#just might have to throw my hat back in the ring for this

[spencerreidenjoyer]

please, please, please | spencer reid x reader

wc: 2.8k, rating: explicit/18+

tags/warnings: office sex, professor!spencer/student!fem!reader, age gap (20 years?), rough sex, blowjobs, unprotected sex, vaginal sex, title kink (being called sir), questionable relationship, dubious consent (they both want it but again it’s teacher/student so…)

a/n: read too many professor!spencer fics and decided i had to throw my hat in the ring. i feel crazy and i need him desperately. pls go crazy with me too. (ao3 link here!)

It doesn’t take an FBI profiler to notice how Dr. Spencer Reid fails to hide the way he stares at you in his lectures, his eyes always lingering on you even when he’s addressing the entire classroom. 

Maybe you’re just sensitive to his gaze, because he’s an extremely intelligent man whose attention you’re more than happy to have on you, given the fact that he is insanely attractive.

Maybe you’re just as attracted to him as he seems to be with you, because you absolutely preen at the attention Dr. Reid gives you in class, words of praise over your ideas often free-flowing from his lips.

Maybe because you know how hot you are, you shouldn’t have come into Dr. Reid’s office in a low-cut top and a short plaid skirt asking to discuss your final essay in his Criminal Psychology class. 

Both you and Dr. Reid know you’re more than capable of acing this paper, your in-class ideas clearly brilliant enough to impress Dr. Reid himself. And yet, you’re in his office, seemingly worried about how to get your thoughts across on paper. 

It doesn’t take an FBI profiler to notice how you’re positively bluffing, a little too eloquent to sound truly uncertain of yourself in your work for Dr. Reid’s class.

It doesn’t take an FBI profiler to notice the way Dr. Reid is staring at your tits in your top, eyes only flicking back up to your face when he realises he should be looking at you while you speak instead of at your… assets.

“Sir, did you catch what I just said?” You prod, very aware he most definitely did not hear you. You note how his eyes widen when you call him sir. 

“Um– Well, I–” Dr. Reid starts, but it’s no use. 

You stand up, putting your hands on the desk as you sigh, “Dr. Reid, I’m sorry if I’m boring you with my thought process.”

Your arms frame your tits just right, and you catch the way Dr. Reid’s eyes inevitably flit down to your cleavage. It’s so obvious when he looks back up at you, and you see his face redden. You quirk an eyebrow at him as a challenge of sorts, and he looks somewhat apologetic. 

Dr. Reid clears his throat. He avoids your eyes for a moment, as he moves to take off his blazer. “I apologise. I’m just… distracted at the moment.”

“I wonder why that is,” you hum, twirling a piece of your hair with your index finger, like you’re deep in thought. Then, like the already-obvious answer just hits you, you add, with a pout: “Oh! Do I distract you, sir?” 

“What are you doing?” Dr. Reid asks, and you can hear the way he’s trying to keep his voice steady, calm.

“I don’t know, sir,” you shrug. “Maybe you should share your thoughts with me.”

Dr. Reid blinks at you, takes the sight of you in. “Well, you’re giving me a hard time right about now.”

“Why?” You cock your head to the side. He closes his eyes and breathes in deep, just for a moment. 

Your professor’s tone biting, he answers candidly, “Your revealing clothing choice makes it difficult for me to focus. I didn’t expect you to dress like a slut when you were coming into my office for a simple consultation.”

Your sharp inhale is audible in the pindrop-silent room. Dr. Reid meets your eyes. He pauses for a moment, and you watch his tongue dart out to wet his lips. His eyes are dark. With a flick of his finger, he says, “Come here.”

You think of leaning over the desk just to fuck with him even more, but Dr. Reid looks so serious you think you might be in actual trouble. You scurry over to his side of the desk, standing next to him. He turns his chair towards you, and you can see the bulge in your professor’s pants. He’s big.

“You want this?” Dr. Reid says gently. It’s a loaded question. 

Pulling your lower lip between your teeth, you nod. “Yes, sir. I want you.”

“Good. Then get on your knees.” It’s a command, in a deep voice you’ve never heard from Dr. Reid in the past three months in his lectures. You hope your knees won’t bruise from the way you fall to them in a heartbeat.

“I didn’t think you would be such a slut.” Dr. Reid smirks, and it makes a shiver run down your spine. His hand reaches towards you, cups your cheek. He slaps your cheek gently, but the suddenness makes you gasp. “Fuck, you drive me crazy in class, but now I have you like this? I must have done something amazing in a past life to have you on your knees for me now.”

“Sir,” you exhale shakily. His touch is soft, his thumb stroking your cheek with a surprising sweetness. 

“Let’s put that mouth to good use, hmm?” Dr. Reid says, his tone warm, syrupy sweet. He reaches for his belt, the metal clink as he undoes it making heat quickly pool between your legs. The belt gets tossed aside and he unzips his fly, pulling his half-hard cock out. You watch as his large hand wraps around himself, as he strokes his cock absentmindedly. His eyes are only on you. Your body flushes hot with arousal.

Dr. Reid beckons you closer with a finger. You look up at him, and you take his cock in your hand. His eyes tell you everything you need to know. You lean forward to take him into your mouth. You wrap your lips around the head of his cock softly, the warmth of your mouth probably feeling like heaven as Dr. Reid moans quietly as you do. You swirl your tongue over his tip, tasting the saltiness of his precome.

