#i'm not sure what cw to file this under as??

[heliosphere-underthesky]

Uranus and earth being a couple in mythology is indeed pretty funny but have you seen the myth where uranus literally LOST HIS NUTS and that's was what made venus (or in the case aphrodite) come to be? lol

Poor Uranus. No pecans, no macadamias, no filberts... nutless. Nothing. (a sequel of sorts to this ask)

[circe69]

"had to get it in, couldn't wait around!" - s.r. x reader

ʚɞ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ who is it? simon "ghost" riley x you

ʚɞ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ what is it? enemies always fuck better, right? you hate him, or so you thought...

ʚɞ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ cws: unprotected p in v, angry simon turned soft, huge d!ck, knife play kinda? ass play, heavy make out. word count: 2.4k

<3

"what the fuck was that about?"

you stomped into an empty, abandoned conference room and stood at the end of a long table, with one masked man sitting at the other end. your arms crossed themselves across your chest, and you popped a hip out to the side as you waited for his answer.

simon motherfucking riley was your arch nemesis. someone you didn't trust, never agreed with, and certainly never wanted to work with. but the world isn't fair. it keeps spinning even when you despise someone, and captain price couldn't care less about your feelings towards simon when it came to the thousands of lives you were saving every mission.

usually, if you're in a group, you don't dare speak to simon this way. you only nod your head at his commands and walk away, hoping that he's receiving the millions of telepathic "fuck you's" you put out somewhere into the universe. but now, you're alone, and there is no better time than the present to tell your lieutenant off.

"if you need to blow some steam, i suggest going for a few boxing rounds w' soap. he's always looking for-" he paused whatever ministrations he was writing on a file and looked up at you slowly, "an easy opponent."

you huff and smirk out of pure anger as you briskly round the table, making your way over to him. "I'm not here to fucking play around, lieutenant, I'm here to let you know I'm pissed because you gave everybody else an assignment overseas next month except for me." you paused and let his eyes meet yours as your strong volume turned into a whisper. "I've worked just as hard, if not fucking harder than the rest of these task force fuckers, and we both know I'd be a good shot out there."

when it comes to you giving your superior a piece of your mind, simon usually submits completely. he never fires back, to everyone else's surprise, and he always allows you to use him, so to speak, to yell at him and get everything out of your system before entering the world again.

but not today.

simon slowly stood up from his chair, keeping eye contact with you as he expanded to almost double your size in every factor possible.

the seconds felt like years as his eyes bore down into yours. your heart rate was doubling every time one of you blinked, and you had to tense every single muscle in your body just to remain stagnant in position. the silence was deafening, and as the seconds passed, you remembered everything you've seen this man do, every corpse he's thrown to the side like a piece of garbage in his way, every knife rusted and wasted because it's been buried deep in the jaw of his enemies, and the eyes that have seen all of this from the first person perspective, are staring right into your-

SLAM.

simons hand comes down onto the wooden table with the force of 10 men, it sounds like, and you couldn't do anything but jump. you flinch. you fucking flinch and it feels like you're waving a white flag.

His gloved fingers reach out to your chin and tug you by the jaw, forcing your face inches away from his, "I have fuckin' had it with your attitude. you can act like a bitch all you fucking want to price, to gaz, and I sure as fuck don't care about how you treat soap. but to me," he squeezes your chin to reinstate your obedience before drifting his hand to rest on your neck, "to me, you either respect me or don't say shit at all. so get used to swallowing your words around here from now on, cause there won't be anywhere else for them to fucking go but down your own throat."

coincidentally, you do swallow. hard and slow, and simons eyes watch and feel your neck bobbing as you begin to shake just slightly under his pressure. as he squeezes, a small squeak releases itself from your lips and you mentally kick yourself for it, knowing that's just what he wants. because once you let yourself go to the stormy waters that is simon riley, you'll never be the same again. he'll make sure of it.

"you say yes sir." his low voice whispered into the empty room, your face somewhere even closer than before, every minute that passes you move an inch. you still can't open your mouth, you're suffering from shell shock and there's no mercy to be found in the eyes of your shooter.

simon pulls out a blade from his thigh holster and presses it to your side, "say. it. now." he yells even louder. you feel the sharp sting of the metal start to break through the cotton of your shirt and tease your skin. a tear breaks free from your eyes, and you are completely gone. you're done for. absolutely dead in every sense but the physical.

"yes sir." you whisper, finally freeing yourself from some kind of paralysis. you feel the blade crash onto the table, as well as the sweet release of your neck from his hand. an extra wave of oxygen that you didn't know you were missing flowed though you in small gasps.

simon said nothing as he walked straight past you, out of the door, slamming it behind him. he left you, his knife, and a part of your soul, there in that room.

ʚɞ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

it had been a few days since simon had blown any ounce of relationship between the two of you into ash and dust, and you can't tell if the looks simon gives you now are filled with rage or just empty. empty meanings, empty promises, because he just doesn't care. but ever since he's made it clear with you that he is not to be messed with, you've unfortunately want him more.

simon riley is a fucking apex predator, and in the past, you've just been standing there, petting him, taunting him, and expecting nothing to happen. well now, you not only expect it, you fucking want it. you dream about all the things he could do to you. but all the things he hasn't said just prove that he couldn't care less.

that night, the only news channel your small tv offers called for rain, a lot of it, mixed with thunderstorms and lightning. as you dry your hair off with a towel, you walk to your window and look outside. your stomach churns at the sight of the angry clouds heading your way. you absolutely despise thunderstorms, and you prefer for a long night because there is no way you would be getting any sleep.

"fuck." you whisper to yourself as it starts to drizzle.

you try to ignore it as you kick off your slippers and get under your soft covers, pulling your duvet all the way up to your ears to try to mute the sound. it was now raining harder, and occasional sparks of electricity lit up your room from the sky, so you tossed and turn all night until you finally fell asleep.

it wasn't until hours later that a large boom of thunder shook you awake. you sat up immediately in a panic, gasping for air and looking around you as if you were expecting anything, something to explain the sound. tears started rolling down your face not only in fear, but in frustration also. you were so upset and so tired. you needed something, someone. just to tell you it was going to be okay. you slipped out of bed with a shaky hand clutching a necklace around your neck as you opened the door of your room and walked out.

the cold air of the hallway caused your skin to raise up into goosebumps and your nipples to pebble through your thin tank top, and even as you crossed your arms over yourself, it wasn't enough.

you headed straight for a door right down the hall. one with a name on the wood that you never thought you would go to in need in a million years. but you didn't know what to do.

your small knuckles rapped on the door, right underneath a nameplate.

simon "ghost" riley

you hear heavy footsteps and several locks unfastening before the door swings open.

a maskless man appears, with no shirt, and a large hand rubbing the side of his face. he was no doubt asleep before this. his eyes squinted as he leaned against the doorframe, trying to adjust to the light. your jaw hung slightly agape at the sight of him, so human. so disgustingly human who's done such non-humane things.

his eyes swept over your face as he noticed the tear stained cheeks, reddened from lack of sleep and continued down your body, down your full teardrop breasts, across your bare stomach, your sweatpants that hung loosely off your hips, and no words were spoken as he grabbed you by both forearms and drug you inside his room.

you gasped as he moved you backwards towards his bed, his much larger and comfier bed, and you no longer had any reason to stop him as he drug you under the covers with him. you couldn't believe him as he snuck in close to you, silently, as if it were normal.

it wasn’t until you felt an arm come up to rest upon your hip, and the floodgates opened. you couldn’t stop tears from rolling down your eyes. you were so confused, so scared, so fucking tired. small whimpers and gasps of breath continued.

“shhh.” came from simon’s mouth as he pulled you closer and softly squeezed your hip.

“you hate me” you whispered back, sobbing louder.

“hm-mm, no.”

“yes, you fucking hate me and you’ve just pulled me into your bed,” you start whining louder as your hands reach up to cover your face.

simon’s eyes slowly opened to look into yours before swatting your ass ,”quit crying n' go to sleep.”

you only responded with smaller, shorter intakes of breath and sniffles.

“y’hear me?” he patted your ass where he had slapped it before.

you nodded and whispered, “yes sir.”

a growl tore threw simon’s mouth as he looked up at the bedroom ceiling before throwing his forearm over his eyes, “fuckin’ hell.”

this time it’s you who reaches out, as you place a small palm on his bicep. he flinches at the touch before sighing,

“c’mere puppy.”

you slowly crawl on top of simon, placing both hands on his arms before allowing your head to fall between his neck and shoulder. a warmth slithered through you as you relaxed into him, and as his hand slowly caressed and squeezed the fat of your ass, the warmth exceeded just below your navel.

you made the mistake of squirming, and he noticed.

he clicked his tongue against his teeth while pulling you closer, “stay still.”

“i-i’m trying to get comfortable-"

"well stop." he interrupted, "just relax."

the wind outside howled, as simon's breath and yours intertwined through the space between you. and just like the storms outside, simon was the most unexpected thing to ever exist. he was trying hard to not scare you off, to be gentle, even though every thing in him contradicts that. but you know better. you know that he is gentle somewhere behind that mask.

you squirmed again, "simon I just don't know what to do." you leaned up to look at him. and there it was, the look that he only gave you, the small and desperate iris' just begging for some kind of affection. even without much light, you could still see him grasping at the frays for you. seconds of intense eye contact went by for simon broke the silence,

"just kiss m'then."

you gasped, sitting back a centimeter, but then nodded. and leaned into his touch. into him.

the kiss was soft and delicate, your lips and his just barely overlapping as you took in his woodsy smell, pine and maple, but that was all it took to pull a groan from simon.

more, more, is all he thought as he grabbed you by the hips and prodded his tongue against your lips. you smiled at the action, and without hesitation, opened up for him completely.

it was nothing but violent, raw, and urgent, the way simon kissed you. you moaned into his mouth as he smacked the fat of your ass, "all it took," he mumbled, "all it took was a little tongue for you to shut the fuck up."

you whined at the loss of contact as simon struggled to pull your pants down, but it disintegrated as he swiped a finger between your thighs, "fuck." simon whispered at the wetness pooling from your sex. "how many times have I yelled at you and gotten you wet?" he said, as he flipped you both around so you were now in your back, head smushing the soft pillow.

you groaned as he discarded his sweatpants and boxers, leaving his cock to spring out against his stomach. "how many times, baby?" he asked again, "you think about me hurting you when you play with this pretty pussy?" his index reached out to circle your clit a few times.

you couldn't help it, your body was betraying you in real time as your walls fluttered around nothing. "yes, yes I think about it, I think about you all the time simon." your babbles spilled out of you like water, and simon was lapping it up.

he chuckled, "don't even n'to prep you, you're a fuckin' faucet, sweetheart." his lengthy cock, with precut oozing out of the tip, was begging to be inside you, begging to fill you up. as he grabbed his length and positioned himself to your weeping hole, he looked you in the eyes, "y'want this?"

your eyes met his and for a second, you felt some sort of fire igniting deep within you, why was he even asking? why did it feel like the monster he is was softening for you?

you grabbed his hip and thrusted yourself, notching the tip of him inside your walls. "yes, I fucking want this, simon."

he chuckled as he watched him disappear inside you, inch by inch, every fucking centimeter felt like a year lived without you. he needed to make up for it, because the one woman that he couldn't stand just happened to be the woman he couldn't live without.

[logansdoll]

I have so many ideas but I'm not a talented writer so here's one

-your logans wife pre striker you get taken by striker after logan gets shot as a way to kinda get back at him. Logan always had visions of a woman that he doesn't remember glimpses of domestic bliss. When striker attacks (in x2) striker name drops or says smth like "your wife has been waiting" as a way to antagonize logan.

Also, a cute detail to add if a fic takes place before he loses his memory would be the reader to call him james

I really love how your reader in has a plant mutation. Everything you write is just so good

I hope I wasn't to detailed feel free to take bits and pieces.

contingency

running through the base at Alkali Lake, Logan stumbles across a top secret room... only to find his whole entire world inside.

CW: suggestive, profanity, takes place during X2, has some elements from X-Men Origins: Wolverine, reader has been through some shit, Logan is so relieved, you don't really need to squint to see the angst, i'm iffy on how this turned out, etc.

'Think, dammit! What the hell was he talking about?'

With a roar of frustration, Logan unsheathed his claws, sprinting around the bend and slicing right through the stomach of a nearby soldier, waiting until the man fell with a disgusting plop before continuing on his way.

Why couldn't he just remember?

He knew that, for whatever reason, his memories had been tampered with, and that he couldn't recall anything about his life before the claws.

But ever since his run-in with Stryker back at the mansion, he couldn't help but feel like he was forgetting something especially important.

Something crucial.

"Wolverine..." Stryker grinned, eyes widening stepping forward out of the shadows. "I must admit, you are the last person I'd expect to find here."

Logan's claws revealed themselves with their signature shink, his brows furrowing as he warily stalked closer.

"How long has it been? Fifteen years?"

Stryker let out a small chuckle, but Logan was having a hard time finding what was so funny.

In fact, he was having a hard time with everything about this man—confused as to why he seemed so familiar.

"(y/n) says hello," Stryker goaded, adjusting his glasses. "Or, at least... I believe she would... If I'm being honest, she's feeling a little under the weather at the moment."

A sadistic smirk settled on his lips, his eyes glinting with sick satisfaction.

"But then again... there's seldom a time where she isn't feeling under the weather these days..."

"DAMMIT!" Logan barked, slamming his fist into a wall.

Not knowing was tearing him apart.

Who was (y/n)?

What were you to him?

And how the hell did he end up on the complete opposite side of the compound?

All questions that he furiously wanted to be answered.

Though, somehow—through his fit of blind frustration—he managed to stumble across a door, which had printed in big, bold, yellow letters:

CAUTION: KEEP OUT. HYDROSTASIS IN PROCESS.

"Hydrostasis?" Logan cocked a brow.

He didn't know why, but whatever was housed inside seemed to be pulling him in, silently urging him to open the door and investigate.

'Fuck it.'

Using one claw, he stabbed the retina scanner, the thick lock clicking with a satisfying beep.

He pushed past the door with ease, entering a seemingly large, dark, and oddly cold room, a lamp on one of the workbenches the only thing illuminating the space.

Cautiously, he approached it, sniffing and snapping his head around to make sure he was alone.

Yet he knew he wasn't.

He'd caught whiff of a faint scent emanating from somewhere further into the room, but it was so familiar, it seemed almost instinct to pay it no mind.

For some reason, he knew it wasn't hostile—and if anything, it calmed him, soothing his spiked nerves.

Reaching the table, he found that right next to the lamp laid a file labeled EXPERIMENT 25-8: CLASSIFIED.

He snatched it up with lightening speed, quickly skimming over the latest entry.

EXPERIMENT 25-8 a.k.a Weapon X Contingency

Name: (y/n) (l/n) Age: Unknown Sex: Female Height: X" X Weight: X Rank: Class 5 Report: 25-8 reviles authority. But her connection to Weapon X and general strength makes her a perfect candidate for Project Contingency. Her mutation and overall will to live have rejected all known forms of mind control. Will be kept in hydrostasis until new methods found. Conclusion: Further research required. Could possibly be the only creature known to man that can stop the Wolverine besides the Wolverine himself.

"(y/n)..." Logan tested out the name, confused as to why it sounded so natural.

So home-like.

Looking away from the pages, he glanced down at the table, catching sight of a large switch not too far away.

Without hesitation, he flicked it, the lights in the room suddenly cutting on, along with the lights to your chamber.

And there you were right before him—unconscious and floating in vibrant blue water.

Looking upon you, it felt like he was suddenly hit by a freight train, years of love, care, and warmth flooding his mind.

"James!" you squealed, unable to dim your smile as he hoisted you over his shoulder. "Put me down!"

"Not a chance," he smirked, carrying you toward your shared bedroom. "You know what you did..."

"No..."

"C'mere. I need a taste tester," you smiled, cupping your hand under your fork as you held up a chunk of steak.

He grinned, placing down his newspaper and taking a bite, groaning at the good taste as he wrapped his arms around your waist.

"Well?" you asked, nervous.

"Baby..." he paused for dramatic effect, wanting to see you squirm. "This is the best damn steak I've ever eaten."

"You ass!" you scoffed, playfully slapping him in the shoulder as he laughed, rocking you back and forth.

"I can't..."

"I love you, y'know that?" he asked, holding you close as you both relaxed in the bathtub. "I feel like I don't tell ya enough."

"You tell me every day, baby," you smiled, looking up at him as you rested your back against his chest.

"Well, then," he smirked, his hand rising from the water, holding a beautiful diamond engagement ring. "You alright with me tellin' ya a little bit more?"

Your eyes went as wide as saucers, and you gasped so loud the neighbors (which were three miles away) would certainly hear.

"YES!" you squealed, scrambling to turn around and give him a kiss, the water sloshing around violently.

"Careful, hon! You're gonna knock me out the tub!" he chuckled, steadying you as your lips began peppering kisses all over his face.

"She can't..."

"James," you started, timidly, tracing mindless shapes in his chest as you both laid in bed. "That man you told me about... Stryker... he came by the house today."

Logan tensed at the name, his grip around you tightening.

"He didn't do anything, did he?" he asked, tone rising.

"No," you shook your head. "But he asked for you. Said it was important that you come and talk to him."

He sighed, taking your hand in his, smoothing his thumb over your knuckles.

