#in hindsight he may have just wanted to get in my pants considering he too was a funny looking glasses guy 🤔

[cillixn]

Your taste is just weird looking guys

[dedenneblogs]

HEARTBREAK HIGH S2 ANALYSIS PART 2 (buckle up again this is also going to be a doozy)

ok photo max SUCKs butt we're back heartbreak highers-- let us continue with the trailer:

---

it's no school year without another intense sports season, and spencer is in it to win it! (lord that sounded so corny end my suffering PLEASE)

but hey on the topic of him you may wonder why there's no 10 hour spider and ant sex scene well HERE'S WHY:

world, say hello to harper x ant

i...

im down for them.

LOOK i may appear as a die hard ant x spider shipper as i am for amerie x malakai butt in hindsight if the bug boys were to hook up it'd be EXTREAMLY TOXIC (i can go into why that is...if you want) and hey id be down for it...

BUTT.... ANT AND (especially) HARPER DESERVE TO BE HAPPY!

besides: serious, cold, dominant x dim-witted, kind-hearted, pathetic make the most entertaining couples! (if they're healthy of course, which they both deserve to have a relationship that isnt so toxic it burns their skin)

we interrupt this blog to give you: high-school teacher yuri! <3

i can ALSO go into depth on why i want them to hook up butt....maybe you heartbreak highers arent ready for this type of yuri yet..........unles

anyways, spider is probably butt hurt about not being able to have the 10 hour sex scene with ant so introducing heartly high's brand new coach: Timothy Voss!

something something "you have to unleash the sigma male inside of 'yah, spencer" something something father figure spencer likely lacks in life yada yada will be problematic but fun (or i will hate him)

lalalalala~ EWWWWWWWW NOOOOOOO you two. keep it in your pants.....

i swear. I SWEAR. if darren cheats on ca$h (aka THE LOVE OF THEIR LIFE) i will riot. we will ALL riot.

let's not...just...let's not.

my reaction:

uhh anyway~

also noticed they're both wearing the same kind of glasses...i think...i dunno probably manifesting out of nothing but maybe they will be a happy couple??? i pray

oh-- WOW. missy is freak,,, (also is that with her,,,)

lord what gore did psycho bird do of my comfort character this time

also love ant's expression here. priceless,,,

and-- EWWWWWW NOOO

in brighter news: pop off missy! i want to pie sasha (unaffectionately) next.

also this here i feel tells us more about zoe:

quote from a netflix blog about s2 few monthes back:

--Kartanya Maynard is Zoe Clarke, an opinionated celibacy advocate who, along with her gang of Puriteens, threatens to bring down the SLT class from within.

now, at first i thought "from within" meant an actual student, suspecting ant almost immediately due to his little lore about how he feels his parents look down on him and use religon to try to punish him. he'd likely want to join zoe's "gang" of puriteens to appease to them, leading to drama--

but now it seems zoe seems to be more so on woodsy's side? like? principal's pet or something along those lines... this is surprising because by the end of s1 woodsy seemed to have embraced SLTs (because lets be honest all the students at heartly are like her children) BUTT maybe there's a bit of twisted fates in the mix? it wouldn't surprising she'd have a change of heart considering how wild(fire; haha) this terms seems to be heading. orrrrrr zoe is just trying to gain her trust so she can better fit how SLTs is dictated to her own agenda,,,, we will have to see,,,,

anyway RAHHHGHHHH

oh so NOW they're the happy lesbian couple...ok....

malakai if darren is getting freaky with you blink for help

anyways-- dance formal but our SLTs teachers are having a date night

always betted money woodsy would wear a suit and she looks AMAZING. jojo too..... lets go lesbabs....

but the lack of malakai here mortifies me,,,, dont take away peak from us...please

*deep breath* they'rehappyletthembehappyifthey'rehappyletthembehappy

annnddddd the school is fire. (now you get the fire puns; haha)

in other news ESHAY IS OUT OF PRISON!!!! with weird old dude...

the stock smily face on a stick is intimidating but ca$h seems to be vibing :3

and and they're friendgroup is healing,,,i hope i pray

*gets flashbacks from s1 when ca$h and darren did tattoos* dont do this to me.

the longing on her face...is amerie psycho bird or when quinni asked her to see her flaps it wasnt just out of curiosity

lesbian relationship attempt #2

AHAHAHAH funny joke funny joke,,,,, unles.

OH MY GOD NOT AGAIJNNNNn,,,,,

looks like we're going to have to do a part 3 heartbreak highers.

HEARTBREAK HIGH S2 ANALYSIS PART 1 (buckle up this is going to be a doozy)

so... it's out (the trailer).

my excitement cannot be expressed...

BUTT! today, i will be doing my iconic mouse analysis of this trailer (this is actually the first time im doing something like this so it's not rlly iconic BUTT it will be soon) with the most comprehensive inspection i can using under 2 minutes of video as a basis....

with that said lets

BEGIN!

the heartbreak highers are back for another "cursed" term....

so glad to see the trio back in action. like. actually so happy. MIGHT explode from excitement... as always, their outfits slaylay.

the boyfriends... friends? boys? BUGS??? found out on hh s2!

these goons are back... gayer then ever,,, seriously. when will these two have an episode long make out 'sesh? unlikely, to much dismay....spoiler alert...you'll see....

MISSY!!!!! and sasha, i guess

SPOILER ALERT AGAINNNN missy looks like she'll be more prominent in this season so...WIN!!!!

also why is she mewing who is rizzing up

and new on the the chopping block-- Rowan Callaghan!

we'll get to rowan when we get to rowan

in other (more important) news-- SHE'S HEALING! HARPER IS HEALING!!!

i... *sobs* i she's growing her hair out oh my GAW...... she's getting better...she... there's a lower chance she'll cock-block amerie (oh but she'll get cock [spoiler-- again!])

butt let's not celebrate just yet-- it's still "everyone hates amerie" up in this joint, smellas

may as well... shot them. huh. well. pop off, i suppose... (amerie asserts her right to bear arms-- truly patriotic coming from an aussie!)

...touché coming from the (still) most hated student in heartly who only adds salt to the wound by... using the pink 'ildo from s1 as a mic... chat... she's lost it.

(unrelated but in the background-- MISSY AND MALAKAI!!! they were building up a relationship between them in s1 and how she and her brother (i think? 'memory's fuzzy) helped him heal from the shit he had to go through in s1 and even better connect him with his aboriginal roots. i hope to see more of these two interact come april 11th and i binge the whole season)

ALSO also ANOTHER new character-- Zoe Clarke!

we will ALSo get to zoe when we get to zoe

anywho-- cue: AMERIE'S ONLINE HARASSMENT ARC! becuz every show needs one...unfortunately. Give a cold welcome to Bird Psycho, heartbreak highers (we will get to bird psycho when we get to bird psycho)

(who ever is doing this shit is a bitch but either way: "you dont get to be the hero" shut your goofy ass up)

oh that's gore. that's core of my comfort character.

ok so maybe this bird psycho cuck isnt fucking around because clearly he's gotten to our girl ams :(

(dw they uh...take her out for ice cream. after this. proabably.)

moving foward-- STAND BACK I SAID STAND BACK WEIRD GIRL QUINNI

oughh im gonna be sick. of course. OF COURSE SHE WOULD GO FULL SHERLOCK HOLMES TO HELP HER BESTIE.

yeah anyways with this in mind she'd totally try and crack the fnaf lore wouldn't she. wouldn't she.

she's slay she's girlboss but at the end of the day she's a weirdo

anywho nuff of my rambling there--

ominous of you to say zoe

BUT ENOUGH OF HER CA$$HHHHHHHHHHHH

ca$h omg eshay eshay eshay pspspspsp,,,

i am so happy to see him (spoiler alert for 2 secs throughout the whole trailer) but anywho remeber? remeber right he's in prison. but seems to be doing okay... (maybe for the best heartly drama is really coming to a boiling point)

<3

and-- oh. uh... chicken dumbell... okay... pop off, missy...

when i said i wanted more missy i didnt expect this

spider seems to be into tho maybe what ??1/1/111.1/?!??!/1/1/1

missy x spider was NOT on my bingo card

WHEN MISSY SAID SHE WAS STARTING TO LIKE WHITE BOYS I DIDNT THINK SHE MEANT THIS.

BUUTTTttttt-- i. am. down. for. it... somehow. frankly, spider needs someone to put him in his place and low and behold, missy seems to be the student to do so..........

hey. if they're both happy with their...chicken dumbells, i am too.

amerie dont be alarmed but there's a white boy to your right

in other news this love triangle scares the diarrhea out of me

look at them. they're the perfect couple (malakai x amerie 4life) and rowan is--

well he's a nice boy but cmon

LOOK AGAIN IM DOWN FOR THEM TO BE HAPPY BUTT when it comes in between THE BEST SHIP IN THE SHOW (looks at amerie x spider shippers with affectionate disdain) i draw the line.

but who knows? rowan seems nice enough, and if he's able to make amerie happy, let them have each other! <3

also knowing malakai's track record i wouldn't put it past him to get freaky with rowan too (threesome attempt 2??? actually no wait thats a horrible idea NEVERMIND [gets s1 ep4 flashbacks])

also also "classic love triangle" scene gives major "erm...well this is akward!" vibes from ams (we stan cringey amerie in this household tho)

and well. shart. max limit of 30 photos. oh well-- ill make a second part! tune in for the update heartbreak highers :3

[yinses]

B R A N D E D

| he would make sure that everyone knew who you belonged to |

tattoo artist! sukuna ryomen

rating: t

a/n: this is going to be a three part series. it got too long because i couldn’t shut up. thank you to @teoran for beta reading !! 

you should have never informed yuuji that you were thinking about getting a tattoo, because of course his first response would be hey, sukuna owns a shop. why don’t you stop there. as if you didn’t already known that. your other friend, unfortunately had not known how to be subtle about it.

its when you go to hand off your card that they gasp audibly, drawing the attention of both yourself and the woman behind the counter.

“you’re not going to ask for a discount? i mean you know the owner, right?”

she jumps back quick enough to dodge the errant elbow you throw her way.

you knew you would regret telling her.

the woman is undeterred as she take your card, looking bored with the news. “so you know sukuna, huh?” the way she said it implied that it wasn’t the first time it had been made known to her.

you had known the man long enough to know where her thoughts were going with that assumption. sukuna wasn’t only popular for his art. a shudder rolled through your body at the idea of being categorized as one of his flings.

it wasn’t as though you were intentionally shaming the women. but it was sukuna. the same guy who locked you and his younger brother out on the patio whenever he was meant to keep an eye on you. and then blamed you for hiding from him when the responsible adults got home.

in hindsight, maybe you should have chosen another location. but now your card has been charged.

you scribbled your signature on the receipt, “uh yeah, awhile now. im not requesting him or anything.”

“his appointment book is full anyway. he doesn’t take walk ins.” its not said snidely, just matter of fact. as if she was seasoned with dealing with these kind of customers.

the man of topic strides in then, carrying a few bags of take-out that he drops carelessly onto the counter. he doesn’t m look unlike any other day, a loose white sleeveless shirt with a low hanging v-neck that just invited attention to his skin. the swirls of black ink made permanent by his hand only. though that was the advantage of this field and owning your own business on top of it.

sukuna was prepared to ignore the clientele planted at front desk, until he did a double take. those vermilion eyes took you in, morphing from speculation, to shock, a pinch of awe, then back to postulation.

“what are you doing here?”

a small frown mars you face. you didn’t actually consider that perhaps sukuna wouldn’t want you here. it was one thing to know the guy, but whether you wanted to accept it or not, you weren’t just another customer. so you unsurely respond with, “getting a tattoo?”

the snort he gives isn't one of annoyance. in fact its almost comforting to see the minuscule curl of his lips until they start to part, “yeah, missing something aren’t you?”

you realize with a frown that he’s referring to his brother.

“i have other friends.”

that slow smile wides as he gives your friend a brief look of appreciation. suddenly all those years of witnessing him cart his flings around rise to the forefront of your mind.  really nothing rarely changed. “ i can see that.”

his gaze cuts back to you, “what are you getting? your boyfriends name?”

you cant tell if he’s teasing, fishing or a combination of them both.

he turns to lean over the counter, arms flexing at the action and pinches the fresh design still hot from the printer. you resist the urge to shuffle in place as he inspects the image with more interest than there were lines. it was hardly all that complex, just as you intended.

sukuna finally voices his opinion, to no surprise of your own. “yeah? kind of small isn’t it?”

“its my first sukuna,” you drawl.

you realize too late that the wording isnt best around him.

“no kidding.”

he tugs a styrofoam box free from the plastic bag before gesturing to you with a tilt of his head.

“alright, lets knock it out.”

you look to the woman expecting her to complain about his pending appointments but she only returns it with a pointed look. when it came down to it, what the boss wanted goes.

right then.

turning, you address your friend who seemed more invested in watching sukuna’s departure. “are you coming?”

her gaze snaps to you and she doesn’t even bother to pretend. she shrugs, “you may not be squeamish about needles but i am.” her hand waves vaguely towards the lounge area near the coffee station and stack of assorted snacks. “i’ll come running if you scream though,” she teases as you turn down the hall.

sukuna’s voice carries from the right in guidance where you find him setting his food off to the side. the room is neat. though you don’t know what you were expecting given the health expectations lining his work. then again, you’d spent the better part of the decade watching him cart week old pizza boxes out of his room so it was hardly a baseless assumption.

aside from the desk of tools and variety of inks the only other defining feature was the wall at the back. there was no rhyme or direction to the madness. the once white wall was littered with varying penmanships and messages. almost like an autograph book. some derogatory, others genuinely thankful for his work - you think you see a few numbers too.

the cushion of the seat protests under his weight as he rolls to the center of the room. he has the stencil of your chosen art held up in expectation.

“where is this pretty little thing going?”

“oh my rib- here on the right.” you think nothing of bringing up the hem of your shirt to expose the skin just under the curve of your breast.

he almost looks impressed, though there is some doubt. he wheels closer and gives no warning as his hand palpates the area. “over the bone? that’s daring for your first tattoo, princess.”

the name was nothing new, an accompaniment to yuuji’s ‘brat’.

part of you actually grateful that its sukuna. the entire shop had good reviews but it was best known for his talent. besides, the charge was already sitting on your card.

“i can handle it.”

he’s still squinting at your side, fingers tickling at your skin.

“yeah?” he answers absently. nimble digits you didn't think had any taste for delicacy carefully peel the plastic from the stencil. he doesn’t second guess himself in the slightest before pressing it to your skin.

when he pulls away, the chair follows him as he collects a hand mirror from his desk to reflect the design back to you.

“double sure?” he’s still rallying your resolve, but there is a hint of warning to his voice as professionalism seeps in.

with a firm nod you seal the deal,” yeah.”

“aright, pin up your shirt out of the way. tuck it into your bra if you want.”

you were expecting this already, given the location you’d decided on. with sukuna that action comes effortlessly without thought. it was no different than the times he’d seen you in your bathing suit, your brain reasoned. at least you still had your pants this time.

sukuna rests back into a lean against his small desk. absently you note that his eyes haven't left you once since you’d entered the room.

“eager little thing aren't you?”

but its sukuna.

you shrug.“ i guess. kind of been saving up for this one.”

the noise he makes is non-committal as he nods to the angled chair.

without your shirt there was no barrier between yourself and the leather. you expected the cold chill but the lack of stickiness kind of surprised you. once again you were reminded of the indisputable list of reviews at your fingertips.

sukuna goes about collecting the materials to disinfect your skin, angling the bottle and cotton over the trash can to catch the excess drops. satisfied with the saturation, he slides back.

you try to absorb the brief shock you feel when he applies the alcohol to your skin. it was hardly a substitute for actual bracing to come but it was good practice. when you look up, you catch his gaze again.

he’d been more observant in these last few minutes than you could ever recall sukuna caring before. maybe it was the job. though the thought of him excelling at customer service has you fighting a snort.

“cold,” you supply and he gives another grunt.

he chucks the cotton ball into the trash with all the efficiency of a man who has made a sport out of it and probably keeps score.

deciding on a solid color eliminated the need for him to break away to change shades, eliminating any surplus time keeping you in this chair.

a gloved hand braces your side, pinching the skin, while the other holding the gun rests against your sternum. when the motor starts you take a careful breath in. sukuna’s eyes raise at the sound.

“not nervous?”

you blink, expecting him to just get to it.

“uh, not really? i’ve never really been afraid of needles.”

he pauses. just when you part your lips to ask what wrong the buzzing starts.

its impossible not to tense at the first bite of the needle. but you fight the urge to jerk. it stings. the vibration of the motor is uncomfortable against your ribcage but it's not unbearable. you certainly wouldn't cry.

sukuna seems to notice it as well.

“not going to lie thought you’d be more of a cry baby? weren't you the one sobbing after you stubbed your toe.”

you latch onto the idle chatter even if it's a jibe.

“i was eleven and i sprained that toe.”

he gives you a quick glance. “sure, princess. completely called for the waterworks.”

you snort. “yeah well it made me stronger. im barely affected today.”

your words are followed by a shift of his hand as it turns to follow a line, the movement pressing firmly against the underside of your breast. you're too attentive to the needle pinching at your skin to take notice.

but sukuna does, eyes narrowing without your awareness.

“yeah, i can see that.”

rather than closing your eyes to block out the pain, you find a more comforting distraction in tracing the lines of his tattoos with your gaze. you can hardly make out the first tattoo he’d gotten at the age of seventeen after forging his parents signature. 

the abstract design had now branched out, interlocking with new styles to map out the formation of a sleeve. it was almost like his own branded language. a dialect of bold shapes and bands. you’d never thought to actually ask what his tattoos meant. nor did you expect an honest answer.  

sukuna works rather quickly and efficiently while your mind wandered. even if he hadn’t squeezed you in during his lunch break this felt like the usual pace for him. he looked so in the zone as he followed the pre-made lines to perfection.

you weren’t the model customer, still having your brief moments of weakness but he rolled with the interruptions better than you expected. sukuna was brash growing up and didn’t tolerate nonsensical people. you’d had your fair share of opportunities to be chewed out by him.

and earned a reasonable amount of them, though your returning attitude said otherwise.

but this sukuna was softer, if you could put it like that. he knew the right time to give you breaks but didn’t let your nerves settle too much. when he wasn’t adding a layer to permanency to your skin, an errant finger would smooth over the swelling flesh.

more than once you heard him throw out a quiet good girl. that you knew was meant to be encouraging but it came with additional implications that tickled your skin.

he tells you that you should be grateful that the artwork doesn’t need any shading. that it was never a good fit for beginners.

your chest expands the furthest it had in the last half hour when he finally rolls back.

“alright, princess, go ahead and take a look.”

you take the offered mirror again and angle it to take in the fresh piece. the reflection you get back is- amazing. you’d been so concentrated?? on micromanaging the pain that you failed to take in the little details he’d added along with the original design.

as if reading your thoughts, he snorts. “it's not my art if i don't leave my mark. you can tell me it looks good you know.”

if you didn't know any better, you’d say he was authentic in his attempt to bait your approval.

and you had no reason not to provide.

your legs are a little shaky but you manage to balance yourself before brining the eldest itadori into a hug. sukuna goes stiff for a moment before returning the embrace and doesn’t resist when you press your face into his shoulder. there’s an awkward pat before they release each other from the hold.

sukuna .. before he’s shrugging you off.

“god, what a noob. at least let me cover it up. you’re going to irritate the skin.”

when he turns back to rummage through his desk you note the hint of a flush creeping up his nape. you know better than to mention it, instead just smiling at his back.

there is a scowl on his face as he applies the cotton square to your skin and tapes it in place.

“please do not itch this shit. i don’t care if you feel like your skin is going to fall off.”

he presses a small tube of antibiotic into your hand.

“and apply this daily. you don't need it drying out. “

you’re grateful for the little slip of printed instructions that follow. you were able to remember the sensible directions but it couldn't hurt to have additional guidance when you started to question the progress.

“oh and no sex.”

that was definitely not on the list.

sukuna raises a brow in all seriousness. “what? if you get your blood pumping too much.”

you call him on his bullshit,” this small? hardly. “

he raises his hands in mock surrender. “alright, try it yourself if you want. i charge for touch ups though.”

the two of you size each other up. just like old times.

with a sigh you relent, “fine, no sex.”

“good, see me in two weeks.”

his words stop you short. it wasn’t as if you needed anything added and he wasn’t a physician checking on your progress. if anything, you would only revisit your artist if there was a problem.

“what for?”

the dawning grin would follow you for the next fourteen days.

“to make sure you didn’t have sex.”

[quindolyn]

plz write george smut thank you :)

Anytime || George Weasley

Word Count: 2,201

a/n: I’m so sorry this took me longer than I wanted it to finish. I’ve been pretty all over the place. I hope you like it! After this I’m getting out a Harry imagine I have requested in my inbox and then I’ll start writing whatever you guys vote for!

Warnings: daddy kink, quickie

Masterlist

It started out innocent. You swore it did, you never imagined that it would get this far, nor was that your intention.

It started off with you not noticing that the top couple buttons of your blouse had popped undone exposing a rather excessive amount of cleavage for the common room. Especially when it was flooded with a bunch of third and fourth years, many of whom were ogling you like they’d never seen a human woman before.

George was torn between giving you his coat to cover you from the less than respectful gazes targeted at you and using it to hide his erection.

Next it was crossing your legs in class when you sat next to him, revealing miles of your beautiful legs that he couldn’t help but drool over as your uniform skirt hiked up dangerously high on your thighs.

Then it was brushing your fingers across his bicep when you were talking to him in class, or sometimes across his chest.

You had no clue how much you had been riling up your boyfriend over the last week or so. Now, it was sort of hard to miss the affect you had on him as evidence of such in the form  of his hardening cock was pressed into your back.

“Georgie?” You craned your head to gaze up at him, blinking owlishly as he stared down at you, practically salivating at the mere sight of you.

You were shocked when he basically growled at you, in hindsight, what you were wearing may have been a little much for a party in the Ravenclaw common room but most of the other girls in attendance were just as dressed up. You all were all young and attractive, why not go all out for the last party of the year?

In a slinky, white slip dress, that could’ve easily passed as modest lingerie you had every eye in the room on you. Some envious, most not as respectful as they probably ought to be, and one pair completely eye fucking you as he was torn between falling to your feet and worshipping you like the goddess you were and pulling you into a broom closet where he would punish you for wearing such provocative clothing. It was too much, all of the teasing, whether or not it was intentional, and now this.

George was desperate, he needed you.

“George?” You called out his name again as he looped his arm along your waist, pulling you into his side as he guided you out of the crowded, smoky room and into the empty corridor directly outside of it.

You were tense, he’d barely said a word all night since you’d met him outside the Ravenclaw common room, and he wasn’t saying anything now either. Which led you to the question, what was wrong with him?

