#its okay we persist despite the horrors

[oceaneyesinla]

oh no my being full of love squishiness turned into being full of sadness squishiness 🫠

[three--rings]

You Should Watch The Spirealm/致命游戏

What is it?

A 2024 cdrama based on the danmei webnovel Kaleidoscope of Death. It's a censored version of a BL novel, with thriller, mystery, and horror aspects, 38 45-minute episodes.

What's it about?

A young man accidentally gets drawn into a virtual reality video game that involves passing tests in a series of doors. Once you start playing, you cannot stop and if you die in the game, you die in real life. He meets a frustratingly mysterious, competent, and attractive man in the doors who recruits him to be part of his game solving team. Well, specifically to be his partner. Lots of gay subtext ensues as they fight through door after door seeking to get to the final door in order to end the evils of the game. (The book is a little different, as it's more supernatural.)

So basically it's a infinite flow deadly game situation, with m/m romance.

Main Characters:

Lin Quishi/Ling Juishi (novel/drama versions of his name)- Our protagonist. A smart graduate in computer science, good at games. Well meaning but a little naive to start out.

Ruan Nanzhu/Ruan Lanzhu - Our love interest. In the novel he crossdresses often and he presents as a woman for the whole first arc. Super intelligent, expert at the game, extremely flirty but reserved at the same time. Got one look at Lin Quishi and said That One.

Other Characters, aka the Found Family:

Ruan Nanzhu's team consists of a pair of twin brothers (one young and dumb and one uptight), a hot doctor vet, a woman whose main job seems to be cooking dinner, and a not-so-stable dude.

Then there's Li Dong Yuan, a rival player who becomes reluctantly-tolerated friend, and his cute female assistant. And Tan Zao Zao, an actress who hires the team to help her in the games and also sticks around persistently.

They're pretty much all delightful and some may start off silly/annoying and end up breaking the hell out of your heart.

Okay, but what's the VIBE?

Big Guardian vibes. The team of lovable scamps investigating weird supernatural (?) type mysteries? While the boss and the guy he fell for have a situationship? Totally. This definitely has more of a horror feel than Guardian, though, even though they tone things down from the novel.

Each door is its own setting, and some are more scary than others. So one is a mental hospital, one is a traditional village, one is a gothic manor, etc. Lots of tragic female ghosts who have been wronged and are getting revenge. The one that really creeped me out was the one with the children with the eggs. It does a lot of creepy rather than really horror. It's not truly gory at all, as it was made to air on Chinese TV and they have strict limits to violence.

The camerawork and set decor is really nice, actually. It looks great most of the time and a lot of the effects seem to be practical. It looks a lot better than Guardian is what I'm saying, if not quite to a film level.

How Gay is It?

Oh MY GOD. Okay look, this show was NOT supposed to be released, but thank whoever put it up for that two hours. It's really incredibly blatant, like really as much as Word of Honor was, although because the plot is focused elsewhere it's maybe not quite as in your face. But the actors UNDERSTOOD THE ASSIGNMENT and there's so much longing and SO much implication. After a while, everyone basically just treats the main couple as a couple even thought it's never talked about.

I mean episode one there's Only One Bed and at the end of their first meeting Ruan Nanzhu gives Lin Quishi a RING. I mean, the flirting is also BLATANT. I also just find this a really romantic show, despite the Not Talking About It thing.

Is it a Happy Ending?

So, It's Complicated. I'm trying not to spoil anything and this show is pretty easy to have spoiled for you. There's definitely a good bit of tragedy in this show in general. Characters die and it's really sad. Like, this is a plot with stakes and if no one we liked ever died, it wouldn't be the same.

I will say I consider this show to have a happy ending, but you do go through some pain first. Essentially the main couple does have a separation, but there is a reunion before the end. There's also a scene that will give Guardian fans fucking PTSD, but the show does a fix-it on its own, okay? I do feel that I have to warn for that, though.

Where can I watch it?

The show is legally available on Viki with a subscription. Obviously there are other ways to find it as well, and links went around before it was picked up by Viki so check tags if you need those.

I really hope this encourages some people to watch this show, as it's really well made and a great time. It's one of a very small number of danmei adaptations we've gotten, but a lot less people have watched it since it's modern and had a weird release. Honestly, it's well written and acted and filmed and you should give it a shot.

(All gifs by @ruanbaijie, thank you very much for allowing me to use them. Check out their blog, there's such gorgeous stuff there!)

[nine-of-words]

Something Borrowed (Part Ten)

M Gargoyle x M Reader

PREVIOUS || STORY TAG || NEXT

Wordcount: 5127

Content Warnings: Discussion of a Breakup

The horrors have been numerous and persistent for me lately, so this part took its sweet time getting written. Not much else to say about this chapter, other than I’m very excited to write the next one!!

It seems that things are determined to go sideways today. 

“Sorry to drop all of this on ya so early, but I knew you’d be awake.” Your sister’s voice comes through the speaker of your device.

You are indeed awake. You haven’t been sleeping well lately, despite it feeling like what you do the most these days- no idea why that would be- so you were already up and slowly trudging through your morning routine. But now you’re distracted with the call, going through making yourself a desperately needed cup of coffee mostly by feel in your dimly lit apartment kitchen.

“It’s okay- So, how exactly did this happen?”

“She took a wee tumble down the stairs. Got up in the middle of the night to get water, fell ass over kettle.”

“Oh, spirits. But you said it wasn’t serious, right?”

“Eh. Fractured her wrist, or so the doctor says. Right, Ma?” You hear a bit of noise in the background that sounds remarkably like your mother being quietly muttering in a displeased manner. “She’ll be right as rain soon enough. But she’s going to be in the cast for a tick.”

“Do I need to book a flight?”

“Hmm. You know we love to see ya- but nah. It's really not all that dire. Think she's tired of all the fuss by now, really.” She explains, before immediately switching into compulsory older sibling teasing. “Plus won't your new fella miss you? Unless you want to bring him along to meet what he's got to look forward to joining up with.”

“Haha… Yeah, you’re right. I suppose you’ll just have to wait…” You haven’t told them he’s not exactly your fella at the moment. What would you even say?

After a bit more conversation, Emer puts your mother on, and you speak to her for a short while. It assuages your worry a little, but not nearly enough to take the edge off. Though she's adamant you don't let her little mishap scare you into making sudden travel plans, you can't help but let it add to your ratings worries.

Maybe… you should go home?

You hang up your voci and look down at the brewed coffee that’s just started to drip through the filter. In your absent minded state, you’ve managed to put the exact mug you’ve been avoiding into the machine.

But there it is, the pink and white curves of ceramic reminding you of everything you're trying to push out of your mind.

You let out a long, frustrated sigh, pausing to stare vacantly at the mug.

Maybe putting an ocean between you and here will help you forget what you could have right now instead, if you weren't cursed.

You have all day to sit on it, you suppose, and can make a decision later. But you do have a business to run in the meantime, so you return to the process of adding your usual milk and sugar. 

It doesn’t help the bitter taste at all today.

Things don’t really go much better for you the longer the day progresses. 

“This is too sweet,” The older woman across the counter says, brandishing the mostly eaten cupcake in its paper lining. “I want a refund.”

“Well, it's a cupcake, m’am. It is mostly sugar…” You don’t even have the energy to muster your usual level of pleasantness. You barely keep from grimacing as you ring up the refund, just to get this person out of your hair.

Your customers are usually not this problematic, but you’re beginning to think that no one is having a good day today. You can deal with grumpy or picky people, but usually they’re not quite so many of them in a concentrated blast. Every little interaction is finding its way under your skin, and that’s not even taking into account how hard it is to concentrate and get any meaningful progress done.

Though, this is a task you’ve been pointedly avoiding that you’ll have to start sooner or later, today.

You’ve got to finish putting together Devin and Trevor’s cake- if you want it to be solid enough to put flowers in before delivery tomorrow night, which is rapidly approaching the longer you dawdle.

As in, nearly can be measured in hours instead of days soon.

It was different when it was just… anonymous cake layers you were cutting out and leveling. That could’ve been for anyone’s cake! But the more personality that goes into it, the more the subtle, nagging grief makes it difficult to work on.

You sigh and glob a stabilizing dollop of the vanilla buttercream- Trevor's choice- onto the base with your offset spatula.

It’s not as if you’re jealous that your ex is getting married at this point. You’re far past the stage of wanting him back by now. It just… all seems so unfair. Hopeless. He was able to wound you so deeply when he left- and just when you thought you had healed and moved on, carved out some new happiness for yourself- that got taken away, too.

Why should he get to be happy when you’re on the short end of the stick again?

You center a cake layer, then slather some more buttercream, spreading it out to make a glue for the next layer to adhere onto.

You’ll just have to think about it as Devin’s cake. It’s for your friend. That’s how you’ll get through this. You’ll do a good job, for your friend. Even if she’s marrying your ex, she should still get the best cake you can make for her, like you’d do for any other client.

Another layer of cake. A layer of elven berry compote that you made fresh yesterday- also Trevor’s choice, naturally. Another layer of cake. Then, repeat it all again.

As much as you try to rationalize that to yourself as you work through applying the crumb coat, you can’t help but realize you’ve been white-knuckling the spatula handle by time you’ve finished applying the buttercream.

Eventually, you have all of the crumb coated tiers ready on cake boards, to be given another coat and assembled after they’ve firmed up for a bit.

You mercifully shut the disassembled cake in the cooler, relieved that you don’t have to look at it for another few hours. Though, you have to hand it to yourself, even when your life is falling apart, you can make a bang-up gorgeous cake.

The demands of your business don’t stop just because you’re having a bad day and have other things to do, unfortunately. You’re not sure what portal to Hell has opened nearby, but it seems like all of the most awful customers have all decided to come to your shop today to take out their anger on you.

“No, we don’t do tiered pies here. I don’t even know if you’d be able to do that without making a mes- Well, okay. Have a nice day-” You say, though the person on the other end of the line has already hung up on you.

You turn to face the customer waiting at the counter, but before you can even greet them, they interrupt you with a snapping of their fingers.

“Where’s our waiter? I put our order into the kiosk twenty minutes ago and no one has even been by to so much as pour our water!”

“Oh, well, you can eat-in here, that’s what the seating is for, but we’re not a full service-”

“Ugh, fine! Just get me my order already, then.” The customer barks and you have to bite your tongue to restrain yourself from snapping back.

By time you reach another lull in activity and get back to work on Devin’s cake, your jaw and shoulders are fully tensed.

Since it’s slow, you take out the gumpaste. You have another tray of roses to sculpt so they can dry on time to place them tomorrow, so you might as well knock it out sooner than later.

Maybe none of this would be getting to you so much, but the full weight of the wedding being tomorrow is bearing down on you. The one saving grace is that Kirby will be there to distract you- at least you won’t be alone. You’ll deliver the cake, you’ll get through the ceremony, you’ll stay for a brief yet socially acceptable amount of time at the reception, and then you’ll go home and this whole excruciating ordeal will be over.

You just have to finish this cake and get through tonight first.

Only a few more hours until close. 

You can do this.

You make it another hour, rolling thinned pieces of sugary paste into delicate petals, before the bell door rings, and the person you see walk through the door gives you pause.

It’s not Carlyle, as you’ve been hoping it was every single time you hear the shop bell jingle since the last time you saw him. But it certainly looks like him, in everything but personal styling, and of course, the shape of the quartzose horns protruding from his brow.

Today it seems he’s left his body glitter at home, however. He’s dressed in relatively casual clothing; a hoodie (midriff still intact), untied slim joggers, immaculately clean sneakers. The difference is so staggering you might not have even recognized him as the same person, compared to his last visit, if he didn’t have Carlyle’s face; which you can now see clearly underneath his loose brown curls, this time not covered by the shadow of his hood.

“Hey.”

He gives you a tilt of his chin in acknowledgement and smiles an uncannily similar, fanged smile to the one you’ve grown accustomed to seeing. It’s a stab of pain, how sorely you miss it right now, and seeing it again, but just different enough to not be it.

“Uh. Hi, Marcus?” You say in a stilted manner, not really sure how to proceed. “You are… looking less gilded today than last time.”

“Hahahah, yeah. I didn’t have work last night, dude. No hangover!”

“Hah. Right…”

“But good to see you again, man! …I was wonderin-”

“Listen, if you’re here to deliver a message or something, I really can’t do this right now.” You cut him off, begging more than anything at this point to not have another thing go wrong or a twist of the knife today. You scrub at your face with your forearm to keep your hands sanitary, the deep pit of frustration starting to bubble out of you unintentionally. “And he knows to not-”

“Hey, no man, listen! It’s nothing like that.” He pats his curls down, the same way that his brother occasionally does with his dreadlocks when he’s smoothing out a misunderstanding. “He’d be PISSED if I knew he was here, hahah. He told me never to come here on my own after last time!”

“Well, maybe you should follow his instruction on that matter.” You say dryly and continue to roll the soft substance in silent judgement. “He usually knows what he’s talking about.”

Marcus seems to take this as a bad sign, his face twisting into a look of exasperation.

“Fine! Gimme a dozen cupcakes then. Fuck, make it any flavor, dude, I don’t even care.” He starts rifling through his pants pockets, finally pulling out his wallet, and then a card that he puts on the counter. It’s got his name printed on it, rather than Carlyle’s, so you suppose he’s gotten it replaced since the last time. “You’ve gotta talk to me if I’m a customer ‘n shit, right?”

“You know I do have the right to refuse service to you…?”

“Yeah man, but I don’t think you’re gonna! You’re too nice, from what I’ve heard.” Marcus says with the sort of shit-eating grin on his face that absolutely makes you want to refuse service to him, but with a vengeance.

“Well if you’re not here on your brother’s behalf…” You sigh in your own matching exasperated look and set down your gumpaste project to start boxing a dozen cupcakes. “Why are you here, then?”

“I’m gonna be totally honest with you, dude. He didn’t send me, but it is about him. I’m like, super worried about him.”

“Oh…” You can’t help yourself, you have to ask. “Is he alright…?” 

“Hell no! He’s all fucked up, man! The other night, I left at 8pm and he was still in the same spot at 11am when I got back in. Same book, same fit, same stale cup of coffee. He had sat still in the same place reading whatever nerd shit he was reading for so long that he deadass went half solid.” 

You can’t find the words to respond to that. The guilt gnaws at you like you gnaw at your bottom lip, but in a strange way, you feel validated that he’s still as messed up about things as you are.

“Look, whatever he did, it can’t be that bad, right? It’s Lyle!! He like, never fucks up like that.” He leans over the counter, talking with his hands in another show of familiar, yet foreign-in-this-context expression. He taps his chest with the fingertips of a spread hand for emphasis. “And I would know, ‘cuz I’M the family fuck up here. So, maybe you could like, just forgive him and junk? Make up or whatever?”

“It’s not…” You take a second to steady your breath. You’ve been trying to suppress these feelings for weeks, and now they’re getting dragged up so suddenly. “It’s not something he did. It’s… outside circumstances…”

You hesitate for a brief moment before you pick out the last of the random assortment; an orange and mixed spice flavor you found yourself trying out.

“That’s it? There’s no gettin’ around it, huh?”

“No. I'm sorry. It's complicated. I just can't.” You say with weakened conviction as you tape the box up, and then hoping to persuade yourself once again, add; “It’s better this way.”

“Right-” Marcus straightens up and rocks back and forth on his feet, his sneakers squeaking slightly against the tile with the motion. “Sorry if pushing was out of line, dude.”

“Don't worry about it- honestly, I'm sort of glad you showed up.” You smile, bittersweet. “It’s good that he has someone looking out for him.”

“Yeah.” Marcus smiles a conflicted smile back, then takes his cupcakes to go. “See you ‘round, dude.”

You find yourself having a silent argument with yourself as you finish the rest of the roses.

There’s the guilt, of course. Are you a bad person if you know that this separation is hurting you both, and yet you’re continuing to enforce it? Maybe you should have just let Marcus convince you to reach out?

Seeing someone with such familiar features has only made your heart ache that much more for what you’re missing.

Perhaps it’s for the best that you don’t have any customers in the shop at the moment, because they’d be able to clearly see you sneering at empty air and grumbling to yourself.

By the time you finish the last petal on the last rose of the tray, you’re no closer to having resolved your internal disagreement.

You put the roses away, and pull out your fully set, crumb-coated cake. Now just to put the final layer of frosting on, and then you’ll be done for the night.

As you set the tray down on the counter, your voci starts ringing in your pocket. You remove your gloves and answer the call, seeing that it’s Kirby. They’ve been checking in on you a lot more often lately, like you’re a sickly pet needing constant supervision. They're not entirely wrong.

You greet them as you put them on speaker. Then you wash up, and reglove as their voice comes through on the other end.

“So! How is your day going so far?”

“Oh, you know. Typical weekend customers. Ma broke her wrist.” You say flatly, smoothing out the buttercream on the top of the lowest cake tier with a spin of the stand with well-practiced motions.

“Oh no! That’s terrible! Is she okay??”

 “She’s fine, but it’s still stressful that I can’t be there to help out.”

Once you’re finished getting a perfectly even, level surface on the lowest tier, you begin the process again on a slightly smaller scale on the next largest cake tier.

“Mmm. Yeah, it must be, being so far away.”

“And Carlyle’s brother came into the shop earlier.” You continue, now lathing more buttercream onto the sides.

“Whaaaat??? No!! Glitter Boy?! Oh my SPIRITS you’ve gotta tell me all the details right now!”

“There’s not a lot to say, really. Told me Carlyle’s not taking it well either, and now I feel like a villain.”

“You’re not a villain,” Kirby sighs. “Sometimes things are just. Y’know. Messy.”

You continue to make your way through doing the final coat on the cake tiers, each one going progressively faster as they diminish in size.

“Oh, and how could I forget- I’m making a cake for my ex’s wedding that social pressure is forcing me to attend. So you know. The usual.”

“Hahah- Ooh, bummer. Well, when you put it like that, it does sound like, toooootally miserable! You’re having a pretty horrible day, and I’m… definitely not about to make it worse, hahah!!”

“Oh no.” You hiss through gritted teeth. “Something’s wrong, then?”

They laugh nervously, a little giggle-whimper that you can’t possibly be irritated with.

You’re silent as you begin to fill a piping bag with buttercream, waiting for Kirby to divulge their information.

“I MAY have some bad news.”

“Oh. Lovely. Just grand! More bad news is exactly what I need at this current moment.” You say, dripping with sarcasm.

“I know!!! Believe me, I know! But I wanted to tell you as soon as I found out.” Kirby sighs. “I just got out of a meeting with my boss and they’re sending me out of town on a case. I have to get on a red eye in a few hours.”

“But… the wedding is tomorrow…”

“Yeah, that would be the problem! But I can’t exactly tell my boss to fuck off and still have a job, y’know??? Soooooo. We are in. damage. control. mode!”

“It’s okay.” You say, it not really being okay at all, but not wanting to lash out at your friend who’s only ever tried to help you in any given situation. You’re simply too stunned to even start to panic.

“Nope! It’s ABSOLUTELY not! But I’ll be there in like, an hour!! I’ll bring dinner and we can totally figure out a plan B, okay? Or I guess plan C or D by now- But bestie, I don’t care if I have to HIRE an escort to take you to that wedding, you’re not going alone! Especially not because of stupid work interference!!”

“Hah- A-Alright.” You laugh weakly and speak through a sharp intake of air, but manage to not sound like you’re about to burst into tears, even though you desperately want to. “See you soon.”

The call ends, but you continue working, despite the rapidly expanding pit of terror in your gut and the sting at the back of your eyes.

This news, surprisingly, does not help your ability to finish this cake.

You keep going, but not without roadblocks. Your eyes screw closed in frustration and pain. Your teeth grit. Your hand clenches around the bag, nearly squeezing the frosting out of the back end of it.

As a small mercy, closing time finally comes and you turn off the light, though you leave the door unlocked, given you’re expecting Kirby sometime in the next hour or so.

You need to move on to piping some of the finer details- But you can't even think about piping an even line right now, not with the way your hand is trembling.

Still, you persist, pushing the bag back taut and re-twisting the open end. 

“Stop. Shaking.” You hiss out loud at yourself, your body refusing to obey even your own verbal instructions.

You just need to get this cake done. Is that so much to ask?

Kirby is coming over and you’ll find a solution for the wedding. You won’t have to go to your ex's wedding alone. It will be fine.

The tremor in your hand nearly causes you to stab through the layer you’re working on with the piping tip, so you take a moment to straighten up your posture and try to loosen your locking muscles. You take a few calming breaths, then go back in and manage to finish the last few filigree details on the tier you're working on.

Your hand is already shaking again. You ignore it. You’ll get through this. You have to.

But every time you regain focus, the thought of Carlyle as a miserable and inert statue keeps creeping back unbidden into your mind.

It’s all too much. Too much. Too much.

The lights above you flicker. A buzz of energy ripples through the room.

The pressure on your chest is unbearable now. Blood rushes in your ears. 

You can’t deal with this anymore.

You can’t even think-!

POP-

In an instant, something cold and cloying splatters across the side of your face and the bridge of your nose, the front of your shirt, your clenched hands and outstretched forearms.

You bring a hand to your face in shock, blindly testing the sudden change in texture.

Your fingertips come away coated in sticky, sugary goop, and bits of shredded vanilla sponge cake.

And where the cake tiers were sitting on the counter, there’s a conspicuous absence of a cake, only the sparse large chunk of shrapnel- a bloodless crime scene, the mostly empty, frosting smeared cakeboards evoking the essence of a chalk body outline.

Well. You’ll be damned.

The cake exploded.

Hoarse, incredulous laughter escapes your throat- first in disbelief, then in bitter resignation. No other reaction really seems to suit this situation more.

Because your life is a joke. A bad joke.

Your laughs thin out, turning into choked sobs. You sink down until you’re sitting on your cold shop floor with your back against a cabinet, and bring the lower clean edge of the apron up to cry into.

Eventually, the unrestrained weeping quiets into silent tears Time has passed, as evidenced by the sky beginning to darken outside. 

“Heeeeellooooo~! I’m heee-” You hear a familiar voice call out and then equally familiar hoof falls on the tile. There’s a rapid change in their tone, making a 180° turn into hushed concern. “Oh. Well fuck, that doesn’t look good-” 

After a few moments, Kirby rounds the counter, an inquisitive look on their face.

You can’t even muster the embarrassment to be seen like this, too tired and emotionally drained and just simply done with it all.

You expect a look of pity or maybe some awkward fussing, but instead, Kirby simply gives you a knowing smile.

“What a mess!!” Kirby shakes their head, curls tumbling as they assess the damage. “You’re not hurt, are you, honey?”

You shake your head weakly, rubbing at your eye with your inner wrist.

“Good! Well then, let’s get this all cleaned up!” They chirp and reach out their hand, palm up.

After the moment it takes to recognize the gesture, you take their hand. Kirby’s grip is surprisingly strong for being such a petite faun, and they easily manage to help you to your feet.

“You don’t have to-” 

“Well I’m NOT going to let you sit here and cry covered in frosting all night.” Kirby laughs, beginning to roll up the sleeves of their work shirt. “So. Yes I do~”

“...Thank you.” You sniffle.

“Don’t mention it!!” They laugh. “You go get cleaned up and I’ll start tackling this absolute disaster zone!”

You trudge upstairs and debate on the benefits of a full shower before deciding that it’s worth it, even if ten more cakes explode. You’re uncomfortably sticky down your neck and arms. 

Maybe you can wash this day away, while you’re at it…

Before long you’re redressed and coming back downstairs- if not feeling completely refreshed, you at least now have it in you to face the (suddenly much longer) list of tasks ahead. Kirby has gotten most of the cake into a trash bag, and is wiping down the counter.

“There, you look much better! Now, come tell me what was happening when this happened, will you?”

You join them, grabbing a sanitizer rag and beginning to help wipe down the closest surface. You describe as best you can exactly what you were doing, feeling, and thinking about when the cake exploded, just as you’ve explained to them about the previous incidents that you weren’t physically present for.

“Hmm.” Kirby hums quizzically. “Well, the good news is I’ve got a potential solution for the wedding dilemma.”

“Oh?” You’d be lying if you said that the promise of a stressor being removed didn’t sound divine.

“Actually, I’ve already convinced Rosario to go with you, if you want, while I was on the way over. Did you know that she’s surprisingly easy to bribe?!” Kirby giggles. “But to be honest- I didn’t even need to bribe her!! She agreed before I offered anything in return. Apparently wedding cake and an open bar is enough reason for her to turn up, or so she said. But I think it’s because she likes you.”