"I'll go over tomorrow. Straighten everything out," he assured.

"I don't think you should," you quickly denied, nervous. "This man... I don't trust him... He gives me a bad feeling, y'know?"

He cracked a small smile, placing a tender kiss on your forehead.

"I promise you, he can't do nothin' to me that hasn't already been done."

"RAAAAH!" Logan roared, blindly slashing at the table and all nearby equipment.

How could he have ever forgotten you?

Fury consumed his being in every sense of the word, the anger swelling inside him in a way he had never felt before.

Sparks flew as Logan destroyed any and everything in his path, teetering on the edge between rage and regret.

He could remember so clearly now.

You were his world—his reason for drawing breath, his reason for existing.

No matter how bad things got—angry, frustrating, or lonely—you were there.

You were his escape, his safety, his peace.

Comparing his life from before to the current, he couldn't fathom how he'd survived so long without being in your presence.

Through his slicing, he managed to cut something important, a loud warning siren blaring before all the water began draining from your pod, rapidly pouring onto the floor.

With a loud hiss, the door opened, sending you falling out the chamber.

Logan rushed over faster than he'd ever done anything, catching you in his arms and cradling you bridal style.

He looked upon you as if you were a ghost, a figment of his imagination.

After years and years of separation, he was finally allowed a chance to see your face, now able to recall all its fine details with perfect accuracy.

The softness of your cheeks.

The kindness of your eyes.

The plumpness of your lips.

Suddenly, you let out a loud cough, spitting up some water as your eyes snapped open, frantically looking around.

Logan couldn't find the words.

The love of his life was sitting in his arms and after fifteen years... and he had no idea what to say to her.

"James?" you asked, weakly, disbelieving of the sight before you.

That's right!

James!

His name was James!

"Yeah, baby..." he nodded, bitter-sweetly, getting a bit choked up. "It's me—"

You threw your arms around his neck without a second thought, pulling him into a bone crushing hug as tears began pouring down your cheeks, your shoulders shaking with cries of relief.

"I thought you weren't coming!" you sobbed.

Your throat felt swollen as you stuttered, scrambling to say all the things you've been wanting to for so long.

"Oh, God, I love you, Jimmy! I love you so much! Please don't leave me again!"

"I'm so sorry, baby! I'm so, so sorry!" he sputtered, his hand finding home in your hair as he rocked you back and forth, stray tears escaping his eyes. "I shoulda been here! I shoulda protected you!"

He buried his face in your hair, peppering the side of your head with kisses.

"I love you so much, honey... I'm right here. I'm not goin' anywhere."

Suddenly, you went limp in his arms, panic and fear spiking up his spine.

"(n/n)?!" he pulled back, frantically scanning over you to see what was wrong."(y/n)?!"

Quickly, he pressed his ear against your chest, thanking whatever god in heaven that your heart was beating.

'It might be a side effect of the chamber... or maybe she's tired...'

Without warning, the entire compound began to shake, a familiar blue devil popping up next to him out of nowhere.

"Zere you are!" Kurt exclaimed, quickly grabbing onto his friend. "Vee must go! Zee place is goink to flood!"

In an instant, the three were back with the others, the mysterious woman in Logan's arms posing a question to everyone.

"Logan?" Ororo raised a brow, confused, as they began running toward the exit.

"Who the hell is that?" Scott asked, much blunter than Storm intended.

Logan looked down at your peacefully sleeping face, brushing a stray strand of hair out your face.

"She's my wife..."

bonus !!

"SHE'S YOUR WHAT?"

[skzophreniic]

⍣ ೋ cw: explicit sexual content. use of vibrator. bit messy.

⍣ ೋ notes: hullo guest of room 801. i see you have requested a personal communication line with our general manager christoper. i'll have to forward him your request and see. don't worry though, i'm not sure he is capable of denying you anything :)

INTERNAL INVESTIGATION REPORT Filed by: Concierge Aeryn Subject: Staff Conduct – Unauthorized Use of Executive Amenities Staff Member Under Review: General Manager Bang Chan Requested by: Guest (Room 801)

[Location: General Manager Christopher's office, 2:12 p.m.]

The door to General Manager Bang Chan’s office clicks shut behind her—quietly, purposefully.

It always unnerves Aeryn, how the soundproofing works. How the outside world cuts off so cleanly, as if the very walls themselves conspire to protect him. Or hide him.

She’s holding the letter in one hand—folded precisely once, no wrinkles, no smudges—and a soft pink clipboard in the other. Because aesthetics matter, even in war.

Bang Chan looks up from his laptop, brows raised slightly, not in alarm but in a kind of cool anticipation. He’s in his tailored charcoal suit, shirt unbuttoned just enough to suggest he’s had a long morning—but not long enough to explain the state of his tie (missing) or the faint imprint of someone’s lip gloss on his jawline (left side, cherry red).

“Concierge,” he says smoothly, standing. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Behind her, the door opens again.

“Sorry,” Seungmin mutters, stepping in with a deadpan expression and a steaming cup of black coffee. “Figured you’d need this.”

His gaze flicks to Aeryn’s clipboard. “Ah. Suite 801.”

A pause. Bang Chan exhales through his nose and reaches for the coffee, the very picture of composed.

“I take it this is about the... formal enquiry?”

Aeryn offers him a smile far too polished to be kind. “That’s correct, sir. The guest has raised some questions regarding the nondisclosure terms surrounding your last... engagement. Specifically as it pertains to any equipment added mid-stay.”

Seungmin coughs.

Chan’s lips twitch, dangerously close to a grin. “Is that so?”

“She’s also requested a formal investigation and a full reconstruction. For documentation and research purposes.”

There’s a silence. The kind that only exists in a very expensive room, built to contain very expensive secrets.

Chan sets his coffee down. Rolls up his sleeves. Unbuttons his cuffs.

And then—finally—meets her eyes.

“Well,” he murmurs, voice low and just a little rough. “I suppose I’d better walk you through it.”

[Location: General Manager Christopher's office, 12:12 p.m.]

It starts with an extension request.

A polite one. Professional. You even knocked on the General Manager’s door like you hadn’t shown up in nothing but a barely-tied robe and a mischievous smile. As if the slight sway in your hips wasn’t deliberate. As if your bare legs weren’t a test he was already too aware of.

He opens the door himself—of course he does—and looks at you like he knows. That stare of his: sharp, calculated, interested. Always in control.

“Come in,” he says, stepping aside. His tone is polite. Neutral. But you catch it—the flicker of something darker beneath the words. Something curious.

You sit. He doesn’t.

“What can I help you with, Miss…?”

You tell him your name, lips twitching.

There’s a pause. A muscle ticks in his jaw. “Right.”

You explain your request—wanting to extend your stay, preferably in the same suite. He listens attentively, nodding, folding his hands like a proper manager. But his eyes… they never leave your thighs.

“I’m afraid there are procedures for that sort of thing,” he says finally, walking around his desk. “Especially if it’s… a special room like yours.”

And then, almost casually: “Have you signed the NDA yet?”

You blink. “I—no?”

He nods like he expected that. Like this was part of the script.

“Then we’ll need to take care of that first.” His drawer opens. A sleek document appears on the desk, printed on pale pink letterhead. “Sign here.”

The pen he hands you is gold. Heavy.

You sign without reading it.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, quiet enough you almost miss it.

Then: “Would you mind standing for a moment?”

You do. Confused, but intrigued.

He circles you slowly. Looks you over like you’re an art piece. No, a luxury amenity. Then, he brushes your robe off your shoulder, lets it fall slightly—no resistance from you. He hums when he sees the lack of anything underneath.

“No undergarments?” he asks, voice silk.

You smile. “Is that a problem?”

“Not at all,” he says. “In fact… I think it helps speed up the process.”

Before you can ask what he means, he nudges you gently backward—until the backs of your thighs hit the edge of his desk.

“Lie back,” he instructs, already loosening his tie. “We’ll keep this… efficient.”

You’re halfway reclined before he reaches for something in another drawer—velvet-lined, discreet, and utterly not standard issue. He holds up a slim, blush-pink vibrator. High-end. Sleek.

“Just a small evaluation,” he says, tone mock-professional. “To assess your suitability for extended accommodations.”

And then he turns it on.

The first contact is a whisper against your clit—barely-there, maddening. He watches your hips twitch, listens to your breath hitch, and smiles like a man who has all the time in the world.

“This setting is for guests requesting late check-outs,” he murmurs, dragging the toy in slow, steady circles. “It’s gentle. Teasing. Nothing too disruptive.”

You’re already panting, your thighs falling open wider for him.

He presses a button. The vibrations intensify.

“This one’s for those staying more than three nights. More persistent. Demands patience.”

You gasp, legs trembling, fingers digging into the edge of the desk.

He leans down, mouth brushing your ear. “Shall we see what happens when we activate the ‘executive suite’ tier?”

He clicks it again.

It pulses deep. Relentless. Your hips buck, and he places a hand firmly on your stomach to keep you still.

“Now, now,” he soothes, voice low and cruelly calm. “Stay still for me. You wanted to extend your stay, didn’t you?”

You try to speak—try to say yes—but it breaks into a whine, breathless and high. He slides the toy lower, dragging it up and down your soaked folds before circling your clit again with a precision that makes you see stars.

“You’re soaking my desk,” he remarks, almost fondly. “I should write you up for that.”

You can feel it building—fast. Too fast. You lift your hips for more, chasing it.

He pulls the toy away.

Your whole body arches in protest. He tsks.

“We’re not done evaluating.”

He brings it back, lower speed this time. Draws it up slowly. Watches you squirm.

Then—without warning—he slides two fingers inside you, slow and deep. Your body shudders, clenching around him instantly. He groans low, the sound almost reverent.

“So responsive,” he mutters, pumping them in time with the toy. “You don’t even realize how much you’re giving me.”

You’re close. So close.

But he doesn’t speed up.

He keeps you right there, on the edge—over and over, until your body is trembling, sweat slicking your skin, whimpers spilling from your lips.

“Please,” you gasp.

He raises a brow. “Please what?”

“Let me—fuck, please—I need to cum—”

“Hmm.” He leans in. “I suppose we can add that to your amenities.”

And then he does it—cruel little circles with the toy while his fingers curl just right and your whole body locks up, pleasure crashing over you like a tidal wave. You sob out his name as your legs shake, thighs clenching around his wrist, your back arching off the desk.

But he doesn’t stop.

Keeps going through your orgasm, holding the toy against your overstimulated clit as you twitch and moan and try to wriggle away.

“Too much?” he asks, feigning innocence. “Then maybe we need to reconsider your extension—”

You whimper something incoherent, begging, panting, desperate.

He finally clicks the vibrator off.

Removes his fingers. Watches your slick drip down them.

Licks them clean.

“I’ll approve your stay,” he says, straightening. Adjusting his cuffs. Then, without hurry, he reaches for the top button of his shirt. Undoes it. Then another. His eyes, dark and knowing, never leave yours.

“But I’m going to need a more… thorough evaluation.”

A pause. His tongue flicks over his bottom lip, and he smirks.

“Let’s discuss the premium package.”

______________________________________________________________

🗒️ INTERNAL SERVICE MEMO From: Concierge Aeryn To: SKZotel Staff – All Departments Subject: Incident Debrief – Suite 801 / General Manager Conduct Classification: Staff Eyes Only / Group Chat Archive

Team,

Per guest request (and because Seungmin couldn’t keep his mouth shut for five minutes), below is the transcript of this morning’s staff group chat regarding the… situation in Suite 801 involving General Manager Bang Chan.

Please note: The following messages have not been edited for professionalism, confidentiality compliance, or emotional damage. Names have not been redacted because frankly, if I had to be in that room with him and Seungmin, you all get to suffer with me.

Proceed accordingly. – Aeryn Concierge, SKZotel

series taglist: @nightmarenyxx

[222col]

bimbo!reader x art donaldson

summary: your friend goes missing...

cw .ᐟ missing person, murder

꒰ notes ꒱ more of joe goldberg!art

art had been so good recently. kept his emotions in check, didn't make an rash decisions. he was focusing on you, wasn't letting anyone get in the way of your relationship. until, of course...

"artie!" your bloodshot eyes appear unannounced at his dorm, thank god he'd already gotten rid of the guy in his bathroom. his heart clenches at the sight of you, sniffling through your tears as your hands reach out for him immediately. art's already working out a new hiding spot at the sight of your tears, and he doesn't even know what happened yet.

his strong arms carry you into his room, cradling you in his lap, stroking through your hair as he waits for you to be ready to speak. he'd never rush you, art does everything at your pace. "my– my– she–" you mumble, choking out the words through sobs. "what is it, princess?" art coos, gently tilting up your chin to force your eyes onto his.

"y'know my friend lexi?" oh, fuck. he definitely knows lexi. lexi is currently in the trunk of his car, he was planning on discarding her body today, before you arrived. shit, shit, shit.

art nods softly, pushing down all feelings of panic that are threatening to boil over. he has to be here for you right now, not thinking about himself. "yeah, baby, i know lexi, she lives in your building, right?" of course he knows that, it's where he killed her. "mhm, yeah," you mumble, wiping your nose on your sleeve as you sniffle through more sobs.

"she's– she's missing," you whisper, as though saying it any louder would make it more real than it already was. your lip trembles as your doe eyes look to art for comfort. "oh, princess," he murmurs, pressing his lips gently to your forehead. christ, was this girl miss popular or something? art only killed her in the early hours of the morning. fuck, he's in deep shit. she's still in his fucking car and the whole campus is looking for her.

no, it's fine. a missing persons report can't be filed before she's been gone for twenty-four hours. art has time. the police will think she's just some college student who got too drunk and didn't come home. she'll turn up, they'll say, don't worry. yeah, she'll turn up. in a fuckin' ditch somewhere as soon as art's ready for her to be found.

and hey, look, art didn't have a choice, okay? he's not just some psycho that kills people for the fun of it. it's not fun. it's fucking hard work, actually. he had to find out exactly where she'd be, when she'd be alone, make a copy of her dorm key, make sure her roommate was out. and that's all before he killed her. he had to get her body out, unseen, bleach her dorm, get her into the trunk of his car, and he's still got to get rid of her body, now with everyone looking for her! it’s fucking hard to be a serial killer. especially one that doesn't get caught.

it's her own fault. stupid girl shouldn't have been bad mouthing you like that. to do it so out in the open too? bitch had it coming. yapping around campus how she only kept you around 'cause other people liked you. nuh uh, no one talks about art's girl like that. she'd been getting too close to you anyway, it was only a matter of time before art took things into his own hands.

"oh, baby, i'm sure she's fine," he murmurs, rubbing up and down your back under your, his, sweater. art's trying so hard not to let his mind run away with him, especially with the feeling of your skin under his and how fuckin' pretty you look with tear stained cheeks and that pout on your lips. "she probably just stayed at some frat boys house, lexi can be like that." lexi can be a slut, is what art's trying to nicely say. always dragging you with her to stupid frat parties, that art hates you going to. he's the only boy who should be seeing you all dolled up.

brows knitted, bottom lip still poking out as you meet his eyes again. nodding in agreement, always taking art's words as gospel. he would never lie to you, right? "think you should stay here, until she's back though, baby." art murmurs softly, holding your cheeks in his hands, breath ghosting across your face. any excuse to have you staying with him, he'll take. "yeah?" art hums, a smile threatening his features. poking your side, making you giggle, when you don't respond to him.

"yeah, artie." you mumble, smiling up to him. you're too easy. he'll have you convinced lexi was a horrible person by the time he's even dumped the body.

© 222col. do not steal or repost my work without permission.

[mayajadewrites]

── .✦ Renaissance - Levi Ackerman .✦ ──

🪽 ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳ levi x fem reader

summary: levi leaves you in the underground for the scouts, only for him to find you again in marley when the war is over. however, nothing about you is the same as it once was. you are not the same person you were 12 years ago. cw: canon universe, smut, fluff, yearning ao3 authors note: there are several things in this story that are not canon to the original AOT storyline (like Levi needing a wheelchair) but I will warn you if/when those things come up.

longer chapter today!! let me know what you guys think and as always ily <3

tag list: @ackerboi, @staarflowerr, @midw1nter

preface - chapter one

CHAPTER TWO

Your entire body stood still as your eyes almost frantically took in what you were seeing.

It's him.

Really him.

Both of you stood in silence, just looking at each other from across the room. Levi was wearing a navy blue casual suit, standing as tall as he did when he left.

Your lips let out a gasp when you look at the right side of his face, a scar from his forehead, over his right eye, to his mouth.

You blink to stop the tears from falling, the feelings you've been harboring for years almost coming to the surface.

Levi stood, still as stoic as ever, almost as if you were a stranger to him. But you could see the ever so slight softness in his eye as he places a. crate of tea on the counter.

Neither of you wanted to speak first. You and Levi are both stubborn as hell, and given the fact that it's been 12 years since you last saw each other, someone had to speak.

"You own a tea shop now?" You clear your throat as you look at him sheepishly.

"Yeah." His reply was short as his eyes drank in your appearance. Obviously you've grown up since he left, as did he. The signs of war can be seen all over his face - the way he speaks, the bags under his eyes, the way his hands look battered.

"It's not open yet, but it will be soon. We just got a shipment in of tea from a few towns over." Levi's voice was deep as he moved in front of the counter he was standing behind a minute ago. "How did you get here?"