All you received in response was a grunt as he tried to pull you along with him, but your legs were no match for his much longer ones, getting frustrated with the miniscule progress the two of you were making he paused, accessing your figure before huffing and picking you up. It all happened so quickly that you barely had time to squeal as he threw you over his shoulder as though you weighed nothing before he strode off down the corridor.

Your attempts to track where you were going were futile as you lost track somewhere between the third left and second right.

What you didn’t miss, what you couldn’t have missed, was the straining erection pressing against the crotch of his pants.

His off putting silence continued as he sat you down on the ground, rather harshly if you may add, especially considering the sinfully tall stilettos strapped to your feet.

“God George, do you think you could be a little bit more careful? I-”

You were cut off as George took your face in his hand, pressing your cheeks together just enough to make your lips puff out in an exaggerated pout.

“You really wanna take that tone with me Darling? After this past week?”

“What are you talking about George? What did I do?” Your voice was muffled as you tried to speak with his hand, not lightening its grasp on your face.

He cocked his head to the side, his gaze dragging up and down your body before returning to your flushed face, “You really don’t know do you?” His voice was hoarse as he spoke, conveying the arousal thrumming through his veins.

You shook your head, indicating that you indeed had no clue as to what he was talking about.

“Oh poppet,” He cooed, brushing a piece of hair out of your face, tucking it delicately behind your ear, “You really are that innocent aren’t you? S’just everything about you, drives me insane, the way your skirt rides up your thighs, how you brush your fingers against my arm, fuck this dress you’re wearing.”

Your gaze followed his as it dropped to your body, ample amounts of heaving cleavage visible from the low cut of the dress, the hem riding up dangerously high, just as he had described your skirt doing.

“You’ve had me painfully hard for you (Y/N),” He buried his nose in the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent as if it was oxygen and he was stranded at the bottom of the ocean, “Need you, need you now.”

“Need you too George,” You moaned, tangling your fingers in his soft hair, pulling slightly to tip back his head and allow you to mesh your lips with his in a slow, sensual kiss. Nothing was rushed as his tongue slipped from his mouth into yours, exploring the cavity of your mouth.

Flicking your tongue with his he slid his hands under the hem of your dress, letting his fingers slide up the backs of your thighs until they grazed against the swell of your bum. Your bare bum.

“No panties angel?” He practically moaned as he brought your skirt up around your waist, revealing your bare ass and cunt to the chilly air of the seemingly abandoned broom closet.

“Every pair I have you could see through my dress Daddy,” You whined, suppressing a shiver as your new level of exposure.

“So you decided to go without them,” George asked you, condescension dripping from his voice as he cocked his head to the side, gazing down at you as he towered over your frame, “Gonna be the death of me bunny.”

George pulled down the thin straps of your dress, revealing that you weren’t wearing a bra either, the silk ivory fabric bunching around your waist.

“Fuck,” He swore pinching your nipples with the rough pads of his fingers before bending down to capture one of your hard buds inbetween his teeth, rolling it gently before sucking, not hard enough to mark, but enough to have you gasping.

You threw your head back at the sensation, your mouth left gaping at the immense pleasure and before you knew it George had his hands underneath your thighs, supporting you as he pushed you against the door of the room.

His large hands guided your legs around his waist, there your ankles criss crossed, locking you against his body. Your small, nimble fingers quickly found their way to the zipper of his jeans, unzipping them so you could pull both them and his boxers down just enough to bring out his throbbing cock.

He’d been hard the instant he saw you, dealing with his throbbing member all night hadn’t exactly been easy and now that you were here, pressed up against a wall, basically naked, needy for him. George couldn’t deny himself any longer.

A pathetic whimper left your mouth as he brushed the head of his cock through your folds, once, then twice before he fully sheathed himself inside of you. Not taking the time to work in his impressive length inch by inch, he’d been more than patient, he deserved to get to make you feel good.

“Daddy!” You screamed as the tip of his prick brushed at a spot deep inside of you, making you feel deliciously full.

George clamped his hand over your mouth, his gaze boring into yours, “Gotta keep quiet for me bunny, can’t have anyone finding us like this, can’t have them knowing that I can’t go more than an hour without needing to be inside of you.”

You nodded your head, his hand still clasped around your mouth.

“Can you do that for me baby?” He asked, still not moving inside of you, giving you a moment to adjust to his size.

“Yes Daddy,” You answered as he pulled his hand from your mouth, instead using it to stabilize himself against the wall, “Please Daddy, move, need you to move.”

“Okay pretty girl,” He smiled as he began to pull out before harshly thrusting back into you, making you arch your back against the splintering wood of the door.

Your hands grappled for the hair at the nape of his neck to ground yourself to him as he thrusted into you, his strokes were deep and quick. There was an urgency in his motions no doubt fueled by the fact that someone could walk by you guys at any time and become curious as to what was making all of that noise.

Pushing your hips down, you tried to meet his thrusts as he pushed himself up into you, “Want it Daddy, making me feel so good,” You whimpered, clenching your eyes closed as the knot forming in your stomach tightened, slowly but surely as wave after wave of pleasure ripple through your body.

Readjusting his grasp on you George thrusted in particularly harshly, prodding at your g-spot over and over again as he observed how well you reacted to his movements.

Knowing that there was no way he was going to last long, not after the week of torture and night of constant temptation he brought one of his hands down to work your clit. Finding it instantly he began tracing figure eights against it, reveling in the way you writhed against him.

“You gonna cum bunny?” He smiled, speeding up the pace of fingers, “You gonna cum all over Daddy’s fingers? Make a mess for me?”

“Yes Daddy,” You whined, trying to match the volume of his voice, not wanting to be too loud, “Yes Daddy please can I cum?”

Deciding he was feeling benevolent he nodded down at you, pinching his fingers around your delicate bundle of nerves sending you careening over the edge of pleasure.

You didn’t know if you stayed quiet as you should’ve because the ecstasy that overtook you was all consuming, blotting out your vision, as your legs tightened around George’s waist. It was like you blacked out, all you could focus on, all you could feel was the knot in your stomach unraveling, leaving you a moaning, quivering mess.

If it weren’t for the throaty grunts he released as he came inside of you, rope after rope of cum painting the inside of your cunt, but his noises grounded you, bringing you back to the musty little closet.

Taking a minute to collect himself George brushed his chapped lips across your brow before slowly pulling out of you and tucking his softening member back into his pants.

Setting you don’t gingerly on the floor he pulled the skirt of your dress down so that it was once again covering your bum before he pulled the delicate straps of the dress back up your shoulders.

“There we go poppet,” He murmured, eyes raking over you, not in the ravenous manner they had earlier but with a distinctly George tenderness, making sure you were properly covered and okay, “Let’s get you up to my dorm, yeah?”

“But the party-” You began before he cut you off.

“Nope, don’t gotta worry about the party, need to get you cleaned up pretty girl.”

“Are you sure?” You asked, peering up at him, unable not to feel just a little guilty that you were the reason George wouldn’t get to go back and celebrate with his friends.

“Of course I am (Y/N),” His hand found its way under your jaw, tilting your face upwards so that his lips could meet yours, “Not even a question.”

Before you could protest any further he was lifting you into his arms, one supporting beneath your bum, the other under your back. You took the opportunity to nuzzle your face into the crook of his neck as he stepped out of the closet with you in his arms.

No matter how hard you tried to resist it, you were no match for the rhythm caused by his walking as he carried you up to his dorm, being lulled to sleep against your own will. Not wanting to fall asleep before you could say something to him you yawned, “Thank you Georgie, made me feel so good.”

Though you couldn’t see it, a gentle smile tugged at the man’s lips as he gazed down at you, clinging to him as you snuggled further into his arms. “Anytime, love. Anytime at all.”

tagging: @randomoutsiders @weasleyposts @kittykylax @amourtentiaa @superbturtlemakerathlete

[yandere-daydreams]

God please can I get anything with Rook hunting down his escaped darling? This man has a thing for chasing you down you cannot convince mo otherwise

I’ve been meaning to write a special headcanon/scenario post about Pomefiore to celebrate the release of Chapter Five, but,,, this’ll have to do, for now. I’m doing a disservice to the best dorm, but hopefully, some Rook content will delay by inevitable shame.

Title: The Hunt.

TW: Violence, Kidnapping, Strong Predator/Prey Themes, Implied Stalking, and Mentions of Death.

~

You really used to think Rook was just on the extravagant side.

That’s how it’d seemed when he first introduced himself, dropping to one knee and pressing his hand to his chest, declaring something loud enough and incoherent enough to draw the eye of every onlooker within earshot. Some of his actions were questionable, his gaze often leaning towards the unnerving side, but you’d never thought he was villainous, he hadn’t seemed to want to do harm. He meant mischief, as far as you could tell. He didn’t try to hide the way he watched the more particular members of the student body, but he never took anything beyond a picture. He never made a secret of his fondness for you, but his affection was a fleeting thing - he’d said as much himself a dozen different times. You figured Rook would move long as soon as something newer and shinier came along. You thought he was just having fun.

You supposed you weren’t wrong. He had been having fun. He was still having fun.

It just wasn’t fun for you, anymore.

“Mon cœur,” Rook called, the familiar term of endearment stretching into something twisted, something perverse as it echoed through the lifeless woods. The forest surrounding the Pomefiore dormitory was always dark, always daze-like, always horrid, but tonight, it felt especially misleading, as if the trees themselves were uprooting and rearranging to guide you in any direction but the one that’d lead you away from your hunter. That’s what he was now, really, your hunter. Rook had a way of making his prey feel like pets, of making you feel like a partner rather than another trophy for him to decapitate and mount on his wall, but all of those blissful lies and domestic fantasies had dissolved into thin air the moment you slipped out of your chains and threw yourself out of that elegant, stained-glass window of his. It’d been a stupid move, in hindsight, you were only doing damage to yourself and giving him a blood-trail to follow, but a lifetime of picking crystalline shards out of your skin would be less agonizing than another minute spent in his captivity. You just wished his footsteps hadn’t fallen in-tempo with yours so quickly.

“You really should come out, (Y/n).” His voice was calm, projected with the all the tranquil serenity of a man who already knew he’d won. It wasn’t close, it wasn’t deafening, but the fact that you could hear him at all was damning. It meant he’d be able to hear you, too, even if you had no plans to announce yourself so blatantly. “I know you love your games, and I do want to play with you, but staying up so late is bad for your skin, no? And you must be so tired, dear. If you put an end to this silly show of defiance now, I may even let you sleep in my bed, rather than the cage where you belong.”

You didn’t respond  - you wouldn’t have, even if you hadn’t been hiding. Pushing forward, you drove yourself to run faster, to escape both his cage and his bed. There was a clearing in your path, a spot where the leaf-canopy broke apart and the ground grew barren, harsh moonlight seeping in like an unwanted thought, but you skirted around it, following its borders until you found the spot where the foliage was at its thickest. You didn’t think as you forced yourself into the narrow space between branches and trunks and vines with so many thorns, you had to wonder if you’d die of blood loss before Rook got a chance to wring your neck himself, only pressing a hand over your mouth and doing your best to control your panting. You just had to stay put for a minute. You just had to give him time to move on. Then, you’d be able to circle back and beat on every door in Pomefiore until someone recognized you as the student who’d gone missing weeks ago. Then, you’d be safe.

Rook, on the other hand, had no reason to tuck himself away. He stepped into the large clearing without hesitation, letting out a long, labored sigh as he idly glanced towards his surroundings. He must’ve begun his chase as soon as he noticed you’d gotten out, his intricate wardrobe cut down to little more than a black shirt and an insulated, camouflage jacket, both doing leagues more to block out the biting cold than the simple button-down shirt you’d been given to wear. He hadn’t had time to choose a proper weapon, either. Rook preferred traditional bows, the kind without cogs or cables to alleviate the tension of the draw, but he was carrying a simplistic compound bow tonight, made for efficiency and speed rather than enjoyment. Made for maiming his target, rather than indulging them in their rebellion, an arrow already knocked and ready to be drawn back at the first hint of an opening. “Perhaps I should call you mon ange, instead, considering you’re so eager to fly away.” Another sigh, this one accompanied by a graceful turn on his heel and a smooth survey of the forest. His eyesight was good, but it couldn’t be that good. You could barely see your hand in front of your face, where the shadows were their deepest. “Wouldn’t it be easier to come out on your own? You know how much I hate having to drag you home.”

Liar. That dirty, filthy liar. He’d already dragged you away from Night Raven, he’d already dragged you away from your classmates and your family and your friends, and all because he was under some deluded, pathetic notion that he’d only be able to love you - truly love you - if he nailed you to the ground, first. His gaze wandered, he was the one who couldn’t be trusted to keep his promises. He’d just wanted to ensure you’d still be there, waiting for him with open arms, when he got back from all his many expeditions. He’d imprisoned you, and he’d delighted in it, reveled in the joy that came with a source of companionship he’d be able to bleed dry. He was only unamused now that you’d refused to let him cut you open.

You could feel your cheeks begin to flush in anger, your nails curling into your palms, but that did little to stop Rook from going on. Always going on, never stopping. You hadn’t realized how much you hated the sound of his voice until you’d been forced to listen. “I’ll admit, I’ve been busy, lately. Have I been neglecting you?” He laughed, the sound airy, non-commital. As if it suddenly didn’t matter if you came out, as if he suddenly didn’t care. “This is childish, is it not? I mean, I never thought you would stoop so low just to buy for my attention.”

It was so little, it was nothing, just a shift of your weight in the barest hint of a reaction, but dried leaves and twigs seemed to crack under your feet as if you’d thrown your biggest tantrum yet. You reacted immediately, scrambling to free yourself from your constrictive hiding place, but Rook was so fast, he was so ready. It was all you could do to catch a glimpse of his bow as he took aim, your efforts to escape from his line of fire turning out all-but futile. You pressed yourself against the nearest trunk, but in the end, he was the one who faltered, his arrow barely grazing your bicep, cutting through your sleeve but only leaving a thin, red line in your skin, the shallowest wound he’d ever inflicted. You allowed yourself to smile, you allowed yourself to laugh, but Rook didn’t move to fire again, only slinging his bow over his shoulder, slotting it into place as if he wouldn’t need to use it again. Not on you, anyway.

“You really should come out,” He said, one more time. “These kinds of things tend to get rather ugly when they’re not given the proper treatment.”

For a moment, you didn’t know what he meant, but before you could gather up the confidence to ask, something sharp and frigid pounded through your injured arm, stretching from your fingertips to your shoulders, and out of reflex, you glanced towards the cut. A pale, lilac fluid was smeared across your skin, dripping from the small wound, the color so faint, you hadn’t noticed it before. The same shade of purple that coated his arrowhead, even after it’d buried itself in the ground.

Oh.

That made sense. For Rook, at least.

You hardly tried to resist it, your body buckling under its own weight, crumbling until you were little more than a mass of stained clothes and writhing limbs, every part of you contorted in agony so vivid and bright, the darkness seemed to dissolve, kept at a faithful distance by an unmoving wall of white-hot pain. It was relentless, it was ruthless, and it only got worse as Rook’s calloused hands took hold of your tense form, lifting you off the ground and pulling you against his chest, cradling you as gently and as tortuously as he could. His hum was liked a needle to your ears, the click of his tongue as fatal as a dagger to the back of your neck, but even then, you knew it wouldn’t kill you. No, no, that’d ruin Rook’s fun. That’d be too merciful for him. That’d be too kind.

And to think, you’d almost forgotten the flare your hunter was capable of.

[journalxxx]

By Hook or by Crook (6)

Hey kid. I’d like to have a chat with you, if you’re up to it. Would you be free this afternoon?

Izuku idly reread the text and the brief exchange that followed as he whiled away the few minutes left before the agreed time for the meeting. 

Just a little over twenty-four hours before, Izuku had had a minor stroke at the mere thought of All Might texting him about a trip to the police station. Just a little over twenty-four hours before, he would have soared straight to cloud nine at the thought of All Might texting him ‘to have a chat’. It was a pity that the only emotion he could muster at the moment was a vague sense of stunned apathy.

“I’ll get that.” He informed no one in particular when the bell rang. The man installing what probably were legalized viruses on his laptop gave him an odd look, and his mother replied something indistinguishable from the bathroom. Izuku shuffled out of his room and unlocked the front door.

“Young Midoriya. Good afternoon.” All Might had reverted to his laid-back cargo pants and t-shirt attire. He seemed more tired and subdued as well, more like on the day Izuku had met him. 

“Good afternoon.” Izuku gestured at him to come inside, which he did with a quiet thanks. He did not remove his shoes though, and he stopped only few steps in upon spotting the second man fiddling with the landline in the living room.

“Ah. Busy day, is it?” All Might acknowledged the technician with a knowing nod. He then turned towards Izuku and tilted his head towards the front door. “Say, how about we take a walk? I bet your house feels crowded enough without me imposing as well.”

His mother’s head peeked into the hallway. All Might greeted her with a little wave and a weirdly embarrassed grin.

“I’m going for a walk.” Izuku announced as he slipped his shoes on.

“Uhm, are you sure?” Her eyes shifted between All Might and him with ill-concealed unease.

“Yeah, I’m sure.” Izuku cut short. He wasn’t in the mood for another discussion. “See you later.”

He strode out of the building without hesitation. He made his way down the stairs, through the parking lot, all the way to the sidewalk before stopping. All Might caught up with him a minute later, after lingering on the threshold to exchange a few words with his mother that Izuku decided he did not care about. He also decided to ignore the pointed stare the hero aimed at him when he finally reached him.

“Anywhere you’d like to go in particular?” All Might asked after a beat, gazing up and down the small road.

“Not really. You?”

“Any place is fine by me. I need to get reacquainted with this city, its layout is quite different from how I remember it.”

Right, All Might had just moved in. And Musutafu had likely changed a lot since his U.A. days… That would have been a tremendously interesting topic for a chat, Izuku could feel the questions popping up in his head in droves, despite everything. Unfortunately, he was under no illusion that what All Might wanted from him could be that kind of casual conversation.

They picked a random direction and started walking. For almost five minutes, they strolled without breathing a word. It wasn’t nearly as awkward as it would have been under any normal circumstances.

“Had another rough night?” All Might said eventually.

“Mh.” Easy guess. The bags under Izuku’s eyes would soon rival the fixed shadows circling the hero’s if he didn’t manage to rein in his sleeping schedule soon. The nightmares had ceased, thankfully, but his head had been so full of disjointed and clashing thoughts and memories that he hadn’t managed to catch some shut eye until so late that it had become early. 

Nothing made sense. Everything made too much sense. In hindsight, it felt strange that Izuku had never contemplated the possibility himself. It also felt absurd that it could be true though, instead of some sort of huge misunderstanding. That his father could be-

“Oh, before I forget. The villain is faring much better.”

“Uh? What?” Izuku blinked.

“The sludge villain whose quirk you returned.” All Might graced him with a gentle smile. “I heard he was already mostly coherent by last night, and as of few hours ago he was firmly denying ever bearing any ‘serious’ ill intent towards you and your friend, demanding to see his lawyer and complaining about the quality of the lunch he was served.”

Guilt needled Izuku’s stomach upon realizing that the villain’s plight had completely escaped his mind since his return home from the police station. How poorly committed his sympathy was. “Oh. That’s… good, I guess?”

“We guess.” All Might chuckled. “I don’t think I’ve dealt with another incident that badly in years, but I’m glad that no one suffered any permanent damage, at least. And thank you again for bringing the matter to a close in my stead.”

“It’s hardly your fault if things went the way they did. But… yeah, I’m glad he’s okay and that it’s over.” Now if only that hadn’t sparked a much worse and much more scarring mishap, at least for Izuku… “Are you all right, by the way?”

“Me?” 

“Yeah. Have you managed to see a doctor yet? About, uh…” Izuku pointed at his own mouth, unsure how to describe the attack the man had suffered the day before, the likes of which Izuku had only seen in movies and cartoons, usually from people sporting deadly and gory upper body wounds. 

All Might laughed with inexplicable, genuine mirth. “Oh, don’t worry! I wasn’t playing it cool when I said I was fine. It’s just a thing that happens. Usually it isn’t quite as, uh, dramatic, but it really is nothing concerning.”

“But… you hadn’t even used your quirk…” Izuku could not fathom how spraying blood like a fountain on a presumably regular basis couldn’t warrant seeking any kind of medical attention, but the hero waved off his objection with finality.

“Trust me, it’s fine. More importantly...“ All Might wasn’t looking at him. He seemed deeply focused in memorizing as much as he could of his surroundings, peering here and there at street nameplates, buildings, alleys… manholes too, amusingly. But the low and soft quality of his tone made it clear that he wasn’t asking just out of politeness. “What about you, kid? How are you?”

Izuku dropped his gaze to his feet and shrugged. It was an accurate answer, actually. He’d spent so many hours torturing himself with doubts and grief and confusion that at some point his brain had sort of… ran out of energy to spare for emotions. He supposed it wasn’t the worst response he could have had. Stolid empty-headedness was largely preferable to the scorching waves of betrayal, impending doom and overbearing dismay he’d sampled the day before.

“I imagine how difficult all this must be for you.“ All Might went on, just as tactfully. “Have you talked with your mother?”

Oh, scratch that. He was still capable of feeling something. His mother was enough of a sore topic to make him clench his fists. “...Yeah. I have.”

“...I don’t think-”

“She knew.” Yeah, he was still angry. It bubbled in his chest like boiling tar, thick and sticky and suffocating.

“She told you that?” 

“I heard you three talking about it last night. I was listening from outside the living room.”

“What?!” All Might seemed genuinely shocked. It hadn’t been Izuku’s proudest moment, admittedly, but let’s be honest, what else was he supposed to do? Pretend that they weren’t discussing life-changing revelations just few meters away from his bed? He was only human. All Might slapped a large hand on his face and dragged it down alongside his pointy features with a groan. “Oh, come on…”

“She knew, and she never told me.” His nails were digging painfully in his palms and- oh great, now he was getting teary again. He’d held it together for the whole day and now he was going to lose it five minutes after All Might had showed up. For the third or fourth time in as many days. Sure, why not? It wasn’t like he’d managed to retain any sort of dignity since the very moment he’d met his idol. Why bother now? “S-She’s known since- since before marrying him- however that happened… I j-just...”

All Might regarded him silently for a moment. “...Things like these look very different from an outside perspective. Especially to someone as young as you are. It’s very easy to judge, and even easier to misjudge.”

“But she knew he was a criminal - one who would not even consider changing his ways for his family - and she… wanted him around anyway? Why would she do that?! It’s- I wouldn’t want an unrepentant villain still involved in illegal business around my son! He’d be... a bad influence, at the very least!”

“Before yesterday, have you ever thought that he could be having a bad influence on you?”

“Uh? No, I… I didn’t know that he was… I never… questioned...”