“That’s… very kind of her.” She wouldn’t be the worst companion for the event- you’ve grown quite fond of her presence in your shop, prickly attitude and all.

“Yeah! She’ll easily make your ex just as uncomfortable as I was planning to, all on her own merit, hehe!! BUUUUUT, I think you know what I’m about to say-”

“Don’t…”

“You should call him!” Kirby says in the most obnoxiously sing-song sweet tone they can, and you wince hard.

“I can’t-”

“But you can~!!”

“But I don’t think I should-”

“Well, maybe you should think again, sweetie!! You absoluuuuutely should! Because if this-” Kirby motions to the partially cleaned up buttercream splatter still coating the vicinity. “Isn’t proof enough that it’s not a him problem, I don’t know what would be!!”

You drag a palm across your face, overwhelmed, and heave a sigh.

“At the end of the day it’s your choice! I can’t make you call him. But you miss him, and he misses you! I know this for a fact! And SPIRITS is he being SO insufferable about it!! And so are you!!!! And it’s just a BIT silly to keep drawing this out like this.”

“But… I don’t want him to get hurt…”

“Listen. We know there’s something attached to you- Rosario’s exorcism attempt confirmed that much. But there’s no like, actual indication that any of that is related to what’s happening with the curse. It’s just not how this kind of magic works. We’re almost certain we’re dealing with two unconnected, non-standard issues complicating each other at this point- some sort of spirit attached to you, and some sort of ley-based magical compulsion in play- but we don’t know the source of where either of those things are coming from. Yet.”

“Right.” You say, pausing your cleaning work to take in the new information.

“Though, someone has some very promising ideas about the later being some sort of messed up geas, and Rosario seems like she has a hunch on what is in the shop.”

“But… it just feels like it’s getting worse. Not that I don’t appreciate your efforts, of course…”

“I know it feels that way. But I am good at my job! And I’ve been keeping track of the numbers this whole time, y’know?? I’ve got the DATA. Do you know what I’ve noticed the most as a trend over the time I've been working your case?”

You simply shake your head to give them time to build dramatic tension before they continue.

“The cakes explode more when you’re upset!! Like, a whole, whole lot more! And quite frankly at this point, in my professional opinion, you being separated from him is making it WORSE!!”

“...You really think it’d be okay to ask him-” To go back to how it was before, to be with me again; you want to say, but end up continuing instead; “to come with me to the wedding?”

You have the feeling Kirby understands what you wanted to say, anyway, based on their pleased expression, like they’re finally getting the message through to you.

“You’re my friend!! And as your friend, I am HEREBY giving you the permission that you’re not giving yourself! I wouldn’t be suggesting this to you if I didn’t think it was safe.” Kirby squarely lays their hands on you on the shoulders, though they need to reach up slightly to do it. “If anything, having him there might keep you from getting bent out of shape at your ex and blowing up the second cake, like, at the actual wedding.”

“That would be horrible.” You rasp and find yourself genuinely smiling for the first time all day, trying to blink back the sting of more tears threatening to spill, though this time more out of a sense of appreciation than despair.

“It. Would. Be. HILARIOUS.” Kirby says with a mischievous grin, patting your shoulders with each word for emphasis. “And if it were to happen, I would hope you were recording it. Y’know, for data collection purposes, hehehe!! But it would also be, let’s say: bad for business.”

You manage to finish getting things looking clean, as if nothing bad had happened at all, Kirby has called their ride to the airport.

“Now, I have to go or I’m going to miss my flight and my boss will probably-actually-literally murder me.” 

“And I have a cake to remake.” You quietly lament. “If you want, I can get on the plane and you can make the cake…”

Kirby lets out a string of giggles, picking their carry-on bag off the seat at the counter they stashed it on..

“Hahah- No thanks!! But- Call him.” Kirby repeats as they give you a squeezing hug goodbye. “Or Rosario, if you must. But don’t make yourself go alone. And keep me updated!! All of the juicy wedding gossip, please. I’m definitely going to be bored out of my mind otherwise, hehe!!”

Then they release you from their grip to head out the door with one last wave and a jingle of the shop bell. 

You, on the other hand, let out a long, withering sigh and pull out another set of white cake layers from the cooler.

…It’s going to be a long night.

>> ✨ MASTERLIST >> ☕ KO-FI

[beantothemax]

I’m so glad I stepped back a little. It’s so fun to have her angst a little.

Ping patrol: @soup-for-ghosts @lesbian-empress-nero @stars-and-loops @meme-boys-blog

Cws: Death, Persona 3 spoilers.

———————————————-

"Hey! I called the left seat!"

"Well I didn't hear you."

"You had it on the way here!"

"Did not."

"Did too!"

“Did not!”

“Did too!!”

(Sighs) "Makoto's right. Kotone, let him sit there."

"But mooom... the view is really pretty! I wanna see it!"

"You saw it last time, Kotone. Next time we go on a trip like this, it'll be your turn, alright?"

"Okay…"

—————————————

The ocean is a place of endless movement. With waves rippling across its surface; moving along the currents in twisting ways. The moon perhaps, would be its partner, controlling the cosmic push and the pull of the tides. With grace it dances with the sea, in a slow waltz across the land and sky.

Life and death move in a similar way.

There is a shadow upon the spire of a bridge tonight. A dark blotch on the meger canvas of stars. She waits for events that were remembered from times long past. But it is not a silent vigil. She has been quietly singing to herself, leaving her words echoing across the sea and towards the full moon.

A harp accompanies her. It rings with cascading notes that soothe alongside the crashing waves.

Theres a still tension in the swell;

Of dreamt debris afloat amidst the waves and then dispel.

The harp continues to play while the singer is left in thought. It is almost time, but that won’t stop her from finishing this set. A few key notes are highlighted, but the cascade still persists.

Aimless thoughts and papers blown around;

A million moments meant remembered rest in deep dark sound.

Game the mess.

I’d like to know why you,

Are all alone while I’m,

Lost at sea.

Maybe we’ll be there when you want.

A violin unexpectedly joins in. From where, it is unknown. It dips in and out, with long pulls and short pushes. The harp continues despite it all, acknowledging the violin at some points, but still following its own path.

Anchorless and unmoored set amiss.

Awake would only probe the fantasy made lucid sense;

Sail on, sail on.

I’d like to know why you,

Are all alone while I’m,

Lost at sea.

Maybe we’ll be there when you want.

She hums, letting the harp and violin heighten in tone. All three of them lay in harmony now, leaving only the ocean to perform as the percussion.

The moon stares on, impassive as ever. Perhaps it is charmed by the shadow’s song.

A single car races down the bridge.

There's a still tension in the swell,

So give into the vast receiving emptiness of ti-

The world turns a sickly shade of green.

Once dark waters of the ocean are now a deep shade of red. Gentle ripples move more ferociously, whitecaps tinted with ivory plasma. Stars are swallowed whole, coffins line the streets of the surrounding city.

Tires screech on the road beneath; a boy and a girl scream before being abruptly silenced by a loud crash.

The song is interrupted. A shame, but it’s not the first time Kurokami had to be flexible.

She drops down from its vantage point. From a distance, she appears to be a particularly large raindrop. The shadow reforms, and glides over to the smoking remains of the vehicle.

She wanted to see him again. To thank him, even though he didn’t know what he did to deserve it. She wanted to cherish him as she was now, even when he felt unwanted. She wanted to comfort him in this time of crisis, when he didn’t even know her name. He was the reason she had for being. Why she existed. He was the catalyst, the beginning of the end for Her. And Kurokami couldn’t wait any longer.

Her eyes widened in horror.

He can’t be. No. It’s not possible. He is destined-

But here he is.

A young Makoto Yuki's head is pressed against the spiderwebbed glass. Blood slowly seeps from his temple, turning once dark blue hair a shade of dark dark red. He looks peaceful, almost. Like the day She lost him. There was no blood that day. No pain, just letting go knowing that everything would end up fine.

She could hardly believe it. Was she too late? What could she do now, now that there was no one to fulfill the fates’ design? All of her efforts, the connections, the time.

Was it all wasted on this?

He could be on the edge of life, yes? She just needed to get a hand in there.

She reached through the cracks, and felt for a pulse.

There was none.

“No…”

He was gone.

Someone, anyone should have survived. Someone had to. She would have known if this damned world was to be consumed already, so this place would be fine.

She looked frantically around the wreckage, desperate to find any form of life, circling around the two coffins in the front seats. The parents, no doubt. A sad sight, but she did not linger. They were going to die anyway.

A lock of red hair caught her eye. She lay there, passed out upon a deflating airbag. Unlike Makoto, she truly looked like she was sleeping.

As soon as she felt her weak pulse, she looked.

It was muted with unconsciousness, but she could still feel the warmth. She is a bright soul, charming and kind. She was… beautiful. Kurokami had never seen a soul so unmarred.

Who was this?

Kotone Shiomi. Sibling.

She blinked.

A sister. Nobody had mentioned that Makoto was an only child. They had only said he was an orphan. Kurokami could hardly believe it, but the resemblance was right there. Silver and gold, moon and sun, Artemis and Apollo, Hades and Persephone, Orpheus and-

...Eurydice.

Was her Persona already-

A distant explosion.

Kurokami knew what it signified. She cannot linger for long. Already, she feels the sheer power of what is to come. And if she were to be caught in the crossfire…

She departs, leaving only a single lotus petal on Her Martyr’s chest.

It is the least she can do.

Death arrives, with a weapon soon behind.

They fight in spectacular fashion, a brutal display of power from both sides.

A girl keens in the night, the weapon takes advantage of the opening it grants.

Two bodies collapse in the middle of the road. They are seperated. Neither will remember this incident until it is too late.

The One Who Stares Back looks forlornly, and follows one.

There is a saying amongst many, that curiosity oft killed the cat.

But many do not know of its second part: speaking of the satisfaction that brought it back.

………

Alone…

At the edge of a universe humming a tune.

For merely dreaming we were snow.

Mmm mmm mmmmm mm…

A siren sounds,

Like the goddess who promises endless apologies of paradise.

And only she can make it right.

So things are different tonight.

do they know?

gotta say wasn’t expecting ‘makoto also dies in the car crash’ to be the kotone wildcard justification but this is the world we live in now I suppose

very nice song choices again as usual tho! yippee

[crystallizedkingdoms]

if its alright to ask, whats your opinion on The Terror (the show)?

Hope you have a nice day, and feel free to ignore btw!

Okay this is going to be something i am even more insistent in making sure that this is my opinion only. I have never talked to another Inuk who watched the Terror other than my dad so i do not know what the general consensus is with Inuit fans.

To start off with the good: I enjoyed the show. It’s very well-written, and it never shies away from the fact that the men were colonizers that got what was coming for them (and no one lecture me on their “humanity” ill gut you like a fish). I enjoyed Silna’s place in the story, and though it is always going to be questionable to show white men enacting violence on an indigenous woman, this is definitely not the worst among them. I laughed really fucking hard when Goodsir was like “Englishmen are supposed to be gentlemen” or whatever and Silna gave him the meanest fucking look lol. I wish that I didn’t have to be glad that, at the very least, there’s no sexual assault but that’s how it is. I was incredibly impressed by the level of detail in portraying accurate clothing and dialect, and it made me incredibly happy to see it.

But just by the nature of the story the show is trying to tell, and more specifically the fact its an adaptation of a terrible book, it was never going to be even close to outstanding in my eyes. The main physical threat of the story aside from the white men themselves is a crude, fantastical interpretation of angakkuit helper spirits. It’s portrayed as savagely uncontrollable, and the fact that it was meant to protect the Inuit community that created it inadvertently portrays Inuit resistance as a horror. Basically every aspect of Inuit spirituality is portrayed as a horror, from the fake ritual including mutilation and the masked angakkuuk men, using us as scary props. Meanwhile, the Christianity in the show, even including the stark difference between Catholicism and Protestantism, is kept perfectly intact.

And, maybe more personal and feelings-driven than the rest of my issues, I simply could not connect with the white men than the person who recommended the show to me and the fandom as a whole. Even when I recognized the beautiful writing and characterization, every time I recognized the show was trying to make me care about them, I just remembered, these men hated my people more than they cared about survival. They were forces of violent colonialism, and their disappearance not only caused more violent racist white people to probe our land, us attempting to help them out killed us through diseases and ruined our oral histories’s credibility for CENTURIES. We were ridiculed by the British for telling the truth of their story, Charles Dickens famously called our stories “the chatter of a gross handful of uncivilized people”, and not only called us savages, but wrote a play portraying us as PART of the downfall of the expedition. Those stereotypes STILL persist today and, in a way, live on in the show. So, forgive me for not really caring if they wrote these men to be gay and multifaceted while the one indigenous woman was treated like shit.

Okay so um. That was long and I got heated. Despite my issues with the show, I would be lying if I said I did not enjoy the underlying story and revelled in their end. But the reasons I wrote above ultimately leave me in a place of “I wish this was about literally anything else,” so I could enjoy it without feeling gross.

[silverwarewolf]

OOH CHARACTER ASK GAME. Okay I'm gonna go with... 2B, 9S, or A2 from NieR Automata -- whichever one you want to answer for (if any of them). :3 6, 13, 18, 25, and I'm using the freebie question 27. 27 (freebie question): Opinions on the Pod or its relationship with your chosen character? :3 (Pod 042 if 2B or A2, Pod 153 if 9S) You don't have to answer all of these by the way and if there's a specific number you really wanted to answer but I didn't bring up then feel free to add that in! :D

ohoho okay okay, this may take a while to answer. thanks for the ask!

FOR 2B

6. What's something you have in common with this character?

Ahhh, well. The sarcasm as a facade for deeper emotion? Which I've been kind of working on. I want to have it as a weapon rather than a mask, you know? Not a default setting, but something I still have. Also i WOULD pet the pod, no questions asked.

13. What's an emoji, an emoticon and/or any symbol that reminds you of this character or you think the character would use a lot?

hmmmmmm im not too sure. maybe a good ol' 👍? she doesn't strike me as the type who would use emojis a lot. maybe a <3 but it's difficult to tell whether she means it or it's sarcastic (she uses it for both things). I... can you tell that i'm not very well versed in emojis? LOL.

18. How about a relationship they have in canon with another character that you admire?

aaaaaaaaaaa WELL. although i really like the whole thing she has with A2, and i find the dynamic with pod very cute, i think nothing makes me froth at the mouth quite like knowing the burden of her mission with 9S. waough. i love characters who are stuck in hell (/lh).

25. What was your first impression of this character? How about now?

uhhhhh BADASS LADY WITH A BIG SWORD, which she still is, but with the added depth i kind of want to like. give her a week off for rest and leisure. introduce her to the wonders of a Good Blanket and Tea.

27 (freebie question): Opinions on the Pod or its relationship with your chosen character? :3

mmmmmmm pod 042 is definitely my favorite of the pods. I think it suits 2B pretty well. I mean, i dont think i have a lot of thoughts for this section specifically, but i'm just a fan of their dynamic and how there's kind of a parallel dynamic operator-pod-unit for both 2B and 9S.

FOR 9S

6. What's something you have in common with this character?

Hmmm this one's harder. Probably the curiosity to learn and question authorities? Lmao. The informality, too.

13. What's an emoji, an emoticon and/or any symbol that reminds you of this character or you think the character would use a lot?

oh he's the KING of emojis and has probably caused lag on the yorha servers trying to use obscure emotes /lh. hmmmm he gives me vibes of 🙄👀😌 and 🌚 before yorha removed the face and made it a normal moon so that he couldn't use it. and then he still did.

18. How about a relationship they have in canon with another character that you admire?

listen i just wanna achieve the level of chill there is between 9S and pod 153. other than that i'm a fan of the entire arc he has with the operator. like yes, i do really like his whole thing with 2B but it's Different because he doesn't Know, he didn't go Through It quite like 2B did.

25. What was your first impression of this character? How about now?

ehhhhh i saw him as a little too childlike tbh, but now it's part of his charm. the horrors persist but so does our smile! and i love him for that. also, i am unwell about how they programmed him to be like this DESPITE it being literally a risk for yorha like babes what were we thinking.

27 (freebie question): Opinions on the Pod or its relationship with your chosen character? :3

HELL YEAH BABEY. pod 153 is sadly the runner up in the favorite pod contest, but i think the dynamic with 9S is still quite delicious like... i love befriending robots okay? and that's something 9S excels at, apparently.

FOR A2

6. What's something you have in common with this character?

Mmm, yes, yes. I would describe myself as being ultimately pretty pragmatic in my decision making, to an extent that I've been told im cold. Still, much like 2B, there's care hidden underneath.

13. What's an emoji, an emoticon and/or any symbol that reminds you of this character or you think the character would use a lot?

uhhhhh definitely analog type emojis. :/ is a good one, and so is :| i think. if i had to pick an emoji then it would be after some develompent of hers, 😒 is a good one. i would've picked ones for her anger but in such cases she would perchance be too angry to type. punchtime.

18. How about a relationship they have in canon with another character that you admire?

I AM UNWELL ABOUT HER RELATIONSHIP AND CONNECTION TO 2B. Maybe it's not something to admire, but you know.

25. What was your first impression of this character? How about now?

i actually liked her more before i played replicant. after that i can only think of how they really gave her a lot of kaine-esque traits and she just can't match that level of serving. that aside, she really grew on me from mysterious cool enemy to tragic cool character.

27 (freebie question): Opinions on the Pod or its relationship with your chosen character? :3

onesided rivals to reluctant friends my beloved. and i LOVE the trope of loyalty in that way, too. omg i wish we had gotten more of them.

[oh-my-whumperflies]

rest

[ cross posted on AO3 ]

wei wuxian had always been known for his inhuman resilience and seemingly boundless energy.  always the one to cause chaos, to get into trouble, to brighten up everything around him (albeit with fire). he had never been the type to slow down, to take it easy, to let himself be taken care of. oh, how the tables turn. the wind howled through the bamboo forests, the rain drummed relentlessly on the roof tiles, a violently rainy night. and inside, sat a certain worried jiang, shooting concerned glances at the door. wei wuxian lay curled up in bed, his face flushed and damp with sweat, usually sharp mind now foggy with the fever that had him in a chokehold. various talismans lay rampant on the floor, some complete, some not, and a number of scripts haywire in a corner, all with one common subject, healing.  it was obvious that the sickness hadn’t been random. it had been persistent, and wei wuxian had not managed to (in jiang wanyi’s words) ‘out-persist’ it in his own way.  he let out a soft whimper, before a hand abruptly shot out, fingers wrapping around jiang cheng’s wrist. the younger jumped a little, startled, as wei wuxian stared at him with unfocused, glass-like eyes, seeing him but something far more horrifying than just that. “the dogs... they're outside, a- and they want to come in,” he whispered, voice as fragile as the tendrils of a lotus leaf, on the brink of withering.

“th- there’s nothing outside, idiot. you’re in your room, you’re fine.” jiang cheng responded, trying not to shiver alongside his brother. this idiot… despite his disdain, he placed a hesitant hand against wei wuxian’s forehead, hoping it would help ground the man back to reality.  it wasn’t like they hadn’t been sick around each other before. there was no reason to be worried, right? wei wuxian’s fevered gaze roamed the room as if searching for the phantom hounds that haunted him. his breathing was ragged, each gasp a struggle. "but... their eyes,” he started, shaking like a leaf in the wind. “jiang cheng, e- eyes… red, glowing, like they're possessed." tears streamed down flushed cheeks as jiang cheng awkwardly petted the other, waiting for their anchor to return.”i’ll protect you, okay?” as if summoned, jiang yanli now came over to join them, a cool and comforting presence in the midst of the humid heat. she held a bowl of lotus root soup, its aroma a delicate thread weaving through the tapestry of the night. the fragrance seemed to immediately calm the teenager on amidst the sheets as he began to relax, though still ‘alert’. "you need to eat. it'll make you feel better," she implored, her voice gentle but carrying the weight of her concern. wei wuxian’s fear-filled eyes finally landed on the bowl. he hesitated, his voice thin, as he responded. "i can't, shijie. th- they're out there, and they're angry. i- i don't want to make them angrier." jiang cheng's grip on wei wuxian's hand tightened, his nails digging into his brother's skin, a desperate attempt to tether him back to reality.  he felt so incredibly helpless. the older’s deep-rooted fear of dogs was no secret, not to the public, not to his family, so he could only imagine the horror his brother must’ve been feeling. "there are no dogs outside.” jiang yanli coaxed, voice as soft as her brother’s whimpers. “you're with us, and we won't let anything harm you. now come on, eat the soup,"  jiang cheng tried to get wei wuxian up to a sitting position, concern evident on his face. said teen’s brow furrowed in confusion, his mind still clouded by images all but he couldn’t see. the room seemed to waver, the shadows growing darker, and yet, slowly, the fog began to lift. he gazed at the bowl again. "oh... soup." he mumbled, a thread of recognition. as jiang yanli continued to feed him, the other began to slowly go lax to the point that jiang cheng had to actively struggle to hold him upright. finally, half of the bowl empty (or half of it full), wei wuxian's body gave in to exhaustion, and his eyes closed. 

if he were to wake up and find two people slumped against the wall and an unfinished bowl of soup by his side, who was he to question it?

a/n :  this is literally just wei wuxian getting sick, jiang cheng being stressed, and jiang yanli being the best shijie that we know she is this is way more fluff than whump but wwx does suffer so !!!

[writethelifeyouwant]

Can't Tie Me Down - Ch 6 / 6

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader Rating: 18 Tags: Omegaverse, prostitution, kidnapping, drugging, drug induced heat, drug induced rut, noncon (rape, forced rape, and forced claiming), public sex, sexual ritual, knotting, biting, degradation, use of gay slurs, John and Sam are the worst™ Word Count: 4.3k Created For: @spnabobingo - Public Claiming

A/N: That's it for this series! Thanks so much to everyone who read and commented along the way, I hope you like the finale 😅

Series Masterlist

A knock sounded at the front door, and Y/N dropped the string of her tea bag into the mug of boiling water in fright, but she ignored the sound. Her fingers trembled, knocking metal against porcelain so loudly as she tried to fish out her drowning tea bag, that she could almost pretend she hadn’t heard the second knock at all. She took her tea to the bedroom, numb to the heat burning into her skin from the too-hot mug, hoping that whoever was at the door had taken her hint and given up.

They hadn’t.

“Y/N?” a voice called distantly, and even through several doors and the vast emptiness of her apartment, Y/N knew that voice before he spoke his name. “Y/N, it’s Dean!” Dean called through the door again, persistent.

Y/N didn’t answer, she barely dared to breathe, despite the fact that there was no way Dean could hear her breathing. Desperate for distraction, she raised her cup to her lips and gulped down the searing liquid, burning her tongue. The pain helped cut through the fear a little, at least.

“Y/N, are you home?” Dean knocked again, voice betraying a note of anxiety in its pitch. Silence, for a minute, and then to her horror Y/N’s phone started to ring on the kitchen counter where she’d left it while making tea. “Y/N I can hear your phone, I know you’re here. Please, can we just talk? I really need to talk to you.”

She couldn’t believe it. What on Earth could Dean need to talk to her about so badly? Did he know what had happened? Was he here to make sure she wasn’t going to tell anyone? Make sure she was going to be a good little Omega and keep her mouth shut so their business wasn’t ruined? Well him and his whole family can go to Hell, she thought bitterly, continuing to ignore him.

More knocking.

“Y/N if you don’t answer this door I’m going to have to assume you’re having a medical emergency, or you’re dead, and I’m going to call 911!” Dean threatened, and that got Y/N’s attention. She didn’t want the police here even more than she didn’t want Dean here. The police would just accuse her of lying or causing trouble, and she wasn’t strong enough to have someone undermine her like that right now. It would sever the one remaining thread she had connecting her to her sanity.

“Y/N!” Dean called again, sounding frantic. He was knocking so hard she was surprised the door hadn’t given way on its own. Tea violently discarded on her nightstand, Y/N marched to the door and wrenched it open, narrowly avoiding Dean’s fist colliding with her forehead as he went to knock again.

“What, Dean?” she seethed, sounding much braver than she felt.

“Um, hi,” Dean stuttered, all of his previous fight draining out of him in an instant, leaving him pale and lost looking. “Sorry, I um,” Dean’s eyes glanced around him nervously, like he was worried they were being watched, “can I come in?”

“No,” Y/N answered shortly, fingers going white where they were clinging to the door and the frame, blocking Dean’s ingress.

“Y/N what’s wrong? I just want to talk,” Dean tried to reason with her, apparently confused as to why she seemed so angry at him. Maybe he didn’t know what had happened… but Y/N decided she didn’t care.

