#i was also listening to remember me on loop maybe that pushed me

[salbertwolf]

Vander, Hound of the Underground.

Warwick, the Uncanged Wrath of Zaun.

Combined picture

[love-that-we-were-in]

lighting the fuse might result in a bang

pairing: frat!luke castellan x reader summary: Silena thinks you need to start blowing off some steam. You think you just need a fresh victory and Luke Castellan is the perfect opponent. word count: 5.3k warnings: smoking, drinking, usual college party stuff.

author's note: brought to you by my personal deep dark history with boys in hats. also i haven't gotten drunk in like 4/5 years so i don't remember what it's like so this was interesting. also i don't know anything about frats OR smoking. have the most fun <3

When Silena mentions a party you could go to, you jump at the offer, brain fuzzing at the edges where you’ve been locked in on flashcards all afternoon. It’s something you’ve started to navigate better this year, remembering to have fun after a year of non-stop focus. Silena makes it easier - a social butterfly with no qualms about dragging you out of the library when she thinks you’re pushing yourself too hard - and there’s no harm in listening to her without protest sometimes. 

“Do you even know who’s throwing this one?” You ask as she’s leading you through campus, rubbing at your arms to fight the fall chill. “I do not want a repeat of March.” 

“Have some faith in me. I’ve started vetting my sources.” 

Both of you shiver, the memory of a night spent outside the Stolls’ cramped dorm still haunting you six months later. You’re not overly familiar with this side of campus, turning away from the usual halls and towards the sorority housing, but Silena walks the path with ease, arm looped through yours.

The walk seems to have cleared your head, the music as you approach shaking off the last of the static. You’ve been here before, borrowing notes from a teammate, but it’s different like this, all pumping bass and cheers from the kitchen. Clarisse waves at you from across the room, beer in hand, and you mutter to Silena that you’re going to grab a drink. She nods, making a beeline for Drew Tanaka. You assume that’s who the invitation came from originally.

There’s a different energy to the kitchen, not quieter by any means but less noisy. Less concentrated, maybe, with twenty different conversations happening at once and nothing you have to pay attention to. Most people you don’t recognise, a group from your first year stats class huddled together near the sink, and the Stolls off to the side pointing at every new person they see. 

Mixing your drink is an easy fix, the kitchen island covered in more choices than you’ve seen in a while, and you savor the first few sips. Between class and swimming, you’ve barely drank since the semester began and the burn of vodka isn’t as numbed as you wish it was. Still, a drink is a drink so you refill it before returning to the thick of the party. 

Clarisse takes it upon herself to drag you away from the conversation you end up trapped in with Lee Fletcher, quite literally taking hold of your elbow. You mutter an apology, however disingenuous, rolling your eyes in mock exasperation as he smiles grimly. 

“I have no idea how you talk to that lot,” she says when you’re far enough away. “They’re all boring.” 

“Lee’s great. He always lends me notes from the lectures I miss.”

She laughs, pushing you into another room. “He’s trying to swindle a date out of you and you’re using him for lecture notes.” 

You shrug. There’s nothing wrong with Lee, except that Clarisse is a little right when she says most of your classmates are boring. It’s probably not intentional, and they definitely don’t realize it, but there’s this way they carry themselves around campus - half-nervous and half-haughty. It’s not a great combination and it’s why you gravitate towards the people Silena meets. 

“We were wondering when we were going to see you next,” Chris says as he throws an arm over Clarisse’s shoulder. You still don’t quite know the story there, how Chris Rodriguez managed to sweet talk your stoic teammate. One day, you’ll find out - a drunken vow you made with Silena on your dorm room floor when Clarisse mentioned a boyfriend - but you’re content to let them enjoy their romance in peace for now. “Almost thought you’d succumbed to the dark side.”

“You’re not getting rid of me yet.”

“And thank god,” he knocks his cup against yours before gesturing to the far corner of the room. “Because we need someone to kick Castellan’s ass at beer pong.” 

“Whose?”

Turns out, Luke Castellan is the newest brother to ksig. There’s not much to know about Chris’ fraternity in your eyes, just the basics of all frats, and you know from last year that there’s always bound to be a hotshot that needs someone to pump the brakes on their ego. Usually, they’re on the younger side, with more money than sense and they don’t expect anything from your approach. Luke Castellan isn’t quite that, but he’s not far from it either.

While Chris talks to the boy who was about to play, you take the opportunity to size up your opponent. It comes naturally, a part of constantly competing, and it comes in handy in moments like this, when the element of surprise is a key factor to the situation going ahead. 

Fitted jeans, branded polo and a stupid snapback cap worn backwards to show how cool he is. Nothing you haven’t seen before, really, except there’s this focused glint in his eyes with each plastic ball he throws like he has to prove his worth here. It’s a simple practice, unnecessary for a silly party game, but there’s this serious set to strong shoulders that you’re curious about.

The same way you want to know about Clarisse’s relationship, you want to know what makes Luke Castellan, whoever he is, tick. 

“Are you trying to get alcohol poisoning, Rodriguez?” 

“I’m not playing you, Luke,” Chris says and you watch closely as the other boy tilts his head slightly to the left. “I just had to go and get the current undefeated champion on campus.”

There’s this moment that happens every time you play - those awkward seconds where everyone looks completely past you to anyone else, anyone more noticeable. You count on it, occasionally, so it takes you a moment to process the way Luke’s gaze slides to you, drinks you in before he nods towards the other end of the table. 

Chris mutters a quiet “you got this,” as you brush past him, handing him your drink. You’re not delusional enough to think you can get away with mixing your drinks this early in the game. 

It takes two of Luke’s shots for you to land your first, his last hour of playing an advantage you accounted for. He’s not getting sloppy, not in the slightest, but he’s at the point where he’s a little worse for wear - a tired arm and hazy mind - and you take the chance you have at a false sense of security, taking your losses on the chin before playing the game to win. 

Within seven shots between you, you can see Luke start to get restless. How he reevaluates the table in front of him, his three empty cups to your four. Part of you really wants to knock that hat off his head, as if it’ll give you more of an insight into his mind. Instead, you wait for what you know is coming, a slight miscalculation that has the plastic ball rolling off the table to land at someone’s feet. 

Chris hands you a fresh one and you take in the way Luke swallows, jaw clenching as you line up your next shot. Whether he knows it or not, you’ve just been handed your win.

Clarisse cheers, handing you one of the cups from in front of you as everyone yells. You both chug what’s left of them, the bitter taste of cheap beer drowned out by victory, and as soon as that’s done, she throws herself back into Chris’ arms. Laughing, you turn around to find another drink, only to be met by Luke standing beside you.

“Are you about to be a sore loser?” 

He chuckles and it’s different like this. His eyes are brown, which you didn’t know five minutes ago, and his hair is dark from the little wisps of it you can see peeking out underneath his hat. You consider telling him that the hat makes him look lame, but then he’s leaning down to whisper anyway. “I expect a rematch.” 

It’s quiet and heavy and you wonder if anyone can tell that your blood feels like it’s on fire. It’s nothing, really, and it takes more effort than you want to respond. 

“Then expect to lose.”

The only saving grace to the exchange is that Luke looks a whole lot more affected by it, a blush crawling up his neck as you take the drink nearest to you and leave to find your roommate once more. 

*

Losing never used to get to you. Not like this, at least, where everything sort of feels like a precipice and you’re waiting for the next loss to fall on your shoulders alone. It was meant to be an easy game, a warm-up, for when the season started in earnest and you couldn’t afford to be incohesive. There’s always a learning curve, new starters and new competition, but in no world should it have caused this. 

Silena tells you to let it go, throwing yet another outfit on her bed as she gets ready. When you saw her at lunch, Clarisse told you to just push harder during practice. Sometimes you’re not even sure how you can be friends with both of them, how they can be friends with each other either. Unfortunately, it becomes very clear when Clarisse knocks on the door that night. 

“Why aren’t you ready?” 

“I’m not going anywhere.” 

She tuts at you, digging through the pile of clothing on Silena’s bed before throwing a dress at you. “Get dressed.” 

“You can’t make me,” you protest, the black fabric scrunching in your fist. You’ve borrowed it before, for a party last year you don’t remember very well, and you don’t even want to consider why it’s the one Clarisse selected. You turn to your roommate, looking for backup, only to find her with a pair of your shoes in her hands. “Are you seriously going to make me?” 

In unison, they raise a singular eyebrow each and it’s unsettling enough that you let go of all will to fight them. Today may as well just be full of losses that you can mourn tomorrow.

It’s only when you arrive at the party that you realize you have no idea who’s throwing it. Or who’s going to be there. Distantly, you really hope it’s a stranger Silena met on her way around campus - full of people you’ve ever met and will never see again. You could find someone nice enough to blow off some steam with before going on your merry way. 

When Clarisse yells at her boyfriend, you let out a huff as both he and Luke Castellan turn around. 

Since your first meeting, you’ve learned a few more things about Luke. He’s from Connecticut. He was responsible for half of Drew’s sorority coming down with the flu during freshers week. He’s in pre-med. He’s the reason Professor Chase introduced a ban on energy drinks in his lectures (one hundred students simultaneously opening a can of Redbull each was, apparently, mildly disconcerting). Most importantly, he’s always wearing that stupid cap. 

You try to equate the things you know with the Luke standing in front of you. Some of it makes perfect sense - Professor Chase and Connecticut - and some of it unsettles you, but it’s all true. Freshers and pre-med and track meets. Focusing on the distracted way he taps on his beer bottle instead of Clarisse greeting Chris, you kind of want to find out a whole lot more. 

“Fancy a rematch?” 

It’s the first thing he’s said to you all night, twisting the cap off a fresh beer before handing it to you. Then doing the same with his own. You pretend not to notice the movement of it, the few short seconds where you can get away with staring at the shine of silver rings in low light. Taking a sip, you crinkle your nose. 

“I’m not really in the mood,” you mutter and, at the very least, the beer is cold and you chug half of it before you even notice you’ve done it. “Don’t you have someone else you can bother?” 

There’s seconds before you notice it, how his eyes shift from slightly curious to intense. They don’t change much but standing in front of him, you can tell when they go from relaxed to focused. How his back straightens and shoulders roll back just so. You should go and find something stronger to drink. Maybe even see if Lee Fletcher is nearby.

You stay put.

“It’s just a bit of friendly competition,” Luke shrugs, unknowing of how it echoes in your skull. How that’s all today was ever meant to be. Leave it to him to dig the knife in again just as the tightness in your chest was starting to ease. “But I guess you just can’t handle it.” 

“I’d kick your ass in a rematch. I’m doing you a favor.” 

It’s obviously the wrong thing to say, Luke’s eyes brightening as the words push past your lips. The beer you drank way too fast is forming words before you even know what they are.

“You can always choose something else for me to beat you in,” he says, like it’s an offer, something gracious that you should be grateful for. “I’m easy.” 

“How many beers have you had?” 

“Three, I think?” 

Silena would tell you it’s a stupid idea - you have a coaching session at 9am and you haven’t gotten drunk since the party where you met Luke - and she would be right. But you need a win tonight, something guaranteed, and there’s this itch that crawls under your skin the longer you stare at the boy in front of you. 

So you say it anyway. 

“I bet I could outdrink you.” 

“I’d like to see you try.”

He waits as you down two more beers in quick succession, nursing his own as you do. A clink of your bottles against one another, followed by the final sip you each take and it’s finally a competition. 

The night continues, you and Luke almost joined at the hip. It’s to keep track, you tell yourself, talking to a kid that might be in your organic chem class. If the kid looks at you weird for pouring two drinks, only to hand one to Luke in silence, that’s probably just the alcohol misreading things. Only once, when you’re deep in conversation with Lee does Luke pass you a beer, eyebrow raised when Lee gives him a glare. You think that might’ve been drink eight. 

By the time Chris finds you both again, you’ve thrown yourselves onto the couch on the outskirts of the room. Someone’s abandoned coat is thrown over your legs in a mediocre attempt to preserve some dignity in the dress you’re wearing and Luke’s hat has twisted to the side. You’re sure neither of you has drunk a sip in ten minutes.

“You guys doing okay?” 

“We’re drunk,” you say and you can’t tell if it’s a whisper or a shout. “I’m winning.” 

“You’re not winning,” Luke turns his head to glare and you blame the alcohol on the attention you pay to the slope of his nose. “Neither of us have finished these drinks.” 

“Are you going to?” 

He glances down at the cup in his hand, half empty. You can see it, the hesitation, before he places it on the floor by his feet, shaking his head. “Are you?” 

The nice thing to do would be to give up, call it a draw and appreciate that you managed to have fun despite the bad day that had preceded it. However, you like to win. So you grit your teeth before drinking the final three sips, tilting the empty cup towards him so he can see the proof. It takes you a second to remember you have to actually swallow in order to drink, but you do and Luke scrunches his nose. You kind of want to kiss it as a way to smooth the skin back out.

“That’s two wins to me, Castellan.” 

Chris shakes his head at you both. “I’m not calling either of you to make sure you’re alive in the morning.” 

*

It’s an almost unconscious action when you walk into Drew’s sorority house, how you wave Silena off in favor of scanning the crowd, searching for the one reason you agreed to show up in the first place. It takes a moment, pinks and blues and silvers all merging together in your eyeline until you spot him near the staircase, familiar black cap resting on his head. 

You’re already a little buzzed, the thrill of your final project this semester finally being handed in just hours ago, and it’s why you let yourself actually look at Luke for once. 

By this point, you’ve seen him in a polo and a flannel, always with jeans. Laidback. That’s what party Luke was. Tonight, though, it’s like he’s trying harder - baggy pants, like they’re resting a little too low on his hips, a white t-shirt, white trainers that you know are going to stain before the night ends and a slightly oversized leather jacket that doesn’t quite go with the hat you used to identify him. Maybe it’s something he does on purpose, ruining a good thing over comforting familiarity. Maybe you’ll ask him.

Luke looks up then, as if he has a sixth sense, and you kind of don’t know what to do with the slight wave he sends in your direction. You wouldn’t call him a friend, that’s for sure, but you nod in response before weaving through your classmates to the kitchen.

It takes two vodka cranberries for Silena to find you. And it takes four shots with people you’ve never met for Chris to ask if you’ve seen Luke anywhere. You tell him where you last saw him, maybe an hour ago, and he shakes his head like he’s already checked the entire house.

“Do you think you can let him know I’m heading out?” Chris asks, one arm looped around Clarisse’s waist, more for support than anything else. She was already unsteady when you arrived and you know by the flush in her cheeks that it’ll only take a couple more drinks for her to start throwing up. You nod at Chris, cradling your drink to your chest, and he mumbles a thanks while steering his girlfriend towards the door.

With both of them gone, it leaves you with little to do except go hunting for Luke. So that’s what you do, waving Lee off as he attempts to grab your attention from the couch. 

Focusing is a lot harder now, squinting over everyone’s heads in search of that damn hat. Nothing. You know he’s not in the kitchen, that’s definite, and you learn that he’s not in the garden either, Katie from your anatomy class staring at you bewildered as you explain your quest. 

There’s only one place left to check for Luke and you consider if it’ll be a worthwhile risk. It’s entirely possible that he’s already left, whoever he was locked in conversation with earlier with him maybe, and you’re searching an entire sorority house on the off-chance he’s still in the building. 

But you promised Chris. More than that, you refuse to let Luke Castellan beat you.

So you commit to the staircase, pushing past the line for the restroom upstairs. It’s quieter up here, not by much, but you can hear yourself think clearer. There’s three doors on your left, all closed, and you drain the remnants of your drink so it warms your blood and erases the small part of your brain still protesting. 

There’s two yells when you knock on the first door, both hurried and pitching higher as the words fade so you move on quickly. No one answers to the second door, so you crack it open enough to see inside. It’s dark and neat and completely untouched by whatever is happening below, so you let it click shut again. 

Luke is in the third room, you learn, pressing it open when there’s no response to your knock. The room itself is still orderly, but you find the boy you’ve been searching for sitting on the floor at the base of the bed, hat turned to the side and the sleeves of his jacket bunching carelessly where they’ve been pushed higher on his forearms. 

“Chris wanted me to tell you he took Clarisse home,” you blurt when it feels like you need to say something. “He couldn’t find you so…”

Luke waits. When it becomes clear that’s all you’re here for, he says, “Well, thanks for letting me know.” 

You’ve done your job. You can go back and enjoy the party downstairs, maybe make use of the empty room next door instead of remaining awkwardly in the doorway. 

You think about how Chris mentioned that Luke can recite pi to seventeen places while drunk. How you’re still beating him by two points. How there’s an ashtray on the floor beside Luke’s knee and it’s sort of considerate of him to use one when no one else would.

“Mind if I join you?” 

Being in an empty bedroom with a guy at a party isn’t unusual. You’ve had your fair share of them, rushed and quiet and mostly on a bed. Sitting on the floor with Luke is different, you find, a gravity to it than you can’t quite wrap your head around after so many drinks. It’s slow and languid and you don’t really say much of anything as your knee bumps against his thigh in an effort to get comfortable in the space.

No one told you Luke smokes. 

You tell him as much.

“It’s a bad habit,” he shakes his head, twisting a cigarette between his fingers and you both act like you’re not paying rapt attention to it. “I try to avoid making it one.” 

“I used to. Back in high school. Gave it up when I got accepted here.” 

He turns to face you then, head tilted so the visor of his slanted hat brushes his shoulder. “I would never have guessed you were a smoker.” 

It’s not said with judgment, just as an observation from the limited interactions you’ve had since the semester began. The focus in Luke’s gaze crawls up your spine and mingles with the alcohol you’ve yet to flush from your system. 

“You ever blown a smoke ring?” 

If you’re not challenging him, you don’t quite know what to make of Luke. It’s the thing you know most about him, the way his face shifts from victory into loss. The way it matches yours, stretches from his eyes to his jaw and into clenched hands. If you’re not challenging him, you can’t read him - you want to be able to read him in the low light of right now. 

“I bet I’m better at it than you,” you say after he answers. A short laugh escapes him, almost a huff, and it raises the skin on your arms when it meets the top of your ear. “Wanna see?” 

“I’ve only got one.” He waves the cigarette he’s been holding in front of your eyes. 

“We can share.” 

It’s a bad, terrible, absolutely stupid idea. 

“You’re on, Castellan.” 

As he lights the end of it, you wonder if he knows what the brief flame does for his cheekbones, for his jawline. Paints them in small, defined shadows that you might still see if you close your eyes. You almost want to mention it to him. You settle for watching his lips settle around it, the sinking of his cheeks on the inhale and the noise as he exhales. There’s an almost complete ring of smoke in the air.

Luke hands you the cigarette and you repeat his motions, a little quicker. A little smoother. The ring that leaves your lips is full, but less circular. 

Both of you pretend not to notice the other one staring.

You agree to best of three. You agree and you win by the tiniest margin and you hand Luke the little that remains as a consolation prize. He indulges in the last few drags and you watch him do it, looking nothing like the pre-med student you know he is. You think he could be dangerous like this, based on the way your stomach twists as he puts the cigarette out, how his head tilts back and the final wisps of smoke escape his mouth.

You aren’t as drunk anymore. 

You really wish you were.

It takes Luke a second to notice that you’ve moved at all, eyes still closed but he does, and the run of his gaze across your face is enough for you to seize the last of the alcohol in your bloodstream, pushing forward so you’re actually face to face with him, knees digging into the rough carpet beneath you. 

“Can I help you?” It’s low and a little ragged and this is the first time you’ve really noticed the thin, pale scar that stretches down the skin of his right cheek. It’s actually a little insane how pretty he is up close. 

“I think I want a little more than the glory of winning this time,” and half of your whisper is lost to Luke Castellan’s lips but it’s not that important anyway.

What is important is the warmth of his hand through your shirt, pressed into the skin that exposes itself as you shift even closer. It’s the slightly rough texture of his jaw underneath your palm, the way his breath hitches in tandem with yours and you both push through it anyway. It’s the unexpected catch of your finger on his cap and the way you give up on it entirely, finally snatching it off his head so it lands somewhere nearby. 

You’re not sure what you expected Luke’s hair to look like. Horrible, probably, with odd patches that lie weirdly flat and should be covered from view. It’s not this, wild dark curls that deserve to be seen. 

“You have curly hair?” You say it before you can think not to, so caught up in the discovery you’ve just made, and Luke squints at you, unsure. “I can’t believe you have curly hair.” 

He’s preparing a smart-ass comment, you know it by the way his teeth dig into his bottom lip, and that’s really just not going to work this time - not when he’s been lying for months behind a hat. So you do what any sane person would, twist your fingers into the curls at the nape of his neck and trail your lips across his jaw like you’ll die if you don’t.

His hand hooks underneath your thigh and, when you bracket his waist between your legs, cool leather brushing against your knees, you think this might be the best victory you’ve experienced yet.

*

Silena knows something is up when you refuse to speak to her about the party. There’s few secrets you’ve kept from each other since meeting, and even less since Clarisse got involved. It’s pointless to try, mostly, since they all spill out of you when the lights go out and you’re left with each other's company. You almost forgot how annoying she could be when she’s pushing for information.

“Don’t think I’m going to tell you either,” you say when Clarisse joins you in the library a week after the party. “I am a fortress of secrets.” 

“I know you hooked up with Luke.” 

“Seriously?” 

She rolls her eyes, passing you the book you’d asked her for during practice last night. “Calm down. Chris told me. I’m down ten bucks now.” 

“You bet on it?”

“Of course we did, it’s our brand.” 