"That's what you want to say to me? After 12 years?" Your eyebrows scrunch as you look at him, your feelings of empathy now replaced with anger. "You don't ask me how I've been, if I'm okay - just how I got here?"

He only nods as he crosses his arms over his chest. "Yes."

You scoff, shaking your head as you press your palm to your cheek. "You didn't even try to look for me. It's like all those years meant nothing -"

Levi looked away when you said that, avoiding that conversation completely. "Would you like some tea?"

You don't answer, simply staring at him.

"It's on the house."

"No." You finally say, the word tasting like poison in your mouth. You never liked telling Levi no. In your perfect world, you would give him everything he's ever dreamed of.

But you're not in your perfect world.

"Goodbye, Levi." You turn around and walk out of the tea shop, the sun kissing your skin again as the noises of children playing and people laughing fill your ears.

You don't turn around, knowing that Levi was probably standing at the door, watching you leave.

Just like you had to watch him leave.

As days went by, you found the brothel on the outskirts of Marley that was up and running. There were no other options for you - you weren't going to ask Levi for help, and this is the only job you know how to do.

You're in your room at the brothel, filing your nails and getting yourself ready for the night ahead when you hear a knock at your door.

"Come in."

"Hey, a few of us are gonna get some dinner before we all have to work tonight. Wanna join us?" One of the girls, Leona asked. She was nice enough, welcoming to you when you knocked on the brothel's door late at night, asking for a place to sleep in return for working.

You've never really had friends, always in isolation. Even when you had Levi, it was only the two of you.

"Sure, yeah. Let me finish getting ready." You give her a friendly smile as you stand up, moving to the mirror to fix your hair and grabbing your jacket.

A handful of girls from the brothel came to dinner, discussing random things that happened during the day and some funny stories, while getting to know each other. For once, you had a warm plate of food in front of you and company around you.

There wasn't any looming danger that you felt. You didn't feel like you had to hide, or defend yourself.

You just got to live.

Is this what the people beyond the walls got to feel every day?

"So," Leona says your name, taking a sip of her water. "You said you're from the Underground, right? What was that like?"

You shift in your seat, the memories of living in filth, not having food for days, and loneliness creeping into your mind.

"It wasn't anything like this. Think of something light and airy, fun even. The underground is the complete opposite of that.

"You know, I heard that Captain Levi is from the Underground, did you know him?"

You freeze. Your entire body paralyzed.

The girls stared at you for a moment, waiting for your answer as you try to regain some composure.

"Yeah, I knew him. Barely." You lie.

"He's so cute, I've seen him walk by the brothel." One girl gushes, twisting a piece of her hair around her finger.

"Has he ever been in?" You ask curiously.

"No, but I wish. I would give him anything he wanted."

You let out a sigh of relief, one that you shouldn't have had in the first place.

You managed to avoid the rest of the conversation about Levi, the other girls gushing over how cute he is.

They don't know the real, true Levi.

The Levi who would give his life for someone else.

The Levi who slept on the streets in the dead of winter. The Levi that shared a slice of bread with you that had to last you until the next week.

They will never know the real Levi.

Dusk came and went, and customers were starting to trickle their way into the brothel. Most men came to escape their wives or families, or they were just lonely and had money to waste.

You sat in the front room, the house mother watching over the girls and making sure everyone looked decent for tonights clients.

Wearing a curve hugging black dress, the neckline dipping low to show off your assets, your hair in loose curls and light makeup, you were ready for the night.

Another night of meaningless sex. Making men feel better about themselves.

It felt like hours went on when someone finally sat at your table, his footsteps almost silent as he sat.

Without looking up, you speak. "What service are you looking for?" You look down at your nails, examining the nail beds.

"Full service." You heard the deep, familiar voice.

Your eyes shot up to his, your eyebrows subconsciously furrowing in confusion. "Levi? What the hell are you doing here?"

He stayed silent, putting his wallet on the table as he stared into your eyes. "I said full service. You don't need to ask questions."

You look around, the other girls almost gawking at the scene in front of them.

"No."

"You can't refuse to service me, I know how this shit works." He pulls out a wad of money, handing it to you. "There's $3,000 there."

When you look at the money, your eyes grow wide. $3,000? Where did he even get this kind of money?

You stand up and let out a huff before tilting your head to the side, instructing him to follow you to your bedroom.

His footsteps are quite literally almost silent, you almost thought he ran away at one point. But you know better, Levi Ackerman doesn't run away from shit.

When you get to your room, you turn around to face him and almost melt. He's still so handsome. All of the life, the war he saw, only made him more handsome to you.

"How did you know I would be here?"

"What did I say about questions?" Levi slowly unbuttoned his shirt, not breaking eye contact with you. "I came here for full service, not for an interview."

"You know damn well this is not a simple exchange of sex, Levi. And you've never even been here before."

"How would you know that?" He tilts his head in the cutest way that reminds you of when you were teenagers.

"The other girls in here are apparently big fans of yours. They were talking about you today."

"Ah, I see." He nods, loosening his tie as he gazes into your eyes.

"Can you answer one question for me at least?"

"Jesus, you're still as stubborn as ever." He huffs, shaking his head. "No."

"What about after then?" You take a step toward him, pushing your hair over your shoulder. You needed answers. At least some.

"No."

"I know it took a lot for you to come here." Your voice is softer now, plush against your lips.

Levi told you about his mother about 4 years after you met him. All you knew was that his uncle Kenny raised him, but you never heard about his parents.

He always seemed so fearless, like he didn't need anyone else. Maybe that's why you never wanted to pry about his mother.

The night he told you, it was a full moon. Sitting in the streets, leaning against one another for warmth as you talk about the past, as if they were lullabies.

"My mother worked at the brothel." He spoke, his voice timid. "That's where I grew up until Kenny found me."

"Found you?" You turn to look at him, noticing the subtle hurt in his eyes.

"Yeah, she died in our room. She was sick I think, and we were starving most of the time. But she was so beautiful, from what I can remember."

"I bet you look just like her." You give him a reassuring smile, your fingers gently brushing his cheek. "The Ackerman genes are unstoppable."

He gave you a laugh, a real one, one that you wish you could put in a box and listen to forever.

"I was just waiting for the right woman to be here is all." He looks down into your eyes, searching your gaze.

"You're a shit liar." You sigh as you take off your shoes, beginning to undress. "Tell me why you're here."

"For full service."

You groan, your head tilting back in frustration before you look a him, and he has that stupid grin on his face. His scar moves slightly as his lips quirk up - causing you to smile.

Seeing Levi Ackerman smile is like seeing an angel in front of you.

When you look up again, his hands are on your waist, pulling you closer to him when you notice his right hand is missing the index and middle finger. He gripped your body as if you were going to disappear at any moment, his lips crashing into yours in a kiss so bruising that it would be a shame if anyone else kissed you after this.

But you push your palms to his chest, keeping a distance as you look in his eyes. "Levi, enough - tell me what the hell you're doing here."

"For a." He brought his lips to yours again, speaking through kisses. "Full Service." He was starting to lose his breath as he pulled you close to him, your bodies pressed impossibly together. "From you."

[translatemunson]

save the date

top gun pilots x female!reader blurb cw: mentions of a dress. i believe this can be read as any of the daggers, minus nat (i'm writing something special just for our girl); lmk if i forgot anything.

You’ve gotten the ‘save the date’ months ago. The invitation only came through the mail a few weeks back, but it was 100% set in stone: you were attending your best friend’s wedding with your aviator boyfriend as your plus one. What you forgot to take into consideration was deployment.

It was like playing in a casino: you could get lucky and he wouldn’t be called for a mission until the wedding, or he would be god knows where doing whatever mission the Navy had for him, and you’d be missing him during the wedding.

And since you were never the luckiest person in the room, he got deployed. For six weeks. One month before the wedding date. Good luck telling all your friends you didn’t get dumped, it was just that your boyfriend was government property and they needed him overseas doing some good for the country. It was honorable, but still: you wanted to walk around the venue with a pretty aviator by your side.

It didn’t help that his internet access was limited, nor that you were having second thoughts about attending. Well, if not having someone with you was a problem, he told you he could get one of his friends to take care of you — just so other guys wouldn’t take a chance on his hot girlfriend. But it wasn’t just the lack of your boyfriend that was undermining your presence at the wedding.

One week the dress wasn’t good enough. The next one, just before his deployment, you weren’t sure about the tickets and hotel you booked — he said to keep them, even if he wasn’t going anymore, because you could use the extra space on the plane and the bigger bed. Your first email to him, while deployed, was about how nerve wrecked you were feeling now that your bestie asked you to do a speech. A few days later, you went through it with him, and he reassured you were doing amazing. 

“Gosh, this would be so much easier if you were here,” you admitted on your phone call.

“I know, baby. I promise to take you to a fancy event as soon as I’m back so I can have the chance to see you in that pretty dress.” He was trying his best to cheer you up.

But a phone call across the ocean wasn’t enough. You needed him there, with you, saying you look pretty even though your make up is nowhere near as done. Or telling you look like those old Hollywood stars when your hair was still on the hair curlers. Or saying you need to hurry up before it’s too late to get a nice parking spot at the venue. Or checking if you need a drink or something else during the reception.

You looked down at your phone, hitting “send” on another email, with pictures you took from the party. The whole place is covered with flowers and fairy lights hanging from the trees and ceiling, and you miss him so much it hurts more than your high heels.

You gave your speech minutes ago, and had one of your friends filming it for you. It was a nice piece about your best friend, how she was always the one saying you were gonna be married first but hey, look at you, alone at her wedding. Of course you made fun of the lack of a plus one, but it was fine. You brought back a few embarrassing memories, also spilled some tea on the fact that she had a list with the names for all of their babies. And if one of those names was not inspired by yours, you would be seeing her in court.

“Hey, do you wanna grab another drink with me?” Your friend nudged your arm. “I hate seeing you down.”

“Can you call the Navy and file an official complaint for me? I’ll give you his full name and call sign, so then later I can show up to the courtroom and use those as proof.” You threw your cell phone inside your bag. “Sorry, I’ve been under the weather since the news broke.”

“I know, babe, and I don’t blame you.” She gave you a soft smile. “I think a drink might help you. And maybe I can convince that waiter I’ve told you about to sneak a few sweets for us.”

“Just one more drink, then I’m going back to the hotel.”

“You’re no fun, you know? Maybe something good is happening tonight.”

“Unless you have a teletransportation machine here somewhere to bring me my boyfriend, you can’t trap me for another hour with the promise of good booze alone.”

At the bar, you got yourself your favorite drink. It would be better if he was there, his hand on your waist, making comments about the party or asking you the little details about the people there. It would be his first time in your hometown, getting to know the place you were born and raised. You loved San Diego, but a piece of you would always love your hometown.

“I just wished they had decent Wi-Fi at the ship,” you murmured. “I’ve sent like a hundred pics since I’ve arrived, but still no reply. I can’t believe my own boyfriend is going MIA on me.”

“Hey, maybe it’s just bad connection. And based on what you’ve told me, I bet he’s pissed he’s somewhere in the ocean instead of by the side of his gorgeous girlfriend.”

“Please plan a wedding in the next few weeks so I can attend one with him.”

“Why don’t you plan your own wedding?” She turned the idea around.

“And throw a surprise wedding? I’m crazy, but even I have limits.”

“Well, I hope it doesn’t take him too many deployments to pop the big question.”

“I might have to ask him to divorce the Navy before we can get married. Sorry, but I won’t be the mistress in this,” you laughed.

Halfway through your drink, your friend ended up going to talk to one of your colleagues from high school, and you went back to your table, staying up and trying to swing your body in the rhythm of the song — just to get your mind off of things.

You checked your phone, one notification from your email’s app. You clicked on it as fast as you could, blowing out in frustration when you saw it was just a marketing email.

You saw someone approaching from your peripheral vision, and you heard “Tough night?”

“Don’t even get me started.” You pushed your face into your hand.

“Try me, honey.”

You turned your face. And, magically, your boyfriend was there. You blinked a few times, not believing he was really sitting next to you, in a suit. You held tight into his arm, and he said “Did she let you have way too many drinks?”

“No. I mean, are you real?”

“Yes, baby, I’m real.”

“How?”

“Finished the mission early, called in for a few favors, got on the first plane here, and asked your friends to keep it a secret.”

“Oh my, you’re really here.” You threw your arms around his neck, bringing him closer. The last time you were this close, it was the morning before his deployment. You always took the days up to the deployment as a chance to spend all the time together. Ok, you had to work, and the house chores wouldn’t magically disappear, but as soon as you were both at home, you’d stick to his side as glue.

“Sorry I missed your speech,” he hugged you back. “I’ll watch the footage later.”

“That’s ok. I’m so happy that you’re here,” you kissed his cheek.

“C’mon, let me take a look at my stunning girlfriend,” he took a step back and, with your hand in his, made you spin on your toes. The flowy dress and high heels were far from your daily clothes. “You look better than in the pictures, honey.”

Your cheeks blushed, and you could bet even the make up wouldn’t be able to hide it. “Thanks.” You took a look at him, finally noticing how good he looked in a normal suit. The color suited him like a glove, and you were considering finding a good excuse to see him wearing it again. You kinda begged him to attend in those pretty white suits the Navy had, but he was always saying those were only for special occasions.

“Should we take a picture?” He rested his hands on your waist.

“Sure!”

Now that you officially had your arm candy with you, it was time to walk around the party introducing your boyfriend to your friends. They were all very friendly and excited to meet him, but also kept the Navy related questions to a minimum. He was all smiles and handsy, keeping you close to him as much as possible.

You got your picture, on the balcony, with the gardens as a background to your affection. Your friend convinced one of the photographers to take a few official pictures — she used the “He’s Navy and flew all the way here to be with her!” card. On the first pic, you were close, side by side, smiling but keeping your hands to yourself.

And then the photographer asked you to look each other in the eyes, and it was like your lips had a magnet of some sorts. He pulled you closer, and gave you a quick kiss on the lips. “Hold her like that!” the photographer said.

Once you had the pictures taken also on our phone, he took you to the dance floor. A slow song, something your parents would play in the car when you were younger, was telling the steps you were taking. Swaying slowly in the middle of the small crowd, soaking in that moment. You snuggled in closer to his chest, leaving him to lead you. 

“I’m so happy you’re here,” you confessed.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t say anything before.” He pressed his lips on the side of your head.

“That’s ok. You know I like surprises when they come from you.”

“I know. And I like being with you.” Another kiss on the side of your face. “And I love you.”

You  tilted your head back, connecting your eyes, “I love you too."

[moody-alcoholic]

Cross My Heart

Part 6 - How to Infiltrate a Terror Cell

Summary: eventual poly141 x reader. Enemies to lovers, mini fic.

CW: Violence, sexual remarks/touching, use of weapons, description of injuries, implied torture, blood, death.

AN: This one really got away from me. These mini fics are supposed to be 'short' and easy to write.

Previous parts - masterlist - next

AO3

Enjoy <3

It's the worst idea you’ve ever heard. But here you are nodding at Price while he lays out the plan.

“First things first we need to confirm Konni have Alex. Then we focus on Makarov.” 

“I know one of the guards who works in the prison wing. He’ll be my way in.” You explain.

“Makarov will be harder. He's always surrounded by his best soldiers. I can probably find out what he's doing here but as for getting an audience with him or even getting near him it’s going to be next to impossible.” You explain. Price hums laying back on the sofa.

“Find out why he's here then we get Alex out. Rendezvous with the ULF and make a plan from there.” Price says. 

“As soon as we spring Alex that's it. There's no way I will be getting back in there.” You say raising an eyebrow.

“That's why it's important you get as much Intel before getting him out.” You nod standing up. 

“Here.” Gaz says coming over to you and handing you a USB. You take it raising an eyebrow. 

“Plug it into any computer and it will copy all the files over.” He says, you nod at him, he lingers for longer then he needs to. Maybe he’s warming up to you too. 

“When you find Alex, tell him 141 sent you. He’ll know to trust you.”

“Are you sure?” You ask sceptical. You know if they’ve been trying to get info out of him it’s very unlikely he will trust you, or anyone for that matter of fact. You might have to resort to dragging him out.

“I’m sure.” You sigh looking out the window. The sun is coming up. You should leave sooner rather than later, it’s a few miles back to the border, wait any longer and the story you’ve constructed might not make sense. You go over to pull your jacket on.

“I should get going.” 

“We’ll be waiting at the rendezvous point.” price says. You nod looking round the room. Maybe they won’t wish you luck. Maybe they don’t mind if you die, one less thing for them to worry about.

“Good luck.” Gaz calls. That you didn’t expect. You smile at him. 

...

“You said Farah’s forces where moving north not fucking marines.” You snap at your handler, Ivan. He called for you as soon as you made it into the base. It was early morning, most people had gone to meet Makarov's entourage, apparently, the place was running on a skeleton crew. 

Good, easier for you.

“The packages?” 

“Dead.”

“Shit, they were tech specialists, Al Qatala needed them.” 

“Explains why they were shit lookouts.” You mutter under your breath. The other man in the room catches that and you look over at him. You don’t recognise him, he’s barely said a word since you entered the room. Just looks at you now and then from over his laptop.

“Why did they let you live?” He asks, his accent is thicker, he’s not from round here. Maybe he’s not even Russian at all.

“I patched up one of their injured. They let me live.” 

“Which way did they go?”

“West.” You lie. Both the men look at eachother then back down at the map.