All Might sighed deeply. “Your father is a notoriously charismatic man. He’s always been particularly adept at coaxing people to his side without open coercion, but with simple, well-aimed words. You never suspected that he may have been acting in his own best interest while offering or withholding certain information from you, although it may seem obvious in hindsight. I bet he managed to instil the same trust in your mother, despite what she knew about him.”

“I…” Izuku rubbed away the tears flowing freely down his cheeks. He couldn’t understand. He just couldn’t. And it tore at him. “W-Was it because of the money? She never... I-I thought we were good, she n-never said anything… I-If I’d known, I would have… I wouldn’t have asked for… s-so many things, I-”

“I highly doubt that a few toys and games could have had that big of an impact on the family budget. There’s no reason for you to beat yourself up over anything.” All Might slipped his hands in his pockets, sympathy plain in his sunken eyes. “Your mother found herself in a very tricky situation, through no real fault of her own. She navigated it as best as she could, and I’m sure your well-being was her top priority. Seeing the healthy and upright young man you’ve grown into, I’d say she handled it admirably.”

“...I know.” Izuku knew it, really, he understood that. But… he’d always seen his mother as just about the most transparent, honest, sensible and sensitive person on Earth. And it turned out she didn't… exactly… meet that standard, however idealistic. It had been a blow, on top of everything else, one that had left him without a real, fully trustworthy figure when he most needed it. “I know that, but… she should have told me. At some point. There’s no excuse for not doing that.” 

“Perhaps. It’s hard to predict the negative impact that such a confession may have on a younger child, but perhaps she should have.” The hero conceded. “I’d refrain from handing down verdicts though. You kept some secrets of your own from her. You hid your quirk-”

“But that’s not the same thing! Not even close! A quirk isn’t as big an omission as your father being a criminal!” Izuku snapped, then immediately hunched his back in regret, his tone losing some volume but not its bitterness. “And, you know, maybe, maybe I wouldn’t have listened to him so readily if someone had warned me that he isn’t exactly an upstanding citizen!”

“Look, it isn’t my place to comment on how things stand or should stand between you and your mother, or how you should behave, but… if there’s one thing you need to keep in mind - and please do keep it in mind, at all times - is that the one person who bears absolute and doubtless blame is your father. That’s the source of all the lies that have been fed to you. Lies and deception are… what he does, really. What he’s always done. You and your mother are both victims in all this.”

Izuku sniffed and wiped some tears and snot on his sleeve. It was gross, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. There was a logic to All Might’s words, but no logic justified the staggering duplicity that had just turned his life upside down. The unfairness of it all was simply too much to accept. 

The boy looked up when All Might poked him on the shoulder to catch his attention.

“Speaking of which…” All Might swerved to the left, entering a smaller and more secluded lane leading away from the more trafficked routes. He had resumed his perusal of the area, and his expression had regained a firm, almost steely edge. Izuku followed him. “What I wanted to talk to you about concerns what transpired about your father, and how it will affect your life going forwards.”

No surprise there. The two plain-clothes agents that had shown up that morning, no doubt mourning the loss of their well-deserved Sunday rest, had been clear enough of a warning of some upheaval to the Midoriyas’ routine. All Might’s vague text had only cemented Izuku’s expectations of further disruptions.

“I hate being the bearer of bad news, but it is imperative for you to understand the gravity of your father’s position… especially to prevent him from enacting any sort of manipulation or control on you in the future.” The hero began. “The man you know as ‘Hisashi Midoriya’ goes under many aliases, so much so that we are still unaware of his real name. He has committed an astounding variety of serious crimes, over the course of decades. Even if your mother claims to be aware of his background, I assure you she doesn’t know the half of it.”

Izuku physically curled up under the weight of those words. It was… even worse than they thought? His father sounded more and more like some obscenely powerful yakuza boss or something, which was just… just...

“The police will be gathering and analyzing as much evidence as possible to find clues leading to his current location and activities. All possible forms of communications between you and him will be monitored. Your phones will be bugged, and any electronic devices you own will be fitted with tracking software. Your mail will be examined before delivery.” All Might paused, assessing Izuku’s lack of a reaction to his speech. “Did they tell you about this already?”

“S-Some of it, yeah.” Izuku’s gaze dropped to the asphalt again. The dried tears made the skin on his cheeks and around his eyes itch. “Will there be cameras too? Inside the house?”

“I haven’t heard about cameras. I don’t think so. Seeing as your father never set foot in your house, there doesn’t seem to be any reason to surveil it that closely from the inside. The outside will be watched, so we’d notice anyway if he tried to approach it.”

“...Okay.” 

“...I know it’s an oppressive situation. No one likes having their privacy invaded. But know that the professionals in charge of monitoring you are utterly uninterested in you specifically, or in whatever you do with your free time, as long as it isn’t anything outrageously illegal.” All Might’s voice softened again, although not enough for Izuku to dare raise his eyes from the ground. “I hear they are especially unconcerned about peculiar web searches and piracy perpetrated by bored adolescents, and some such things. Anything that isn’t strictly related to the case at hand won’t ever make it into any reports.”

“Mh.” A couple of small mercies were better than none, Izuku guessed. He really couldn’t muster neither enthusiasm nor gratitude for them at the moment though.

“Ah, about this… Those monthly phone calls your mother mentioned are particularly relevant for the police. They are likely their best bet in pinpointing your father’s position.” All Might paused. “For that reason, we would appreciate your cooperation on that front.”

Izuku’s brain suddenly jolted into activity, a myriad of spy movies and comics coming to his mind and offering plenty of distressing scenarios he could be potentially thrusted into. “You mean like… you want me to help you find him? Get him to drop hints about where he is, or- or asking him to go somewhere where you can set up a trap, or-” Izuku looked back up at the man, without bothering to conceal the pure terror that such prospects filled him with.

“What? No, of course not!” All Might exclaimed, surprised. “I mean, it isn’t out of discussion that we may try to actively lure him out at some point, but that would take extensive preparations and precautions on our part. We’d need to gather more intel and agents, recruit other heroes first… We definitely aren’t considering taking any such steps yet.”

“O-Oh… okay…” He let out the tiniest sigh of relief. No wild capers… for now...

“Besides, even if we were, we wouldn’t use a child as bait! Your mother would be much more suited to assist us. Any request from her would have more sway on your father, and she would handle the pressure much better.”

“So… what do you want me to do then?”

All Might shrugged. “Just keep up appearances. Continue having your monthly calls with him as if nothing happened, so as not to alert him that something might be wrong.”

That wasn’t that big of a demand, objectively speaking, but... it didn’t seem feasible either. Izuku’s grasp on his own emotions was tenuous at best at the moment, and his father had always been exceptionally perceptive to his state. He really didn’t think he could endure up to two hours of small talk about heroes, quirks, school and assorted pleasantries without having some sort of breakdown halfway through. Izuku gulped, bracing himself for the inevitable scolding of his cowardice. 

“...I-I’m sorry, I’m not sure if I can do that.”

Surprisingly, All Might wasn’t put off in the slightest. “In that case, you could ask your mother to pretend you got hurt in some way that prevents you from speaking. Bad tooth, removed tonsils, broken jaw, you name it. That would earn you at least another month of silence and… hopefully the investigation will make some progress in that time, or you’ll grow used enough to the situation to face him with a cool head.”

That was a reasonable approach to the issue. It was a relief to know that someone else was putting some thinking into all this in Izuku’s place, now that his already flimsy decisional autonomy had stumbled into the metaphorical equivalent of a bear trap. “...I’ll think about it.”

“Thank you.” All Might nodded, strangely unperturbed by Izuku's less than proactive attitude. “Other than what I’ve mentioned, you will also be followed wherever you go whenever you aren’t at home or at school-”

“W-What?” Izuku instinctively glanced around, envisioning slow-moving cars or shady individuals with sunglasses and holed newspapers observing him from bushes.

The corners of All Might’s mouth twitched upwards. “You will not be aware of it, nor will anyone else, of course. It will have no actual impact on your daily life, like all the other measures we’ve already covered.”

“But why?” Izuku griped, his heart sinking so deep that it would soon pierce through the Earth’s mantle. “My father isn’t going to suddenly drop by to say hello, you just said so yourself!”

“It’s for your own protection too.” All traces of humor vanished instantly from the hero’s demeanor. “Your father is no stranger to violence. In the past, he has resorted to brutal and immoral means to dispose of his enemies, and... I’m sorry to say that he would not hesitate to employ such methods against his own family, if he deemed it a danger to his own safety.”

Izuku couldn’t hold back a little hysterical chuckle that sounded pitiful to his own ears. “That… sounds a bit exaggerated, doesn’t it? I-I get that he’s a bad guy, but… I really don’t think he’d do something like that to us. H-He’s never even raised his voice with me, never...”

“Midoriya. I beg you to believe me when I say that you can’t trust anything of what you think you know about your father.” All Might stopped to glare intently at a narrow, dingy alley littered with trash bags. “He is dangerous. Extraordinarily so. Tsukauchi is pushing for having further safety measures enforced for your family, and until those have been granted, please be very aware of your surroundings at all times. Refrain from taking unfamiliar routes, and stick to crowded areas whenever you can. I don’t want to scare you, but even having eyes on you at all times is no guarantee of a timely intervention, under unfavorable circumstances.”

“Is it… really that bad?” Izuku breathed, gutted by the unexpected harshness of the picture painted by All Might’s words. It was… inconceivable, still. His father, deliberately hurting him? His father, whose cutting sarcasm was just about the only vaguely hurtful trait Izuku had ever witnessed? His father, a hardened, soulless criminal averse to puns and All Might trivia, and yet always so willing to let Izuku torture him with both? His father, ambushing him from dark corners? “Is he really that bad?”

“Yes.”

“What did he…” Izuku started asking, only to trail off. It was a pointless question, with a clear answer. It had been buzzing in his head for the whole night, blindingly obvious by now. “...He steals quirks, doesn't he? That’s what he does. He... maims people for…”

“I’m afraid he isn’t nearly as conscientious as you in regards to-” All Might cut himself off with a visible flinch. “Wait, he told you about his quirk? You know it’s the same as yours?”

“Y-Yes.”

“You didn’t mention that to us.” Bright pinpricks of blue were suddenly trained on Izuku with piercing intensity. It kept catching him off guard, how both of the Symbol of Peace’s towering forms could switch from amicable to intimidating at the drop of a dime.

“I-I thought… He said it was a secret- one of his confidential matters. I’ve always thought he was some sort of… prison guard or undercover agent…” God, how unbelievably stupid it all sounded now. Izuku had never felt more childish. 

“...That goes to show…” All Might mumbled, barely audibly. It unsettled Izuku. It went to show what? His father’s cunning? Izuku’s naivety? Or… surely not that he could be hiding something on purpose...

“I-I’m… I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to… I had no idea how- how serious- I’d never-”

“Mh?” The hero blinked at him, as if emerging from a private musing. “Ah, I mean… There could be some merit to the other thing I wanted to ask of you.”

Izuku just waited, barely able to withstand the acuity of the hero’s gaze without shrinking. After a few tense moments, All Might let out a sigh and resumed walking, his eyes wandering back to the street ahead.

“To be frank… Personally, I don’t think we’re going to achieve much from all these investigations.” He grimaced, as if regretting those words as soon as they left his mouth. “Not for lack of trying, mind you. Tsukauchi is an immensely capable and dedicated officer, he’ll pursue each lead as thoroughly as humanly possible, but… Your father knows how to cover his tracks. Phone calls, payments, mail, blatant cues like those have never brought us close to him in the past, not once. To his associates, yes, to his… ‘aftermaths’, yes. But never to him personally. His circumstances were always shrouded in impenetrable security. I doubt this case will be any different.”

Buildings gave way to the open horizon. They had reached the end of the street, which merged into a largest road running along the coast. They crossed it, and kept going on the opposite sidewalk, looking down on a thin stretch of sand separating them from the sea.

“That said… he did leave one huge trail for us to find this time. A whole family, out in the open.” All Might’s eyes returned to the boy pensively. “A breakthrough like this, if you’ll pass me the term, is unprecedented. The most obvious leads could turn out to be dead ends, but maybe there is something to be found in the smaller things.”

“The smaller things?”

The man gestured vaguely. “He’s been talking to you, has he not? To you and your mother both, for over a decade. Not that often, but… hell, he even told you about his quirk, and one would expect him to be very tight-lipped about that. There might be more to dig up. Details he may have deemed unimportant, or accidentally let slip. Hints. Small things.”

Izuku was finally catching the drift. “I’m really sorry, but… I know you probably can’t take my word for it, but I really don’t know anything about what he does, or ever did. He never let anything slip about his… his ‘job’...”

“Of course not, that’s not what I’m referring to. The thing is…” The hero clucked his tongue in frustration. “We know so little about the man himself as well. His identity, his background, his history… We know next to nothing about him, and what little we do know, we were only able to discover through very unconventional means. If there’s a chance to glean one more shred of information hidden among the fabrications, I think it’s worth pursuing it.”

“So the police are going to question us about… fourteen years’ worth of chit-chats?” That seemed like a disproportionate endeavor for something as volatile as the possibility of parsing an ounce of truth. Exactly how desperate were they to catch this increasingly perplexing father of his?

“That’s the gist of it, yes. And ideally, we would like to interview you separately, to avoid that either of you could, ehr… inadvertently censor yourselves about information not known by the other-”

“Like my quirk. Or dad’s ‘activities’.“ Izuku muttered.

“...Yes. Things like those.” All Might paused, then cleared his throat. “Well… given the delicate nature of the case, we are trying to keep the workforce to a minimum, and involve as few people as possible. This ought to speed up coordination and briefing, as well reduce the risk of information leaks. Tsukauchi will be personally questioning your mother… as well as direct the entire operation. He’s quite the multitasker. And, well… since technically I’m already involved and up to speed and I won’t be contributing to the proper detective work in any capacity… we thought I might take care of hearing your side of the story.”

A little Oh was the whole extent of Izuku’s reaction as the hero’s words washed over him. All Might seemed a little discouraged by that.

“We figured it might put you a little more at ease… Talking with someone you’re already familiar with, instead of a brand new face. And, ehr… well, you mentioned being a fan, so…” He elaborated, his hands drawing half-formed shapes in the air to underline his words. He looked… almost nervous? “It’s just a possibility, of course. If you’d rather be entrusted to a proper member of the force, it’s well within your rights to request that.”

Izuku did not miss the underlying meaning of that winding speech. It was within his rights to request who he wanted to be interviewed by, not if. 

“Do I even have a choice?” All Might’s guilty grimace was all the reply Izuku needed. “...No, sorry, I… That’s a stupid question. I’ve no reason to refuse either.” Surely not the faint sense of betrayal knocking on his conscience at that very moment. Could he even feel bad about betraying someone who’d never been honest with him in the first place? 

“...I know it’s far from an enticing perspective.” All Might rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably. “It’s going to eat up a lot of your time, and people are never exactly eager to ‘snitch’ on relatives, even when they’re criminals. But I really think it could be of great help to us.”

So that was the role Izuku was going to have in this whole mess, that of a very oddly-shaped piece in a very complicated puzzle. It could be worse, he supposed. Being stuck in a room talking with the number one hero for hours could hardly be considered a real punishment. Were the topic of the conversation literally anything else, it’d be a dream coming true, even. He should push that angle on himself, Izuku pondered. Maybe he could talk himself into enjoying the whole thing, in some way. 

“Since I’m no policeman, I’m amenable to reward you for the time and effort you’ll generously dedicate to the task with suitable bribing. I was thinking snacks, if that doesn’t come off as too cheap.” All Might continued with a tentative grin, although his attempt at levity didn’t stick the landing. “No? How about, ehr… All Might merch?” For some reason, his face scrunched up as if the suggestion physically pained him.

Izuku sighed. There was no point in fighting the inevitable, was there? “It’s fine. I’ll do it.”

“...Thank you, that is very good to hear.” All Might smiled with evident relief. He patted Izuku’s shoulder encouragingly. “I’ll say, you’re taking all this a lot better than I was expecting. For all the crying, you have quite the resilient attitude. Heroic, even!”

Izuku let out a half-choked sob. Oh. Oh, wow, that realization hurt. He hadn’t thought about that since… had it really only been a couple of days since making it into U.A. had been his biggest concern in life? And now…

“Ehr… Sorry, did I say something wrong?” All Might asked when faced with the new bout of tears streaming down the boy’s cheeks. Izuku shook his head.

“S-Sorry, it’s just… I-I guess that’s the closest I’ll ever get to becoming a hero now, uh?”

“What?”

“There’s no way they’ll let me anywhere near a hero course now, is there? My father told me it was basically impossible before, and now...”

“Your father told you that you couldn’t be a hero? Your father who is a villain?” All Might gave him a pointed look. “You may want to start reevaluating some of the nuggets of wisdom he’s been imparting on you in light of the new revelations, kid.”

“But he’s right, isn’t he?” Izuku griped. “It’s even worse now that he turned out to be a villain! A bad one too! Abusing the same overpowered quirk I have, it’s just… too great a bias, isn’t it?”

All Might seemed caught off guard, then he frowned and looked away without replying. There it was, the naked truth. Not even an attempt at a rebuttal. Out of discussion. Izuku’s dreams scattered to the wind, without hope of salvation.

“Y-You know, I actually thought… I could work my way around it.” Izuku continued among the sniffles, dropping his gaze to the ground. “I thought I could just pretend to be quirkless. F-For a while. Pass the test like that, make some friends, get… get trusted as a hero because of my work. A-and then, then one day, just… after everyone trusted me, I thought I could come out clean. And start using my quirk for good. I thought it could work. Get others to know me before my quirk. B-But it’s never going to happen now. The police know, the school will know.”

“...I must say that building your budding hero career on a lie isn’t the most solid plan I’ve ever heard.” There was no accusation in All Might’s tone, but his words still cut deep.

“I know…” Izuku bit his lip. He’d known, but what alternatives did he have?

“But I guess we can’t all carelessly parade our true selves before public scrutiny, can we?” The man sighed, scratching his own head. “You are right about one thing though. Actions do speak louder than words. You might not be able to talk your way out of your… delicate circumstances, but factual demonstrations of good intentions can go a long way.”

“That’s… That’s all I’m asking for!” Izuku’s head snapped up, desperately latching onto that single lifeline. “I would do whatever it takes to be allowed to try!”

“Well, I’d say you’re already on the right path then. Cooperating with the police is definitely a good step to establish good faith.” All Might flashed him a sheepish smile. ”...I’m not saying that just to grind my own axe, I swear.”

“Do you think it would be enough for U.A. to let me attempt the test?”

“You want to apply to U.A?” The hero seemed strangely surprised.

“Yeah. Is it… not a good idea?”

All Might took a few moments to reply. “...It might work in your favor, actually. U.A. is famous for the degree of self-determination afforded to its management by the government. If you’re worried about external interference, U.A. is your best bet to avoid it.”

A tiny, shy flicker of hope ignited in Izuku’s chest.  

“...I’ve known the principal of U.A High School for a long time. He’s a bit of an eccentric, but one with an impeccable work ethic.” All Might resumed after a moment. “He’s not the kind of person to let unfair judgement undermine his institute. Especially if it prevented an aspiring hero he deems worthy from being appointed his student.”

“You mean that…?”

“I mean that if you do plan to apply to U.A. you could have a chance of making it in, regardless of your unfavorable background. If you pass the admission test, that is.” All Might suddenly stopped walking. “...What is this?”

Izuku blinked, ripped out of his thoughts, and took in the portion of the seafront they had reached. Wow, he really hadn’t been paying any attention to where they were going, had he? “...Oh. It’s, ehr… an illegal dumping site, I guess.”

“Really?” All Might commented, eyeing the sad, disregarded No Dumping sign welcoming its disobedient visitors.

“Yeah. The currents always bring flotsam to this area, so it was never clean in the first place. And then people started taking advantage of it…”

“And no one ever comes here to pick up any of this?” Strangely, the sight and the slight stench of mounds of rusting metal and assorted junk didn’t bother All Might, who climbed down the few steps separating the sidewalk from the beach.

“No, the city administration never took an interest. Everyone else just avoids this spot altogether. It’s been getting worse over the years.” Izuku had no idea why All Might was studying the piles of dismissed appliances as if they might hold some hidden treasures within, but he felt rather dumb for accidentally introducing this to the hero, of all places in Musutafu, as his first sightseeing landmark. “Sorry, I should have brought us somewhere else.”

“It’s fine.” Undaunted, All Might wandered deeply into the maze of refuse, with Izuku ruefully tagging along. “A safe, handy spot where a passing criminal in a hurry could stash some loot, don’t you think? Good to know.”

“Oh. I didn’t think about that.” Right. That was what it meant for a hero to know his turf, right? It went beyond street names and layouts. It meant to be aware of how each location could lend itself to certain criminal activities, what places could make for good improvised hideouts, where civilians were more or less likely to be gathered...

“How were you planning on passing the admission test?” All Might asked when they reached the water’s edge, eyes fixed on the waves crashing on the sand.

“Uhm. Well, I’ve already started reviewing the subjects listed in the syllabus…”

“I was referring to the practical session, actually.”

“Oh, uhm… Well, I tried looking for information about it online, but there doesn’t seem to be any. Apparently it’s U.A.’s policy to bind all participants to non-disclosure. They say that observing how potential candidates react to unexpected situations is part of the evaluation process, so…”

All Might looked at Izuku, his expression blank. “Yes. So?”

“Ehr.” Suddenly Izuku felt extremely on the spot. “W-Well, without knowing what I’m getting into, I don’t really have any specific strategies in mind.”

All Might cocked his head with a slight frown. “What about generic strategies? What skills were you going to capitalize on?”

“I… Well… I thought I’d just… try my best. Improvise and use my head.”

All Might blinked. “...That is what everyone else is going to do too. Except everyone else will also have a quirk to rely on, while you weren’t going to use yours. That’s a massive disadvantage right there.”

“Yes, I know.” Izuku clasped his hand behind his back in shame. That was an excellent point, one that somehow no one had ever raised with him. Everyone, including his father, instantly shot down his idea as soon it left his mouth. No one had ever asked him to elaborate on the practical details. Which he had sort of… failed to sort out so far.

“And you have no notion as to how to bridge that gap.”

“Not… not yet.”

All Might crossed his arms, sporting possibly the harshest expression Izuku had seen on him yet. It made his stomach lurch unpleasantly. “...Are you serious about this hero thing? Are you sure it isn’t just a passing fancy?”

“It isn’t! It absolutely isn’t!” Izuku answered immediately. “I just… I don’t even know if I’m allowed to bring any tools, or-”

“Tools?” All Might scoffed as he walked back to him and gave him a critical once-over. “Looks to me you already have all the tools you need, if you deigned to consider them.”

“Uh?”