“I’m not telling Silena,” you whisper again, frowning at your notes. You wonder if Clarisse is aware you haven’t actually spoken to Luke since that night. “She’ll make it a big deal for nothing.” 

“I won’t tell but you should probably figure out what happens next. There’s a party at ksig tomorrow night before everyone goes home for the holidays.” You tap your pen against the textbook. Clarisse pushes a slip of paper towards you. Someone’s phone buzzes to your left. “Think about it.”

When she’s long gone, you grab the paper she left from the table. It’s wrinkled and you smooth it as best you can beneath your fingertips. Blue ink, messily scrawled, and you commit it to memory. Closing your textbook, you leave it pressed between chapters seven and eight. 

The party is loud, louder than you’re prepared for after flaking out on so many since your first one last year. Silena brushes past you once you arrive, shoving your shoulder just enough that it twinges and you frown. You didn’t speak a word on the way here and the silent treatment is starting to drive a little crazy. 

It feels silly now, in a place so crowded, and you breathe deeply. Someone points you in the direction of the kitchen after multiple attempts at asking and you miss the light chaos of throwing up outside the Stolls’ dorm with your best friend. 

You grab a beer, using the table edge to pop the cap off, and it helps to ease the tightness in your chest at how unfamiliar this all is. You’re not sure you could even find the restroom, let alone a singular person.

Pushing back into the bulk of the party, you vow to leave if you don’t find him before you finish your beer. There’s a project you have to start looking into for next semester that could be a good use of time tonight. 

If anyone tried to convince you that most of campus was here, you’d be willing to believe them. A drink raised in Lee’s direction, a nod to Ethan from last years’ stats class, a half-hearted smile at Rachel, who raises an eyebrow at you like she knows something no one else does. 

And maybe she does, because you turn away from her to find Luke just feet away, gesturing animatedly to the guy next to him. There’s a beer in his hand and a hat on his head and his phone number so deeply etched in your mind since last night that you hardly think about it until you’re standing next to him again, drink placed on a table somewhere along the way.

“Hi,” he smiles and his scar shifts with it. He turns to the guy from before. “We’ll catch up later, man.”

“Have I ever told you that I hate that fucking hat?” 

“I sort of got that when you threw it across the room.” His lips wrap around the rim of his bottle and you think you can be normal about it, go back to the way things were, until he smirks just slightly and you know you can’t. 

“You’re such a sore loser, Castellan,” you mutter as you push yourself up to snatch it from his head. He doesn’t comment, lets your fingers brush through his curls until they’re a complete mess instead of compacted. He glances down at the cap in your hand and mutters, “And what is your genius plan for my hat?”

It’s a really fucking good question. Short of getting it off his head, you didn’t know what you were going to do. It’s one thing to throw it across an empty room in the dark, another thing entirely to abandon it to a frat party. So you choose the next best thing - placing it on your own head and daring him to question it. 

“I guess that can work,” Luke says and it sounds like a promise soaked in laughter. 

Neither of you find it as funny when he has to tip the visor upwards to kiss you.

[ghoularaki]

baby's breath | 3

↠  summary: Merely by coincidence, Erwin, your father's former friend had crossed paths with you again after nearly a decade. He offered solace once finding out you were struggling with not just school, but your home life as well. His home he shared with another one of your father's friends, Levi, became a sanctuary. Though, the more you came over for study sessions, the more they wiggled themselves into your private life. And like baby's breath, they weeded themselves in so deep you couldn't uproot them.

↠ word count: 3,824

↠ pairing: levi ackerman x reader x erwin smith

↠ genre/warnings: angst, smut, modern au, DARK CONTENT, yandere, noncon/dubcon, daddy kink, forced infantilism, pet play, age gap, death threats, human trafficking, bdsm

When Erwin came home elated Levi knew to be cautious. The larger man rarely got excited over anything really. For years, the two had dabbled in the darker side of business. After so long, it’s hard to really say what started it and why they do what they do.

Levi had grown up on the streets and seen the horrors the world had to offer. A dog eat dog type mentality had stuck with him. If he wanted to point fingers, he could place the blame on his uncle for getting him looped in a sex trafficking ring. He wasn’t proud of what he did: alluring women and men alike to damned them to a life of suffering, but the guilt dissipated.

He got paid good money to step on the backs of others. A man could only handle filth for so long. Levi was able to leave the depths of hell and crawl his way to normal civilization. Within two years he could afford his own home on the outskirts of the city.

Erwin was nothing like Levi. He didn’t join the ring out of desperation, but out of curiosity. A deep hunger grew to see how far he could take it. Watch how he could puppeteer a human’s life and reduce them to smaller bits of themselves.

At the time Erwin had gotten his first job as a professor. They met on pure coincidence as Levi was under the guise of a janitor to scope out new recruits. Again, Levi couldn’t remember how the topic of conversation came up of his real profession, but Erwin's eyes flickered with a sadistic twinge. Erwin wanted to help. He knew his charm and how to convince any man to follow him blindly would be beneficiary. He did have a way with words afterall.

And apparently so as Levi let him into his world.

Within almost a decade the two had created their own ring separate from Levi’s uncle. To this day it flourished. Money was never an issue on top of Erwin’s income as a professor.

So when Erwin came bursting through the front doors with a wide grin on his face Levi was perplexed. The large man never got this happy over a new recruit. A sick apathy mixed with pleasure usually present on his visage, never a smile.

“I found her,” Erwin said, hanging his coat on the rack.

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“You know how I wanted a personal pet—”

Levi groaned, “I thought we dropped this.”

“Let me finish,” Erwin continued while toeing off his shoes, “This isn’t some girl I’m picking off the street. I used to know her as a child and she’s just… God, she’s perfect, Levi. I tested it out since I took her out for coffee and she was so obedient. She’s hesitant at first, but with a little push, she was so good.”

Crossing his arms, Levi listened to Erwin rant, skeptical. “So what do you want to do?”

Erwin turned sheepish, “I invited her over for tomorrow.”

“You can’t just spring this shit on me,” Levi pinched the middle of his eyebrows in exasperation. Erwin had a problem of bringing home strays.

“She’s different, trust me.”

“We will see about that.”

~*~

The next day when you came over, Levi had no clue what to make of you. You were not what he was expecting. He didn’t think you would be so young. Maybe in your late twenties or even thirties, but not a young woman still an undergrad. Also you were not any bit obedient as Erwin made you out to be.

You had a mouth on you and loved to give Levi an attitude. Your nonchalant questioning of when he answered the door instead of Erwin sunk deep into the man. A want to bend you over his knee itched and burned under his skin. Erwin definitely did this on purpose. He knew how much Levi loved to play with his food.

Though, a tiny part of him softened when he saw your love for tea. You also didn’t question his odd way of holding his cup. Curious eyes glanced before going back to the topic at hand. Erwin diligently helped you with your homework as you soaked up his words. You had no clue this was a trial run.

And you unknowingly passed.

The more time you spent with them, the more Levi wanted to pick you apart and study you. You were an unbearably independent person. Any help offered besides Erwin’s assigned tutoring was met with a multitude of refusals. Even when the secret came out that you were homeless surfaced, you still didn’t want to live in their—well Levi’s—extravagant home.

Your disregard for them offering you a life of comfort was even off putting to Levi. But he had to admit, if twenty-two year old Levi had someone open their luxury home to him, he would be suspicious. This only furthered his interest.

But time withers even the hardest of stone to sand. Over the course of a few months, Erwin had slithered his way into every part of your life like mold. Any foundation you had Erwin engrained himself deep into the grout. A type of spore you couldn’t scrub out.

Levi had taken a backseat to Erwin’s process. This is what the two men usually did when luring victims in. The shorter man would scope out new prey while Erwin hooked them in with promises of riches and to be Erwin’s new lover. You were different. Whether this was to your benefit or misfortune twisted in Levi’s head. He wasn’t stupid to the type of men him and Erwin were. You were bound to crumble in their hands. For your sake, he hoped Erwin wouldn’t get bored as fast.

Though, he was still tempted. He tested the waters by trapping you against the counter. How could he not with how much you poked and prodded him? The mouth on you encapsulated him in a way no other person had. Usually backtalk infuriated Levi to the point of violence, but the need to hurt you was something some would argue was far darker.

So when he easily pinned your leg to the counter and your pathetic attempt to break free, planted the seed Erwin wanted to engrain in him from the beginning. Sure the man chewed him out later that day since you almost opened the door, but he only met him with typical apathy. You were bound to find out eventually and frankly, Levi was too old for this game of cat and mouse.

The tension never left the home. He was sure you thought you were to blame, but the bubble waiting to burst was between the men of the household. Erwin didn’t want to scare you and have you flee, though the sentiment flew right out the window when he hit you.

Levi just about fought Erwin when he slapped you so hard blood poured from your pretty face. He squashed down the want, and coddled Erwin as he babbled and stared at his own hand in contempt. Grabbing a washcloth, Levi rubbed away the red staining his fingers.

“She will come back. Be patient.”

Erwin had a far away look in his eyes as they slid to Levi, “I don’t need patience.”

Levi pinched his brows in confusion. The man was being cryptic again. His confusion was quickly answered when over a month later, you stomped your way to the door. Pounding on the sheet of wood like a mad woman, Levi rubbed away the migraine forming.

Anger radiated around you. Levi didn’t know much of what Erwin did to get you crawling back, but it wasn’t good. You were spitting fire as you barrelled into the home. Levi didn’t have the energy to scold you. All he was aware of that day was D-day. No matter what, you were to be theirs.

The argument escalated and Levi’s questions were finally answered. He didn’t think Erwin was batshit enough to completely cut you off from everything. Impressed by his strategy once again, Levi stood back watching it all unfold. He honestly wanted Erwin and you to argue more, but when Erwin nodded to him Levi heeled.

Wrapping his arm around your throat and suffocating you was unnecessary, but he enjoyed feeling you struggle under him. How you clawed for oxygen. Humans are so fascinating and their primal instincts to survive. Levi wanted to instill at least a little bit of fear in you. No matter how much hot shit you think you are, he will always be stronger.

Your body fell limp in his arms. As he moved his arms to carry you, Erwin detached Levi from you. He wrapped his own limbs around your form in a princess carry. Levi followed behind when you were taken into the room designed just for you. Erwin’s pace reflected giddiness. He had been waiting for this day for years. A little baby doll for him to play with.

Levi went ahead of the lumbering man to open the door for him. Gently, Erwin rested you on the soft, carpeted floor. He had no idea when you would awaken and he didn’t want you to be startled by the crate. Plus, the crate was more Levi’s idea than his.

You had slept through the whole rest of the day and through the night much to Levi’s surprise. Anxiety radiated off of Erwin as he prepared for work.

“Call me if she wakes up.”

“No shit,” Levi answered, in the middle of finishing up Erwin’s lunch.

Neatly packing the food in a bag, he handed the food to him. Erwin’s eyes bounced to the hallway where your sleeping body resides. Levi ushered Erwin out and he obeyed.

With a sigh, he closed and locked the door. To be completely honest with himself, Levi was also growing anxious. Normally the toxin would wear off by now as it was seven in the morning. But, he did give a higher dosage than usual. He had no clue how much you would’ve struggled. Pacifying his own fears, he reassured himself you would be awake by this afternoon.

Walking into the bedroom, your body hadn’t moved an inch from where Erwin placed you on the floor. An itch built up from under his nails at the thought of the filth accumulating. You hadn’t bathed since early yesterday and were in the same clothes. Knowing the scratch won’t go away until you were properly cleaned, Levi bent down and took you to the bathroom.

Washing and dressing you was easy, but felt strange. Levi felt as if he was cleaning a doll instead of an adult. You were so lifeless, limp. Pushing the thought away, he went through your pants and found your phone along with your keys. The little metal piece reminded him your car was still in their yard. Pocketing the keys, his attention went to your phone.

His thumb pressed the side button and your phone activated. The soft glow illuminated his face as he spied your lockscreen. It was an old photo of you and what he assumed were your siblings. What a melancholy image. You clearly missed your family, but had no way back to them. Sliding up he was met with your four digit passcode.

After a couple tries, Levi cracked it with ease. Face buried in your phone, he closed the door behind him and crossed into the main part of the home. Levi instantly went into your messages. You didn’t have many contacts, most were either for work or college. The only active chats were between you, Levi and Erwin.

He moved on to your camera roll as he grabbed his own keys. They clicked together like tiny bells. Turning his attention to the door, he locked it with an audible click and moved to his truck. His curiosity would have to wait as he couldn’t drive and look at your phone at the same time. Pocketing the device, he got in his truck and twisted the ignition on. The black truck rumbled to life and sputtered a bit.

Twisting his body to see out the back window, he drove the car until it was right in front of yours. Jumping out, he grabbed a chain and hook. Attaching the car to your car, Levi grumbled under his breath at their stupidity. Leaving your car in the driveway for this long was an idiotic move. He only wished the neighbors weren’t paying too close attention. They were far away anyway and minded their business. But the problem was driving out in public. The best time would be at night, but the longer the car was here, the more suspicions would fall on them.

Slinking back into the driver’s seat, Levi planned to simply take only backroads. No one really drove in this part of the city anyway. His body shook from side to side driving down the bumpy, gravel roads. The tiny rocks crunched under his tires.

About an hour out Levi met with the lake he visited time and time again. The lake was secluded and not marked by any national park. Deep in the outskirts no one cared to know about. Childhood memories whispered in the air. Pulling up, his truck sunk a little from the soft ground. The area was more of a swamp than anything. The mud would welcome your car in its suffocating embrace.

Hopping out of his truck, Levi clicked his tongue at the wet earth seeping into his boots. Pulling out your key, your car beeped as he unlocked it. He opened the door and twisted your car on. Rolling down the windows half way, he then bent over to switch the gear into drive. Quickly, he ducked out of the car and watched as it drove into the lake. The water slowly swallowed the vehicle. Levi stood there until the car dropped deep, deep into the waters.

Satisfied, he went into the back of his truck and lifted up a shovel and started upturning the mud to get rid of the tire tracks along with his foot prints. Throwing the shovel in the bed, he climbed into his truck and drive back home.

By the time, he arrived back it was ten o’clock and you showed no signs of being awake. So Levi waited and waited, observing your resting form. He drank up how your chest gently rose and fell in tandem. You were so fragile and easy to break. If he so wished, he could crack open your chest and see what made you, well, you.

His finger traced down your chin to the middle of your throat and down to your sternum. He pressed down on the bone until a whine left your chest. Levi tilted his head at the sound, wanting to evoke more whimpers but he knew Erwin would be pissed if he bruised his little girl.

The day wasted away as Levi departed from the bedroom, and went to clean the house and get started on dinner. A tingle went down Levi’s spine, beckoning him to check on you. His instinct was right as he watched you struggle to take in the stimuli and hardly able to move.

When you registered Levi was also in the room, he didn’t expect you to freak out the way you did. Not to the extent of pissing yourself. A sick mix of desire and disgust filled him. He despised the mess flowing out from you, but Levi drank up how humiliation wafted off your form.

Erwin came in just in time. While the egregious man set off to wash you of your embarrassment, Levi went to work to scrub the carpet. Down the hall, he heard Erwin’s gruff voice bark out, but chose to ignore it. Erwin was a big boy and didn’t need Levi to come to the rescue. Plus, he wanted to test how long Erwin could tame his anger.

Once he was done, he made his way into the bathroom. He noticed the door was locked. Taking the key from his pocket, he unlocked the door and put the keys back. Levi caught how your eyes honed in on the set of keys. What a sneaky brat.

He also noticed Erwin’s swollen nose and your now avoidant gaze. Erwin tried to shy away but Levi quickly grabbed his face. It was rare for Erwin to be bested. You were surely going to be a problem if you are leaving this hulking, brilliant man a babbling fool.

Dinner went how he expected. You were reluctant to drop out of college. He couldn’t blame you as your disappearance would be a ticket to your freedom, but they had to be thorough. Your already poor attendance only worked in their favor.

Annoyance built up in Levi at Erwin’s slip up, but he decided it was time for you to go back to bed. You must be exhausted despite sleeping almost two full days away. He could tell you were borderlining on hysterics once more.

Picking you up, he carried you back to the bathroom with pure intentions. Though, you still squirmed for whatever reason. Placing you down, he prepared the toothbrush. You hadn’t brushed your teeth in two days and that itch crawled back under his skin.

As he commanded you to open your mouth, Levi thought nothing of your contemplating glare. Pain shot up from his hand and down his arm.

“Shit!”

You bit him. You actually fucking bit him.

If his rationale wasn’t screaming at him, he could have killed you in that moment. A festering anger boiled as he slapped you back in return. The smile on your face stayed on despite it.

Blood dripped down his arm as he dragged you back into the bedroom. Even though the comment you made was a snide one, you were right. He would have to go to the doctor to get the wound checked out. The bite was deep and the blood had not stopped.

With Erwin’s promise to handle you until he came back, Levi set off to go to the urgent care. Walking by the bathroom, he grabbed a clean hand towel and wrapped his hand within the cloth. Stomping his way out the house, he slammed the door closed and went into his truck.

You were such a little fucking shit. You were in for it once he got back and he wasn’t going to hold back. Fuck what Erwin said. The only way you were going to listen was through harsh punishment. Pain was the best motivator.

Grumbling the whole way, Levi drove swiftly to urgent care. He didn’t care to deal with the annoyance and even longer wait line at the ER. Clutching onto his still bleeding, throbbing hand, he walked through the glass door with some difficulty. You were dead fucking meat when he got back home.

“How can I help you today, Sir?” An eldery woman with a monotone voice behind the counter asked. The clacking of her acrylics against the rickety keyboard grated Levi’s ears.

He held up his hand, “I got bit by a dog.”

“Oh my!” The woman gasped. She reached over with a clipboard and handed it to Levi, “Try to fill this out as best as you can and a doctor should be right with you.”

Levi nodded his head and went over to the vacant chairs. Surprisingly there was only two other people within the waiting area. Grabbing the pen, he wrote with ease despite you injuring his dominant hand. After years of fending for his life he taught himself how to be ambidextrous.

Almost half an hour passed when Levi’s name was finally called. The bleeding finally stopped, but he was sure he would need stitches. The nurse that called him was a tall man with dirty blonde hair. He wasn’t anything significant in any way.

“It’s just right down here.”

He led Levi down the sterile, blaring white halls. The doorknob unlatched with a mechanical crunch. The nurse continued, “So what are you in for?”

Levi walked himself to the examination table and shuffled himself on top of it. “I got bit by a dog,” he repeated.

The nurse’s face grimaced at the thought of the pain, “Yikes, let me take a quick look and then I will grab Dr. Zoe.”

He held out his hand for the nurse to unwind the stained towel. Levi barely flinched when the rough material was tugged from the skin it latched onto. The nurse cradled his hand and tilted the wound towards him.

His face pulled into one of confusion before schooling it, “The dog got you real good, huh?”

“You can say that.”

Clearing his throat, he let go of Levi’s hand, “Well, I’m going to get the doctor now. Try to keep your hand elevated above your shoulder to help stop the bleeding and the swelling.”

With that, the nurse left the room and Levi to his own devices. Boredom quickly ate up at his mind. Little could be done in the room and he didn’t care for playing on his phone. A part itched to explore your phone, but he broke it earlier today on a whim to scare you further.

So he sat there counting the minutes go by until another thirty minutes dragged on. Finally a knock was heard on the door.

“Come in.”

The doctor poked their head in with a goofy grin. “Why, hello! I’m Dr. Zoe.”

Levi grunted in response. He despised pleasantries.

The smile didn’t fall once and kept on, “So I heard you got a nasty bite. Have you cleaned it or taken any medicine at all?”

“No.”

Dr. Zoe went up to Levi and directed his hand towards them. Peeling back the cloth like the nurse did, their face pinched at the wound. “Sir, are you sure this is a dog bite?”

Levi’s expression pulled back in irritation, “How the fuck would I not be sure? I was there when the fucker bit me.”

“Whoa there!” Dr. Zoe laughed, “No need to be so aggressive, gotta be thorough, you know?”

Levi didn’t respond and simply glared at them.

Coughing to fill the tension, they continued, “Well the wound isn’t deep enough to warrant stitches. We still need to clean it and give you antibiotics. If the wound doesn’t clear up or show signs of getting better in two weeks please come back. Also remember to finish the whole prescription to avoid complications.”

Levi nodded his headd and let the doctor dress the wound, reminding him to change the dressing frequently.

He was half paying attention, lost in his own mind of how to properly punish you while he waited for the bite to heal. For his own sake, the short man prayed you lasted longer than two weeks.

[superblysubpar]

We'll Call It Love masterlist | It Had To Be You masterlist

the song: Drops of Jupiter (Tell Me) by Train // It Had To Be You playlist

warnings: this story is a part of the series We’ll Call It Love, and much of it would be spoiled if you read this first. It’s linked above, and I hope you love it! | series warnings pertain

2.8k words

A/N: After finishing this chapter, I highly recommend reading the one shot "You're Still The One" linked here, before reading the last story in the It Had To Be You collection | Also, as always, thank you to @rebelfell for her Halloween Party blurb about Eddie in this universe - you can read the story here which is hinted at in part of the story below

“This was a bad idea.” 

He drags his feet, shaking his head behind the girl dressed as Morticia Addams. 

“Oh my god, I did not listen to you talk about grand gestures and this movie for an hour while you changed in and out of the costume six times, Steve.”