“I said no. If you want to talk, talk here.”

“Okay, I um, I kinda came here to ask you something but based on how you’re acting right now, I’m guessing I might be wasting my time,” Dean trailed off nervously and Y/N couldn’t help but scoff.

“If you came here to ask me to keep your father’s dirty little secret, don’t bother. I’m not gonna tell anyone, so you can go run back to Daddy and tell him to stop worrying,” Y/N sneered.

“I– what?” What the hell are you talking about?” Dean’s face contorted in confusion as he blinked at Y/N’s scathing answer.

“Don’t play dumb, Dean. Why else would you be here? You’re the clean-up crew.”

“Y/N, honest to God, I have no idea what you’re– what is that?” Dean reached out towards her neck, obviously having noticed the bruise that she had forgotten was there, and Y/N jumped back out of his range but that had the undesired effect of leaving the doorway free for Dean to enter – an opportunity that he readily seized.

“Y/N, what happened?!” Dean demanded, storming towards her before halting abruptly. Y/N was sure the fear coursing through her must be evident on her face, and Dean had obviously picked up on that. He was still approaching, but slowly now, hands up like he was trying to coax a wounded animal out of its den. “Sweetheart, what happened?” he repeated more gently, genuine ignorance and concern flitting across his features.

“I–” Y/N didn’t want to tell him. What if Dean turned out to be like everyone else? What if he believed it was her fault, like John tried to tell her it was. As much as she knew it hadn’t been her fault, she also knew no one would believe that. Dean was John’s son, he was probably raised to think the exact same way, no matter how kind he had seemed at first. It was a fair bet their whole family, hell their whole company, was rotten and cruel.

“I don’t have to tell you anything Dean, I’m not your sweetheart.” Derision dripped from her last word. Y/N couldn’t hurt John but she knew how to hurt Dean, and right now that was close enough. “We’re not even fuck buddies, you’re just some Alpha I had to hire so I didn’t die. I don’t owe you anything.”

“Hey, hey now,” Dean held his hands up defensively, face showing his obvious confusion at the venom he was facing. “It was just a question, Y/N. I’m sorry, you’re right, it’s none of my business. Except,” Dean took a slow, measured step closer, “when I came in here, you said something about keepin’ my dad’s ‘dirty little secret’? And that makes me think that maybe this should be my business.”

Y/N flinched at the mention of John, but she didn’t try to escape Dean’s cautious advance. He was right in front of her now, close enough to stretch out and turn her chin to the side gently, getting a better look at the discolouration blotching her neck. “Y/N,” Dawn whispered now, “did my dad do something to you?”

“I think you know, Dean,” Y/N breathed, too scared to give volume or real words to the admission. Dean’s heart broke over his face, leaving his features twisted in sympathy, quickly followed by rage.

“I’m gonna fucking kill him,” Dean growled. Y/N tensed up. She didn’t want that. She didn’t want anyone fucking ‘defending her honour.’ That would be even more humiliating than this whole ordeal already was.

“Dean, don’t be stupid,” Y/N hissed, wondering how to dissuade him.

“Yeah, Dean, don’t be stupid,” a cold voice sneered. Y/N and Dean both jumped, turning towards the new voice. Dean hadn’t closed the door completely when he’d followed Y/N into the apartment, it had been sat open on the hinge, and now someone else was pushing into the room – Sam, closely followed by John. John drew a gun from behind his back and grinned, looking at Dean over the barrel.

“So, how exactly did you plan on killing me, son?”

Y/N blinked awake, fuzzy, hot and in pain. She had no idea where she was, and no memory of how she got there. A groan to her side made her look over, and she saw Dean, arms tied behind his back and slumped against the wall.

“Dean,” Y/N tried to speak but her voice came out as a hoarse whisper and her throat ached. She tried to bring a hand to her neck, to feel if there was anything wrong, and found that her wrists were tied too, in front of her body.

“What the hell,” Dean grumbled, squinting around the space.

“Dean, where are we?” Y/N managed to speak up this time, and Dean looked around at her, concern colouring his confusion.

“Y/N, are you alright?”

“I don’t know, what would you call this?” Y/N tugged grumpily at the ropes binding her.

“Yeah, so no,” Dean huffed conciliatorily.

“Rise and shine lovebirds!” A too jubilant voice called through the closed door on the other side of the room. The door banged open and John, Sam, and a load of others came in, crowding all around the long table in the centre of the room. Now that Y/N was taking some time to think about her surroundings she was beginning to put together the elements she could see. A long table, circled with chairs, a screen on the wall with a console table beneath it holding a decanter and a set of glasses, as well as the remote for the screen and some other random stationary supplies. They must be in an office, probably the offices of Winchester & Sons.

All the men piling into the room were Alphas, Y/N could smell them. These must be other escorts that worked for the company. Were they all as bad as John? They must be if they were calmly sitting down in a room where their boss had tied up one of his clients and one of his sons without batting an eyelid. So either they didn’t care, or they were too scared to say anything if they did. A few curious eyes made their way towards Y/N and Dean, watching neutrally for the most part, but Y/N swore she saw a flash of glee in one man’s eyes, and a flash of hunger in another’s.

“Aw, chin up Dean,” Sam laughed mockingly, patting Dean on the cheek loudly. “We’re doing this for you after all.”

“Oh yeah, drugging me, kidnapping me, real kind of you brother,” Dean scoffed, fighting against his bonds.

“But ask yourself why we did that Dean,” Sam prodded, smiling widely.

“Why are you doing this?” Y/N spoke up when it was clear Dean didn’t plan on cooperating. Sure, she sympathised with Dean wanting to stand up to his brother, not play his games, but she needed answers too.

“We’re giving Dean what he wants sweetheart,” John came over to her and crouched down, brushing a stray hair off Y/N’s face in an act of false kindness, “since you never would have.”

“What the hell are you talking about,” Y/N jerked her head away from John’s touch, glowering.

“You, Y/N.” Sam grinned.

“I fail to see how this is accomplishing that,” Dean bit out, clearly livid. At least he wasn’t in on this, Y/N thought. She wished a little that she had been able to trust Dean all those months ago. If she had just gone to coffee with him, or not tried to skip her next session completely, she might never have met Sam or John. She and Dean would be blissfully ignorant of how awful his family really were, and they’d be… what? Dating? Mated? Y/N shuddered. She didn’t want that either, but it was clearly a better alternative to this. Raped, drugged and kidnapped, awaiting God knows what to be done to her.

“What, you’re not feelin’ it yet?” John’s voice broke through Y/N’s thoughts, and she focused back onto the conversation in front of her.

“Feeling what? Betrayed? Fucking pissed as hell? What, Dad?”

“Maybe give him another dose, Sammy. Just in case,” John nodded at his younger son, who pulled a syringe out of his back pocket and pulled the cap off with his teeth. Sam grabbed Dean’s hair and yanked his head to the side, exposing the veins in his neck so he could stab the needle through the skin.

“What the fuck?!” Dean growled as he got control of his head back and twisted out of Sam’s reach.

“Y/N is nice and ready,” John announced to Sam happily, laying his hand on her forehead. “Can feel the fever setting in, bet she’s starting to drip already.”

“She would be, slut like her,” Sam agreed.

“What have you done to us!?” Y/N demanded, frightened. Now John had mentioned it, the feeling of the fever was all she could think about. The adrenaline of waking up had quelled the symptoms but they were easy to pick out – fever, aches, sweat, cramps – somehow, John and Sam had triggered her heat. That must be why she could smell all the Alphas in the room so clearly as well, and why she could smell Dean’s scent lingering above all the rest. He must be going into his rut. That’s what they’d done to them. A horrible, sinking dread settled into Y/N’s stomach as her brain joined the dots of everything that had happened, everything that had been said. There was only one reason she could think of in answer to why they would trigger her heat and Dean’s rut on purpose. “No,” a broken whisper slipped out unintentionally.

“Oh yes, sweetheart,” John smiled, eyes glinting in the same light that was reflecting off the barrel of the gun he was holding loosely in his hand.

“No, please,” Y/N begged, looking at John desperately. They wouldn’t, they couldn’t…

“I think it’s time we get you on your feet.” John reached over her head and untied the end of the rope holding her to the console table. He tugged her up and Y/N stumbled forward after him, falling weakly against the conference table when her hips hit the side. John threw the rope to one of the men sitting near the end, the one Y/N had noticed earlier looking at her like she was dinner. He wrapped the fraying cord around his hand and yanked Y/N forward, so her arms were stretched out in front of her and her belly was laying flat against the tabletop.

“Come on, up you get,” she heard Sam grunt from behind her, and figured he must be untying Dean. Someone she couldn’t see grabbed her ankle and she stumbled to the side. Something thin and tight wound around her leg and clicked loudly in the quiet of the boardroom. Her other leg was pulled, forcing her onto her toes to balance, and keeping her legs spread wide – they were zip tying her to the table.

“Get the fuck off of her,” Dean shouted from somewhere behind her, and Y/N felt the tears start to leak out of her eyes. They weren’t going to stop, and she didn’t think Dean could get them out of this one either.

“As long as you get on,” Sam sneered, and Y/N felt a body fall against her back. A second later the weight was gone, but there was still a body pressed into her ass. Someone’s groin – someone’s cock.

“You can’t make me do this,” Dean gritted out, and Y/N could feel him trying to wriggle away, but it only had the result of grinding their hips together, which was having a very noticeable effect on Dean. She whimpered at the memory of that cock, wishing the circumstances right now were different. The Omega inside her wanted Dean, wanted him to fuck her until she couldn’t feel anything else besides him inside of her. She recognised easily that if this were happening differently, if Dean had been the one who tied her up like this because she asked him to, and if they weren’t being watched by a room full of strangers, she would be enjoying this immensely, and that feeling made her sick.

“We’re not gonna need to make you do anything, son.” John came back into Y/N’s field of view, gun still swinging loosely in his fingers, the carelessness somehow even more threatening than if he had been aiming it at them. “You’re gonna do it all on your own.”

“Bite me,” Dean growled, his voice dropping threateningly, an animal backed into a corner and ready to fight his way out, no matter the cost.

“No no,” John shook his finger, grinning. “Bite her.” Y/N closed her eyes, tears spilling from her lashes and splashing on the surface beneath her. It was exactly what she thought. They’d triggered her heat and Dean’s rut because that was the only way Dean could officially claim her.

“I’m not doing that!” Dean insisted angrily, still struggling, but Y/N had felt his cock jump when John had suggested that Dean claim her.

“Oh yes you are,” Sam answered in a sing-song voice, and Dean was shoved against Y/N’s ass even harder. She figured Sam must be the one keeping Dean there and pushing them together. “Because if you don’t claim her, then we’re all going to do it.” Y/N’s eyes flew open in horror, looking around the room with a newfound terror.

“So you choose Dean, either you claim your little Omega bitch like we all know you want to – or she becomes the company slut.” John spelled out his terms casually, like he couldn’t care less which one Dean chose. “I’ve been meaning to get one, to help our boys through their ruts when they come around. Too messy sending you out to clients like that, you know.” There were sick smiles and nods of agreement from the gang all surrounding them. Dean had gone silent, probably in shock, though Y/N couldn’t see what was happening behind her.

“What’s it gonna be, big brother?” Sam goaded. Dean was still silent. Y/N decided that whatever autonomy she could keep in this situation, she had to try. She could still have a choice here, even if she didn’t want either option.

“Do it, Dean,” Y/N choked out, and the room looked at her curiously, some of them clearly disappointed.

“Y/N, no,” Dean gasped behind her as he was shoved into her body again.

“Yes, Dean.” Y/N insisted. She was picking her option, clearly the better of the two. “I’m telling you to do it, it’s okay. I want you to claim me,” she tried again, trying to keep the fear out of her voice, and she felt Dean’s cock twitch.

“That’s a good Omega,” John cooed, reaching out to pet the top of her head. Y/N just stayed still, scared to make a move or pull away. “So docile when they’re in heat, aren’t they?” he spoke more to himself than anyone in particular.

“And needy,” Sam chimed in. “Can see her starting to soak through those panties.” A harsh slap landed right over her pussy and she yelped, trying to squirm away, but there was nowhere for her to go.

“You should help her get those off, Sammy,” John instructed, wicked joy on his face. Y/N froze when she felt the cold press of metal against her skin under her skirt. The flounce was tossed back, baring her to the room, and then she felt a tug and the thin material of her last bit of cover fell away.

“Look how good she looks Dean,” Sam caressed her newly exposed flesh, ran a finger up the slick dripping between her legs, and Y/N was ashamed but she couldn’t help pressing back into the touch. Sam pushed two fingers inside and she whimpered, clenching around him in reluctant pleasure, her heat starting to take over all her conscious responses. “Yeah, you remember how good I made you feel, don’t you?” Sam jeered, fingering her lazily, teasingly. “Sorry you’re getting stuck with Dean, but that means I’ll always be close by, in case you need me.”

Sam swirled his thumb over her clit smoothly, pressing the tips of his fingers down inside her like he was trying to reach his thumb through her body and it felt fucking incredible. She hated Sam, she wanted to hate what he was doing to her, but all the Omega inside her could think was more, more, more. She felt herself fuck back against Sam’s hand, almost like it was someone else’s body and not her own, and the muscles in her legs and stomach began to shake and seize.

“That’s enough, son,” John’s voice put an end to Sam’s attentions and Y/N whined involuntarily, hips canting back to search for the fingers again but instead she hit something wider, and wet. Dean’s cock was pressing against her entrance, the tip rubbing up and down, collecting the slick she was leaking onto it. “Get your brother nice and wet, Sammy.”

“It’s not hard, with how much this bitch is dripping,” Sam laughed. Y/N heard Dean groan behind her, ragged and wanton.

“Always knew you were a bit of a bitch, Dean,” John jeered. “You’re whinin’ like a slut and it’s your little brother jackin’ you off. Hard to believe you’re really an Alpha.”

“Fuck you,” Dean moaned.

“Why don’t you go ahead and prove to Dad what a big, strong Alpha you are,” Sam taunted, and Y’N felt Dean’s cock press harder against her, Sam no doubt pushing them together. The member started to enter her and Y/N groaned. Again, she found herself wishing this was all happening under different circumstances. She’d dreamed about Dean fucking her again more times than she could count in the past few months, and he still felt as good as she remembered.

“Fuck,” Y/N heard Dean hiss quietly behind her, shaking as he pushed in all the way to the hilt.

“Come on, Dean. Fuck ‘er,” John called, gun twirling around his finger again. Y/N couldn’t help the moan that escaped her when Dean pulled away and carefully thrust back in. She knew from experience that this angle worked really well for them. Dean hadn’t even had to touch her clit to get her to cum last time he fucked her over a table like this. She wouldn’t be able to stop herself from cumming the same way now, especially after Sam had gotten her so close.

“You can do better than that,” Sam laughed, and Dean pulled out and thrust in harder, probably under Sam’s guidance. “There ya go. Fuck her hard, slut like that likes knowing who she belongs to. Kept begging me for more when I had her cunt stuffed. Bet she definitely needs more from you, since you’re working with a little less.” Y/N moaned again on a particularly sharp thrust from Dean.

“Please, Dean,” Y/N heard herself beg, not entirely having meant to. But then she couldn’t turn it off. “Fuck, Dean please,” she whined, “make me cum, please please please.”

“What a good little slut,” John praised, smiling down at her. “Give the lady what she wants, boy.”

“Please, Alpha,” Y/N sobbed, tears starting to spill over as she put away all her dignity, just wanting this to end. Suddenly a weight was bending over her. Dean’s arms had been untied and now his wrists, clearly marked with rope burns, were on either side of her head as he clamped his body around her protectively.

“I’ve got you ‘mega,” Dean whispered, breath ragged against her ear, and Y/N knew the words were just for her, not for the audience. “I’m so sorry, Y/N,” Dean’s words shook, whether with emotion or need, Y/N couldn’t tell.

“It’s okay,” Y/N whispered, hoping no one but Dean could hear her crying. “Knot me, Alpha. Need your knot,” she sobbed, louder, putting on a show again, but it wasn’t a lie.

“Fuck, ‘mega,” Dean groaned and fucked her harder, hips breaking into an uneven rhythm as his knot started to catch on her entrance. “Shit, gonna– fuck…” Y/N felt the knot lodge inside her and the next few strokes with the bulge pressing directly into her g-spot sent her spinning over the edge. Dean lost it too, Y/N could feel him flooding inside of her, the heat of him somehow soothing the intense heat she felt in the rest of her limbs.

“Now, Dean,” John’s voice growled above them, and Dean’s mouth was shoved against her neck, right above the mating gland. She felt Dean try to shake his head but he could barely move. The click of a safety being released echoed loudly in the quiet room. “Fucking do it.”

A sharp, excruciating pain shot through her throat and Y/N cried out, trying to squirm away, but the movement just ground their bodies together again, and sent another wave of pleasure through her gut as she clenched around Dean’s knot. Around her mate’s knot.

“Good boy,” Sam laughed coldly, slapping Dean’s ass and jolting him deeper into Y/N again. “Can’t wait for my turn.”

A shock of cold ran through Y/N’s body at Sam’s words.

“What?” She and Dean both spoke, panic evident.

“You said if I did this, you would all leave her alone.” Dean snarled, keeping Y/N hidden beneath him as much as possible. “She’s my mate now, if anyone touches her I will kill them. You understand me?” he shouted.

“From where I’m standing, I’m still the one with the gun,” John clicked his tongue skeptically.

“You promised,” Y/N sobbed, peeking out from beneath Dean’s shoulders, tears streaming down her face, hoping to elicit some kind of sympathy. John smiled and leant down, using the end of the gun to hold up her chin and make her look him in the eyes.

“I lied.”

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[duskamethyst]

possessive.

a/n: i feel like there aren’t a lot of yandere bokuto so i decided to write it myself

word count: 2k

genre: smut, nsfw

warnings: noncon, yandere behavior, overstimulation

pairing: yan!bokuto x f!reader

summary: bokuto isn’t a fan of being the second place in receiving attention, particularly yours. bokuto hates it when you (unintentionally) ignore him, keep him out of the conversation (that doesn’t concern him in the first place) when you talk to his teammates and those seem to be the main problem of the unwanted situation you’re facing going to face. to conclude, even outside the court, bokuto craves for attention.

konoha is your assigned partner for the class assignment but it takes so much more of your time than the other’s since he’s more devoted on his volleyball practices after school than the whole thing. thus, the only time you can manage to talk to him further besides during lunch and class is during his practice.

“okay, so i’ve already finished most of my part so for your part, you’ll need to--” you begin, but only to be cut off by a shout of your name.

“hey, you didn’t even say hi to me?” bokuto runs up to where you and konoha are standing with a frown on his face.

“oh, hi, bokuto.” you smile before turning to the other male beside you. “anyway--”

“what are you guys doing?” he shifts closer, peeking the notebook you’ve been holding to show konoha your progress.

“i’ve told you before, bokuto. we’re partners for our class project!” konoha beams, patting your shoulder and pulls you closer to him in a friendly manner. “you work so fast, i feel bad though.”

bokuto glances at the hand resting on your shoulder but quickly averts his gaze to his friend, “then you better pick up the pace too, huh? so you won’t give her a hard time.”

“yeah,” konoha smiles apologetically. “hey, how about we go to the library tomorrow so we can finish the whole stuff?” you nod and smile at him, the thought that he is not entirely hopeless sends a wave of relief in you.

“can i come?!” bokuto chimes in with puppy eyes. both of you blink at him in confusion.

“nope! it’ll only be the two of us!” konoha laughs, “come on, break time’s over.” he walks away to the center of the court, pushing the sad bokuto along with him.

checking in your bag half-way home, you suddenly realize that you have left some of the materials you need to go through for the assignment tomorrow with konoha. it will be such a drag if you have to stop by school first tomorrow so you lazily walk back to your class and go through under your desk. the door of the class slides open and you turn around to see no other than bokuto.

“oh, hey.” you smile, walking towards the door. “i’m just about to head out. finished practice?”

“oh, yeah-- kinda.” he replies shortly.

“kinda?”

“i told them i wasn’t feeling really well.” he says, sliding back the door close behind him. the thought of bokuto-- this bokuto, is ill is rather absurd to you. you’ve watched him play, and there was not even a single time that this man had gotten any injuries. not even a broken finger from blocking a hard spike from the opponent. he had never even missed a match from being sick. the only time that he seemed “sick” was when he was in those mood swings and he would usually get back up on his feet. nonetheless, he is still human after all.

“you seemed fine earlier.” you exclaim, trying to get to the door but he shifts his body in front of you, blocking the door instead. when you move the left, he moves to the right, vice versa. you look up at him questioningly but you can’t really conclude the expression written on his face and it’s very unusual.

“maybe if you weren’t ogling konoha, you would’ve noticed.” he mutters lowly under his breath but loud enough for you to hear.

“what?” you shake your head. “first of all, i wasn’t. and secondly, if you haven’t noticed, you’re blocking my way.” you reply matter-of-factly, stepping to the side again before he grabs your shoulders and turns you around to pin you against the door. you look at him in horror, realizing that his build is solid and muscular up close and if he wants to hit you, you would definitely get knocked out.

“i really got sick after seeing you and konoha, you know that?” he has the same look on his face and a sly grin comes up across his face afterwards. “of course you don’t. but since we’re alone now.. i can finally have you all to myself.”

he smashes his lips onto yours, the kiss is hasty and rough, his hands begin to wander all over your body before one of them makes its way under your skirt to grab your ass. your trembling hands try to push him away but he doesn’t falter. instead, his grip goes harder.

“don’t even try to resist me.” he warns as his sharp teeth starts to nip on the delicate skin of your neck, leaving harsh purple marks.

“s-stop.” you beg when the hand on your ass moves to rub circles on your clit. it hurts, it’s uncomfortable but as every second passes, even you can feel that you begin to pool under his touch-- let alone the jerk who’s grinning from the results of his work.

“wow, you’re so fucking wet,” he chuckles, rubbing the wetness between his fingers as if feeling it through your panties isn’t enough to convince him. “but i can’t help but to wonder how you taste.”

he easily lifts you up and lays you down on the teacher’s desk before pulling down your panties and puts it inside his pocket. bokuto leans down and pushes your legs up before spreading your slits open with his fingers and sticks his tongue out to lick your clit.

you feel embarrassed when his golden eyes meet yours, watching you as you squirm while his tongue laps up the juices from your sloppy cunt. you recognize the proud look on his face, you’ve seen it when he successfully delivered a cross-court shot over the net during the tournament but never in a million years you’d expect to see the same grin between your thighs.

“you wanna cum don’t you?” he coos as he slides in his finger inside you.

“no..” you whimper, trying to close your legs but his strong hand pushes them further apart.

“well, i’m gonna make you.”

bokuto slides in another finger and starts fingering you continuously, persistent to make sure you’ll cum for him. he curls his fingers and you begin to find a wave of pleasure slowly building up inside you and you hate yourself for it.

“oh? you look like you wanna cum.” he chuckles as he watches your body writhing on the desk. the room is filled with heavy pants and sloshing sounds from your pussy. you start to feel that you’re pushed to edge as bokuto presses down and rubs your clit with his thumb.

“i’m-i’m gonna cum..” you say between breaths.

“it’s okay, baby. cum for me.” he whispers encouragingly as he watches you throw your head back, soft moans slipping out from your pretty lips. bokuto continues with his pace before your body shakes from releasing an orgasm.

“such a good girl.. you wanna make me happy right?” bokuto leans down to kiss all over your face but your mind is too numb to even respond. “say you want me to fuck you.”

you shake your head slowly, you wish for nothing but to end this torture-- but you should’ve known better. bokuto shifts back between your legs and starts to lick your throbbing cunt again. he watches you as your body starts to writhe again, though his gaze is rather intimidating, much different from earlier.

“please, stop.” you plea but fall into deaf ears instead.

“say it.”

seeing how you refuse to “please” him, he continues to lick you while fingering you, overstimulating you while taunting you all at the same time to push you further to edge.

“f-fuck me, bo--” the words are like music to his ears. bokuto quickly stands up and takes out his cock and almost immediately slides into you. a moan of pleasure escapes from his mouth as he starts to thrust his hips and pushes his all of his thick cock inside you.

“you feel so good, baby.” he compliments-- almost too genuinely. he gazes adoringly at how his glistening cock easily slips in and out of your wet hole despite how you denied him earlier and you can feel how he grows impossibly bigger inside you.

you turn your head to the side, not wanting to make unnecessary eye contact with the man violating you, the one making you feel as if you’re nothing more than just a sex doll.