“You have arms, don’t you? Hands. Legs. Arguably a head.” All Might poked at each listed limb with a bony finger as he started circling him like a starved shark. “All in working order, yes?”

“Y-Yes- I mean, I’m not ill or anything, but-”

“Then why aren’t you trying to capitalize on those? A quirk is an important part of a person, but it’s not the only one! You have a body, use it!”

“Ah, yes, I…” Izuku gulped. “It would make sense to, uh, try to get a little stronger, I guess…”

“You guess? ” All Might was reaching yet unexplored levels of visible exasperation, which was saying something considering the whole secret-villainous-father debacle. Izuku didn’t know if getting the number one hero so worked up about his little pipe dream should be considered flattering or shameful. “Being a hero isn’t a desk job! Running fast, lifting heavy weights, enduring fatigue are not optional skills! No matter what quirk they have, no hero worth their salt can neglect to keep in excellent shape!”

“R-Right. Of course. It’s just that, uh…” Izuku fidgeted. “I’m not really good at that sort of… physical stuff. I’ve always been a bit on the scrawny side, and I get tired easily, and I’m no good at brawling-”

“Despite training?”

“...I’ve never followed a proper training regimen, but…”

All Might rubbed his hands on his face. “Kid, unless they have a physical-enhancing quirk, people aren’t just born strong. They get strong by training - do I really have this state this out loud?”

Izuku was fairly sure his face was about to spontaneously combust. Of all the things he’d expected to happen in his near future, being scolded by All Might in person for his lack of commitment to physical activity was not one of them. “Y-You are right. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to… to disrespect you or your profession…”

“You didn’t, I was just… You seemed passionate about this two days ago...” All Might trailed off. “My point is that all the equity in the world won’t net you a place in U.A. if you don’t pass that test. And if you really are serious about raising your chances of becoming a hero, you have to give this some serious thought, and soon. You can cram months of study into weeks if you have the brains for it, but you cannot do the same with workouts.”

Izuku willed himself to hold his head up straighter. “I-I will. Thank you for your advice, it makes a lot of sense.”

The silence that descended between them was more than a little awkward.

“I’ve pestered you enough for today, haven’t I?” All Might eventually said as he took off towards the sidewalk. “Let’s go back.”

Izuku trailed behind the hero as they made their way among the waste, and almost bumped on him when he slowed to a stop to stare at a particularly high pile of contorted, rusty scraps.

“Is something wrong?”

“No, I was just thinking that… What I need is a quiet, lonely place to have some private chats with you, and what you need is a way to work up some muscle and rack up some good karma, right?” All Might scratched his chin as he scanned the heaps of trash hiding the rest of the city from view. “...Say, how do you feel about community service?”

[writerseven]

Would you be willing to do a small, darkish story with Ra'sTim? Idk what about but I would love to read one with your style with that pairing!

yes!! i have been wanting to write something with these two for ages, so thanks for the request!

this is sfw because I wasn’t sure how explicit and/or dark you were looking for, but there is some blood, injury, non-consensual touching, and of course ra’s being a creep. and also it's longer than intended because i'm really bad at keeping myself to short word counts. enjoy!

He can’t feel his fingers anymore.

The bite of metal into his wrists is still sharp and vicious, so that’s delightful, but the painful tingling that rocketed through his fingers has died off. If he focuses hard on twitching them, he gets the dullest blip of sensation, but that’s it. Otherwise, his fingers might as well have packed their bags and run away, leaving him to this shit show.

He should probably look up to make sure they aren’t turning black or something. Check on his wrists, too. The scrapes weren’t deep last he looked, but it’s still a less than ideal place to be bleeding from.

His head is just so heavy, though. The damp hair clinging to his face only seems to weight it down further. He doesn’t even have all his pounds of gear on, no cape nor cowl, not even a shirt, but his body has never felt so heavy. In hindsight, giving up on balancing on his toes was a bad decision. His shoulders and wrists are probably unionizing to lodge a formal complaint about having to hold up the entirety of his body.

He’d just...slipped. And he was tired. And he didn’t have the energy to straighten back up.

Tim has been here for...for long enough he’s not quite sure how long he’s been here. Long enough he should probably check on his fingers again, instead of staring at the blood trails down his legs and under his feet. Probably why he slipped. The bright side of being shirtless is he won’t have to throw a stained shirt away, because these pants are definitely goners.

It’s not much of a bright side.

It’s also, Tim won’t lie, kind of insulting that he got stabbed in the abdomen again, in the exact same spot. At least he doesn’t have another spleen to lose, so it’s fine. Probably. Maybe.

He really hopes it’s fine, because dying so soon after he had a beautiful recovery movie-moment of deciding he wanted to live after all would be a little bit annoying. Plus, of everyone to die to, Ra’s so does not deserve the satisfaction.

Speak of the devil.

“Detective.”

Tim jerks in his bonds—not the most well-thought out move. He hisses as the pain in his wrists flares up. For the first time in uncountable hours, he’s struck by enough energy to force himself onto his toes again. He’d rather not look so pathetically dangley in front of Ra’s.

He didn’t even notice the door open. He might be a little light-headed. Probably, he deduces, from all the blood loss and dehydration. (They don’t call him a genius detective for nothing.)

“Good evening,” Ra’s says. When Tim pulls his head up, there’s a hint of amusement to his expression. Bastard.

What did he say, evening? Is it evening now? Tim would have hoped to either come up with a clever escape attempt or be the subject of a heroic rescue by evening. Unless Ra’s is lying about the time to...be a liar. And fool Tim. For nefarious reasons.

He might be over thinking this.

“Could be better,” Tim rasps.

Ra’s looks perfectly put-together as he meanders closer. This has got to make the top five list for Most Fucked Up Tim Has Been, but for all Ra’s’ expression betrays he might be sightseeing in a rose garden. Tim has studied up enough on captivity and torture to know that’s exactly the point, exaggerating the power dynamic, but it’s still fucking irritating.

“Yes, I must admit you look a little pale,” Ra’s says sympathetically. Considering he’s still wearing the body of his sacrificed albino son, even with the dye-job on his hair, it’s just a little bit ironic.

“Probably all the blood loss,” Tim says, out loud this time. (Genius detective.)

Ra’s stops in front of him. Tim has to lift his head all the way up to a normal level—a near insurmountable task—to see the infuriating little smile on his lips as he observes Tim’s wound. He kind of regrets looking when Ra’s takes his gaze on the scenic route up Tim’s torso before meeting his eyes.

Tim scowls. It would probably be more impressive if he didn’t almost forget to hold his neck up for a second.

“If you’d like to come down...”

“I'm not working for you,” Tim snaps.

He can’t feel his fingers. He knows the cuts are shallow, but his wrists still feel half a second from slicing through. His arms periodically zing up and down with pain; his shoulders are screaming; his head is near-impossible to hold up. His toes hurt. His legs shake. The stab wound on his torso has dulled to an ache, which is probably bad news. Honestly, his lungs aren’t feeling swell either. He’s cold in this little stone room, and he has a bit of a sore throat too.

There’s still zero fucking chance he’s letting Ra’s Al Ghul get his claws in.

The Demon’s Head doesn't blink at his denial, used to it by now. If anything, his face softens. “My work is for a better world, Detective. I would never make you do anything immoral. No murders to mar your conscience, if that’s how you prefer it.”

Liar. Tim says nothing. It won’t help him.

Ra’s takes his chin delicately between fingers. Tim is embarrassed to note he’s holding up most of its weight. The rest of his body stays at a thankfully safe distance, though Tim suspects that may have more to do with Ra’s not getting blood on his robes than any decency.

“There are plenty of ways to serve,” Ra’s says. Like spindly legs of a spider, fingers splay over Tim’s chest, palm tantalizingly warm against the bare skin.

Tim tenses. Knowing exactly how much it will hurt and deciding on it anyway, he shoves himself back.

Pain surges along his arms. Tim grits his teeth, barely hearing the rattling chains above over the roar in his ears. With the way he dangles, he rocks back into place right after, feet scrambling for purchase—but his point is made.

Ra’s’ hand drops. For a split-second, Tim swears he’s going to return it and push the issue, but it stays down.

Tim catches his breath as the man steps back. There went all his remaining energy for the day. Or month. He’d like to go back to his dead dangle again. Well, okay, he’d really like to curl up on the floor. He’s just not willing to make a deal with the devil to get it.

Not yet.

Tim blinks, raising his swimming vision just enough to see Ra’s has backed up to the door. His expressions are hard to read regularly, more so when he’s all blurry. Tim gives up.

“Perhaps next time,” Ra’s voice says, distant and annoying—and just a tiny bit beguiling, as Tim hangs and shivers.

The sound of the door closing echoes through the cell, cutting him off from temptation.

[thejooncrew]

shirts and staircases

college roommate jungkook x reader (word count: 1.2k, now with proofreading)

based on this post

this one’s for you, @ladyartemesia​​

also, I’m probably gonna write another part involving smut I just wanted to pump this out while I still had the motivation much like jungkook will soon be pumping in and out of reader amiright

☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰

The house is quiet, which is rare when you live with 7 loud, boisterous, and occasionally nocturnal college boys. They must have left for that free breakfast down at Overland Hall, you muse as you groggily roll over in bed to check the time. Eight o’ clock—a time only a promised free breakfast could lure your boys out of bed and into the great wide world.

You’ll join them soon, of course, but you so rarely have the house to yourself that you have to seize any chance you get. Still a bit sleep-addled, you amble out of your room and across the hall to Jungkook’s room to creep.

Well, you don’t consider it creeping, because it’s not like you’re rifling through his drawers or reading his diary. And what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him, right? He doesn’t need to know that his best friend sneaks into his room whenever she can possibly get away with it to steal clothes that smell like Downy and cotton and boyish good looks. Today, you’re hoping to snag one of those big oversized gray t-shirts that make him look oh-so cuddly during gaming nights.

You don’t bother with putting on pants or creeping around as you usually would—in hindsight, a bad idea. But in your sleep-addled state, you thought surely silence meant an empty house. And an empty house means walking around in a t-shirt and panties.

You feel a blush rise to your cheeks as you ease open Jungkook’s door and step inside. How many times have you fantasized about parading about in something lacy and borderline scandalous in front of him? Or perhaps plopping yourself in his lap during an intense session of Overwatch and demand his attention? Then maybe at last the dark look in his eye usually reserved for errant Sombra ults would at last be focused on you…

Focus! You make a beeline for his top dresser drawer. By sheer force of stubborn will, you’d sat Jungkook down one day and demanded he keep his room in some semblance of organization, and six months later, he was doing quite well. He’d long ditched folding, but at least he was keeping to his organizational system—and successfully avoided another “The Chair” situation. All the easier for you to whip the drawer open and rifle through your options.

“Aha!” you said aloud, triumphantly holding aloft your prize and promptly pressing it to your face. You breathed in deeply, letting out a soft moan as the distinct smell of Jungkook filled your nose. How many times had you basked in these scents as Jungkook held you in the throes of some exam-induced nervous breakdown, or as he was distracted by a movie you were all watching together in the living room? Jungkook may have smelled the same to everyone else, but to you, he smelled like comfort. Jungkook was soft musk and post-workout sweat. Jungkook was sweet toothy smiles with the little mole right under his lip. Jungkook was the muscles in his arm bulging as he carried your books home for you from lecture, and his new, devastatingly long hair he would casually flip out of his eyes to make girls walking by swoon. And you, of course, but he didn’t know that.

A deep sense of bitter longing and pent-up feelings filled your chest as tears welled in your eyes. No, this wouldn’t do. You couldn’t show up to the breakfast with red eyes, Jungkook would ask you what was wrong and you wouldn’t be able to tell him. Breathing heavily, you curled up on his unmade bed, closing your eyes and letting yourself imagine. For one sweet, bated breath, he was here next to you, his touch ghosting over your hips and your shoulders, his breath just tickling the nape of your neck. He was where you had always wished for him to be—curled up with you, just another couple hopelessly in love.

You didn’t quite know how long you spend just lying there, but it couldn’t have been long—it wasn’t until you pulled the shirt away from your face and took another breath that you realized you had been holding it. Bottle it up again, you know better, you chided yourself, reluctantly rolling out of bed for the second time this morning. You slipped Jungkook’s shirt over your head and headed downstairs to get a glass of water. Something to wake you up before heading for breakfast.

You have to pull yourself together, you tell yourself. You have at least two more years of this nonsense to get through, and if you keep going the way you are now, you’ll slip up eventually. You’ve long reconciled that you and Jungkook likely won’t ever end up together—he’s never shown interest, and you’re too worried about losing your friendship to dare hope for anything more. No, it has to stay this way: you, a pining, shirt-thieving coward, and Jungkook, standing in the doorway right by the stairs, gripping the doorframe and watching you come down the stairs in your panties with wide eyes.

Wait, what?

“Jungkook?!” you screech, hastily pulling down your—his—shirt to cover yourself. “What are you doing?”

“S-sorry!” he stammers, blushing and turning away. “I didn’t—well—what are you doing waltzing around without pants on?”

“I thought you guys had already left for the free breakfast!” you hissed.

“Well, most of us…Namjoon left his phone here again, so I came with him to get—” Jungkook squints at you. “Is that my shirt?”

“No!” you say instinctively. “Well—I mean—”

“It is,” he says incredulously, moving to get a closer look. “You’re the one stealing my shirts? I thought it was Tae!”

An odd look comes over his face right then. “Y/N, why are you stealing my shirts?”

“W-well…I…uh…” Laundry excuse won’t work, he helped you lug a fresh load of it upstairs just last night. “They…they, uh…”

“Come on, spit it out,” he urges. He’s so close to you now, cornering you against the wall.

“They…they smell like you…” You confess in a whisper.

“Oh? What’s this then? You like being covered in my scent?” You gulp as his voice suddenly takes on a husky tone, and you feel a jolt go down your spine and straight to your pussy as you look up into his eyes. You only ever see this Jungkook when he’s flirting with random girls at bars—the intenseness of his gaze, his hair falling forward to frame him in a way that is so knee-weakeningly sexy.

“I-it’s not like that…” you protest weakly. “I just…I think…”

“I know exactly what you think, sweetheart.” Oh, you’re in danger alright. Jungkook’s hand, those accursed tattooed digits of his, snake up your naked thigh and hover dangerously close to your ass. “I saw you in your room two weeks ago.”

You gasp and cover your mouth in horror. Two weeks ago, when you had thought Jungkook was occupied hanging out downstairs with the boys, and had taken it upon yourself to relieve some tension. You realize now that you can’t remember if you had closed your door properly…but you do remember moaning softly and calling out Jungkook’s name several times.

A triumphant shout comes from the dining room. “Kook, I found my phone! Let’s go!” Namjoon calls.

“You go on ahead,” Jungkook responds, his gaze never once leaving yours as his hand grabs your ass and squeezes it, drawing a muffled moan from you. “I think I’m going to start with a different kind of breakfast.”

[alecmagnuslwb]

Isn’t It Demonic

(There’s a bit at the end of this all for @izzymalec who gave me an interesting fic idea that sadly I couldn’t make into a whole fic, but I wanted to give a shout out to it. Without further ado, enjoy Demon Alec and Ghost Warlock Magnus.)

Read on AO3

“You son of a bitch!”

Alexander stands at the edge of the house just inside the door, rage and fire burning through his veins. The warlock who’d summoned him stands outside a smug grin on his face.

“Did you really think I would be stupid enough to not recognize the wording you used in our deal,” Lorenzo says standing there with a pompous attitude he’s nowhere near earned. Alexander is good at what he does, he’d very carefully worded their deal, a series of hard to find ingredients for freedom on earth, no time windows, an open-ended stay. In hindsight now he’s realizing he technically left an opening; an opening that sadly this prick has taken full advantage of. It’s still a broken deal though, free reign this isn’t. “You wanted free and free you are.”

“Maybe you caught on to my slip up, but that doesn’t mean you’re smart. You still broke a deal with a demon, I said free reign, not just free,” Alexander snarls. “This isn’t free, this is a trap, you violated the deal. I’ll come for you.”

“Good luck with that,” Lorenzo says straightening his jacket and slipping away with a smug grin unbothered. The door to the house he’s stuck in slams shut and Alexander seethes. He’s not sure how long he stands there kicking at the door and yelling, but he knows no one is going to hear him. The little bastard isn’t that powerful definitely not powerful enough to kill him, but evidently he’s powerful enough to bind a house and Alexander’s powers and he’s done it well.

It’s going to take some time and some work to get out of here and kill Lorenzo. Luckily Alexander has all the time in the world.

Alexander turns around stalking through the house and into the library. There’s dust everywhere, he doesn’t know who this house belonged to, but they had taste. Clearly it was never actually Lorenzo’s place.

He finds a dusty old drink cart and picks up a well-aged whiskey drinking directly from the bottle. He goes over to the wall of books picking ones off the shelf and tossing the ones that don’t interest him over his shoulder.

“Could you not do that,” a voice says from behind him. “I’m no neat freak and I’ve been known to toss around a book or two, but I do hate to see quality first editions thrown about.”

Alexander turns around and there in a deep red sitting chair is probably the most attractive man he’s seen in his many centuries of existence. The man is sat lazily across the chair like a lounging cat, a very attractive lounging cat. His lean, chiseled chest and arms are a vision in a black button up mesh shirt with a floral pattern, his strong legs in a pair of well-tailored navy pants send Alexander’s eyes trailing up and down his form.

He’s not shy about his interest and the man clearly isn’t either as he gives Alexander’s all black suit ensemble an appreciative up and down glance as well.

Alexander is so thrown by the man’s appearance that it takes him a full minute to realize he doesn’t know who he is or how he’s here.

“Who are you?” he says with a teasing smirk before turning to put the book in his hand back on the shelf properly.

“I should be asking you that question,” the man says suddenly right by Alexander’s side. He didn’t even hear him move. “You are in my house.”

Alexander hums in understanding eyeing the man up and down once again now that he’s standing, he’s only a bit shorter than Alexander and up close he can now admire the sharp line of his dark eyeliner and the deep blue streak at the front of his dark hair. He looks around the room next, the style matching.

“That makes sense,” he says stepping closer, but not quite touching the other man. “Lorenzo must be a pretty good friend if you’re willing to have a demon roommate.”

The man makes a disgusted face, his brown eyes switching to bright yellow cat eyes that glow with anger. He’s a warlock too.

“Never call Lorenzo Rey my friend,” he says stepping away from Alexander. The suspenders dangling from his waist move tantalizingly as he goes and Alexander has to hold in a growl at the view. He may be a demon, but he also likes to be a bit of gentlemen which is the only thing that keeps him from grabbing the suspenders and pulling the man close.

“The bastard did kill me after all,” the man says with unbridled rage. He bends down, Alexander appreciating the view for a moment despite his surprise at the man’s words, and attempts to pick up the book on the floor. His hand goes right through it.

Alexander sits his drink aside and bends down beside him picking up the book. He reaches over the man sitting it on the table beside the chair.

“I’m Alexander,” he says holding out his hand.

The man looks at it skeptically.

“You know I’ll just go right through that right?” he says gesturing at Alexander’s offered hand. “Plus, I wasn’t born yesterday, never shake a demon’s hand you never know what deal they’re cooking up in their heads.”

Alexander smirks drawing his hand back. He had no ulterior motives, this time, other than to hope that maybe a ghost of a warlock and a demon can touch.

“Smart and beautiful, huh,” he says standing to his full height. The man joins him an imperceptible bit of flustering in his cheeks that he recovers from quickly.

“I’m Magnus Bane,” he says walking with grace back over to the chair and draping himself across it once again. “And the only thing I can touch is furniture.”

Alexander unbuttons his jacket and takes a seat in the opposing chair.

“Nice to meet you Magnus Bane,” he says grabbing for his bottle again. “So, you hate Lorenzo too?”

Magnus snorts at that. “Hate is an understatement; he was a thorn in my side for centuries and then when he couldn’t win over enough people to take my High Warlock post he killed me, which for the record had he not caught me off guard by weaseling into my home after I’d been on a night out drunk off my ass and stabbed me in the neck from behind he would have never pulled it off. Then he trapped me in my home with no magic and no way out.”

Alexander tosses the last of the whiskey in the bottle back.

“Well he just trapped me here,” Alexander says crossing his legs.

“You aren’t the first,” Magnus says running a hand through his hair. It draws Alexander’s attention to his biceps. “He’s used my home for this before, you must be stronger than the others though because he just killed them to get out of his deals.”

“I am,” Alexander says with bravado, the bravado that he uses to intimidate, but not to scare, a bravado that clearly doesn’t intimidate Magnus if the way he rolls his eyes are anything to go by. Alexander likes that he’s not intimidated, it’s different from everyone else’s reactions. “I’ve worked very hard to make sure warlocks think me a lower level demon without a face, not a demon somewhere in the middle with this killer physique.” He finishes gesturing to his body; his eyes slip to their natural black seductively.

“And yet you’re still trapped here,” Magnus says with a sardonic smile and Alexander can’t help but grin in response.

They talk for a little while longer. Trading basic information about the house and how they got here. As far as the outside world is concerned Magnus died in a horrible potion gone wrong accident nearly two years ago, the once vibrant potion room still blown to smithereens.

Where Lorenzo lacks in technical skill or raw power he makes up for with dirty tricks, leaving no trace of anything for anyone to find. Even Magnus’ closest friends who’d worked hard to poke holes in the story couldn’t find a single thing to question about his death.

“As far as I can tell only demons can see me, Lorenzo only figured out I was still lingering because the first demon he trapped here had a big mouth,” he explains wandering in circles around the room passing through the walls occasionally. “He worked up a spell to bind my spirit hear just in case after that.”

Alexander tests his powers coming up with almost nothing at every snap of his fingers, it’s a far too damn good binding. Lorenzo had to have had some help, there’s no way someone with a ponytail that slimy could do this by himself. When Alexander poses the theory Magnus is already ahead of him with a list of possible accomplices.

“He’s built up enough dirt to blackmail plenty of people over the years, but those three are the prime suspects, the weakest in backbone, but strongest in power,” Magnus says.

Night turns into day and into night again as they talk, neither the ghost nor the demon requiring sleep. It’s after all those hours that Alexander feels it’s time to pose a deal.

“Make a deal with me,” he says and he can see the no on Magnus’ lips already. He continues quickly before Magnus can fight it. “I’m sure I can muster up enough power to seal a deal, make you corporeal again and grant you access to your magic, all you’ll have to do for me is get me out of here in exchange.”

Magnus looks like he’s considering it for a moment, like the prospect of having his magic again is enough to make him say yes.

“Not a chance,” he says, putting his hands on his hips and for the first time in hours not pacing. “There’s always a catch when you deal with a demon. Especially one as pretty as you.”

Alexander smiles, a real smile at the pretty comment, but doesn’t love the rest of what he said.

“There’s no catch,” he says as genuinely as he knows how to sound.  Magnus doesn’t buy it though.