“But-”

Leigh spins, resulting in Steve almost smacking right into her. She crosses her arms and huffs, “Did you or did you not say that if you show up in this costume maybe she would see how sorry you are, see how you really feel, see-”

“I know! But I really don’t think it was a good idea any more. She threw a beer in my face last time. Plus, I…I made my choice.” Steve goes to run a hand through his hair, remembering he has this stupid costume on and rests his hands on top of it instead. He kicks at the brick wall, avoiding Leigh’s perceptive gaze.

“Right. So then get inside. Tell her you’re a pirate. I don’t care. But I did not get dressed up for you to stand outside this bar all night and wallow.”

Leigh slaps at his chest, two quick pats and then spins him and pushes him into the crowded and dimly lit bar. 

“Drinks?” Leigh leans in, shouting over the throbbing bass playing, squinting in the purple neon light and strobes hitting her face. 

Steve nods and follows, glancing around, pretending he’s not looking for one person in particular. He needs to apologize, he needs to tell you what’s going on, he just needs…you. But when he finally spots a red dress, he’s suddenly finding it a little hard to breathe because you did come as Buttercup, and you’re more beautiful than ever. 

It feels a little like the first time he saw you at Argyle’s all those months ago. There’s a spotlight hitting you, and there’s suddenly a reprieve in the thrumming music and it feels a little like Steve is walking through jello to get to you. And when you engulf Robin in a hug, and your face is pinched in pain over her shoulder, every part of his body aches. 

When you separate, and face the bar, he watches the looks of bewilderment cross each of your faces, and he blurts out the first thing he can think of when Leigh elbows him in the ribs. 

“Well, there isn’t much money in revenge.”

Smooth, idiot. 

Steve doesn’t hear Robin at first, or watch Leigh. All he sees is the anger and hurt flash across your face at the sight of him. There isn’t an ounce of you that cares he’s in this costume for the reason he is. 

You hate him, and it’s too late to change that. 

“...if you want to ditch Dingus here…”

Steve’s too hot in this damn costume and he glares at Robin, because he can’t be mad at her for complimenting Leigh, but the way your face twitches when she does means it’s clearly not helping and he can’t say so…so…

“Seriously Robin? Are you being serious right now? Where’s Nancy?”

When Leigh asks you where your dress is from and you look like you want to answer but then spin to the bar and blurt out the name of the most expensive drink, Steve wants to throw up. It was all a  big mistake. 

“Robin, where is Nancy? And Eddie? I wanna wish him luck before they go on!” Leigh loops her arm through Robin’s tugging her away from the bar. It’s not lost on Steve when she looks over her shoulder and Leigh points to you, mouthing ‘Talk to her’ with a frown and glare. He rolls his eyes and waves her away. 

Standing next to you, in this costume, not talking, hurts more than he thought possible. It’s like words sit on the tip of his tongue, ready, needing to come out, but he’s too afraid to say them. And what happens if he does say them? Will you suddenly be a fan of relationships? Will you suddenly be able to tell him everything about yourself? Will this suddenly work?

Maybe, if he pays for your drinks, it’ll be the open doorway he needs. Start the conversation.

But you ruin that plan as you push crumpled bills over the bar quickly when he pulls out his card, and he sighs. 

“You’re not seriously wearing that.”

Steve’s not even sure you realize you said it. It comes out soft, timid, like you haven’t spoken in hours and aren’t sure you remember how to. Which makes sense, because he feels the same way, like not talking to you for the last few weeks has made him incapable of doing so all together. 

He watches your pulse on your throat like some crazy obsessive vampire-like guy, he memorizes the twitch in your jaw, the inhale and exhale making your chest rise and fall. He traces each dip and curve of your face, hardened and closed off when you finally look at him. Steve swallows, searching the entirety of your face for some sort of hint that you get what he’s trying to do. That you get why he’s in this costume. A sign. A nudge. A promise that if he keeps trying, it won’t happen right away, but you’ll try too. 

“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?” 

“Are you fucking kidding me Steve? After everything, after what you said at the game, you’re really gonna stick to not admitting what this is?”

You gesture to his whole body and something inside of him starts to bubble, sick of you not admitting it either. How you know why he’s in this costume. You have to know. And instead of facing your own feelings about it, you’re blaming him. 

“I’m just a pirate. I don’t know what your problem is.”

Steve stares at you and you glare at him and he wonders if it’ll ever be okay again. Will you ever give him a chance to talk and will he be brave enough to spit it out if you do and will you ever be willing to do so yourself. 

It’s this horrible, painful, awkward, long moment of him not admitting and you not admitting that you’re definitely wearing a couples costume embodying truest love - that you both know he’s not just a pirate - when a random asshat claps Steve on the shoulder and says “Oh nice! As you wish, dudes!”

As you flip Steve off, he decides to be the bigger person, to apologize, to try to explain why he’s in this costume even if it puts his heart out there for you to step on. But you’re already retreating through the crowd before he can, weaving in and out of it and towards the exit. 

Steve watches you blatantly ignore Eddie and that bubbling irritation inside of him starts to grow at the thought of Eddie coming to your rescue again. At the thought of you turning to him for comfort. 

“Dude, where are you-”

“I need to talk to her. Just…don’t let Robin see.” Steve pushes at Eddie, vaguely taking in the costume involving fur and glasses and the letterman jacket he can’t even begin to piece together, before he’s following you outside. 

The air is cool against his skin, forgetting how good it felt to not be inside that bar in only a few minutes. There’s a bouncer smoking, a few people down the block, and Steve pulls at the suffocating mask and hat when he spots you walking away. He reaches out for your shoulder, calling your name. 

“Don’t touch me, Steve.” 

When you yank your shoulder from his touch, the tone of your voice, something inside of him shatters. 

How can he be the reason you sound like that? How can he be the reason your face looks like that?

He holds his hands up in surrender, deciding he’ll just leave tonight. It was too soon. 

“Look, I just want to make sure you’re okay. You can-”

When you interrupt him, when you tell him he’s not your boyfriend, the irritation he’s been keeping shoved down begins to grow from its small simmer. And when you can’t help but get closer to him despite the words coming out of your mouth, despite telling him he’s not your friend, he knows he’s about to say things he can’t take back.

“You’d like that right?” That’s it, case closed. Y/N calls the shots and decides everything…” 

Maybe he doesn’t want to take it back. Maybe he needs to say this. To make it clear he’s not the one fucking this up. You are. 

“...You’re a spoiled brat who’s mad because you’ve lost a toy.”

If he acts like it doesn’t hurt, maybe it won’t. 

Your scoff and eye roll punctuate your words, “Me? The spoiled brat? Excuse me, Mr. 50th floor and Daddy’s Credit Card. Take a look in the fucking mirror, Steve!”

What the fuck do you actually have to be mad at him for? It’s not like you love him. It’s not like you care about him. It’s not like this was anything more than sex to you, right.

Right?

When he shouts, when he pleads for you to tell him what you have to be upset with him for, and your chin quivers and your eyes get glassy, he thinks you might admit it. He thinks maybe you’ll say it and he’ll say sorry and you’ll tell each other right here, right now, everything you’ve been holding back. 

And then you shove him. 

And you tell him he’s a hypocrite.

And a liar. 

An asshole. 

Bullshit.

Each word accompanied by a shove to his chest he doesn’t even try to defend himself against. He doesn’t even try to argue. Because are you wrong?

And when you tell him to lose your number, and he searches one last time for any sign of you feeling the opposite of what you just shouted at each other, he says the only thing he can think to say at that moment. 

The only thing to convey how sorry he is. 

The only thing to possibly tell you how he feels despite you breaking his heart right now. 

“As you wish.”

“This was such a bad idea,” you groan, tying a ribbon around a little mesh bag for the fifth time in less minutes. 

You sit in your living room on the carpet. The lights are off save one lamp glowing behind the couch, shining on Inigo passed out in his dog bed just under the blue glow of the TV screen.  Piles organized by category for the little favors to be left on plates for guests take over the entirety of the room and Steve stands in the dining room.

He swipes his wrist over his forehead, staring at his suit hanging from the overhead light fixture. Steam from the iron in his hand swirling around him as he grimaces at the stubborn wrinkles in the fabric. 

“I told you not to volunteer for that. Should have made Eddie do it. He hasn’t done a thing.”

It’s the hottest night of the Summer so far, and he stands there in only his boxers and a plain white shirt, barefoot, you in a sports bra and boyshorts, both surfaces of your skin glistening with sweat despite the AC running overtime. 

The way you both are wearing next to nothing would normally have you finishing the job, tangled limbs and messy kisses, cooling off in the shower together. 

Normally, a wedding of your best friends would have someone grow closer to the person they’re dating and living with. Surrounded by all this planning, all this public devotion, all this love, should make a person imagine themselves in the same situation. 

You’re not normal. 

You hum, starting to go around to the piles, collecting hershey kisses and disposable cameras, chapsticks and pencils as you respond, “Eddie isn’t the maid of honor or the best man.”

If you were to look up, you’d see Steve watching you closely, see the way his brows knit together when you roll your eyes at the customized tic tacs. 

“Jesus,” you mutter under your breath, “This is exactly what’s wrong with weddings. I can’t believe Robin and Nancy are into all this.”

Steve sets the iron down, the newest but certainly not the first comment against weddings rubbing him the wrong way.

Again.

“Into telling everyone how much they love each other?”

You snort, shaking your head as you tie another bag closed and toss it in a bucket to bring to the venue tomorrow.

“I don’t think you need chocolate and lip balm and sunglasses and beer cozies to tell people how you feel.” 

“Sure,” Steve runs a hand through his hair and you look up, finding him leaning against the kitchen island, arms crossing over his chest as he keeps going, “Maybe they don’t need all  of that but-”

“I don’t think they need any of it, Steve,” you clarify before he can get too going about the beauty and meaning behind the day you’re all about to have tomorrow. 

Again.

“There’s nothing wrong with them wanting to tell everyone in any way possible they can, that they love each other.”

You sigh. “I don’t get why they need to tell people in the first place, Steve.”

Aside from a laugh track on the TV, it’s silent and you keep your eyes on your fingers tying green ribbon around pale pink bags. 

Steve finally breaks first, his voice soft when he asks, “What do you mean you don’t get why they need to tell people?”

Shrugging, you avoid his gaze you can feel on the side of your cheek as you start on another bag. “I mean, I don’t get why they need to tell people.”

“Like the entire wedding? You don’t get why they’re having a wedding?”

Your shoulders rise and fall in a shrug again. 

Steve’s heart hammers in his chest while yours pounds in your ears as his voice tries to remain even, but you hear it crack as it rises in volume. 

“You don’t think they should be getting married? You don’t think they should have a wedding?”

“No, I didn’t say that. I just don’t get why weddings exist. Does anything really change? Suddenly you have a legal piece of paper? Cool? After, what? Thousands of dollars. Stress. Bad food. Shitty music. I mean, we’ve watched Robin and Nancy fight over stupid shit like cake flavors the past year. How is that good for anything?”

Steve steps closer to you, his hand running through his hair making it stick up all over the place as his cheeks flush pink. 

“But they love each other and they want to tell everyone that-”

“Why do they have to tell everyone? Shouldn’t everyone already know? And why do they have to spend all this money and throw this big party? That’s all I’m saying.”

You stand again, going to grab the bucket of favors to bring it to the car so you don’t have to in the morning but Steve is shaking his head, volume and his thoughts ramping up.

“They want to throw this party because they love each other so much they just wanna scream it any way they can. Because they want it to be legal. Because they want to have fun with all the people they love and celebrate something so beautiful and unique and strong like their love. I don’t understand how you don’t understand that.”

You stand in front of him, holding the bucket, and maybe it’s the weight of the favors or the way his voice is getting louder and the apartment is getting hotter or the way his eyes seem to have you under a microscope that you snap back a little mean, that you get a little loud yourself.

“Because I don’t understand it, Steve, like I said! I don’t think you need to-”

“It’s not a need. They want to-”

“Fine! Want then! I don’t understand what possesses a person to want a wedding!”

Steve steps closer to you, his brows pinched and his hands running wild through his hair as he yells, “A fucking marriage! A partnership! A way to tell the world ‘hey this is my person, I love them’!”

“I don’t see why you need a wedding for any of that to be true!” You shout right back. 

You stand there facing each other, with ragged breaths that move your chests up and down almost in sync. 

Steve’s swallow is loud, his inhale louder. Time seems to stretch on forever as he stares at you, as his eyes soften into something you can’t quite describe, as flashes of the words he just said and what you said back swirl around you, almost tangible. 

You stand there, in a sea of pink and green, of things that are emblazoned with Robin and Nancy’s names and the words love and forever staring you down as Steve’s voice comes out sharp, cracked, vulnerable, loud. 

“You wanna marry me, right?”

[brf-rumortrackinganon]

it’s curious that *this* (the Nigeria tour) is the incident that, seemingly, has made them finally understand they’ve crossed the line.

We obviously don’t know what happens behind the closed doors of the government, but it seems to me that some action was taken.

But looking at what we do know, I think H&M (especially Meghan) got a telling-off in Nigeria the likes of which they have never gotten AND were publicly made an example of in a way they never have before.

There’s two pieces that fit together: Meghan saying she got told to “wear more colour” and suddenly throwing together an outfit mid-tour with a gifted item plus the exact order in which the First Lady, Senator Oluremi Tinubu, made her comments:

1) American celebrities push immoral nakedness (too on the nose not to include Meghan)

2) Meghan came looking for Africa (i.e., came searching for, came to learn from, etc.)

3) Africans have good morals and style and we should continue to embody that and teach them (i.e., include Meghan in seeing and being taught that)

Nigeria is not the UK, Canada or the US. Dressing inappropriately in Nigeria is not just a misstep and being disrespectful is seen very differently and much more seriously than some in the West conceptualise. I think when Meghan got told “to wear more colour”, she also got a massive telling off in a manner that she never got as a spoilt child or by the BRF. Meghan’s pivot to a cover-up style after being asked is uncharacteristic for her, she’s NEVER pivoted or listened when steered in the right direction.

The Senator’s comments do not read to me as the straight-up rebuke other’s are seeing. To me it reads like Meghan already got “taught” the lesson that Sen. Tinubu is trying to teach and now she’s been made the public example. (Not saying “immodest” is bad at all, just going with the Senator’s words.)

Overall, Meghan met the African slipper - if you know, you know!

Meghan was absolutely told off about her clothes in Nigeria. There was an event she was late to (by at least an hour, probably more but I can’t remember) and when she arrived, she made “jokes” that she was inspired by everyone wearing so much color that now she was wearing color.

I took that whole incident to mean that Meghan blew the group off to go shopping but now I’m wondering if maybe she was being petty and was late to piss off whoever confronted her about the wardrobe. The yellow gown she wore (which is also from the pregnancy announcement, per Misan Harriman) kinda throws me for a loop - if she knew she was supposed to wear color, then was it lucky she had that dress or did someone pull an Angela Kelly and pack a second wardrobe of modest (or “modest”) colorful clothes to give her when there were complaints?

The “Angela Kelly” move: The palace was planning a trip for The Queen and Prince Philip to go to Vatican City/Rome, they would be meeting the pope, and the advisors asked Angela to make The Queen a navy or dark blue dress for it. Angela instead advised that The Queen needed a black dress to meet the pope, the advisors pooh-poohed it and said “black is for mourning, give her a navy dress.” Angela made the navy outfit as they told her to, but she also made an identical black outfit for The Queen and brought it with her in her own luggage. They get to the Vatican, they’re briefed about black for the pope, there’s a freakout that The Queen only has navy, and Angela reveals the black outfit and saves the day.

It’s one of the stories she tells in The Other Side of the Coin. If anyone is interested:

[gingerlurk]

Lovers' Crest | Chapter 14: The Sight

Din Djarin x f!Reader

Masterlist

Summary: Din has a reckoning you would have never seen coming. What it means for the two of you, well… that comes next.

Word count: 4.3k

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, slow burn, non-canon (the Razor Crest never gets destroyed, it also gets upgraded with a cabin), post season 3, SMUT: oral sex (f!receiving), fingering (f!receiving), unprotected PiV (be safe), use of a blindfold, Mandalorian lore NONSENSE.

A/N: Not gonna lie to you, I kind of adore this chapter. Hope you enjoy it. Thanks for being here!

--

‘You’re furious.’

‘I’m not furious.’

‘You feel betrayed?’

‘No.’

‘You’re punishing me for all that, aren’t you?’

‘No!’

‘Then what the hells is going on, Din?’ You plant your hands on your hips and square your feet on the floor. Two days of this, this sullen and twitchy man aboard your ship, laconic and lowly in attitude and stance. Spending most of his time holed up in the cockpit, looking at his datapad with a savage intensity. 

You believe he’s tried, really tried to push past it. You’d talked about the trap Torre had set and agreed no one was at fault. You’d gone over each detail and reassured him that you’d had your end goal in mind early on.

He’d spent maybe a half an hour earlier this morning talking with you about your plans to upgrade the manoeuvring valves. But when you’d put a hand on his arm and moved like to loop it around your middle, as you always did, he tugged it back and told you to just tell him how much it would cost him before stomping off.

And that damn well hurt. So you figured it was best to just dive into the issue before you break down in a fit of tears.

Now you’re facing his back as he pretends to adjust an oscillation rifle on its holdings. Nervousness and apprehension cascades off his shoulders.

‘None of it was true,’ you say again. ‘You believe that right? It was all lies.’

A beat. The longest of your life.

‘One thing was true,’ he says, back still to you.

Unbelievable. 

‘No--’

He drops his shoulders and tilts his head back, sighing hard. 

‘Torre said it actually,’ he says. He moves with his usual swiftness and raises his forearms to cage you against the ration crates, still that same agitated energy radiating off his armour. You swallow. ‘And I recall every word of it.’

‘What—’ you start, but he puts a hand against your chest, slowly pushes it towards your collarbone and snakes his fingers across the top of your shoulder, holding you still as he leans into your other ear.

You swear you feel his breath on your earlobe. But you know that’s impossible through the helmet.

‘He said,’ Din says in a ragged voice, ‘“You know he can’t give you the kind of pleasure that I can. You know he just can’t do it”…’

You remember now. But unlike when Torre was on his knees in front of you, this isn’t making your skin crawl off your body. It’s doing the opposite – you feel tight everywhere and your breath is stuck in your lungs. Goosebumps erupt from your scalp and careen down your body until your toes are singing and your centre starts pulsing.

‘He said,’ Din continues. You now know what he’s going to say and your eyes roll back to listen. ‘“He hasn’t even kissed you, has he? He hasn’t tasted you, laid you out with his mouth and tongue to lave at your cunt until you’re screaming in bliss. Not like I did, remember? Remember how much you needed it?”’

Din leans forward, pressing the forehead of his helm into the hard surface behind you. ‘I haven’t done that for you, have I? Haven’t given you what you need. Brought you to the edge and let you fall while drinking down your release? Pleasured you in every single way imaginable?’

You’re boneless against the wall, imagining the mouth uttering those words doing just that. But you summon enough brain power to speak.

‘It’s okay,’ you say. ‘It’s—I decided already that I’m okay with not having that. That, that I don’t—’

He murmurs your name as if to interrupt.

‘That I don’t n-need it,’ you push on. ‘I only need—’

He’s leaning away, moving his hand from your shoulder to drop to his side. You grab for it. You hold it tight and make yourself look into his visor. Despite all your fears, despite your terror at what the future holds, you stare pleadingly at him and tell the truth.

‘I swear I only need you.’

Gently, so devastatingly gently, he pulls his hand from your grasp and steps back.

‘That is not enough, I’m afraid.’ He spins on the spot and heads to the rear of the cargo hold.

What does that mean? Your mind is reeling in two entirely different directions. This is it; he’s going to leave you now. Is he going to take off his helmet? He’s dropping you at the next port because now he knows your secret desire and it sickens him. He’s going to do it to you because now he knows what you truly want. You don’t respect his creed and he knows it now so he hates you. He’s going to let you see his face! 

Fuck, fuck, FUCK!

Both spirals of thought threaten to shred your sanity and you stumble backwards, no longer registering what he’s doing – rummaging through a crate you think. But he’s back in front of you a moment later.

‘Hey, breathe. Just breathe for me, please?’ He cups your face; his right palm lays flat against your cheek while his left hand is held in a fist. He’s clenching something tightly, but stroking his thumb slowly along your jaw. You try to relax. Try to focus on the fact he wouldn’t be touching you so tenderly if it was all over. The next thing he says though leaves you lost.

‘I have been studying,’ he says.

You blink stupidly. ‘Huh?’

‘Reading. The texts of the Creed. I have been reading them closely.’

‘Oh.’

‘I have… removed my helmet, in the past. And I thought it would cost me everything. So… I have been afraid.’

You have no idea what he’s talking about. He’s removed his helmet? When? 

‘But I am not afraid now,’ he whispers. 

You say the only thing you can say, ‘Why?’

Silence.

‘Why, Din?’ You’re nearing desperation. To understand. To know what he means. ‘Why aren’t you afraid now?’

He draws a long breath.

‘Because, I have found that, in the original Mando’a, the Creed has a specific wording that translations don’t really hold account to. It says that a Mandalorian of the Watch cannot remove their helmet to show their face to another. Or allow another to remove their helmet, lest their face be seen.’

You stay quiet.

‘Show their face, do you understand?’

You open your mouth and close it again, not daring to say a single word for fear that the hope welling inside you will be crushed to grit.

Din holds you for a few moments more, seeming to be drawing himself to a decision. Finally, finally, he nods to himself. He moves his fist from your face and holds up the object he’d been clutching.