“i’m good aren’t i?” he asks. if it isn’t for the fact that he’s assaulting you, you’d say that the question sounds very innocent.

you refuse to answer as you persistently stare at the wall. your blood boils at how this man has the audacity to shamelessly ask you such a thing. you know how he’s like, you’ve heard it from konoha himself. he tells you how the whole team carries the responsibility to cheer him on while playing in court to ensure that he gets riled up and how he lives off from being praised by them. you thought that it’s ridiculous but who would’ve thought that you’re also experiencing it first hand, only with his cock plowing inside your guts.

the lack of response irritates him. he needs to hear you say that he’s doing a good job, he put so much effort in this. this is what he had always wanted. he would’ve played it nice but seeing how you were all over his friend earlier, how you subconsciously ignored him, made him do this. it’s your fault. you can’t be mad at him. he’s finally alone with you so why can’t you stop staring at the wall and pay more attention to him? you’re making him upset.

bokuto mercilessly picks up his pace and gets rougher, making sure that you know that he is in balls deep. you finally turn to face him, his brows are knitted together, his expression is no longer compassionate as he focuses on making you cum together with him. bokuto knows that he’s giving a brilliant performance when he starts hearing you moan but now he just needs some compliment.

“i never knew you’re this stubborn.”

you bite down on your lips hard and close your eyes as you feel the coil inside you begin to swirl around, threaten to snap but bokuto is quick to pull away and circles your sensitive clit with his thumb. you open your eyes to see him staring back at you as he waits for you to beg for him.

“bokuto, please..” your voice croaked. he slides in his cock again and gives one deep thrust.

“say it.” he pulls out and rams back in once again, the process repeats itself all over until you eventually start to give in.

“y-you make me feel so good.” you whisper. bokuto’s eyes lit up again and a proud smile creeps up to his lips as he starts to fuck you again.

“that wasn’t so hard was it?” he leans down to nibble your neck as your body arches and your legs slowly wraps itself around his waist. “only i can make you cum, right?”

you let out a shaky ‘yes’ to answer his question, though your mind is rather occupied on how his throbbing cock fills every inch of you and your walls wrap so tightly around his.

“so-- fucking tight,” he hisses. “tell me whose cock is making you feel this good right now?”

“yours!” you wail, hands clutching firmly on his shirt. you feel so close and you know that he feels the same from the way he picks up his pace to chase after his high. with a few more “encouraging” whispers slipping from your mouth, bokuto groans as he finally cums inside you and just as what he wishes for, you reach your second orgasm with him. bokuto pants for air while leaning down to the crook of your neck, his cock still twitching inside you to release the last few drops before he’s sure that he’s empty.

“you can only look at me, and only me.” he murmurs and tilts your head to face him before crashing his lips onto yours once again.

deep down you’ve always known and maybe you shouldn’t have underestimated that even outside the court, bokuto craves for attention.

duskamethyst © 2020 • do not modify, translate or repost anywhere.

[scourgewins]

Getting Along (Part 3)

(Finished at last! Hope you all enjoy this chapter! I tried to pack in as much humor, action, and suspense as I could!)

(Warnings: slight injury, fear, fighting, death mention)

Well, they didn’t die immediately, so Sammy counted that as a small win.

The inky sewage water sloshed about the musician’s lower legs. He tried not to focus on that, but it was a bit hard not to. He also tried not to think about the fact that he was inhaling toxic fumes; even while wearing the spare nose pin Jack had lent him, he could almost taste it on his tongue. How did Jack work like this? He glanced at the lyricist trudging along beside him. He seemed unbothered, though that was probably because he was geared up with both a nose pin and high, rubber boots, while Sammy was forced to slog through the muck in regular, non-water resistant shoes.

Sammy didn’t realize he’d been glaring until Jack glared back.

“What?” the lyricist said testily.

“You sure you didn’t have any extra boots?” Sammy asked for the third time.

“Positive,” Jack replied through gritted teeth.

Sammy relented and grew spitefully silent. His hand reflexively clenched and unclenched the wrench he’d grabbed before they embarked on this rescue mission. He wasn’t sure what good it would do against a massive ink monster, but it was better than going in empty-handed.

Or maybe worse, he mused, Gives you a false sense of hope.

He shook his head. No use getting pessimistic. Susie needed rescuing and that was all he needed to worry about, though the fact that this would very likely go horribly wrong and all three of them would most certainly be eaten was an irritatingly persistent thought.

Jack spoke, as if hearing Sammy’s thoughts, “We will save her, you know, despite the odds.”

“Because we have to?” Sammy asked.

“Yeah,” Jack replied, “Because we have to.”

Sammy glanced at the lyricist, who flinched at his own shadow cast by the candle in his quivering hand. He was no fighter, but neither was Sammy. Come to think of it, they really should have asked for more backup. It wasn’t like there’d be any forthcoming, though, at least not of the useful variety. The only employees that might stand a chance against the ink monster were Thomas, Lacie, and Henry, and even they might fail. Besides, Susie needed help now and hunting those three down would take up precious time they didn’t have.

So it was up to them: a lyricist spooked by his own shadow and a musician with bird-like limbs. Yeah, they were definitely going to die.

And of all the people to die beside, it had to be Jack Fain.

“What’s the plan anyway?” Sammy snapped, “Or were you just going to go in swinging and hope that would be enough?”

Jack glared at him, “Do you have a better idea?”

No. “Of course.”

“Then by all means, let’s hear it.”

Sammy realized he’d backed himself into a corner. He cleared his throat, “Well...maybe one of us could be a distraction.” Yeah, that made sense.

“Distraction?” Jack echoed dubiously.

Sammy nodded emphatically, “One of us makes lots of noise to draw the attention of the ink thing, while the other gets Susie.”

As plans went, it was a sorry excuse for one, but tactics weren’t exactly in his job description.

“So…” Jack began, “Which of us do you intend to sacrifice?”

Oh, right. “Um…”

“Because it would make sense to put forth the largest target,” Jack glanced pointedly up and down Sammy’s lanky frame, “Don’t you think?”

Sammy regretted everything, “Well...it was just a suggestion. We don’t have to go with that plan.”

“No, no, I am quite intrigued,” If he didn’t need him to rescue Susie, Sammy would have wiped that smug look off his stupid mustached face.

Not one to take things lying down all the same, Sammy opened his mouth to respond, when a quiet gurgling stopped the breath in his lungs. Slowly, he glanced up ahead. Something was moving. Squinting, he corrected that thought. Some things were moving, almost like waves in a tumultuous sea.

Both he and Jack froze in their tracks. For all their talk of rescue, their resolve was starting to wane. Okay, maybe we should have gone for backup. Susie can last a little longer, right?

As the creatures drew nearer, the musician and the lyricist could see them for what they were. Ink creatures, small but making up for their size with sheer numbers. Sammy counted twenty at least, all of them bearing down on the two hapless employees. 

Jack screamed, his grip on the candle slackening until it tipped from his hand. Sammy just barely managed to push it back into his grasp before their light was extinguished. As he did so, one of the creatures lunged. Sammy leaped to dodge its groping hand. Summoning his courage, he brought his wrench down on its slippery head. When that gave it pause, the musician struck again and again, not letting up until the creature sank back into the ink.

“I did it!” Sammy cried, before he was promptly seized by a multitude of cold, inhuman hands.

Sammy’s vocal range was actually quite high, but the noise that escaped him somehow reached new levels.

“Jack!” he screeched. He couldn’t see the lyricist. Sammy was struck with the horrible thought that Jack had abandoned him here, maybe done as Sammy himself had suggested and gone on to find Susie while there was a distraction. Or, more likely, he’d turned tail and fled.

Sammy had predicted that this rescue would be the death of him, though that didn’t mean he welcomed it. He thrashed, his feet and fists striking out at anything they could connect with. He hissed as his fist glanced off the wall, feeling the skin of his knuckles break open. And still he kept struggling. There wasn’t much choice.

Just as he felt his strength ebbing, his foot jabbed into something unexpected. It was soft but solid and gave a faint “Oof!” as it stumbled back.

Sammy had never been more relieved to hear that voice.

“Jack!”

“Sammy!”

A flicker of glorious light marked where Jack stood. Sammy could barely make him out as the lyricist plunged forward. The rescue was made a little less heroic due to Jack’s squeals whenever an ink monster reached for him, but as Sammy felt a warm, thoroughly human hand grab his wrist, he couldn’t care less.

“Run!” Jack cried. Sammy didn’t need to be told twice. The two booked it back the way they came. Neither paused to check whether they were being followed. Only one thing mattered to them right now: escape.

Soon, another light grew closer. Sammy recognized Jack’s little haven in the wall where he worked. Sprinting past it, they leaped out of the sewers and made a dash for the stairs that led into the infirmary and out of the sewers.

Sammy’s relief only lasted a moment. Jack and him slewed to a halt, staring in horror.

The stairs were completely blocked. Stacks of wooden beams and heavy pipes dripping with ink had all been piled high in front. It would take ages to free themselves

“How did…” Jack paused for breath, “How did they do this?”

Sammy had no response. There was none. Ink monsters, in theory, shouldn’t have been capable of trapping them like this. Sammy’s knowledge on the subject may have been limited, but he’d have thought that much was true. He was wrong.

“What are we going to do?” Jack shrieked, “We’re trapped! We can’t get help! Susie’s still lost somewhere in there! We...We’re going to die down here!”

Sammy still didn’t know how to reply, but he was saved the attempt as he heard the gurgling noises approach.

“Quick!” He shoved Jack into a small corner directly across from the stairs. It was a poor hiding place, but so long as the ink creatures didn’t think to check over here, they’d be safe.

He heard them grow closer. Jack’s breathing had grown erratic, so Sammy clapped a hand over his mouth. Ordinarily, Jack would have shoved him away, but the lyricist just remained stone still, eyes wide and terrified. Sammy imagined he wore much the same expression.

After what seemed like hours, the gurgling began to grow fainter, until it faded altogether as the ink creatures splashed back into the sewer. Sammy didn’t move for some long moments after. Jack’s shaking fingers pulled at the hand over his mouth and Sammy at last snatched his hand away. For a while, all either of them could manage were shivering breaths.

Swallowing thickly, Jack spoke at least, “What are we going to do?” He repeated his question of before.

And again, Sammy had no answer.

[imagining-in-the-margins]

Here to Misbehave (Pt. 23 | S.R.)

Series Masterlist | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17 | Part 18 | Part 19 | Part 20 | Part 21 | Part 22 | Part 23 | Finale |

Summary: Spencer’s birthday plans get interrupted by a case. Frustrated by Reader’s busy schedule, Spencer finds a unique way to spend time with her. Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader Category: Smut (NSFW, 18+) Content Warning: Mild exhibitionism, fingering, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, Dom/sub, light choking, degradation/praise, sub space Word Count: 7.3k

MASTERLIST

—————————————————

Waiting for Spencer Reid was an interesting position to be in. It was also, unfortunately, very, very common. You would think the IQ points would translate to efficiency, but you’d be very wrong. The only thing that boy does fast is read, and even that didn’t follow through to text messages, considering he’d read none of the six I’d sent him in the past hour.

So, naturally, as one does in an emergency, I called him. Unsurprisingly, the phone barely rang a second time before he picked up. Talking was, as we were both aware, his forte. Without even waiting for my greeting, his groggy voice came through the receiver with a song-like sound.

“Hello, little girl.”

But it wasn’t his turn to sing, and he knew damn well why I was calling. I could hear the smirk on his face so well that I could also envision exactly what he looked like in that moment, with his fluffy hair sticking up from constantly running his hands through it and his eyes only half-open as he tried to finish reading whatever horrible thing that he had in front of him.

It wasn’t how anyone should be spending their birthday. Especially not him. There wasn’t really anything I could do about it, though that didn’t make it any easier to hear the exhaustion and sadness behind that scratchy voice.

“What’re you doing up late? It’s past your bedtime, you know,” he chastised before I even had a chance to speak. He wasn’t wrong — It was 3AM where I was. But where he was, it’d just hit midnight.

“I just wanted to wish a happy birthday to my favorite old man,” I purred back once I’d managed to calm my fast-beating heart. I wondered if I’d ever get used to the brief rush of adrenaline and relief when I heard his voice for the first time after some time away.

I hoped not.

Spencer didn’t seem impressed by my reasoning, though. “You’re sweet. Go to sleep.”

“You’re up, too,” I whined, still picturing the way he would undoubtedly pull the phone further away to lessen the noise. I almost asked if he was also picturing me but stopped when I realized that whatever he had in mind was probably a lot more exciting than reality. Then again, he often told me that moments like this were his favorite. When we’re both too tired to keep our eyes open but too happy to be with each other to let them close all the way.

“Barely,” he corrected.

“Besides, I had to stay up. It’s your birthday.”

I’d meant to lift his spirits, but the long pause after I finished made it evident that my efforts were for naught. He almost seemed even more upset than when he’d answered, and I tried to convince myself that it had nothing to do with me. It wasn’t that hard, considering he was probably staring at images or words of dead people.

“Yeah, sure feels like it.”

His tone alone ensured me it was worse than my imagination.

“Put your work down and pay attention to me instead,” I suggested as softly as I could with the neediness bleeding through, “That’s the first part of your present.”

“You’re my present?” he asked through a gruff laugh that made my heart skip a beat, “I like that present.”

He was trying. I could feel it in his voice, and I wished more than anything that I could teleport to where he was and hold him until it was too difficult for his mouth to form a frown.

“You already have me. That’d be like regifting,” I pointed out with only a pinch of self-deprecation. It was still too much for Spencer, though, who swiftly shot back the ever cheesy, “Every day with you is a gift.”

“Gross, don’t get all sentimental with me,” I ordered playfully.

He returned the energy with all the sass I always knew he was capable of. Once his whining ceased, he mumbled, “Do you come with a gift receipt?”

“No returns or exchanges allowed, I’m afraid.”

Spencer just let out a strained sigh, and in my head, I imagined how it would feel to climb onto his lap as he leaned back in his chair. I could almost feel his arms wrapping around my waist and his lips peppering kisses wherever he could reach. I could feel his love for me flowing across the country, persisting past the cell tower obstacles to make its way back to me.

“I can’t wait to see you again,” he whispered, his first purely sincere statement of the night.

It was an unfortunate choice, too, because it also reminded me of the biggest bummer that I unfortunately had to share.

“Oh, I meant to tell you, it’s midterm season, so…”

He was, thankfully, not as bummed as I was expecting. He was almost certainly thrilled to have a chance to sleep spread out on his bed without having to satisfy the very needy girl beside him, but he still managed to come up with enough bratty energy to scoff, “Are you telling me that I don’t get my gift when I get home?”

“It’ll just be a few days. Promise,” I spoke through the biggest, cheesiest smile I’d had yet. “You’re very distracting, Dr. Reid.”

“When are your exams?” His enthusiasm gave away just how disappointed he was with the news, but any frustration was clearly aimed at my poor professors.

“My last one is on Wednesday.”

The gasp that left him was too funny not to laugh, followed by exasperated, blubbered nonsense that didn’t ever get much clearer. I barely managed to understand him when he cried, “Don’t they know Halloween should be a national holiday?!”

“You should call my professors and yell at them.”

He actually considered it for a moment, but then returned the same silly intonation, “Maybe I will.”  

“Do it. You’re probably more qualified than them to teach me, anyway.”

After a short silence that was filled with more sexual tension than I’d expected considering how the phone call started, I heard Spencer gruffly comment, “You’re a cocky little brat tonight.”

It was so familiar to me that I jumped on the opportunity, giggling through my sleep deprived delirium, “I’m in rare form for your birthday.”

The explanation earned me a chuckle, but not much else. At least, not that I could see. The static on the other end of the phone sounded a lot like the way it looked when Spencer leaned his face against his palm and tried to see something that wasn’t there.

But I was there. Sort of. We’d done a lot more with a lot less, after all. So, that’s what I offered him.

“You know… we could have a redo of the last time I called you late at night on a case.”

“That did not end well for me last time,” he droned. I tried not to laugh at the manufactured memory of Spencer holed up in a hotel bathroom because he just had to have me in whatever way he could.

“Only happy endings for your birthday. I promise.”

But then, as it always did, work got in the way. Filled with only the greatest sadness and regret, Spencer quietly but honestly replied, “As much as I would love to, I don’t think it’ll be possible on this case.”

“Is it that bad?”

“Unfortunately.”

I bit my lip because there was nothing I could do. I couldn’t help Spencer with his work any more than I could fix the distance. All I could offer him was a safe home to return to. He would always find that with me.

“Well, in that case, I will be equipped with cartoons and kisses upon your return,” I offered with grace.

But I wasn’t the only one in rare form. Without skipping a beat, Spencer corrected with a smug sadness, “You mean your return. Considering you’re abandoning me on my birthday.”  

“Oh my god, the drama!” I cried before remembering that it was, still, in fact, 3AM. The light grimace I gave after remembering would be the only apology my neighbors would get from me. I was too busy building a narrative happy enough to drown out the horrors in front of him. “You’d think I was the one who was away all the time.”

“I’m allowed to be selfish; it’s my birthday,” he sang, and I soaked in the sound, storing it away for any rainy days.

“Fine. What do you want, brat?” I asked in the worst attempt at an impression I’d ever given.

He was just waiting for the question. Drawing out the first couple of syllables, he laughed through the stupidest birthday wish of all time.

“I want… you to go to bed.”

“Ugh!” I yelled again, not even bothering to feel bad about it that time. My exasperation fell on deaf ears, both from a willful desire to ignore my suffering and a literal ringing from the constant yelling.

Still, that impossible man drummed up enough compassion to gloat with a simple, “I love you.”

“I love you, too, jerk,” I grumbled, only to be swiftly corrected with a playful, “Try that again.”

“I love you, too, old man.”

He was satisfied enough with that answer, despite the sarcasm dripping from it. He still knew that the words were true, and that was all that mattered. Any punishments that might be necessary for my broken promise to behave for his birthday could always be doled out later. When the distance between us was narrowed to inches and clothes could be removed like cheap wrapping paper.

“Thank you, little girl. Sweet dreams,” he whispered, reminding me once more of just how empty my bed felt without him. I stared at his pillow for just one second before I threw myself into it. He chuckled at the sound of rustling sheets over the receiver but said nothing else.  

“You get some sleep tonight, too, okay?” I asked, uncharacteristically and openly vulnerable in a way that used to scare me.

Spencer’s voice was filled with pride and love as he answered, “You can’t see it, but I am giving you a pinky promise.”

“Good.” Burying my face in his pillow again made it easier to remember that it wouldn’t be forever when I said, “Bye, Spencer.”

“Goodnight, little girl.”

—————————————————

Autumn on campus felt pretty similar to the rest of the year. I wished that it were different, a little more exciting, to reflect how I felt about the impending holiday. But no, it was just students stumbling into their usual classes and hectically scheduled midterms with hangovers and a total lack of holiday cheer.

It was, in a few words, a complete bummer. The only thing that kept me going through the last of my exams was the knowledge that I’d be seeing Spencer. Unfortunately, he was still doing that rather annoying thing where he refused to answer my text messages. It wasn’t until he ignored even my most ridiculous threats that I realized something was going on.

The ‘Read’ notification sat menacingly on my screen, and I was so fixated on it that I almost didn’t notice the familiar mop of brown curls visible in the front row of the auditorium. But once I saw it, the phone was forgotten faster than ever before. I ran down the steps at a ridiculously dangerous pace, dodging the others still grumbling from their previous exams.

I landed in front of him with only enough breath left to sneer, “You’re in my seat.”

“Surprise,” he said with my favorite smug, self-assured smile.

“Adorable. Now move,” I ordered with a wave of my hand. As much as I loved the guy, I wasn’t about to change my seating arrangement for him. It was beginning to make sense, though, why my friend told me that she wouldn’t be sitting with me today.

“Fine,” he sighed, taking his sweet time moving seats and watching me happily bounce on my feet in the meantime. I snuck behind him into the seat before he’d even fully stood up. That little amount of friction between our bodies seemed to be enough to cause the tension to mount. It’d only been seconds, but I was already seriously considering abandoning the class. To hell with the professor who’d already seen me.

But Spencer’s eyes locked on mine, and he leaned onto the armrest with that same silly smirk.  

“It’s a workday, Dr. Reid,” I whispered, forcing my arm next to his and watching the way his pupils grew as I came closer.

“I might have pulled a few strings,” he replied just as quietly, keeping the illusion of secrecy despite many prying eyes around us, “Might’ve told Hotch I was invited.”

“But you weren’t,” I snorted.

Spencer’s head hung in just a little bit of shame, but his wide smile never waned. It was still there, bright and pure in its simplicity as he softly admitted, “Yeah. I lied. But I’m here now.”

There were no complaints about that fact, either. His pinky reached out to mine, twining together in the dim light of the auditorium. Somehow, for a brief second, I forgot about everything else. The noisy chatter meant nothing to me, the two of us lost in some alternate pocket universe that felt safe and warm from the cold air outside.

But time resumed, and I watched as Spencer took his eyes off of me first, turning instead to the lecturer watching us with a knowing glint in his eyes.

“Good morning everyone! We have a special guest with us today.”

I wanted to pay attention to his little introduction, but I couldn’t. Every word that was said about him sounded so clinical. It felt so empty compared to the truth I knew about him. He was so much more than a collection of publications and PhDs.

He was… indescribable. Even as his mouth formed a flat line and his awkward handshake was granted to the crowds of disinterested students, all I saw was the man I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. Even if it was only from the shadows of his greatness. Then again, I don’t think he’d ever let me feel that way.

Speaking of…

"Dr. Reid, the only thing I ask is for you to give these wonderful students a chance to show you what they know,” my professor started with a laugh before he so kindly continued, “So go easy on them." 

In any other situation, I might have let it slide. I would have accepted the fact that Spencer was far beyond my intellect and not stand up for myself. But this time, Spencer was on my turf.

"All due respect to Dr. Reid, I don't think he needs to go easy on us,” I called from the front row, only audible to the other dutiful students that cared enough to sit up front. I heard Spencer laugh beside me, shaking his head just a little bit at the challenge. He didn’t say anything though, and I returned my eyes to the professor who was already familiar with my antics as I boasted, "At least not on me." 

While Spencer caught on to the fairly obvious double entendre, shifting his crossed legs closer, the professor just wrote it off as my usual academic pride.

“I did try to warn you that that one might get competitive,” he commented. At this point, everyone had definitely figured out my relation to the man next to me. It was kind of hard to hide a bullet wound from your school. But again, I was so caught up in the man beside me that I didn’t even feel a little shame at their playful teasing.

Spencer’s commentary was the only thing that mattered, and he gave it with a dreamy sigh. "I'm not offended at all. I'm sure she's very clever." 

The little bit of light left in the room started to fade, and once I was shrouded by the shadows, I felt confident enough in my plan to dig through the bag at my feet to pull out probably the nerdiest item in it.

A fucking back-up clicker. Which, I promptly handed to the man beside me.

“You’re in seat B4,” I whispered gruffly, earning yet another snarky chuckle from my boyfriend.

“Is that a challenge?”

I didn’t answer. Not him, anyway. What I did answer was the question that had appeared on the screen.

“Ms. (Y/n)?” My professor called, recognizing my seat number without even looking up.

Luckily for me, today was nothing but a review day of the midterm I’d already taken. While I knew all of the questions and, what I’d hoped were the right answers, Spencer had to read the questions from scratch. Really, it didn’t give me an edge. It just put us on equal playing ground.

As I gave my answer, I watched in my peripherals as Spencer’s eyes narrowed and tongue peeked out from lips that I still hadn’t gotten the chance to kiss today.

It was a bad thing to think about, because my brief reverie of the things that mouth was capable of reminded me of another one. I didn’t even notice another question had appeared on the screen, and when I heard the familiar buzz of an attempted answer, I shared my Professor’s temporary confusion.

“Ah, Dr. Reid,” he laughed, probably already regretting welcoming the bastard here, “Please explain the answer.”

But there was another thing working in my favor: My boyfriend’s giant fucking ego. Really, it should be impossible that someone who was normally super insecure could enjoy showing off as much as he did. My professor didn’t mind, because Spencer’s long-winded answer was a wonderful review of… basically the entire course, and I didn’t mind because it granted me the one thing I needed.

Time. Time to slowly remove my jacket and reveal the sweater underneath. Spencer’s eyes caught the motion, glancing over only a couple of times while he managed to give his answer. It wasn’t until I started to remove the sweater that he cut his answer short.

His throat clearing told me he wanted my attention, but I was still just too distracted for him. I fanned my chest that felt warm for reasons other than the temperature of the room, guaranteeing his eyes would stay there long enough for me to catch the next question before he had a chance.