“Bullshit, there’s always a catch,” he says and with that he’s out the door, or through it more so off to some other part of the house.

Alexander lets out a frustrated groan, pushing his hands through his hair.

***

Alexander determines quickly that pushing the deal idea will only make Magnus more opposed to it, so he steps back. If Magnus is hesitant to help him well he’s just going to have to bide his time.

He doesn’t mention getting out of the house or Lorenzo at all, instead he just asks about Magnus. It starts as a game, a game to get Magnus to go along with his plan, but quickly he finds himself interested in who Magnus is not just how he looks and how he could help him.

He tells Magnus about himself in return, about his style of being a demon, how he’s called on more often by bad people than good and he happily takes their souls. How he’s kinder to the kids who stumble on things and call upon him for vengeance or something of the sort. He’s not trying to soften himself to Magnus necessarily, but he’s trying to show him how he deals, how Magnus lands on the side of good and he wouldn’t screw him over.

“What are you playing at?” Magnus asks him late one evening when Alexander starts off the night trading off stories of deals gone wrong. Magnus doesn’t flinch when he tells a story about a mundane that asked for a pet hellhound that ultimately ate him, so Alexander pushes and asks for a little more than just the surface Magnus and gets a few stories in return. Stories about how he grew up, about some of his wilder adventures in the 50’s and 60’s, even one about the 1480’s which Alexander is fairly certain isn’t true.  

“I’m not playing at anything,” he says meaning it, he’s really not anymore. Or if he is it’s on the backburner of his mind. “Well, I do play piano though.” He says swerving the subject and gesturing to the piano at the corner of the library, he’s explored a bit, but in the two weeks he’s been stuck here he’s rarely left this room.

He walks over to the piano and sits down playing his fingers over the keys.

“Do you play?” he asks as he plays out a quick short melody.

Magnus joins him sliding over to sit on top of the piano and lay across it on his side. He leans over between where Alexander’s hands are and goes right through the keys. Alexander’s hands move in closer to Magnus’ and he quickly jumps his hand back. He keeps doing that, never letting Alexander get close to even see if they could touch, like he’s scared what it would mean if they could.

“Nope, not even when I could touch the keys,” he explains. “A friend of mine does, I bought it for him when he was staying here for a while.”

“A good friend?” Alexander asks playing another soft melody. He’s a little jealous at the mention of a man who lived here, he’s figured out Magnus is bisexual by now so there could be an implication there. It’s ridiculous even if they were more than a friend it’s not like Alexander has any right to be jealous of an ex, he’s not exactly a blushing virgin demon himself or that he and Magnus are anything more than unwilling, ridiculously good looking roommates.

“More like a brother,” he says and Alexander feels a little relieved. “Or a son I guess considering how young he was when he was turned.”

Alexander raises an eyebrow in question.

“Vampire,” Magnus explains. “He struggled a bit with the change and I took him in.” He sounds sad thinking about the people he’s left behind, Alexander has a feeling this vampire he’s talking about is one of the friends that fought to question if Magnus was really dead.

Alexander nods in understanding, he’s always been a fan of vampires, they’re smart enough to never coming calling on the likes of him for favors.

He goes back to playing, a melody he only barely knows from at least four centuries ago the last time he spent longer than a few short days on earth. This time is far more enjoyable though, that had been a few days of watching the mayhem mundanes caused without any divine intervention, this has been an admittedly frustrating time of being trapped, but being trapped with a man who intrigues him to no end.

***

Weeks pass and Lorenzo never dares show his face in the house again. He makes do though, spending time with Magnus, reading some of his favorite books both in the quiet alone and occasionally aloud just to see Magnus smile.

Despite contrary belief, demons do feel emotion, not easily and not often, but they do feel. Alexander has a fondness for another demon he thinks of as a sister, he’s cared for lovers in the past even if he’s never truly fallen for them, but Magnus Bane makes him feel even more.

Demon’s fall in love rarely, but when they do they fall hard. Their names get echoed in whispers forever about the things they gave up for mere love. The more time he spends with Magnus the more he thinks he’s going end up being one of those whispered names.

Magnus is tough to get a read on sometimes though, he’s open as a book with no binding one moment and then locked as tight as a safe that no one knows the combination to the next. Alexander understands it though, end of the day he’s a demon and getting close to a demon is always to be done with caution.

It doesn’t stop Alexander from flirting to his heart’s content and hoping that his more genuine side shines through.

He spends the time he’s not wooing Magnus wandering through the house, he never goes anywhere Magnus asks him not to, respecting his privacy, but he searches around nonetheless. He even cleans, getting the two years worth of dust off of every surface.

Today he finds himself in the basement, a large empty space it seems aside from the big freezer off to left. He sighs, running his hands along the freezer before lifting it open.

His eyes go wide when he looks inside, there nestled between a few bags of ice is Magnus, or Magnus’ body at least, eyes closed, the hole in his neck from where Lorenzo stabbed him unmissable.

“Holy shit,” he says staring down.

“Such a cliché right?” Magnus says suddenly appearing over his shoulder. “Murdered and tossed in a freezer.”

“This fucker is a regular Hannibal Lector, huh?” Alexander says looking at Magnus now, not his frozen body.

Magnus chuckles. “Blissfully, he’s never cooked any part of me,” he says with a smile.

“Why’d he keep your body?” Alexander asks cocking his hip and leaning against the freezer.

Magnus shrugs mirroring Alexander’s position.

“Not sure, at first I thought he was going to use my blood for some ritual or something, it’s not every day you get your hands on the blood of the son of a greater demon,” he pauses eyeing Alexander like he’s trying to gauge his reaction about the casual reveal. Alexander’s a demon himself, he’s not about to judge. “But instead he just keeps me down here instead of getting rid of the evidence, he doesn’t even bother with glamouring the freezer anymore.”

Magnus stares down at his frozen form longingly. Alexander could probably muster up the power to get rid of it if Magnus asked him to, but he also knows that if they ever plan to get their revenge on Lorenzo having Magnus’ body still here could be an advantage.

There’s also the completely selfish reasoning that if Magnus’ body still exists Alexander could possibly touch him one day.

He shuts the freezer tightly, careful of Magnus’ fingers even though he wouldn’t even feel a pinch if they landed on him and slides down to sit on the floor his back against it. Magnus joins him keeping a good distance between them, but not nearly as much as he usually does.

They sit quietly for a while just sharing space.

“I’m sorry this happened to you,” Alexander says after a while. He’s genuine and he can tell from the look in Magnus’ eye that he recognizes that now.

Magnus isn’t a perfect person, there’s a darkness in him, in his past, but he’s good down in his core. Far too good to end up dead and stuffed in freezer, trapped as a ghost in his own home spending his days with a demon.

“You’re awfully nice for a demon, Alexander,” Magnus says tilting his head back against the freezer and then towards Alexander.

Alexander huffs. “I wouldn’t exactly call me nice.”

Magnus shakes his head. “You are,” he says lifting his hand like he wants to reach out but can’t. Which technically he can’t Alexander guesses. “You try to hide it, but you’re not one of those demons who just kills indiscriminately. You’ve said it yourself you take deals with bad people and take everything you can, you take deals with good people and go a little easy. You may be a demon, but there’s a good heart in there.”

Alexander doesn’t know what to say to that, he’s always considered himself a demon with a conscious at best, not one with a heart, so he just lays a hand on top of Magnus’ that sits on the cold floor in thanks. Magnus’ hand flickers for a moment almost like it wants to be solid, a brief rush of warmth passing through them both before Alexander’s hand hits the cold floor.

“Well I’ll be damned,” he says knowing from the surprise on Magnus’ face he felt that too.

Magnus meets his eyes, the yellow cat ones always present now, and a smile pulls at his lips just barely concealing his amusement at the unintended pun.

***

They don’t really talk about the moment in the basement. The physics or magic behind how it could feel almost like touch between them probably isn’t recorded anywhere anyway, it’s not like demons and ghosts of warlocks historically spend a lot of time together.

They’re probably the first duo of their kind in history.

But it is like a silent agreement has been made, a barrier has been broken. Magnus doesn’t shy away anymore or disappear for hours on end without a word, he talks a little more, telling stories that don’t feel like they’re made up and Alexander does the same in return.

They get each other, and it’s clear that not many have ever gone out of their way to get who Magnus is, Alexander wants to find them all and curse them. A plan that he knows Magnus wouldn’t judge him for, he’s a demon there’s no getting around that he’s done diabolical things and he likely will again, but Magnus seems to understand him. To understand his motivations and the fact that he’s not all bad, he’s more gray than anything else.

He warms up a little more to Alexander once he understands how he operates, especially when he tells him he loves to give counteroffers to people who are the targets of other vicious dealers.

“Just because I’m designed to be wicked, doesn’t mean I think other people should be allowed to be,” he says one night lying on the floor, Magnus draped across a nearby couch.

“Kind of like the way they say Lucifer doesn’t make man evil, he just punishes the ones who do it,” Magnus says in thought and Alexander smiles a real smile, because he gets it.

Through it all he almost forgets about the fact that he’s trapped, that they’re both still looking for revenge until Magnus brings it up again one day.

Alexander steps out of the bathroom attached to Magnus’ bedroom, a room he’s now been granted access to. The water still runs, and even though he doesn’t necessarily need to he loves a good shower from time to time in the same way he loves a good nap even if it’s not needed either.

He steps out his hair still wet wearing the same pants he’s been wearing since he got stuck here and a dark red shirt with a gold embroidered collar that is actually Magnus’, a little big in the arms he rolls up the too short sleeves when he spots Magnus lying flat on the bed one leg bent up.

His eyes trail down his form, aside from the few pictures he’s been shown and seen around the house, he’s only ever seen Magnus in this one outfit and damn is it a good outfit. The lines of his abs are visible underneath his sheer shirt and Alexander loves to soak up the image.

Magnus lifts up when he notices Alexander standing there moving to sit cross legged with a smile.

“You never asked?” he says out of nowhere no context provided.

“Asked?” Alexander questions moving to sit next to him on the bed.

“About my father, I said the whole blood of a greater demon’s son thing and you just never asked,” Magnus explains.

Alexander shrugs. “To be frank, I don’t give a fuck who your father is, I give fuck who you are,” he says letting that emotion he feels more and more of these days slip through. It’s probably doomed to fall in love with a ghost, but he’s gone and done it anyways. “Plus, honestly most greater demons are assholes.”

He says the second part as a joke, but Magnus doesn’t laugh. He just looks at Alexander stunned and if he’s reading him right grateful.

“Asmodeus,” he whispers and Alexander purses his lips in thought.

“Yup, absolute asshole,” he says with a smirk.

Magnus laughs finally, the laugh that Alexander was hoping to get out of him.

“So you’ve met then,” he says still laughing.

Alexander shakes his head, they’re from different hell dimensions so they don’t exactly run into each other at bars.

“Sort of, only in passing once about three centuries ago when I got into a bit of a scuffle with one of Lilith’s lackeys, and I wasn’t impressed,” he says. “I’m far more impressed with his son.” He adds with a smile reaching out and running his hand along Magnus’ jaw. The same thing that happened in the basement happens, a moment of solid warmth that’s almost real before his hand falls through and back to his own side.

Magnus stares at his fallen hand his face twisted in thought before he lifts his eyes back up.

“What exactly would your terms for a deal be?” Magnus asks and it throws Alexander for a second. He’s barely thought about the idea of a deal between them in months. “Could you really make me corporeal and put my magic back?”

“Well, when I first posed it I’ll admit the second part was a theory, your magical essence lives in your body not your spirit,” he explains. “But, that was before I knew your body was still here, it’s even easier, I just put you back where you belong.”

“You mean like raise me from the dead?” Magnus says skeptically. It’s good he’s skeptic, necromancy is no joke for anyone.

“Not exactly, I don’t fuck with necromancy it always goes bad in the end. But your body and your spirit could reconnect, as could your magic,” he explains, he’s done it once before, so long ago he barely remembers. A deal made for a young warlock who’d lost her adoptive warlock mother. As far as he knows they’re still happy and alive-ish.

“And since he only bound my spirit in these walls, put it back in my body and he can’t hold me or my magic here anymore,” he says, then pauses. “Is it permanent?”

“It can be,” Alexander nods, hoping Magnus wants it to be. He deserves to be as alive as he can be for as long as possible. “It’s not exactly like being a vampire or a zombie, but somewhere in between. You’d essentially be like me, blood in your veins, heartbeat in your chest but no need to live by the rules of any downworlder or mundane anymore. Your immortality will return, but let’s just say it’ll take a lot more than a sneak attack to kill you. Food, sleep, all these things become optional.”

Magnus considers him for a moment scrunching up his face adorably in deep thought.

“What would you need in return?”

“Nothing,” Alexander says. It’s completely unconventional, but it’s true. Revenge against Lorenzo is still important, but Magnus has become far more important.

“Nope,” Magnus says and Alexander goes to defend himself. Magnus cuts him off a finger hovering above his lips. “It’s not that I don’t believe you, I do, but a deal needs to be just that a deal.”

Alexander rolls his eyes, but concedes.

“Fine, dinner, you and me, one dinner, one date, no requirements except I’m buying,” he says with a wicked little smile.

“Just dinner?”

“Yup,” he says popping the p and licking his lips. He’d also like a few things after dinner, he’s spent many a night thinking about getting his hands under that sheer shirt and into those tight pants, but he’s confident enough to believe those things can be given freely and willingly whenever Magnus is ready.

“Okay, then we have a deal,” Magnus says after a few long moments of silence and consideration. He holds out a hand and Alexander takes it best he can, the almost touch must be enough, because Alexander feels the ties that bind a demon’s deal lock into place.

He stands from the bed gesturing for Magnus to follow and goes to the basement swinging open the freezer. Magnus looks down at his frozen form and gulps.

“Ready?” Alexander asks summoning all his accessible power to one point. He hasn’t used a bit of his available power this entire time, saving it for a moment like this. Magnus nods gripping the edge of the freezer. Alexander wishes he could hold his hand. He snaps and Magnus’ spirit disappears, for a deafening few second he’s worried it didn’t work until slowly the color returns to Magnus’ face the ice on his eyelashes and fingertips melting away and the gaping hole in his neck healing back together.

Magnus sits up gasping in a deep breath of air that he no longer technically requires.

Alexander reaches out placing a hand on Magnus’ jaw, there’s no flickering, just solid, freezing cold skin beneath his hand. He runs his hand down to where the neck wound had been, now just a slightly raised white scar against tan skin.

“I’m fucking freezing,” Magnus says reaching up a hand to grip Alexander’s. He laughs pulling back and holding out his hands for Magnus to take. He helps him out of the freezer. Magnus shivers as Alexander closes the freezer tight before pulling Magnus into a hug. They stay there for a long time just holding onto one another, reveling in the touch before Magnus declares he absolutely needs to change his clothes.

“I love this outfit, and clearly you do to,” he says with a shivering smirk. “But I’ve been wearing it every day for two years and I’m over it.”

He snaps his fingers tentatively, uncertainty in his eyes at the prospect of his magic working again, and the outfit Alexander has enjoyed the view of for months now disappears replaced with a whole new equally as stunning ensemble.

He looks down at himself with an unbelievable smile that turns into a wicked smirk on his lips that Alexander wants to kiss when he meets his eyes.

“So, revenge or dinner first?” he asks cheekily.

It takes everything in Alexander not to say dinner first.

***

Watching Magnus work his magic is more mesmerizing than Alexander could have ever imagined it to be.

His arms move swiftly, an entrancing spell of their own and Latin spills from his lips easily, the dep lilting tone of his voice executing each word more perfectly than the demons who invented the language eons ago.

Two years of not a single spell and it’s like it’s only been a few days since he last casted. Magnus eyes are alight with power, his strong shoulders carrying the weight of it all beautifully and with total grace. Alexander watches in awe as Magnus works his way into the walls breaking down the binds that hold Alexander here and limit his power.

A wave of blue magic spirals over the walls of the house and then cascades across Alexander’s skin. The burn against his skin soothes instantly, like Magnus’ magic is healing him even as it burns.

Magnus staggers a bit for a moment after he’s done and Alexander is instantly at his side. He rights himself quickly, his body clearly still acclimating to all being united once again.

“You okay?”

Magnus smiles at him and holds out a hand, “Better than ever. Shall we?”

Alexander takes his hand, now all warm to the touch with magic and blood flowing through him once again. Alexander gives a wicked smirk as he feels his own power flow through him and he snaps his fingers.

***

On the other side of his snap they land in Lorenzo Rey’s living room. His house is more like a castle and it’s hideous, Alexander is not surprised.

They don’t have an exact plan, per se, but they’ve agreed that he deserves a long game of torture, a miserable life trapped as something humiliating, not an easy death.

Lorenzo must feel the disturbance in his wards, he immediately rushes in hands glowing with balls of yellow magic. Magnus and Alec just roll their eyes, he’s no match for the two of them at full power.

“How the hell are you two here?” he says throwing a ball of magic at each of them. Alexander reaches out in front of Magnus and himself and catches the two balls easily in his hands. He shoots them back at Lorenzo’s feet causing him to yelp and jump back.

Magnus smiles and steps forward binding Lorenzo’s hands and feet in burning ropes. He tips over no longer able to keep himself standing. Magnus and Alexander walk over to where he struggles against his burning bonds, each of them standing on one side of Lorenzo.

Magnus twists his hand the ropes getting tighter.

“You really should have gotten rid of my body,” Magnus says crouching down. Alexander joins him.

“And you should have gotten some friends together to kill me,” he says with a no doubt evil smile. It’s a reminder that they still need to figure out who was helping him, he adds it to his mental checklist somewhere after this revenge show, dinner with Magnus and if he’s lucky some other fun with Magnus. “Not that you have any friends.” He adds, a little sharp burn just for fun.

“You can’t kill me, you kill me and the warlocks won’t ever let you have your position back,” Lorenzo spits out.

“Laws don’t apply to me, I can still kill you,” Alexander says gripping Lorenzo’s jaw in a painful hold. His eyes slip into their natural black from the hazel they often sport and he outright growls in anger. Fear lights up Lorenzo’s face.

“Alexander,” Magnus says softly reaching out to circle his wrist. He loosens his grip on Lorenzo and sighs.

“You’re right,” Magnus says diverting his attention to Lorenzo. He tightens the ropes once more just a little, tears forming in the corner of Lorenzo’s eyes. “I can’t kill you, at least not directly, but that’s okay, because I know for a fact that despite your murderous powerplay, Catarina still got the votes for High Warlock and I think she’s better suited for the job than anyone.”

“So no,” Magnus says going to his full height. “You won’t die today, not even by Alexander’s hand. Even though he doesn’t have some of the qualms I do about it,” he pauses smiling at Alexander who’s still crouched on the ground. He lifts a hand floating Lorenzo upright. “But you do have to pay, and I don’t think anyone warlock or otherwise is going to disagree with that.”

Magnus snaps his fingers again and Lorenzo screams. His body convulses, the scales he must hide behind a glamour showing through and then he drops to the ground. His bonds fall the burning ropes settling around a small ugly looking little lizard on the floor.

Alexander stands.

“Hm, he doesn’t look all that different,” Alexander muses eyeing the lizard on the floor. He tries to scurry away and Alexander steps out a foot catching him by the tail. Lizard Lorenzo shrivels back in pain.

Magnus chuckles and waves his hands a cage appearing before him. Magnus picks Lorenzo up and tosses him in unceremoniously, sealing the lid with a small gap for air. He waves his hand again sending Lorenzo off to the basement of his house, right on top of the freezer where he left Magnus’ body all this time.

“So, dinner?” he says stepping back over to Alexander and slipping an arm around his waist.

“Don’t you want to do a dramatic, I’m alive again reveal to your friends?” Alexander asks, knowing Magnus loves a thrill of dramatics every now and then.

“Sort of alive again,” Magnus corrects. Alexander waves the correction away, semantics. “And while I do love the idea, I want to seal this deal first.”

Magnus moves so he’s standing in front of Alexander. Alexander is back in his all black suit and Magnus reaches out fixing the collar of his jacket. He stays put cat eyes looking up directly into Alexander’s still black pools.

Alexander takes the silent invitation and leans in. Their lips meet and Alexander feels like he’s on fire in the best possible way, and he would know he’s been on fire literally before. Their lips and tongues do a dance that feels practiced like they’ve been doing this for centuries not just kissing for the first time. It’s crazy to realize this is only the fourth maybe fifth time they’ve even fully touched.

He’s not sure how long it takes for them to pull back but Magnus’ cat eyes are dilated and he’s sure if he went back to his own hazel ones they’d look much the same.

“Maybe we should skip dinner,” Magnus breathes leaning in to peck Alexander on the lips on more time.

Alexander shakes his head and even though it pains him to say his next words he does.

“Nope dinner first, a deal’s a deal,” he says with a smirk.

***

Six Months Later

Despite the deal being a mess Alexander’s deal with Lorenzo is still technically in place. Alexander does have free reign to stay on earth and stay he does. Dinner with Magnus is great, just being outside of the house is a freeing thing for both of them, but ironically they can’t wait to go back.

He ravishes Magnus’ body that night surrounded by deep red silk sheets and resolves to never sleep anywhere else. Not that either of them have to sleep anymore, it’s just nice to indulge in the act every now and then.

Magnus reveals his rebirth to his friends in particularly dramatic fashion, Alexander’s fairly certain that if a vampire had a still beating heart Raphael’s would have stopped dead in the moment. They welcome him back easily and welcome Alexander in a little more hesitantly.

He gets it, he still is a demon. He still makes deals and collects favors and souls from wicked people along the way there’s good reason to be wary.

They eventually warm up to him though, if for no other reason than the way Magnus looks at him.

They get to work on finding the warlock that helped Lorenzo. Ragnor turns out to be the one with the best lead. They don’t give Malcolm Fade the same fate as Lorenzo though, Lorenzo who last Alexander checked had been turned into a rat for a change Magnus torturing him a bit with a wheel and a treat on a stick he couldn’t reach. A good threat from a demon and a powerful warlock is more than enough to put Malcolm in his place.

Touching Magnus, being able to feel him, not just hear him and see him is like a revolution. Alexander just can’t get enough, life as a demon has left him touch starved and he craves Magnus like a plant craves the sun.

“Morning,” Alexander grumbles reaching out across the sheets. Magnus is already alert sitting up in bed with a book in his hand. Alexander’s fairly certain he didn’t sleep at all.  

“Good morning, love,” Magnus says running a hand through Alexander’s messy black hair. He sits up settling next to Magnus and resting his head on his shoulder.

“I had a weird dream,” Alexander says once he’s settled in comfortably. He doesn’t sleep often and he dreams even more rarely, but the more time he spends on earth the more dreams come. “You were a cyborg and I was a merman and we fell in love, but because you couldn’t get wet without malfunctioning we had to find a way to make it work, so we could be together.”