“Sakhra?” Ivan asks.

“Makes sense If they have one injured they’ll want to head to a neutral hospital or a ULF. The Americans have been getting too close to the border for my liking.” The other man says shrugging. 

“How sure are you that they're heading west?” 

“I overheard them talking before they left.” You explain.

“Well, I have to deal with a very angry Al Qatala contact. You better get yourself ready. Makarov will have jobs for you I'm sure.” Ivan says. 

“Wouldn't want to fuck them up.” The other man says.

“What's he doing here? Makarov?” You ask as the Ivan turns away. 

“Not really any of your business but let's just say he's planning a nice surprise for the ULF. And now we have an American who knows all their movements there's no way we miss.” The other man says. 

“Has he talked?” 

“Not yet, but he will. The Butchers on his way. A little gift from Al Qatala.” Ivan says. Shit. You have to move quick if you’re going to get him out here it has to be now. You leave the room, closing the door behind you. Before you head to the prison wing you skip into the handlers office. He never locks it, he's going to regret that. 

You plug the USB into the computer and a loading bar starts. You look round the desk, looking at the papers for anything interesting. Your heart is hammering in your chest, you keep looking up to the door hoping no one will come in.

You look back at the PC, it's only 50% done. You start to look through the drawers for anything, even if it is just to keep you busy. You see plans, plans for some kind of weapon. You take them out, folding them up and shove them into your pocket. 

The transfer is almost done. You hear a door close, you’re holding your breath, your hands run over the papers on the desk. You hear the Ivan's voice 90%. You panic, he’s probably coming to his office, you need to distract him. You go round to the other side of the desk leaning against it. You hear a beep on the computer, the USB must be done, you reach over pulling it out and shoving it in the pocket with the papers. 

You only just manage to compose yourself as he walks in. A smile grows on his face. He walks up to you, his hand resting on your hip.

“You’ve got me in a whole bunch of trouble. Least you could do is make it worth my while.” He says, you can smell the vodka on his breath as he leans in to kiss your neck. You don’t have time for this, one of his hands slips round to grab your ass. It’s like he wants to pick you up and put you on the desk.

“Ivan,” you breath as his hand presses dangerously close to the other back pocket. He pulls his mouth off your neck. “I have stuff to do.” 

“Yeah you do.” He says with that stupid grin on his face before pressing his lips onto you. Normally you wouldn’t mind but you’re about to betray him this feels wrong. You push him off you. He huffs crossing his arms.

“I really have to get ready. Besides, don't you have to prepare for our special VIP?” You say, he tips his head to the side you can tell he’s not happy about this. He steps away walking round to the other side of his desk and you turn with him.

“Fuck Makarov, this whole plan is pointless. The American is not going to talk, he’s rushing into this too quickly.” 

“What does he want?” You ask, maybe now you’re alone he’ll give you some more answers. 

“He wants to take over the northern territories.” 

“Of Urzikstan?” Ivan nods. “He’s crazy, he’ll turn Al Qatala against him.” 

“He wants to use it as a bargaining chip.” he says. 

“Not going to be much bargaining if he’s dead.” You scoff crossing your arms. That explains why he’s so nonchalant about upsetting Al Qatala, when Makarov is done, lost techs will be the least of their worries. 

“On top of that he’s got us chasing some military unit helping Farah.” Your stomach sinks. 

“Military unit?” You ask, swallowing the nerves.

“Yeah 141 or something. Anyway, I’ve had people looking for them for weeks. We don’t even know if they’re still in the country.” He says going to type on his computer. You need to leave. Get Alex and leave.

“Well, if I find them I’ll let you know.” You say heading for the door. He chuckles. 

“Hey.” He calls as you’re about to close the door. “You’ll be back later right? I’ve missed you.” He hasn’t missed you, he’s missed sex. You smile and nod at him. 

…

“You look like shit.” Caleb says offering you the last of his cigarette. You take it sucking a deep breath in and letting it calm you. It didn’t take you long to walk over to the prison building, of course Caleb was already waiting for you, he waved at you when he saw you walk through the front gate.

“Heard you fucked your job.” He chuckles.

“Hear a lot with those massive ears of yours.” You say reaching up to flick him. He bats your hand away. “Thought you would be out with the others going to pick up Makarov?” 

“Fuck that.” He laughs, you smile, throwing the butt on the floor and stamping it out. You follow him back into the prison wing. It’s not really a prison, this whole building used to be a school or something, it’s been abandoned for years. Well until Konni and Makarov took it over. 

“Heard you’ve got an American here?” You ask looking round at the shabby built cells. 

“Yeah.” He says pointing down the hall. There are at least two other guards. Hopefully you can get Caleb to turn a blind eye, then you only need to worry about them. And the guards on the gate, and the extra security that will come after you as soon as they know there’s been a break out. 

“Heard The Butchers coming to question him.” 

“Oof, unlucky guy.” He winces. You walk down a different hall with him. There are only a few people in the makeshift cells, most of them are converted offices. 

“Anyway, how did you manage to mess up your job?”

“Marines came in and caught me off guard. No one warned me there were Americans around.” You say sticking to the made up story. 

“At least you’ve been out doing something. Ivan has the whole place on edge with this Makarov visit. Maybe it’s good you came back early. Calm him down.” He jokes nudging you. You roll your eyes. Nudging him back. It’s just sex, mindless stupid sex. And yeah maybe Ivan looks away when you fuck up from time to time, like today. 

“What did he get bored of the cook house girl?” You tease back, Caleb laughs. You walk on a little further mustering up the confidence to ask him. You have to be careful, out of anyone you want Caleb to get hurt the least. You’re going to miss your chats with him. 

“I need a favor.” You say stopping him and gripping his arm. He frowns at you, he seems to sense the unease in your voice looking around before leaning in closer to you. 

“The American. I need to talk to him. 30 seconds alone.” You say trying your best not to sound nervous. 

“Are you crazy? Ivan’s got that shit locked down. No one is allowed to look in his direction let alone talk to him.” Caleb whispers gripping your arm. 

“I’ll deal with Ivan.” You say. “You owe me, remember?” He shakes his head. 

“Not this, they’ll kill me if anything happens to him.” 

“You owe me.” You say again this time gritting your teeth, you don’t exactly have time to negotiate. He sighs looking around. 

“30 seconds. No more.” He says. You smile reaching up and kissing his cheek. 

“Thank you.” He shakes his head and calls the other guards over. You move past them pretending to head for the exit before turning down the hall where Caleb pointed earlier. You take the key off the wall opening the door. There’s a man sitting on the bed. He springs up as soon as you step in.

“I was sent by 141. Are you Alex?” You ask, holding your arms out. He nods, frowning, as well as he can, his head is bruised and one of his eyes is swollen. The few clothes they’ve left him in are drenched through and he’s holding his other arm like it’s broken. “I’m here to get you out. I don’t have time to explain, you just need to trust me.” You say leaving the room. He hesitates a second then follows you. You go over to the guards table and pick up a weapon, loading it and putting another mag in your pocket. 

“Can you walk?” You ask, trying to keep an eye on the door Caleb would have taken the guards through. As soon as they see you they’ll open fire and sound the alarm. You need to leave. You start to head towards the door, clicking the safety off your gun. You quickly look behind you to make sure Alex is following, he is but too slow for your liking. 

Before you can tell him to hurry the door at the end of the room opens. A guard looks at you, his eyes then flick to Alex. You don’t have time to think you bring the weapon up and shoot him. 

Move! Your brain screams. The shot will have alerted people. Alex makes it over you and you practically drag him through the door out into the courtyard. A shot rings out and you pull him round the side of a building. You look back to see Caleb shouting orders as more guards run round. 

You look over at the entrance of the base. It’s close but you have to get over the wall, which means you’re going to have to fight. 

“We’re going to have to hop that wall. Think you can manage that?” You ask as you turn to Alex. He nods and opens his mouth but before he has a chance to say anything more shots ring out hitting the wall where you’re hiding. 

It’s now or never. You jump out from behind the building and sprint across to the wall. You hear Caleb call your name as you throw yourself over the wall rolling down the embankment. You hear Alex groan out in pain, he’s definitely got something broken. You get to your knees watching him writhe in pain. You don’t have time for this. Alarms ring out. Now you really don’t have time for this. You look over to the entrance. The gates are being locked. Great now you’re going to need to get keys. 

At least that's easy to do if the person is dead. You reach over gripping Alex’s arm pulling him to his feet. He cries out in pain, you don’t have time to worry about it as more shots ring out. You can see Caleb running across towards you, you pull Alex over the drain and up the opposite embankment. You let go of his arm to open fire on the guards in front of you. There’s only two of them, at the gate. 

You take cover behind the inspection booth, Alex kneels down beside you. You hand him your gun.

“I need to get a key, cover me.” You say. You don’t know if you trust him, or if he’ll even be a good shot but he’s better than nothing. He nods, you crawl out over to one of the bodies. Shots ring out behind you. Well he’s not killed you yet. You fumble around the guards belt and pockets. Nothing.

“Shit!” you call crawling over to the other guard out in the open. More shots ring out, from in front and behind you. Alex must have picked up a weapon off the guard. You find the ring of keys clipped on the guards belt. Your hands are shaking from adrenaline as you try to unhook them.

“Watch out!” Alex shouts. You don’t get time to look up before someone kicks you in the back. You look over at Alex fumbling with a mag. A shot rings out and he ducks behind the booth just in time. 

“Fuck.” You say pulling yourself to your feet. You’re surprised the person lets you get up. Before you can turn though a pain radiates in your side.

It’s worse than anything you’ve ever felt before. Have you been shot? When you finish turning you see a guard. Before you have time to react his head explodes into and he lands beside you. You look over at Alex, he’s still fumbling with the clip. 

You turn to see Caleb bringing his weapon down to his side, he looks sad, he’s your friend and you're betraying him. You reach down to touch where the pain is. Your head is swimming, your hands feel blood, then cold metal. There’s a knife, you’ve been stabbed.

“No!” you yell at Alex as he comes back from round the booth, his weapon drawn. Caleb holds up the keys, you smile at him. He pushes past you, opening the gate. You stumble over, each step sending shooting pains through your body.  

“You owe me!” Caleb says as he throws his arm around you. You lean up against him as he half drags you into the tree line.

“On the other side of the tree line. There’s a truck.” You say switching to English. 

“Rescue?” Caleb asks in English, you smile crying out in pain as you step over a fallen tree. 

“That's where 141 are waiting.” You say, it’s getting harder to focus, at least the sound of the alarm from the base isn’t ringing in your ears. 

“How do you know 141?” Alex asks as he watches round you, his weapon still drawn.

“It’s a long story.” You say breathless. You want to pull the knife out, it hurts so much. You know you shouldn't though. Not until you have something to pack the wound with. 

“Just keep going.” Caleb says, hitching you up tighter to him as you start to stumble. You can barely see what’s happening, the forest becoming a mix of blurry greens and browns. It feels like you’ve been walking for miles when you hear the engine of a truck. It makes your adrenaline spike, giving you a brief moment of clarity as you make it to the edge of the tree line.

“It’s them!” You hear the familiar Scottish accent. The sun blinds you as you make it through the trees. 

“Shit, what happened?” You hear someone ask, there are more hands on you now. You’re picked up.

“Who are you?” A gun clicks.

“Caleb, friend.” Is all you manage to say. You hear whoever is holding you curse under his breath. You’re pulled into the back of the truck on the floor. It makes you cry out again, your hand going to your wound. There’s banging and clattering. You don't have time to question how they got their hands on an military truck.

“Hey, lass, c’mon stay with us we’ll get you sorted.” It’s Soap. You look out through the back of the truck, you can see Price with his hand on Alex’s shoulder, Gaz taking the weapon out Caleb's hand. Then you see it in the distance, a truck. 

Price notices it too. He helps Alex get in the truck next to you, closing the back.

“Ghost, let's move!” He shouts. Gaz has vanished, you hear a door slam. Price pulls himself in the truck holding his arm out for Caleb. It doesn’t matter though.

Shots ring out, they hit the truck, you see Price duck, then the flash of blood. Caleb's hit, his body goes limp and falls to the floor as the truck pulls away. 

You’re not sure what happens next. Your scream fills the air as you watch Caleb's body get smaller covered in the dirt kicked up by the truck. Someone is pressing your body down. Suddenly Price is leaning over you, more shots ring out hitting the truck. You feel tears stream down your face. You got him killed, the only person you didn’t want to get hurt. 

“Alex! Cover fire!” You watch as Price hands him an AR, they both move down to the end of the truck returning fire. Your body is being flung from side to side as the truck drives out the forest and onto a road. 

You don’t care what happens now, you don’t care if you die. You did your job, you got Alex out. You close your eyes letting out a breath. 

“No, no, no! Eyes open c’mon!” It’s Soap again. Your eyes snap open as he shakes you. The gunfire dies down, maybe you’ve lost them. Maybe they won’t follow you out on a main road.

“Caleb.” You say. “His name was Caleb.” Soap frowns for a second then lets out a sigh. 

“Johnny.” He says. 

“Nice to meet you Johnny.” You smile. He smiles back. You can’t stay awake anymore. Your head is spinning, black spots fade into your vision. He calls out to you, shaking you but you just can’t stay awake. Your last thought is of Caleb as everything goes black. 

next

Banners by plum98

[lara4eclipze]

“Expensive”

sypnosis; being an OF wasn't that hard , one pic here and there , yet sometimes it intrigued who was these people—especially your top payer

cw; smut (!) , sw!reader , pervy Lara , swearing, , usage of degrading names , kinky shit , G!P Lara,not proofread, men do not interact!!

"what the fuck" you exhale as you take a look at your dms , one thing about being an OF model I guess — men will request the most outrageous shit ever

"fuck it" you say picking out one of the request— this one wasn't too bad oh! and it's made by your top payer

"wear my favorite lingerie?— not bad" you say , she payed like what thousands every month practically paying for your monthly dues

going to your closet and picking out one, which one pink? maybe red?— god it said your favorite why are you stressing it out

deciding on an simple pink one with ribbons , sighing out of relief — now all you have to do is shower and get the set up ready

--

after setting up the cameras and most importantly the lingerie, you get into position and take pictures

"wait should I text this to her? or is it a him?" you never really knew the gender since Lara went on your page under an anonymous name

after the"photoshoot" you ofcourse had to edit them think of a caption and so many things

afterwards you sent it to her , thanking her for her donations

"hello!— i noticed you were my top payer, here's a little thanks 😉" and sent , now we wait?

ding!

ding!

"oh my gosh— thank youu , honestly love your content!!" she immediately replied which surprised you

i mean the way she types , is she a girl??

"welcomee , if it doesn't bother you are you a female??" you ask , confused

"female , why?—I'm Lara by the way" she replied right away so she had a lot of time in her hands

oh and Lara? is that why her user was just L?

"nothing! — I was just wondering" you replied

--

a few days passed by , and Lara did not miss a single hour of donating

"hey—i was wondering how much I can uhm pay you to meet me in person?" Lara suddenly chats you

at first you were taken a back but after a little thought you decided to agree

"can you please show me pictures of yourself first?" you replied, yes you knew she was a girl but you can never be too sure

L sent three files

your phone rings , opening the photos you were stunned she looked beautiful, her eyes were like a siren calling out to you

"wow you're gorgeous" you replied

soon you were both planning out the day and time you would meet , you both settled for her apartment

--

the day comes and your standing outside her apartment, you were strangely sweating and your heart raced

"hey—how are you" Lara says as she opens the door , she looked mesmerizing her arms were toned, her face was sculpted by god himself

"uhmm" she trails off , god did you just snoozed off

"oh uhm sorry! " you replied, she lets you in and you both settled at the living room , her apartment looked expensive, I mean considering she spent thousands on you she can probably spend millions alone

"drink?" Lara asks , handing you a glass with some nice wine in it , she took a sip out of hers god she looked hot

"thanks.." taking a sip aswell , it tasted spectacular, like expensive, fine wine

a little bit of chatting and talking about your interest , it truly felt like a date but it's weird since you know she pays to see you

maybe it was crazy that you got drunk because of wine , but your tolerance was as low as 0

you were checking her out shamelessly at this point, her fingers , her face gosh , your eyes trailed down to her thighs , wait is that a bulge?—she noticed you especially where you were looking

"why princess? , want to try?" she ask her voice was husky and laced with seductiveness

you couldn't think straight , you aren't straight that's one thing

you hadn't noticed how close you both were till you felt her hands on your waist hoisting you to sit on her lap

your arms wrapped around her nape , core perfectly aligned with her bulge — you were gonna lose it

"my pretty girl — tell me what you want" she purrs

"please" you pathetically whine against her , her lips found yours , her hands deftly removing your clothing till you were left with your undergarments

"shit" she whispers , she loved it truly

"don't stare" did you just get embarrassed?, you did this for a living selling pictures of your body

to make you comfy she removes hers aswell leaving herself in some boxers and sports bra

"gosh you look better in real life" she says , was that a compliment?

