opponent know you’re in control.” As if for emphasis, his grip tightens on your hips, really pinning you down now.

“Geralt--!” you cry out, desperate for what you’re not quite sure, but feeling the need to call out his name anyways.

If he can’t see the way desperation ripples through every inch of your body, he can definitely smell it. That witcher nose of his has been known to pick up the scent of your arousal before you’re even fully aware that it’s there. And now you’re dripping with need for him to fill you; you’ve no doubt that your scent is flooding his senses right now.

With one hand still locked around your hips, he brings the other to your pussy. He doesn’t bother to wet his fingers before running them between your folds; you’re soaked enough already to not need a lubricant. You jump when he pulls his hand away before he can reach your clit. It’s a teasing touch, and if that flicker of mischief in his golden eyes is anything to go by, he knows exactly what he’s doing to you.

“Geralt…” you cry out again, this time with enough desperation in your voice that you should be embarrassed by how pathetic it sounds, but your mind is already coated in a thick layer of need, and you’re past the point of shyness.

“And most importantly,” he says as he moves down your body, his breath making goosebumps rise on your stomach, “don’t stop until they’re begging you for release.”

A second later his mouth is hovering just an inch above your core. You look down and watch as his tongue darts out to lick his lips. He loves the sight of your pussy, especially when it’s dripping for him, and you realize he must be struggling to control himself right now. The way he looks down at your wetness tells you he wants nothing more than to fuck you with his mouth and then lick you dry.

“Please, Geralt!” you cry out. If he wants you to beg, you’ll beg. You just need his mouth on you. Or his fingers. Or his cock. Fuck, the things you’d do to have his cock inside of you right now--

His thick, talented tongue licks from the bottom of your entrance to the top of your clit. A shiver runs through your entire body. A curse stumbles out of your mouth as you squeeze your eyes shut, focusing on every tingle rippling through your body. He brings his tongue to circle your clit and already your legs begin to shake.

“Oh--!” You can’t manage to get out anything more than that.

“Your first training lesson’s going terribly, my love,” Geralt breathes against your sensitive folds.

Your right hand jumps to wrap around his thick, ivory mane. He growls as you tug at the roots of his hair, though you know he loves it when you’re so desperate you become rough with him. Your left hand clutches desperately at the bedsheets. You need something to tether your mind to reality, but the action is done in vain; you’ve already lost yourself to the pleasure that only Geralt can make you feel.

“F-fuck me,” you shiver, your tone begging, and you repeat the words over and over again until Geralt decides he’s had enough of your begging.

In one quick movement he flips you onto your stomach. Before you can fully process what’s just happened, he brings his mouth to your ass, giving a playful but sharp bite to each cheek. You moan out as the pain dances the line between unpleasant and euphoric.

“Such a fucking slut for the pain, aren’t you?” Geralt growls in that dominant voice that, at one point, you thought he reserved specifically for a fight. But the moment he learned that that tone makes you drip with arousal until your undergarments are completely soaked, he reserved it for the bedroom too. He lays it on thick now and you grind your hips into the mattress as a cry falls from your mouth.

Geralt wraps his hands around your hips and thrusts your body up until you’re on your knees. You rise to your hands, knowing he loves the sight of you on all fours for him.

“You didn’t even put up a fight for me.” He tsks before shoving two fingers inside of you. You gasp as your walls struggle to adjust to him; it doesn’t matter how often you two fuck--which, admittedly, is very often--his digits always prove too thick for your tight pussy. He chuckles darkly as you whimper in pain. “If you didn’t want me to have my way with you, little one, you shouldn’t have given in so easily.”

You open your mouth to reply. He doesn’t give you the chance, though. A second later his mouth is licking around your asshole, sucking on it like it’s his life force. A loud, whorish moan escapes you. Once he’s teased your hole enough, he plunges his tongue deep inside of you, stretching you out with such delicious pain. At the same time he begins to fuck his fingers in and out of your pussy at a ferocious pace. You’re shaking in less than a minute.

“Geralt, I’m… fuck, I’m g-gonna--” It’s a struggle to get all the words out but he doesn’t need you to finish. He can tell you’re close by the way your walls contract around his fingers and the way you grind your ass against his mouth. But, like the fucker he is, he pulls back half a second before you reach your orgasm. “Fuck!”

“You really think I was gonna let you cum before I’m even inside of you?” he asks. You hear rustling behind you but don’t turn to see what he’s doing. “You never learn.”

You jump when you feel his cock brush against your asshole. He brings his hand to your clit and begins to rub it in slow, teasing circles, a pleasant distraction as he slowly pushes his way inside your ass. He lets out a low grunt when he finally bottoms out in you. The entirety of his cock inside your tight little asshole makes you feel so full… there’s nothing better than that feeling. Geralt brings his hand to your pussy and slides his fingers back inside you, curling his digits with the same pace that he begins to fuck your ass.

“You’re going to cum around my fingers,” he orders, “and then my cock, and then I’m going to fill you up with my seed, and you’re going to keep it there for the rest of the night.”

You let out a shaky moan at his words, wanting all of that and thensome. And then Geralt gets to work.

...

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[writtenonreceipts]

I saw this prompt for feysand and i would love to see your take on it - I get stuck with a late class that doesn’t end until 9pm and I’m always anxious about walking across the campus to the dorms, so you offer to walk with me and one night, I find out that it’s in the exact opposite direction that you need to go in

I've really been enjoying your writing!!❤

AN: I took it and ran, and ran, and kept running.  Thank-you so, SO much for sending it my way!  This was a great prompt that had fun with.  I’m glad you’ve been liking my stuff, it means a lot! ~5.5kwords

TW: Brief talk about death, anxiety, depression, fear.

 Worth It

Seated at a canvas with paints or pencils in hand, Feyre was unstoppable.  She could create landscapes with ease or depict a simple still life and turn it into something far greater.  Art was where she lived.

Not in a basement classroom learning about Prythian history.  

There wasn’t anything wrong with history, especially when it was as rich and vibrant as Prythia.  But talking about wars, treaties, and assassinations could only be discussed for so long.

Of course, it didn’t help that Feyre was dyslexic, but she didn’t talk about that.

She glanced around the room, trying to see if anyone else was as bored as she was.  It was the first day of class and she was the only one not taking extensive notes.  Well, she and a guy at the front of the room.  All Feyre could see was the back of his head.  His hair was dark as midnight and the sleeves of his shirt were rolled up as he sat at his desk.  He didn’t even have a textbook with him.

Feyre forced herself to pay attention as the Professor finally shut down the slide show presentation.

“Make sure you look of the syllabus,” Dr. Wesson addressed the class.  She was a small woman with rich brown hair and a plain green dress.  “It outlines the schedule of tests and essays.  None of the dates will be altered.  My TA will be at your disposal.” 

Dr. Wesson nodded to the guy with the black hair and gestured for him to stand up.

And just like that, the class was the most fascinating thing in the world. 

He was tall, taller than he’d originally appeared.  His warmly tanned skin made his violet blue eyes bright and eager.  A sly sort of smile traced his mouth as he observed the class.

“Call me Rhysand,” he said, “I’m working on my masters specifically in the historical aspect of how literature was shaped by wars in the land.  I’m always glad to help with your questions.  Just make sure you email me to set something up.”

The girls next to Feyre whispered to each other, exchanging significant looks.  Feyre exchanged a significant look with the amount of reading and writing that was required.

Hell.  It was going to be a long semester.