Magnus makes a face and twists away a bit, he grabs Alexander’s chin lightly and examines him. Alexander drops the hazel eyes and goes to full black and Magnus’ breath hitches just a bit, but always one to tease right back he drops his own glamour cat eyes shining with mirth.

“Because being a demon with a conscious and a ghost warlock, turned into an undead warlock isn’t a weird enough love story,” Magnus says, he leans in kissing Alexander once quickly before letting go of his chin. “No more late-night b-movies for you.”

“But I love them,” Alexander grumbles putting on his best big black puppy dog eyes, literally rolling the hazel ones he sports for the world away.

Magnus just rolls his eyes before tossing his book to the side and maneuvering himself so he’s sat on Alexander’s lap. His legs bracket his hips and he leans in pressing his forehead to Alexander’s.

“I love you,” he says bringing his arms up around Alexander’s neck.

“I love you too,” Alexander says, a feeling he never thought he’d feel like this. He pulls Magnus closer, locking their bodies tight together, forever.

[brasskier]

@badthingshappenbingo​ trope #4!

Trope: Concussion

Summary: Jaskier feels like a detective, albeit a clumsy, scrambled-eggs-for-brains kinda detective. He has two mysteries on his plate at the moment - why is Geralt in a bad mood, and why won't his brain cooperate? (Hint: perhaps it has something to do with hitting his head that morning.)

Read on my ao3 or below the cut:

Jaskier probably should've told Geralt when he slipped and smashed his head into a rock on the riverbank coming back up from his morning bath, or should've at least known it was bad when bright worms of light started squiggling in his peripheral and words suddenly got a lot harder to string together. And maybe he would've, if he wasn't so intent on figuring out why Geralt was in such a piss-poor mood that morning. He felt like a detective - albeit a clumsy, scrambled-eggs-for-brains kinda detective - stringing together clues and occasionally nudging the witcher along with leading questions, at least when he could get his brain, lips, and tongue to all cooperate. 

Unfortunately, Jaskier was doing about as well at solving the mystery of Geralt the extra-grumpy witcher as he was figuring out what was going on in his own skull. It'd happened once when he was a boy, falling out of a twisty, too-tall tree. His father, may he rest in peace, didn't notice until Jaskier, uncharacteristically silent, stared vacantly past him— until that point he'd been more preoccupied scolding him for ruining yet another fine pair of trousers. (His parents paid good money for those things, but he was pretty sure maybe they should've learned by that point and stopped dressing him up in finery before releasing him into the world.) 

Speaking of, he could use a new pair of pants. Maybe once they made it to the next town he could find a seamstress, maybe even invest in a nice new doublet as well. Geralt always pretended he found such purchases frivolous and vain, all huffy and monosyllabic, but Jaskier knew full well it put him in a good mood to have something to tease Jaskier for.

Good mood. Right. He was supposed to be figuring out why he was in a decidedly not good mood. He was supposed to… well, he really didn't know past that. His thoughts flitted about his head like a chicken desperate to escape its coop, and this thought made him giggle to himself, picturing his squishy brain with a beak and feathers squawking about.

"Jaskier?" He glanced up at the witcher that had reclaimed his attention, finding it distinctly difficult to track his movements as he bobbed along on his horse. "Did you listen to a thing I said?" Well, that was a silly question, Jaskier thought, because in order for him to listen, Geralt would've had to have said something. His mind trapped like a stuck cog on how to put this minor incongruence into words, and the witcher glared at him in the space of his tenuous silence. 

"How could I?" He asked finally, head tilted to parallel the uncertainty etched in his tone.

"With your ears," Geralt deadpanned, and Jaskier grimaced under the frustration of his misunderstanding.

"No, that's not— I meant— you didn't—" he attempted to elaborate, but once again found his brain, flighty as a hummingbird, refused to put thoughts to language. Geralt slowed Roach to a halt, and only then did Jaskier realize he'd at some point stopped walking. He wasn't too sure when that happened, but he was sure he had to start again, because Geralt was already in a bad mood and the uneasy threat of abandonment always loomed thick. 

This, in hindsight, might've been a mistake. The trees spun, ground tilting ominously like a ship caught in a storm, and Jaskier staggered with the rhythm of it. This, finally, mercifully, seemed to tip off Geralt and his fancy-schmancy witcher senses that something wasn't right. 

"Jaskier?" He called, and he still sounded decidedly disgruntled. This wasn't good; Jaskier was supposed to be getting him in a better mood, not making things worse. He'd even been quiet for a change (moreso due to his tongue's uncooperativeness than any conscious choice on his part, not that Geralt needed to know this detail). 

The witcher swung a leg off the saddle, dismounted with the grace of a cat. (Which was funny; wasn't Geralt supposed to be a wolf? Didn't Geralt's brother know a cat witcher? Maybe cat witchers were even more graceful, like ballerinas; Geralt would never do ballet.) This thought would've also made Jaskier giggle, but he was hesitant to unclamp his jaw at the moment, fearful that more than words might spill past it.

"Jaskier?" It was more urgent this time, which Jaskier vaguely recognized was not good, but couldn't quite recall why. When he managed to force his eyes to focus for a split second, Geralt was in front of him, before the forest swelled again and swallowed him with it. He pressed a hand over his eyes, in the vain hope blindness might put an end to the spinning; he had no such luck, and found himself drifting even in the darkness. 

"Mmm?" He hummed, which was usually Geralt's line, but he was determined to keep up the tight-lipped defiance of his own body. He felt a hand scrape his forehead, shifting his carefully mussed hair, and then move down to cup his chin between two fingers. It was a gruff, economic movement; Jaskier, in his self-imposed darkness, pretended it was tender.

"What's wrong with you?" Even Geralt's voice seemed to be swimming, tilting forward and back with each strangely distorted syllable. What isn't, Jaskier wanted to joke in return, snicker a little at Geralt's frustration. But he couldn't, at least not without giving into opening his mouth, and besides, Geralt was already in a bad mood. Instead, he shrugged, a turn of phrase about tables that turned flitting through his thoughts, and he surely felt like he was on a turning table, not that any tables Jaskier had ever seen were exactly known for turning. 

"Is it your throat?" It was a reasonable line of thought for Geralt to stroll down, to be fair, considering the whole thing with the djinn. Gods, how he wished he had a djinn right now, less-than-stellar experience aside. If he had one, there'd be none of that bloody Valdo Marx bullshit; no, instead the forest wouldn't spin anymore, his brain and tongue would cooperate, and Geralt would be in a good mood. 

Jaskier really was doing a shit job of uplifting Geralt's spirits, wasn't he? At the very least, he'd managed to tease out the source of his foul temper; at present, it was Jaskier himself. He risked a peek out into the world again, found concerned amber eyes tucked under a tight scowl tilting like a leaf in the wind, and promptly squeezed them shut again. Oh, yeah. Geralt had asked him a question— what was it? Ah, it was gone now, too late. He shook his head, hoping he was actually answering. This was a mistake, because it sent stars erupting in the darkness and an unbidden groan worming its way past his lips. 

"What, Jaskier?" Geralt sounded even more exasperated, if such a thing were possible, and Jaskier flung a hand up to press over his mouth, as if that might help whatsoever; it didn't. 

"No— fuck, I'm—" In one clumsy motion he managed to tear himself back and away from Geralt, jerk to the side, and stumble over his own two feet and onto his knees just in time to escape vomiting on Geralt's boots. That was good; vomit on his boots would've really pissed him off. The weathered hand that had earlier cupped his chin (Jaskier could still feel the ghost of it on his skin) came to sit heavy between his shoulder blades. This touch not even Jaskier could make feel gentle.

"Okay," Geralt hummed, somewhere to his side. "Alright, okay." Was this Geralt's attempt at being soothing? How Jaskier wished he could tell him he appreciated it; maybe later, when his stomach wasn't still bucking uncooperatively like a spooked horse. This was funny, too; Roach in his stomach, kicking and snorting, but Jaskier was beginning to get tired of silly tangents.

Come to think of it, Jaskier was just tired, his limbs suddenly heavy, pounding in his skull coming into sharp focus. The hand migrated up to his collar, no doubt to tug him back upright, but he wrenched free and let himself drop to the dirt before Geralt had the chance. A nap sounded absolutely divine at the moment, and he was beginning to think he couldn't care less whether the witcher stuck around to wait it out or not. (This last detail was, patently, an absolute lie, and Jaskier knew it full well even as the thought first pattered into his consciousnesses.)

Geralt rolled him over, flipped him on his side, and this was both a small mercy (he hadn't been abandoned) and a horrendous blight (the sun glaring directly into his eyes, even as he pressed a clumsy hand to cover them again.) Another callused hand swiped across his forehead, his cheek, made its way down his neck and pried back his doublet. Jaskier wasn't sure what Geralt was looking for, and he also didn't particularly think he'd find it, whatever it was. 

"There's no fever," Geralt announced, as if this were some grand discovery, a breakthrough in medical sciences. "Something you ate?" Ah, so now Geralt was playing detective, and Jaskier had all but given up on his case; another reversal of roles. Well, maybe at the very least Jaskier could give him better clues, or at least try.

"Head," he groaned, rolling back onto his side, cool dirt not unpleasant against his skin. This time, no hands tugged at him, but instead Geralt gave a soft hum, barely distinguishable from the ringing in his ears. "Hurts," he tacked on because, while it might've been implied, with Geralt it never hurt to be explicit. 

"Now we're getting somewhere." That thrice-damned hand returned again, worked its way through his hair, dragging along every bump and curve until he scuffed against a half-healed scab and a sharp pain ricocheted through Jaskier's skull. He recoiled, writhing for a moment before curling even tighter into himself. "When did you hit your head?" That was a good question, because Jaskier wasn't all too sure anymore if he even had.

"Dunno," he mumbled. Now if only Geralt could put a pause to the interrogation so he might be afforded the small mercy of dying in peace. “River?”

"Helpful." Footsteps, echoing through the dirt and drilling through his head with each heavy footfall, further and further and further away until he could only feel, not hear, them. This was fine. Not the end he felt truly befit a heroic bard of his renown, but humble enough to satisfy him nonetheless. Just him and the trees as he returned to the earth from whence he was borne. 

Then those blasted footsteps returned, those hands hoisted him, and he was face-first on the scratchy wool of his bedroll. He nuzzled against it, like a cat (he really needed to ask Geralt for the name of that cat witcher his brother knew). 

"You have a concussion." A light flickered to life somewhere in his brain at this revelation. One of his grand mysteries, finally come to its disappointingly anticlimactic conclusion. He still didn't know why Geralt had been in such a piss-poor mood, but he decided that was a puzzle for another time, letting his breath even out with impending sleep.

"Jaskier, I need to know you understand me, okay?" As soft as his words were, Jaskier couldn't help but find it incredibly rude of him to interrupt his much-needed and well-deserved rest. If he kept pushing it, Jaskier thought, perhaps Geralt would be having to solve the mystery of why he was grumpy.

"Mmm, okay." This earned him another pat on the shoulder, as gentle a touch as anything Jaskier could ever hope for. 

"I'll need to wake you periodically to make sure you don't lose what little wit you have," Geralt informed him, "but you can rest now." He felt like a sinking ship, overcome with warmth. Loose-limbed and giddy, he jutted out a clumsy hand and flailed blindly until it flopped against Geralt's arm, and he latched on. "Just tell me next time you hit your head."

"Thank you," he managed to get out on the tail end of a breath, slurred with exhaustion, disappointed when the witcher carefully extracted his wrist from his grip. A blanket settled on top of him, and he fumbled to tug it closer. 

"Just sleep." Needing no convincing, Jaskier did as he was told. And in his dreams, Geralt was in a good mood, and he could still feel the ghost of his hand on that patch of skin on his chin. 

[the32ndbeat]

《12:59am》 - Mafia!Ten

You could barely contain your nerves as you stood just right outside the door to the grand suite. Your hands were trembling madly and you felt a bead of cold sweat roll down your back. Dread crept in and there was deep sinking feeling in your chest as you took a deep breath, closing your eyes as you did so. Balling your hands into tight fists to keep them from shaking, you stared intently at the door in front of you.

It may look like just a typical door to an outsider but you knew better. You knew who was behind that door and what awaited you in the room. Reaching out to knock on the door, you stopped short just before your fist could touch it.

What if you just ran away now? Would they be able to catch up?

It was an extremely tempting thought and for a moment you actually considered fleeing before you felt a chill running down your spine at the thought of the consequences should you get caught. You would not live to see another day.

“Are you just going to stand outside like some sort of idiot?” Came a singsong voice from behind the door which startled you.

“He knows I’m here already. I can’t leave even if I want to,” you thought to yourself.

“C-Can I come in?” You croaked out, your voice wavering.

“Anytime you’re ready, princess. Door’s unlocked.” This time his tone was seductive and sultry and if you weren’t in the situation you’re currently in, you would have found his voice to be extremely alluring.

“Ok.” You said, trying to contain your nerves as you pushed open the door only to be greeted by darkness.

“H-Hello?”

“Close the door behind you.” The same voice chimed from the darkness.   As you closed the door behind you, you could feel the heavy pounding of your heart. What was going on? Why is everything so dark?

“Hm, 12:59am. Not bad, you’re punctual.”

“I try to be all the time.” You replied softly.

You could hear the smirk in his voice as he said, “Really? I like that. You’re obedient.”

“I-”

“Do you know why you’re here today?” He interjected.

Timidly, you nodded your head. There was a figure at the balcony although it was too dark to make out his features.

“Yes, I think.”

“You think?” He scoffed. “What did your folks tell you?”

“They t-told me that you’re supposed to b-be my fiancé and we are going to g-g-get married? We are to try t-to get to know each other tonight.” The last word came out as a whisper as your face started to burn. Somehow saying it out loud felt more shameful than it sounded. The crazy thing was, you didn’t even know who he was but all you knew was that this marriage to this man was necessary in order to ensure the survival of your family’s failing business.

There was no other choice. The bank was no longer a viable option and your family have long exhausted your trust fund. Driven to their wits end, your family could only resort to turning to the mafia for financial loans on one surprising condition.

You were to marry the mafia boss's son.

On hindsight, it was certainly a decision you objected to but seeing your parents in such emotional and mental stress, you had accepted the deal in a heartbeat. Thus, here you were. In a strange, grand hotel room with a fiancé you’ve never met in your life.

You could see his shadow approaching you and for a brief moment when he stood under the moonlight, you could see the glint in his dark eyes and the definitions of his features. Despite yourself, you found yourself enamoured with the mystery behind this man. Even with a brief glance, you saw that he had the most enthralling cat like eyes with a tattoo over his chest, peeking out from his slightly unbuttoned black silk shirt.

“That’s all?”

It was a split second before you felt his hand on your face, cupping it as he lifted it to take a closer look at. As he did, his face was illuminated by the silvery beams of moonlight and you almost felt your heart stop upon seeing his face.

He was beautiful, with the most enchanting eyes ever that seemed to pierce right into your soul. His dark hair was slicked back cooly, giving him an overall distinguished and sensual aura.

“Yes...”

“Interesting,” his eyes had a mischievous glint in them. “Pity, my plans are far from that.”

You felt a pang of anticipation suddenly hit you, your core tightening at his words. How was he making you feel this way so effortlessly? Just who is he?

“W-who are you?” You choked out.

The man raised an eyebrow at you quizzically before his expression relaxed into a small smile although you could feel a dark aura radiating off him from underneath that smile.

“You can call me Ten. You’re y/n, aren’t you?” He spoke softly and you flinched as he leaned in close.

“Yes.”

“Beautiful. Stunning. What a goddess.” He whispered under his breath as he pulled you to him, your chest pressed up against him.

Alarmed, you were shocked at his sudden action but what shocked you even more was the fact that you simply melded into his touch. It was as if your body was reacting by itself, according to your subconscious. Part of you feels like it’s wrong but a greater part of you may have already been completely smitten by Ten already.

You stiffened as you felt his hand run down your back and settle on your bottom, squeezing it and eliciting a moan from you.

Ten made a hissing sound through his teeth at that.

“Just like that, you’re already moaning?”

You couldn’t even speak as you felt his other hand move to your breast and his lips starting to rain chaste kisses on your neck. You would never have thought this would happen upon meeting Ten. Yet as much as you hated to admit it, you enjoyed what he was doing to you and the last thing you wanted was for him to stop.

So much for wanting to flee earlier.

“Fair warning,” He said as he pushed you down on the bed, the moonlight bringing out the sharp contrasts of his delicate features as he stood before you, his pants already starting to strain from his arousal.

“I don’t like to play nice.” Ten whispered, leaning down and kissing you deep on the mouth, his hands already roaming everywhere and undressing you.

“I’m a bad kind of player.”

[writing-fool]

mlqc | special kind of sadness

I’ve been having strange dreams lately. Maybe it’s because of the quarantine, or maybe because of my messed up sleep schedule. I don’t actually have severe nightmares, but somehow an idea for Victor + nightmares came up. It was going to be very short, so I included other types of comforting scenarios. Ahh...besides that, you might have noticed my url is writing-fool, right? It’s actually based off of a Korean song called Swimming Fool. But I think it fits with MLQC too, what with Lucien calling us ‘his little fool’ sometimes~ What a happy coincidence...

Love,

R.

Warning(s): TW! Lucien’s scenario includes a panic attack. 

Victor

You’re all about showing the world that you’re a grown woman with big girl pants on. You’re especially keen on proving to Victor that you can handle yourself, thank you very much. Even though he’s supposed to be your soft, loving boyfriend, he seems to grow stricter the longer you’re together.

“Really? You’re not capable of being a producer if you can’t even get these reports done.” Ouch. Your life doesn’t seem to be getting easier anytime soon.

So...you chalk it up as a grave, grave moment of weakness when you instinctively call his number at three in the morning, after waking up in a cold sweat. By the second ring, you regret your rash decision. What if he’s asleep? What if he thinks I’m some kind of weak child?

By the third, he answers.

“What. Why are you still awake?” His voice sounds as strict as ever. ‘Why are you still awake?’ is a question you would’ve asked if you were in a clearer mindset. Alas, this situation allows little clarity.

You decide against hanging up. I’m bothering him already, might as well apologise. “I-I must’ve misdialled. Sorry to bother you,” you mumble. You hate how your hoarse voice and ragged breaths betray the sobs that have barely subsided.

“...I’m coming over,” is all Victor says before abruptly hanging up.

It’s a twenty minute drive from his luxurious penthouse to your apartment, but you know he’ll make it in fifteen. Running to the bathroom, you try to fix your appearance to make you look more like a successful producer, and less like a woman gone mad. But while your hair can be combed down and your tears can be wiped away, nothing works against your bloodshot eyes, shaking hands and pale complexion.

The doorbell rings, and you’re in full panic mode. You really don’t want him to see you like this. But without him, you’re probably not sleeping tonight. Also, he’s here already. Wiping your sweaty palms on your pyjama pants one last time, you open the front door.

Even when he has his sleeves rolled up, shirt partly unbuttoned and hair mussed from running his hands through it, Victor is handsome. But today, you can’t bare to look at him. Your apartment floor suddenly seems incredibly interesting.

A small gesture encourages his entrance. The door is barely closed again, and he’s already got his arms wrapped around you, your face pressed against his chest. The warmth of his hug and his rapidly beating heart open the floodgates again, and while your boyfriend strokes your hair, you sob your fears out on his black dress shirt.

Later, when you’re both huddled in your queen-sized bed, he asks you why you didn’t tell him about the nightmare right away. “I thought you’d think I’m pathetic or something. You’re always so strict.” You look up at him, mouth formed into a small pout.

For a moment, he’s dumbfounded. Maybe he never considered the idea? Victor hesitates, before pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “I’m sorry,” he sighs, “I’ll be more considerate from now on.”

And as Victor rubs your shoulder, legs intertwined with yours, you doze off under the cloudy night sky. But not before hearing his sweet whispers. “Lean on me more, next time. I’ll always be by your side.”

Lucien (TW: panic attack, minor mentions of death)

Disclaimer: I know this could be taken wrongly. I have no intention to romanticise mental illness. It isn’t something that makes you broken, nor is it a ‘fun’ or ‘special’ thing. The story is partially taken from my experience, so I know how this feels. I wrote this as a way to bring awareness in a light manner, and to show that sometimes, panic attacks can be alleviated with someone around. I hope it brings comfort to those who wish they had someone in moments like these.

Listening to Lucien’s lectures tends to transport you back to the time when you were still a university student. Ah, it is a nostalgic feeling. A part of you misses being in school; going out with friends, listening to the teachers drone on about various subjects, eating in the school’s cafeteria.

But if there’s one thing you don’t miss, it’s the immeasurable amounts of stress. So why is that the thing I’m reliving right now?

As a young adult, you struggled with anxiety and spontaneous panic attacks, rendering you vulnerable to a work overload. You’d think it’d gotten better, especially since you have to deal with a lot of projects as a head producer nowadays. However, it seems as though old habits do die hard...This week has been particularly taxing—emotionally, what with your father’s death anniversary, and mentally; an important and popular show just got compromised by one of the actors’ companies. All that, and the prospect of an even tighter schedule during Christmas season has sent you into a full-blown panic attack. 

Your initial plan was to just...ride this one out. That’s what you always did as a child. In an hour or two, your hands will stop cramping, your tears will stop falling, your breathing will return to normal, right? But it seems fate, and Lucien, disagree. I forgot I gave him the key to my apartment.

Lucien senses something is wrong when you don’t come out to greet him by the door. 

“My love? Are you alright?” he yells out. Hearing little besides your irregular breathing, he kicks his shoes off, speeding towards the living area. You’re sat on the white sofa, knees to your chest, shoulders heaving and thick tears streaming down your face. 

Lucien’s brows furrow in deep concern as he kneels down by your form. Even though he’s right in front of you, your eyes do not meet his. You’ve gone too deep in your own shell to even be able to acknowledge his presence. A tentative hand removes one of yours from its tight grasp on your other arm, and Lucien lets out a sigh of relief as he feels your hand clutch his. He takes it as a sign to lift you fully into his arms, and takes a seat on the sofa.

“Breathe. In,” he mimicks a deep inhale, “and out.” Lucien blows out, repeating the motion a couple more times. He rubs your back and your hands, constantly alternating between helping you breathe and gently uttering soothing phrases. 

“Easy, I’m here with you. Do you feel my heartbeat?” When your hands have finally relaxed out of their cramped up form, he presses one of them against his chest. The slow, rhythmic thumping grounds you. Lucien. A stiff nod from you makes a soft, wry smile appear on his face. “Good girl. You’re getting there, my dear. Just stay with me, here. You’re doing great.”

You don’t know how much longer you stay like that. All you know is that he stays with you through the entire attack. Hours later, you two are having a steaming cup of tea at the dinner table. 