It looks like it’s made from a similar material to his flight suit, a thick but stretchy woven fabric stitched into a loop. You gape at it.

‘It’s to hold hair out of the way under my helmet,’ he explains, somewhat needlessly. ‘I have several but not much else, so it’ll have to do for now.’

You cannot, at all, believe what is happening, so you stay still. He lifts the fabric up and circles it around the crown of your head, then spreads his fingers on either side and slowly tugs it down, down, past your forehead and over your eyes. He settles the band against the tops of your ears before withdrawing his hands. You get the slightest scent of him as it brushes the top of your nose. The wide, thick material has blinded you totally.

‘Can you see anything?’

‘No.’

‘Do you swear to me you will not look?’

‘Din, I—’

‘Please, swear it.’

‘I swear.’ The word turns to a whimper as Din loops a hand around your waist, the other goes to your hair as he starts to walk you back, step by tiny step, to the cabin.

In the small room that is mostly bed, he backs you up to a wall and pulls his hands away. You hear him pulling off his gloves, you think. It’s confirmed when you hear the soft click of his vambraces detaching, one after the other. Then it’s silent for a beat. Another. Then another. You are about to move or say something when the quiet hiss of depressurising air hits your ears. A small thump follows on the shelf next to you. And then your heart just stops.

Right next to your ear, partly covered by the blindfold, he murmurs your name. Your mouth falls open. His naked voice sends a molten tendril through you that sparks your every nerve ending. He says it again and your chest starts to heave with lust and wonder and anticipation. 

‘God, Din. God.’

The next of your senses to be assaulted is touch as you feel his warm, impossibly soft lips press to your neck. Right in the spot he found you like the tips of his fingers so much, just behind your ear and down a little. He holds there, just pressing a firm warmth into your skin. A hand comes up to the other side of your face and it is trembling. You finally move and place your own hand over it, showing him that you are shaking too. 

The lips part in the smallest, sweetest kiss. He whimpers sweetly before opening his lips further, laving at the soft flesh there with teeth and tongue.

‘Hhhnnnn,’ you whine. ‘Din… Din!’

‘What? What is it?’ He stays put against your neck, but sounds a little alarmed.

‘Gods please, kiss me, Din. Kiss me, now- ah!’

Without breaking connection with your skin, he drags his mouth over your jaw and up, making one small sucking motion there by your lower lip then sealing his mouth to yours. You both groan, an ecstatic release of so much longing filling the air and coursing across where you’re pressed together. 

You grip either side of his chest armour and pull him closer, sucking his lower lip into your mouth and swiping your tongue across it, feeling its curve and plumb softness. You release and he does the same to you, moving his hand down to your jaw to nudge your mouth wider, begging entry. Parting your lips lets you feel his warm breath as he pants into you; he pushes forward and runs his tongue over your teeth and bites at your upper and lower lips in turn.

Damn, he’s good at this.

You stand there pressed against the side of the cabin for an age, devouring each other, before a thought so startling occurs to you that you pull back, bumping your head on the cold wall.

Din pulls right back but you hold onto him. ‘What? Are you okay?’

His voice is chocolate.

‘Din,’ you say, gasping for air. If you weren’t so overcome with lust you would probably agonise over this question. Or if you could see him you might second guess it. But it spills from your swollen lips with ease. ‘Can I touch you?’

‘You are touching me, mesh’la.’ What an adorable dolt.

‘No I mean,’ you hesitantly reach up and hover your hand where you think his hair may curl at the base of his neck. He stills. ‘Can I touch you here, and,’ you move your other hand in front of your face, where his cheek could be. ‘And here.’

You feel his breath on your hand. You hear his mouth move open and close. His hand comes to the back of the one you’re holding between the two of you and laces your fingers together. You’re trembling. 

‘Please, mesh’la,’ he says. He presses your hand to his face, holding it flush. You feel a sharp jawline, stubbly beard, a soft dusting of hair by his ear and you can’t help it, you sob.

‘Oh my fucking god,’ you hiccup and groan. You plunge your other hand into thick, curly hair and crash your mouth back to his. Teeth drag together for a moment before he moves to the side and mouths and nips at your jawline, moving back to the spot on your neck you love touched so much.

He takes hold of your hips and spins you to the bed, pushing you to lay yourself back.

‘Undress yourself, love,’ he tells you. Your top half is bare in seconds, careful to make sure the blindfold doesn’t move. As you work on your bottoms, you hear the first clicks and rustles of Din removing his armour. 

You usually love to watch him do this. The anticipation setting a fire in you so potent it’s unbelievable he doesn’t even have to touch you to do it. You settle for just listening to the motions of this ritual you share. But then he starts to speak and you fall apart as his bare, sultry vocals wash through you.

‘You’re so beautiful,’ he rasps, voice grinding over your trembling body. ‘Look at you.’ You hear his movements become quicker, fumbling and desperate. ‘A gorgeous, divine, otherworldly Goddess. Fuck, every inch of you is perfect. Unh, uh, sweet Gods, I swear. I swear to you.’

You feel a weight drop at the end of the bed; he’s removing his boots.

‘I swear to you,’ you feel a hand wrap around one of your ankles and you whine. You can hear his inhales and exhales. He’s breathing so hard, gulping air like he’s trying not to drown. You feel your own self gasping as well. He stands again; you hear the zips and tears of his flight suit as he strips.

‘I swear to you, love. Mesh’la.’ He’s stopped moving. He must just be standing over you. Looking. Then, in a voice you feel right in your fucking clit. ‘Gonna give you what you deserve now, love. What you crave.’

You shudder, writhing and squirming without restraint.

‘Gonna find out just what you like, exactly how you like it. Everything, gonna learn everything and give it to you over and over. What do you like, hm? My mouth? Pressed against your aching pussy and tongue fucking you fast? My lips? Sucking on that hungry, hungry clit? Would you like my circling tongue working at you? Or long, luscious licks from the bottom of your slit to the top of your mound?

‘Do you like it slow? Rough? Would you like to be bitten, have your pussy’s lips held between my teeth, so tender and delicious? What would you like? Tell me.’

You’re wrecked. You’ve died, you’re sure of it.

‘Everything, everything Din. All of it, please.’ You press your thighs together, rubbing them clumsily, desperate to relieve some of the pressure that is consuming you.

‘Stop that,’ he orders. ‘Spread them for me, beautiful. Spread them wide so I can see all of you. See you with my naked eye. Your perfect body. Your pure cunt, let me see it.’

His groan is loud and strangled as you part your knees and spread your feet to the very edges of the bed.

‘Yes, like that,’ he growls.

You don’t realise he’s even moved when a hot, open mouth presses to the inside of your thigh.

You scream.

‘Mmm, that’s it mesh’la,’ he moans, muffled against your flesh. ‘Let me hear you.’

‘I- I think you’re gonna kill me, Din Djarin,’ you huff as you bite into the crook of your elbow.

You feel him smile against your leg. It’s indescribable.

‘Not if you end me first,’ he says. Then he drags his face up, up and… off. But you can feel his breath, puffing against your oh so tender centre.

‘I’ve tasted you in my dreams,’ he whispers. ‘Finally, I will know.’

Every inch of you, every nerve ending, every muscle, every fibre of your being, your whole essence, channels down into the one pinpoint on your body where his tongue touches your dripping slit. It sinks inside of you immediately as he plants his open mouth right over you.

You arch your back and wail at the same time that Din releases a groan of ecstasy. He pushes forwards, trying to urge his tongue deeper and you can feel everything. Lips suctioning to your skin and teeth digging into your labia, his tongue exploring what his fingers already know so well.

He pulls out to mouth and lick and nip at your swollen lips, letting their plush give guide him back into you. You know you are leaking a constant stream of juices and you nearly pass out when you hear him make a deep, greedy swallow. He does it again, and again, drinking you down like you are an oasis.

He pulls back and mouths at your thigh for a moment.

‘I knew it,’ he rumbles. ‘I knew you’d taste just like this.’ 

He goes back in, but the throbbing of your clit is becoming unbearable. You release your hand from the blanket you’d been holding in a steel fist and reach down to palm at his hair, his temple, whining a little and trying to tug him upwards.

He chuckles against your cunt, impaling you with bolts of white-hot electric pleasure.

‘I know what you want.’ He leans into your grasping hand. ‘Don’t worry, I’m going to give it to you.’

With no other preamble, he licks a long stripe up you, beginning under your slit – of course letting his tongue dip into it on the way – and up to the little bundle of nerves already set to shatter you apart. Soft, hot tongue connects with quivering, pulsing clit and you almost levitate off the bed. An arm reaches up and locks across your middle, binding you to the mattress. The other pushes a thigh down to grant more access.

You aren’t going to last long now. A brief dance of tight, firm circles sends you into a cascading torrent of bliss. Your climax reaches every corner of your body and you’re sure that, even if you weren’t blindfolded, you wouldn’t be able to see a thing.

He’s still licking at you when you come down and you nudge him away from your sensitive flesh. He acquiesces and settles back at his home on your thigh, hair and panting breaths tickling the soft skin there. 

The hand on your other leg reaches across and two fingers scissor open your folds. They shift and prod, exploring.

‘What are you doing?’ you breathe, slowly coming back into your body.

‘Just looking, mesh’la,’ he says. ‘Want to be sure I know every part of you.’

Something about that is so erotic your hips thrust up and push yourself into his hand. 

He hums with content. ‘Ready for more, already?’

You just push again, reaching both hands down now to find his head, feel his soft curls. He doesn’t make you wait, diving back in to devour you like an animal starved. He pushes the two fingers that had been holding you open straight into your tight heat and moans against your clit.

‘So good. So sweet,’ he mutters, orbiting and stroking his tongue over you.

You’re at the edge again, so quickly. Somehow he holds you there, the rise just before the breaking wave thrums from your core and seizes hold of every single muscle in your body. How is he doing this?

You plant your feet and thrust up into his face, grabbing at the back of his head for more purchase, more contact, more.

He moans and growls affirmative noises and doesn’t let up. The vibrations turn into an absolute shock wave that rips you apart. You’re gone, nothing but an exquisite cluster of light.

The feeling of the bed moving while you’re absolutely boneless brings you round again. Din is still devouring you and you think he’s pushing his hips down into the mattress, fucking himself against it. You move your feet to his ass and confirm it. You push his head from your aching centre and tug him upwards.

‘Din,’ you huff. ‘C’mere. Come up here and fuck me.’

He crawls up you with a feral intensity that sets your body aflame again. He licks and kisses at your skin on the way, teeth and mouth marking you in careless abandon. He stops at your breasts and you keen loudly as he sucks and bites at each in turn, smothering them with your juices and his spit. 

With mouth still attending to a tightened nipple, he arches his back so that his cock meets your folds and slips along you. It’s a whole new sensation. The mess he’s made of you with his mouth offering a slick plane for his veiny shaft to glide along.

You both moan at the feeling.

‘Feel that?’ he whispers, sliding back and forth, coating himself. He leans up and plants his mouth back on yours. You revel in the taste of yourself on his lips and face. He mutters against your mouth, ‘Feel how soaking wet you are?’

‘Mmmmm,’ is all you can say as you move your feet back to his ass and use them to push him into you. He sinks to the hilt, then sets a pace so furious and sloppy you know he’s barely in control, almost there, ready to blow.

Din bites down hard on your lower lip then moves his mouth back to your ear, dragging tongue and teeth between it and your neck, panting with a ferocious hunger. Revelling in the sensations careening up and down your body, you flatten your legs on the bed and tilt your hips so his thrusts land right on your shivering clit. It’s a matter of moments before you’re lost in another orgasmic haze and you move to lock your ankles around his back, feeling him rushing over the edge with you.

‘Huuuh, fuh,’ he gasps. ‘Luh… Love…’ You twist your head and kiss him, swallowing his words. He pumps into you a few more times, wringing every last drop of pleasure from himself. You keep your feet linked and cradle his head and neck as he coats you with soft groans.

When he regains composure, you expect him to roll off you and wrap you in an embrace, like usual. But he rises onto hands and knees.

‘Din?’ you ask. 

‘Not done,’ he rumbles. ‘Not done tasting you.’

He moves down your body, laying his mouth all over, everywhere. Feasting. Consuming. You clench your masked eyes shut and let yourself drown in him.

Time doesn’t seem to move as you both bask in a deep, simmering afterglow. At some point, Din reaches up and nudges the blindfold off. Your heart skips a beat before you register that the room is pitch black. You couldn’t see your hand in front of your face, let alone his.

So you just close your eyes again and focus on the feel of his breath on your forehead, where he rests his chin.

‘When do we return for Grogu?’ you ask the darkness.

‘Still a few moon turns,’ Din replies, using a measure of time you weren’t familiar with. You stay quiet until he clarifies, ‘We have time, Cyar’ika.’

‘Okay,’ you say, moving closer and holding tighter, ‘okay.’

Fucking in every corner of the Razor Crest gives you a new appreciation for the lovely, aged ship.

Up against the weapons locker, held up by Din’s arms and pierced to the cabinet by his cock. The door rattles as he slams up into you and you tremble with effort to meet every thrust with a clenching need.

On the descended ramp, the breeze of the open air lifting the sweat from your bodies as you take turns to ride each other. You sit on top and bounce ruthlessly before he rolls you over and grinds you down into the cold grating. When you climb back onto him again, he paws at the indentations created on your ass.

Bent over in the fresher, the wet suctioning of his furious pounding against your skin filling the space and taking you over the edge again and again.

And, most deliciously, in his pilot chair. The first time you’d done that, the Crest was sailing through hyperspace, the tranquillity of its vastness doing nothing to slake the lust crackling in the cockpit. He’d pulled you onto his lap, back flush against his chest, and taken you apart with his hands. They roamed everywhere then massaged and kneaded your tits, pinching and squeezing your nipples until they were tight peaks shooting sparks of pleasure to your clit.

When he’d finally moved his ministrations downwards, he’d plunged the fingers of one hand deep inside you and set the others up in the perfect pattern on your hard nub. Once he’d had you writhing and moaning his name, climax after climax filling the air, you’d sat forward to brace your hands on the instrument panel. You’d given him a real show of your ass before sinking down onto his cock, which was right there eagerly waiting.

Sometimes you’re blindfolded, and he drinks down your pleasure as if it were the last drops of nourishment in the galaxy – he even tastes you when your pleasures are mixed together, licking you down right after filling you up. Sometimes he keeps the helmet on, so you can watch his gorgeous muscles flex and strain as you chase new heights each time.

You and Din take each other in every way you can imagine. 

You weren’t sure what exactly was driving his need to have you over and over again. But for you, the feeling that time was running out had set an unbearable appetite within you. And you were determined to get every last morsel you possibly could.

--

Prev | Next

[petrichor-idyllic]

OPEN WOUNDS

Alright, alright, I just know people are gonna get mad at me but I'm having Maze Runner burn out, and the requests I have are throwing me through a loop right now lmao. (Requests are still closed.) So, I thought I'd write something different to get me out of my hole- my own idea. Yeah, I know, Petri writing their own original plot? Mad.

Hope I've got at least one OBX fan in my audience.

MASTERLIST | JJ MASTERLIST

SUMMARY: Fem! Reader x JJ Maybank. Enemies to lovers.

You and JJ have a tense relationship - you always have. But, both of you coming from rough home lives, you've both resorted to the Chateau and John B as your saviour. Neither of you talk about it, but you know more about JJ than you let on. Though, tonight is the night. With John B out with Sarah and JJ's dad out of town, you finally have the Chateau to yourself - until things don't go quite as planned.

WARNINGS: Inappropriate language, themes of physical abuse, generally depressing subject matter, no depiction of actual violence just the aftermath but still trigger warning for abuse. Also some friends references.

Ah.

The sweet relief of silence.

Between yours and JJ's bickering, the constant string of girls flooding through the Chateau, the parties, the drinking and John B's terrible music taste - the Chateau is normally a chaotic bundle of angsty teenagers. But not tonight.

Tonight, John B is on a date, Pope and Kie are at their respective homes, and JJ's father is out of town, resulting in him going home for his own peace. Probably, because he doesn't actually want to be stuck in the house with just you.

But that's fine by you.

You're not really sure why you and JJ hate each other so much. You swear blind that he started it, but he says otherwise. You were childhood friends with Pope, and JJ with John B - so when John B befriended Pope, you both just ended up tagging along. Now, you're a certified Pogue, and you're close with everyone, even Sarah.

Apart from JJ.

John B says you're just too similar to get along, Pope thinks it's because you're both too stubborn, Kie reckons it's because there's some underlying tension you both refuse to admit. But it doesn't really matter why, in your opinion.

And Kie is clearly wrong.

Though, when shit hit the fan at your place and you decided to seek refuge at the Chateau, you kinda sorta forgot that JJ was there for the same reasons.

You've tried, okay? You have tried to get along with him. To make things less awkward, if just for the sake of the other Pogues more than anything else.

But it just doesn't work.

JJ knows how to push your buttons, and no matter how calm and collected you try to be, most of your interactions end in an argument.

But not tonight.

Because he isn't here.

You lay, spawled on the couch, wearing a long worn band tee as a dress as you scroll through your phone, an episode of friends playing on the TV in the background. You think it's the one where Chandler gets handcuffed to a filing cabinet - but you're really not paying attention, nor do you remember the actual name of the episode. You mindlessly dive your hand into the bag of potato chips resting on your stomach, laughing at some TikTok Pope had sent you.

Between work, school, and arguing with a pretty surfer boy, you very rarely get time to actually just chill out and relax. You've not even bothered to get up and turn the lights on, the thin shine of the moonlight and the electronic flicker from the TV being the only things stopping you from walking into something when you eventually stand up.

Not that you intend on standing up anytime soon.

Things are going well. You might even be able to have a shower without JJ thinking he's hilarious and stealing your clothes. Or maybe even listen to music without him blasting his own music even louder.

Life is good, sometimes.

Just as you're smiling to yourself about how good your evening is, the door is violently yanked open and then slammed again, scaring the shit out of you.

"Jesus!" You jump, looking over the back of the sofa, it's too dark to make him out properly, but his trademark red cap and locks of blond escaping his choice of head wear give you a pretty good hint. "Maybank? The hell? Aren't you meant to be at home for once?"

You're too angry that he's interrupted your pleasant evening to realise that he's in clear distress.

"Fuck off, (Y/N)." He spits, leaving you in a state of shock. That's blunt and forward, even for him.

"What-?"

"Leave me alone." He says sharply, going into the spare room where he sleeps and slamming the door.

You sit there in a bubble of confusion for a couple of seconds before huffing and returning to your original position on the couch. "Whatever."

Your peace only lasts a few seconds as you hear a loud crash from inside the room. You sit up, silently, grabbing the remote and turning the TV off to see if you heard that correctly.

There's more crashing and banging as undoubtedly JJ has some kind of rage induced meltdown. That's when your phone buzzes. You open it, reading the message:

Pope

I thought Luke was out of town???

You

Huh???? He is??

Pope

I just saw him???

Went to the corner store and he was smoking outside

You

????

I thought JJ said he was gone for the week??

Pope

Is JJ at the Chateau??

I can't get ahold of him

You

Yeh

Burst in about five minutes ago

Pope

Can you check on him for me

You

Are you fr rn?

Pope:

Pls

You groan, tossing your phone to the side as you stand up. You stop in your tracks when you realise that the noises have stopped. The house is now completely and utterly silent.

Which is somehow more concerning.

"Oi, Maybank, you good?" You half-shout, earning no response as you pick up your phone from the sofa - just in case you have to call John B or Pope in a panic.

You get no respond, slowly walking towards the room. "JJ? Hey - you okay?" You knock on the door.

"Leave me alone." JJ's voice breaks as you hear his voice through the door, and you feel your stomach sink.

You don't particularly like JJ, sure, he's like, the hottest man you've ever seen, and he is genuinely kind of funny sometimes. That doesn't matter; you don't like him.

But you can empathise with him. And he's Pope's friend.

And it doesn't take a genuis to put the dots together about what's happened.

"JJ." You sigh. "I'm coming in."

To your surprise, he doesn't respond, so you slowly push the door open.

The room is a mess, clothes are scattered everywhere, a lamp's broken, the bed sheets are a mess and the pillow is across the room, slumped against a wall. It looks like he's thrown anything he managed to get his hands on. JJ sits on the floor, his knees pulled up to his chest, he stares at the floor, one hand in his messy blond locks, the other resting on his knee, red cap in his hand.

He doesn't look up as you walk in, his hair hiding his face along with the dimly lit room. Silently, you move, walking to sit next to him. You leave enough distance between you to make neither of you uncomfortable.

"I told you to leave me alone." He mumbles, not even looking at you.

You hesitate for a second, sighing.

"...my step dad was an asshole. When things got bad, I'd lose my shit and scream at anyone who got too close, screaming about how I wanted to be on my own. ...But, all I ever really wanted was for someone to push past all that and act like they cared about me."

JJ doesn't move, or even look up, so you keep talking.

"You can hate me, and tease me, and throw shit, and say you hate everyone and this whole shitty island and whatever you want to say to get it out your system - I get it. But I'm not going anywhere. I'm not leaving you, Maybank - so suck it up."

JJ is still silent, but his hand falls from his hair, loosely resting on his knee as he finally looks at you. You look at him out of the corner of your eye, and try not to visibly react.

JJ already has a black eye forming, a cut on his cheek and blood smeared under her nose. There's also blood staining the back of his hand, probably from wiping his nose.

"... you gonna put our petty differences aside for five minutes and let me fix that?" You ask; reacting dramatically or with pity is just going to piss him off even more.