The class dismissed right at nine o’clock, much to Feyre’s relief.  While most of the students flocked to the front of the room to either gawk at the TA or further discuss issues with the Professor, Feyre left the class.  Already she could feel her dread pooling into anxiety.  Her heart rate quickened and the muscles in her left hand twitched.  

She just needed to get home and sit down with a canvas and paint.

As soon as she made it outside the Humanities Building however, the dread continued to tug at Feyre.  It was far too dark.  With far fewer lights than she’d expected for a college campus.  Or maybe it was because there was a thick layer of clouds sagging down and threatening rain.  

“Feyre!” 

Snapping to attention, Feyre clutched her bag to her chest and found the source of her name.

Her friend, and roommate, Alis waved at her from a path diverging deeper on to campus.  Her dark hair hung in waves down her back and the jacket she wore was flattering against her curves.

Feyre let out a long, releieved breath and plastered a smile on her face.  Quickly, she moved toward her friend.

“Hey,” Feyre greeted and accepted a hug from the smaller girl. “What are you doing here?”

“I know you had a late class,” Alis explained, “and I knew it was with Wesson.  I heard the woman is miserable.  So intense.  But--I mean--you’re going to do great.  Your always so creative with everything I’m sure she’ll love you.  Anyway, I was finishing up buying my books for the semester and thought I’d meet up with you.”

Feyre smiled as Alis spoke, grateful for the small distraction.  Even if it was slightly horrific in thinking about trying to get on a professor’s good-side.

“Thanks,” Feyre said, “I appreciate it.  It was a bit intimidating.”

“I think everyone just likes making freshman miserable,” Alis said.  Alis was technically a junior, but had changed her major four times and couldn’t decide on a minor.  She was not on track to graduate when she’d originally thought, but wasn’t at all concerned.  

Feyre wished she could be more like that than the raging mess she felt she was.

Behind them, leaving the Humanities Building, the TA appeared leading an entire gaggle of girls.

“Let’s go,” Feyre muttered. “I’m exhausted.”

#

By the third week of the semester Feyre came to better understand her relationship with exhaustion.  And it was not a good one.

She was fairly certain her body consisted of ninety percent caffeinated beverages and ten percent hot pockets.  She’d never been one for eating much.  Growing up had always been a struggle in keeping food in the fridge and a decent pair of shoes on her feet.  Feyre knew by now how her body functioned.

It wasn’t healthy, not in the slightest.  And there was a part of her that recognized that.  And another part that ignored it.

Two nights a week, Feyre found herself stuffed in the basement with little enjoyment.  Other than getting to stare and Rhysand when Dr. Wesson turned the class over to him for brief instruction.

And looking at him was enjoyment.  He was far different from any other guy Feyre had encountered.  His hair was kept neat and short sweeping easily back out of his face, a charming smile, and warm brown skin.  Not to mention the tattoos. 

Feyre had never really considered tattoos as being attractive.  Perhaps it was the artistic side of her that couldn’t get enough of them.  On him at least.  The way the black in swirled on his skin and swept up his arms.  It was a shame he never wore short sleeves or unbuttoned one extra cutton at his collar.

Hell.

Mentally shaking herself, Feyre forced herself to pay attention.

Rhysand was discussing scores from the test last week.  And, to put it mildly, was not impressed.  Oh, there was plenty of good to say.  Some of the students were engaged in the topics at hand.  Some of the students displayed an obvious grasp of complicated topics.  Others did not.

Feyre found herself sinking deeper into her seat by the end of class.

He hadn’t called her out by name, but truly--it felt like he had.

“That’s it for today, enjoy the weekend,” Rhysand called out at the tick of nine, “and remember essay proposals are due by the start of class on Tuesday.”

There was a quick rustle of the students getting up and gathering their things.  It was a glorious Thursday evening and Feyre had somehow managed to keep her Friday’s clear of classes.  At least something had gone right.

“Feyre?” She whipped around to meet those stark violet eyes. Hell. “I needed to talk to you about the questions you had on the proposal assignment.”

Feyre bristled.  And not just because some of the girls shot her angry looks for being singled out by the hot TA.  She hadn’t asked any questions.  She was just trying to skate by on this class and be done with her prerequisites so she could get into her Art Major.

She set her bag on the floor once more and went to the front of the class.  Already most of the students were leaving, far too eager to be done with school for the night.

As Rhysand answered a few last questions and dismissed the rest of the students, Feyre approached.  Already she knew what she was going to say.

“I don’t have any questions.” The words fell from her mouth with ease. “I already know what I’m writing on.”

Lie.  But a well-practiced one.

Rhysand’s mouth curled in a smile.  He hefted a small stack of papers in one hand and leafed through them.  Feyre froze realizing that they were the tests from last week.  He pulled one of the stapled bunches out before setting the rest down.

“Honestly, I was surprised while grading this,” he said, “I mean, you’re obviously smart.  I saw that you were awarded the Starfell Scholarship, not an easy accomplishment.  Not to mention your always engaged and taking notes.”

Feyre wished her skin wasn’t as pale as it was.  Her skin flushed under his scrutiny, but she tilted her chin up and met his gaze.

“And?” she asked. “I take my education seriously.”

Somewhat.  When she actually liked the work.

Rhysand handed her the test.  And she saw the grade.

D.

D.

D.

Hell.

Her stomach churned.  Roiled actually.  Maybe she was going to be sick.  That was just what she needed.

“So?” she asked instead. “It was the first test of the semester.”

“And yours in the only outlier,” he replied.

His eyes never left hers and Feyre felt more and more inclined to throw something at him.  Who was he to talk to her about her grade?  He was just the damned TA.

“Dr. Wesson doesn’t like picking up the slack of grading or talking to students about it all that much,” he continued, literally reading her mind. “I’m just concerned about you falling behind.”

Feyre stiffened and pursed her lips.

“I grew up learning Prythian history, I’m sure I’ll be fine,” she said stiffly.  

Another lie.  She knew enough that basic education taught and what she’d heard and listened to.  But reading about it?  Her mind couldn’t grasp it.  It had been hard enough getting decent SAT scores to get accepted in the University let alone writing that damned Starfell essay.

“Of course,” Rhysand said slowly.

And Feyre had the sense that he was assessing her.  Analytically, carefully.  In the was that one would size up an opponent or scrutinize a strange recipe.  He was trying to understand her.

Feyre handed him back the test.

“Thanks for the concern,” she said, “but I’ll be fine.”

Perhaps he was just being nice.  Perhaps he was merely trying to fulfill his duties as TA.  But she had seen the way he acted in the class.  At times rebuffing boys and girls alike.  Not to mention seeing him around campus tossing a football around with two other boys.  She’d also seen him get kicked out of the library for a parkour prank challenge.  

In all honesty, Feyre had no idea what to make of him.  And she wasn’t sure she wanted to find out.

He didn’t seem to believe her.  Not with the crease forming between his brow nor the frown turning down one side of his mouth.  

Well, that was his problem.

“Have a good night,” Feyre said.  She spun on her heel before he could say anything and grabbed her bag and was out the door.  

Once she was outside, she could breathe again.  Strange.  She often found the darkness, the night, to be so suffocating.  It wasn’t long before Feyre realized something was off about the night.  And then she realized.  Alis was nowhere in sight.

Feyre dug her phone out of her pocket and found a missed text.

Sorry chica, caught up at study group.  Probs gonna spend the night at Nuala’s too.  See you tomorrow!