“I’m sorry you had to see that. I didn’t want you to worry,” you mutter sheepishly.

“Don’t be ashamed of yourself,” Lucien’s violet eyes bore deep into yours, “Besides, how could I not worry when someone so dear is having a hard time?”

You shrug, a defeated look on your face. Your fingers fidget with the wood of the dinner table, until Lucien swiftly takes your hand in his again. 

He sighs. “Take tomorrow off. I’ll take care of you.” Even though his tone is soft, Lucien leaves no space for argument. You know you should agree. There’s no way you could function properly if you were to go to work tomorrow.

“...Thank you.”

Lucien brings your hand to his lips, leaving feather-light kisses on your knuckles. “No thanks needed. You can be greedier with me.”

Gavin

There’s perhaps no person in the world who enjoys rejection. Sure, there may be those who bounce back quickly, those who see rejection as a new opportunity. But rejection, failure in itself, doesn’t evoke positive feelings. 

As the producer of Miracle Finder, you’ve gotten used to rejection; it was hard to get the show back on track during the first year or so. Maybe you were arrogant, thinking it’d get better, or less painful, the more often you got rejected. 

Things did get better, and last week you were even offered a deal with Loveland TV for a second weekly show. The company had seen the success Miracle Finder had, and had offered you the chance to come up with something wholly original. Something...you. That night, a mere week ago, you took the girls out for dinner and drinks. You were on cloud nine that day. In hindsight, maybe it was karma. Maybe I jinxed it. Cheered too soon, and all that. 

This morning, you got a devastating e-mail that stated, in polite (but somehow still rude) terms, that your new show would not be broadcasted. The relaxed mood at the office rapidly turned somber once you mentioned the unfortunate decision. Your employees decided to give you some space afterwards. Not being able to stand the sadness, and feeling somewhat bad for them, you sent everyone, yes, including Anna, home early.

By three p.m., you’re the only one left at the office. You sit at your desk, head in your hands. I know it isn’t the end of the world...but right now, it almost feels like it is. With a deep sigh, you push yourself up, heading to the small kitchen to make yourself a cup of tea. Maybe you’ll have a biscuit too. Anything to cheer yourself up. 

Your mind automatically goes to Gavin, and without thinking it over too much, you dial his number. After a couple of rings, your call goes to voicemail. Stupid. He’s probably working. I’ll just leave a message.

“Hey babe, it’s me. I-uh, the thing I mentioned last week? The new show deal with Loveland TV? Yeah, that’s not happening,” your voice cracks halfway through the last sentence as you try to push down the disappointment that bleeds through, “I’m staying late today. Need some time to-to process things. I’ll be fine. Love you, hope you’re safe.” 

Time passes agonisingly slowly, so slowly you might as well think Victor’s behind it, while you dive into a mountain of work. It distracts you from today’s events. but the lingering sadness is still present in the back of your mind. 

Around eight, you start cleaning up your desk, shutting down your computer and gathering the papers. A knock on the window catches your attention as you’re about to head out. You turn around, noticing a tall figure on the balcony outside. Gavin! You hastily run back, opening the sliding door for Gavin to enter.

“Hi,” That’s the most awkward thing you could say. “I didn’t know you would come. Did you hear my message? You really didn’t have to...” you trail off when Gavin wordlessly opens his arms to you. His golden eyes look anywhere but you, and a slight blush is visible in the dark room, only illuminated by the bright lights outside. 

You gingerly step into his arms at first, clutching the back of his signature denim jacket tighter as time goes on. A couple of stray tears that you’re not able to hold back create wet splotches on his shirt. “I’m sorry,” you mumble, your voice muffled by the soft fabric.

“No biggie. Are you feeling alright?” he asks you. A non-committal shrug is all you respond with. “I know it was a big project for you.”

“Yeah, I don’t really know what to do now.” 

Gavin bends down a little, kissing the crown of your head. “You move on, and you don’t give up.”

You fall into comfortable silence. Gavin’s thumb rubs up and down your waist, soothing you. “...Have you ever been rejected?” you suddenly ask him.

Gavin chuckles. “Sure I have. I got rejected by my very first love.”

You raise your head to look up at him. Gavin sees his own reflection in your large, teary eyes, and smiles. “And what happened then?” you ask, your voice lightly tinged with jealousy. Who was his first love?

“Well, she’s in my arms now, isn’t she?” Even though he’s embarrassed to say the words, Gavin forces himself to look at you. At those eyes that shine with love for the world, for him. 

Bonus:

“Come on, I’ll take you home.” you pull out of the embrace to get your coat by the coat hanger, opening the door to head out again, like a normal person.

“How? You didn’t come here by bike, did you?”

Gavin’s already facing the window again, but he turns back with a smirk, holding his hand out to you. “I never said we were going by bike.”

“Gavin, no, babe, no, no, nonononononono—Aah!!” Your protests are cut short as Gavin swoops you into his arms bridal style and flies off. The wind rushes past your ears, almost making you miss Gavin’s gleeful laugh. “Gavin! I didn’t lock the doors!”

Kiro

On many occasions, you’re envious of Kiro’s Evol. But even without his Evol, Kiro is so bubbly and kind, you can’t help but like him. You sincerely wish you had that ability. And I know I’m supposed to make my own wishes come true, but I can only do so much to make people like me. I’m not going to bend over backwards and become a pushover just to be liked.

Still, it hurts when people are purposely mean to you. Especially during high school reunions. You were by no means a popular kid growing up...but you didn’t think that some people would still be stuck in a high school mentality. You held your own during the reunion, ignoring the backhanded compliments and blatantly condescending insults in favour of catching up with your old friends. Yet, all you can think of on the drive home are the negative comments.

“Oh, you still can’t drink alcohol? Seems like ‘someone’ hasn’t grown up yet!”

“You’re the producer of Miracle Finder? I hate that show, it’s so unrealistic.”

“Isn’t that a kids’ show?”

“My, you look adorable! My daughter also likes to wear those types of clothes, you know, to go play at the park.”

I can’t believe I missed game night with Kiro for this. With a terrible mood, you shuffle into the house. Kiro’s on the sofa playing A Chinese Ghost Story, a bag of chips on the coffee table in front of him. He turns to greet you with a smile, but it quickly falls after seeing your somber expression. 

“Welcome home Miss Ch—eh? What’s wrong?” Kiro takes his headphones off to stand up in front of you. His hands instinctively move to your waist to pull you close.

“How was the gathering?” he asks carefully. His eyes are big, just like a puppy’s. Had you felt better, you would’ve commented on his cute appearance. 

It’s as if that question flips a switch. “It was horrible!” you sniffle.

“Wha—Miss Chips!” Kiro grows panicked at your sniffles and sobs, and roughly pulls you to his chest. You retaliate by hugging him tightly, crying all your frustrations out on his shoulder.

Somehow, you move into a cuddling position on the living room sofa. You straddle his slender legs and his arms are wrapped around your torso, rubbing comforting circles on your back. Pulling away from his embrace, you start ranting about the terrible evening.

“...and I don’t even know why I’m this upset! It’s so frustrating. I’ve worked so hard to become who I am today, and the moment someone says something to me, I just break down. Maybe I am a child,” you look up at Kiro, eyes wide and brimming with tears, “Kiro, am I a child to you?”

Kiro chuckles. “Well, Miss Chips...sometimes you can be childish,” you jut your lip out in a pout, “b-but I’m childish too! And there’s nothing wrong with that. Some people want to grow up too fast, so they drink alcohol and dress up in dark colours and stiff fabrics to feel properly imprisoned in the ‘harsh adult world’. But most of us could be happier if we just...let our inner child out.”

He cups your cheek. “Never be ashamed of being childish, Miss Chips. It doesn’t make you a child,” a mischievous grin appears on Kiro’s youthful face, “Besides, I wouldn’t do this if I thought of you as a child!” 

With the hand on your cheek, Kiro draws your face closer to his. Your lips meet in a swift kiss that takes you by surprise. He swallows the startled gasp that escapes your mouth, retaliating by slowly swiping his tongue across your bottom lip. You can feel him smile into the kiss as you lean into it, closing your eyes. Your tears are long forgotten as you tangle your hands in Kiro’s blond locks. Slowly, you part your lips, allowing Kiro’s tongue to slip into your mouth. The teasing flicks of his tongue make you go weak, and he chuckles when your grip on his hair loosens. 

Kiro notices you’re growing light-headed, so he gives you time to regain your breath while he peppers little kisses on the corners of your mouth and on your swollen lips. You kissing demon. 

His satisfied hum is disrupted by a vicious punch to the chest. “Ah! Miss Chips, why would you hit me?” It’s Kiro’s time to pout now.

“Who told you to do that?! You’re so sly, it’s unfair!” you scold him, cheeks flushed a bright red.

“Yes, yes,” he pets your head, “but it helped, right? You’re not upset anymore, right?”

Your face scrunches up. “I guess not...I’m still mad at you for surprising me like that,” Kiro giggles, “But thanks.” His smile is contagious, and soon you’re both in a giggling fit.

When the giggles have subsided, Kiro pushes you back into his chest. As he snuggles into your shoulder, he whispers in your ear. “Don’t worry. Every time you feel sad, I’ll be there to cheer you up.”

I’m not saying dark clothes are bad! I have a black wardrobe myself...but we all need to remember that we don’t need to be so hard on ourselves sometimes. 

For some reason I’ve never properly depicted kissing like that in my writing. Ehhh, forgive me if it’s bad. Little note...do you guys know what Chinese drama ‘A Chinese Ghost Story’ is featured in?

[aomine-ryo]

♥ Aokise

Aomine Daiki x Kise Ryota

Request; Fluff/crack/lemon

Gom have a movie night (or any kind of get together)and Aokise (especially Ao) do a lot of PDA.....

Hehe..pls consider this too whenever possible.. U Hv been posting regularly n u Hv amazing skill and art.. I know and seriously appreciate ur hard work and creativity.... So whenever possible pls write this idea too.... Can be sfw or nsfw.. Ur choice.. Juicyyy

(Umm.. U know I kinda have a fantasy where gom + kagami visit aomine's place and are greeted by a Aomine in boxers or pyjamas and kise comes from behind clad in only aomine's large shirt with hickeys all along his collar bone to neck ( cuz they met after a week and were making up for lost time if u know what I mean !!!)

Ah.. So as u like it.. Cuddly aokise.... Making out aokise.... etc >_<

≧ω≦

Thanku author~san♥

@aomine-ryo

I loved writing this so much ahsjdj thank you for this ask!! I hope you enjoy it!! xx

Scenario: Aomine and Kise at a movie night with the GOM (aokise)

It had been a while since all the Generation of Miracles and Kagami had hung out together, so Kise decided to host a movie night at his place, which may not have been the best suggestion because half of them couldn’t sit still for more than ten minutes, but it was happening nonetheless. Aomine definitely wasn’t one to be early to any get together, but him and Kise had planned for him to get there a few hours beforehand so that they could spend some time alone together, since they hadn’t been able to hang out in a while.

As promised, Aomine made it there first, ringing the doorbell and standing at the front door impatiently. The moment the door opened and revealed his effortlessly gorgeous boyfriend, Aomine’s face lit up in excitement.

“Aominecchi! Come in—“

Kise was immediately cut off by Aomine pouncing onto him and pushing his lips against his. Kise would be lying if he said that he wasn’t expecting Aomine to be all over him, considering that they hadn’t been able to see each other in a while. However, the blonde was hoping to have him come in and chat for a while before things got heated. In hindsight, that was a stupid assumption since it was Aomine he was dealing with after all.

Before he knew it, Aomine had carried him into his bedroom and tossed him onto the mattress, nothing but hunger and desperation in his dark blue eyes. “You know, a ‘hello’ would’ve been nice,” Kise said breathlessly as Aomine climbed on top of him.

“Hello,” Aomine mumbled with a grin as his face inched closer to Kise once again.

“Well, there’s no point saying it now,” Kise giggled, looking up and into his boyfriend’s eyes with adoration as a hand softly caressed his cheek.

“Is it just me or did you get hotter?” Aomine asked, squinting at his boyfriend to figure out why he found him more attractive than usual.

“Probably just that idiot brain of yours,” Kise grinned, causing Aomine to narrow his eyes at him.

“Shut up,” Aomine sighed, smiling like an absolute dork at this point because he was just so glad to be with Kise again.

“Make me,” Kise challenged with a devious look in his amber eyes that make Aomine go wild.

In an instant, Aomine’s lips were reconnected with Kise’s, except the kiss was filled with much more force than earlier. As their tongues found their way into each other’s mouths, clothes were quickly discarded and things quickly escalated. Aomine’s lips moved lower and lower, and the room was soon filled with gasps and groans as the two of them melted into each other’s touch.

Losing themselves in rounds and rounds of making up for missed time, the movie night with their friends managed to slip their minds. So when the doorbell rang as they were catching their breaths from their third round, both of their minds were filled with confusion because they were practically on their last braincells at this point. “Aominecchi, go get the door,” Kise groaned, looking over his boyfriend, whose tan skin was glistening with sweat.

“Huh? Why me? It’s your house,” Aomine scoffed, not wanting to move.

Equally as determined to not move, Kise’s mind worked quickly to ensure that it wasn’t him going to answer the door. His pink swollen lips leaned in close to Aomine’s ear with a a soft smirk, “Yeah but I can’t move too much because someone destroyed my insides.”

Cheeks flushing red as his ego was inflated, the navy haired boy sighed as he pulled the sheets off and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. “God you’re so annoying,” Aomine rolled his eyes as he looked around for the boxers he tossed away. Finally spotting it by the door to the bedroom (how did it even get there?), the taller boy dragged himself over and pulled them on, glaring at his boyfriend who just sat on the bed batting his lashes and looking pretty.

“Thank you Aominecchi,” he sang as Aomine began to head out, making sure to raise a middle finger at him out of spite. “I love you too!” Kise called out sarcastically.

Aomine finally opened the front door in nothing but his boxers, and was stupidly surprised to find his friends there. “Eh? What are you idiots doing here?” He mumbled, running his fingers through his messy hair as he leaned against the door.

“We’re meant to be having a movie night dumbass,” Midorima said, beginning to wonder if it was too late to go back home.

“Oh yeah that. Uh, come in I guess,” Aomine shrugged, opening the door wider to let them in.

“Where the fuck are your pants??” Kagami yelled, eyes being drawn to the boxers with the evident bulge.

“Oi, eyes up here Bakagami. I have a boyfriend,” Aomine snapped, only making Kagami more agitated.

“That’s not what—“

“Aomine-kun can you please put some pants on,” Kuroko intervened before Kagami could absolutely lose it.

“Yeah, there in Kise’s room somewhere, I’ll go get them eventually,” Aomine said, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Kise-chin! Where’d you keep the snacks?” Murasakibara yelled, seemingly unfazed by Aomine’s appearance as he began to raid Kise’s fridge.

Just as he said that, Kise emerged from his room, also shirtless, though he was wearing a pair of sweatpants. “Oh it’s you guys,” Kise said as he tied the strings on the waistband. “There are chips in the top right cabinet Murasakibaracchi!” Kise called out.

While Murasakibara scrambled around the kitchen, everyone just stared at Kise in awe. There were red marks all over his torso and Aomine just stood there with his arms on his hips and a proud smirk like an artist admiring his artwork.

“Kise, your chest— you know what, I won’t even bother to ask,” Midorima sighed as he plopped down on the couch in frustration.

“Oh, oops sorry about that,” Kise said, looking down at his skin and back up at Aomine with a smile.

“Okay, why don’t the two of you go put some clothes on, and Tetsuya and I will get things set up. Alright?” Akashi suggested, wanting to move on from this mess of a greeting.

To his relief, Aomine and Kise did as they were told and no more back and forths were exchanged. After about ten minutes, everyone was finally fully clothed and sitting on the couch, ready to get the movie started.

Of course, Aomine and Kise’s disruptions didn’t end there. Since they didn’t get their opportunity to cuddle after they had finished, they decided to do so during the movie. They kept muttering things to each other and sneaking in kisses here and there, much to Kagami’s, who was forced to sit next to them, dismay.

At some point, they were fully making out as the movie played and Kagami finally reached his limit. “Oh my god can you please not make out right next to me?” Kagami yelled, causing everyone to turn their heads to Kise and Aomine who finally pulled away from each other.

“Yeah actually, those sounds are kinda disgusting, Mine-chin and Kise-chin,” Murasakibara added, though he didn’t seem as bothered by it.

Akashi shared an exhausted look with Kuroko as they just watched things unfold.

“Geez, Kagami stop watching us, you perv,” Aomine replied, with a smug grin.

“Are you jealous, Kagamicchi? I can give you a kiss too, come here,” Kise joked, leaning towards Kagami who just shoved him away immediately, sending both Aomine and Kise into fits of giggles.

“Can you guys just shut up and watch the damn movie?” Midorima snapped.

“Alright alright we’ll stop,” Aomine sighed, all of them finally simmering down after that. Well, for a few minutes at least.

[thesvenqueen]

With All My Love

Rating: M

Pairing: Kristanna (as if it would be anything else)

Also on AO3

Previous Chapters

{Chapter 14}

“They’re looking for you.”

The reality of Kristoff’s words hits Anna harder than she expected.

In hindsight, she knew they would most likely be looking for her, she was the princess after all. Yet to hear it said aloud, to be told that they were in fact doing so is something different entirely.  

They’re sitting in the field, coming to have a quiet evening picnic for dinner to celebrate his return home in a sense. It had been Anna’s suggestion, one she wasn’t sure he’d be in favor of as it seemed silly but he’d smiled at her, her favorite lopsided grin and had agreed in earnest. 

She’s leaning against his side, his arm draped around her as they watch the sun set and Anna keeps her eyes to the setting sun, not wanting to show Kristoff the fear that sits within her. 

“Ivar found me as soon as I came into town, pulled me aside to tell me what was going on.”  Kristoff pauses, taking a breath and sighing as he continued, “Guards have been questioning everyone since the day you left. A few homes have even been searched. Rumor has it they’ve even sent letters to ships that were docked that night to return for questioning.”

Anna already knows the answer before she even asks, “Did they stop you?”

“Yes,” he says, “they’re stopping anyone coming into the town too. Don’t think they realized who I was but they asked me my business, if I was local, where I was heading, where I was the night you disappeared.”

“Did they say why?”

“Oddly enough, no. They haven’t told anyone why they’re questioning everyone, keeping your disappearance a secret.”

“And the people?”

“More annoyed than anything really, especially Ivar.” That makes Kristoff chuckle, “Said it was bad for business, frightening the town folks from even wanting to stroll the streets. Keep people away from buying our ice but we fared well enough.”

“They’re...scared?”

“Some are, understandably so. Guards have been patrolling the streets more than usual, questioning anyone they come across that they don’t recognize. It’s intimidating, to some at least. Think it’s more the secret of it all, not telling them why they’re doing what they’re doing. The unknown makes people nervous.”

Anna hums in response, still staring off at the now changing sky. Her heart is racing, guilt gripping her heart tightly. 

The town was now being turned over, people becoming scared all because of her. She can imagine, see it in her mind, the guards patrolling the village, questioning all they come upon, intimidating every villager that resided in Arendelle. They wouldn’t do so in kind, they’d be harsh, upfront, demanding answers from all they talked to. 

The thought of them searching a home, tearing it apart to find any clue of her breaks her. The town didn’t deserve this, didn’t deserve to be made to live in fear because of her choice. 

They were innocent, having no clue of her actions nor even if they had seen her, knew who she even was. They’d hardly made public outings in the last few years, it was completely possible the villagers had not a clue what Anna even looked like. 

That wouldn’t deter the soldiers from searching and their harsh form of intimidation, creating a thick air of tension and fear within Arendelle.

“This is all my fault.” She says, barely a whisper. She isn’t sure if Kristoff hears her, hopes he hadn’t but his arm tightens around her. 

She knows what’s to come, what he will try to say before he even speaks, “Anna…”

“It is.” She says, looking down to her lap, still unable to look at him. “They’re...they’re scaring the townspeople over my selfish choice.”

“It wasn’t a selfish--”

“But it was.” Anna cries, feeling the tears beginning to form, “I left because...because I wanted my own life, to make my own choices. To be able to choose who I wanted to love and not forced into a loveless life.” She takes a shaky breath, “I never considered, truly thought about the repercussions of it all, of what my sister could do I…”

“You deserve your own life as much as anyone else does, Anna.”

“But at what cost?” She knows she is being too harsh, blaming herself too much for this but it doesn’t sit well with her. The guilt builds, constricting tighter around her racing heart. “For the people of Arendelle to fear their own leaders, to fear the ones that are supposed to protect them?”

“Not everyone is afraid, most are just confused.”

“But that’s still my fault. If I wouldn’t have left, if I would’ve stayed--”

“You’d be miserable.”

“Arendelle would be at peace, this wouldn’t be happening.”

“You can not take full blame for what is happening Anna, especially when it is not entirely on you.”

“How is it not all on me?”

“Your sister is keeping everything quiet, not wanting news to spread of your disappearance at the chance it will make it across the sea. Is that not selfish of her too?” Anna closes her eyes as he feels him move her, lifting her up and onto his lap, holding her against her chest. “If she is the leader she claims to be, why not let her people know of what’s transpired? Why keep secrets from her people in favor of confusing them, of making them scared?” She grips onto his shirt, trying to hold his words as the truth. “Your sister is risking the wellbeing of your kingdom, of your people all to save face from the truth getting out and getting to the Southern Isles. She’s buying time in hopes you’ll return to seal the deal she’s made.”

“I should’ve left a letter.” Anna says softly, opening her eyes and watching his hand on her arm, how he lightly graces his fingers along her arm in comfort. 

Kristoff kisses her temple, “Maybe, but I doubt it would’ve done much.”

They sit in silence, the sun setting before them until it disappears into the darkening sky. Colors of all shades are above them and around them, encircling them as they sit within the wild flowers. Birds are still chirping their songs, but crickets begin to join them, cicadas buzzing louder than them all. A few stars begin to appear, lightly shining in the dark blue sky.

Anna feels Kristoff’s breath along her neck, and feels as he moves to rest his head against the top of her own. 

“Do you…” he pauses, and Anna waits patiently for him to continue, “Do you regret your choices?”

That makes Anna sit up, moving to straddle his lap to be able to look down on him fully. 

The movement surprises Kristoff and takes him back. Though behind the shocked expression, Anna can see the hurt and unsureness in his eyes; the pain and fear that she had mistakenly put there by speaking on her own self doubts. 

It was not on purpose, she knows this, but just like she questions herself and so many things, he himself has the same self doubts. 

The sadness makes her heart aches. No matter the outcome, the waves that may come from her choice, never in her life would Anna regret choosing him. Choosing the life with the man she loved fully and deeply.