JJ hesitates, but eventually nods, sighing. "Alright... but I don't wanna talk about it."

"I wasn't gonna ask." You stand up, offering him a hand, that he doesn't take, before he brushes past you and out the room.

That's about right.

He sits on the sofa as you get the appropriate means from the first aid box. You walk back to him, looking at him for a second before you step forward and touch his face for him to look up. He immediately flinches, pulling himself away, making you huff.

"Dude, I've gotta touch you if I'm gonna help you." JJ mumbles something you don't quite catch, but he lets you lift his face. You lightly dab under his nose, wiping the blood away before moving to the cut on his cheek.

He hisses as you press an alcohol wipe to his cheek.

"Sorry," you mumble.

"Could've warned me."

"Figured you wouldn't be such a pussy."

JJ simply rolls his eyes at this as you continue to nurse to him. Then you grab some glue strips, pressing down on one side of the cut and pulling the skin up to reach the other, tightly holding the cut together so it leaves less of a scar.

"Why are you helping me?" The question catches you off-guard, making you look him in the eye.

And you suddenly become very aware of how close you are. JJ isn't the goofy kid who always had a tooth missing and dirt on his clothes that you grew up with anymore. He's objectively gorgeous - there's a reason there's a seemingly endless amount of girls in the Chateau when he's around.

His bright ocean blue eyes lock with yours, and for a second, you understand. You understand all of those girls you judged and made fun of for falling for the blond's charm.

I mean look at him. How could they not?

And now is the worst moment to realise that.

You stand between his legs, bodies close, you're only wearing a thin lounge shirt and JJ's hands rest on his open legs, almost like he's fighting the instinct to put them on your waist.

You clear your throat, ripping your eyes away from his hypnotic gaze. He notices the shift, raising his eyebrow as you finally answer his question.

"I think I've already explained that."

He shrugs. "Yeah, I guess, but, like, you don't have to do this. Ain't you meant to hate me?"

"I only hate you because you hated me first."

"I didn't."

"Did too."

"Whatever." He pauses, eyes following your every move as you brush hair out of your face, grabbing his jaw.

"Stop moving."

"It hurts."

"Cope."

You place another gluestrip on his cheek. He opens his mouth to speak, but quickly shuts it again, making you curious. "What?"

"What, what?"

"You were gonna say something." You hook a finger under his chin, angling his face so you can see what you're doing better.

"No, I wasn't."

"Alright, fine - you weren't then."

The silence around you becomes more tense, and then JJ sighs. "I don't- I don't actually hate you."

You pause, looking at him, eyebrows furrowed.

"I mean, you're annoying as shit," he continues, "but... you're the only person that seems to be able to put up with my shit. So... yeah, yanno."

"So... you don't hate me?" You pull your hands away from his face, and he shakes his head, shrugging before running his fingers through his hair.

"No... you help around here - I mean, the Chateau would be trashed if you weren't around, and you help Pope out. And, I mean, he cares about you, for some reason, so you can't be all bad."

You scoff at this. "Yeah, yeah - you'll need some ice for that eye." He rolls his eyes in response as you return to the kitchen, bringing back a bag of frozen peas, which he presses to his eye as you finally sit down.

"It's cold."

"Is it really?"

"Ha ha." He fake laughs. "What were you even doing, anyway?"

"I watching TV and enjoying a peaceful evening."

"Sorry to ruin your evening." He says sarcastically.

"It ain't your fault." You respond, not quite sure where to go from here but you can't quite meet his eye either. It falls quiet again.

"...thank you."

He says it in such a whisper you think you're actually losing your mind at first. "What?"

"I, uh," he rubs his face. "I said thank you. You... you didn't have to do this. The others... When I- when..." He sighs. "Normally, they just leave me to it. They don't get it, they don't understand."

"They don't, not in the way you want them to, but they understand that you're going through something horrible. And they don't wanna make things worse. And you tell them to leave you alone and avoid talking about it - people can't help you if you don't let them, JJ." You say, your voice becoming softer as you finally look at him.

"You managed." He responds, watching you carefully. You don't really want to have this conversation either.

"Yeah, well, I'm stubborn." You joke, earning a snort and him dropping and shaking his head, his hands falling to his lap with the bag of peas.

"Yeah, you can say that again." He pauses. "Mind if I join you with your little marathon? I've got nothing better to do."

"What?" You scoff. "You want to willingly spend time together?"

"Yeah - fuck it, why not? It's been a shitty day, I'm not sure even your annoying-ass could make it worse."

"Ah, well, I'm sure I can find a way." JJ grins at your sarcastic comment, picking up the remote and flicking the TV back on. "Friends? Seriously?"

"What? It's good."

"Ehh, is it, though?"

"Just 'cause you have no taste."

"Rude. Well, what would you rather watch?"

"Uh, Two Guys and A Girl?" You blankly look at him. "You don't know what that is, do you?"

"No-"

"'Course you don't."

"Just 'cause you're a film freak." You sneer.

"Just 'cause you're uncultured." He retorts, then sighs. "It's another nineties sit-com. Only has two seasons."

"That probably means it's bad."

"Shut up. Ryan Reynolds is in it."

"That doesn't mean it's good."

"Uhh, yeah, it does."

You continue your dumb bickering, even though you do ultimately continue watching friends - JJ even laughs at some of the bad jokes. It's... weirdly nice.

You're not sure if it's just because you've become painfully aware that you're attracted to him, or if you guys are just trauma bonding, but it's almost fun.

"Ross is such a dick. Rachel deserves better." You chuckle at his comment, rolling your eyes. Then, after a moment, you speak.

"Oh, Maybank?"

"Yeah?" He responds between mouthfuls of potatoe chips.

"You don't need to thank me."

He pauses, glancing at you. "Yeah, I know - but I still will."

You nod, a small smile on your lips. "Well, you're welcome then."

○□○□○□○□○

"Guys! Guys!" John B rushes out the Chateau the next day as Kie and Pope carry booze and cups for plans of a kegger that evening. "You gotta see this."

"Huh? See what?" Kie blinks at the boy as she climbs out of her car, adjusting the bag she's holding full of paper cups. She'd lectured Pope for trying to buy plastic ones, which had condemned her to having to carry them.

"What are you talking about?" Pope raises an eyebrow.

"Shhh! Keep your voices down!" John B whisper-yells, making them exchange puzzled looks. "Come on. Come on!" He summons them to follow him, in which they shrug at each other as they follow him inside.

"Dude, what's going on?" Pope hisses, his tone low as John B leads them into the living room area.

John B puts a finger to his lips, then points at the couch. Kie and Pope exchange another glance before walking around the sofa.

"Holy-" Kie starts before John B dramatically shushes her again.

On the couch, you and JJ remain. You're not sure when you fell asleep, but you did.

You're both still sat up, your head resting on JJ's shoulder, his arm loosely around yours as his head rests on top of yours. You're almost snuggled into the crook of his neck, your knees pulled up and slighting resting on the edge of his lap.

"Should we wake them up?" Pope asks. "Psst! Guys-"

Kie slaps his arm. "Don't you dare. They're gonna get along even less when they wake up - let's just enjoy the peace whilst it lasts."

John B smirks and nods. "Yeah, come on, let's head to the Boneyard and start setting things up. They'll catch up later."

The trio walk out as quietly as they can, leaving you two to your slumber.

Kie's right; when you both wake up, you're going to be embarrassed and probably angry at the other. But right now, you're blissfully unaware.

The bag of frozen peas defrosts on the table, and even though JJ is clearly hurt, he's been taken care of, and seems content.

Yeah, so, I'm providing content no one asked for. This is my blog, let me live.

Lmao, in all seriousness, I figured writing the start of a potential crush could be cute for a change and it's nice writing for another one of my favourite boys, who isn't Minho.

I know this isn't my demography, but I'm tryna make my masterlist look less empty.

Anyway, I hope at least one of you enjoyed this :))

[spybrarian]

Twenty Fanfic Writer Questions

Tagged by @storyspinner91 a while back but I was in Australia!

Who'd like to play? I've tagged a few people in the questions themselves, but maybe also... @onlyshestandsthere, @expensivefate, @jayenator565, @commanderbuffy @geek-and-nina if you like?

1. How many works do you have on Ao3? 

19, which feels *wild*! 19!!

2. What’s your total Ao3 word count? 

221,606

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Willow! Just Willow, these days. Tanthamore have my heart.

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

one night at the start of the end of the world - my Shattered Sea one shot, tender tender Tanthamore, and there's only one bed, and it's the birthplace of pillbug Kit, and the fic where I worked out how much I liked writing them looking after each other. I'm glad this one is other people's favourite, too.

more than just survival - my multichapter canon story about Jade as she grows up, from when she was a kid in Tir Asleen to what happens after they return from the quest. Also a 5+1 (five times Kit made Jade blush and the one time Jade got her back).

The Pieces - kinkverse modern au short stories, a collaboration with @acre-of-wheat and @swashbucklery. I've written The Spider, The Mile High Club, The Maintenance and The Holes.

kiss me, kill me - my Bone Reaver Jade au, Jade busts into Tir Asleen to kidnap the princess and ends up getting got herself, in so many ways.

I scream at your chest for as long as I must - a post canon one shot, just after they return from the quest. Jade grieves for Ballantyne and Kit learns how to walk with her though her grief.

5. Do you respond to comments?

I like to!

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? 

I don't know - I can tell you my darkest premises (probably the very canon divergent the cellar door is an open throat aka the barbed wire, Kit Jade and Elora in a dungeon au) but even the ending of that one finishes with a glimmer of hope.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? 

Huh, I think with most of my fics I tend to go for hopeful endings over happy ones. I think my most *satisfying*, hopeful ending I wrote was Samaras (an Architect of Catastrophe story) that I wrote as a present for @wigster07. I'm really, really pleased with that one. It's about rebuilding after tragedy.

8. Do you get hate on fics? 

I haven't, and am very grateful for that.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind? 

Do I ever?! What kind? What *kind*?! The gay kind. Aside from the aforementioned kinkverse, I've also got a canon based smut series (my kissing fics!) called There's not a step we can take that does not bring us closer where Kit and Jade are inventing all the different ways they love being together.

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written? and 11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Nope and nope!

12. Have you ever had a fic translated? 

Also nope - although Juliette made [Podfic of] one night at the start of the end of the world where she read this fic GORGEOUSLY! It's there for download if you want to listen.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before? 

I've collaborated! I haven't done a true co-writing thing for this fandom but, there's the kinkverse series in which I'm in deep cohorts with Acre and J, the singing cowboy fic I wrote into J's (cowboy) take me away (tanthamore rdr2 au). I love them both - they push me in new directions, and the feedback loop of inspiration is an utter joy.

14. What’s your all-time favorite ship?

Tanthamore, hands down

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will? 

I plan on finishing them all. Yes even Wyrm Jade/I'll be the sweetest thing to ever scare you, yes I know it's been a hot minute. I do have genuine plans to finish.

16. What are your writing strengths? 

Coming up with phrases/images that people remember, that's probably the part I get a kick out of the most. I think my pacing and character and words in general are all pretty good, but writing callbacks to earlier in the story, or getting the foreshadowing right, are two of my favourite things to play with.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

I get repetitive - mostly I manage to catch this in edits, but ho boy do I know how to say the same thing over and over.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic? 

I'm not fluent in anything other than English so I haven't used dialogue in other languages in any of my fics - unless you count the Ancient Angoran in 'kiss me kill me'.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Dragonball Z, an epic written by hand in double spaced lines over several exercise books ;)

20. Favourite fic you’ve written? 

I'm really proud of 'one night' and 'more than just survival' but there is a special place in my heart for Let's take a knife and cut the world in two and its follow up there is light somewhere (it may not be much light but it beats the darkness) - my Exorcist Jade/possessed Kit au. The strange not-canon, not-modern, some-mix-of-the-two world that I made for that one is my *favourite*.

[my-my-my]

Yoooo , I checked all of your writings, specially Aizen's cuz I like the character so much and your blog is just awesome 💗.💞. So may I ask nsfw of aizen x fem reader but a little tough or kinky like he's the type to love trying different things maybe rope play too.

Thanks.

Thank you for your kind words! I wanted to try writing him with a scumbag spin to it... this is also a modern AU!

DNI IF UNDER 18!

TW: patient/doctor relationship, humiliation, dacryphilia, rough play, bondage, alluded hypnotism, dubious consent.

Tags: @stygianoir

You didn’t know why you kept coming back to him. Dr. Aizen Sosuke was a dangerous man. A man who had your body, mind, and soul, in the palm of his hands. You were at his feet, staring at the ground, trembling beneath him as he sat in his office chair.

You didn’t dare look up at him, but you could hear him type away at his keyboard, writing something on a notepad, and the shuffling of patient files around. It was like you weren’t in the room at all, but you kept your head down.

You were being punished after all. But for what? You couldn’t remember. When you entered his office, you knew you were in trouble and got down on your knees.

How long has it been? You thought to yourself. Your thighs tingled with pain as you kept sitting there longer than you were used to, and still no sign of acknowledgement from your doctor.

Your doctor.

You weren’t even sure how long this had been going on. You were referred to him by your family physician and lost count of your sessions. You tried to recall when this all started, when you were put at his mercy –

You let out a shriek as Aizen gripped your hair, pulling your head back to look at him. His grip didn’t loosen, and your scalp felt on fire with how tightly he held on to your hair. His glasses were off, as he stared at you menacingly.

“Penny for your thoughts? Or was this punishment too easy for you?” Aizen asked, with a curious look on his face

You were about to explain yourself when he pulled your hair again, causing you to yelp in pain. Tears pricked your eyes as his strength forced you to stumble from your position.

“You truly are useless” Aizen said calmly, inspecting your face. “You can’t even stay still.”

You were hurt by his words. You swore you were sitting there for at least 30 minutes, but as soon as you opened your mouth to defend yourself, Aizen shoved his tie into your mouth.

He gripped your hair and treated it as a leash to pull you to the couch. The couch where any normal doctor would let their patient sit and listen to their concerns, but instead, Aizen pushed you into the cushions.

“You can redeem yourself by not looking back.” You nodded your head into the couch as you heard Aizen remove his belt.

“Arms behind your back” Aizen instructed, as you obediently listened to him. You heard Aizen chuckle above you, “I see you’re in a listening mood today.” He hummed softly as he looped his belt around your arms, locking them in securely.

“You can face me now, pet.” To which you turned around, tears streaking your face. “You look so beautiful like this.” Aizen smiled, rubbing your tears into your cheek.

Before you could protest, he removed your pants, leaving you in your underwear. Aizen chuckled as he rubbed his fingers against the damp spot of your panties.

“I always knew you liked it a little rough, but I haven’t even touched you and your soaking wet.” Aizen commended, rubbing his fingers over your covered slit. You whimpered at his words, burrowing your face into the cushions again.

But Aizen wasn’t having it. He slapped your ass hard, leaving your bottom stinging in pain. You shrieked into the cushion, hoping it would muffle the sound. Sobs wracked your body as he kept the intensity of his smacks. You were sure your bottom was covered in his handprints.

You were in a daze from the pain and didn’t notice Aizen removed your underwear until you felt cold air hit your wet pussy. But that feeling didn’t last long as Aizen pushed himself in one swift motion.

You moaned into the makeshift gag as Aizen started with a slow pace. You felt your body twitch from the pleasure of his cock filling you up, and the remnants of his spanking. As you mewled and arched your back, Aizen took it as a sign to increase his pace.

It was then you heard a phone ringing, and his pace slackened a bit. Surely he wouldn’t answer it?

“Hello, Aizen Sosuke speaking.” Aizen answered, his cock still sheathed inside you.

You turned to face him, eyes horrified that he was calmly answering the phone, as he kept thrusting into you.

It was then you realized, it was a test. Aizen was still punishing you.

You tried to steady yourself and ignore the full feeling in your pussy, but Aizen wasn’t merciful. He started to pick up his pace, as he chatted to whoever was on the phone. You bit into the tie as you tried not to moan.

But it was futile.

With one hand still holding his phone, Aizen’s other hand reached down to rub your clit. At first it jolted you with how light it was – you weren’t sure if that had happened. Then he circled your nub with gentle taps, which grew into intense rubs.

You weren’t even sure what he was talking about on the phone, as you tried to ignore everything happening to your body, but Aizen’s fingers were better, and quicker, and you let out a soft moan. It was then Aizen ended the call.

Aizen dropped his phone next to your head and lowered his face next to yours.

“Good girl. You seem to be getting better at listening.” Aizen murmured, kissing your tear-stained face. He removed his tie from your mouth and gave you a harsh kiss.

“Thank you, sir.” You sobbed, as he kept pushing you towards your orgasm. You bit your lip as you felt your orgasm coming closer.

“Because you were so good while I was on the phone, I’ll let you cum now.” Aizen softly said, nipping your ear as his hands rubbed your clit. Your body thrashed against him and the couch, as you screamed into the cushions. Aizen cock didn’t let up its pace until your pussy tightened around him.

You were too tired to fight back as Aizen pushed himself further into you at an unrelenting pace. Your body slumped as you whimpered and moaned at the fullness of his cock entering you repeatedly. You felt him tense up, and without warning, Aizen pulled himself out from you. He pulled you back to your knees, your face facing his cock.

Before you could register what was happening and without warning, Aizen let out a deep groan as he came all over your face.

There you were, in his office, a patient was probably coming in soon, with your pussy sore, ass red and face covered with his cum and your tears. Aizen chuckled at the sight as he took his phone from the couch. You heard the click of the camera and shuffling as he tucked himself in. He removed his belt from your wrists as he looped his pants back together.

Once you were freed, you looked up at him, his cum cooling on your face.

“This is the prettiest you’ve looked so far” Aizen remarked, as he rubbed the cum into your face. He smirked again, looking over his handiwork.

Aizen helped you up, but watched you put your pants back on, going back to his desk.

“I expect you to come to your appointment in two weeks.” Aizen addressed you, but didn’t bother looking at you, as he typed something into his computer. His glasses were back on.

You nodded your head and fixed your hair. Your eyes felt tired, and they probably were red. You sighed as you looked at Aizen once again, before leaving his practice.

Thankfully, Aizen’s assistant wasn’t here as you exited the office. But as you headed to the elevator, you bumped into someone.

You didn’t want to look at their face, until you saw a hand reach to you with a handkerchief.

“Miss, are you alright?” Concern evident in their voice. You didn’t want to look at them, so you avoided eye contact but thanked them for the offering.

“Yes” you said softly, “just an intense therapy session today” you smiled at them, trying to feign reassurance. You patted your cheeks dry and blushed deeply as you realized you still had bits of cum on your face. You patted your face more aggressively and handed the person their handkerchief back, thanking them.

“Oh I’ve been there. Sometimes these sessions can be hard, but Dr. Aizen knows what he’s doing!” The other patient smiled. You feigned agreement but excused yourself as the elevator dinged and opened.

Once alone in the elevator, you closed your eyes and tried to recall everything that happened.

That was, until the elevator ringed again, letting you out – and the sound triggering something in your brain.

You looked at your phone in wonder. Two hours had passed, and you can barely recall your therapy session. It alluded you.

Every time you walked to the psychology clinic for your appointment, with a psychologist you couldn’t remember.

You stared at your phone trying to remember everything.

What happened?

Why am I so sore?

You winced as you felt mild pain from your bottom, and your wrists were also a bit sore as well. The whole two hours seemed like they were gone from your memory. Were you asleep? You did feel a bit better, emotionally, but still were at a loss for what just happened.

As you made yourself home, you were still confused, but exhaustion was hitting you harder. A date with your bed sounded more tantalizing than figuring out what happened at your session today.

You rubbed your eyes open and fished for your phone. Sighing, you realized you napped for too long. You felt disappointed in yourself since you planned on cooking a nice meal tonight, but as you walked to the kitchen, you saw your boyfriend there cooking for you already.

“Sosuke, you’re home early!” You gasped, rushing towards him. He gave you a soft smile as you embraced him. He kissed your forehead as he turned off the stove.

Aizen pushed the hair from your face as he kissed you softly on the lips. “You were sleeping so soundly, I wouldn’t dare wake up my little queen from her beauty sleep.” You playfully stuck out your tongue in response. Aizen reached down to grab your ass, as you winced from the pain.

“Something happen, my love?” Aizen asked you, concern evident in his voice.

You shook your head, “no, I think I fell at therapy or something. I’ve just been sore since coming home, but nothing major.” You smiled at him, relaxing in his presence.

“I’m glad to hear that then. Hopefully you had a good session today?” Aizen asked, as the two of you set the table for dinner.

“That’s the strangest thing, Sosuke! I don’t really remember what happens, but I feel better afterwards. I mean, tired too, but emotionally better?” You explained, trying to rationalize what was happening to you at your sessions.

Aizen frowned, then relaxed. “Well if it’s working, then I suppose it’s nothing to worry about.”

You gave him a reassuring smile, “of course! And if anything were to happen to me, I know you’d come for me anyways.”

“Of course.” Aizen replied, a calming smile across his face.

[scoopertrouper]

If you’re still taking Stancy prompts, Nancy wondering what Steve is up to while they keep their distance in s3 is always my jam. Love love love your Nancy and Steve.

my first prompt fill!

i have to be honest, i don’t know if this is really what you were looking for? like, i admit there’s altogether more jonathan than probably anyone wants to see. but alas, i banged this out in like four hours last night and this is where my brainworm took me. thanks for prompting!

also, if you want to get a more exact idea of the kind of headspace i was in writing this, you’ll just want to listen to tswift’s death by a thousand cuts on one long, endless loop.