Of all the nights Alis could get serious with her girlfriend.

Feyre swallowed stiffly and stared out over the pavilion that stretched between the humanities building and out to the mathematics building.  A few pathways branched off to different parts of campus and then there was the main one that would take her to the dorms.  And of course, most of the streetlamps were barely flickering to life.

She’d never liked the dark.  Never liked what could hide in the shadows.  Nor what could sneak in silence.  Perhaps it was childish to still hold onto that fear.  She was almost nineteen years old after all. Nearly fifteen years later and here she was.

Feyre’s hands shook as she clutched her phone.  She could call Elain.  Nesta.  Even just to talk to as she walked.  Though Elain lost her phone even when it was in her hand.  And Nesta was at work.  

But it was fine.  Feyre knew it was fine.  Because all she needed to do was walk.  And shed been walking for long enough that putting one step in front of the other was natural.  Easy.  Simple.  Yet here she was.  Standing.

When Rhysand spoke, she didn’t even start.  

“Are you waiting for someone?” he asked.

Myself.  “No.”

Silence.

“It’s getting late.”

“I know.”

Silence.

How strange it was, to hear only the hum of crickets and breath of night.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Rhysand asked.  

Feyre glanced at him.  Even in the shadows she could see him clearly.  It was like he was made of night, of dark, of the mysteries that she could never lay her hand on.  She shook her head.  Focus, Feyre.

“Of course I am,” she insisted, a little too sharply. “Maybe I like having time to think.”

“At nine-thirty at night.  Outside the least exciting building on campus.”

“Oh, I don’t know.  I heard that last year a group of boys nearly got suspended for trying to host a snowball fight, indoors.” Feyre couldn’t help but grin when she saw how Rhysand flushed.

“Technically, I’m not the one who brought the snowballs inside the building,” he said defensively.

“Oh, no, you’re just the one who built an entire fort in front of the main entrance to the building,” Feyre said.

It had actually been pretty hilarious when she’d heard about it from Alis. It almost made her wish that she'd been around last year instead of taking a year off.

“Technically,” he said again, the word making Feyre’s brow arch, “it was my brother who instigated the fight. He couldn’t let his reign be challenged.”

Feyre snorted a laugh and looked out over the quiet campus. It almost didn't look so dark and cold as she'd thought it had.  But still, she felt her heart continue to hammer out unevenly in her chest.  She couldn't walk home alone. Even the thought of taking one step forward had her clench and unclench a fist over the strap of her bag.

Rhysand continued saying something, but Feyre was only half listening.  She was mostly focused on the thought of walking home.  She could cut through the Science building.  If it was still open.  Or she could full out sprint.

“Are you alright?” Rhysand asked.

Flushing, Feyre pushed her hair out of her eyes and nodded. “Fine, yeah.” She knew she had to ask him.  Knew that it was her only option despite how embarrassed she might feel. “Could you--this is stupid, so you can say no--could you walk with me to the dorms?”

Rhysand was quiet for a moment.  And in that moment Feyre was certain he was going to sneer at her.  Laugh.  Tell her to get over herself.  Just like the others before him.

"Where do you live?" Rhys and asked suddenly, cutting Feyre off before she had the ch

“The dorms on the west side,” she said.

“Alliance Dorms?” Rhysaid confirmed.  When Feyre nodded, he flashed her a small smile. “Absolutely.”

Relief pounded through Feyre.

“If you tell me what the deal was with that test.”

“You’re an ass.”  The words were out before Feyre could stop them.  Not the best thing to say to the TA of a class she was likely going to flunk.

Scowling, more to herself than him, Feyre started walking towards the dorms.  She was a strong confidant woman.  She did not need him to walk her home.

But Rhysand with those damned long legs kept stride with her easily.  And he was laughing.  Feyre was half tempted to knock an elbow in his side for laughing at her, but his next words caught her off guard.

“I like you Feyre,” he said, “you are rather interesting.”

She glanced up at him.  Was he serious?  She’d insulted him.  She’d barely exchanged ten words with him at this point.  And was scared of walking home alone.  Granted it was a valid fear for a young woman on a college campus these days.

“Insane is the better word for it,” she replied, mostly under her breath.  That’s what everyone back home said at least.  In the small town where nothing was supposed to go wrong.  But everything did.

“Interesting, curious, vibrant,” Rhysand listed off. “Far better words I think.”

Feyre had never been good with words.  Like now.  She couldn’t find the energy to respond to him.  There was a spark in his eye that almost challenged her, begged her to continue the banter, the little game.  

She remained silent.

She’d heard it was a far better mask for her to wear anyways.

#

The first paper she turned in for the History class was returned with far too many red marks.  Far too many question marks.  Far too many.  So Feyre merely folded the thing in half and stuffed it in her bag.

She could burn it later.

Dr. Wesson ended the lecture right at nine and dismissed the class.  Feyre had almost disillusioned herself into thinking she could avoid a conversation with the Professor.  With Rhysand.  But just as she was trying to maneuver around the giggling pack of girls that sat next to her, Dr. Wesson’s voice called out for her.

“Oh Miss Archeron, a word please?”

Feyre froze.  She could feign a phone call.  But then next class session the same thing would happen.  So, Feyre braced herself for what was to come and went to the front of the class.

As usual, Rhysand looked perfectly unruffled.  Despite the fact that Fall was quickly slipping into the winter months, he still wore a simple black button up tucked into slacks, the sleeves rolled up.

“Feyre,” Dr. Wesson said as she approached, she reached out a hand and gave Feyre a firm pat on the arm. “I know Rhysand spoke to you last week about your test.  I wanted to follow up, especially in seeing how this essay went.  Now, there is still plenty of time left in the semester, but I worry you aren’t grasping the things you should be.”

Blood pounded in Feyre’s ears.  She could hear her heart beat throb, feel it in her veins.  Her entire body flushed with embarrassment, stress, horror.  Everything bubbled to the surface even though she’d tried so hard to tamp it down.

She tried to open her mouth but found her teeth were grinding together so bad that her jaw hurt.

“I think,” Dr. Wesson continued, “that you would benefit from spending a bit of extra time with Rhysand.  Just to make sure you’re where you need to be in the class.”

Feyre found herself nodding and agreeing.  Her voice was relaxed, calm even.  But far too close to breaking.

After thanking the Doctor for her uncharacteristic kindness, Feyre stared and the poorly erased whiteboard over Rhysand’s shoulder for a long moment.  With a slow exhale she finally met his gaze.

Rhysand met her eyes with such intensity that Feyre nearly lost her breath all over again.  She shook it off and rolled her shoulders.

“Shall we get started tonight?” she asked. “Or I’m sure you have plans.”

“Nah, only kicking Cassian’s ass at Mario Cart,” Rhysand replied.  He flashed her an innocent sort of smile.  Feyre wasn’t sure if it was one out of kindness or mockery of some sort.

She pulled her phone from her pocket and stuck it out for him. “Just give me your number and I’ll let you know when’s a good time to study.”

Rhysand hesitated on a moment before accepting the phone and adding his details.  As soon as she got her phone back, Feyre changed his name from Rhys to Prick.  It seemed to fit better.

“It’s not a big deal you know,” Rhysand said.  

He followed Feyre out of the classroom.  His steps were confident against the carpet that had to be at least thirty years old.  Truly Rhysand was an enigma with his ease, grace, and elegance when pitted against the drab interior of the Humanities Building.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Feyre said.