Or so I thought. Because before the question appeared, I made the positively stupid mistake of meeting his gaze. As soon as I did, my mind was stuck there, drowning in molasses and honey and—

“Dr. Reid, please feel free to continue to do my job for me. Lord knows I would love a break,” the professor joked, and I almost felt guilty for just how genuine he sounded. Not like Spencer would have noticed passive aggression if it existed.

Not like either of us would have cared. Per usual, we were so lost in the space of B4 and B5 that we didn’t care about the rest of the alphabet. All we cared about was winning. It was growing more and more obvious to me, though, that I would have to become a little more ruthless if I wanted to bring down the bona fide genius.  

The sound of his voice rang through the auditorium loud, clear, and confident. He didn’t need to worry if he was right or not, because he knew he was. The smugness was grating to my ears. I knew I couldn’t trick him into making a mistake, but there was one thing I could do.

I’d learned one thing very well in my time with Spencer, and that was how to manipulate that pretty little voice of his.

For example, if I wanted to hear it catch in his throat and come out a few pitches higher, all I would have to do is touch him. The riskier the touch, the higher his voice would go. Which was why I spread out the jacket over my lap, making sure that our legs were close enough that it covered him, too. Then I waited, calmly and kindly listening to him drone along until there was a natural enough inflection to hide evidence of any nefarious actions. Just as his voice started to rise, I slid my hand over his knee.

Spencer barely stuttered, just enough for me to know he was affected, but not enough for anyone else to notice. He took the loss with grace, quickly ending his answer with a summary that contained only half as many words as he would have normally provided.

He kept a few for me.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he hissed, shifting close enough to me that I could feel his breath on my ear.

“All’s fair in love and war,” I hummed. His breath caught again when I began stroking my thumb over his leg that had just started to bounce.

“This is wildly inappropriate.”

“How perceptive,” I returned with my own little smirk. The interaction caught us both, trapping us in the alternate dimension that existed when we held each other. His hand found its way to mine, and his thumb brushed over the back and sent goosebumps shooting over my skin.

I’d practically abandoned our pursuits altogether when I heard my friend’s voice as she took the question that we’d both missed. I should’ve been upset for losing after all that I’d gone through for my strategy to succeed, but it was hard to feel anything other than butterflies when Spencer was still looking at me like that.  

Even when I looked away, he stayed, patiently waiting for me to take the final question in the review. I granted him a chance to take it, but he just shook his head, implicitly asking me to take the win for the both of us. Even when we were competing, we were always on the same team.

There were no more distractions as I explained the answer as simply as I could. I was positive the rest of the class was tired of hearing our voices, but Spencer never stopped smiling. I could feel the pride rolling off of him, his hand growing tighter around mine as he took in a deep breath.

“Very good, (y/n),” my professor announced, signaling the end and initiating a large sigh of relief from everyone else.

Spencer sighed too, although his was with a different kind of relief; a dreamy, soft sound as he muttered under his breath, “Just like I said. Very clever.”

The air felt positively electric, and I never hated my class more than I did in that moment. The rest of the period ticked by so slowly that I almost swore the clocks were broken. Once we were allowed to leave, Spencer insisted on sticking around to thank the professor for his hospitality.

I knew it was necessary, but that didn’t mean I had to like it. I tried to be as patient as possible, even though it seemed pointless. Spencer’s little grin told me he knew very well what he was doing. The conversation had dragged on for practically five minutes of agony while I idled by the door.

But then my professor passed, and I felt the adrenaline course through my veins in seconds. As anticipated, we didn’t even make it out of the building before the tension broke. We’d barely even made it down the goddamn hallway before I shoved his scrawny ass into the first empty classroom I found. Once the door clicked shut behind us, the roles were quickly reversed.

I hadn’t seen him that excited in so long that I’d almost forgotten how easy it was to get swept up in his undertow. I couldn’t keep track of his hands or his mouth as they marked any bare skin they could find. But no matter how frantic and uncoordinated the movements were, they never ceased to send chills down my spine.

“This is wildly inappropriate, Dr. Reid,” I managed to slur between sloppy, heated kisses. It was barely comprehensible through the pent-up lust that had driven us there in the first place, but it still felt worth saying.

Spencer, however, made his feelings very clear with a gruff, forceful, “I don’t care.”

His hands were already roaming over my hips, pulling me so close to the edge that I nearly fell off the counter entirely. While I was laughing at his haste, he was busy leaving angry marks on my collarbone, pulling the top of my shirt down to grant him more access. And despite how badly my body burned with desire and need, I drummed up just enough self-preservation to force out a few, regrettable words.

“Take me home.”

Even though I tried to make it sound more seductive than a normal request to stop, it brought the momentum to a halt. Spencer immediately stopped his kisses, but let his hands continue to stroke loving patterns over the sides of my thighs.

“Don’t you have other classes?” he asked. The feeling of his breath against my ears making me second-guess my already voiced decision. But as enticing as the idea was of having him now, having already waited over a week, I knew we could have so much more fun with a little bit of privacy.

“Don’t you have work?” I teased, hoping that it would spur him to take the action we both knew was safer. At the same time, I couldn’t stop myself from wanting to poke fun at the academic in him.

“Unless this is your way of telling me you've always wanted to fuck a girl in a lab because, I must admit I'd be more than happy to oblige." 

Spencer’s whole body tensed as he imagined just what it would feel like to take me in such a public place. After a couple seconds that I can only imagine were filled with fantasies and a reasonable fear, he pulled me from my seat on the counter and placed me back on the ground.

“Let’s go,” he said, pulling me by my wrist towards the door.

I only barely managed to stop him with both hands on his arm. He turned back to look at me like I’d done some horrible thing, but I was too busy trying to stop the laughter that was spilling from my chest.

“You’re uh—” I cleared my throat, pointing to the very noticeable tent in his slacks before I keened through the giggles, “You’re gonna have to do something about that.”

With a quick glance down, Spencer remembered the very unfortunately obvious trait of the male anatomy. “Fuck,” he stated plainly.

I couldn’t resist.

“I mean, I’m down,” I joked one final time.  

“Shut up!” Spencer laughed, too, trying and failing to adjust himself in his pants while I just enjoyed the show.

After all, we both knew that once we were alone, he would get a reprieve from my ridicule. He would get whatever he wanted.

—————————————————

The chaotic clashing of hands and mouths continued seconds after we’d reached our destination. The empty apartment had all of the sounds of our desperation echoing back to us, and after soaking in the melodious noise for a few seconds, I snapped back to reality.

“Okay, she doesn’t get home for another 30 minutes at the earliest so, we’d better hurry,” I urged, trying to shove Spencer off of me to convince him to move. It barely worked, with his arms clutching tighter the harder I struggled to get away.

Wrapped together just like that, the two of us barely made it a few feet before we almost tumbled to the ground. That was just enough of a reminder of our lack of coordination for Spencer to finally, begrudgingly, release me. Kind of. His hand still held tight to mine, and our laughter still combined the whole way to our bed.

From there, Spencer felt confident in our privacy to answer, “That’s fine. I usually tear open my gifts pretty quickly.”

It was a very good metaphor for the way his hands worked over my clothes. I didn’t even try to pinpoint the moment where being naked no longer made me feel nervous. I let the scar tissue show because neither of us were going to look at it, anyway. We were too caught up in the slight shifts and nuances of our faces as we rushed towards our one mutual goal.

“I missed you,” I mumbled, the words feeling as natural as breathing itself.

“I missed you, too,” he returned, and I felt the raw emotion, the sincerity and desire in every syllable. But once it was over and he had finally managed to remove everything but my underwear, all that was left was an all-encompassing, mind-altering level of lust.

“God, watching you in class was so fucking frustrating,” he strained, his upper lip curling with disdain as he watched my body squirm against the sheets.

“Why’s that?”

“I wanted you so badly.”

There was no denying that it was the honest truth, and I didn’t even want to try. I wanted to gloat and bask in the confirmation that his presence was dangerous for my academic career. Not to mention my sanity.  

“Like I said. You’re very distracting.”

Then, to prove my point, that brilliant bastard shoved his hand under the band of my underwear. He only held me softly for one second before he slid his fingers through the slickness and thrust them roughly into me. It hadn’t been that long, but the emptiness I felt before was even more apparent now that I had any part of him inside of me again.

“Am I?” he chimed with a smile.

I wanted to be bratty, to fight the tension that was building and appear unfazed by his ministrations, but there was simply no pretending. Not when my body was already on the verge of spasming around his fingers that seemed to stroke the perfect place within me with every movement.

“Jesus Christ,” I sighed. I should’ve known better than to give him ammunition.

“You’ve resorted to blasphemy already?”

Spencer partnered the tease with a ruthless thrust, burying his fingers to the knuckle inside of me and holding them there. He waited until I ran out of breath and struggled to take another while also trying not to scream in a mixture of frustration and devastating need for more.

“I thought I told you we had to hurry?”

“We’ve got time,” he shot back without pause, “You’re just being a needy little brat.”

“Yes, I am,” I whined just as quickly, “I’m a fucking brat and I need you.”

He almost seemed disappointed in my compliance. His fingers began moving again, eliciting noises that were louder, higher, and sweeter after the anticipation. He tried to draw the attitude out of me by stopping again, waiting for a quip that didn’t come.

“Awww, no fight?” he cooed.

“I can’t. It’s your birthday,” I grumbled before biting my tongue. The pressure was becoming so unbearable I thought I might honestly draw blood. But after another few seconds of torture that felt like a lifetime, Spencer withdrew his hand completely.

He was testing the limits, watching how far I would let him go before begging. But even when he took the same soaked fingers and began rubbing me from the outside of my underwear, I only opened my mouth to steal quick, soft breaths and give pitiful whines.

“Oh, I like this…” he laughed, apparently having gotten past his concern about my sudden compliance, “I could get used to you behaving.”

The song-like cadence got to me, threatening to spark and ignite everything I was holding back. I almost bit back. I almost let the desire scorch my throat with a few choice words for the very rude genius, but I didn’t. The only thing that stopped me was the feel of cotton sliding down my thighs as he removed the final barrier between us.

“You’d miss my misbehaving,” I said with a chuckle. The sound mixed with another, a deep moan that filled my chest when I felt him press himself against my entrance. My back arched, causing him to slip inside of me just enough for us to both lose our words.

“I don’t know…”

If I’d wanted to say anything, my mouth wouldn’t have let me. It was too busy singing his praise while simultaneously begging him to silence it. My lips floundered for a kiss that he hung just far enough away from me to deny. Satisfaction was painted over every feature as he started to enter me, brushing his lips against my mouth every few seconds just to pull away before I was granted the intimacy I sought.

“You do look rather cute when you’re begging.”

It was strange, the way my body started to predict his movements. I met him in the middle of every motion, and I swore even our breath became synchronized in its rapid firing. It wasn’t until his hand rested over my throat we broke the rhythm. I wasn’t going to complain, letting the energy flow down my spine that arched towards him on instinct. His hips never stopped, and I could tell by the way his breath hitched and his fingers grew tighter around my neck that the new angle was as wonderful for him as it was for me.

“You look so sweet when you let go of every ounce of self-preservation and dignity you have and put your life in my hands,” he whispered with an affection that almost seemed odd considering the context. But then there was something else in his moans, a genuine gentleness that made my already arrhythmic heart beat faster.

“You know I’ll take care of you, don’t you?” he asked as his movements stayed calm and careful. Loving and safe.  

I didn’t even notice my eyes had closed, but it ultimately didn’t matter. Because when I opened them, I saw the same man that existed in every image behind my eyelids. The only indication he got that I was still capable of communication was the gentle curve of my lips that dropped open in a pleased sigh as his hips continued a slow, tender pace.

It still felt like too much, but not in a bad way. It was too much in the sense that I was reminded once again just how ruined he’d made me. And the smug little shit knew it, too.

“You don’t have a single thought in that pretty little head, do you?” he cooed, dragging his hand up the column of my throat to force his fingers against my tongue. True to my word, I didn’t try to fight back. I soaked the digits that still tasted like me with my jaw left open. His pupils dilated as he watched the spit pool in my mouth that awaited his instruction.

“You just want to be used. Like the perfect little doll you are.”

Unlike my own, his smile was more of a smirk. A crooked, ever so slightly wicked quirk that made my muscles tense around him in their own version of an affirmative answer. He took it, happily. His body crashed into mine, but it merely felt like an extension of myself returning home like the waves meeting the shore. I could feel him claiming his rightful place at the deepest parts of me, making his home with every powerful motion of his hips.

I could hardly breathe, let alone think. I didn’t want to. It felt unnecessary.

“My sweet little girl,” he muttered with an unbelievably chaste kiss in the center of my forehead, “You’d do anything to make your daddy happy.”

I felt detached from myself in a way that didn’t feel me with fear or pain. I could feel myself through his hands, strong and working the pliable flesh of my thighs as he held them up so that he could drive into me harder.

His eyes, also only half open, burned with intensity. I could feel the determination, the undying desire to grant me a serenity that no one else could. His need for me to feel safe and loved with the seemingly contradictory brutality.

But it wasn’t contradictory. The power behind every movement, the insistence on being as close to me as he possibly could, might have caused some physical pain, but it was nothing compared to the pleasure of sharing this space with him. Of sharing my body with him just to see what he would do with it. I already knew, but I wanted to feel it again and again. Because with each stroke of his hand and thrust of his hips, I felt it.

Spencer had free rein to do whatever he wanted, and he chose to love me.

“I’m so close. You know what I want,” he pleaded despite holding all of the power. He handed it to me with a low groan, trying to kiss my lips while he commanded, “Do it. Come for me.”

My body obeyed his command, falling to pieces around him with shockwaves breaking over every inch of me. My vision went white, crafting a halo of light around him as he also found himself reaching a peak that seemed different than the times we’d shared before.

I tried to figure out what had changed, what about this time made it unique. But as the euphoria faded, all I saw staring back at me was the same face as always, radiating a joy and understanding that warmed damp, chilly skin. Spencer’s release provided a similar warmth within me, and my body clung to him even tighter despite the exhaustion.

My breathing took its time to even out, but I was in no rush to leave him. I would have stayed like that forever, with Spencer covering me like the silliest, boniest blanket. If it wasn’t for the dead weight he eventually dropped on me, we probably would’ve spent the whole day lost in the covers. But he could thank the scars for me being a little less forgiving.

Of course, thankful is not the word to describe him at all. Whiny was more like it. Even as I turned our bodies together so that I would still be sitting on his lap, he did nothing but groan and bitch about it. That is, until I silenced him with a kiss that barely brushed over his lips.

That was enough to turn his frown back to the dopey smile I loved so much.

“Happy birthday, old man,” I purred, enjoying the way his hands grabbed me tighter at the loving nickname. But age wasn’t what was on his mind. I could see it in the way his eyes tore past my defenses and he held me closer like we could actually become one if he tried hard enough.

“I’m so in love with you, it’s infuriating,” he whispered.

“I’ve heard that one before.”

Spencer wasn’t in a joking mood, though. All of his humor seemed to be expended earlier in the day, and now he was just left with all the mushy, romantic innards that I normally kept at bay.

It wasn’t that bad, though, I thought as his hands framed my face so our foreheads would touch. There were worse things to be trapped with.

“It’s true,” he mumbled with his voice still high and slurred together, “I look at you and there is just… nothing that can be said that would ever explain the way it feels.”

“Gross,” I joked.

“Get used to it,” he returned. And if that wasn’t enough to make me laugh, he stuck his tongue out in the most childish display I’d seen from him since he’d fucking licked my hand on our picnic. It was also just charming enough that I was willing to let the sappy stuff slide.

“I’ll be nice to you this time,” I grumbled. “But also, speaking of time, you’d better hurry up if you don’t want to do the walk of shame with an audience.”

Spencer’s arms fell limp with a dramatic cry before he used them to cover his face once more.

“Ugh. Go,” he ordered. Despite his words, he still made me fight against greedy hands to wrestle my way out of bed. It would have been smarter to let me go quickly. I really don’t know what he was thinking, but he would learn his mistake soon enough. Because as I was finishing up in the bathroom, I heard a very amused voice chiming down the hall on the other side of the door.

“Good afternoon, Spencer.”

I debated not opening the door and freeing Spencer from the unbelievably uncomfortable position he’d just found himself in, but ultimately decided it was too cruel. Still, the stalling had taken up enough time that the poor guy felt compelled to reply.

And, of course, the only thing he could think to say was a pathetic, high pitched, “Hi.”

Somehow managing to contain the absolutely riotous laughter I felt in my gut, I opened the door with the straightest face I could muster.

It wasn’t enough. Spencer saw the pleasure I took in his humiliation and practically shoved me out of the bathroom to take my place behind the doors. While I found the action endearing in the most awkward way, my roommate was mostly just confused about how the fuck I’d managed to find someone as stupid as me.

“I didn’t know he was coming,” she said once she managed to smile at the silly situation.  

Clearing my throat, I tried to sound sincere in my bullshit apology. “Me either, sorry.”

In a way, I think the fact I couldn’t pull myself together worked in my favor. Normally, she would have scolded me (albeit playfully) for not alerting her of what she might be walking in on, but this time, she just tried to withhold the smile that still stretched over her cheeks despite her best efforts.

“You’re fine,” she sighed, giving in to the desire to go against her usual grumpy demeanor before retreating to her own room. “Have fun, you hooligans.”

Once her door clicked shut, I heard shuffling on the other side of the door next to me. Spencer’s shadow was visible from the light peeking out underneath, and I waited a few more restless seconds before I announced, “You can come out now, Spencer.”

Cautiously, the door creaked open just enough for his head to poke out and confirm that I wasn’t trying to trick him.

“I’ve never been a hooligan before,” he said with a bounce in his step and his eyebrows halfway up his face. To think that he was the same man who threatened to arrest me for existing at a nightclub was, in a word, hilarious.

“Well, good news for you,” I purred, and the sound must have reminded him of my more devilish nature, because his jubilance quickly shifted back to an obvious anxiety. I wrapped my arms around him even when it meant that his muscles tensed, dragging him down so I could whisper in his ear, “I was just about to ask if you wanted to help me play hooky.”

“And do what?”

It felt strange to say that I hadn’t really thought about it. That the second I’d seen him I knew that the day would be good and free and fun. That everything felt so perfectly fine that I didn’t even want to challenge it with a schedule.

Spencer looked at me, his answer apparent in the way he started to relax the longer we stayed wrapped up in a shitty apartment hallway. It didn’t matter what I said. Spencer would have followed me, just like I would have done for him.

And without the angst or uncertainty of what could go wrong, there was only one thing left for us to do. With a shrug and pout, I proposed the riskiest plan we’d had yet.

“Whatever we want.”

—————————————————

| Finale |

[ur-favorite-queer-queen]

Second Chance

For Maribat March day 12 theme second chance

Master List

Sometimes Marinette really wished Penny and Jagged hadn’t adopted her. It’s not that she didn’t want to be a Rolling-Stone, no that wasn’t it. In fact, she was grateful that they had saved her from the horrors that Paris now held for her. It’s just they dragged her to stuff like this, some rich man’s gala. 

She had slept for a full 12 hours after finishing Penny’s dress, only to wake up to the news she was coming with them. She probably should’ve seen it coming. Although she was hoping this would be one of the lucky cases where she didn’t have to go. Despite her protests they insisted she needed to interact with other humans who weren’t serving her coffee. In Jagged’s words, “Who knows, you might make a rock n roll friend!” 

Now here she was, in her black and purple dress that matched Penny’s and Jagged’s outfits. Letting a bit of her anxiety out as she fiddled with the strap of her matching purse. Watching her parents mingle with the rich folk while she stood off to the side. Every once in a while they would cast her a ‘go make a friend’ look but it never bothered her, she just needed to wait until they stopped turning to look back at her.  

After about 10 minutes they stopped, perfect. She casually asked a waiter where the bathroom was and made her way there. Once inside she slipped off the pearl anklet that was Daizzi’s miraculous, letting the kwami make her way into her purse, before pulling out a familiar nose ring. Now that Jagged and Penny were letting her do her own thing, she could go back to scaring people into not socializing with her. While she would’ve loved to keep Daizzi’s miraculous on so that it could combat Stompp’s miraculous side effects, she learned that it took too much energy to do so. And she didn’t want to explain why she was so tired after the gala if she wasn’t talking to anyone. 

She schooled her features before making her way back out sending a cold look to anyone who tried to come up to her. She pulled out her phone only to see that 2 hours had passed, she still had 4 more to go. Time was moving much too slowly for her liking. 

A clearing of the throat brought her out of her thoughts. She rolled her eyes, putting her phone back in her purse, getting ready to glare at the person who was going to try to talk to her, only to stare in shock at the green eyes that were watching her. The same ones that had bumped into her just days before. The same ones she had sworn she probably wouldn’t ever see again. 

Her mouth moved without her permission, again she blames Stompp, “You.” 

He smiled or maybe it was a smirk, responding with way too much amusement, “Me.” 

She once again schooled her features to look bored, but she’s pretty sure her eyes gave her away with the way he reacted, “What are you doing here?” 

Just like before it took him a moment to reply, his smirk growing just the tiniest bit, “I’m always invited to these things, I’ve never seen you before though.” 

“With any luck this will be the last time you see me.” She remarked. She didn’t mean to be so rude again she blames Stompp but she really hadn’t expected to see him. To his credit he didn’t seem deterred by her cold vibe, if anything he seemed more determined. 

“Why would you say that?” 

“These types of things,” She waved her hand around, motioning to the room, “Just aren’t my thing. My parents make it look so easy, but I’ve never been one for this kind of scene. Plus I leave Gotham in a few days.” 

“Desperate to get out here?” 

“You could say that.” 

“Who are your parents?” 

She raised an eyebrow, “Wouldn’t you like to know.” If this was the game he wanted to play she would play it. Trying to find out who she was by asking about her parents, real subtle. Well Mr. Hot shot, she’s letting Stompp take the wheel now.

“You know, you make trying to have a conversation pretty hard.” 

She rolled her eyes at him, not even trying to stop them from rolling, “Who says I wanted this conversation?” It was a rhetorical question. She turned to leave only for him to grab her wrist. 

Suddenly she was brought back to that night. The night that changed everything. Three pieces of jewelry in her hand, two brooches one ring, her earrings 2 beeps away from her transformation leaving her. 

A pale hand holding her wrist, keeping her from running away. Green eyes and blond hair belonged to the owner of the hand. 

It had happened too fast. One second she was getting ready to run and detransform. Then someone had stopped her, she turned around to meet hungry green eyes. She froze as she felt lips pressed onto her own. It was only the beeping of her earring that brought her back to reality. A knee to the groin, and she pushed him off of her. Letting the police deal with the trio as she fled. 

She turned to the owner of the tan hand that was holding her back and could only register green eyes. She wouldn’t stand still this time. She twisted her hand so that he was forced to let go. A knee to the stomach had him holding his gut and as she raised her arm ready to punch him was when she finally registered that this wasn’t Adrien. It was just some weird stranger who was persistent in getting past her walls. 

She could hear people talking around her and when she dared to glance around they were all staring. She forced the embarrassed blush that wanted to grace her cheeks down, she wasn’t 13 anymore, she was 16 god damnit! Locking eyes with the mysterious yet persistent guy again, she ran. Ran until she found herself on a balcony, the cold air brushing her face as she gripped the railing. 

Why did she react like that? Why did she always have to be so aggressive? Why couldn’t she just let go of the past and take this damn nose ring off so she didn’t have to go and do stupid shit like this?  Why couldn’t she just be normal and let people in? 

Oh yeah, because she had a bunch of shitty friends that all turned on her because of a liar. The same liar turned her already neglectful parents against her. So Jagged and Penny got custody of her in order to get her out. Her parents didn’t even put up a fight about it, too busy gushing about precious LILA! And now she has major trust issues despite wanting to open and trust people again. Man, she is a wreck. 

“Hey, are you out here?” The mystery guy spoke from the entrance of the balcony. 

“No, I’m not.” She didn’t see the point in not acknowledging him, he could probably see her from where he was standing. 

“I’m sorry about earlier, you were obviously uncomfortable and I pushed your limit. So I really am sorry.” He apologized. 

“Yeah, sorry about kneeing you in the stomach. I thought…” She cut herself off, she didn’t need to pour her whole life story out to a stranger. He probably didn’t even want to know either. 

“It’s okay, I deserved it.” He made his way to the railing, he was a good distance away that she still had her own space, but close enough they could still talk. She relaxed a little thanks to the distance, resting her elbows on the railing. He leaned his back against the railing. They stood there in silence and Marinette decided she wouldn’t mind seeing this mystery boy again. Wait she didn’t even know his name. 