"i just didn't expect you to be whore outside OF aswell" now you're soaked , how can someone make you feel this way when they degrade you

slowly she removes your lacy undergarments , her fingers finding your swollen clit begging for attention

"so wet , how nasty of you" she snickers

you whine , god your head felt fuzzy from her words and her fingers , have mercy on me Lara

"your cunt is so tight" she tsks , as her fingers probe your insides

by this point moans fill her house , you gently rock back and forth on her fingers seeking pleasure

until you felt her pull out her fingers at first you whined earning you a deep chuckle from the indian

you felt a much more bigger thing replace it — god was that her shit .it felt amazing the stretch that her tip kissed your cervix

"faster please" you moan , as she started bouncing you on her , you started blushing and sweating out of pure pleasure

her hands snaking around your breast taking one in her mouth , swirling her tounge around it

"gonna fill you up" she pants , hemr moans mix with yours as she keeps a brutal pace , the knot in your stomach quickly getting tighter

"please fill me up!!" you moan pathetically

"such a fuckin' whore for me" she breathes out before finally painting your insides

you silently scream—she prolonged your orgasm until you felt exhausted

pulling out of you , Lara took a look at your cunt dripping with her cum

"beautiful" she says before carrying you to her bed resting you there

"are you okay?" her kind demeanor now back

"yes thank you" you replied

"okay that's good— take a nap , I'll wake you up when dinners ready" she says smiling at you

you hum far too tired to form words

[thisapplepielife]

Written for @steddieholidaydrabbles.

Get It Together

Prompt Day 14: Together | Word Count: 1000 | Rating: T | CW: Language, Off-Screen Canon Typical Violence, Steve's Not-So-Great Parents | Tags: Steve's Relationship With His Parents, Or: Snapshots of Steve Harrington at Seven, Seventeen & Twenty-Seven, Future Established Steddie, Post S4, Eddie Munson Lives, Platonic Stobin, Good Uncle Wayne Munson, Hurt & Finding Your Comfort

1973

"Not on my tablecloth!" 

Steve jumps, turning his head, towards the sound of his mother's voice. It's sharp, angry, and he knows it's not at him. Not really. But it scares him, all the same. He knows she's mad at Dad, again. He was supposed to be home hours ago. He's still not home.

"Sorry, mom," Steve says, he'll be more careful. 

He's learned to be careful, but he just forgot. Wrapped up in painting, up on his knees in the dining room table chair, so he can reach everything. And he just forgot about the lace tablecloth his mom had folded back, putting down old newspaper under his paper instead.

"I'm sorry," he says again, and he's pretty sure he didn't get anything on the tablecloth. He was just getting too close to it. That's all.

His mother sighs, "It's okay. You're fine," she says, leaning over, and resting her chin on the top of his head. "It looks great. Your father will love it."

"Is Dad coming home tonight?" 

She doesn't know.

Dad is always gone at work.

Steve hears them fight when his dad is home, even if they think he doesn't. And Steve doesn't understand why, not fully, but he gets enough to know she's always sad. 

He nods. And when Dad comes home two hours later, Steve's excited to show him the painting.

"Aren't you a little old for this?" his father asks, and Steve looks down at the piece of paper in his hands. He's too old for art? 

Steve yanks his hands backwards, ducking them behind his back, hiding the artwork. Stupid. It was stupid. A tear slides down his cheek.

"Get it together, Steve," he says.

Steve nods, eyes cast to the ground. It's past his bedtime anyway.

1984

He tries to sneak home without being seen. He knows what he looks like, eyes red, nose running. He cried in the car, away from any prying eyes. 

He's bullshit, apparently. 

Unfortunately, his dad is still up reading files when Steve tries to carefully sneak through the back sliding door. 

"Steven?" his dad questions, and Steve wipes at his eyes again, trying to make himself presentable.

Steve knows he'll want to talk about basketball, his grades. Or something that he's found unsatisfactory, and Steve's just not in the mood. 

"I'm home," Steve says, hoping that's all that will come of this, maybe his dad won't even look up.

But his dad looks him over carefully, "Are you crying? Aren't you a little old for that?"

He can't explain. What's he gonna say? His girlfriend got drunk and was mean to him? No way.

So, Steve lies, "Just the cold air."

"Get it together. You're late," his dad says, pointedly looking at the large grandfather clock. It's three after midnight.

"Halloween traffic," Steve lies again. If his dad can use bullshit excuses, so can Steve.

1993

Steve stands in the hospital hallway, crying. Robin's rubbing his shoulders. He thought they were done with this. It's been seven years. He hadn't been ready for Hawkins to unexpectedly rear its ugly head. He'd settled into a life with Eddie, blending into the city.

Living, being happy, not bothering anyone.

However, tonight, they hadn't realized they were being followed until Eddie had been knocked to the ground.

Andy. Chance. A guy Steve only vaguely recognized. 

And in a particularly cruel twist of the knife, Tommy.

More retaliation for crimes not committed, years later. 

They're fine. Bruises. Some stitches. Eddie's getting a cast on his wrist after being pushed to the concrete. It could've been worse. Being outnumbered, and unprepared.

Eddie didn't deserve this. Not in '86, and not now.

"You're okay," Robin says.

He starts to agree, when a familiar voice breaks the silence.

"Aren't you a little old for this?" his father asks, and Steve fucking hates that question. He's been asked it a thousand times during his lifetime. 

And today, it's too much. 

"For what? What am I doing now that is so fucking unacceptable to you?" Steve snaps, and his dad's eyebrows shoot up. 

Steve's never talked back to him like that. Not once.

But he's twenty-seven. A man.

He's not seventeen, or seven. He's no longer going to be shamed for feeling things.

He doesn't have to get it together. He can cry. 

Nobody should've called them. He didn't ask for that. He wants to be left alone. That should have been clear when he fled Hawkins and never returned. 

"I don't need you here," Steve says.

"We've been looking for you," his mom explains. "The chief of-"

"I don't care," Steve interrupts. And he doesn't care what connection they exploited to find him.

"You should go," Robin snaps, angling herself between them.

"I wanted to know that you were okay," his mom says, and honestly, he believes that. He does. But his father? No. He just wanted to come rub salt into whatever open wounds he might find.

"I'm okay. So is Eddie, thanks for asking," Steve says sarcastically, and relishes them freezing up. 

The exam room door behind him opens.

Wayne. Steve immediately feels more at ease.

"They let him get a black cast," Wayne says, and Steve wipes at his eyes and laughs.

"How very metal," Robin says.

His father starts, "We-"

"Were just leaving," Steve finishes for him, not caring what he was actually about to say.

"Great, I'll walk them out," Wayne says, holding out his arm, waiting. Giving no other option.

Steve loves him.

Robin holds open the exam room door for Steve, and clearly intends to stand guard.

He loves her, too.

Steve doesn't hang around. He slides into Eddie's temporary room, and sees him trying to get redressed with his brand new cast. 

"Need some help?" Steve asks. 

"Uh, yeah," Eddie says, and tosses Steve his pants. 

"Well, I'm more practiced at taking these off," Steve says, and Eddie laughs as Steve squats down, "but I'll try my best."

They'll be just fine. Together.

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @steddieholidaydrabbles and follow along with the fun! ❤️

[jeyunhos]

Reputation | jyh

pairing: professor!yunho x college student!fem!reader cw: power dynamics, professor x student, cunnilingus, 18+ minors do not interact. Summary: Your creative writing professor is so hot you're about to fail his class. Dying to help you, the both of you figure out a new method to increase your penmanship. A/N: glasses yunho is driving me crazy, you hear me, CRAZY

You ever had a teacher with a sort of reputation? The crazy one, the smelly one, the strict one... There's probably a repertoire of clichés and boxes you could fit every single one of this semester's teachers in, but recently, you had grown fond of one particular class: Creative Writing, with professor Jeong Yunho, the dreamy one.

Yunho had a reputation alright, a reputation as the one teacher every girl fell for. Leave alone his absolutely stunning looks, he was kind, patient, and gentle, an all-rounder of a teacher who could instruct a rock on how to write wonderful pieces if he put his mind to it.

One problem, you didn't care for his class at all. Sure, it was fun to try but you were close to failing due to your enormous crush on the man, and you figured your were doomed to continue that way, since the only way to get over him, was to get under him.

You were busy daydreaming about being tied to his office chair as you walked the corridors when you heard your name bounce off the walls and a light trotting behind you. You were snapped back to reality and turned around only to see professor Yunho himself joining you with a huff of his cheeks.

"Phew! I got to catch you." he said excitedly, panting lightly from the sudden outburst of energy he had used.

"Professor" you started, trying to hide your delight and surprise "Is something wrong?" you asked, wondering what he would probably need you for.

"Do you have ten minutes before you head home? I've got to talk to you about your recent piece." in between his large hand he wiggled a foldered set of printed sheets with your most recent submission written on them.

"Sure, right here?" you asked, looking around at the vast prying eyes around you.

He answered with a shake of his head "Join me in my office for a bit."

You followed behind the man through the crowded maze that your school was, he was fast due to his long legs, and hence you were walking slightly behind him. The breeze would carry a bit of his cologne into your nose whenever it blew, heightening the infatuation you already held for him.

Rumors were also true, he was a complete gentleman. The second you got to his office he opened the door and moved aside to let you past and held the chair out for you to sit.

"So," he started as he fixed his suit jacket the moment he sat down "I'm worried about your final grade." Yunho went straight to the tone, which let you know that whatever fantasy you were having about being bent over the desk was not happening.

"What do you mean?" you feigned innocence, knowing damn well that you were close to repeating the class. Well, not that you would mind staring at him for another whole semester, but it wasn't exactly something you could afford.

"Yes, however..." he started, pulling the file open to look at the printed version of your work "Despite having submitted every assignment, your scores have been constantly low and that's because," he cleared his throat, as if trying to find less harsh words to describe your work "the pieces are just not good."

You felt a blush, proof of your embarrassment, creep around your face through your neck, your sight lowered in shame, something he immediately noticed. Your final project was writing a short story about romance, with a twist, and an ending of your choice.

"Let's go over some lines slowly" he said with a gentle, charming smile "For example, this one 'in that moment they felt they were falling in love'" he explained. "Do you see what is wrong with that line?"

"They weren't falling in love?" you asked innocently, not really sure of what he wanted you to answer.

Your little joke caused him to laugh in the form of a chuckle. He was mostly amused by the hardness of your head. He leaned backwards and looked up at you.

"Have you ever been in love?" he asked nonchalantly, as if he was asking 'how have you been?' to an old friend.

With you, you thought to yourself, but of course that couldn't leave your lips.

"Not exactly sure." you admitted finally.

He let out a sigh and nodded mostly to himself .

"In writing, you don't really want to tell the audience what the characters are doing or feelings are experimenting, it reduces imagination to a mere instruction." he explained "You want to tell them about everything else but the actual feeling. So, say, if the characters were falling in love, instead of saying it straight out, you want to describe the way their hearts raced, or how they couldn't pry their eyes from each other despite the chaos around them, or how they longed for something so much more than a mere graze of their lips." he tried to explain to you, but in your face he could see you were not grasping it. "But I guess that's hard if you've never experienced it first hand."

You nodded along with every bit of his explanation, and there was a hint of disappointment and hurt on your face when he finally finished his sentence.

Picking up on this, he gently tapped his hands on the desk and reincorporated himself to lean forward "Let's try something else." he proposed, catching your attention "I'll give you a week, rewrite the thing, but don't do romance, do erotica instead." he asked with a smile on your face.

"Erotica?" you inquired, quite surprised by this new task.

"It's hard to say we have experienced love" he said "But we've all been aroused, it's in our programming as mammals" with a grin, he handed the folder over to you "All my notes are there, write some erotica, send it to my e-mail, and we can talk about your final grade, alright?"

With a swipe of his hand, he ended up dismissing you. You obliged and left the office, albeit reluctantly since being alone with him had been a delight, and headed home to begin working.

Not that you were foreign to fantasizing about sexual scenarios, especially involving him, but putting them into words was a whole other ordeal. 'We all have been aroused' these words resonated in your head, and so, you got all hands on deck.

Four days later, your final manuscript was in his inbox, and only a few hours afterwards you got another e-mail:

jyunho@school.com: Please meet me at 8:00pm in my office to discuss the grade.

8? That was kind of late, but you figured he was in a rush since the semester was ending soon and all the final grades had to be uploaded to the school online system. Plus, it's not like you were exactly in the position to refuse anything, your passing grade was at stake.

You dolled yourself up a bit right before the agreed time, just in case you figured, and went on your merry way. The university halls were creepily abandoned due to the late hour save for some offices with the lights still on, part of being the end of the semester you guessed, and it made you feel uneasy; said feeling disappeared almost immediately once you reached the right door. "Professor Jeong Yunho" it read.

"Come in" you heard a raspy voice call after you knocked.

He himself was a sight to behold. Hair slightly disheveled, suit jacket laid over the back of the chair, black turtleneck shirt on. He looked tired and felt like so.

"So?" you said with a cheery voice, trying to lighten the mood, as you approached the chair.

He let out a sigh, similar to last time but now more exasperated "Still not good." he blurted out.

You could tell his guard was down, because the Yunho you knew as your teacher wouldn't talk so roughly, yet there was something thrilling about said demeanor, something inherently hot to seeing him so worked up.

"You keep describing the actions, this is even worse than the romance one." he added some salt to your wound "'they kissed roughly and she was pinned down to the bed'? This is not a report, this is supposed to be exciting, where's the erotism, the magnetism, the-" as he was ranting on his own with you sitting across his desk, looking amiss of words to be honest, he stopped himself half way when he came to a sudden realization.

"The...?" you tried to ask once he was staring at you in utter silence.

"Close your eyes." he ordered.

"What?" despite your eagerness to obey him, almost naturally, you had to double check that you were listening correctly

"We're going to do a little exercise, close your eyes." he said once more.

You finally obliged and shut your lids. You weren't entirely sure what was happening around you, but promptly you felt a presence behind you.

"I'm going to do a couple of things, I want you to describe to me how you feel when I do them." you could tell he was the presence you had felt from the direction of his voice.

Fuck. You had to be careful, this was getting dangerous. Despite your eagerness to be his little toy, you knew if you didn't tread lightly you could find yourself reported or expelled if he didn't feel the same. So, you made a mental note to actually pay attention and figure out if this little predicament could work out in your favor.

As you were conjuring your evil plan in your brain, he began to work on his own. You felt the tip of his fingers on the back of your hands, slowly crawling up through your forearms, your biceps, and finally your shoulders.

"Talk to me" he urged when you didn't respond "How do you feel?" he repeated himself.

"Warm." you said out loud, your eyes still shut.

It's not like you weren't trying, really, but his touch had wiped your mind blank effectively.

His head shook firmly in disappointment, there was no getting through to you no matter how complex the method he was using, and how certainly... risky. But he couldn't deny this new way was getting him excited, possibly in ways it was not exactly code-of-conduct-appropriate.

"I'll help you." he leaned over further to repeat the movement he had done seconds before, his head hovering next to your ear. "When I touch your hand your skin feels soft, almost silk-like. I grow curious, so my hands travel further up, your forearm is delightful, it sets within me a hunger I can only sasiate with the subtle violence of a bite, but I can't bring myself to do it, not just yet, there's so much I want to explore, so I continue my path until I get to your neck."

His words were beyond arousing to you. The way his hands and body mimicked everything he spoke of was setting your skin ablaze. You wanted him badly, and you had made it your resolve to finally get him to sleep with you, you didn't know how, but you were determined to lead him where you wanted.

"Try again." he instructed, his hands moving away from your neck. "Tell me how you feel."

You were slightly disappointed at the lack of contact, and you were worried you might have missed your window. However, something else entirely caused a gasp out of you. His lips were now grazing the base of your neck and you could feel the hot breath that came out of his mouth straight onto your skin.

"My skin feels like crawling with heat," you began to say "A tingle travels from my hand, following your touch all the way up to my neck; my expectations grow and I wonder just how far you will take this. Your lips wake the goosebumps whenever they touch, and I crave to feel them over my body."

As you spoke, you could lightly hear his breath hitch and, for a second, you could swear he was going to do it, he was going to kiss your neck, but he stopped.

"Seems like you got it" he said as he pulled back after clearing his throat. He moved from behind your chair to lean against his desk, his rear almost laying on it; his arms were crossed over his chest once you opened your eyes.

"Hardly" was all you could say, and you stole a glance at how his pants seemed to have gotten tighter on the front.

"Hardly?" he asked, his head tilting "Is there anything else you're struggling with?"

It was going to be like that, huh? He was not going to drop the teaching charade. Well, you knew a thing or two about playing the student in despair.

You stood up from where you were sitting and walked over to Yunho, your hands hidden innocently behind your back. He was getting a kick out of it, you could tell, perhaps Mr. Jeong was a lot more sinful that he looked at bare glances; well, you'd indulge him.

"Kisses, for example, how do you go from 'looking at each other' to 'kissing' without saying something lame like, I don't know, 'they kissed'?" now you were guiding the situation to where you wanted it to go, you figured.

"Well, with kisses you want to start slow, not quite jump right to it." he began to explain, still keeping his intellectual facade "Like..." he continued, his hand slowly raising to land on the back of your neck, his fingers playing lightly with the back of your hair. His eyes landed on yours and you could finally feel the desire that had been pooling between your legs mirrored in the darkness of his pupils "...this."

Once he finished his sentence he leaned in closer, his lips brushed yours and you tried to close the gap, but he pulled back the slightest. 'Fuck' you thought, but the second you wanted to pull back the hand that was holding your neck forced you otherwise.

Your lips melted together with his almost immediately and he had to inhale a sharp breath; it was only innocent for a couple of seconds, because after his free arm snaked around your waist, his palm to your lower back, all logic fell off the window. From both parts.