Once outside, the cold night air nipped at her skin and even through her jacket she could feel goosebumps rise.  Just like the night last week, Feyre waited just outside the building doors.  She stared into the night; across the courtyard she could see a few pale lights from the Math Building.  None of the lampposts had been fixed which left most of the walkways in shadows.

Nothing about the night was out of place.  It was calm, still, and everything lingered on Feyre’s mind.  And just like last week, Rhysand waited beside her.

Overhead, Feyre could just make out the stars.  Only a thin veil of clouds hung over the sky allowing a small bit of freedom to pierce her heart.  But not enough.

“Could you walk with me again?” she asked quietly, unable to look at Rhysand.

“Only if you talk to me this time,” he said.  That cheeky grin returning.  And despite how much she hated it, it put Feyre at ease.

“Fine.” She stuffed her hands in her pockets and began walking. “What made you pick history?  There had to be something else.  You don’t seem the type for old stuffy books or maps.”

“And who do you peg me for, Feyre?” His voice was practically a purr.

“High and mighty sitting behind a desk,” she replied drily. “Running some company somewhere.  You certainly have the personality for it.”

He laughed unamused. “If my father had any say in the matter.  A degree in history only puts off the inevitable.”

“That’s a rather bleak look on things,” Feyre said.  It sounded like something she would say.

“Only if I didn’t enjoy what I was learning so much,” he said.  In the flickering light of the lamps, they walked beneath, Rhysand’s expression brightened. “Between the wars and legends surrounding what shaped the country...it’s always been curious to see what we became.  What we can become.”

His response seemed so honest, so genuine, that Feyre nearly stumbled.  She barely knew him, had barely spent any time with him, yet she was beginning to feel that she knew him.

“So you devote all your time and attention to it?” Feyre asked.

They passed by the last of the campus buildings.  A brisk wind scattered fallen leaves on the sidewalks and crunched under their steps as they walked.

“Don’t you have something you love?  Something that you feel has changed you and you’d never want to give it up?”

A box of paints.  Brushes that she’d had since she was ten.  A canvas only half finished.  She’d thought she could complete the image but it had been almost a year since she’d even looked at it.  But art…art had changed her.  Art had loved her just as she loved it.

“I guess you’re right,” she admitted.  Tilting her chin up, Feyre caught sight of a small patch of stars amid the inky black sky.  Dim but shining still. “There’s always something.”

If he heard the sadness in her voice, he said nothing.  Which was partially surprising, but Feyre would roll with it.

“The tutoring,” Rhysand began.

“No,” Feyre cut him off.  “Not right now.”

“So you’re just going to ignore your problems?”

“It’s not a problem.”

“Seems to be.”

Feyre stopped causing him him to move a few steps ahead of her.  When he turned back towards her, he waited.  

“I’ll admit to needing a little extra help to help my tests and essays, but I don’t see what else you’d need to know.”

“It’s alright to talk,” Rhysand paused, something else on the cusp of behind heard.  But he restrained, his voice trailing off softly.

Feyre ignored the comment.  Talking had never been her strong suit.  She was more of action.  Less idle, more work.  Ever since she was a child it had been that way.  She knew why, of course.  It was obvious when she thought about it.  So she never thought about it.

“What are you planning on studying?” Rhysand asked when she made no effort to continue on the topic of her test.

“Art,” she replied immediately. “I’m an artist.  But my sister wanted me to get more of an education that could support me.  So I’m just working on my prerequisites.”

“Art,” he repeated.  There was a lilt to his voice as if he really were actually interested in what she was saying. “Sketching?  Sculpture?”

“Paint and canvas,” Feyre said.  “Since I was little.  After my mom died, my sister bought me my first set of brushes and paint and everything I could need.  She was only nine.  I think she stole my dad’s credit card to do it.”

The reality of that had Feyre laughing softly, but Rhysand gave her look that was a mix of horror and confusion.

“It’s fine,” Feyre said quickly, “I’m fine.”

It was a lie of course.  If she really were fine, she wouldn't have asked him to walk her home.  She would better know how to control her fears, her anxiety.  She would be happy.

“My mother died ten years ago,” Rhysand told her, his voice quiet and contemplative. “She’d been sick for a while and we knew it was coming.  But for a ten-year-old boy, it was hard to understand.  My father certainly didn’t.  Still doesn’t.”

They reached Feyre’s dorms then, floodlights illuminated the front street and made it seem as though it were day.  Feyre turned toward him and found herself smiling, just barely.

“Thank-you,” she said sincerely.  “And I’m sorry you have to be a part of the dead mother’s club.”

“You too,” he said.

Feyre wondered if there was something else she should say.  Wondered if he would even want to hear it.  It was strange, that little flame of comradery that she felt towards him.  But it was gone in an instant as Alis came running out from the building.

“Feyre!  Get inside, it’s movie night!”

Shaking her head, Feyre offered Rhysand a small wave and headed into the dorms.

#

With three weeks until the next paper was due in that miserable class, Feyre spent her free time studying with Rhysand.  It wasn’t as miserable as she’d been expecting it to be.  Not when she realized he was far more laid back than she’d assumed.  And then she’d met his best friends who were essentially like his brothers.

It was far easier to study in the relaxed environment that Rhysand created.  And far easier to be herself around him.  Of course, it had taken Feyre a while to decide that maybe they could be friends.  

“Summarize what the chapter from last night’s reading discussed,” Rhysand said one night as they were studying.  It was well after ten o’clock but they’d been given permission to stay in the building.  

Feyre pursed her lips.  She’d done the reading of course.  As well as she’d been able.  Most of had been hard to understand.  No matter how she tried to focus or train her mind, her dyslexia always got in the way.

“Right,” Feyre said slowly. “It was about the last king of Hybern.”

“And?” Rhysand prodded.

“And he was a jerk,” Feyre added.  

Rhysand’s fixed her with a look.  Long and hard but still underlined with compassion.

“Feyre,” he said, just a bit more seriousness to his voice.

She sighed heavily and tugged at the sleeve of her shirt. “I read it.  I just didn’t understand it.”

Silence.

Feyre shot him a scowl but didn’t meet his eyes. “I’m dyslexic.  And History tends to be a bit harder for me to understand.”

Rhsand blinked.  Once.  But nothing else.  No laugh or scoff of scorn.  Instead, he smiled and pushed to text book toward her.

“Then read.”

“Read?”

“Aloud, preferably,” Rhysand said.  He shrugged. “You want to be ready for the paper and subsequent test?”

“Prick,” she muttered.  But she dragged the book towards her and began.

It became habit.  A rhythm they fell into for the next several weeks.  Rhysand helped Feyre study and prepare for the paper, the test.  He walked her home, remaining the perfect gentleman.  And Feyre, Feyre relished the time.

It was because he was genuine.  Honest.  There was something about him, deeper than the intensity he displayed on the outside.  And for the first time in a while, Feyre found herself laughing with him.  For the first time in a while, she was living for more than just expectations.

He was actually turning into her friend and it was strange thought indeed.

“Alright students,” Dr. Wesson announced towards the end of class on the last day before Thanksgiving break. “I have your midterm tests and papers graded.  So now you can either relax or stress even further.  Depending on the grade.”

A weak laugh bubbled around the room.  Feyre gripped the underside of her chair tightly.  She wasn’t ready for this.  Not in the slightest.

Dr. Wesson slowly made her way around the room delivering both test and paper.  Feyre, by some stroke of cosmic affair, didn’t get her paper until last and the entire room was empty aside from Dr. Wesson and Rhysand.  Why was it they always ended up here?