Anna wants to tell him so, wants to speak such words to him but they escape her. She is rendered speechless, unsure how to convey how she feels in words alone. 

So she lets her lips talk for her: finding his lips and kissing him deeply, letting her love for him spill in the way her lips move along his, how her hands run up his neck to his scalp, how she hums at the feel of his tongue meeting hers. 

He holds her tight, arms wrapped now around her waist, hands spanning her small back and not for the first time she feels how large his hands are in comparison to her.  

She pulls back, panting slightly as she looks into his brown eyes. Cupping his face, Anna runs her thumb across his cheek before she speaks, “I will never, ever regret choosing you.”

Kristoff smiles at her, his hands squeezing her waist in affection. “And I never will either.”

Anna smiles, the tension slowly leaving her, “I’m sorry if I ever made you think…”

Kristoff shakes his head, his blonde shaggy hair moving with him, “You didn’t.” He moves his hand, one of them coming to cup the back of her head, “You are a caring person Anna. You love and care deeply for all, I know this.” Her smile is wider now, butterflies stirring within her at how softly he says his words. Words only meant for her. 

“No one more so than you.” 

That brings a blush to his cheeks, one that makes Anna giggle at the sight. When she stops, he speaks again, “I love you, Anna.” He says it so softly, so full of love that Anna wants to cry at the sound. “Big heart and all.”

At that, Kristoff pokes her side, tickling her as Anna falls back in laughter. Kristoff holds her steady, keeping her close to his chest as she screams in laughter at his touch.

He stops, Anna slowly catching her breath and cherishing the sound of his deep chuckles. To hear him laugh, to see him smile so wide is better than any sunset Anna has ever seen.

“I love you too, Kristoff.” She says, leaning back to him now. “And thank you.”

He runs a hand through her hair, smiling at her, “Always.”

[flowerfan2]

Part of You Indefinitely - Ch. 5

David/Patrick, M, 15k so far, A03

Summary:  An accident sends Patrick to the hospital and terrifies David.  What follows changes their relationship in ways David and Patrick never imagined.  A story of love and its challenges.

Chapter 5

The next week is tough.  Patrick has PT every weekday morning at the hospital in Elmdale, and while they’re getting better at making the transfer from bed to chair to car to chair to car and back home again, it’s still awkward and tiring.  Worse, Patrick doesn’t seem to be getting any better, at least not where his ability to support himself on his legs is concerned.  He still goes practically limp when David hauls him up, and David doesn’t know how to raise the subject, even though it’s right there in his arms.

By the time they’re into their second week since Patrick came home, David starts spending a few hours a day out of the house.  He has a lot of vendor visits to make, since he had postponed everything that was on the calendar after Patrick’s accident.  Patrick seems generally annoyed at him, but David can’t tell if it’s because he doesn’t want David to leave, or he wishes he wouldn’t come back.

Nothing seems to make Patrick happy.  David came home one evening to find him messing around with his guitar, and asked if he would play something for him, but Patrick just snapped at him and refused.  When David brought home cheese samples from a new vendor, Patrick complained that if they ate that instead of dinner, they were wasting the groceries he had ordered.  If David offers to get him a drink, Patrick accuses David of not trusting him to do it himself; if David doesn’t offer, Patrick pouts.

Late Wednesday afternoon David lets himself into the house quietly.  Patrick has gotten in the habit of taking long naps after his morning physical therapy sessions, and David doesn’t want to disturb him.  But Patrick is wide awake, glaring at David from the couch the minute he walks in.

“I can’t believe you did this,” Patrick says.  “It’s my house too, you know.  You could have asked me.”

David takes in a deep breath and tries to remain calm.  “Asked you about what?”

“Very funny.  I hardly needed you to advertise my problems to the whole town.  You know how I feel about keeping stuff private, and you did it anyway.”

“Patrick, seriously, what are you talking about?”  David can feel Patrick’s anger like a wave, pushing at his chest and making it hard to breathe.  

“Our fucking bathroom.”

David goes into the house’s only full bath, and sure, it’s a bit of a mess.  But then he pushes aside the shower curtain and sees a handrail has been added to the back wall, three feet of diagonal reminder that Patrick can’t hold himself up.  When he turns back towards the door he sees that there’s another handle next to the toilet.  They are definitely eyesores in the midst of their black and white vintage subway tile, but he doesn’t think the aesthetics are what Patrick is upset about.

He goes back to the living room, where Patrick proceeds to yell at him some more.  David zones out briefly, unable to come up with any response in the face of Patrick’s verbal assault, until his brain manages to catch on one accusation.

“Patrick, I didn’t do this.  I had no idea.  I didn’t ask for this either.”

“You told Jocelyn to come over to babysit, and then you had Roland come instead.”

David is shaking his head repeatedly.  “No, I didn’t.  I mean yes, Jocelyn said she would stop by, but I didn’t tell Roland to come.”

“That’s what Roland said.”

“You’re going to take Roland’s word over mine?  You think I’m lying to you?”

“He said he texted you.  That’s proof.  You can’t deny it.”

David fumbles for his phone and shoves it at Patrick.  “My phone’s dead.  Has been all afternoon.”

Patrick tries in vain to turn it on, and then wheels himself over to the side table and plugs it in.  “You said you would support me, and then you do this,” Patrick says bitterly, watching the phone as it slowly comes to life.

It’s incredibly unfair, and David can’t help but point this out.  “Okay, one, I didn’t tell Roland to install anything, and I’d appreciate the courtesy of you actually trusting me here.”  His voice is rising, and he can’t stop himself.  “And two, what if I had asked him to install some safety handrails?  It’s a good idea – you’re totally unstable in there, and getting you in and out of the tub is a disaster waiting to happen.  I’m glad Roland thought of it – I wish I had thought of it myself!”

“Are you serious?”  Patrick asks, his voice dropping low and, if possible, even more furious.  “After everything I’ve told you, you want to bolt a reminder to the wall of how inadequate I am  – how can you say that?”

“Oh, that’s rich – you haven’t told me anything, how am I supposed to know what you’re thinking?”

“You don’t even try.  You don’t give a shit about what I’m going through.  You’re just a selfish, spoiled brat.”

David feels like Patrick has gut punched him, and all the air flies out of the room.  He stumbles back, shoving open the door and winding up against the car, hunched over and panting furiously.  When he can breathe again, he gets in and drives away.

He winds up at the Wobbly Elm, which is a terrible place to try to drown his sorrows.  He’s hardly anonymous here, and he instantly spots several people from the town.  Before he can sneak out, someone sits down next to him at the bar.  He leans his head down on the sticky wood, wishing he could sink into it and disappear.

“You don’t look too good, David Rose,” Ronnie says.  At least it’s her and not Bob or Twyla or someone that might try to cheer him up.

“I’m not in the mood to talk, Ronnie.”  He can hear how rough his own voice is, whether from crying or yelling, he’s not sure.

“Word is your boy’s having a tough time.”

David huffs out a laugh.  “That’s one way to put it.”

“What are you going to do about it?”

David picks up his head and stares at her.  “None of your business.”

She shrugs.  “Fine.  But you two have gone from the town’s sappiest couple to a pair of misery twins, and I don’t give you good odds unless something changes.”

“That’s dark, even for you.”

“No point in sugar-coating it.”  Ronnie gets up from the bar and pats David on the shoulder in an uncharacteristic show of affection.  “You let me know if you want to talk.  You wouldn’t believe the shit Karen and I got up to when we were younger.  It’s a miracle the woman still speaks to me.”

“Ronnie,” David says despite himself, as she starts to walk away.  “I think I’m losing him.”

She turns around and gives him a long look.  “Well, if you’ve noticed, he probably has too.  Maybe you better talk with him about it, before things get worse.”

David nurses his glass of wine for a few more minutes.  He doesn’t really want to go home, but he realizes that Patrick’s been alone there for almost an hour now, which makes David feel even more awful.  He considers calling his dad to see if he could stop by the house and check on him, but that would just make Patrick angrier, and he’s not sure what that would even look like.

On the drive back he makes himself do some yoga breaths, which don’t necessarily calm him down but at least they push back the edge of impending panic that’s he’s been teetering on for the past hour.  He’s not even sure what he’s going to say to Patrick.  

<i>You’re just a selfish, spoiled brat.</i>  There was a time when this might have been a pretty accurate description of David, but it isn’t any longer; it hasn’t been for a long time.  And it’s never described the David that Patrick knows.

He and Patrick had their moments before they got married, but overall things have been so good, David was lulled into forgetting how devastating is to have someone you trust betray you.   It occurs to him that may have been exactly how Patrick felt when Roland came in to install the handrails – as ridiculous as it seems in hindsight.  David still can’t really believe that Patrick would take safety handrails as a betrayal, but it seems to have triggered Patrick in a way David doesn’t understand.

Regardless of the reason, David has never seen Patrick so angry.  It was frightening, and hurtful, and David really, really doesn’t like it.

The ironic thing is that the person who is best at making him feel safe is the one who is scaring him.

Back at the house, David scans the kitchen and living room, but Patrick isn’t there.  Gingerly, he walks down the hall to their bedroom.  The room is dim, and David’s eyes go immediately to Patrick’s wheelchair; his heart skips a beat when he registers that it’s empty.  But then he sees a long lump under the covers, and some small part of him relaxes.

Patrick got himself into bed, presumably without help.  That’s a huge step.  If David didn’t feel so desperately miserable right now, he’d be cheering.

The lump shifts and Patrick lifts his head up.  His eyes are red and swollen.  “David.  You came back.”

“Of course I came back.”  David can’t seem to move, though, standing in the doorway with his arms wrapped around his waist.  “Um, look, I’m sorry-”

“What?  No, David, I’m so sorry. I was horrible to you, I can’t believe I said those things.”  Patrick gulps in air, and David sees that he’s crying, maybe has been for a while given how congested his voice sounds.  “I was so angry, but it shouldn’t have been at you.  What I said wasn’t true.  I don’t think that.  I don’t know why you put up with me, you’re not selfish at all, I am, I’m awful-”

That’s it, David can’t take it, he rushes across the room and wraps Patrick in his arms.  “No, no no no, absolutely not, don’t you dare say that about yourself.”  He pulls Patrick close and tucks his head into his neck, stroking his short hair.  Patrick is a crying, trembling mess, sweaty and flushed.  “You are the least selfish person I know, you are not awful, you’re not.”

“I screamed at you,” Patrick sobs.  “I scared you.”

David doesn’t quite know what to say to this, because it’s more or less true.  “You didn’t mean to.��  He knows that’s true, too, as soon as he says it.

“I never wanted to be that person.  I never wanted to hurt you.  I’m so sorry, oh my god, David, I’m so sorry.”

David holds Patrick as he cries, heart-wrenching sobs that shake his whole body.  He loses track of time, petting Patrick’s head and rubbing his back.  “It’s okay, it’s okay,” David murmurs.  “I’m here, I’m not going anywhere, it’s okay.”  When Patrick finally starts to calm down, David reaches over to the bedside table and grabs a handful of tissues.

“Thank you,” Patrick says, blowing his nose noisily and wiping his face.  He’s an ugly crier.  David kind of loves that about him.

“So, um, how’d you get out of your chair?”

Patrick sniffs hard, then reaches up with both hands and grabs on to the top of the headboard to demonstrate.  “I kind of swung myself over.”

David nods.  “Good job.”

Patrick shakes his head.  “Nothing about this day is good.”

David can tell Patrick just wants to burrow back under the covers and go to sleep, and he’s so close to letting him off the hook.  But sticking their heads in the sand is what has gotten them here, to a place where even taciturn Ronnie Lee is judging them for their failure to communicate.

“We, um, we should really talk.”

Patrick pushes himself up to a sitting position, putting a little distance between himself and David.  “I know.”

“I’m worried about you,” David says carefully, watching Patrick out of the corner of his eye.   It’s hard to look at him directly and say this.  “And, um, I’m worried about us.”

If possible, Patrick’s face goes even whiter, the pink splotches on his skin from crying standing out in stark relief.

“David, what… what are you saying?”

“Patrick, I love you, I love you so much.  But we’re both struggling and I don’t know how to fix it.”

Patrick is shaking, and he opens and closes his mouth a few times before sound comes out.  “But – but you want to fix it, right?”

“I absolutely do,” David says, biting his lip.  “There’s nothing more important to me.  But you have to want it too.  Even if you’re in a bad place, even if you’re feeling lost, you can’t keep shutting me out.  Patrick… I miss you.”

“The old me.”

“You.  You’re still you.”

“Hardly.”

“That’s not true, of course you are.”

“You don’t believe that.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You treat me differently.  Like I’m going to break.  You won’t even touch me.”

David takes this in, trying to understand.  “Do you mean sex?” he asks, puzzled.

“Yes, I mean sex,” Patrick says, quiet and sad.  “We used to fool around every day, sometimes twice.  Now all I get are vaguely reassuring hugs and pats on the shoulder.”

David is stunned, and somewhat offended – hugging Patrick is the best feeling in the world.  “You told me you weren’t comfortable doing anything more,” David says slowly.  “You were very clear.  I was respecting your wishes.  I was listening to you.”

“David, I was in the hospital – I said I didn’t want to fool around <i>in the hospital!</i>”

David takes in the appalled look on Patrick’s face, and suddenly he’s laughing like a crazy person, and Patrick is too.  When they can breathe again, David takes Patrick’s face in his hands and kisses him hard, Patrick responding just as fiercely, until Patrick has to pull away and gasp for air.

“Still can’t really breathe through my nose,” Patrick coughs, and David bursts into laughter again, handing him another tissue.  

*****

The next morning David wakes up with Patrick curled around him, warm against his back.  For a minute he doesn’t remember Patrick’s accident, it’s just a normal morning in bed with his very favorite person.

“David?”

“Hmm?”

“We have to get up soon.”

Reality seeps in, this new world where David no longer has the luxury of demanding to be left alone until ten a.m., where Patrick is more dependent upon him than anyone has ever been before.

“Okay.”  He starts to move towards the edge of the bed, but Patrick tightens the arm around his chest, and he stops, realizing that this is the first time in a long time that Patrick has held him like this.  “Um, everything okay?”

“I love when you hold me,” Patrick says, barely audible.  “You do it all the time, like it’s the most natural thing in the world for you to want to touch me.  You make me feel safe.  I should never have said….”  He takes a deep breath.  “I’d… I’d be so sad if you stopped hugging me.  Don’t stop, okay?”

David rolls over and takes Patrick into his arms, pulling him tight against his chest, and wrapping a leg over his thigh.  “I won’t.  I love it too.”  David’s heart is so full, he feels like it might overflow.  “I love you.”

“Thank you for making this happen for us,” Patrick whispers, and David hums in response, their catch phrase making him smile as it always does.

“Always.”

[gothgirlmahi]

All That’s Best Chapter Five

Dark!Steve x Reader

Masterlist

Warnings: non con, dub con

Steve woke with a start, searching his surroundings. He was laid on his back, tied down to a metal examination table. Something was lodged in the side of his neck but he couldn’t maneuver to see what it was. A dim light flickered above him and from what he could see there wasn’t anything or anyone else in the room but him. The room was a little box, probably not bigger than fifteen feet in either direction with a door in front of him.

HYDRA. It had to be HYDRA. He had enemies but no one else had incentive or means to actually kidnap him from his home. The fact that he was living in the middle of nowhere surely didn’t help. He had to wonder how they bypassed his security system. There were sensors nearby the house to let him know when people approached and as far as he knew, none of them had gone off. Whatever they were doing, he was sure they were up to no good.

His thoughts immediately jumped to you. You had been in the house with him, looking terrified as he left you in the bathroom. That was all he remembered before he was out. He hoped you were okay. His entire intent had been to protect you and now you were possibly in danger because he was reckless. Because he got too comfortable. It had been stupid to think he could get his happily ever after. Wishful thinking on his part.

A clicking noise came from beyond the door. Mechanical shifting and grinding of metal. The door was opening. He was prepared for any number of scenarios. For a HYDRA agent to come in and demand information from him, torture, someone attempting to murder him...but he couldn’t have been prepared for what he saw.

In walked his girl, looking healthier than ever, holding his shield and a little remote in your hand with a black bag hanging off your shoulder. You had a bounce in your step and a happy little smile on your face. You struck a pose with his shield and laughed.

“This thing is sturdy, but it’s kind of weird how bad guys never aim at your legs.”

“Where am I?” he demanded.

“Disney World. Now say ‘ah.’” You set down his shield dug through your bag until you pulled out a thermometer. He wouldn’t open his mouth when you came close so you put it away.

“I just needed to check something.”

“Who are you?”

“I don’t know how I can make it more clear without tattooing HYDRA on my forehead. Welcome to the organization.”

Steve had shadowed you for weeks. Knew your schedule, what you liked, where you went and who you talked to. This didn’t make sense. You couldn’t have been a HYDRA agent because, for all intents and purposes, there was no HYDRA. At least not one cohesive group anymore. The Avengers made sure of that.

Furthermore, if you were a HYDRA agent at the time he met you, why were you lying half dead in one of their bases, tied to a chair? Maybe they had broken into the house and convinced you to do this. Convinced you to turn against him. He supposed you would have been easy to turn against him, considering recent events. But did you hate him enough to pledge allegiance to HYDRA? There were a million questions swirling in his mind.

“I’m not joining you.” You had welcomed him to the organization. Whether it was a petty jab or a genuine offer, he didn’t care.

You didn’t say anything, just dug around in your bag again. He heard the noise of metal sliding against something and saw you pulling out a knife. You made no move to use it and set it on the table next to him. You hardly looked at him as you spoke.

“You like rules, right? When I’m talking, that means you’re not. Rule 2, you try to escape, you get punished and I really don’t think you want me to be the one to punish you. Rule 3, you do what I tell you when I tell you. Do you understand?”

Steve didn’t say anything. His only response was a defiant glare in your direction. You nodded, taking his silence as an answer.

“Try again.” You hit a button on a remote and it sent Steve’s body into uncontrollable spasms. He was crying out in pain as the piece lodged in his neck made him seize. You hit it again and it stopped.

“Either you understand or I’m electrocuting you until you piss yourself or pass out. Your choice.”

“When I get out of here, you cunt—“

You hit the button again and this time let it go until he screamed and begged for you to stop. At least a minute or so. He swore he would follow the rules. You let it go a bit longer just to indulge yourself. The tears of pain welling in his eyes were all you needed and you stopped with a big smile.

“I’ll follow the rules.” His voice was low and hoarse from screaming and you smiled, very content with your work.

“Neat,” was all you said before picking up your knife, leaving and closing the door behind you. Steve heard some mechanical locking and some lights flashing on the other side.

He was beyond angry with you. After all he had done to protect you and care for you, here you were working for the enemy. He couldn’t even guess at what your intent was. Left alone with his thoughts, he toyed with the idea that this all could have been an elaborate set up. Did HYDRA know he would get attached to you? No, they couldn’t have possibly planned such a thing out.

Even if it was a set up to get to him, wouldn’t you have been more receptive to him? Though, he supposed he didn’t give you much of a chance before taking you from your home. He was suddenly reminded of the look on your face when you said you thought he was a better person than you.

He didn’t know why he did that to you. Any of it. Hindsight is 20/20 but he had to have known it would have blown up in his face. Life didn’t usually work out in his favor. Now he was here tied down at your mercy and you were the one with rules, wielding a knife and with very legitimate grievances against him.

No amount of analysis was making this make sense. He couldn’t reconcile you being tied up and nearly dead in a HYDRA base with you actually being a member. He also couldn’t figure out how, if you were a member, how you had correspondence with them without him noticing or, the alternative, why you weren’t having correspondence with them at all. How did they even know where to find you? Had they been specifically looking for you, or where they looking for him?

You came back later. Steve could assume an hour or so had passed. You walked through the door and it slid closed behind you.

Frustration was plain on your face.

“Contrary to what you may believe, I gather no schadenfreude from this, but I’m starting to think things happened like this for a reason,” you explained, pacing in front of the door.

“And that reason was?”

“You tell me, Steve. Why did you kidnap me?” 

“I wanted to protect you.”

You smiled at that, holding back a laugh like an inside joke with yourself. In the dim light of the room, your eyes met.

“And so you will.”

You approached the table he was on, staring him over once. You climbed on the table and straddled him, settling yourself directly on his crotch.

Steve jerked against the heat of your core against him. Your hips slid against his, slowly grinding. The two of you never broke eye contact.

Steve wished he could have his hands on your hips, guiding you against him. You were gorgeous, even in the dim lights of this awful room. Eyes still sparkling and filling him with hope. Your bodies were in sync. His hard length caressed your soaking core through the layers of clothing you all wore. Soft breaths left both of you as you ground against him. A perfect and natural rhythm until you pulled away suddenly.

Before Steve could utter any complaint, you were pulling off your pants and your underwear before sliding his own down to reveal his cock. Your hand wrapped around it, squeezing lightly and jerking him off. He threw his hand back on the table, pushing himself up into your hand as best as he could with the restraints holding him down. Your eyes were hazy and lust filled as you stared down at him.

You stopped again and adjusted so you could slide down onto him. The moan that left your throat had him wild for you. Once he was completely sheathed in you, you both cried out. He bucked his hips up and you whimpered before taking up your own rhythm against him.

The look of you on top of him was something else. A great view he couldn’t have expected in this situation. Although the whole thing was less than ideal, this had to be a perk. Another odd behavior of yours that didn’t fit in with the rest of the information he knew. But he couldn’t focus on your motives right now. He could only focus on how tight you were around him. Memorizing the look of delight on your face while you rode him.

“Oh, fuck, Steve.”

“You’re so beautiful.”

“Shut up—fuck!”

He was jerking his hips up into you at a violent pace. One of your hands slid down to your clit, rubbing against yourself fiercely.

“I hate you, I hate you so fucking much,” you whined. Steve smirked.

“You look like you’re enjoying riding my dick.”

You slapped him as hard as you could with your free hand. His head jerked back against the table but it seemed to make him all the more determined to fuck you harder. After all, that was the extent of what he could do in his current position. It was sad. He was so starved for your touch that even that felt good. Any time you chose to touch him just set his body alight.

You were close to orgasm, legs shaking and your body losing its rhythm above him. It was no matter because he was steadily pushing into from below. Slamming into that spot you needed him most while your clit was stimulated from your own touch.

He was panting, eyes rolling back as you bounced on top of him. He was close, too. A giggle left your throat.

“Are you gonna come for me? You wanna come in my pussy?”

Just your words were enough to send him over the edge. He groaned, releasing inside you and trying to pump himself deeper. You rubbed your clit quickly, getting off on how good he looked below you. Powerless. Submissive. Completely yours to control.

You came, squeezing around his oversensitive cock and moaning his name. By the time you climbed off of him, Steve’s eyes were closed and his body was relaxed. You stood near his face and caressed his cheek.

“Good boy.”

.....

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Masterlist // Chapter Six