It seemed like he had the same thought since he spoke up, “I don’t think we ever introduced ourselves.” 

“We didn’t.” Damn her being so cold, she should probably take this nose ring off. So that’s what she did, took the nose ring off and placed it in her purse. Maybe this would be good for her. 

“Well, I’m Damian Wayne.” He stated, holding his hand out to shake. 

“Wait, Wayne as in Bruce Wayne? As in the Ice Prince of Gotham?” She questioned, shocked. 

“Oh, so you’ve heard.” He seemed a bit disappointed. 

“Yeah, but I won’t judge if you don’t judge.”

He raised an eyebrow at that before she continued, “My name is Marinette Rolling-Stone.” Now he looked surprised. 

“You're the elusive Diamond Stone?” He asked, disbelief made its way into his voice. 

“That’s what they’re calling me now. At first it was Sapphire Stone. Guess that’s what happens when I stay out of the media too long.” She chuckled a small smile making its way onto her face. 

“Wait, where did your nose ring go?” He looked around as if expecting it to magically appear. 

“I took it off.” 

“Why?” 

“Well at first I wore it to scare people off. People are scared of people that have piercings. I was thinking of getting a tattoo but I’m too young and they’re too permanent.” 

“Why would you want to scare people off?” 

“I have a complicated past. Sometimes putting your trust in someone takes too much risk, I tried to avoid it altogether.” She pulled her sketchbook as she wrote something down.

“Tried?” 

“Why do you think I’m talking to you?” She tore the paper out.

“You're putting your trust in me?” 

“No.” She quickly answered, “But maybe one day.” She handed him the paper and left. 

As she walked away she released a breath she didn’t even realize she was holding. Maybe giving people a second chance wouldn’t be such a bad thing. But right now she just needed to find her parents so she could head home. 

-

Damian hated galas. He hated having to talk to the stuck-up rich folk who thought they were better than everyone just because of their wealth. The girls who would try and flirt with him in order to gain his last name. And their parents who tried to push them together. 

Yes, he definitely hated galas. What made this worse was that his family wouldn’t stop teasing him about the girl who he knocked over that one time. Threatening bodily harm did nothing but amp up the teasing. It was times like this where he truly wished there was a not a no kill rule. If only to give Jason Todd some revenge. 

2 hours into the gala and he was already done. 4 girls had already tried to drape themselves over him and it took all his self-control not to hurt them. He was ready to storm out of this gala when he caught sight of her. 

The mystery girl he had bumped into days before. She was here, at a Wayne gala. Her outfit certainly looked the part of a rich socialite, She wore a long halter dress that flared out at the waist. It started out black at her neck before turning purple at the waist. The bottom of the dress had black music notes dancing across and she had a matching black and purple purse hanging off her shoulder. 

Her hair was down and she seemed to be wearing a little bit of makeup. The only reason he was able to tell it was her was because of the black nose ring that stood out against her fancy look. It looked so out of place compared to everything else. 

He watched as a man tried to approach her only to receive the same glare he had gotten days before, quickly moving on to someone else. Seems like he wasn’t the only one who didn’t want to be here. 

He made his way over to her, perhaps to give himself a second chance at a new impression. She proceeded to pull out her phone and look at something before deflating the tiniest bit. 

He cleared his throat to grab her attention, she looked at him with the same glare once again before her eyes took on a look of shock. 

“You.” She seemed surprised that she had stated this as well. 

He couldn’t help the smirk that spread on his face, she remembered him and still had the same spunky attitude, “Me.” 

Her features took on a look of boredom, but her eyes looked only curious yet cautious, “What are you doing here?” 

The fact that she didn’t recognize him as a Wayne was surprising. He thought that she was only in a hurry before that’s why she didn’t register it was him, but now he knew she truly didn’t know it was him. Perhaps he could use this to his advantage. “I’m always invited to these things, I’ve never seen you before though.” 

“With any luck this will be the last time you see me.” She said it with such confidence he felt inclined to believe. It was strange. He seemed to be the last person she wanted to talk to and yet he still wanted to talk to her. He didn’t want her to leave. So the next best thing is to get answers.

“Why would you say that?” 

“These types of things,” She waved her hand around to motion to the room, “Just aren’t my thing. My parents make it look so easy, but I’ve never been one for this kind of scene. Plus I leave Gotham in a few days.” 

Well that sucked for him. “Desperate to get out here?” 

“You could say that.” 

“Who are your parents?” Maybe he could try to get his father to arrange a meeting with them.

She raised an eyebrow, “Wouldn’t you like to know.” Nevermind. 

“You know, you make trying to have a conversation pretty hard.” He didn’t mean to say that, that was rude. 

She rolled her eyes at him, it looked like he was meant to see that, “Who says I wanted this conversation?” She turned to leave, but he grabbed her wrist. He didn’t want her to go just yet. He felt her freeze then tense when he touched her, her breathing became a little more forced, and she seemed to shake a little. 

Suddenly she twisted out of his grip and kneed him in the stomach. She raised her arm and looked ready to punch him. Her eyes looked far and distant and afraid. They seemed to refocus on him as she dropped her arm and glanced around the room. Of course, people were talking about them.

She locked eyes with him once more before running. He ran after her before his path was blocked off by Dick Grayson. “Damian what-” He didn’t get to finish that question as he dashed passed him, determined not to lose the one girl who wasn’t a stuck up brat. 

He thought he had lost her but then he heard someone taking deep breaths from out on one of the balconies. He was about to go up to her, but from the way she reacted to his sudden hold on her arm earlier, it was probably best to give a warning. “Hey are you out here?” 

He walked out onto the balcony. “No, I’m not.” She likely didn’t want to talk to him. 

“I’m sorry about earlier, you were obviously uncomfortable and I pushed your limit. So I really am sorry.” He apologized. Which was so unlike him because here Damian Wayne was apologizing to a stranger. The weird things she made him do. 

“Yeah, sorry about kneeing you in the stomach. I thought…” She cut herself off, it looked like she wanted to say more but wasn’t going to. 

“It’s okay, I deserved it.” He walked over to the railing, making sure he was a good distance away that she had her own space, but close enough so they could still talk. She seemed to relax a little thanks to the distance, resting her elbows on the railing. He leaned his back against the railing. He quite liked the silence, her company was nice. Oh god he didn’t even know her name.

“I don’t think we ever introduced ourselves.” 

“We didn’t.” She stated in what he was pretty sure was a cold tone. Maybe she wanted to stay mysterious, so he would just introduce himself. 

“Well, I’m Damian Wayne.” He held his hand out to shake. 

“Wait, Wayne as in Bruce Wayne? As in the Ice Prince of Gotham?” So she recognizes the name, not the face. Great.

“Oh, so you’ve heard.” 

“Yeah, but I won’t judge if you don’t judge.” Why would he judge her?

He raised an eyebrow at her before she continued, “My name is Marinette Rolling-Stone.” 

“You're the elusive Diamond Stone?” He asked, disbelief accidentally made its way into his voice. He couldn’t help it. She was claiming to be the adoptive daughter of famous Jagged and Penny Rolling-Stone. The girl that made Jagged’s stage outfits from scratch and managed to get the ferocious Fang, Jagged’s pet crocodile, to love her. The media could only ever get a hold of the back of her head, but those that had talked with her said she shined as bright as a diamond. Hence the nickname, Diamond Stone.

“That’s what they’re calling me now. At first it was Sapphire Stone. Guess that’s what happens when I stay out of the media too long.” She chuckled, a small smile had made its way onto her face. Sapphire Stone, he hadn’t heard of that nickname but he could always do some stalking research. That’s when he noticed. 

“Wait, where did your nose ring go?” He looked around trying to see if it had fallen off her face and she hadn’t noticed.

“I took it off.” 

“Why?” He was truly baffled. 

“Well at first I wore it to scare people off. People are scared of people that have piercings. I was thinking of getting a tattoo but I’m too young and they’re too permanent.” 

“Why would you want to scare people off?” That seems like something he would do.

“I have a complicated past. Sometimes putting your trust in someone takes too much risk, I tried to avoid it altogether.” She pulled out what looked like a sketchbook as she wrote something down. Wait what did she mean by ‘complicated past.’

“Tried?” 

“Why do you think I’m talking to you?” She tore the paper out of the sketchbook.

“You're putting your trust in me?” He asked, she didn’t seem like the type to trust people quickly.

“No.” She quickly answered, he thought so, “But maybe one day.” She handed him the paper and left. As he looked down at it he saw it was her number. There was a message attached below ‘My number. Maybe we can meet up somewhere before I leave.’ He certainly wanted to take that opportunity. 

He tucked the paper into his pocket and made his way back to the gala only to be met with his annoying family. By the curious look in their eyes they wanted to know what just happened. This was not going to be fun to explain. 

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

Hi, I have not disappeared, just didn’t want to write for prompts 8-11. I was honestly going to do prompt 8 but then stuff came up and I didn’t have the time to write. I was also planning to write something for tomorrow’s prompt but then I found out I have something I need to do tomorrow so nothing for tomorrow either. Because I had a specific thing I wanted to write for tomorrow I’m changing it to fit day 14′s prompt. Which means it’s not going to be mega angsty like I originally thought was gonna be 14. You have escaped mega angst and now it will only be medium angst. 

On another note that was a bitch to write and edit. And the fact I had originally planned to write more for it baffles me. I feel like I left it kind of open ended so if you want a part 3 to what I have going on here go ahead and tell me. I’m still trying to decide if I should do a part 3 yet. For those who are confused today was a part 2 to day 6′s prompt, miraculous side effects. Go to my master list and you can find it. 

You can also see on my master list that there are days that are crossed off, which means I won’t be doing those days. I can’t do every single day if I want to still get decent grades. Why I skipped days 8-11. Sorry for that long explanation/rant. Also sorry for posting so late again. I do these things all the way to the last minute. Let’s see if I can break that habit throughout the month. Probably not but a girl can hope. Anyways hope you enjoyed. 

@maribatmarch-2k21 @birdiesthings @buginetye 

[strange-lace]

I've been meaning to write something in response to the spider Wukong design that @winterpower98 and @ninja-knox-ur-sox-off have drawn for my Spider Monkie AU! Also features my ship with this AU of Wukong/Spider Queen/Macaque. So here you go!

But content warning for body horror and brief descriptions of blood! Also has brief spoilers for the season 2 finale.

It felt almost like the end of era to Spider Queen when she and the others ventured back down to their old home to start cleaning things out without the threat of the Lady Bone Demon looming over them all. It was one thing for her to start living on Flower Fruit Mountain with the idea in mind that it is a temporary arrangement but this made it feel all the more permanent to her. The idea of never having to live in the ruins, the constant reminders of her fallen reign, and instead live surrounded by greenery, sunlight, and fresh air…

Well, it made the scars, angry and red from where her skin met the scalding liquid of the brazier, not as difficult to look at.

It was enjoyable in a sense, going through her things for moving. Old spell books, faded robes, half finished blueprints. Having Wukong and Macaque there certainly helped, the two monkeys providing their own brand of commentary that never failed to get a chuckle or exasperated groan from her.

Though that changed once they inevitably had to start clearing out the lab.

Syntax, understandably, chose to start transporting things back to the mountain at that moment, Goliath and Huntsman making the decision to go with him. The former because he was concerned about leaving Syntax alone with how shaken he looked and the latter… well even now, Spider Queen couldn’t quite understand those two’s dynamic. They certainly weren’t as antagonistic towards each other like they used to but that didn’t leave them bickering any less than before.

Even though Spider Queen had long since adjusted to the constant gnawing of guilt, it definitely felt like a jab to the gut to see Syntax as he hurried to leave and be back above ground. Far away from the lab and the memories that came with it.

He was in such a hurry that he had not noticed the screwdriver which he had left on the ground.

A gentle prod from Macaque snapped her out of it.

“Hey, c’mon, let’s get through this old junk quick before someone else gets any ideas, okay?”

She could still hear his screams when the experiments were at their worst. How he was barely coherent afterwards, looking so small and vulnerable as she did her best to make sure he was comfortable. How the pain persisted despite the experiments being a “success” and the burning hatred in the Monkey King’s eyes as he glared her down with Macaque in his arms.

“Right, yes, of course,” she mumbled. Macaque was about to say more before all four of his eyes went wide at the sight of something behind her. Spider Queen turned as quickly as she could with her mechanical spider legs and nearly had a heart attack at the sight of Wukong picking up an unused glass tank of her venom that was twice his size.

“Wukong, for all that is heavenly, be careful with that!”

“I got it, I got it! Don’t worry, I’ve carried heavier things than this,” he said as if that actually made either of them feel any better.

To his credit, he kept his balance and grip on the tank well enough that Spider Queen and Macaque felt like they could breathe.

Until he stepped on the same screwdriver that Syntax had accidentally left behind in his rush to leave.

And try as he might, Wukong couldn’t right his balance in time.

Spider Queen swore the world had gone into slow motion in that moment.

The Monkey King landed flat on his back, eyes going wide in horror at the sight of the tank right on top of him. Before he could even move, the tank landed on his body with the glass casing shattering on impact. Without thinking, Spider Queen grabbed Macaque and leaped until they were on the ceiling, far from the reach of the spider venom as it spilled all over Wukong and the lab floor with nothing to contain it anymore.

For a brief moment, they were both silent in horror as Wukong remained motionless before jolting upwards, coughing up a storm.

“Oh gross, I think it got in my mouth!” He sputtered in outrage and Spider Queen let out a sigh of relief. He was still cognizant and not a mindless slave, that was a good sign that the venom didn’t work that way without the spider robots. Perhaps it had become less potent, simply left down here without anyone to maintain it?

That didn’t stop her from insisting that she or Syntax look him over for any possible side effects back on Flower Fruit Mountain, despite the Monkey King’s protests that he was fine. Though, eventually, he caved in.

And to her great relief, there didn’t seem to be any.

“See, what did I tell you? Everything’s fine and I’m fine. You don’t gotta worry about me, that energy is better spent somewhere else.” His eyes wandered towards Macaque as he said that. The monkey demon in question was trying and failing to hide the pain on his face as he rubbed at his back. Spider Queen conceded on that as it looked like she was going to have to brew another muscle relaxer for Macaque and just her luck, they just ran out of the last batch.

“Fine, then help me expend that energy by helping me get the herbs for Macaque’s medicine,” she grumbled, running a hand through her choppy hair. It was still strange, having her hair cut so short to what was a pixie cut, but it was… a welcome change. It also being that way MK did for her while she was recovering and extremely uncomfortable with her hair touching her burn scars helped but… no need to say it out loud.

Wukong followed her lead without any complaint, yet stopped for a second when he felt a weird twinge in his sides. The call of Spider Queen snapped him out of it and rushed to follow her. Yet in the back of Wukong’s mind, he couldn’t help but wonder if that wasn’t just a random pain in his sides.

Almost felt like…

Like something was squirming underneath his skin.

‘Eh, it’s probably nothing to worry about.’ He thought to himself, reaching behind him to scratch at a sudden itch on the back of his neck.

Days passed like normal after that, the permanent move to Flower Fruit Mountain a success, much to his monkeys' chagrin. They were just beginning to warm up to Goliath and were able to be around the others without Wukong having to stop them from pelting the spider demons in fruit. Typically by reminding them that, like it or not, they were also MK’s family and asking them if they wanted to make MK upset by throwing fruit at his mother and “uncles”. That usually did the trick.

Good thing too since Wukong was starting to notice he was feeling… off.

The twinging at his sides had only seemed to worsen in the following days, the sensation escalating from only happening once every two days to it happening three times a day. And while they didn’t become painful, each time it felt like there was more… force behind them every time they happened.

The ignored voice in the back of his head compared it to something almost trying to poke its way free.

Eventually, these “episodes” were enough to stop Wukong from whatever he was doing to try and catch his breath once his sides calmed down. He figured it was only a matter of time until one of his partners confronted him about it. This time being Macaque.

It helped that he had caught Wukong during another one of his “episodes”, this one enough to make him stumble his footsteps and make Macaque rush to catch him before the Monkey King fell ungracefully to the floor.

“Alright Wukong, what’s going on with you?”

A part of Wukong wanted to insist that it was nothing but a passing thing. But passing sensations don’t last this long.

Something was wrong.

“Remember when I dropped that vat of Queenie’s spider venom on me and she didn’t find anything wrong with me?” Horrifying realization came to Macaque’s face at that question, all four of his eyes immediately looking over Wukong for anything out of the ordinary.

“I don’t like where this is going Peaches.”

“Well… a bit ago I started feeling something odd in my sides. Like somebody was poking me. It didn’t really hurt so I thought it was no big deal and would go away on its own, y’know? It… it hasn’t gone away. In fact it’s been happening more often and getting stronger.” As he spoke, Wukong lightly rubbed at his sides, not looking directly at Macaque out of guilt.

“Peaches, I love you, but why didn’t you say something sooner?”

“I thought I could handle it on my own! And we have more important things to worry about than me, like you and Queenie, y’know the people who aren’t indestructible and-” He was cut off by a light smack behind the head from Macaque, the demon looking exasperated and frustrated more than anything else.

“You idiot, just because you’re indestructible doesn’t mean that you should have kept this from SQ and me. God, you sound like the kid. We have no idea how the venom could impact your systems compared to me and now who knows what we’ll find. C’mon, we’re having Queen look at you again, no arguments.”

Wukong couldn’t find it in himself to protest. Only hope that it was merely them all being paranoid and stressed.

Those hopes promptly went out the window when Spider Queen had him take off his shirt.

On each side of his torso underneath his arms were two pairs of lumps, each the size of his palm and seemed to almost twitch when she had cautiously prodded at them to feel for bone. He was worried for a moment that everyone was going to see the peaches he had just eaten as nausea squirmed within his stomach.

“This is not good, pretty sure these same exact kind of bumps developed too when we…” Spider Queen trailed off, eyes lingering on Macaque who didn’t need to say anything to show that he understood what she meant. “But this doesn’t make any sense, it took weeks for them to develop at this stage and yet it’s been little more than a week, barely two.” She looked extremely frazzled, trying to make sense of this. Syntax didn’t look any better himself, lime green hair a tousled mess compared to its usual put-together appearance.

“It could be a case of biology, my queen. Wukong’s biology is… incomprehensible to put it politely. With all the methods put into extending his immortality and Macaque’s own biology, it would be pointless to try and compare them and their reactions to the venom. And with how fast these limbs seem to be developing in comparison, it may have already been too late to use the antivenom the moment his skin made contact and he ingested the venom,” he rambled yet Wukong didn’t miss the look of sympathy sent his way at that final statement.

Wukong felt numbness, not sure how to process knowing it was too late for him from the get go.

The sensation of something squirming hitting him again and knowing that it was new limbs developing right under his ribs only made his nausea worse.

He barely noticed Macaque gently pulling him into a hug until his face was buried in coarse purple fur, four arms holding him while the monkey demon nuzzled his cheek.

“Hey, look on the bright side, Peaches. It’s looking like you won’t be growing any new eyes like me. Can’t get any worse than that, right?” Wukong could only give him a small, fond smile that could not even begin to communicate his exhaustion, fear, but relief that Macaque was at least trying to comfort him. For a brief moment, he felt a bit calmer and wasn’t bathed in dread about what was inevitably about to come.

That temporary peace was shattered the moment Wukong felt a stabbing sensation in his sides.

A pain which only seemed to intensify by the second.

He had to leave. Now.

“I-I’m so-sorry, I have to-” Wukong cut himself with a scream of pain as it spiked for a brief moment to a level that his mind was only white hot agony. He stumbled out of Macaque’s embrace and ran off, no clear destination in mind except that he needed to be away.

He could faintly hear Macaque and Spider Queen calling for him to come back, yet he didn’t listen.

The trees blurred as he ran past them and he stumbled into the first temple, nearly tripping on the stone steps and slamming the door behind him. In his blind, pain-filled panic he was able to pile the dusty and old furniture in front of the door to keep anybody out before the pain left him to fall to his knees. Wukong struggled to breath, his lungs feeling like they were on fire.

He couldn’t breathe. He felt like he couldn’t breathe.

Wukong could only open his mouth in a silent scream of pain, writhing on the floor in a poor attempt to alleviate his suffering. White hot pain ran down his spine as it felt like someone was pulling at it like taffy, skin stretching and organs rearranging underneath his flesh. He gasped in air once the unbearable heat seemed to recede only to let out a groan as it traveled down to his legs. Wukong swore that he could hear the bones in his legs creaking as they grew and thickened, muscles following their lead to fortify them as if ready to carry a great weight.

He sighed, feeling like he could breathe again while noticing that his clothes didn’t feel right anymore.

The brief moment of peace was shattered as Wukong was overtaken by pure agony as he felt something trying to push through his sides.

This time, he couldn’t hold in the screech that bellowed from his lungs.

Spider Queen and Macaque, desperately searching for Wukong, nearly jumped out of their skin as a roar of distress echoed through the forests of Flower Fruit Mountain. They two shared a silent look before running off in the direction of the sound’s origin, his ears leading the way as they twitched to and fro to track their idiot partner down.

“It came from here, I can hear him inside,” Macaque said yet the grim look on his face told her that that wasn’t all. The door didn’t budge when she attempted to pull it open, something heavy on the other side. Rapidly losing patience knowing that Wukong was on the other side and already in the throes of the transformation, Spider Queen felt she could be forgiven about what she needed to do next.

She stepped back before charging at the doors, her shoulder taking the brunt of force.

The fact that she caused the makeshift barricade on the other side to go flying across the temple was of no concern to her. The sight of Wukong curled up in a fetal position on the floor was.

“Peaches!” “Peachykins!”

They were both at his side in an instant, Macaque gently taking the Monkey King off the floor. Immediately he could feel something had changed. Wukong was taller, heavier in his arms.

Gods if that didn’t bring back memories he’d much rather bury.

“You shouldn’t… you two shouldn’t be here,” Wukong wheezed, voice raspy for obvious reasons.

“Quiet you, if you think for a second that we were going to let you deal with this alone, then it seems that venom messed with your brain too. I wasn’t alone for this, so neither should you.” Spider Queen nodded in agreement, running his fingers through his fur in her best attempt to offer him comfort.

Wukong whimpered as the heat and pressure against his sides seemed to grow and grow. Faintly in the back of his head, he could feel that wasn’t the only thing changing. Peach fur darkened as it grew thicker and longer into what was practically a mane. His claws became longer and sharper. For a moment, his entire world was bathed in green instead of gold before his vision returned to normal.

He should feel horrified, to feel himself changing, shifting without any sort of control or way to stop it in front of his partners to add salt to the wound. Feel helpless, powerless, weak.

Yet all that remained on the forefront of his mind was the pain.

“You’re doing amazing Wukong, I promise it’ll be over soon.”

“You just need to hold on a bit longer.”

Just when the pressure and heat had become borderline unbearable and Wukong was on the cusp of passing out, he could just barely hear the sound of ripping past the pounding in his ears.

Cloth ripping as well as something else. Something wet.

Macaque and Spider Queen were knocked back by the force of something punching its way out of the Monkey King's sides, their backs meeting the opposing sides of the room.

Wukong could feel blood dripping down his sides and his entire being ached, not too different from when he had been freed from under the mountain after 500 years. And yet all he could feel was sweet relief, body already working over time to heal his wounds and stop the bleeding. Letting himself a moment to breathe, he cautiously pulled himself up into a sitting position.

Or at least tried, as he fumbled back to the floor the moment he saw just how much his body changed.

Evidently even his “biology” felt the need to one up Macaque as Wukong tested his four new arms. He couldn’t help but mourn the fate of his clothes as it was obvious they were a lost cause, his shirt nothing but scraps of cloth barely able to contain his broader chest and orange stained with red. His pants, while not torn, were now much too short to cover his legs entirely. He could feel that his phoenix feather headdress had managed to get tangled up the much thicker fur which trailed from his head.

Cautiously, he began to move his new appendages. His limbs were clumsy but he slowly began to get the hang of it, belatedly noticing that the fur of his new arms got progressively paler. The second pair more closer resembled his old fur color while the third pair was pure white, all the colors converging around his sides. Or at least it looked like that, since the fur of his sides was sticky and caked with dried blood which stained it a dark red.

Groans of pain pulled him back to focus to see Spider Queen and Macaque pulling themselves off the floor, nursing bumps on the back of their heads from colliding with the walls.

“You… two alright?” His voice was still scratchy and now he had exhaustion weighing on his eyelids.