“Well done, Miss Archeron,” Dr. Wesson said.  She handed two packets of paper to Feyre and smiled. “I love to see improvement.”

Gaping, Feyre looked between the two grades.  Heart hammering, she looked over the scores, brilliant red B’s shined up at her.

“I don’t usually offer extra credit,” the doctor went on, “but an exhibit is coming to the University about the Prythian Wall and it’s destruction.  If you can come up with a project to demonstrate what it entails, I might be convinced to help you keep your grade up.”

Feyre could only nod as the professor bid them goodnight and left.

“Well done.”

Feyre looked up to see Rhysand beaming at her and she couldn’t help but grin.  She leapt out of her seat and flung her arms around him in an embrace.

“Thank-you!” she whispered.  It took her perhaps a moment too long to realize that a hung might not have been the best of plans.  She hurriedly pulled back. “Sorry.  That was uncalled far.  I’m just really excited.”

“As you should be,” Rhysand said.  His smile hadn’t dimmed but there was something in his eyes that Feyre couldn’t quite read. “It wasn’t an easy test.”

“And now we have a full week off for Thanksgiving,” she said.  It was the best news she could have been given after getting her grades back.

“If you want,” Rhysand said, “my brother’s and cousin and I are having a game night, with pizza.  If you want to come.”

A spark of excitement ignited in Feyre’s chest.  She didn’t know when she’d developed a stupid little crush on Rhysand, but it was slowly starting to simmer out of control.  She should have said no.  Or come up with an excuse of some kind.  Insead she found herself nodding.

“I’d like that,” she said.

They collected their things and left the building.  Feyre took a few steps down the path they usually took to get to her dorm when she paused.  She turned back to Rhysand and frowned.

“Where do you live?”

Rhysand looked a little sheepish.  “Oh, I live over in the Court Apartments.”

Feyre blinked. “That’s in the complete opposite direction from my place.”

“Yes.”

“You’ve been walking me home for practically a month.”

“Yes.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Feyre asked, practically waving her hands in the air.  “It’s basically a two-mile walk from my place.”

Rhysand shrugged. “You asked for help and I wanted to give it.”

Feyre stared at him.  Her coat and scarf bunched around her neck, even though the night was perfectly clear.  It was clear enough that she could see the billions of stars overhead.  She could see them sparking in the black night.  And for one she wasn’t overcome with her usual anxiety.  Her usual fears.  Instead, all she would do was stare at Rhysand.

“Why would you do that?” she insisted.

Rhysand opened and closed his mouth a few times. “Because you were worth it.”

His simple words hung between them and Feyre had a hard time knowing what to say or how to react.  So she merely smiled and hooked her arm with his.

“Tell me about game night.  Am I going to wind up on some snipe hunt?”

“Oh no, you and I are going to gang up against Cassian and beat him at Mario Cart.”

Feyre laughed. “Sounds like a plan.”

And she realized that she wouldn’t mind if that’s how the rest of her nights played out.  Late hours of laughs and friends, being around people--one person--who made her feel better than she had in a long time.  

No, she wouldn’t mind it at all.

#

thanks so much for reading!

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[hit-me-with-a-ladle]

Ch. 8 Creepypastas x Fem! reader

Sorry I've been gone for so long. My grandfather died a month ago and I wasn't in the right mindset to write. But I'm back and ill do my best. Thank you all for your patients. Anyway, enjoy<3

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As the week progressed, the girl found that it was the slightest bit easier to read through Masky's facade. Though that did not mean that she could thoroughly read him quite yet, she made it a challenge that eventually she would. Masky himself became lenient at first as to mind her injuries. But the moment she started to heal, it was all back to the ruthless nature of his work. Finally, when the week ended, she got informed that someone else was going to teach her. That person turned out to be Ben, the blond-headed boy that seemed too eager to meet her.

An early sensation lurked in the air the moment she woke up, groggily walking to the bathroom and taking a well-deserved shower. The feeling of all of the previous days' dirt and grime washing off her punctured flesh was refreshing. Her mind was finally clear, able to freely think and dwell on her current predicament without any outside interference. The hot water trickled down her naked body, soothing her as she thought of any way she could escape. But no matter how hard she thought, deep down she knew that the only way she could truly leave was to stay a little longer to devise a plausible plan.

Sadness overtook her body, hot tears streaming down her already wet face intertwining with the water droplets from the showerhead. She'd been able to withhold her tears for a while now, not wanting to give those bastards the satisfaction. But as her current position set in her mind once more, she couldn't hold it in. It was like a never-ending loop. After being rudely introduced and forced to spend a week being trained to the bone by two different killers, she had to repeat the process with another. It felt like her own personal hell.

Feeling the scalding hot water turn cold was an indicator that it was time to get ready. Not giving a damn if she was late. Stepping out of the shower with a huff, she looked at herself in the full-body mirror. Steam covered its surface from head to toe. Though, no matter how blurry, the rough outline of all the large scars, cuts and a few red bruises that littered her body were still very much visible. The feeling and texture of her once somewhat clear skin was now a distant memory in her mind. Slowly tracing all of the scars with the tip of the rugged fingers she winced when she made contact with a few of the most recent injuries.

Getting dressed in the same greyish jump-suit she has been washing and wearing for the last few days, she went to eat breakfast. But before leaving her bedroom she looked at the nightstand, there laid the old pocket watch he gave her. For some reason, he didn't want to take it when she offered it back. Shrugging her shoulders she put it in her right pocket and headed downstairs. Reaching the kitchen, noticing that Masky must have left early. Not paying any mind to his disappearance she carried on with her day. Eating the meal she prepared for herself. Sitting there on the dining table, in total silence, patiently staring at the clock. Ben still hadn't arrived. He was already ten minutes late, to begin with, which was a significant tonal shift from Masky, who was extremely punctual and despised tardiness. After what felt like hours, a loud crash was heard that made the girl's ears perk up as she ran to the living room. Their laying spread eagle, on the front of the old television, was none other than Ben.

" What happened, how did you get in here?" The girl quickly said while helping him up. " Dammit, forgot how small the damn television was." He said under his breath, ignoring her previous question. Getting on his feet he brushed himself off giving the girl a better look. Unlike the other two men, he was significantly shorter, 162 to 165 cm or 5'4-5'5 feet tall. Medium length golden hair under a long green hat and sharp pointy elf-like ears. His pale white skin looked ceramic, almost like a doll's and thin lips with a button nose. He seemed considerably young, but she assumed that he most likely was about eighteen years of age. Though, what caught her attention were his round black eyes that had a speck of red in them that acted as pupils. He was dressed as an elf, with his bright green tunic, forest green pants and leather belt neatly tied around his waist that held a small satchel type bag.

Looking in her direction he flashed her a creepy smile that showed off his white teeth. The girl didn't know how to react to his sudden action, as she felt discomfort all around her body, shifting her weight awkwardly she chose to ask him again. " How the hell did you manage to get in here without me hearing you?" " Well, I did the same thing I'm gonna' be teaching you today. Sorcery or magic. Whatever word floats your boat." " Magic? As in witchcraft, like spells and potions?" " Yup. I mean I know Jack already told you this so I don't know why you're so shocked." He snickered, it sounded distorted. " Yeah, I remember but I didn't actually expect-not that I didn't think that it would be magic-it is just that this is all so strange, I can't believe it." " Believe it, cuz I'm gonna' be teaching ya some spells. Follow me now out the back door." He spoke loudly, shaking his hands in a flamboyant manner.