The chaste, educational kiss faded quickly and was replaced by his tongue brushing against your bottom lip in attempt to ask for entrance, a permission that was granted immediately. He was exploring the entirety of your mouth, ravishing on the taste of your tongue against his.

It wasn't long before both of you were consumed by the unmistakable desire to break one sacred rule, of diving into unexplored taboo of sleeping with your teacher. He picked up on it rather quick, and shortly he was pulling away.

He bounced himself off his desk and his hands guided you by the hips to turn around, flipping your positions. His hand was certainly gentle, but with such sturdiness you wouldn't even dare disobey his silent commands. One of them held your hair and pushed it down, bending you over his desk with your clothes still on.

This last statement didn't remain true for long, as his needy fingers quickly dived on your lower garments, dipping roughly inside the waistbands and pulling down altogether.

His lips pursed at the sight of your bare ass and cunt all laid down for him, his right thumb trailing your slit and clit teasingly.

"I don't have to narrate what happens next, do I?" he asked. It was his own version of asking for consent.

"I'll still take notes." you teased back, looking over your shoulder.

He let out an amused chuckle and you saw him begin fumbling with his zipper. There was a rumor that he was packing down there, and you were now confirming it with your own eyes. Not ginormous, but certainly a bit above average.

From his pocket, he pulled out a condom which he carefully ripped open to roll it over his shaft; once securely wrapped, he positioned himself on your entrance and slowly began to push it. The slightly painful stretch was delightful, poetic almost, to you.

"You okay?" he grunted under his breath, trying his best to not start pouding right away.

You simply replied with a positive hum and that was everything he needed. With enough force he began to thrust into you, deep and sensual at the beginning, and you could feel him gradually getting rougher.

You were smart enough to keep your moans at bay, but when he started to push all the way in to the point it felt like rearranging you, it became harder and harder. He couldn't be sure that there weren't other teachers around, since it was still around eight thirty, so he had to help you somehow; one of his hands as kept on your hip as grip and the other one had to be pressed up against your mouth. The palm was so wide it almost covered your nose too, and he was extra careful not to accidentally suffocate you.

As a result, your head was pulled back and slightly to the side where he was pressing from, leaving an area of your neck free to his admiration. His thrusts continued to pick up the pace and roughness, and at some point they became so strong the desk began to slide backwards, making an annoying, dragging sound with every thrust.

Yunho was forced to let go of your hip and bend over to hover over you. He was tall enough that his head reached yours and his hand was able to hold the other edge of the desk to stop it from dragging on the floor. As a consequence, your skin was near his lips once more, and he decided to give in to his previous temptation and bite down gently on your skin, leaving a hot mark behind but not a bruise.

"I can't hold back much longer." he said into your ear in an almost apologetic tone.

Your agreement was muffled by his hand, but you let him know it was okay. He continued to grunt and pant heavily against your skin with rough, powerful thrusts into your cunt, but the rhythm was more erratic, and you could tell he was close.

Finally, with a moan of your name that he muffled with your neck, he came.

Being honest, you were a little disappointed that you hadn't gotten to orgasm yourself, but having fucked him was already prize enough, you were not about to get greedy on an already wrong and thoroughly enjoyable sexual encounter.

As you were sunked in these thoughts, he pulled out from you and began fixing his clothes rather quickly. Following his lead, you leaned back up and reached down to pick up your own until his voice stopped you.

"Woah, woah, what are you doing?" he asked, reaching quickly after putting himself back in his pants to avoid you from putting your own back up. "No, no." he continued quickly, his free hand bending you over once more. "Rule number one of erotica: the woman is never left unsatisfied."

You weren't sure what he meant by that, was he going to fuck you again? Maybe, but you weren't sure he could just right away, sure he was young but.. oh.

The long lap at your clit from behind surprised you greatly and caused a long, quiet moan out of you. You could feel him lapping and sucking at your slit with renewed energy, and it was driving you insane just how well he was eating you out.

As he continued his ministrations with his tongue from behind, one of his thumbs reached for your clit, circling it slowly and deliberately, he knew pretty damn well where everything was and he was not about to be shy about it.

Your legs began to tremble, and he was moaning into your womanhood with every taste of it which only added fuel to the fire within you. It wasn't long before you started to feel the familiar tingle on your stomach., and seconds later you allowed yourself to cum against his mouth.

Satisfied with his performance and having reached his goal, he helped you with your clothes back up and walked over back to his chair with you still bent over the desk as you regained your composure. His head tilted so his cheek was almost touching the wooden surface and he could be eye-level with you.

"I expect your story by tomorrow, okay?" he said with an innocent smirk.

"Yes, professor" you said in between pants before you raised to your feet again "And thank you, this was very useful." you added.

That night, you went back to your home and began writing in extreme detail everything that man had done to you; all while changing names, locations, and times, of course. Nothing more erotic than keeping a secret, after all.

The story came out naturally and easily, with a newfound talent that you could have sworn was not there before, somehow Jeong Yunho had managed to fuck it out of you, and so, when you began to struggle with the last lines of your work, the image of his smiling face gave you a strike of genius:

'..and as the young girl hardly waddled out of the room, feeling refreshed, brought anew, she came to the realization that some men really do live up to their reputation."

[abbysimsfun]

Sims In Bloom: Generation 2 Pt. 85 (Searching for Rafa Bonilla)

cw: mentions underage trafficking, drug smuggling

Conrad looked for Rafa Bonilla between his regular cases at the precinct, following clues and booking suspects to keep his captain satisfied. A few months into his search he finally located one of Rafa's known associates, according to police reports.

He called Heather, tapping his fingers against the desk. "Hey, you've reached Heather's phone. It's either the middle of the night or I'm with a patient, so leave a message and I'll call you back."

"Hey, it's me. I was hoping to talk to you, but I've got to work a little late tonight. I'll make it up to you. I'm sorry. I love you."

He drove outside Brindleton Bay to greet the man who thought he had everyone fooled with his chess mentorship program. It would be less than thirty minutes before his students - mostly children - started showing up for their scheduled lesson in the park, so Conrad knew he had to work fast. He shuddered as he got closer to him, and not just because it was freezing outside.

"Jimmy Stefano," he said, dropping his voice an octave to sound serious.

"Not lately," mused the man with a laugh. "Who's asking?" He turned to face the voice who knew his old identity. "You? They said you were a cop now. No surprise they never let you work our cases."

Conrad knew they had no time for small talk and he whipped out his cuffs. "You're under arrest for aiding and abetting a known fugitive."

"You can't be serious! Who?"

"Rafael Bonilla."

Jimmy's face went white, but he stopped resisting. As Conrad cuffed him, he asked, "Are you taking me in to help San Myshuno PD, or did she call you?"

Conrad scoffed. "She who?"

Jimmy laughed. "She told both of us sweet nothings, old friend. You were just dumb enough to believe them."

"Shut up and get in the cruiser."

Back at the station, Jimmy looked around the interrogation room in his orange jumpsuit once Conrad booked him. "Aren't you going to need the cameras on to record your attempt at my confession?"

"I want you to speak freely, Stefano. Tell me everything you know."

Jimmy eyed him suspiciously. "You're not working with San Myshuno PD at all, are you."

"I didn't stage an elaborate arrest just to scare you. I still plan to file a report after you and I catch up. Just talk."

"She really did get to you. Are you trying to let her ruin your life again?"

"Where the hell is Rafa?"

"I don't know. I haven't seen him in two years, when the last job we did together went bad. I assumed his sister told him to run since the charges he's facing are so serious."

"She doesn't know where he is."

"I'm sure she told you that. Did she tell you she was done with Los Tigres, too?"

Conrad flinched, and Jimmy raised an eyebrow.

"I'm happy with my chess students, but I can't get out now. When you walked, I should've joined you, but I didn't have your father's connections at the police station to keep me out of jail."

"I wasn't even there that night, but you gave them my name."

"Yeah, I did, because you walked before you even got started. Los Tigres only let you live because you became a cop and they didn't need the heat. I don't know what she told you, but if you think Ximena's turned over a new leaf and is done smuggling for the cartel, you're an idiot. She just uses new aliases these days."

Conrad breathed in through his nose. "If I turn the cameras on, will you avoid mentioning our history while you tell me what Ximena's still doing with the cartel?"

"What's in it for me, Sargent?"

"If it comes to it and you're telling the truth, I only want Ximena. As long as Los Tigres doesn't get caught up in anything at the Brindleton docks, I've got no reason to open up a window to the past. You should think about moving on, too. Turn that chess mentorship program into more than just a front."

Jimmy rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah. Some of us are lifers, you know."

Conrad hit record while Jimmy told him everything he knew about Ximena's past - how she escaped being trafficked in her teens by offering to run drugs for Los Tigres de Selva, working her way up to running an entire operation moving drugs from Selvadorada to San Myshuno, through Britechester, and back again. Her associates called her The Chameleon because of how often she changed her hair.

She'd been arrested but never did hard time, with those who worked under her often taking the fall, instead - like Jimmy Stefano. Twice. Ximena kept herself just clean enough to avoid prison, and dragged her brother into the same life. "Rafa and I used to pose as Simlandian military to run product for his sister, but he never got caught for that," Jimmy said.

"When was the last time you worked for her?"

"Four months ago."

Conrad led him through several questions, showing copies of Ximena's old police reports. When they'd finished, he released Jimmy Stefano. It didn't satisfy him to send a known smuggler back to the streets, but he'd gained some incriminating evidence against Ximena, at the very least. He was beginning to think he might need it, eventually.

He headed home in darkness, and his mind raced with possibilities. Could Ximena's activities have led directly to her brother's disappearance? Who were her enemies these days?

He tried to call her, against his better judgment, but she didn't pick up her phone. He hung up before the voicemail kicked in.

When he walked in the door, he found six-year-old Ash on the floor, working on a castle diorama for extra credit at school. He knelt down to help him without even changing out of his work clothes. "Can you help me with the small pieces? Mommy won't let me use better scissors, but my kid scissors barely cut anything!"

He grinned. Grateful for the distraction, Conrad pulled out an instruction booklet tucked under the edge of the box. "Of course. What did you need me to cut?"

"Just these windows," he said. "They're too small. And can you measure to make sure my towers are big enough? I want the biggest towers of the whole class! Like the Spire Tower!"

"Tallest towers, can do. Hey, did you want to use this lump of clay for anything?" (Finally, the clay comes out at a sensible moment!!)

"Yeah! Moat mud! And we could use real water!"

"Your mom won't be very happy if we make real mud in the house, buddy."

Heather walked into the room then, kneeling down next to them to play with Gord. "Please don't make real mud. Why don't you use the clay to mould a base for the castle?"

"Good idea, Mommy! Can we have pancakes for dinner tomorrow night? I've been thinking about pancakes all day!"

"I can make you pancakes for dinner, but your mom and I won't be here to eat them with you," said Conrad. "Tomorrow night, I'm taking your mom on a date."

"What's a date?"

"It's when people who like each other hang out," Heather said.

Ash's eyes grew wide. "Is there kissing?"

Conrad grinned. "There might be. What do you know about kissing?"

He paused. "Nothing, I guess. Scotti Holiday says it's like eating faces, but why would people who like each other eat their faces?"

Heather laughed. "Don't worry, Conrad's not going to eat my face. Are you almost finished with your diorama for the night? It's getting late and you should get to bed soon."

"Just a little while longer, Mommy. Please! I'm not tired and I'm almost done!"

When he and Conrad had finished, they displayed the excellent diorama on a kitchen countertop until Ash could take it to school in the morning. Before he went to bed, Conrad went upstairs to check on his sleeping baby girl.

Intuitive to his human's growing stress level, no matter how well he hid it from everyone else, Gord followed him. ->

<- Previous Chapter | Gen 2 Start | Gen 1 Summary | Gen 1 Start

[thepenultimateword]

Monster Compendium

CW: Murder scene, some gore

Petra sat as still as stone. Half out of habit, half to avoid unnecessary attention. She’d helped put at least half of the villains present away; the last thing she needed was to cause an uproar before she even completed what she came here for.

"Cillian Morse, aka 'Monstrosity'," the judge said. "Please come to the stand."

The villain rose from the bench of handcuffed, grey-clad criminals, packed side by side like sardines in a can.

The Superpowered Penitentiary and Rehabilitation Center (SPARC) was overstuffed. Because of this, their semiannual parole hearing usually involved slotting as many prisoners as possible into one big day-long hearing. Maybe not the smartest idea when half the criminals present had some of the most dangerous, volatile powers on record, while the other half were too clever to be kept in a regular prison, but that was the city government for you. Impatient. Lazy.

Sure they had a line of guards on every wall, but who would that stop if any of these criminals had skipped suppressor meds?

As Monstrosity settled into his new seat at the head of the room, he swiveled his head around at the crowd. He met Petra's eyes at the back and blinked, tilting his head a little before grinning widely.

Petra didn't even blink.

"Mr. Morse," the judge said, scanning the file in front of him. "It seems you've been a resident at SPARC for three years now."

"You seem correct, sir," Monstrosity said. He tucked his hands under his chin, fixing that wide grin on the judge now.

"Your last 3 hearings deemed you unfit for parole." His finger trailed down the page. "Lack of empathy, uncooperative in therapy, riling other inmates, cheeking the super suppressors you've been prescribed, a downright refusal to make outside goals. I could go on."

Monstrosity waved his hand nonchalantly. "I was immature then. Angry. Lost. In denial. Over the last year, I've made vast improvements, as you'll see in my chart."

He mimed a page-turn.

The judge raised his brows but flipped to the next page in the file. His eyes scanned it from top to bottom.

"You have been successfully medicated for 8 months. Ah, and you passed your sanity test… and reintegration tests.” He narrowed his eyes at the page. “Your goal is to work at an animal shelter?"

"What can I say, I'm an animal guy."

"You've been expressly forbidden from interacting with any biological entities."

Monstrosity tilted his head with all the innocence of a puppy caught chewing shoes again. "Little hard to enforce that. Biological entities are all around us. Birds, grass spiders...heck, your honor, you are a biological entity."

The judge frowned severely. "Do you really want to make a threat right now, Mr. Morse?"

"What? We can't state facts anymore?" Monstrosity raised his locked hands in front of him. "All I'm saying is shelter or not, I will have access, so why bar me from a supervised space? Besides, I assume I'll be on meds still?"

The judge scoffed quietly as he scanned the file again. "It's indefinite how long you'll stay on suppressor meds." He looked up from the page and folded his hands together on the bench. "Tell me, Mr. Morse, do you know why you were sent to SPARC? Have you ever felt any remorse?"

For just an instant Monstrosity looked uncomfortable, but then he swallowed and it was gone, replaced by another smile. "The name sort of says it all. I was a monstrosity. I needed to be taken off the street." He smiled a little wider. Petra thought he might've meant it to look grateful, but to her, he looked like a hyena baring fangs. "But SPARC cured me."

The judge waited for more, perhaps something on that remorse question, but when Monstrosity didn't offer it he continued with the final question.

"Do you believe that you are reformed?"

"1000%," Monstrosity said, raising his right hand oathlike.

The judge gathered the file pages up in his hands, tapping them against the bench until they were even. "Unfortunately, I don't find you genuine."

Monstroisty opened his mouth but the judge continued.

"Eight months of good behavior is not a guarantor of rehabilitation. Make it last a whole year and we'll see at the next hearing. Cillian Morse will remain at SPARC for the next 6 months." He banged his gavel like a seal on the end of his sentence.

Monstrosity's entire expression morphed. Gone was the playful puppy, something toothy and terrible taking its place. "You--"

"Excuse me," Petra interrupted.

The entire room swiveled. A few criminals flinched back, but most started cursing furiously, the bitterness soon rising from loud voices to full out shouts.

The judge banged his gavel repeatedly until the criminals quieted enough that he could at least be heard over them. "Sentencer."

Petra didn't miss the way he looked at her, with little more respect than he looked at these criminals, but with more wariness. After all, she wasn't taking suppressors.

"You were not expected. I hope you have something relevant to add for you to interrupt."

Petra strode up the aisle, past the guards, past the shouting and lunging criminals, right up to the bench. She folded her hands neatly behind her back.

"I have an order from the top to take Cillian Morse into temporary custody."

The judge narrowed his eyes. ''Orders from who?"

“Accolade." Then, in case the director of SIRA (Superhuman Investigation and Response Agency) wasn't enough, "Chief Sanders and the warden also signed off on it." She reached into her pocket for the signed document. "I have proof of the order here if you need it."

The judge read over the page scrutinizingly, taking in all the unpleasantness that Petra had hesitated to voice somewhere so public.

"What makes you think that a villain could be any help in a criminal investigation?" he said finally.

"Body modification is his specialty."

"It seems risky."

"He will be under my supervision throughout the day and he will be returned to SPARC every night," Petra said coolly. "Any exceptions will be signed off directly with the prison."

Petra played along, but they both knew it wasn't in the judge's authority to say no. Yes, he could sentence the prisoners to more or less time in SPARC, but the warden and the prison's directors were the ones who decided if prisoners could be taken off the premises. It was only because today was hearing day that Petra was here instead of standing in front of a cell.

"If he's so important go ahead and take him." The judge extended the order back to her. As she went to take it, he suddenly leaned in close, voice lowered but commanding. "Keep him on his medication."