2,200-ish words under the cut.

-*-*-*

the only thing we share [is this small town]

She sees him sometimes. 

Not on purpose. Definitely not on purpose, but Hawkins has a population smaller than the enrollments of some state colleges. It’s kind of inevitable that their paths will cross more than occasionally.

And it’s not that Nancy's avoiding him, exactly. It’s more that every time she gets a glance at him even in passing, it’s impossible not to recall the sad way he’d stared down at her the last time they’d really spoken to each other, resigned to an outcome she wasn’t even sure she herself had reconciled with yet.

It doesn’t make her feel good, and after the past year, she’s more than sick of seeking out reasons to feel bad. 

So she doesn’t avoid him, but she also doesn’t not hide behind aisles in Melvald’s when she sees him pass by. And if they happen to be walking along the same side of Main Street at the same time, it just so happens that she’ll remember several urgent reasons why she needs to cross the road right away.

But that’s not avoiding. It can’t be, because Nancy doesn’t avoid. She barrels, head on, right into even the most fraught situations, because at the end of the day she has nothing without her resolute confidence in the fact that she is right.

She is right, and nothing – not Department of Energy hacks, nor the assholes at the Hawkins Post who make a sport of changing up their sandwich orders and the way they take their coffee every other day (“See if you can solve this, Nancy Drew…”) – can shake that certainty.

(Except sometimes – sometimes/especially when she sees Steve – a creeping sense of wrong begins to slither its way in, wraps icy tendrils of doubt around her carefully guarded resolve and squeezes. Hard.

But before it can do too much damage, before it can cause the kinds of hairline fissures that turn into cracks that end in endless interdimensional bloodshed, she turns away. Takes Jonathan’s hand, and looks into his eyes, and remembers why they’re the only two people in the world who could possibly get each other. Even when she can’t understand why he hovers in uncomfortable silence while those dickheads laugh at her. Even when he doesn’t get why she just can’t stop pushing, because a job’s a job and maybe if she let up a little they wouldn’t laugh at her so much.

None of that matters, because she and Jonathan…they just make sense. The photographer and the journalist. Shared goals. Shared trauma. Right? Right. 

And so the ground steadies beneath her feet, and her breathing eases, and she sinks back into the safe surety of her belief.)

Most of the time, not-avoiding-Steve also facilitates not-thinking-about-Steve, which is easier now that he hasn’t been around town much lately. She’d heard via the grapevine – amid some derisive tittering that had irked her for reasons she preferred not to examine – that he’d gotten a job at the ice cream parlor at Starcourt, and that he wasn’t headed to college after the summer was over, because he didn’t get into a single school, can you believe it?

The guilt was suffocating. She puts it out of her mind.

So it’s a blessing in disguise that Jonathan’s aversion to crowds and hypercommercialism means that Nancy hasn’t spent as much time at Starcourt as she’d planned to once she heard they were putting in a Gap. Because less time at Starcourt meant less time not-avoiding Steve (and less time – and money – spent stress shopping).

In fact, Nancy’s been lured into such a false sense of security that she never sees the stupid commercial coming.

It’s evening, and still boiling outside, and she and Jonathan are languishing on his beat-up couch after a long day spent toiling in the darkroom (him) and chasing down a specific kind of pastrami on rye with grain mustard available only from the sole deli in Hawkins, which just happens to be about as far across town as you can get on foot (her, of course).

Nancy is the kind of mentally exhausted that means that while she’s valiantly trying to pay attention to CBS Evening News (she likes to flip back and forth between all the major network shows), she’s actually staring off into space as Dan Rather covers a TWA flight hijacking that she knows she should care more about.

The jingle of the commercial doesn’t even penetrate the fog until Jonathan scoffs.

“Christ,” he mumbles. “They’re still playing this shit on TV?”

“Huh?” Nancy grunts before she can stop herself, rousing from her stupor. (It’s only now that she realizes she’s been doodling daisies where she usually takes careful notes on each story’s lead-in.)

“The Starcourt commercial,” Jonathan says, nudging her with his shoulder. “It’s been open for, like, a month. When’re they gonna give it a rest?” 

“Oh.” Nancy gets with the program, and laughs perfunctorily at the cheesy stock footage that’s eaten more airtime over the past six months than she’d ever thought city council would have the budget for. (Huh. Maybe there’s a story there.) “I kind of forgot about it.”

“Maybe…we could check it out soon,” Jonathan says, eyeing her almost cautiously. “See if it’s as awful as it looks.”

Nancy does a double-take before she can stop herself.

“You said it’d take a literal alien invasion to get you to set foot inside that mall.” And with the bizarro turn their lives have taken over the past year, she can’t be entirely certain he’d been joking.

Jonathan shifts, and scratches the back of his head.

“Well – they do have a bookstore,” he says, defensive. “And, like, I know this internship hasn’t been what you were hoping, so it might be nice to –” His jaw drops before he can finish the thought. “Holy shit, is that Steve Harrington?”

Nancy’s head whips around so fast she almost hears a crack. And yeah, that is Steve Harrington. In vivid technicolor, standing behind a cash register next to a vaguely familiar-looking redhead with a tousled bob – Nancy’s pretty sure she’s seen her around school before.

She recognizes the discomfort in his face all too well – it had stared across the table at her every time she’d tried to quiz him on SAT vocabulary words last summer. 

Only then, he hadn’t been wearing a hideous polyester sailor costume.

“That’s new,” Jonathan says, the ill-disguised laughter in his voice so uncharacteristic that Nancy’s head whips back around again. She’s going to need a chiropractor by the time this commercial ends. “I guess we definitely gotta check out Starcourt now.”

She rolls her eyes, and relaxes the fist she’d clenched around her pencil during the seven seconds – max – that Steve had been on screen. Jonathan doesn’t seem to have noticed her tension, and she’s grateful.

“What’s so interesting about watching Steve scoop overpriced ice cream?” she deflects skeptically, sinking further into the couch, wincing as she hits a spring. Now Jonathan’s the one who double-takes.

“Um. Nancy. It’s King Steve.” She doesn’t love the way he says that. “Dressed like a stand-in for The Village People. Slinging banana splits. What isn’t interesting about that?”

“It’s just a job,” Nancy retorts, face heating. “D’you think it’s funny that I run around buying lunch and pouring coffee for a bunch of dipshits who wouldn’t know a good above-the-fold if it hit them with a two-by-four?”

“Of course not, Jesus!” Jonathan sputters helplessly, shoulders hiking up to his ears. “I just meant – I didn’t – of course I don’t think that’s funny.” His mouth flattens. “I think it’s really shitty. You’re right, I shouldn’t make fun of anyone’s job. We don’t have to go to Starcourt. I just thought it’d be something we could do together.”

He looks deflated, and all at once, Nancy feels like shit. Jonathan was so serious all the time, and usually she liked when he let that go a little bit and dropped his guard. But she’s ruined it by getting defensive, and she doesn't even totally understand why.

“No, I’m sorry,” she backtracks, grabbing his hand and linking their fingers. It’s warm, as familiar as her own at this point. “It’s just…been a shit day. I overreacted.” She just has to work harder. Make them see how serious she is about this. Make them see how good she is at this.

All at once, she’s acutely ashamed of how lax and distracted she’s been, scrawling stupid pictures all over her notepad when she should be working. Improving her craft. Showing everyone that she belongs in that newsroom. Showing them that she’s right.

In return, Jonathan’s smile is strained, but it seems genuine enough. He squeezes her hand, with a strength that still surprises her sometimes.

“Things’ll get better. You’ll see. You’re brilliant. They’ll figure it out. Eventually.” He ducks his head, then looks up again, a little more relaxed. “Speaking of ice cream…I think Mom brought some Rocky Road home last night. Two spoons?”

Nancy nods, accepting the peace offering for what it is (even though she prefers strawberry).

“Yeah…that sounds good.” He leaves to clatter around in the kitchen, and she turns back to the TV, suppressing the urge to chew on the end of her pencil (what serious journalist walks around with bit-up erasers?).

Against her will, Steve’s face plays on a rewind loop in her mind’s eye.

Maybe it was just her imagination, but he’d looked miserable, and she was pretty sure it wasn’t stage fright (he used to preen whenever the yearbook photographers were in his general vicinity. It was equal parts endearing and annoying).

Had he really not gotten into any colleges? (None of her business.) His dad probably hadn’t taken that well. (Really none of her business.) 

She should’ve tried to help him more, after the whole…incident. He’d been insanely concussed, and that couldn’t have helped with the whole college essays and applications thing. He’d already been having a hard enough time with it all.

But what could she have done? The thing with Jonathan had been so new, and every time she chanced a look at Steve, he was already staring back, hurt scrawled plainly all over his face.

It would be better now, though, right? A lot of time has passed. She’s firmly settled into her new relationship, and Steve is – Steve knows how to rebound. He’s always been good at that, on the court and in life.

Maybe she should go visit him. Not – not to laugh at him, but just to see how he’s doing.

Would that girl be there? The coworker? She’s cute, in a “probably listens to too much Depeche Mode” kind of way. So not Steve’s type. (Nancy, why would that matter?) 

But they had been standing kind of close in the commercial. Maybe they’re friends?

Nancy snorts. Steve didn’t have female friends, except for maybe Carol, and that was mostly vis a vis that shit-for-brains Tommy. In fact, after he cut the two of them out, Steve didn’t seem to have many real friends. Or any. At all. He’d focused all his attentions on Nancy.

She swallows past the tightness in her throat. Anyway. This girl. Definitely – definitely not a friend. Maybe a friendly coworker. Or…

Nancy glares at the whites of her knuckles. None of her business. 

It really isn’t. After all, she has Jonathan, and Steve has, well…whoever he wants, really. That’s never been an issue for him, not even after he’d been officially “dethroned”. Girls still lined up at his locker for crumbs of his attention, right smack dab where Nancy used to wait for him in between classes. She assumes that in that regard, not much has changed besides the venue.

In fact, she can see it pretty clearly: Steve, raking a hand through his thick hair every time a pretty girl happens to make her way into Scoops Ahoy. Drumming deft fingers against the glass of the freezer. Handing out free scoops of ice cream like they’re not gonna eventually come out of his check.

Suggesting that they stick around until he’s off-shift so they can catch a movie or – or – something else.

The pencil snaps. Startled, she stares down at her hand, where the two jagged pieces haphazardly dangle, connected by little more than a few bare slivers of wood. What the fuck?

She’s got pretty much no time to figure out what the hell just happened, though, because Jonathan picks that moment to come back into the living room, a carton with two spoons balanced in his grip.

“Sorry that took a sec,” he apologizes, and  Nancy shoves the pencil’s remains in between the couch cushions before he can notice. “Will left eggs in the pan again, and I told him he’s gotta wash them out, like, right away or it’s a pain in the ass to scrub them off later –”

“It’s okay,” Nancy cuts in, unsettled by the stinging in her palm as he flops back down beside her. Despite the heat, he curls an arm around her shoulders. It’s light, and wiry, and she tells herself she prefers it that way.

“Dan’s kind of boring tonight,” Jonathan tuts, leaning back. “Wanna see what Tom’s up to?”

Nancy nods, curling into his side and scooping a spoonful of ice cream out of the container crammed between them. It’s creamy, and deliciously sweet on her tongue.

It’s just right.

(It has to be.)

[quaranmine]

Literally only comfort for me in the lonesome dreams universe is that Watcher!Grian eventually finds out that Jimmy is a listener without Jimmy telling him (recongnizing the wings somehow, Feeling this Weird energy coming from him, Jimmy letting him see some of the destruction powers, noticing the obscuring of things if he ever got pushed to try and See things, idk lol) and through this loophole of Grian finding out but not having had Jimmy tell him Jimmy can finally have some solidarity lol. Also brainrot about whether or not Grian is trying to get them out of the games, and whether the players remember the games, and like how Grian would handle everything and therefore how he’d treat Jimmy, and like them working together to try and escape. And if Grian noticed, who’s to say the Watchers haven’t? Sorry idk if you have any plans and this is super unsolicited but like AJHDKAHDJAHF the brainrot bro I have not stopped thinking about lonesome dreams since I read it yesterday 😭 Like AGHH the way he’s so lonely and his name is Solidarity like,,,,, Ik there’s another fic of yours where it’s canon and I look forward to reading it :)

OMG HELLO ANON!!!!!! no this isnt unsolicited at all, i am literally THRILLED when people talk to me about listener!jimmy, especially lonesome dreams-verse jimmy because it's still one of my fave fics i have done.

i tend to use "lonesome dreams-verse" when talking about fics that take place under these headcanons but honestly, i pretty much base my entire interpretation of jimmy off of this, so it's almost more useful to note when i am not using it lol. so yeah--jimmy in htbahb is the same one from lonesome dreams too! they're not in the same series because one deals far more with the life series than the other, but it's the same deal. if jimmy ever appears in IBW, it will be the same.

this series of fic suffers from.....many ideas and not enough writing LOL. Lonesome Dreams was initially conceptualized as a backstory oneshot to go with a larger multichapter fanfic center on Jimmy. It was set in Last Life (hey, 3 of the southlanders were former evolutionists!) and focused on him using some of his Listener powers to break them out of the games. it was really funny though because i came up with it in the middle of last life before martyn canonized anything watcher related and i accidentally predicted half of it. But I never really was able to get it into an actual fic, lol, so i just wrote Lonesome Dreams instead. I'm still interested in doing a fanfic where Jimmy helps them all break out of the death games, though.

i like your idea of Grian noticing that Jimmy has some weirdness around him and saving Jimmy the trouble of having to tell someone. my general idea is that grian remembers the loops in full because he is a watcher, but everybody else has sort of hazey memories of things. They might rememeber enough to reference things in past seasons, but it isn't enough to realize what's going on. Jimmy, however, also remembers everything because being a Listener makes him more immune to this memory magic or whatever. So that's one opportunity for grian to notice some things--jimmy knows about things he maybe isn't supposed to. imagine that from grian's perspective though lol hes angsting in being the only one to remember xyz and then jimmy pops up knowing something he shouldnt and grian is like TIMMY? TIMMY OF ALL PEOPLE KNOWS THIS?

there was also planned flower husbands Moment in the last life fic where jimmy was sad because scott only sort of-kind of remembered 3rd life, and not any of its intensity or emotion, whereas jimmy remembered all of it and still loved him. oops, i planned to break all your hearts with that one.

i often headcanon that grian doesn't have his full powers in the games, since the watchers are suppressing it. they're not really good at fully preventing grian from doing anything, but they can prevent him from doing a lot of stuff. it's like one versus however many of them there are, right? i'd say at least two watchers in charge of the life series just like evo, but we don't know that. so grian is sort of outnumbered. that's why jimmy could help ;) so grian is wanting to get them out of the games, he just doesn't have the power on his own to successfully do it

as for the watchers knowing about jimmy--i go back and forth on this. i basically think that as long as he didn't use any of his visual powers or his wings and only Listened then they might not know. like, they can Watch you destroy something but you can't see if someone is listening or not. eventually they would find out, though, because he would have to show his hand at some point to get anything real done. martyn says in his lore that the watchers do not like the former evolutionists who are associated with the listeners, since the listeners helped the evolutionists escape (which is why jimmy was helping them in lonesome dreams.) so they Definitely know jimmy is associated, just like martyn and pearl and bigb are, but i havent decided if they know he's a full listener or not.

one of my other lonesome dreams-verse headcanons, that i actually have a half-written oneshot for, is how jimmy's destructive powers go against him. he has some chronic pain issues from this, because it's self-destructive too. it reminded me of my own autoimmune disease--basically my own body attacking itself? kind of happens to jimmy too. but this is because the Listeners are generally not visible to humans. or corporeal. they're very wispy, the sound of the wind in the trees around you, etc and so Jimmy pretty much kept his human body, with just the addition of wings. Meanwhile, as in my fic htbahb, grian looks WAY more like a watcher and is just projecting a more human image of himself all the time. all of that was basically to say that jimmy doesn't look very conspicious to the watchcers in the first place, since he still has a human body. he also got forgotten/ignored by them in evo so....it IS possible they don't know the full extent of his connections with listeners, i think

ultimately, though, i have several formulated ideas of people finding out Jimmy is a Listener, and it mostly comes from him telling them. He's not supposed to tell, of course. But I like putting characters in difficult positions, and I think that with the life series especially, that Jimmy is like. The risks outweigh anything else. He has to tell people, because getting everybody out of the games is a lot more important than potentially upsetting the Listeners. I like putting characters in situations where revealing their secrets is the only way to move forward--this is what happened to Grian in htbahb too, when he has to use his powers to save people (because he ofc cares more about his friend's lives than his own secrets).

Jimmy has a bit of an uneasy alliance with the Listeners in general, because he is on their side and owes them a lot but would probably ultimately rather be free and on his own. they're nice to him, but also a little coercive. I feel like after a couple loops of the game he would probably feel sort of abandoned that they havent helped him yet (whether or not they were trying to doesnt matter, just that jimmy feels like they havent helped.) so he might not feel so bad about telling people xD except that it invites a lot of vulnerability and awkardness to suddenly come forward now, so it would still be very tough.

jimmy and grian are not brothers in lonesome dreams , but i DID have an one-off idea for a oneshot where jimmy admitted he was a Listener to Grian in a scenario where they are siblings. I may write it because it has been plaguing me for like two months now. it would probably get uploaded in the series with lonesome dreams, but might not be The Official Reveal Scene if i want to write something different later, you know? but the way i built this out in my head was SO GOOD lol

it's also worth noting two general dynamics with grian and jimmy. firstly, All the former evolutionists know that he is a watcher. they know that because the watchers told them so when he was taken. now the hermits on the other hand, they do not all know, because they met grian afterward and that's his business that he doesn't always share. but the evolutionists all know and they just like....dont always know if they should talk about it or not. But nobody knows Jimmy is a Listener because he never told anymore. Another interesting thing is that Grian hates the Listeners--he was taught to hate them, by the Watchers! But even after breaking off from the Watchers, it hasn't quite occurred to him that they might have lied to him about the Listeners being bad. Like he was taught a bit of propaganda because of course he was, they were the enemies of the Watchers, but he doesn't really realize they were lying a little? For all grian is concerned, they're just two sets of god-like entities with too much power that he hates. So that's um...a little fun for finding out about Jimmy....

this is. so much information LOL. i have thought about it greatly.

but yeah, jimmy needs a little support :( i think the listeners would be unhappy if he told people, but i think they would get over it eventually. BOTH jimmy and grian probably need to know there is someone else out there who has had some similar experiences. they're two lonely little birds :((((((

[darcyfangirlsfrequently]

Speak Now (Garvez's Version)

for @hey-dw

Summary: Penelope was driving to work when she heard "Back to December" and it hit her in the chest like a ton of bricks. She had to pull off to the side of the road to cry, and who sees her pulled over and comes up to her but the very person she's crying about: Luke Alvez. The two bond over favorite Taylor Swift songs, which ultimately leads to some interesting revelations.

Word count: 3677

Can also be read here on Ao3

The day was July 7th, 2023. Speak Now (Taylor’s Version) had come out that morning, and Penelope Garcia was on her way to work. She considered herself to be quite a big Swiftie, and so of course she had the album playing on her way in. She had it on shuffle, and just as she was over halfway through her commute, “Back to December” came on. And all of a sudden she was crying. She didn’t know what had happened, but she was sobbing uncontrollably. She pulled off to the shoulder of the road, unable to safely drive through her tears, and cried. The song ended and the next one, “Enchanted,” came on, but she went back and put “Back to December” on a loop, hoping it would help her get all her tears out. And maybe listening to it again and again would help her figure out why she was crying in the first place. 

On her third listen-through, it hit her. The bridge. 

I miss your tan skin, your sweet smile

So good to me, so right

And how you held me in your arms that September night

The first time you ever saw me cry

Maybe this is wishful thinking

Probably mindless dreaming

But if we loved again, I swear I’d love you right

I’d go back in time and change it but I can’t

So if the chain is on your door, I’ll understand

And shit. She had messed up. Badly. Those words dislodged something in her heart that she had buried deep down for three years, but something she remembered all too well nevertheless. Her feelings for Luke. She thought she’d gotten rid of them, sure she’d gotten over him, but there they were. As strong as ever. She loved him, and she had never stopped. She had missed her chance, she knew it—she had thrown her chance out the window on that fateful dinner three years ago without even a second glance. She’d gotten in the way of her own happiness, and it was definitely too late now. Coming back to the BAU had been hard on her, and then Tyler inserted himself into her life and she found herself pushed from the precipice and clinging to the nearest lips. Long story short, he was the wrong guy. Obviously. But there was no way that any feelings Luke, the right guy, had had for her—if there had been any—would still be around. Not after everything she had said to him. After everything she had put him through. She had been terrible to him, she realized that. It was a miracle he still wanted to be her friend, so he certainly would not want anything more. Certainly could not. 

A soft knock on her window startled her out of her despairing thoughts. The planets and the fates and the stars all must have aligned on that day, because who was outside her window but the same man she was crying about. Luke Alvez.

“Hey, are you okay?” His voice, though muffled through the glass of her window, was achingly soft and full of concern. 

She nodded, but he fixed her with a disbelieving look, so she waved him around to the other side of her car, gesturing for him to get in so they could talk.

As he opened the door, she remembered to pause the music, but not before he heard what was playing.

“What’s got you crying so hard to ‘Back to December?’”

Penelope stared at him, wide-eyed. “You know Taylor Swift? Scratch that, you know Taylor Swift well enough to be able to identify what song I’m listening to just by a second?”