Walking swiftly to the kitchen towards the back door. The girl was visibly confused as she followed suit. Why did they have to go through the back door, it was all quite strange. Stepping out, she noticed the rather large, wooden table a few meters in front of them. Its surface is covered in all kinds of trinkets, herbs and plants. " What's all of this for?" She said, approaching the table. "I got Masky to set it up before he left, we're gonna be needing some of this stuff so I can show you the ropes and basically help you understand the basics of making potions. A skill you'd need for survival." He answered while picking up a bunch of the items off the table and stuffing them in the bag. " Oh, what do we have here?" He said excitedly under his breath " Is it Raskovnik? My god it is. I know what i'll be teaching you first now, don't I. '' He started with a laugh as he made his way towards the trees. " Where are we going now?" " To the brewery. Do you really think you will be making risky positions in front of the cabin? You humans are actually the dumbest creatures."

The girl's face scrunched up in annoyance but still kept her mouth shut. She knew better than to try and argue with these people. Biting down on her tongue she got drawn in by the scenery like most times she was out in the forest. Autom was soon approaching so the wind had started to pick up the past few days, it made the multicoloured leaves on the trees dance as it passed. It calmed her as it passed through her body. Taking in a large breath she smiled and carried on behind Ben. Dogging trees and branches as there was no pathway in this part of the forest.

" Did you get the plant?" Ben spoke up after a while, cutting the calm silence. " Sorry, what?" " Were you the one that got the Raskovnik?" He repeated the question louder. " Oh, well yeah. I got it a while back as a part of my training with Masky." She replied quickly walking to his side. " Figures. Maskys is the type to make others do his dirty work." He muttered bitterly. But the girl was still able to hear it. " So you have a bad relationship with him?" " You could say that. Most of us do. The scumbag." The air started to tense. " I guess you could call him that. But he's not always that bad, he has his moments I guess." " Not that bad? Tell me, how did you manage to get that big ass gash on your neck." He harshly replied, pointing his leather-gloved hand to her neck. She quickly covered it and looked to the side. Not responding. " As I said, he's an absolute scumbag." " Well if it isn't stepping over a boundary, mind telling me why he's so bad." " Well, to begin with, he's a sadistic prick that only cares for himself. He broke into my house and stole some of the VERY rear herbs that took me YEARS to collect. And worst of all, he's the dog of The Operator." His face darkened when he mentioned The Operator's name. " The Operator? Whos that?" The girl quickly asked, lowering her hand and looking at him with a confused look on her face. " He's one of the most powerful beings to even exist. The embodiment of evil." " So like the devil?" " No, he's not the devil, the devil is a different being, but he's still terrifying." " Why do they call him The Operator then?" " Well, like. I don't really know how to explain this to you but, imagine this forest being a very large city. Y’know how every city has a mayor or someone in charge that leads it. Well, that's what The Operator really is. The Operator isn't his real name but a nickname given to him."

With that they finally stepped into a small grass filled clearing where in the middle, was a very small cottage covered in vines, plants and flowers. The old wood that it was made of was held up the multitude of plants, securing it firmly. The half-rounded door was nicely placed in the front, a yellow brick pathway leading to it, with a square window to the side. They quickly approached the door, the girl's breath taken by the beauty. The inside itself was small, shelves were on every side of the walks, each holding a plethora of books, trinkets, herbs and plants. It was relatively messy but still easy to walk in. A cauldron was in the middle of the room with a desk stacked with papers, pens, and scrolls.

Placing the Rascovnik and emptying his bag on the desk, Ben looked at the girl. " So let's begin I guess." He said walking to the medium-sized cauldron. " What are we going to do exactly?" She quickly asked as her eyes followed him, as he walked around the cottage collecting different ingredients and placing them on the desk. " Well, you're not going to be doing anything, just taking notes." Tossing a notepad at her. " While I prepare something and explain the different things you'll need to know." " Yeah that's great but am I going to be quizzed the same way Masky quizzed me because I need to know what I should expect." She said frantically, firmly grasping the notepad to her chest. " Nah, you're not. I don't do quizzes or tests, I like doing things spontaneously y'know. And plus taking notes will help you understand things more, so just write down herb and spell names, important details and whatever else will help ya remember. K?" " Ok, I guess." Anxiety began to dwell in her mind, as she looked around. " Readdy?" He said walking in front of the cauldron, giving her a slightly crooked reassuring smile.

[something-fanfiction-ie]

Tips and Tricks

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Warnings: Spencer scares you for a second. And your mom is disappointed.

A/N: I know I have so many things going at once but I couldn’t help myself with this! I’m sorry. Forgive me. Like, comment, reblog, send me asks and shit. I love you! Enjoy!

___

A true book enthusiast knows that the most beautiful smell in the world can be found in the middle of a book. Whether it’s old and it’s pages are yellowed with age, or its so new that the text wipes off onto your hands when you open the cover, the smell is like a drug that gets your engine running the way no actual drug ever could.

It’s that thought that makes your pull your car into the nearly deserted parking lot of the bookstore as the rain crashes around you. You’ve seen enough ID Channel to know that waiting for the storm to pass while parked on the side of the road is about as dangerous as walking into a serial killer club meeting with a sign around your neck that reads, ‘kill me, I look like every person who has ever wronged you in life.’

Pulling your bag up over your head, you dash inside as fast as you can. The bell rings through the empty store, the smell of books hitting your senses and putting you at ease.

Even with your bag over your head, your hair is drenched and your clothes stick to your body in the most uncomfortable way possible. The store is manned by one forlorn looking teenage girl with short black hair, you can hear the gum she’s smacking behind the desk from four feet away.

Classical music filters down from the speakers, nestling among the thousands of books that take up every available space in the room. While some books fill the floor to ceiling bookshelves, the rest have been stacked on the floor like a maze of knowledge. Some stacks go up so high that even if you stand on your toes and stretch your arm as high as you could, you would still be a good ten five-hundred paged books from the top.

Every turn into the book maze reveals another secret of the store, like the collection of vinyls tucked into a corner beneath a record player that is older than your grandmother. Down a narrow path of towering novels, is a small reading nook with two red armchairs that have seen their fair share of readers.

It feels like you’ve stumbled upon the house of an immortal book-lover, the rugs that stretch across the floor feeling just as ancient as the words around you. But it’s peaceful, relaxing. You find yourself humming along to Chopin’s Nocturnes, Op. 9: No. 2, the spines of books bumping under your finger. Unsure how the books are organized, or even if they are, you’ve decided to look at the book your finger is on once the song is over.

When the last notes fade into a brief quietness, you stop on a book written by a ‘David Rossi.’ You can’t help the breathy laugh that comes from your chest in surprise that the first book you look at is a true crime novel.

Ever since you were a little girl, stealing your mom’s police badge to play ‘cops and robbers,’ and sneaking into her office to read case files you weren’t supposed to, you’d been in love with the puzzle-solving of the investigative world. You’ve always had a mind for finding clues no one thought to look for, it was the only reason you didn’t get in trouble when you left sticky notes full of observations and theories in your mother’s case files.

It was this background that made everyone around you so sure you would become a detective just like your mom. It was this same background that surprised everyone when you became an author instead. To say your mother was disappointed was an understatement, she’d been the most shocked when you showed her a four hundred page manuscript instead of an application for the police academy.

“Who gets a master’s in criminology only to write books?!”