Petra pulled back without reaction. That wasn't her job. The orderlies at SPARC gave dosages once a day. Her responsibility was just to keep a good eye on the criminal so he would try to slip away.

She nodded curtly in Monstrosity's direction, and the man quickly rose to his feet, trotting after her with a smug smile.

"Bye," he sang to other criminals. "I'll see you all for dinner!"

"Screw you, Monstrosity!" one of the criminals shouted after him.

"Sorrrry, I don’t date criminals!”

That only made the group of villains rowdier, but Petra closed the door on the noise, and soon enough they were descending the steps of the courthouse.

Monstrosity trotted faster to catch up with her stride, cozying up against her shoulder. “Together at last.”

Petra shrugged him off, but the resistance only made Monstrosity bounce back more aggravating. He didn't touch this time, but he lingered close. The tiny sliver of space he left between them like a tease, an insistence he wasn't doing anything, while obviously putting in effort for something.

"Really, I never knew the Sentence had such a crush on me. A hero breaking a villain out of jail? It's so Romeo and Juliet!"

"Not a jailbreak," Petra clarified, pulling out her keys and clicking the bottom button until she heard the locks click on the little tightly parked sedan. "A temporary consultation."

"Riiight," Monstrosity winked. "Oh is this your car? Not exactly what I picture when I hear 'Sentencer'. I kinda thought you would drive around in some sort of Batmobile type vehicle. But nice parking. I love a person who knows how to parallel park."

Petra opened the passenger side door

Monstrosity pouted a little at her non-reaction but slid obediently into the passenger seat.

Petra took a breath before walking around the other side of the car. This was just how Monstrosity was. He’d probably flirt with a brick wall if he thought he could get something out of it. Not that he was one to actually keep up with any of the people he succeeded in wooing. A few of the informants she'd worked with to track him down had called him objectively charming--well, when he didn't have a rat tail or an extra set of arms or any of his other quote-unquote "freakish modifications"--but Petra didn't really see the appeal.

Petra spared the criminal a glance out of the corner of her eye.

Hypothetically, this time when he was on his suppression meds was the chance to see him as wholly human as possible, but he didn’t seem much different from any of the other villains at SPARC. Close clipped hair. Dark circles under the eyes. Baggy gray prison jumpsuit with the prison’s acronym across the back in bright orange and three matching stripes wrapping up each ankle and wrist. He was tall, probably about as tall as her, but he walked with a slump. At the very least, his eyes were something. A sharp pale gray, like frosted steel, piercing into everything he turned them upon.

"So where to?" Monstrosity said.

"Crime scene."

"Yay!"

"Don't be so happy about it; it's not exactly pretty."

"I expect crime scenes rarely are," Monstrosity said, grinning.

Petra started the engine.

“Excuse me, you’re not going to put me in danger by depriving me of a seatbelt, are you?” Monstrosity waved his cuffed hands in the air.

"Your arms work."

"The cuffs dig into my wrists whenever I bend them."

Petra flicked on her turn signal to enter traffic. "Sounds like a personal problem."

"So mean," he said. He twisted halfway around, holding his arms rigid and straight as he grasped for the belt. It took him a few tries, but he did manage to buckle himself. No sooner had the buckle clicked, than he tossed himself melodramatically against the door, the backs of his hands raised to his forehead. "And you call yourself a hero."

"We'll arrive in 10 minutes."

He side-eyed her. "You're not much of a conversationalist."

"Why should I be?"

"Fun? Entertainment? To pass the time?"

"I'm driving to a brutal crime scene with a handcuffed criminal. Does that sound fun to you?"

"It doesn't sound not fun." He slumped in his seat. "Just saying, for someone whose powers are in their voice, I thought you'd use it more."

Petra clenched the steering wheel. "No more talking."

"Seeee, that's what I'm saaaying," Monstrosity mumbled.

Petra ignored the partial taunt in his tone.

To be honest, she wasn't entirely sure why she was doing this. Yes, the scene was...interesting. And Monstrosity had experience both in criminal activity and biological manipulation, but she'd worked hard to get each one of these criminals off the street in the first place. She didn't love taking them back out. Monstrosity had been particularly tough to corner. She'd only set eyes on him a couple of times before her team had managed to pinpoint his location and make a collective attack. The element of surprise had been critical for that success even with all five of them.

Monstrosity had certainly lived up to his name that night.

No, out of all of the criminals Petra had put away, she couldn't take credit for Monstrosity. She never managed to get a proper read of him either. Usually when she investigated a criminal, she--in a way--got to know them. She learned their motives, their background, their character. All she knew about Monstrosity was that he was inhuman. Not only in the grotesque presentation of his powers but in his soul. He might have come off as charming to some, but he held no regard for anyone but himself.

The Welcome to Noville sign blurred as they passed it, and Monstrosity straightened in his seat.

"I thought you said the sight was ten minutes away."

"It is."

"But we're leaving the city."

"Not far."

She abruptly turned off on a dirt road so narrow it could barely count as a proper exit.

Monstrosity braced himself against the door.

"Be gentle with me Tency, I haven't been in a car chase in a while."

"Tency?" she growled.

"Not a lot of good nicknames for The Sentencer." He said "The Sentencer" like an old cartoon narrator announcing the hero.

"I don't do nicknames."

"Wow. You really are no fun, Tency."

Petra was not going to grace that obvious provocation with a response.

The grass grew tall and obscuring the further they traveled down the road, casting shade over the car. The blades reached over and through the rotting split-rail fences of abandoned private property.

She slowed a bit to maneuver around the roots of an enormous tree growing out of the left side of the road. Why anyone would build a road without fully clearing it she didn't know; maybe the tree was property too, preventing its removal as much as the fields prevented the road's expansion.

Monstrosity cricked his neck upward to look up through the windshield.

"Ugh."

"What?"

"Why are a zillion creepy tissue paper ghosts tied up there?"

Petra quickly glanced up into the depth of the trees, catching glimpses of swinging white.

"I only noticed the ribbons." She paused. "Probably just a tradition from one of the landowners."

They curved around the bend in the road and the stone ruins of a building came into view.

"Someone actually owns this place?"

"Trevon Bass and Theo O'Hannon. They're joint owners. Bought the land over two decades ago to use as farmland. And they did, a couple miles out."

Two cars--a police cruiser and a black Volkswagen--were already parked in front of the stone wall, so Petra pulled up beside them.

"But apparently this house here is historical. Meaning the direct area may also have historical value. They didn't want to mess with it, and now only come out occasionally to ensure no one is vandalizing or squatting in it. Bass found the body yesterday."

"Body? Oh, this is interesting."

Petra jerked the gear stick into park. He really was too excited about this.

She got out of the car and walked around to open the passenger side door, eying the neighboring Volkswagen all the way. It was one of the shared agency vehicles. What was another Hero doing here?

"Such a gentleman," Monstrosity said, stretching a little as he slipped out. He closed his eyes against the breeze for a moment and sucked in a deep breath.

"Mm. It's rained recently."

"Unfortunately, yes," Petra said. "Come on, let's see what you make of it."

She slipped sideways through a gap between the crumbling walls, avoiding looking to her left as she came into the "inside" of the building. As she entered, the two men at the center of the ruins looked at her--one short, mustached, and in a suit and the other in sweats and muscle shirt with the caption "Athletics Check" over a 20-sided dice, piles of long blond hair cascading out of his half ponytail and down his back.

"Detective Valero. Prophet." She acknowledged the blond with a short nod.

“Heeey, Sentencer!” Prophet beamed, clapping an arm around her shoulders and shaking her playfully. "Accolade told me you'd be slinking around the scene at some point today, but I thought by this point we'd missed you!"

Petra grimaced but before she could speak, Monstrosity bumped against her back.

Prophet leaned around her. "Is that--"

"Oh, it's future boy!" Monstrosity pointed.

"Er...it's Prophet."

"Right, right, right, visions and predicting stuff and all that. Isn't your deal predicting bad things before they happen? How is that going to work for you when you're here post-crime?

Prophet turned his gaze back to Petra. "What's he doing here?"

"Orders from Accolade. He's consulting."

"Why?"

"Because this wasn't a regular murder."

"Well, yeah that's why they call us. That doesn't mean--"

"Prophet," she interrupted, voice cold. "You follow your orders and I'll follow mine. Is that clear?"

He flinched. For a moment, she could see the thoughts running through his eyes, deciding whether her words held power or were merely convincing.

"Right," he finally said and stepped back a couple paces. “Um…I've been trying to read the scene, for an hour now. But, uh, the future keeps looping in on itself. I just keep seeing…”

He motioned to the Petra’s left and she finally allowed herself to turn fully toward it. It had been worse last night before all the pieces had been collected, but once again she was taken aback by the sheer breadth of the gore.

Nearly the entire wall was stained with a rusty splatter that extended onto the edge of the adjacent wall and the undersides of the dewy grass blades growing at the base.

Monstrosity stepped forward, cocking his head a little. “This blood spray is massive. What? Did your victim explode?”

Petra shot him a look. “Yes.”

[monstercampus]

Harpy Professor - First Meeting

(cws: slight alcohol mention, brief lewd references)

wc: 3.5k

Last night was a mess. Priam had been out all night partying with his friends, while Antón had been rage-cleaning the apartment in a frenzy in order to have everything spotless before the first day of term. The two of them you've gotten used to, of course, but their habits still tick you off when you're not in the mood to deal with them. Priam's drunken stumble back into the dorm at 4 AM didn't help either, as your vampiric roommate got into an argument with him over leaving the living room a mess. Exams have been over for weeks, and yet the two of them still find stupid things to fight about in the heat of the moment.

And you were left to endure it as best you could, your pillow clamped over your ears for half the night and your blanket pulled down over your feet by your shadow friend–who also seemed to be quite frustrated by your other tenants and their noise, trying vainly to block out the light and seal your door in his mist to try and muffle the ruckus. Either way you weren't going to sleep, not well, so now you've stepped into your first class of the new semester with bags under your eyes and half your school supplies forgotten. Just get through it today. Tomorrow will be better.

First on the roster this morning is Monster-Human Relations–a class you knew would be small, but not this small, with barely ten or so seats filled so far in the mid-sized lecture room. There's only about five rows of staggered desks on a slope anyways, with a curved, connected desk to separate the section from the front of the class and the podium. And you're a few minutes early, so you anticipate there'll be more students filing in as they wake up from their respective hangovers or hangovers-by-association, like yourself. Being an advanced class, though, it's not going to be much bigger than this. The only reason you're even taking this class was because the professor made a request for your attendance, and gave you special permissions to attend based on your unique species allocation. And lo and behold, even so, there's a face you recognize right as you walk in the door, his piercing eyes perking up as he lifts his head at the sound of your footsteps. It's Nick. Gods you are glad to see him. He peers at you through a few loose strands of dark hair, and at the sight of you a smile flashes across his face.

"Hey," He brightens up, pulling on the back of the chair beside him to offer you a seat. "Didn't know you were in this class too." He chuckles, though your look of relief doesn't seem to entertain him enough not to notice the weight of weariness you carry in your slumped shoulders. You're quick and eager to drop your bag on the table and slide into the chair, but Nick's worry stops you in your tracks. "What's up, buttercup? You look exhausted. Why aren't you in bed?"

"Roommates kept me up," You sigh, flipping open the lip of your bag to pull out your laptop. "But I'm okay. Can't miss the first class, anyways."

"Of course you can." Nicky's grin returns as you hoped it would, but it's gentler this time. "Besides, Wellwright's a big puffball. You can pretty much do whatever you want in his classes."

"I don't wanna be rude."

"You don't have a rude bone in your body." He's not flippant about it, but he does avert his eyes as he makes his comment–although it could just be because he's scribbling the date and the course number down in his thick notebook. "Wellwright's a super sweet guy, he was my mentor in Commonspeak class. He'll love you."

"You took Commonspeak?"

"Sure did." Those pearly teeth make an appearance as he chuckles, pride swelling his chest. "Barely spoke a word when I got here. Now I'm the most voracious person you probably know."

"Voracious?" You laugh, and he joins you, though as uplifting as it is it doesn't last for very long. You're grateful for it even so, your chuckling devolving as more people filter in and drawing to a close as the door to the classroom nearly slams off the hinges.

One moment of peace turns into chaos like the flip of a light switch, a pair of huge, strong wings entering the room with a scraggly, rough-looking man stumbling in alongside them. A tornado of feathers seems to cascade over the front of the room, flying off and whipping up with the breeze as those enormous wings flap and fold in an attempt to keep their host on his feet. Both you and Nick have to grab hold of your notebook and laptop respectively just so they don't fly off the table.

"My apologies!" He squawks, arms full of books and papers that also seem to be flying everywhere as he makes his way to his desk. You spare a glance over Nick's shoulder as he checks his watch, to which he taps and mouths "late" to you to elicit another giggle.

Raven Wellwright, a harpy of considerable acclaim, is definitely a name you've heard beyond the professor hastily scribbling it up on the whiteboard. Not only is he one of very, very few male harpies known to the world, but he's also very conveniently one of a handful of experts on the field of monster and human cooperation. He's penned a library of papers, articles, and books on the subject, won awards for his aid in developmental projects and awareness campaigns, and he's even been the first monster to be welcomed into a previously human-exclusive collegiate of considerable prestige. He's a rarity in all senses of the word…a rarity that's molting his feathers all over his desk, sweat gathering at his collar as his short waves of strawberry-blond locks falling haphazardly back into place while he shuffles around.

"Right!" He bellows out to the three-quarters-empty classroom, the tak tak of his papers hitting the podium echoing off the walls like glass marbles. "What was I saying?"

"You haven't started yet, professor." Nick calls out, and although it's certainly an awkward air in the room the harpy seems somewhat relieved that he hasn't already forgotten what just came out of his mouth.

"Right, thank you Nicholas. Nicholas!" He suddenly bursts into a frenzy, a smile plastered over his glowing face and his eyes sparkling with grateful familiarity. "Nicholas will be our note-taker this term, as well as your TA! Take a bow, Nick!"

Funny enough, even confident-and-cool Nick boasts a spot of shyness and a dark flush to his ears as he's encouraged to stand, turning around to wave at your fellow students who eye him up with varying degrees of interest, all while Raven claps with an eagerness to him that lasts until your friend reclaims his seat. Whispers dominate the classroom while Raven's head is turned, though it doesn't seem like they're just regarding the scatterbrained professor and his handsome assistant–especially not when he turns back and his square glasses-framed eyes land directly on you.

"Oh," That soft puff of air could just as well be a gunshot with how loud it feels to you, Raven's lithe fingers trembling slightly as he pushes his lenses higher up on his nose. For a split second, even with Nick's comforting words in the back of your brain, a tense knot of worry tightens in your stomach as you wonder whether your presence will be met with disdain.

"H-Hello! It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance," And yet that concern evaporates the instant he skirts around the podium, features bright and his wings rustling excitedly as he hustles towards your desk and thrusts his hand out to yours. You barely have to hold his at all with how violently nervous his grip is, fingers clamped down so tight you can just barely feel the itch of his filed claws for nails against your skin. "Raven Wellwright, P.H.D! I'd like to welcome you to our university–it is a joy and an honour to have you here!"

With one last tight squeeze of his unusually cool hand, he pats your arm and releases you from that iron grip to scurry back to his podium. As luck would have it, all he's got prepared for today is a review of the syllabus, which soon flies by despite being peppered with occasional comments and brief anecdotes to supplement it, courtesy of a now hyper-focused prof who clearly knows what he's talking about. It's almost a little intimidating to watch him switch so quickly from anxiety to decisiveness, the nervous shakes vanishing as he briefly divulges the core topics of the material you'll be going over. It actually helps to stir you a bit from your exhaustion, though the half-smushed granola bar in the bottom of your bag also helps once he reiterates that eating in his class isn't a faux pas.

"I'm sure you're all readily familiar with the plagiarism policy and academic conduct sections as well, yes? Any questions?"

A revolution of head-nodding round the room seems to suffice, and with a quick glance at the clock by the door Wellwright rolls out his shoulders and drops his papers against the podium with a refreshed sigh.

"Well, that's good enough for me! Take an early lunch and enjoy the rest of your day, we'll start with our introductory lecture next class–oh, and could you two come to my office for a spell?" As he passes by your joint desks he gives them a tap, making eye contact with both you and Nick with a reassuring smile as the rest of the class shuffles their bookbags and lets their chair legs squeak as they get up from their seats. Your heart kicks up with a nervous thump, thump, thump, but whether Nick can smell it or hear it or is completely oblivious to it he pats your thigh under the table and nudges your shoulder playfully.

"No worries. He probably just wants to gush over you." He whispers into your ear, and with a half-smile conjured up from your dwindling pool of strength you gather your things in kind and follow alongside the werewolf as you both make your way to Wellwright's office, the path known well enough to him that he can chat your ear off the whole way there, and still make it in time to watch the professor hustle along down the corridor with his bag in tow as the two of you wait for him to unlock the door.

"Come in, come in! Take a seat–anywhere is fine–and have a snack! I've got tea…uh, somewhere! Just give me a moment.."

It's most certainly more haphazard being around him in the cramped office than it was in the lecture hall–as Wellwright hurries in and you two follow behind, Nick has to bring his hand down firmly on your head for you both to duck, just barely missing the professor's wing as it swings around and nearly collides with both of you. And with the size and strength of those muscles and that coat of healthy tawn-coloured feathers, you don't even wanna know how hard it would hurt to get smacked with one of those things.