Luke lifted his chin in the air, jokingly indignant. “I’ll have you know I listened to Speak Now (Taylor’s Version) on my run this morning.”

She turned in her seat to face him completely. “You did not!”

“I did too! Here, I’ll prove it.” He opened the music app on his phone and showed her his history. Sure enough, there was the album. 

Penelope laughed, leaning back into her seat. “Wow, I can’t believe you like Taylor Swift.”

He shrugged. “My sisters got me into her music. I mean we were what… in our twenties when her first album came out? I’ve listened to each album as they’ve come out, it’s been a great way for us to stay connected all these years.”

"What's your favorite album?" 

Luke let out a huff, contemplating. "Probably 1989, but I'm… oh god what is it all the younger fans are saying online… in my Speak Now era." 

Penelope laughed. "Aren't we all?" 

"What's your favorite album?" 

"Definitely Lover," she replied, not even having to think about it.

"Yeah, that does not surprise me at all." 

"What's that supposed to mean?" 

"Have you seen the inside of your office?" 

"Okay, fair play. What's your favorite song?"

"Oh god," Luke groaned, half laughing. "There are too many to pick from. Can we do favorite by album instead?"

“All right, sure. What’s your favorite song from her first album?”

He barely considered it. “‘Stay Beautiful.’”

“Really?”

“Why, is that surprising?”

“Well, not necessarily,” Penelope admitted. “But it’s just not one you hear people say a lot. Now I feel basic saying that mine is ‘Our Song.’”

“Hey, there’s nothing wrong with basic,” Luke said. “It’s a popular one because it’s good. A very close second, in my opinion.”

Penelope smiled. “Okay, favorite song from Fearless?”

“It has got to be ‘You Belong with Me.’ C’mon, it’s a classic!”

“I will give you that, and it is an excellent choice, but personally I’m going with ‘The Best Day.’ Reminds me of my mom.”

Luke nodded. “A completely understandable favorite. I’m not going to lie to you, I still cry every time I listen to it. And then call my mom.”

“Aw, that’s so sweet! I’m guessing you don’t want me to pass that information along to Tara?”

He threw his head back laughing like a little kid. 

When she heard his laugh, she looked up, smiling. He had the best laugh.

“No, that would not be ideal,” Luke answered. “I don’t want to give her another thing to tease me about. Okay, what’s your favorite song from Speak Now?”

“Well, right now, it’s ‘Back to December.’ Yeah, I was just crying to it, but it’s just so good.”

“What were you crying about, anyway?” Luke asked her, sympathy and concern back in his voice. 

“I’d rather not talk about it, if that’s okay. Plus, you haven’t told me your favorite song from Speak Now.”

He stared at her for a moment, his brown eyes shimmering, beautiful. “Enchanted,” he finally answered. He was still staring at her, and she was staring right back, the air between them becoming charged. 

She was the first to break the silence. “Okay, what about Red?”

“Oh, ‘All Too Well,’ definitely.”

“Which version?”

Luke scoffed. “Ten minutes, obviously, I have taste.”

Penelope laughed. “Okay, yeah, I’ll admit that. Mine is ‘Begin Again.’”

“Ooh, a fabulous choice from the fabulous Ms. Penelope Garcia. What about 1989? And tread carefully, remember, I said this is my favorite album, I will be judging your answer.”

“Is ‘You Are In Love’ acceptable, Mr. Judge?”

Luke looked exceptionally pleased. “Ooh, very. Mine is ‘Welcome to New York,’ and not because I’m a New York kid. Well, not exclusively. Every time that I drive down to visit my family, my younger sister has me text her as I cross the state border into New York, and she sends me that song.”

“Aw,” Penelope replied. “That’s really sweet! Okay, what about Reputation?”

“I really like ‘Delicate.’ I know it’s not a lot of people’s favorites, but I like it.”

“No, it’s a good one. My favorite is ‘Gorgeous.’”

“Ooh, another solid choice. Okay, favorite from Lover?”

“Right now? Probably ‘Afterglow.’”

“Really?” That’s kind of surprising. I was sure you'd say 'Me!'"

She cocked her head to the side. "Why's that?" 

"Because I promise that I'm never gonna find another like you!" 

It was Penelope's turn to laugh. "Okay, okay, what's your favorite song from Lover?" 

"'Daylight,' but 'The Archer' is a close second."

Penelope couldn't help but smile. His choices were just so good. "Okay, Folklore?" 

"'The 1.' How about you?" 

"Oh, definitely 'Mirrorball.'" 

"Ooh, yeah, that's definitely a gut punch of a song. What about your favorite from Evermore?" 

"'Long Story Short.' You?" 

"'Right Where You Left Me,'" he answered without hesitation.

“Really? I don’t know what I expected you to say, but I don’t think it was that. Why that song?”

He paused for a moment, trying to think of the right way to describe how the song makes him feel. “The sentiment, I guess. The idea of being in love with someone even when they aren’t in love with you, especially if they used to be, that kind of unconditional love. It’s sad, but it’s beautiful.”

Penelope tilted her head to the side, looking at him as if seeing him for the first time. “First you know Emily Dickinson, and now you have these deep insightful opinions on Taylor Swift? Luke Alvez, you never cease to amaze me.”

“I’m glad,” he replied, smiling widely. “Now, last and most certainly not least, what’s your favorite Midnights song?”

“Oh, ‘Bejeweled,’ hands-down.”

Luke brought his hand to his chest and gasped in fake shock. “What? You? Really? I’m astounded!”

Penelope rolled her eyes and shoved him playfully. “Shut up. Now come on, what’s yours?”

“Probably ‘Mastermind.’”

“Yeah, that’s definitely a good one.” 

“Why are all those songs your favorites?” Luke asked her then. 

“I relate to them,” she answered without hesitation. “I mean, almost all of them. I think ‘Our Song’ is the only one I don’t relate to.” She realized that she may have given too much away by implying she related to “Back to December.” She did, but that didn’t mean she wanted him to know that. Fortunately, he didn’t seem to notice.

“Yeah, I’m pretty much the same. But I feel like I relate to at least one line in each of my favorite songs. That’s what makes them my favorite.”

Penelope nodded. “Yeah, I get that.”

Luke fixed her with another warm smile. “Feeling better now?”

She smiled and nodded. “Mhmm. Thank you.”

“Any time,” he said sincerely, and damn if she didn’t get butterflies. He leaned across the center console and hugged her tight.

She returned the hug, arms wrapping tight around his middle and burying her face in his shoulder.

"We should probably get to work now," Luke said as he begrudgingly pulled out of the hug. "I'll see you there, okay?" 

Penelope smiled and nodded once more. "Okay."

*** 

Something struck Penelope not long after they arrived at work, and it bothered her all day. Luke had said he related to all his favorite songs. Including "Right Where You Left Me." Why would he relate to that song, especially now? What could possibly be the reason? 

Well, she had one idea. She just didn't think it was possible. There was no way. Absolutely no way he still felt anything for her, never mind loved her. Because that was what he had said, right? Unconditional love. There was no way he loved her like that. They were just friends. They had agreed on that. 

But then again… had they? She had assumed that the date was awkward because he had realized he didn't actually like her that way but had still shown up out of respect, because of course he would, and was just trying to find a way to let her down gently, because of course he would. She thought it would hurt less if she beat him to the punch, so that's what she tried to do. And she was right, partially. And she'd thought he had agreed, but thinking back, the only thing he had said he agreed with was the date feeling clunky. He hadn't agreed with her, but he hadn't disagreed with her either, and she mistook that for agreement. It occurred to her that he might have kept any difference of opinion to himself out of respect for her and the boundaries she was laying down. Because of course he would.

Penelope thought back on all the people she had dated or liked, the boys and boys and girls and girls, and while not all of them had been bad—in fact a lot of them were good—there was no question about it. Luke was the best of them. By far.

She had had feelings for him since the start. She had found him attractive the very first time she had seen him. She saw him and he was just… he was so gorgeous, it made her so mad. She had felt a bubble of… something else just underneath the surface, but he was her co-worker and what’s more, he was Morgan’s replacement. Those feelings felt like a betrayal of her friendship with Morgan, so she had pressed them down and tried to fight them off by fighting him. It hadn’t worked. Her feelings had stayed, as strong as ever, and then she left. And he asked her out. And she said yes. And then she spent the next three years making very bad choices. 

First, she didn’t even see the date through. Didn’t even try to see if the conclusion she had jumped to was the right one. She said some mean things. Some wrong things. Then she virtually cut all her old friends out, claiming she needed a “clean break” from everything to help her heal. It didn’t fully work. This was the one area where Luke didn’t give her space, where he pushed her. He told her that this wasn’t healthy, she needed to talk to someone. Then the lockdown started and she was desperate to talk to someone, so she started virtually seeing a therapist. Tristan told her exactly what Luke had, that the way she cut out her friends wasn’t healthy and wasn’t healing and encouraged her to reach back out. When she did and apologized for her behavior, she was welcomed back with open arms. Luke was the first to tell her that all was forgiven. That was probably the one good thing therapy did for her, looking back. Everything else just made her selfish. And then… the thing with Tyler. God, that was the worst of them all. She saw the red flags, but he was the wrong guy showing her the right attention in a time of significant change in her life, and she fell for it every time. With Shayne when her parents died. With Jason Clark Battle when she was trying to get over Morgan. With Kevin when she had been shot. This was the pattern she fell back into time and time again. She had hurt Luke… everyone she cared for, and all for someone who ended up hurting her just like she should have been able to predict he would. She wounded the good and trusted the wicked. Again. She hardly expected their forgiveness… she hardly forgave herself. But they all gave it. Gradually. Except for Luke, who had forgiven her without a second thought. He forgave her before she even realized she was in the wrong. Because that was just the kind of person he was. 

Luke, Luke, Luke. That seemed to be all she could think about. And of course she just kept coming back to the songs. “You Belong With Me.” “Enchanted.” “The 1.” “Right Where You Left Me.” Was it possible he related to those songs because of her? Was he trying to send her a message? 

She didn’t know. But she hoped. Lord did she hope.

***

Luke spending his whole day thinking about one Penelope Garcia was not a new thing by any stretch, but today he was hung up on one particular subject. She had been crying, full-on sobbing, to “Back to December” and he could not for the life of him figure out why. 

Well, he had one idea. He just didn't think it was possible. There was no way. There was no way she was regretting the way things had ended between them now, three years after the fact. 

No, overthinking their date was what he did. It was what he had been doing every day for the past three years. Their first date… he didn’t kiss her and should have. Even if it was just on the hand or the cheek, something so that he could be clear, so she could know how he felt. That he thought, no, knew that there was something between them. He had been so crushed after that night, but he didn’t want anyone to know what had happened, so he had spent the following weeks before lockdown forcing laughter, faking smiles, doing whatever he could to convince everyone else that he was completely fine and hadn’t just had his heart broken by the woman he’d been in love with the last four years. He had gotten used to the fact he and Penelope would always be a story that never got told, a daydream he’d never get to hold. Well, until that morning.

They had just been talking and laughing in her car, and he started thinking to himself, “Hey, isn’t this easy?” Because that’s how things were for them now. Easy. Right. Comfortable. We wished things could have been that way on that night three years ago, but there was no way to go back in time and change things.

That train of thought, of course, brought him right back to Penelope. If she had been crying and relating to “Back to December,” then she had to be regretting the way a relationship—or something of the sort—had ended. Luke had become her “tell everything” person throughout the pandemic and still since, so he knew it wasn’t anyone else. The only person she had never said, “I don’t regret the way that ended” about was him. And granted, she had never said, “I regret the way that ended,” either. She had never said a word about it. Neither of them had. So maybe, maybe she regretted things. Maybe there was a chance. 

That was it, he needed to talk to her. However, it was still the middle of the workday, and this was absolutely not an appropriate conversation to be having on the clock. So, he waited. And he drew out his paperwork. And he waited some more. It reminded him of his early days with the BAU when he would work unnecessarily slowly so he could leave at the same time as her and accidentally-on-purpose meet her at the elevator.

Finally, once everyone had left, he made her way over to her office, where she was packing up her things and powering down her computers, just as he thought she would be. Years of observing her routine made him good at predicting things like that. He smiled at the dark room that she managed to make bright and colorful. Even after years of not being there, she could still make the whole place shimmer. “Hey,” he said. “Can I talk to you about something?”

“Yeah, actually, I need to talk to you too. Do you mind if I go first?”

“Go ahead.” 

“Why did you say you relate to ‘Right Where You Left Me?’”

“Why did you say you relate to ‘Back to December?’”

They stared at each other then, seeing who would crack first, who would admit that the other was the reason they’d had their heart torn to pieces again and again over a fucking song. Eventually, Penelope spoke up. She could hear it in the silence, his confession. His declaration that she was the reason. “So how wrong was I?”

He knew what she was talking about. She was asking how wrong she was when she had said there was nothing between them, that they each had their person out there but they weren’t each other’s. “Incredibly,” he replied, voice full of emotion.

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Why would I? Why would I disrespect you like that? I wasn’t going to pretend that your words weren’t what they seemed, I can take ‘no’ for an answer.”

Penelope’s eyes started to fill with tears. “This is what I mean! You’re so good to me! So… right! I don’t deserve the way you are with me.”

He reached out to her then, placing a hand on her arm, unable to keep himself from her for a moment longer. “What do you mean?” His voice was achingly soft.

“I’ve hurt you. And I’m sorry, Luke, I’m sorry that I hurt you. I never meant to.”

“I know. Which is why I forgive you. ‘Cause I like you, I love you, Penelope, and when the people we love hurt us unintentionally, we forgive them.”

“You love me?” Penelope echoed.

Luke nodded. “Yes. I love you now and I loved you then. We were something, don’t you think so? Back then?”

“I do.”

“Then if you want to be something again now, if you ever think you got it wrong, I’m right where you left me. If you want me, just say the word, Penelope, and I’m yours.” He was close to tears now himself.

She didn’t even hesitate. “I want you.”

Luke wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her flush to him. He brought his other hand up to her cheek, cradling her face and wiping away her tears. Then, finally, after seven long years of waiting, he kissed her.

“I love you too,” she whispered once she eventually pulled away, holding him tight. “I didn’t say that before but I do. I love you.”

He buried his face into her shoulder, breathing in the smell of her until it filled his lungs completely and he was just completely encapsulated in her. “I love you too. Always have. Always will.” He kissed her again, a silent promise. Forever and always.

[mark-of-chrysus]

I remembered the Mommy Sammy loop and I was wondering - what if it was combined with the Little Daniel getting adopted by Big Deal loop? For example, what if Danny is adopted and the whole Johan incident happens soon after, but Sammy decided that she'll take her in under her wing. Female Johan and Samuel would be so cool.

Meanwhile, Danny is growing up and he realizes that Samuel and Johan are girls but Big Deal still hasn't realized it. Cue Daniel casually tring to tell Sinu and Yeonhui and the rest of Big Deal about it and them not believing him because what girl would be as much a psycho as those two (they think this with affection).

It would also be kinda fluffy since Samuel would probably stay with big deal and maybe try to legally become a business mogul (kind of like going to school and still making one mcn, just not with workers).

Idk I just thought it was a cool idea. Sorry for all the rambling.

"All of them are dumbasses," Daniel grumbled, kicking pebbles.

"Mhm." Sammy didn't even bother pretending otherwise, as she completed another test and began checking her answers.

Daniel had just returned from his usual daily attempt at opening Sinu and Jake's eyes regarding Sammy and Johane's gender. It had gone as expected, he got laughed at and sent on his way so the adults could 'do their job' (playing video games until 3 am). He had managed to convince Yeonhui a few weeks ago, as the girl was obviously much less dense than the two dunderheads leading the crew.

The time-looper trapped in a 7-year-old's body gave a long-suffering sigh, crouching near the steps on which his big sister figure was sat.

"They even had the gall to laugh in my face and tell me that I was making stuff up to avoid doing my homework. Can you believe that?!"

"The audacity." Samuel drawled making the tiny boy bristle even harder.

"You aren't even listening to me!" He shouted in annoyance, maybe a bit too loud for how late at night it was.

'Yep, definitely too loud' he sweatdropped when the lights in the building behind them turned on. A ruffled, half-asleep brown-haired girl made her way out after a few beats of silence, followed closely by her loyal companion. Eden took one look at them, deciding that whatever human business they were doing didn't affect him, and headed back in after a large yawn. Johane looked tempted to follow his example.

"What are you two doing?" She asked instead, plopping down beside Sammy. "You know you're going to ruin your eyes like that, right?"

Sammy looked up at her. She had a flashlight strapped to her head and was checking her answers in pink glitter pen while the book was precariously balanced on one of her knees. The buff girl pointedly pushed her glasses up her nose.

"You know what I meant." Johane huffed "You're going to damage your eyes even more, then you'll have to wander around like a blind bat before age 30. And what's gotten in you, pup, why'd you shout at 1 in the morning like a damn prairie dog?"

The child shuffled his feet, the tips of his ears reddening.

"I didn't mean for it to be that loud. It's just that the guys-"

"What guys?"

"Sinu and Jake" Sammy supplied

"-are being such idiots that it's starting to really irk me!"

Johane paused, probably still a bit slow from tiredness and trying to gather her thoughts and articulate them in a kid-friendly way.

"Did you just now notice?" Was all she managed to come up with. "I mean, they've been like that since-"

"Forever." Sammy completed her sentence, closing the book and turning off the flashlight before turning to face her two younger siblings figures. "So those fuckers can't take the fact that me and her were born with vaginas and boobs. What are you gonna do about it? It's not as if you can force them to change their minds..."

The maniac smirk that spread on the beastie's face (She thought him that! That was her greatest achievement in raising the little hellspawn and no one could deny it!) made her pause. Sammy knew how devious the brat could be, but as she thought back to what she had said offhandedly just now, the Economical Studies students could already predict his thought process.

"Thanks, Sammy! You just gave me a great idea, I knew those crocodiles with lightsabers would come in handy again!" He ran up to the buff girl and gave her a quick peck on the cheek before running off.

"What have we just unleashed?" Sammy pondered out loud.

"And where is my kith?" Johanne slurred already half-leaning onto her shoulder.

[darsynia]

Diminished Seventh (ch 3)

(Stephen Strange/OC, 'mistrust to lovers,' Animate Objects series)

art found here: duttaayon14008 | gif by @marveledits

Length: 3,551

Animate Objects | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

I am quite new, and a wee bit shy about tags and asks, but please feel free to send them anyway! Tags: @starryeyes2000, @raith-way, @arrthurpendragon, @sobeautifullyobsessed

A 'diminished seventh' chord creates tension that begs to be resolved.

Excerpt:

“Have you made any progress in differentiating the deaths?” Wong asked without preamble.

Stephen shook his head. “No, and I don’t see that there’s a path, there. You know you’ve died too many times when you lose track of how many times it was impalement over incineration.”

He stripped off his outer clothing, down to a simple black pair of trousers and a cream-colored tunic with no sleeves. The torch he’d lit upstairs from one of their most ancient relics crackled as he lit the other three and set the fourth into its recess. The hour he’d spent meditating beforehand had been restless in a way it usually was not, so Stephen anticipated this to be a rough session.

“Are you ready?” he asked Wong.

“Am I ever?” came the usual reply.

“One of these nights you’re going to change it up. You’ll say ‘never,’ and that’ll be the night I find the thing I’m looking for.”

“May it pass from your lips to your mind’s eye.” 

Chapter Three

“Once again I have to ask you if you know what you’re doing?”

Stephen was still watching Amy marching away from him. Maybe if he pretended not to hear--

“If you won’t listen to me, I won’t help you.”

He wheeled around, jaw clenching. The expression on Wong’s face was sympathetic rather than angry, and that didn’t bode well. “Define ‘won’t help,’” Stephen gritted out.

“I was happy to come once a week and help you wrestle with the visions, Stephen. I’m certain you would have continued searching through them by yourself, if I hadn’t. But I don’t think you realize that you incurred more than just a mystical debt, in your battle with Dormammu.”

“Yes, yes. Psychological damage, which I’m dealing with as best I can,” he dismissed. “What the hell does that have to do with--”

Wong stepped closer and lowered his voice. “Every minute you spent in that loop took you chronologically farther from safety, farther from the people and places you loved. Time can heal, but it also separates.” He threw a look over his shoulder in Amy’s direction, and Stephen felt a roiling anxiety froth up in his gut. “I fear you have chosen to seek truth in your time loop torture for the same reason you’ve taken up the mystery of this woman.”

“I don’t have to stand here and listen to this bullshit,” Stephen snapped, pushing past Wong on his way to opening the door and getting out of there.

“Are you looking for answers or excitement, Stephen?”

Wong’s accusation rang out, and he stopped still, teeth grinding. Stephen could feel his pulse speeding up, commensurate with his anger. He spun on his heel and walked back toward his friend and colleague. His voice had always been one of his most powerful weapons, and Stephen employed it now, dropping his tone, stirring in a pinch of threat, a scoop of innuendo, but even he could hear the hefty serving of defensiveness when he was finally standing in front of Wong.

“Tell me exactly what you think my problem is. Don’t dance around it.”

“I’m not prevaricating at all. If you think so, you’re the one dancing.”

It was calculated, this risk. Kamar Taj’s location wasn’t a secret to anyone who was looking, and it was populated with powerful, strong-willed people who would like nothing better than to protect it. Still, Stephen’s head was filled with the past, various chunks of it-- undoubtedly a remnant of his weekly battles to remember. Wong’s accusation about excitement was off-base, but Stephen was chasing something.