Even still, she was the dedication in every book you published. So far, that was two, you’d been in the midst of your third book for four months now. Something about the story didn’t feel right, and no matter how many times you rewrote every page, it still didn’t click together the way the first two books had.

You don’t let the thought bug you as you flip open the hardcover, the pages falling to the side as you read the synopsis printed to the inside flap. The ringing of the bell barely registers in your mind, falling somewhere behind the book in your hands, the sound of the rain beating at the roof, and Beethoven’s Sonata No. 8. After reading the first page, you decide to give the book a chance and you tuck it beneath your arm for safe keeping.

This time, you turn your eyes up to the tops of the shelves, scanning for something that might be interesting. Each binding tells a story of its own, with spines creased from frequent readings or smooth spines begging to be cracked open. There are titles in gold and black, silver and red, the backgrounds varying in more colors than the words.

By the time you’ve wandered back to the reading nook with armchairs strategically placed to face each other at a diagonal, Beethoven is coming to a close. The notes vibrate for just a moment, and you choose the book tucked into the end with a dark purple cover and gold lettering. You can’t quite see the title but something tells you that this is something you want to read, that this books is going to be a good one.

Call it a reader’s instinct.

It’s just that, there are no step ladders to get to the top shelf and you aren’t exactly tall enough to reach it. Climbing the shelf just sounds dangerous, and you aren’t too eager to die at the hands of hundreds of books and a large bookcase. You contemplate moving one of the armchairs to assist you, but ultimately decide against it when you imagine that teenage girl coming to the back with a disappointed look on her face at the sight of you.

Instead you stretch like your life depends on it, your toes cramping a little as you push up on them as high as you can go. The tips of your fingers bump the spine when you curve your hand around the lip of the shelf. The wood digs into your wrist but maybe if you keep pushing and pulling at what you can grab, it will wiggle itself free.

That’s your plan until a warm body unintentionally brushes against you, an arm longer than yours coming up beside you and taking the book from its place up high with ease. Falling back to your feet, you’re quick to turn around and come face to face with a man you’ve never met before.

His expression is kind and gentle, crinkling his eyes and dimpling his cheeks when he offers you a shy smile and the book he grabbed for you. He’s definitely in the department of tall, tilting his head down a little to meet your gaze with eyes that you can’t quite describe as brown but you can’t quite describe as hazel either. Everything about him makes your heart stutter in your chest, from the color and shape of his lips, to the sharp cut of his jawline.

He’s curls himself down a little, his empty hand palm up and open as if he is trying to seem less threatening. It’s such a stark contrast to most of the men you meet, who invade your personal space and eyeball your breasts like they’re human bra size detectors.

You don’t realize you’ve been staring until he clear his throat, a dusty pink color rising to his cheekbones as he shuffles nervously in his spot. Blinking away the cloud of initial shock from the angelic being before you, you grab the book and mumble a ‘thank you.’

“Are you a big fan of David Rossi?” He says, shoving his hands deep into the recesses of his pockets.

“Who?” Internally, your facepalm yourself at the absolute stupidity that must be radiating off of you in waves strong enough to affect the whole population of Virginia.

“You’re holding two of his books.” Sure enough, not only is the book tucked under your arm David Rossi, but so is the book in your hands. The laugh that sputters out of you is even more surprised than the first laugh, the sheer coincidence of grabbing two random books by the same author in this whole building pulling the laughter from the pits of your stomach.

His lips flicker into a confused smile. It makes him that much more adorable.

“I was choosing books my eyes or finger landed on when the song ended. I couldn’t really figure out how everything is arranged so I thought I’d let the music decide for me.” He looks around now, his male-lead, love-interest eyes flying across the room to confirm that there really was no form of originization, his brows furrowing in thought. His bottom lips is sucked between his teeth and the vividness of the lewd fantasies that come from the small action are enough to push you back a step.

Only, you’re already pretty close to the bookcase, and when you step back to get some distance your back bumps into the wood and his hand comes up to cradle the back of your head to keep it from hitting the corner. You’re not even sure how he knew to react so fast, those eyes coming back to meet yours.

“Careful there, your head almost hit the shelf behind you.” Putting just a little pressure on the back of your neck to guide you out of harms way, he doesn’t let go until his back is to the case and you’re standing in his old spot. The new smile he gives you is lopsided, causing your heart to trip over itself. What you wouldn’t give in that moment to capture that smile on camera or canvas, to hold onto it forever.

You don’t even know this man, what are you thinking?!

Pulling the books to your chest like a shield for your heart, which has digressed to the same emotional maturity you had as a thirteen year old girl when you were in love with every member of New Kids On the Block, you tighten your grip around the covers to the point that your knuckles turn white.

“I’m (Y/N).” Somehow his smile brightens even more.

“I’m Spencer.”

“Are you hiding from the rain too, Spencer?” Everything about you hates small talk, you always wanted to jump straight into the nitty gritty of getting to know someone. You wanted to know what made them tick, what made them who they were. But you were willing to do the normal thing and lure him into an actual conversation, if only to keep him talking.

“Actually, I came to this bookshop with a specific purpose.” Spencer schools his features, suddenly all business. The brown blazer with elbow patches and the lavender button up certainly help to make him appear serious. You still imagine reaching for the dark purple tie around his neck and pulling his lips to yours, the severity of his expression only adding to his sexiness.

“I work in the Behavioral Analysis Unit of the FBI, I came here because I’m in the middle of an investigation that led me here,” You blink in surprise, all kinds of questions popping into your mind. “You see, I got a tip that I may find it here. I wasn’t sure, but after some looking around it appears they were right.”

You open your mouth to ask him what he’s talking about, thinking of all the local cases you’ve heard about in the last week or so. Nothing that would involve the FBI comes to mind, especially not the BAU.

Between the end of his sentence and the opening of your mouth, Spencer has time to reach out to the side of your head, his fingers brushing against a few strands of hair.

“I only want to know two things; how you got ahold of my favorite pen, and why you thought you could get away with it?” Balanced in his thumb and index finger is a black pen, the writing tip pointed toward the ceiling. He holds it between you, a silly grin stretched across his face as you reach up to touch your ear.

Of course you’ve seen the old ‘coin behind the ear’ trick before, never with a pen but it’s the same concept. It’s just so funny and out-there that you cant help being a little amazed.

“Is this how you flirt with women, Agent?”

“Actually it’s Doctor. Doctor Reid,” he smugly goes about tucking the pen back into the breast pocket of his blazer, you can briefly recall it being there before he distracted you by switching places just seconds ago, “I do work with the BAU, that wasn’t a ruse. I have my credentials if you want me to prove it.”

He isn’t boastful, he’s just trying to distract you from the answer to your question. The answer was yes, this is how he flirts with women. It was the only way he knew how to flirt with women that worked, having stuck to the method since Atlanta, Georgia. You wouldn’t be the first woman who thought it was cute, you were the first woman to call him on it though.

“As long as you don’t try to arrest me for the kidnapping of your pen, I’ll be inclined to believe you without proof.” He chuckles, the first time you’ve heard it since the both of you started talking, and you didn’t realize he could get better. The sound warmed every part of you so much that you felt like you were glowing from inside.

“I knew you were framed. I’ve had my suspicions on the girl running the store.” You nod your head, trying to keep the smile from pulling on your lips as you tuck a piece of your still wet hair behind your ear.

“I knew something hinky was happening with her.”

“My best law enforcement advice is to always trust your gut when it comes to crime, ma’am.”