“Bit of a bump but we’ll live. Shouldn't have been so close honestly. What about you Peachykins?” Spider Queen asked, offering her hand to help him up while trying not to stare at the dried blood crusting his fur. Without hesitation, Wukong took her hand and let himself be lifted back on to his feet. He winced, muscles aching both old and new ones and started to try stretching out the new kinks in his spine.

Spider Queen meanwhile blushed at the fact that she had to crane her neck to meet his eyes now, doing her best to not stare at his muscled and bare chest. Macaque was no better as his eyes looked over Wukong's form, though he had the benefit of fur to hide his flushed cheeks. Their eyes met and they both came to a similar conclusion.

They were doomed.

"Feels weird and I ache all over but…" Wukong gave them both a slow grin once he noticed that he had to look down to see them both, "I think I could get used to this. Got a feeling you guys don't have a problem with it either, am I right?"

Oh they were so doomed.

[restapesta]

Fucking Milkovich

words: 5.5k

Five times Ian pulled Mickey away from starting a fight and the one time the roles were reversed.

1. THE STORE

The old lady had been side-eyeing them since they accidentally bumped into her at the wine aisle, Mickey backing into her as he and Ian led a loud, heated discussion about whether or not the Rose that was in Ian's hand was the same one from the gay party they had attended a couple of days before.

Ian was dead set on saying that it was the same bottle of pink wine and that even if it wasn't, it probably tasted the same, all the while Mickey was dead set on proving to Ian that the bottle was most certainly not the same one and that they should crack it open and try it even if they were still in the middle of the supermarket. They were bickering back and forth, not paying much attention to their surroundings, and Mick had backed away from the rack of wines, unceremoniously colliding with the gray-haired lady who was pushing a cart filled to the brim with groceries. It was a miracle the items hadn't toppled out, considering there was a mountain of them. Ian wondered how steadily the lady must've been pushing the cart, and how close his husband had come from knocking it all down.

Mickey had muttered a quick sorry and Ian had shot the lady an apologetic look when she just stared at Mickey and the tattoos that covered his hands and arm, blatantly revealed by his short-sleeved t-shirt. Ian had told him he looked hot in it that morning, so Mickey had kept the jacket off, appeasing his husband's gaze. He felt a bit cold but Ian's eyes following unapologetically as his arms flexed made it all worth it.

Ian gestured for Mickey to leave the aisle with his eyes, accompanied by a sharp tilt of his head -- and they continued their way to the other racks of food and drinks, Ian placing the bottle of wine in their own basket. They weren't there for a full-on grocery run. They were in Costco purely because their snacks and beer needed stocking up, and they needed some shit for the mac-and-cheese Mickey had been craving. Ian had lost a bet while they were at work today so he promised to make him some -- a deed Mickey was quite happy about.

They bumped into the lady once more at the cash register. There were some people six feet in front of them (considering they kept their distance), unloading their stuff, and the woman was mere inches behind them, as if she was waiting in line with the couple, not behind them, pressed close. Mickey shot her a glance and when he noticed her scowl, he gave her a slight smile that Ian knew was obviously not a smile, but rather a 'hello lady I crashed into, why are you standing so close, back away from me and my tall ginger before I tell you to back the fuck away'  threat. He had a feeling the lady caught on to what Ian did, but chose not to comply, considering how her scowl deepened and how she seemed to press impossibly closer.

Mickey and Ian shared a look but kept their mouths shut, preparing to unload their shit onto the moving thingy -- but then the old bat spoke.

"Least you could do is let me cut the line." She was looking straight at Mickey, and to Ian,  judging by the look on his husband's face, it seemed as if he was considering it. But when his gaze swept over the pile in her cart -- the one almost spilling over -- he simply shrugged, "No. I couldn't."

Mickey kept unloading the few items they did have, and Ian followed his lead, but the lady was persistent. "You are very unkind."

Mickey simply muttered an 'uh-uh' as he grabbed the money out of his jacket.

"You should be ashamed."

Mickey rubbed his eyebrow with his thumb and Ian knew that signaled danger, so he pushed him lightly with his shoulder, gesturing for him to pay. Mickey obliged begrudgingly, choosing to ignore the bitch. The cashier was just finishing placing their shit into the plastic bag, handing it to Ian, also handing Mickey back the change. They were going to leave the place unscathed.

Too bad the bitch couldn't keep her mouth shut.

"You should put a leash on him."

Before Mickey had a chance to jump her and gauge her eyes out, Ian wrapped his hands around his torso and pushed him towards the door of the store, whispering 'calm the fuck down' to him curtly, the grocery bag in his hand making it harder to sustain his husband. It wasn't the first time he had done this, and he doubted it would be the last. It was somewhat of a struggle but Ian managed. He also tried to ignore the look of pure horror on the grandma's face.

When he was finally able to get Mickey through the door -- while the guy spewed graphic insults at the hag -- he let go, making sure to keep him a safe distance away from the store.

"What the fuck is it with old bitches being so fucking rude?" Mickey muttered loudly, grabbing the bag out of Ian's hand and pulling out the Rose. He opened the bottle easily and took a long gulp, emptying a third of the bottle with it. His face scrunched up immediately. "I fucking told you it wasn't the same one!"

Ian just shook his head.

Fucking Milkovich.

2. THE JOB

The day had been pretty slow. They had their regular cash pick-ups and deliveries, and they had finished most of them, considering how the day was nearing its end. Both Ian and Mickey were ready to get back home and crash on the couch, maybe down a beer or two, and especially take off the uniforms that had truly made them sweat today. Spring was coming, and fuck if Ian wasn't ready for the onslaught of discomfort the camo brought on with it. Mickey didn't look like he minded it much, but Mickey was Mickey, so it wasn't a surprise. Ian, on the other hand, was already considering alternatives.

They were delivering their last bags of weed, taking a long ass drive to fucking HerbalCare, knowing it would take them a while to get back home too -- but the Northsiders that owned the place were kind of their regulars, so they were used to it.

Both Ian and Mickey expected the usual chick to show up and pick up the marijuana when they eventually got to the place -- the one with the curly red hair and a sassy attitude -- but instead, an unknown guy did with a large-ass man following shortly behind.

The first guy looked like any other -- casual clothing, friendly face, easy demeanor -- unlike -- what Ian supposed was -- his bodyguard. He looked like a capo with his broad shoulders, tight black shirt, tattoos littering his body, head cleanly shaved. Ian glanced reluctantly at his own thug, mentally praying Mickey had a bullet that could take down the motherfuckers in front of them if necessary.

"Can I help you, gentlemen?" The normal-looking one spoke.

Mickey nodded, also slightly taken aback, but not letting it show. "We have a delivery for HerbalCare." He glanced at Ian. "For Dina? Wasn't it?"

Ian nodded slowly, assessing the situation.

"I'll take it from here." The guy responded, eyeing Mickey up and down. "Dina is currently busy at the moment." Mickey didn't seem too happy with the asshat's statement. Ian wasn't either, naturally. The man had an odd vibe to him -- he seemed on edge despite his cool facade, and Ian saw straight through it. He glanced at Mickey who seemed to have been noticing the same thing. They were not handing shit over to these assholes. There's a certain trust you had to earn before claiming a couple of thousand dollars worth of weed from Gallavich Security.

"How 'bout I just speak to Dina, yeah?" Mickey's voice was calm and eery -- he was in boss mode. The mode that even scared Ian, sometimes. It was dangerous territory these guys were treading on if Mickey had resorted to going into the mode only slightly less scary than Milkovich thug mode.

The dude, still nameless, smiled without humor. "Why don't you just give me the weed, huh?"

Mickey pulled out his gun swiftly, pointing it straight at the guy's head. The shock on his face only lasted for a moment before it turned into a smirk. The capo next to him pulled out his own, only slightly smaller than Mickey's, pointing it at Mickey's head.

Well, shit.

Ian pulled out the gun from his waistband, feeling slightly worried for his and his husband's safety, pointing it at the tall-ass man. It was like a scene from a movie. A poor, shitty-quality one.

"How about we all just put down our guns and we'll come back when Dina gets here?" Ian's voice was smooth and the silence hung lowly over them for a couple of moments. Ian was never a gun sort of guy, but rather a talk-it-out one.

They eventually all put down their guns, albeit reluctantly.

"Okay, then. Guess we'll be seeing you." The guy muttered as he turned his back to Ian and Mickey, capo following behind, shooting them a glare. Their movements were slow and deliberate, but eventually, when they were a safe distance away, the capo turned around and shot them the middle finger.

Ian was just barely in time to stop Mickey before he leaped out to kill the motherfucker.

He wrapped his arms around him like a boa constrictor, attempting to stop him from committing homicide. As always, it took a while.

Mickey growled after a minute or two, finally calming down, glaring at the spot the asshole thieves were a few moments before. "Oh, you fucking will be seeing me. You'll be seeing me in your nightmares, you motherfuckers."

Ian barely contained himself from rolling his eyes.

Fucking Milkovich.

3. THE ALIBI

Ian had been nursing a beer for the past hour while his worse half had already downed three. Mickey was on his fourth glass of Budweiser, slightly tipsy, but not quite drunk just yet as he and Ian enjoyed their night out, something one might even call a date (correction: something only Ian would call a date).

They had gone out for chicken wings, played some pool after dinner -- even took a fucking stroll out -- and now, they were chilling at the Alibi Room, enjoying each other's companies, talking about anything and everything, laughing at Kevin's jokes and making fun of Kermit and Tommy, the regular drunks of the Southside.

It was a slow day today, their job weighing a little extra heavy on their shoulders, but the night was swift, in contrast. In fact, they were having a really good time, letting go of all of the fucked-up things happening in their lives right now, the burden coming off of their shoulders, even for a little while. And Ian was especially looking forward to the sex that was bound to follow when they got back home. Hell, if Mickey continues drinking the beers at this pace, maybe even in the bathroom -- it truly only depended on the level of horniness the drunken state would illicit.

They were still enjoying their alcohol and horniness when Kermit had decided to remind everyone of a comment. Ian guessed it wasn't supposed to be that big of a deal. Both Ian and Mickey had dealt with far worse from people far shittier than Tommy and Kermit. But the comment  --  the one about how Tommy was against their wedding, saying it was a man-woman thing -- didn't really sit well with either of them. Ian had no idea how the topic even came up, and the whole 'kind of drunk and talk-y' Mickey wasn't helping the case, but the words most certainly had an undesired effect on the couple.

Mickey had stilled immediately.

It wasn't that big of a deal. Homophobes were all around them, and they knew that Tommy was as gay and as homophobic as any of them, and Mickey would probably ignore the comment had he not been this content with the night he was having.

Here he was with Ian, having a great time, enjoying his life, his marriage, and over-all his husband, and this asshole was going to ruin it with this comment. This stupid, meaningless comment.

Neither Ian nor Mickey lived in a fantasy -- the one where everyone was supportive of the gays and where love was simply love, no matter if it was between a male and a female, or a male and a male -- but sometimes, they forgot what world they actually lived in and in those moments they were at their most vulnerable to these sort of remarks. They cut them deep, Mickey especially.

He was so happy with Ian, so happy with his marriage, the life they shared, that the outside world rarely even mattered. But when he heard someone saying how they shouldn't have gotten married -- shouldn't have been enjoying their love and relationship, shouldn't be where they are now -- Mickey got pissed.

"Oh yeah, Tommy? Man-woman thing?" Mickey's voice was unnervingly steady.

Kevin eyed Kermit, silently conveying the question, "why the fuck would you say that". Kermit shrugged but Mickey only had eyes for dear old Tom. He was watching him like prey.

Tommy gulped, not as afraid of Mickey as he used to be, but definitely not one-hundred percent safe around him either. Everybody knew Mickey protected himself and his family -- Ian and the Gallaghers -- only. Everyone else could just go fuck themselves. Tommy fell into the latter group.

"That's just the way I've been taught. Y'all are good, enjoy your marriage." He attempted to climb out of the hole he had dug for himself but it wasn't really working. The asshole had made it too deep and had fallen into it headfirst.

"Oh, I'm so fucking happy I have your approval." Mickey bit back.

"Oh, no," Ian muttered lowly. "Mick."

"You should be happy I don't have a gun on me now. Now, while I'm on a date with my husband." He annunciated the words slowly, making sure Tommy understood and heard them very well and remembered them for good. Ian's heart fluttered at the mention of the word date, but he reeled it back in for now. He could enjoy it later when Mickey wasn't on the verge of murdering someone.

"Hey man, how 'bout you just calm down?"

Tommy really wanted to die today.

Ian was pushing Mickey out of the bar before he strangled the man with his bare hands. Mickey cursed as they were leaving, resisting his husband as he attempted to drag him out. Ian barely got them through the door, and when he did, Mickey tried hard to go back in.

Ian hissed at him to stop. Eventually, Mickey did.

"I see him one more time, I'm killing him, understood?" Mickey was baring his teeth at the bar as if Tommy could see him. "Him and his counterpart."

Ian closed his eyes briefly.

Fucking Milkovich.

4. THE BLEACHERS

It had always been their spot. From the beginning, it was a place for Ian and Mickey to run away to, not just to hook up, but to escape their lives and the turmoils of their families, each fucked up in its own fucked up way. It was easy for them to just disappear for a while, fucking against the fence, shot-gunning beer with no one to reprimand them for when they left the cans on the stadium, the world completely oblivious that it was the odd duo. Not just Mickey Milkovich, the infamous Southside thug, and not just Ian Gallagher, the skinny army ginger -- but both Ian and Mickey, a pairing no one saw coming, not from a million light-years away.

It was easier back then, sure, but now, it was better. They used to just fuck underneath the bleachers, making it nothing more than a hook-up spot, barely touching after sex, drinking beer like just a couple of friends, not like they were in between rounds, Ian aching for more, Mickey denying him access to it. Ian knew Mickey wouldn't even admit they were friends back then.

But then again, it was different then than it was now.

Now the bleachers were their spot. Not just a fuck spot like it used to be. No -- it was a hangout spot. They didn't have their own place yet -- that was still a work in progress -- and when the Gallagher house became too loud and too messy for them to just enjoy their night, outside of the confines of their room, they went to the bleachers.

It wasn't a regular occurrence, more like a once-a-month sort of thing, but it still felt great and rejuvenating -- it felt like them. A space in the dark where they could just talk and drink and mess around and make out in, unapologetically relieved of the burden on their shoulders, whatever it may be.

Tonight was a night like that, a night where all they wanted and needed to do was escape -- Terry's death was still weighing heavy on Mickey's soul, for reasons Mickey and Ian both had yet to uncover, and the house was brimming with too many Gallaghers with too many opinions and observations. They needed a break.

The spot under the bleachers was supposed to be reserved for them as always, and they had brought along a six-pack of beer as well, deciding to just get drunk, even if they still had to get to work the next morning. It would be a good ending to a shitty week.

But the asshole kids sitting at their spot weren't gonna let that play out.

Ian and Mickey were aware that they were grown-ass men, but it was ten pm and these children had no right to even be near the bleachers let alone smoking and drinking underneath them. They were far from teens and they reminded Ian of himself and Lip when they were mere eleven-year-olds trying to figure the messed-up world out.

Mickey didn't really see it that way. He was clearly just annoyed.

"Beat it." He said in a curt voice, flicking his wrist to point to the imaginary exit. Ian followed suit reluctantly, only after trying to convince Mickey to just let them have at it and go to the dugouts instead.

"No Ian, we came here because this is our spot and these little fuckers need to go." Mickey had responded.

Ian was aware his husband had issues.

He was used to it.

The kids laughed, the three voices laughing merging, sounding more like a pack of hyenas. "Watcha' gonna do about it, grandpa?"

Mickey had a very shitty couple of days.

Mickey was not a well-tempered person.

Mickey was on the verge of killing something.

These kids were the catalyst.

When Mickey took a swift step towards them, Ian was once again -- how many times was it, now? -- holding him back. The kids scattered around, scared shitless of the thug. They were gone in the blink of an eye.

Ian felt sorry for them, but he was happy that, at least, Mickey didn't dump their tiny bodies in the river. Not that Mickey would've actually done that.

Ian hoped.

"I was one second from threatening to eat them for lunch," Mickey grumbled. He then pointed at the free spot. "At least they're gone. Gimme that beer, I wanna have some good drunk sex."

He made a gesture with his fingers and smiled as if nothing had happened. Wasn't Ian supposed to be the crazy one?

Fucking Milkovich.

5.  THE GALLAGHER HOUSE

Debbie Gallagher was extremely annoying nine times out of ten. Ian Gallagher knew it. Mickey Milkovich knew. The entire Gallagher clan knew it. But today, she seemed especially bitchy.

It was a Friday night -- usually reserved for a good home-cooked meal, chilling on the couch, watching TV,  and just having a family night altogether. Even Lip and Tami were in the house on Fridays, bringing Fred along to play with Franny and Liam (who would more-so look after them than play with them).

That's how the nights usually went.

But tonight, Debbie the Brat had every intention of fucking it up.

She sauntered into the house, bitchiness oozing from her pores, head held high even though it should have been bowed down in shame. She was drunk off her rocks, and she was dragging Franny along with her.

"Hi, assholes." She greeted the family in the kitchen, letting go of Franny's hand, pulling her sunglasses off to reveal blood-shot eyes. God knows where the hell she had been today. All Ian knew was that she left the house sober with Franny and was now completely drunk, if not high, the little girl still trailing behind.

"Wash your hands, Fran," Liam instructed, eyeing Debbie up and down. She seemed even more fucked up than usual in his eyes.

She plopped herself down on the closest free chair which happened to be across Mickey. It was quiet for a few moments, everyone waiting for something to happen. Debbie was an unpredictable drunk, something they were only lately discovering.

It seemed like Debbie had woken up today and chosen violence.

She looked straight into Mickey's eyes. "Your cousin is a cunt."

Mickey raised an eyebrow while the other Gallaghers observing the exchange. Ian was sat next to him. He put his utensils down, not sure how this exchange was going to unravel, also pulling Mickey's knife out of reach, in a way he hoped was inconspicuous.

Just in case.

"She is a self-absorbed cunt who has no business in this house anymore." Deborah continued as if someone gave a shit. Mickey especially.

He shrugged. "Last I'd seen her was the morning after you guys broke up. I couldn't give less of a shit about whether or not she's with you or not with you. For fuck's sake, the break-up happened a long-ass time ago, get over it." Mickey looked down at his plate, continuing to eat his dinner, clearly signifying the conversation was over. He glanced at Ian when he couldn't find his knife.

Instead of moving on, Debbie grabbed a loaf of bread and threw it at him.

Mickey stilled.

Carl elbowed her hard but she paid no attention to the warning. She was having a staring contest with Mickey Milkovich. One she would eventually lose.

"Back the fuck off, Debbie," Ian warned himself.

She switched her gaze from Mickey to Ian. Her gaze was murderous. "Or what, Ian? You'll try and kill me with a bat?"

Collective silence fell over the table. Noone seemed to be breathing. All eyes switched to Ian, gauging his reaction, not believing the words that had left Debbie's mouth, but even warier of the ones that were bound to leave Ian's.

Ian had other things occupying his mind, though, and one of those things was his husband who was probably a second away from killing his sister-in-law.

"You bitch." Ian held Mickey down by his shoulders as he attempted to climb over the table and tackle her to the floor. "You and your condescending cunt can fuck off."

"Mickey. Come on." Ian pushed him out of the chair and shoved him lightly, indicating for him to go upstairs.

"No, Ian. She needs to be set fucking straight, or else you'll have a new Frank on your hands. This bitch." He fought against him as Debbie just sat still.

"Mickey." Ian shoved him towards the stairs, afraid he would have to explain to the cops how his husband murdered his sister if Mickey didn't leave the room, immediately. Mickey noticed Ian's serious expression, and slowly climbed up, all the while muttering to Debbie to go fuck herself.

Ian glanced at Debbie from where he stood.

"What?" She asked, innocently.

"Who the fuck do you think you are?"

Debbie snorted. "Sorry if I hurt your feelings. Not like it wasn't true."

"I couldn't give less of a shit whether or not you think I'm crazy. You come in here and talk to Mickey like that again, I will be using a bat. Only then you'll see how crazy I can get." Ian was dead serious.

It was the first time since she came in that her eyes truly widened in fear.

He backed away upstairs slowly.

The rest of the Gallaghers were silent for a moment before they all collectively shot Debbie a dirty look, soon erupting in chatter, as if nothing had happened.

It had been merely a few seconds before Ian had entered their room, when Mickey finally started his rant, talking shit about Debbie, defending Ian being at the core of it all.

He had a lot to say, and Ian was going to listen to it all, like the supportive husband he was, always taking Mick's side.

As he listened to Mickey rant about Debbie, he thought about what he had said to her. It was true -- every single word that had left his mouth. He hoped she and the rest of them -- no matter who it was -- understood.

Mickey was more important to him than anyone else in this world, even his sister. He was Ian's family, his next of kin, the one Ian trusted and loved the most. When push comes to shove, he will chose him, no matter what. He will always choose his husband, the love of his life, his worse half.

God, he was soft.

Fucking Milkovich.

+1 THE STORE, THE JOB, THE ALIBI, THE BLEACHERS, THE GALLAGHERS

"You really keep me from killing people, man. Feel like I should thank you."

Mickey had muttered that lowly in the dark, his head resting on Ian's chest, both of them naked, enjoying their post-sex bliss. It was then when they were at their most open, letting out emotions and feelings that usually didn't seep into the mundane day.

Ian ran his fingers along Mickey's bare back, enjoying how Mickey shivered against them. "You do the same thing." He answered simply.

Mickey raised his head slightly to look at his husband. "No, I don't. I've never had to physically pull you away from stabbing or strangling someone."

"You do realize I usually get as pissed off as you do at these things."

"These things?"

Ian rolled his eyes in the dark. "C'mon Mick. You really think I'm okay with an old lady calling you rude and ignorant and judging you like you're nothing but a street rat. Or some assholes flipping us off after trying to steal our weed?" He adjusted his arm so it rested over Mickey's shoulder, Mickey's cheek pressed into his peck. "You think I don't get mad when Tommy talks about how we shouldn't have gotten married because we're men? Or how Debbie had the audacity to talk to you like that, in front of me."

"You never react to it, though. That's why I don't pull you away from starting shit. You kind of just stay calm." Mickey responded to Ian's short monologue.

Ian chuckled. "Mick. If I wasn't so busy pulling you away, I'd probably be the one murdering them all."

This time Mickey raised his head to fully look at Ian. They adjusted their positions so it was easier to keep each other's gaze.

"I'm serious," Ian responded to Mickey's expression of disbelief.

Ian was completely and utterly serious. That shit happened a lot.

In fact, had Ian not been so busy pushing Mickey out of the store, the plastic bag filled with shit they needed for dinner and the expensive -- but probably not correct -- Rosè in one of his hands, making sure his husband didn't go to prison for stabbing the geriatric bitch, he would have gotten really fucking pissed and probably have gone off at the grandma himself.

If Mickey didn't attempt to go after the fucking thieves, like the sociopath he was, Ian would've probably pulled out his gun and pointed it at the men's fucking back. Maybe he would've even tried emptying the clip.

Mickey trying to strangle Tommy was good enough of a distraction for Ian not to beat the asshole up himself. How fucking dare he talk about marriage like that, the drunk bitch. Ian would've been a second away from hurling himself at Tommy and beating the shit out of him -- but fuck it if Ian was gonna let Mickey get arrested for aggravated assault and risk his parole.

The kids at the bleachers didn't bother him. He knew Mickey had a soft spot for kids himself, so it was more of a hissy fit than a homicidal fit.

Debbie was the one that truly made his blood boil.

"You know," Ian began. "I would've probably signed a death warrant on Debbie and mine's relationship that night if you weren't there."

"How so?" Mickey was caressing Ian's cheek with his thumb, giving him the biggest case of heart-eyes. Ian didn't doubt that was how he was looking at Mickey himself.

"When she was saying that shit, all I could think of was making sure you didn't kill her. I barely registered what the fuck she was saying. I was trying to keep you from flipping the table and making Franny an orphan." Mickey rolled his eyes but kept silent. He knew there was truth in Ian's words. "But, if you weren't there. If Debbie had just started talking about me and the whole bipolar thing and I didn't have you to keep me from actually letting the words sink in..." He drifted off, not knowing how he would've reacted. The words would have probably cut him deep.

Shifting closer, Mickey pressed his palm against Ian's cheek. "Do we need to talk about how you should under no circumstance listen to your bitch of a sister? What happened all those years ago happened while you were manic and off your meds. Her using that as a comeback in an argument is low and a fucking betrayal. Right now, you are the healthiest you've been since your diagnosis and you shouldn't let her get in your head. Hell, if I have to, I'll fucking try and murder anyone to stop the words from -- what did you say -- sinking in?" Ian laughed wetly, feeling himself get emotional over Mickey's little speech.