“I stand by what I said,” Amy told him. It was the first time she’d spoken in a full five minutes; their portal had been facing the mountains, and after stepping out, she’d simply walked as close as she could get, pressed herself up against the wall of the courtyard, and stared. She was clearly in awe, but her body language told him she was also nervous. “You don’t make any sense.”

“Some would take that as a compliment.”

She turned her head and regarded him. “You think I’m an enemy and still bring me here of all places? The spiritual heart of your--” Amy struggled for words, then looked back over at the far mountains. “Stephen, what on Earth happened that you’re so fearful and trusting, all at once?”

This woman seemed determined to get under his skin. She’d been immediately comfortable with using his name, had somehow touched him multiple times despite their having only just met. Through his life, he’d gone from being a brilliant but driven student to a brilliant but driven surgeon, and now he was Sorcerer Supreme. In every role, he’d been given deference, distance.

Amy didn’t bother with those things.

She was looking at him expectantly, and Stephen thought of Kaecilius, then of himself, newly trained and thrust into a position to fight for his life and the safety of the sanctum. “I’m not fearful, I’m guarded, and for good reason. Those allowed into our most sacred spaces are the ones with the most power to do damage. That’s as true here as it is as a metaphor.” He took in a breath, setting loose his gathered thoughts about that ordeal in a long, measured sigh. “I brought you here in case you had been here before. In case someone recognized you.”

“That helps, actually,” she said, her crooked smile lifting more on the right. “It’s the suspicious ‘you’ I recognize.”

Stephen indicated that they should start toward the center of the courtyard. As they walked, he noticed a group of students practicing across from them. It was too far to hear the instructor’s words, but the sharp sound of her staff striking the ground made the front row bow in apology.

“We’re distracting them!” Amy said in dismay, starting to angle away.

“Maintaining focus is part of their task,” he said. He felt a drag on the Cloak and looked over to see that his relic had caught her arm to prevent her from moving away. The look on her face was fond but uncomfortable as she slowed, deciding what to do. “I wanted you to watch them for a few moments.”

“Can we do that in a way that doesn’t put us right in their line of sight?”

He thought about that for a moment, then inclined his head. With a swift, practiced gesture, Stephen opened a portal, indicating for her to precede him through it.

“What kind of life have you led where you expect people to trust you that much?” she asked him, incredulous. “For that first one I could see the mountains and a safe place to stand. That just shows the sky!”

Stephen’s response was to add a gesture, causing the portal to sweep toward and over them, taking them to his chosen destination. It was either that or grab her hand and yank her along with him, and he suspected he would have enjoyed that too much. 

“Well, you certainly don’t do anything in halves,” Amy said, crossing her arms.

The place he’d chosen was a roof-top alcove that overlooked the courtyard, an observation space he’d often used himself, for this exact purpose. He appreciated that she took stock of her surroundings as a matter of course, turning in a careful circle, just as she’d done when he’d pulled them into the Mirror Dimension in the basement. It was a good habit, and Stephen chastised himself for seeing her more as a potential trainee than someone to be wary of.

“I know I’ve only been here for ten minutes, but-- have you ever seen one of those warning signs that are meant to scare people into being careful? ‘Not only will this kill you, but it will hurt the entire time you’re dying,’” Amy quoted. Stephen’s brows furrowed, and she nodded toward Kamar Taj, laid out in front of them. “It really feels like this place is the spiritual opposite of that.”

He breathed the compliment in before he could stop himself, sending its sweetness coursing through his bloodstream until the words suffused his whole body. The “Thank you,” he offered felt inadequate. “Sounds like experience talking.”

“Electrical substation, or something like that,” she told him. “It was close to the flood zone after a hurricane, and we had to send someone to guard it, so that no one proved the sign right just to get a picture.” Amy shook her head. “This is another level of sightseeing, here.”

“Well, I didn’t bring you for the mountains or the architecture. I brought you to observe them,” Stephen said, indicating the training students.

She looked confused, but obediently (for once) stood quietly watching for a few minutes before saying, “Is it that there are many more students than just me? People who will fight back if I am the villain you seem to hope I am?”

He ignored her jibe and said, “Not quite. May I cast something to amplify your hearing so you can catch the instruction?”

“How long will it last?” she asked, adding, “I took public transit to your sanctum, Stephen. I do not want to hear everyone’s conversations on my way back.”

He liked the way she said his name. He didn’t want to like the way she said his name.

“Twenty minutes, usually.” Stephen lifted a hand, pulled on his connection, and waited for her nodding response before casting.

“Oh my,” Amy said immediately. “That has to be tuned to voices or I’m certain I’d hear your heartbeat!”

“Just listen” he instructed, tamping back the parts of him that were greedy to explore the charming ways she reacted to things.

Stephen didn’t need to enhance his own hearing. He knew the group and liked and trusted their instructor, so he watched as Master Wolfe moved from student to student, suggesting something here, chastising there. Karl Mordo’s loss was a loss for all of Kamar Taj, for all that he’d rarely spent time with large groups like this by the time of Stephen’s arrival. He had been the one the Adepts hoped to spar with, someone who was complimentary but never condescended to lose.

Amy had asked Stephen what he was afraid of, but how could he explain that Kamar Taj had gone through one betrayal, and might soon suffer another? ‘The bill comes due,’ Mordo had said, after Dormammu. It wasn’t until the nightmares had started just a week later that he connected his former friend and colleague’s defection with the glimpses of a horrible future, seen in flashes between dying repeatedly in the time loop. The next search would be that night, brought forward a day thanks to Wong’s visit.

Perhaps Wong was right. Maybe Stephen was looking for a distraction, a mystery wrapped in defiance and the light scent of vintage perfume to balance out the experience of reliving those moments.

“Not everyone can conjure, yet!” Amy realized aloud.

“Exactly,” he said, pleased that she’d figured out what he’d wanted her to notice. “That was me, once. I didn’t handle it very well.” Her laugh was a welcome sound. “It took a lot of time and a lot of reading before I made the right connection.”

Her hand landed on his forearm, squeezing. “Reading?” Amy asked, obviously excited.

Wong wasn’t the permanent librarian anymore, but he’d been there when Stephen and Amy arrived, meaning that Stephen could take care of a few things without needing to take her along with him.

He came back in an hour to find that she had a stack of books and a notebook, and was already taking diligent notes.

“You can’t take those home with you, you know,” he said by way of greeting.

She scrunched her nose at him. “I know that. Wong says you can take them to the sanctum though, and if I have to show up every day to baptize Spike, I might as well have something to do.”

“You’ll be training during that time.”

“So you’re planning to design your entire schedule around every time I can come by?” Amy’s lifted eyebrows spoke volumes.

“I most certainly do not! You’ll need to--”

“Yeah, the thing is, it’s not my interdimensional sanctum of protection that’s at stake if I don’t pop by to pet an umbrella, so I don’t think so.”

Behind them, Wong cleared his throat. “This is still a library, so I’ll ask you two to keep it down.”

“Are you--” Stephen started in full voice, but someone hidden in the chained books across the room made a loud shushing noise. Amy pulled a book up in front of her face to hide it, but her shoulders were shaking with laughter. More quietly, he said, “Promise to leave your notes at the sanctum too, and I’ll consider it.”

“Yes, Master,” Amy murmured.

“All right. Time to go!” he said, picking up the stack of books beside her and holding a hand out for the one she was holding. If he kept moving and making noise, he could excise that tone of her voice from his mind, so he wouldn’t relive it later.

“Shhhhh!” someone behind them hissed.

Stephen reluctantly set her up in a small side-room off of the smaller sanctum library. It had a large desk, a lamp, and not much else. That would let her leave the books in a state of respectful disarray and not worry they’d be tidied up when she wasn’t there.

Time was nearing to lunch, and he could sense that she wanted to get going. Every so often she would look around, as though some obligation was pressing for her attention. He offered to show her the path from her temporary office to the front door, telling himself it was to allow her to reveal a desire to stick around to do more spying-- but the truth was, his suspicion had faded greatly over the course of the day. 

That meant it was past time for her to leave, not that he was actually learning to trust her, Stephen decided.

On the stairs, she paused, looking back over her shoulder as if expecting Kamar Taj to be there. “Is-- Pardon me, but are all the people who seek out your Himalayan sanctuary broken in some way?”

Stephen had fully intended to continue down without her, but he halted, turning to look up at her. “Excuse me?” The set of her jaw was vulnerable, and her eyes were apologetic, even in the face of his strong response.

“I overheard--” Amy pulled in a breath and let it out slowly. He’d seen her do it before, both done to calm herself down, maybe to prevent an emotional reaction. “You implied you sought Kamar Taj after you couldn’t be a surgeon anymore. In the library while you were gone, I met Master Hamir and we talked a little while.” She didn’t mention the other man’s amputation, but her implication was evident. “Before that, outside, I overheard a conversation between three people, all speaking of the healing they had been seeking when they came to Kamar Taj.” She bit her lip, then smiled, as though she’d thought of something to soften her suppositions. “I wouldn’t dream of asking Wong--”

“All right, I get it,” he interrupted. “What’s the purpose of this?”

She looked away, toward where he knew there was a staircase to the basement. “Can a relic know that I’m broken?”

His first instinct was compassion, but he immediately had the thought that she’d neatly set him up to feel that way, had used her skills as a manipulator to drive him to trust her, only to reveal that trust in a moment like this one. 

He took no careful, deep breaths.

“You’re crafty, I’ll give you that,” Stephen said, mounting the stairs toward her. “Telling the leader of a powerful group of warrior mages that he’s broken isn’t going to ingratiate yourself to him. It just looks like you’re parroting the language of your own master.”

Infuriatingly, she didn’t look hurt-- and he was forced to remember her saying she’d worked in crisis management, had been an on-site mediator. Thousands of hurt people spewing retaliatory anger had probably inured her to his.

“My ‘master’ is grief, Stephen Strange. It’s more powerful than you.”

With that, she walked down the stairs, her head held high. He stood still, stunned, until her hand tugged at the door handle and found it locked. Only then did she drop her head in a sad sort of gesture of defeat.

He could cast a portal to unlock the door without having to move his feet at all. That wouldn’t be respectful, though. Her words resonated, and even if she was sent by Mordo, even if the thing he’d hated most about being a surgeon had been the potential grief in the eyes of his patients’ families, he couldn’t bring himself to dismiss her. Stephen started down.

When he reached her, though, she did the most unexpected thing.

“How about we start over? I assume there’s a wealth of information, perhaps even in that library at Kamar Taj, about how a mistrustful instructor inhibits the potential of their students,” Amy said softly, when he reached her. She’d been speaking while still facing the door, but now she turned, a clinically warm smile on her face. “Amy Cairn, it’s nice to meet you,” she said, offering a handshake.

She was right, but on top of that, Stephen couldn’t help but notice that his suspicion had done nothing to constrain her. If she were truly a tool of Baron Karl Mordo, sent either to ascertain Stephen’s arrogance or scout the sanctum, he could hardly learn more by maintaining his animosity. 

He took her hand, shaking firmly. “Doctor Stephen Strange. Do you plan on visiting us again tomorrow?” Her answering squeeze was relief-driven, he could see.

“Yes, but it won’t be until late in the evening, I’m afraid. We have much to catch up on at work, with the building closed today.”

“I’ll see you then,” he said, releasing her hand and unlocking the door. It was lucky that his vision-seeking had been moved to this evening.

“Until then,” she agreed, and left.

Stephen had to remind himself to shut the door. After preparing himself a sandwich on autopilot, he was halfway through eating it when it struck him why his surroundings felt so strange: it was the first time he’d eaten in the dining room for lunch since the influx of odd visitors. He grabbed his plate and made his way to the surveillance closet.

Wong was there already, of course.

“You seemed distracted,” Wong said, as if in explanation.

Stephen cleared his throat. “Anything to report?”

“No. There were no incidents along the wards overnight, either, which I’m sure you were going to look into at some point today.”

“Well excuse me for trying to figure her out! I suppose it would be easier to just let the woman bring us all to ruin than prevent it in any way,” he snapped back. It was as if Wong saw no value in what he’d done all day.

“Is that what you were doing? Preventing ruin?”

“Maybe lay off of whatever brand of tea you had this morning. It clearly doesn’t agree with you.”

He was most of the way down the hall when Wong’s retort made it to his ears.

“There is such a thing as too agreeable!”

For all their petty bickering at various points of the day, when the time struck 10:30, Wong showed up in the basement room prepared to help, as always.

“Have you made any progress in differentiating the deaths?” he asked without preamble.

Stephen shook his head. “No, and I don’t see that there’s a path, there. You know you’ve died too many times when you lose track of how many times it was impalement over incineration.”

He stripped off his outer clothing, down to a simple black pair of trousers and a cream-colored tunic with no sleeves. The torch he’d lit upstairs from one of their most ancient relics crackled as he lit the other three and set the fourth into its recess. The hour he’d spent meditating beforehand had been restless in a way it usually was not, so Stephen anticipated this to be a rough session.

“Are you ready?” he asked Wong.

“Am I ever?” came the usual reply.

“One of these nights you’re going to change it up. You’ll say ‘never,’ and that’ll be the night I find the thing I’m looking for.”

“May it pass from your lips to your mind’s eye.” 

Wong adjusted his stance, mystical energy already sparking between his fingers. Stephen was always insensate during the most intense parts of these memory encounters, and as such he never knew what it was that Wong was so intently prepared for-- but he knew it was fearful.

He sank to his knees in the very center of the recessed circle, held his arms out to his sides with his palms up, and tipped his head back. With a single word, he connected to the source of dimensional power, pulling it inward until he could hardly bear the pressure, and then releasing it straight into the part of his mind that held the memories of his deaths before Dormammu.

There was no telling them apart, as he’d said-- but that meant there was also no mechanism to differentiate the times he’d spoken the phrase etched into the bones of his consciousness and simply died, with no flash of prescience, no glimpse of the future, beforehand.

Dormammu, I’m here to bargain.

This was one of those times. Stephen died, feeling the agony of it, the pain in his chest glowing golden as Wong cast the spell to pull him out.

“Anything?”

“No. Again,” Stephen coughed. It always felt so real. When he’d finally won that war of awful attrition, he’d promised himself that he wouldn’t have to go through it again. Mordo would have laughed, if he knew. He’d say, How does it feel to be wrong?  

“Ready?” Wong was the one who asked this time, the light forming again at his fingertips.

“Ready. Ama-gi,” Stephen intoned, drawing power anew for another dive into the depths of his worst despair.

Next chapter...

[crazy-hand-official]

omg sorry for being late with these two so im just combining them!! ive been overwhelmed at work it sucks hell no

but anyways i was tagged by the lovely @cherixrosa twice!! :) the first was to shuffle the top songs in your spotify wrapped playlist (or in this case my apple music replay) and list the first ten that come up!

1. Ain’ It Fun (live) - Rocket From the Tombs

2. Swimming Pool - Marie Madeleine

3. Pet Grief - The Radio Dept.

4. Daisy - Ashnikko

5. No Dark Things - Echo and the Bunnymen

6. Bololo Hahaha - MC Bin Laden

7. Get in Line - Barenaked Ladies

8. Feeling Good - Chrissy Zebby Tembo

9. Animal Farm- The Kinks

10. Come Together- Primal Scream

sounds about right for my year! second tag was to answer some fun questions about myself :)

nicknames: casey, kas, crazy hand, tusk doglips, verucca vulgaris, miss catherine / nurse catherine, and i know i have one more but i cant think of it aw man

sign: libra

last thing i googled: toxoplasma gondii...... i usually have more exciting stuff going on in my mind sorry folks

song stuck in my head: since writing that list of 10 songs “get in line” by BNL is playing in a loop. my brother was one of the top barenaked ladies listeners in the united states on spotify. my parents had new wave mix CDs and barenaked ladies playing nonstop when i was little and it’s the soundtrack to my childhood.

number of followers: like 10 mutuals and 54 sexy, sexy porn bots

amount of sleep: it depends. i get between 0-48 depending on what the hell is going on

lucky number: the hackers would love to hack into my bank account now wouldnt they...

dream job: i have my dream job right now which is being a psych nurse :) also does anyone remember that plug and play game from the early aughts ‘dream life?’ lmao

wearing: kuromi pajamas because i am tired from the absolutely draining night of work i just had and should rest but i still want to read and blog and journal and kiss all my pets :(

movies that summarize me: god i hate saying this because of the toxic vibes it gives off but girl interrupted just maybe in a clinical sense. but i dont even like that movie anyway. idk i dont watch movies uh..... crybaby and gummo for my vibe especially when i write. grey gardens is the best fitting movie of all though.

books that summarize me: and i don’t want to live this life, the bell jar, uhh not sure really what else.

favorite song: closing time — hole

favorite instrument: that old grimy keyboard from the 90s that my siblings and i would push the demo button of and pretend to play

aesthetic: cockette, new wave, post punk, trash dirt and grime. sanrio and cigarettes. baker miller pink. punk adjacent.

favorite author: my best friend and i

favorite animal noise: mourning doves. crooOO... hooo...hooo...hooo.......

random: my rats smell like burnt popcorn. many people who own rats claim they smell like popcorn and we dont know why

tagging: anyone who wants to man it’s your life dont you forget caught in the crowd it never ends

[dearcharms]

LOL The write-up of Mozu's route happened so quickly because since you brought up Bustafellows again, I ended up diving straight into the game again. XD Was a good time. And yes, I replayed Shu's route first. Had to. He's the game's best boy and I could not resist. XD And then I went straight into Mozu's after that since I was on a roll. ;)

As for Variable Barricade, my favorite is Taiga. :D (full disclosure, I'm massively broke so I watch a narrated play through of most new otome titles [partly because I enjoy doing other things while listening] and this was no exception, though I wish it was because this was a GOOD game!) I LOVED the twist reveal with Taiga! and that gave him an instant leg up to be my favorite. I'd also argue that that reveal also made their getting together and eventual marriage the sweetest because it was very family oriented in that way as opposed to "yes, it's business, but we fell in love" deal.

It is kinda funny because I was real worried about this game, too! After watching a playthrough of "Cupid Parasite" and not vibing with it, I was kinda worried about this game with the similar premise of dating "trash husbands" if you will. But I was really surprised how charmed I was so quickly?

And board 3 of Taiga's route... yeah, that was BRUTAL. Like, I very much understood what was going in his mind and it was realistic, but very sad because you just wanted him to grow a pair and face that scary future he was afraid of. But I DID like that it pushed Hibari to chase him down! She had to grow up and fight, and I liked that character growth for her.

My second fave in the game was Nayuta, actually. He was a good puppy dog and I liked their dorky, awkward, innocent little romance, but let me tell you, I'm still not over that CG of him at her window! My heart has left the building.

Shion... I want to smack. And then Ichiya. (Inhales loudly.) I need this man to grow a spine. To the point I could not finish watching the play through of his route. BUT! To be fair, part of my irritation is purely personal due to family drama getting exposed in his route and I know I get fired up with any story that has that component. XP

Lastly, as for Noritsune, his route was good. The writing on that was very tight and clean. I liked that a lot. They were a very sweet couple with an adorable dynamic, each wanting to push each other to get better and grow, but doing it together. ( I haven't finished watching the playthrough of that game, so I can't rate the other routes. XD I've seen his and Benkei's routes before my mind decided it was no longer gonna focus on this game. XD I'll get back to it some day, maybe.)

And hey, no judgements on Shigahira. XD We all have those certain characters that hit us just right and suddenly we want to scream about them to anyone listening. LOL

(squints at this inbox) no way. DID I FORGET THIS FOR MONTHS. IM SO SORRY LOL

ALSO!!! if you have that mozu write up PLEASE LINK IT TO ME i'd love to read it. i remember telling you that i didn't really like how it turned out (not because of his personality, mozu is my fave LI of all time, i just didn't like the plot points)

and omg you just reminded me ab varibari LOL BUT I AGREE taiga and hibari are really good for each other!! shakes fist at taiga running away and hibari putting him on a pedestal. the way his route is written is kind of crazy tbh esp because aside from the "ha im setting you up with my grandkid!" shebang, the lack of communication KINDA HITS CLOSE TO HOME.... it feels a bit too real?! LOL hey... i thought this was a funny game... don't just spring this to me! LOL YES YES NAYUTA'S WINDOW CG IS THE BEST gawd i keep on looping that scene

maaan i get it!!! REALLY!!! the game was so ruined to me bcs of ichiya. honestly if i were you dont even bother watching the rest of ichiya's route. it's not the man himself that's the issue here imo, it's the writing... they ruined him in the worst of ways. like wdym ichiya is actually crying and the other dudes are like "tf get over it" and making fun of him while hibari is like "omg him suffering is so cute lol" ??????????? esp the ending of his route WTF IS THAT. THAT WAS SO CONVULTED. i dont even wanna talk about it here hoooly shit THAT WAS SO!!!! GRR!!!! MAKES ME MAD FOREVER!!!!!!! I HAVE BEEF WITH THE WRITERS!!!!! i refuse to perceive his route. ichiya i am sorry they treated you like this!!! you're not exactly my favorite but IM SO MAD FOR YOU!!!

about birushana if you do get around it hit me up!!! though now you know i'm not exactly the fastest replier out there... SORRY HAHA though i'm currently out of my otome phase atm?! my otome phases are usually 3 months max, and it happens once or twice a year :-P still down to talk about it anytime though! see how i got so enraged at the mention of ichiya's route! smh he is done so dirty!!!!!!!!!