But, oblivious to your plight, the avian totters around his office chirping up a storm while the werewolf at your side leads you–with your heads appropriately bowed under his wing line this time–to take your seats in the two plush chairs across from his spacious corner desk. Raven busies himself by the window with what looks to be a teapot on a portable burner for a minute or two, before the spout starts to whistle a familiar tune and he expertly tips it out to pour three steaming cups of fresh tea. Ginger-flavoured by the smell of it, the scent pervading your nostrils in an oddly relaxing way as he lays out each cup in front of all three of you. Curious, you watch as he takes his own seat, and notice that the arms of his chair dip towards the back for each wing to settle comfortably in the empty slots. Monster creativity truly knows no bounds, no matter how benign the design.

"-Anyways, that's quite enough about me! I'd like to know more about you." His bangs flutter over each brow as he turns to meet your eyes, not an ounce of enthusiasm missing from his gaze as he takes a sip from his cup–and proceeds to splutter and cough with a napkin pulled up to cover his mouth, mumbling in a half-lisp about burning his tongue. When you follow his lead with a giggle you make sure to at least blow on yours, and it's actually rather sweet despite the strength of the ginger threatening to overwhelm you. "I–we–are well and truly excited to have you here! I can't tell you how integral your presence will be in the pursuit of monster-human cooperation–you are sincerely a gift to this establishment, and I cannot thank you enough for taking the plunge and attending despite the odd circumstances."

Somehow–perhaps it's an effect of the tea–the mouthful of praises the professor drops are free from his usual stutters and vocal stumbling, as if the topic of you is yet another subject he can't help but be eloquently passionate about. You, on the other hand? You're not even sure what to say to that...such high praise feels uncalled for, not that it's unpleasant in nature, but that it should be reserved for someone that's actually done something to deserve it. All you really did was go with the flow and refrain from kicking up a fuss.

"I, uh…th-thank you, professor, but I really didn't do much…" You shrug shyly, suddenly wishing you could disappear from the awkwardness and hide inside Nick's jacket for comfort. But the silent moment passes not in a hollow, nerve-wracking way, because it's filled by Raven's easy smile growing into something a little more intimate, his feathers settling to lay flat as he reaches over the desk and gently clasps both hands over yours.

"You took a risk, my dear. Unsure of what lies on the horizon, you chose a path seldom travelled yet long overdue for progress. That in itself is worth a world of praise."

You knew he could be eloquent, but that…that was poetry. And could that warmth tipping his pointed ears be a blush, coincidental with how his fingers retract from touching you? Worried his touches may come off as something more the longer they linger? Or are you simply reading into things?

"Maybe I should go," Nick teases, and that thankfully eases the tension enough for you to snap back into the reality at hand–and for Raven's feathers to ruffle in embarrassment as he leans away from you just to bump his head painfully on his overhanging lamp.

"Sweet Chaos–ah, I'm fine, I'm fine!" He waves away your worry while Nick erupts into a cheeky laugh beside you, the professor's unyielding clumsiness proving too much for him to keep it all sealed in. Especially hearing a string of curses fly from such a sweet, kind-hearted man's mouth, who wouldn't hurt a beetle even if it bit him. "Before I injure myself further, perhaps I should just get to the point." He sighs with a palm pressed to the back of his head, rubbing the soreness off the fortunately very minor bump there.

"It's the MHC thing, right?" Nick pipes up, sobered from the giggle fit but still grinning from ear to ear.

"Just so." Raven nods, those cotton candy-pink eyes shifting back to you. "My dear, I have a favour to ask of you. Would you consider being a human ambassador on my behalf?"

"...Ambassador? As in..?"

"Oh, i-it's nothing too taxing! Allow me to explain: being an ambassador simply means you would be willing to speak as an individual of your species for MHC conferences. It would really just involve me calling on your opinion and presenting it to the Monster-Human Commission–most of it will just be in writing, no more than a sentence or few."

"You mean 'sentence or two', professor." Nick cuts in, leaning back in his chair like he owns the place. If you weren't mistaken, you could swear there's a glint of something fierce in the harpy's eyes as his gaze flits over to his protégé–but it's there and gone in a moment, and you try not to let the thought linger for fear of how it might make you wonder.

"Goodness! Surpassing your mentor already, eh? Maybe you should be the one teaching commonspeak, Mr. Wolf." He soon returns to the comfort of your gaze on him. "By no means is it a necessity, but it would be of brilliant use to my colleagues in the commission. Take some time to think about it, okay? There's no rush. You can start and stop whenever you please."

"I, uh…yes, thank you, professor. I'll give it some thought." Wellwright nods with a happy grin, and allows you to finish the rest of your tea with a few occasional spurts of scatterbrained conversation peppered in between. He's so courteous and well-spoken, gentle and kind…there's no wonder you've heard giggling from the harpy girls on campus when he's brought up, his dreaminess a total diamond in the rough for any self-respecting monster. An absolute gem. A-

"Hey, professor, I can't quite remember–are we reviewing interbreeding this term?"

As if burning his tongue and bumping his head wasn't enough, Wellwright balks at Nick's unforeseen question and nearly chokes on the dregs of his tea, the liquid splattering his chin with a cough that he's quick to wipe with the back of his hand. If it crossed your mind in time, and if you weren't so tired, you'd have half a mind to give Nick a pinch under the desk for torturing the poor man.

"C-Cross-species mating? Uh, ye…yes, we are.."

"Mmh. Gotcha. We've got a human this year, so maybe we can do our independent study on it? That'd be pretty helpful for your research, huh?"

What hits you right away is that he doesn't say no. Not that it's not his first reaction, but that the word doesn't even cross his lips. The slightest twinge of his brow has the harpy narrowing his eyes at the werewolf, and for a brief spell you think the professor might be humouring the exact same reaction as you were.

"Th-That would depend on the human's decision, Nick–and that is certainly not the full extent of my research, I might add!"

"Y-You, um…you study interbreeding, Dr. Wellwright?"

Your query flits out like the most timid of butterflies, curious and interested in equal measure. It must be so easy for both of them to pick up, but you can't really help it–the idea of such a sweet professor pursuing such a lewd scholarly topic is…fascinating, to say the least.

"He does. In great detail." Nick leans over to whisper into your ear, and the air in the room seems to change as Raven squirms anxiously in his seat.

"I-It's a necessary component of my research…" He mumbles, suddenly unable to meet your eyes as the heat in his face stretches to reach the tips of his pointed ears.

"So necessary." Nick adds with a shit-eating grin.

"Nicholas!” Raven finally huffs, brow furrowed and eyes dimmed of their sparkle. Oh, now he's mad. And yet, with a glance over at your companion, Nick couldn't look more enthused about the prospect. They certainly seem to be on familiar terms with how much teasing your friend knows he can get away with. Ripples start to part Wellwright's feathers like shudders, and almost under his breath, he quietly asks if you would give him a moment with his T.A–and you have never been more quick to oblige, setting down your teacup at an earnest pace before your bag is slung over your shoulder and you're soon closing the office door firmly behind you. The click of the lock echoes in the otherwise empty corridor, and though you'd like to wait for Nick out of courtesy, the hushed whispering that ensues followed by the flap of your professor's wings clues you in that perhaps it would be better to give them some…privacy.

Although, at the very least your phone buzzes before you've even left the wing, a glance down at the messages revealing that Nick's gonna be tied up for awhile, but he's alright. His words echo in your head, “Wellwright's just a big puffball”, and it loosens a pleasant sigh from your throat as you let your shoulders relax. The last thing you want is to get anyone in trouble, which you seem to do quite easily by your very nature of being human.

This class may end up being a different story though, if your professor's…enthusiasm towards the human race is anything to go by.

[scrubbinn]

Mimic HRT: month 24 “Bottled”

cw: depression

“Good morning Jasmine, How are you doing today? You said you had something you felt like you needed to say in person? Are you still experiencing a build-up of stones in your throat again?”

“Y-yeah. I mean no. I mean. It's n-not about t-that. I already told Erian, but y-you’ve been so nice… I'm, really sorry… I'm switching my provider. To Dr. Therkin.”

“Oh. Well, it's sad to see you go, but you don't have to feel sorry about it. I've met with Dr. Therkin a few times recently, and she's been a delight. You'll be in good hands, and I'll make sure Erian sends your file over to her so there's no complications.” 

“You're not, m-mad?”

“Of course not. Even if you're not using this clinic, I still care about your journey to become what you've always needed to be. If you ever need help with anything, you can always reach out as a friend… Is there anything else you wanted to discuss?”

“Um, have you sent my file to a-anyone else? I mean like… anyone d-dangerous?”

“Of course we haven't? I wouldn't allow anything like that. Look, I know Erian has a sketchy past, but he is working to be better. Trust me on that. But, I won't try to stop you if you still feel worried about your safety here. I hope the best for your transition moving forward.”

“Oh, t-thank you. H-have a n-nice day. Thank you for everything y-you’ve done for me. Bye.”

“See you later, Jasmine. Oh! If you do spot Erian, could you tell him to see me?”

“Oh. S-sure!”

* * *

“Is this important, Mayday? You do realize how little time I have right now, correct? So what is so important that you have to waste it?!”

“...Doctor?”

“Sigh… Sorry. I've been rather stressed lately. It feels like I mostly end up dealing with conspiracies than patients, and with the collapse of, certain, benefactors. Money has been tight. I can't remember the last time I had a client who just wanted to be a cat, and no complications occurred. Maybe I could use a break. What do you need?”

“Jasmine switched to a different care provider. This makes four clients this month. What's going on, Erian? Should I be worried?”

“...I was hoping you wouldn't notice. I know you don't keep up with the news, but with everything that's been happening, well, I never had the best reputation, but it's become much worse as of late. I haven't had time to do anything about it as the clients that we still have tend to be the biggest headaches. You're not in danger of losing your job if that's what has you worried, and even if you did, I could still pull some strings to have you find work elsewhere. So I'd rather you didn't trouble yourself with this situation.”

“It's really that bad, huh? Feels like it's just been one thing after the other… Are you going to be safe?” 

“Don't worry about me. I'm still useful to Iris, and no one here would dare try crossing her. Now please. Let's stop worrying about this.”

“I did have something else I needed to talk about. Please don't hate me for this, but I went back to the void this morn- 

“YOU WHAT?!”

“JUST LISTEN!!... I've been feeling this empty sensation since I left. Like I forgot something. I did find something there when I got back home. I was holding a recorder. I think you should listen.”

* * *

“I see. Does anyone else know?”

“You're the first one I've shown this to. I didn't really know what to do. Well, I still don't. I wanted to hear your thoughts on it.”

“Well. I can't exactly keep you under observation. But this is a delicate situation. You should do your best to avoid any stressors. Ideally, I'd like you to stay here for a while until we know what you're capable of.”

“That's fair. I had plans to meet up with some friends, but I heard Alexis and Aria are already going through a lot. They probably don't need me popping in.”

“Mayday? Are you feeling well?”

“Oh, don't worry, I'm fine. It's just another thing on the pile for us. But hey, we're a team now! We'll get through it.”

“If you say so… What about that other Mimic that you found, Fang, was it? Will she be a problem as well?”

“It took me a while to track down her provider, but from what I can tell, she isn't like me. We're safe in the knowledge that I'm one of a kind.”

“Good, good. That's one less headache. I mean, it's tragic she's still missing, but. Well, you understand.”

“Yeah… yeah, I think I do. I'm going to make some calls, cancel plans, and all that. Once I grab my stuff from THEMS, I'll head back here. I'll be gone a few hours.”

“Be safe, Mayday.”

* * *

“Mayday? Where are you? Mayday, it's been two days… Where are you? Ms. Abigail has no idea where you are, THEMS never saw you come back. We're worried. Please… call someone. Please let me know if you're in danger… I just hope wherever you are, you get this message.”

* * *

“Mayday. What are we doing back here?”

“You said it yourself. The void is where I belong. Here I can't hurt anyone, I won't be a headache or a burden, or a bad friend… It's true and you know it. I'm not brave, I don't actually know how to help others, I'm just pretending. I'm not nice. It's just fake. I feel awful when people hate me, and I feel nothing when I'm praised. I'm just fake nice trying to avoid getting hurt.”

“You know that's not true. You're just stuck in this feeling of isolation. You're just digging the hole deeper because you don't know what else to do. Come on, work with me. I've been where you are.”

“The last person I should be taking advice from is a voice in my head. You should hate me. You've been trying to poke through, to get me to notice you were with me. And I ignored you. I said I'd try reaching out, going to therapy, and I didn't. Because I didn't want to deal with it.”

“Didn't want to and couldn't handle it, are two very different things. You've been going through a lot these past few months. Please, let's leave while we can. Before too long has passed.”

“Who would care? Look, to someone from outside, everything looks hunky dory. But you don't understand what it's like. My friends have more important things than some weirdo who inserted herself into their lives, Abi always tries to be nice, but that blinding tone she has sometimes. She doesn't like what I've always been. She stops me from talking about it in our off time. She doesn't want to think about it. She doesn't know me anymore. Now I might lose my job. Fang, the only possible thing that could understand what I'm going through is unable to ever be found. She found happiness by running away. What's so awful about me doing the same?!?!”

“Are you happy right now?”

“Go away. I want to be alone. I was meant to be alone.”

“...” 

Mimic HRT: month 25 “...”

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Mimic HRT: month 26 “...”

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Mimic HRT: month 29 “...”

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Mimic HRT: month 41 “...”

“What are you doing?”

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Mimic HRT: month 62 “...”

“Keeping track of how much time is passing.”

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Mimic HRT: month 128 “...”

“Stop it.”

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. /  /

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Mimic HRT: mo|  |nth 426

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. /  /

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“I said stop it! Time doesn't matter here! If I wanted to go back the second I arrived, I could, but I'm staying.” 

“...And how many people have you hurt waiting this long?”

“If they cared, then they'd have been here by now. I'm an awful person. Just admit it. I only think about myself, I did this to them. I cut myself from their lives for selfish reasons. I'm a monster. A dangerous, self-destructive monster… Go away already.”

“I'm sorry for what I said in that recording. I was wrong, and I'm sorry I can't help you right now. I won't say anything else for now. I'll wait until you're ready to talk.”

“I might take a while to open up.”

“Take your time. I'm here for you…”

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

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[simplyemm]

Okay so I've had this Gale brainrot that will not leave me alone (not enough to write it myself, but maybe someone else will appreciate this particular thought).

Imagine a Cleric of Mystra Tav. Probably raised in the temple, not a particularly exciting or impressive person, but dedicated to her Goddess as much as someone who was raised to be is.

And then she pulls her goddess's former Chosen out of a portal and they both have brain worms.

More under the cut because THOUGHTS (also spoilers for the game) CW: discussions of religious deconstruction/trauma, mentions of Mystra being a creepy groomer

The temple definitely knew Gale was Mystra's Chosen, and maybe there was some whispering in the corners about The Incident, but I'm not sure how much the rank and file would know.

So Tav pulls this guy out of a portal and he's all like "Hello, I'm Gale of Waterdeep" and she's just like "oh shit, you're Gale of Waterdeep." Which I'm sure definitely inflates his ego just a teeny-tiny bit. And I definitely think Tav probably has a "oh no, he's hot" kind of moment before she squishes that down, at least initially.

Of course finding out about The Orb and the whole "oh yeah I definitely fucked our goddess" thing makes things slightly awkward. Like how does one deal with having a crush on your literal goddess's ex-lover? (the implications are delicious though). And I could maybe see Astarion or Shadowheart making a comment about Tav taking her goddess's sloppy seconds (jokingly, though I could see a Glare definitely putting a stop to those jokes).

They would still have their little Moment in the Weave after the tiefling party of course, with Tav definitely expressing Interest (even subconsciously) because Of Course. Probably with a healthy heaping of religious guilt, cause like how dare she, he betrayed Mystra blah blah blah.

But then Elminster comes with his message from Mystra asking Gale to blow himself up, which brings us to the part that makes me absolutely fucking feral. Tav is furious that Mystra would ask this of Gale, and even more so that he's considering it.

To the point that (at least using game mechanics) would go to Withers and demand a class change. Story wise I'm imagining that she straight up just like starts training with Lae'zel and gets even better at fighting and just straight up stops using magic. Cue the religious deconstruction and Tav coming to terms with the fact that the goddess she had dedicated her life to is actually a horrid fucking bitch who arguably groomed Gale and all that gross shit.

And I'm sure Gale would have FEELINGS about this, especially if he just happened to find Tav wrapping her holy symbol around a smokepowder bomb and just throwing it into oblivion. But also like, how romantic is it that someone would love you enough to straight up abandon their goddess? And I'm sure they'd have a "What the hells are you doing?" "Nothing." "That wasn't nothing" that devolves into something of an argument that ends with Tav shouting something along the lines of "I'm not going to continue to serve a goddess who demands someone I love blow himself up!" (which of course is A Confession).

And then his scene where he confesses would just be SO GOOD because like, how can you not fall in love with someone who has already shown such love the way Tav has?

And then even more if they go to the Stormshore Tabernacle and some of the clerics there knew Tav and there's even more stuff with that. Just a sprinkling of angst because I mean, of course.

Maybe it's my own religious deconstruction talking, but I just think that dynamic would be *chef's kiss*