"You're amazing, Ian." He finished. "I'm proud of you."

Ian pulled Mickey's body close, making their naked bodies press flush against each other. Their noses touched as Ian took a moment to appreciate what the universe had given him. The soft lines of Mickey's face, the blemishes, and the tiny scars -- the eyebrows Ian had joked were iconic to him -- everything that made Mickey Milkovich his Mickey.

A kid forged in hate and homophobia, morphed by the Southside into a short-tempered thug, capable of murder in the blink of an eye if you so much as looked at him wrong. A Milkovich taught to care for nobody but family, to stay loyal to them and never snitch, but also taught to put a bullet in their fucking heads if betrayed. A hard-ass and a thief, ready to shamelessly steal from any store of his choosing, barely giving a shit whether it lands him in juvie or not.

A man capable of so much love. A man who took care of Ian when he was at his worst, made sure to keep him safe and protected. The man who came out for him in front of his worst nightmare, all so he could keep Ian, even if he was nothing but a mess kept together by unawareness. A man capable of murder for Ian. A man capable of running away with Ian. A man capable of going back to prison for Ian. A man who loved Ian, and would always try to keep him safe.

"You done staring?" Mickey smirked at him.

Ian smiled, shaking his head slightly. "I don't think I'll ever be." He then added, quietly, "I'm so lucky."

Mickey nodded, his lips mere inches away from Ian's. "I am too."

Soft lips moved against each other slowly, creating a rhythm Ian never wanted to lose.

He knew he never would.

His life, even after all the worst possible shit a person could imagine, was pretty fucking great. All thanks to Mickey.

His husband.

His partner.

His soulmate.

His worse half.

His Milkovich.

THE END

[parachutingkitten]

The Samurai Swap

Chapter 1: Nya's Problem - In which Nya and Pixal make a very large mistake.

TW: gore

“I am Samurai X.”

The smile beamed from her newly revealed face, now finally able to see her friends without the filter of a mask. Several arms instinctively surrounded her, the first of which being Jay’s, the second of which was Zane’s and a few more that she wasn’t able to identify in all the commotion.

“I knew it was you!” Jay broke away, now excitedly jumping. “I didn’t say it, but I had a hunch!”

“Yeah right,” Cole rolled his eyes, offering her a high five, which she gladly took.

“You look brilliant!” Her father smiled, taking her hand. “Brand new body and everything! It looks fantastic!”

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Zane asked, his arms still wrapped around her.

“I didn’t want you to worry about me.” She nervously shrugged.

“Worry about you? You totally saved our butts on more than one occasion this week.” Lloyd broke in. “As far as I’m concerned, you can be the new Master.”

“Temporary Master Pixal, in training!” Kai added, hitting her in the arm.

“Yeah, yeah, this is great and all,” Nya sighed, speaking from behind the crowd. “But what about Wu? We lost him in the time stream. We have no idea where he could be.”

The whole group’s tone shifted, the energy being sucked away in less than a second.

“If I know my uncle, he’ll be alright,” Lloyd assured her. “Wherever he is, whenever he is, he’ll find his way.”

Silence stayed with the team a moment before Cole finally stepped forward.

“Lloyd’s right! We lost a friend today, but we also gained one back. Sensei would want us to do what he taught us and keep moving forward.”

“Hear, hear!” Jay cheered him on.

“And I think we start with this.” Lloyd picked up the reversal blade, its orange glow illuminating the faces all around. “We need to get rid of it. It’s far too powerful, and we don’t know the extent of its abilities. I say we put it back in the boiling sea. You think you two can handle that?” He glanced up at Kai and Nya as they exchanged a look.

“We did it once, didn’t we?” Kai chuckled.

“Good.” Lloyd agreed. “Then we leave first thing in the morning, and we take shifts guarding it tonight. I don’t want to take any chances, not after everything that’s happened.”

“But aside from that…?” Jay broke in.

Lloyd sighed. “But aside from that, everyone deserves to celebrate. You’ve earned it.”

Cheers went up throughout the group, Zane squeezing Pixal just a bit tighter, before finally letting go.

“I missed you so much,” he whispered.

“Zane,” Pixal smiled. “I’ve only been out of your systems for a couple of days.”

Zane took both her hands, bringing them to his chest. “I missed you.”

Her smile softened, her hands gripping his. “...so did I.”

“Pixal!” Kai’s voice came barreling into their vicinity. “I should have known it was you! You’re just as annoyingly perfect in costume as you are out of it!”

Pixal chuckled, pulling out of Zane’s grasp.

“And hey,” He placed a hand on her shoulder. “I can’t think of anyone better to replace my sis.”

“You don’t remember what it’s like having both of us on the same com link, do you?” Pixal smirked.

“I am choosing to ignore that right now and assume that the stupidity that used to happen just… won’t happen now.” Kai smiled blissfully.

“You’re right, it’s been what, 5 years since the jet fuel incident? I’m sure we’ve both matured immensely since then.” Pixal winked.

“I make no promises.”

“Hey guys!” Jay’s voice called out to them. “Let’s get back to the bounty! Zane’s making cake to celebrate!”

“I am?” Zane called back.

“You are now!” Cole waved them over as the group headed for the ship. “Come on!”

“I guess I’m making cake now.” Zane sighed, resigned to his fate as they began moving.

“Oh! Can you do your cream cheese frosting?” Kai asked.

“I suppose,” Zane shrugged. “Pixal, you have any requests?”

“I like your cream cheese frosting.” She smiled.

“Cream cheese it is then.”

Pixal’s smile faded, one of her hands still linked with Zane’s as the group quietly continued forward. Everything should be right with the world now that her identity was off her chest. This weight that she’d been holding onto should be gone now - but something felt off. She couldn’t pinpoint what, but there was still some unsatisfied strain of tension left within her. Her eyes instinctively wandered, looking for what it was that was out of place before it struck her.

“Kai, you really think Nya’s okay with… me?” she asked.

He looked at her puzzled. “Yeah, why wouldn’t she be?”

“I don’t know,” Pixal sighed. “I’m taking over one of her creations, it’s strange that she didn’t really address it when I revealed myself.”

“Don’t worry about it!” Kai shrugged it off. “You’ve definitely proven you can take care of Samurai X, and I’m sure she’s excited to have another girl on the team.”

“You’re right, I’m probably just in my head about it,” Pixal shook her head, this nagging feeling persisting with her. Nya hadn’t really acknowledged her while she was code, seemed to antagonize the new samurai X she had created, and hadn’t even attempted to pass on good will to her after she had revealed herself. Her brother approached her before she did.

Something had to be bothering her.

---

“Who is she again?” Ray asked.

“Part of Zane's brain that decided she wanted to be a real girl.” Nya grumbled, taking a swig of milk.

“Zane's old girlfriend who got stuck as code inside his head,” Jay clarified. “So, it was like two brains in one body. Which, I don't know if that's like the ultimate relationship status, or a terrifying hellscape I never want to experience, but either way, it worked for them for like… what, 5 years now?”

“Yeah… I'm still not sure I get it,” Ray shrugged.

“Well, she seems nice!” Maya smiled. “Have you talked to her much? Maybe you could give her a crash course in Samurai X or something.”

“No mom, I’m not really in the habit of training people who try and replace me.” Nya sighed, lifting her glass to take with her as she moved away from her parents and the rest of the celebration taking place inside.

Everything about this felt wrong. This new Samurai X had certainly surprised her when they first appeared but knowing who it was somehow made it worse. Seeing her creation be appropriated by someone else, put it on like a cheap costume as the whole team celebrated, it didn’t sit well with her.

“What’s your problem today?” Jay’s voice came from behind her. “You saved all of space time, is that not enough for you?”

Nya sighed, leaning back on the wall. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t have a problem. I’m completely problem-less.”

Jay paused a moment, joining her on the wall, and following her line of sight. “You know, Pix is a really great person.”

“It’s just not right.” She grumbled. “I don’t even know her!”

“Well, maybe that’s your fault.” He gently suggested. “She’s been living with us for years now.”

“Yeah, well, I haven’t been living with her.” Nya sat up. “It’s like she’s been spying on us, quietly observing us, collecting information before popping up again. Isn’t that off putting to you? You’re gonna sit here and tell me that’s not the least bit suspicious?”

“Yeah, it is.” Jay shrugged. “And it would probably make a great plot for a horror movie or something, but this isn’t a movie, this is real life. And that’s a real person over there, who obviously looks up to you. So maybe, just maybe, you should at least go over and talk to her.”

Nya’s gaze turned again to Pixal, slowly transforming into a glare as she thought, all her emotions still furiously stirring inside her.

“No one’s guarding the blade.” She turned to Jay again, holding out her drink. “I’m gonna go watch it for a bit.”

Jay looked at the milk, disappointed. “Nya, honey-”

“Jay, darling.” She pressed, her words now forceful as she gestured the cup towards him again.

Jay sighed, taking it. “Yeah okay.”

And with that, she was gone. Down the hall, and towards the time blade, away from her problem still chatting away in the living room. Jay meandered back to the kitchen, setting down the glass in a pensive defeat.

“You get her out of her funk yet?” Maya asked.

“No,” Jay shook his head, ideas still churning in his mind. “...Not yet anyway.”

---

Pixal could tell that her presence wasn’t welcome the moment she stepped through the door. It wasn’t a great feeling, but it wasn’t a new one either.

“Everything okay in here?” She asked, scanning the room, her eyes lingering on the glow of the reversal blade sitting in its center.

Nya stared at her for a moment, puzzled. “…Yeah.” Her answer was hesitant and questioning. “Who sent you in here?”

“Jay” Pixal answered, still hugging the wall.

“Of course he did.” Nya sighed. “Look, I’m fine in here, you can go back to your party or whatever. I’m sure you’ve already missed like five people telling you how great you are.” Nya rolled her eyes, shifting as they lingered on the blade, waiting for her to leave.

Despite Nya’s insistence, Pixal remained in the room, her eyes narrowing. She was sick of this. Sick of the dismissive tone, and the constant avoidance. She was a real person, with real feelings, and certainly had more reverence for the Samurai X title than Nya ever had. She deserved some respect, and she wasn’t about to let this fickle, arrogant, lowlife deny it from her.

“Did I do something to you?”

“What?” Nya’s attention snapped back to her.

“It’s just, you’ve been really cold to me, and I can’t think of a single good reason why.” She took a few steps further into the room, Nya standing to match her.

“Well, for starters, you stole my stuff, I thought that much would be obvious.”

“It’s not exactly like you were using it.” Pixal crossed her arms.

“It’s my tech!” Nya tensed up, her voice raising quickly. “I made it! I built the cave! It’s my stuff!”

“Yeah, and it was covered in dust, broken down, and abandoned!” Pixal waved her off. “You clearly didn’t care about it anymore.”

Nya pressed her tongue against her teeth for a moment, attempting to stifle her anger. “I made Samurai X with my own two hands-”

“And you forgot about it the moment you became a ninja.” Pixal cut her off. “Are you really going to stand here and criticize me for saving lives?”

“No, but you’re certainly not the best person to be doing it.” Her tone was increasingly accusatory. “I mean, you’ve essentially been a ghost person for years, and now you suddenly want to be put in charge of, not only your own body, but my legacy, and countless innocents? I don’t think so. That’s something you have to earn!”

“Oh, like you earned your powers?” Pixal mocked her.

“Like I earned my place on the team,” Nya corrected her. “Which you clearly haven’t.”

Pixal laughed in defiance. “Five years of dealing with your crap, saving your lives countless times, without as much as a voice isn’t enough for you?!”

“I don’t trust you.” Nya shrugged. “It’s as simple as that. And you think I’m supposed to just hand over my life’s work to you?”

“No, you’re supposed to pass it on,” Pixal pressed. “But you were too lazy to even do that.”

“I don’t know you!” Nya screamed. “I don’t know anything about you!”

“Yeah, well, I do,” Pixal snapped. “And maybe I should have thought twice before attaching my legacy to yours.”

“The hell is that supposed to mean?!”

“You know what, you don’t really seem in the right frame of mind to be watching the time blade.” Pixal shook her head.

“Well, I think we’ve established that you’re not exactly qualified to watch it either,” Nya sneered.

Both of their eyes darted to the blade and back, their status quo hanging in the air for a moment. And in an instant, both of them were scrambling towards it. Nya’s hands reached the blade first, with Pixal getting a hold quickly after, the two of them now stuck in a tug of war over the weapon.

“Let go!” Nya screamed, her grip quickly slipping from the edge of the handle she had a hold of towards the blade.

“You first!” Pixal demanded, readjusting her own grip.

“You stupid second rate knock off, just give it to me!”

“Not a chance, you-” Pixal stopped short, the glow from the from the blade growing increasingly brighter.

“What the hell?” Nya’s grip softened for a moment, both of them concerned about the light.

Pixal seized the opportunity, yanking the blade forward, Nya’s hands slipping down, and Pixal’s hands moving up, both towards the glowing blade of the weapon.

“WAIT-!”

But before either of them could stop their momentum, the room was consumed in the orange light, a pulse of energy going through them both. Neither could tell exactly what happened in the moment, but one thing was clear to the both of them:

Something had gone very, very wrong.

And it was definitely their fault.

---

It was cold.

An unearthly, deathly, sort of supernatural cold. It wasn’t just surrounding her, but actively extracting heat from her core. She had never felt anything like it before.

It was dark.

She waited for her eyes to adjust, but they never did. It was pitch black in all directions, no trace of light anywhere.

Nya sat up, a pounding echoing in her head as she tapped around, trying to discern her surroundings. She instinctively recoiled as her hand hit something… wet. It wasn’t water, it was thicker. Smoother between her fingers. Stickier to the touch.

What was this?

Where was she?

She listened for anything that might help her determine her situation. It wasn’t completely silent. There was a definite mechanical hum in the space, and… was it… getting louder?

Suddenly, A bright flash of light illuminated the space, almost like lightning, but brighter and more artificial. And for a brief moment she could see her surroundings, still dark, cold, and mechanical, but there was only one thing she really processed.

Her corpse.

Her own limp, disjointed, misshapen corpse hanging on the wall in front of her. The throat was slit, a stream of blood running down her chest, meeting with the sword sent through her center, affixing her to the wall behind. All of it formed a river of blood, trickling down the walls, and trailing onto the floor.

The flash of light came again as she stared at her hand, untouched by the blood she had so clearly felt between her fingers.

What the hell happened?

Where the hell was she?

And if she was here…

Where was Pixal?

[no-whump-on-main]

Apartment 307-11 (Bruises)

TWs: Gore, brief mention of emeto, creepy and unstable whumper

Morning didn’t come for a long time. Elora’s body clung to sleep as it fought desperately to even begin to heal the severe wounds that had been inflicted the day prior. Merely surviving was beginning to become much harder of a task then she’d ever hoped it would be; waiting around for someone to save her wasn’t quite working out, and neither was saving herself. She was having to fight tooth and nail just to live, which was both exhausting and incredibly depressing.

She finally opened her eyes as she felt a hand roughly shaking her shoulder, jerking her body around until she begrudgingly awoke. She pushed stray hairs away from her face and tried to roll over, but the man’s voice was booming with its volume and closeness to her ear.

“Elora. Get up. It’s almost two o’clock.”

She wanted to tell him to fuck off, that if he was going to torture her, she had every right to sleep however much she wanted to, but she knew it was irresponsible to be causing any trouble in the state she was in. Her body had withstood so much abuse in the days she’d been there already, she feared that without time to heal, anything else major could easily tip her over the edge of life and death, make her pass out and not wake back up.

And hell if she was ready to die.

“I’m awake,” she said in a dull, monotone voice, her eyes still adjusting to the light streaming into the room through the opened blinds. She sat herself up, slowly, cringing at the pain of her ankle dragging along the sheets.

“Good,” she heard him mutter, and she resisted the urge to scowl at him. The last thing she cared about was his approval, and yet here she was, walking on eggshells to avoid setting him off. What a mess she’d gotten herself into.

“I’m not going to do anything today,” he told her. For some odd reason, it wasn’t very reassuring. “I’m not stupid. I’m not trying to kill you.”

Her lips moved much faster than her mind. “Gee, thanks.”

He shot her a glare. It made her skin crawl, just the pure intensity in his eyes.

“Watch it.”

She did. She didn’t want to, but something about his tone and expression made her deeply uncomfortable to the point that she feared doing anything but precisely what he wanted.

“You wanna take a shower? You need it,” he said plainly. God, he couldn’t even extend a kind gesture without being a douche about it. Elora wanted to spit back that she wondered why she needed a shower. Maybe it was the layers of dried blood coating her skin, or the dirt from being mercilessly dragged along the ground the night of her kidnapping. She kept her words to herself, though, responding only with a nod.

She could already imagine it, the warm water running down her body, washing away the blood and the sweat and the dirt and the fear she was certain he could smell. How she craved it, the simple pleasure of being clean-something she’d already lost.

“Okay. Up we go, then.” The man lifted her up from the bed, an arm tucked beneath her knees and the other behind her back. She hated every minute of being so close to him. His breath smelled like cigarettes and his shirt was scratchy. Every bit of her body screamed at her to get out of his grip, but she was stuck, without another choice in the matter. A bitter horror fell upon her at the realization that this was her new reality whenever she had to move around the apartment. It wasn’t like she could get up and walk around. The persistent throbbing in her ankle was a painful reminder of that.

At the very least, the walk was short. He just carried her into the master bathroom and set her down in the tub. It was slightly roomier than the one she was usually kept in, but clearly much more used. A couple bottles of mens’ 3-and-1 wash lined the ledges and the floor was damp.

“Might be weird not standing up, but you’re smart. I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

Elora nodded, but the man just stood there, leaving the air stale with the silence in the room. She looked up at him for a moment, trying to gauge what he was doing, what he was thinking. She hoped he’d leave. While she knew he probably had a difficult time trusting her alone after the mishap yesterday, privacy was still a much-appreciated commodity. He stared at the wall for a second, not looking her in the eyes, before muttering about grabbing something and walking out. Elora froze, fearing he was going to bring back some awful instrument of torture, but instead, he merely returned with a pile of items in his arms. An old, worn towel and washcloth made the base, with a haphazardly-folded set of clothes atop it, and faded, half-used bottles of drugstore shampoo, conditioner, and body wash over that.

He set the stack down next to her, on the floor by the tub. “Yell when you’re done,” he told her. And that was it. He left.

There was no catch, no earning her prize or cruel tricks. He just left her alone to shower. It was like he felt bad. He should feel bad. But she shook the thought of vengeance from her mind, deciding to just focus on the mercy she’d been shown. She knew she should savor it while she had it, as she doubted it would last long.

Awkwardly twisting her body to avoid using her broken hand, she grabbed the bottles and set them on the ledge of the bathtub, then carefully removed her clothes, grimacing as she had to stretch the cuts lining her arms and drag fabric along her broken ankle. Once she finished, she finally turned on the shower, tensing as cold water rained upon her, but practically melting once it ran warm. It was soothing, though it did slightly sting the wounds it hit. Still, the benefits far outweighed the harm and she shut her eyes to fully take in the comfort, wishing she could stay right in this moment until she was found. Enveloped by the warmth, the man only a passing thought in her mind.

She began with the shampoo, taking her time to work it into her scalp, washing away the dirt, blood, and oil that had built up over the last few days. It felt so nice to be clean, to be free of the filth coating her body. She savored every moment as she washed and conditioned her hair, then took painstaking attention and care as she scrubbed her body with the washcloth, carefully avoiding or only gently dabbing at the wounds littering her body. And even when she had long been done, she remained on the floor of the tub, letting the hot water soothe her aching body as she stared ahead at the wall. She feared that taking too long, though, would make the man suspicious-or worse, angry. So, despite not wanting to and not having a clue when she’d be given this privilege again, she turned off the water and began to dry off with the towel. She didn’t want to get the clothes she’d been given all wet, so she awkwardly and rather maneuvered herself up to sit on the side of the tub. She quickly found that getting dressed was just as much of a struggle as getting undressed-especially as her skin was still damp. Pulling on the plain undershirt and blue sweatpants earned quite a few hisses of pain, and she was more than relieved when the task was over.

There was a sort of longing ache in her heart at the fact that the clothes weren’t hers. It was just another thing that had been stripped from her, another bit taken away. At the very least, though, they were clean. It didn’t seem like they’d been washed, just taken straight from a cheap bulk package. That was probably what they were. Elora didn’t mind, though. At the very least, they were comfortable, and clean. Both fit her relatively well, too, though the legs of the pants were short on her.

She was about to mournfully call for the man as she’d been instructed to do when she looked over herself, just one last time, and found her staring down at the massive bruises covering her fingers and ankle. She’d been preoccupied with getting clean earlier, so her eyes had just skimmed over them, but now that she took the time to really look, she was horrified. They were so much clearer now that the blood was washed away, looking almost cartoonish as she stared in disbelief. Deep shades of blue and purple wrapped her entire ankle joint as it stuck painfully out to the right. She knew that she should set it, but she didn’t have the slightest clue how, and it was far too severe to heal magically. All she could do was look on in shock at how misshapen it looked, how it almost seemed like a watercolor painting, colors coating and speckling the skin. Her fingers, too, were a horrific sight, curled in on themselves, swollen and multicolored. She couldn’t look away from her mangled hand and foot, feeling sick at how mortifyingly intense they were. She wanted to vomit at the mere sight of them, at the thought of the logistics. How many surgeries would it take to fix this when she got out?

If she got out.

Tears slipped down her cheeks and she abandoned the thought of calling for the man at all, just gawking at her injuries, letting the severity seep in, and bawling. Time slipped by quickly and soon she’d been in the bathroom for almost an hour, which prompted the man to come in and check on her. He knocked on the door and called her name, and she startled, her shoulders trembling. She didn’t respond, just sat there until he burst in, swung the door open himself. Their eyes locked and he saw the redness around her eyes, the puffiness of her cheeks. His brow furrowed for a moment. He hadn’t done anything wrong to her, what was her deal? But his gaze followed hers back to her broken limbs, and he gave a knowing sigh.

An awful guilt crept up in him and his expression was stone cold.

“I’m not a bad person, Elora.” His voice was firm, but thick, with a sense of sadness to it. Elora looked up at him from her spot perched on the side of the tub, shocked by his sudden entrance. Her eyes were still teary, threatening to spill more at any moment.

“I’m not.”

The girl still didn’t say a word and Clyde felt his guilt start to turn to anger. “Stop looking at me like that. Like a-like a sad fucking puppy.”

Elora’s bottom lip shook. She sensed it, his rage. She knew that, no matter what she did now, things weren’t going to end well for her. They never did, when he got mad like this.

“I’m not t-trying to-”

“Shut up,” he shouted, and her mouth suddenly closed, her eyes still wide as they stared up at him.

“I’m not a bad person,” he affirmed. “I did what I had to. You-you never fucking listen.”

Elora had no clue what to say, what to do, so she merely nodded in agreement. Sure. Whatever he wanted to believe. Whatever he needed to hear to not hurt her even more when she was already-when she couldn’t handle any more.

The man advanced towards her and she nearly screamed in pure terror. She wanted to back away but there was nowhere to go, nowhere to run. He bent over and gripped her chin and she inhaled sharply, eyes watery.

“Say it,” he seethed. “Say it. I’m not a bad person.”

She was forced to look in his eyes, their faces just inches apart as he jerked her chin up. Her voice shook as she spoke. “You’re-you’re not a b-b-bad person.” A sharp inhale ended her sentence, petrified that it wasn’t right. That it wouldn’t be enough.”

He released her chin and she felt relief flood her for all but a second before he shoved her off of the ledge of the tub. She landed flat on her back on the tile floor, the air knocked out of her lungs by the force of the fall. She wheezed and tried to sit up, but he was upon her in a second, kneeling on her chest with his hands around her throat to restrict her breathing even further.

“Say it like you mean it,” he insisted. There was nothing but anger in his eyes.

Gasping and sputtering, Elora wheezed, “You’re not a bad person!” Her tone was desperate. She felt like she was dying. But that was all the man needed to hear. He eased off of her and stood, brushed himself off, then simply picked her up from the ground and slung her over a shoulder, a far cry from the gentle way he’d carried her to the bathroom in the first place.

He was grinning. Relief washed over him. A cool, calm feeling.

“You’re right, Elora. I’m not. I’m not a bad person.”

tags: @exploringspaceinpyjamas @all-whumped-out