With the ice broken thanks to the magical Dr. Reid, the conversation flows naturally between you. You both gravitate toward each other like opposite ends of magnets, unaware how close you are to touching until you absentmindedly kick your foot out and hit the tip of his shoe with your own. In an attempt to keep yourself rooted, you sit in the armchairs.

Anyone, FBI profiler or not, would have been able to tell what was going on when they found you both leaned against the arms of your seats, heads together as Reid explained how the serious looking man in the back of your book is actually one of his team members. He names all of his team members, affectionately describing them to you as if they were characters in a new book you were reading.

Normally he would keep all of this information reserved, but something about you made him feel so at ease.

You too, reveal more information than you normally would to a stranger you’d just met. You tell him about your books and your mother, you tell him how you aren’t sure why your newest book isn’t working and ask his advice on it all. He takes each question into careful consideration before answering.

It isn’t until you’ve been there for two hours, talking about anything that you could think of, that Spencer’s phone starts to ring. It’s a case. You want to ask, the young girl from your childhood coming out at the mention of a case you could help on, but you don’t.

“I’m really sorry, (Y/N), but I have to go.” He fluidly rises from his seat, all at once the carefree air falls around him to reveal the intelligent, elegant, crime-fighting, doctor underneath the nerdy, magic-loving young man you’d spent the last couple of hours getting to know.

“I’ll walk you to the door.” You offer, hoping to figure out a way to cheekily ask for his number before you make it there. His answering smile is infectious, reaching out and tugging your own cheeks into a smile that hurts. The books hit the wood of the desk with a thunk, Spencer standing just beside you as the girl, her name tag reads ‘RAveN,’ rings up your purchase.

“Watch out for your pens.” Spencer teases, that boy-like amusement coming out. You’ve noticed that when he tries to make a joke, he looks so nervous that you won’t get it in the seconds immediately following it. It isn’t until you laugh or crack a smile that he visibly relaxes, glad to have someone that understands his humor.

Earlier, he’d told you the joke about the existentialists and the light bulb and had been absolutely elated when you doubled over in laughter. The joke wasn’t even that funny, but he’d been making you laugh for so long that your ribs had started to hurt.

“That’ll be $12.78.” You slide your card across the desk, pulling your eyes away from Reid longer than you wanted to. When you look back, there’s a look on his face that takes you a minute to recognize. It’s just on the tip of your tongue when the smack of pen and receipt paper hit the counter.

Quickly, you sign your name on the stores copy of your receipt. You flip your copy of the receipt to the back, using the pen to scribble out your phone number.

“Call me if you ever learn any new magic tricks you want to show off.” The bell dings when you lean back against the door, your books in a bag that dangle from your left hand while your right hand comes up in a wave.

Spencer still stands at the counter, the one in a hurry being the one who still isn’t out the door. The lopsided smile is back, that look crossing his face again as you let the after-storm sun shine on your face.

“Sir, can you take your longing elsewhere? I’d like to close early. I have a thing to get to.” He pats his hand on the countertop, ignoring the buzzing of texts coming through his phone as he makes his way to the car in a bit of a daze.

[whitepolaris]

Bigfoot, or the Carolina Wollybooger

What book on weird stuff would be complete without mentioning the world’s most popular boogeyman? And yes, whether you call him Yeti, Sasquatch, the Abominable Snowman, or just plain Bigfoot, it seems that not only wanders through exotic lands like Nepal and Tibet, but also tramps barefoot through the Carolina woods and pocosins-the upland swamps-in all that fur, no matter how hot or buggy it may get. he’s been spotted in the Blue Ridge, been seen trudging through the coastal swamplands, and left his size-28 footprints at various scattered points in between. Although there have been a few photos and bits of film footage that seem to show a big hair, humanoid creature running through the woods, no confirmed skeletons exist in any public collections anywhere. Because of all this, many scientists doubt that he exists at all. Still, there have been enough reports of encounters to keep the doors of possibility open. 

Unfortunately, most sightings don’t result in close encounters. A loner, Bigfoot is about the least confrontational big bruiser you’re ever likely to meet. As soon as anyone from our relatively runty human race shows up, he more likely to run than fight. Most of the evidence we have is based on glimpses, footprints, and odors. 

According to most descriptions, a typical Bigfoot is six to ten feet tall (some say up to fifteen feet), covered with hair except on its face, hands, and feet, has somewhat point head, walks upright, and smells absolutely awful. While Carolina mountain folks like to call him the Woollybooger or the Boojum, in the flatlands Down East the term of choice is Skunk ape. This not only refers to a silvery or the creatures’ backs but reflects their pungent smell. 

Woollyboogers, Boojums, or Skunk Apes have been seen by scores of Carolinians, including law enforcement officers, librarians, schoolteachers, and members of the clergy-by people, in other words, who usually tell the truth. A guy from Mechanicsville, SC, named Cal is among the many people who have been lucky enough to catch a glimpse of one of them in the Carolina swamps, back in the mid-1980s. As he told us, “Me, my cousin and my father were idling up the Great Pee Dee River in a small boat. I was shooting a 22 pistol at some things and while I was looking toward the left bank I saw something that did not look right, but could not tell what it was. Then all in a split second the thing stood up and dove into the river with his arms stretched out, just like a man would dive, and it never was seen again. We went over and looked for tracks but only found slide marks on the hard muddy surface. . . . When I first saw it, it was on its feet with knees bent, kneeling down like it was doing something between his legs. As I said, ‘Look!’ it was already going into the water. My father saw it as it was going in, but it all happened in about two seconds. I don’t ‘think’ I saw a Skunk Ape, I know I saw one.” 

Most of those who come forward say that the vast majority of sightings probably go unreported for fear of ridicule by those who haven’t seen the creature themselves. Meanwhile, outfits like the Bigfoot Field Research Organization (BFRO) continue gathering ever more evidence that indeed something mighty big and hairy is really out there. They like to remind us that despite hundreds of reports by witnesses, many scientists refused to believe in the existence of the giant panda or giant squid, until hard evidence finally proved them real. The irrefutable proof just hasn’t been found yet, that’s all. As former Defense Secretary Donald Rumsfeld so often repeated, “The absence of evidence isn’t the evidence of absence.” 

Bizarre Critters

In Dovesville, SC, a dog belonging to Barney Odom named Flat Nose could shimmy up trees like a cat and preferred chewing on empty Pepsi bottles instead of bones. He appeared twice on The Tonight Show with Johnny Carson in the late 1980s. Flat Nose Road is named of him. -Ripley’s!

Bizarre Critters

During a flood in Pitt County, NC, in July 1886, huge sturgeon were able to swim through cornfields and gobble up as much corn as they could swallow. One 328-pound fish was captured and found to have eaten enough corn to fill two barrels. -Roger Kammerer

Don’t Shoot the Woollybooger

Want to go in search of Woollyboogers yourself? By far the most Bigfoot sightings in the Carolinas have occurred in the South Mountains region of North Carolina where Burke and Cleveland counties touch, with scattered encounters in adjacent parts of Rutherford, Lincoln, and Catawba counties. 

However, do the responsible thing and leave your guns at home. While Woollyboogers have not yet been listed on any federal endangered species list, they are undoubtedly extremely rare. Even if you don’t end up going to jail, bagging one for your trophy wall is more likely make you a societal outcast yourself then earn you any real glory. So take pictures  not lives. And maybe take some plaster too, in case you find only footprints.