His hand comes up to the back of your head as he watches you suck his cock. You’re kitten-licking at his tip, which doesn’t seem like enough for him. Dr. Reid pushes your head down on his cock, forcing you to take more of him into your mouth. He’s big, so the sudden fullness of your mouth coupled with the way he hits the back of your throat makes you choke slightly. You glance up at him. He’s smirking. 

“I’m sure you know how to suck cock, don’t you? Like this, sweetheart.” His tone is close to condescending, as the fist in your hair drags your head up and down on his cock. While it’s not like you don’t know how to please a man, Dr. Reid treating you this way makes you swoon – his teacherly mannerisms turning you on impossibly. 

You gag as Dr. Reid fucks your face down onto his cock, his groans mixing with your wet, choked noises. He clearly seems to enjoy this, using you how he pleases, uncaring of your own arousal. It’s so hot you feel like you might explode. You hope you’ll get more out of this than just sucking your professor off, because if he doesn’t reciprocate you might have half a mind to report him for unprofessional conduct.

But Dr. Reid is moaning into his fist, eyebrows furrowed as you blow him, and you’ve always wanted to please your professor; be it in class or right in this moment.

You reach up to grab Dr. Reid by his wrist, tapping his arm to get his attention. His eyelids flutter open, revealing his gorgeously deep brown eyes. He looks at you, slightly concerned. “What’s the matter?”

You swallow hard. “Sir, I– Will you fuck me? Please? I want- I want to feel you inside.”

Dr. Reid closes his eyes for a moment, breathes through his nose. “Holy fucking shit,” He murmurs to himself, before he says, louder, “Okay. Yes. Fuck, you’re so sexy.”

You don’t get up from your knees, not just yet. You look up at him, hands in your lap, waiting for him to tell you what to do. You smirk up at him. Dr. Reid sighs, rubbing his face with his hand, and says, “You little minx. Get up on my desk.”

He extends a hand to help you up, your legs shaky from being on your knees. You look behind you to figure out how to get yourself onto the desk, but Dr. Reid is also on his feet now, and he hoists you up onto the desk, easily getting between your spread legs. You steady yourself by placing your hands out behind you, and shudder when Dr. Reid’s big, warm hands grab at your thighs. He squeezes at the flesh, before one hand comes down to your clothed pussy. He swipes his thumb over your clit, over your hole, and he tuts. “You’re so wet already. You must be desperate.”

You shudder. Dr. Reid’s touch is not enough to feel good, as he barely teases you over your panties. “You should do something about it, Professor.”

“I will,” he says. Dr. Reid exhales, looking down between where your bodies are pressed close, his hard cock pressed against your cunt. “Look at what you’ve done to me. You’ve ruined me.”

“Sir,” you say sultrily. “You should fuck me now.”

“I will,” he repeats, his hand on your hip. He looks you up and down, and then Dr. Reid’s hand is sliding across your thigh, his fingers slipping up the hem of your skirt. You feel calloused thumbs teasing at the waistband of your panties, feel them dip past the elastic to pull them down. 

Cool air hits your cunt, as Dr. Reid slides your panties off your legs. He’s looking down at you, between your legs, clearly enjoying the view. You clear your throat, and he looks up at you, almost sheepish. He says, his voice cracking slightly, “You’re gorgeous.”

You smile. “You’re not so bad yourself, Dr. Reid.”

“Yeah?” He laughs. “I’m glad you think so.”

As you talk, Dr. Reid has mindlessly started to rut his cock along your leaking cunt, your steadily-flowing slick making the slide easy. It’s so good, even just the friction of your professor frotting against you. You hold back a moan, looking up into Dr. Reid’s eyes.

“Sir– Oh, fuck,” you moan, as his cock slips inside of you with the way he grinds against you, your hole letting him in too easily. You’re so wet that he’d just slipped in. The feeling stuns you both, wet heat around Dr. Reid’s cock. He’s still rocking his hips back and forth, which pulls him out of you and pushes him back in. The head of his cock pushes back into you, and you both moan. You cry, “More, Dr. Reid.”

Dr. Reid steadies himself as he starts to fuck you, the movement of his hips shifting as he thrusts into you proper. There’s a practised ease in his thrusts, confident as he takes you on his desk. Your head falls forward, hair in your face, as your body takes in the feeling of your professor’s cock buried inside of you.

“You feel so good,” Dr. Reid grunts, his cock fucking in and out of you. He’s filling you up just the way you need it, his thickness stretching you out so deliciously. You clench around him at the praise, and his hips stutter. “So tight for me, sweetheart.”

And then, you can’t explain what you do next. You can’t help yourself, as you wrap your arms around him and bury your face into his neck, smelling his musky perfume and sweat. You whimper. You feel so good you don’t know what else to do with your body, but Dr. Reid doesn’t push you away. One of his arms wraps around your waist, his hand on the small of your back feeling so warm through your thin top, even though you’re feeling so hot you could explode. 

You feel yourself being pushed onto your back onto the heavy wooden desk, Dr. Reid’s weight pressing down on you. Like this, you feel his cock press inside of you impossibly deeper, and it’s so good you feel like screaming – you don’t, obviously you can’t, but you muffle a moan into his shoulder instead.

“Such a good girl,” Dr. Reid murmurs softly, his cock punching deep inside of you. Each of his thrusts sends electric pleasure up your spine, through your nerves, and you’re tearing up from how good this feels. “Fuck, I wish I could hear you scream for me.”

You whimper, a broken cry pressed against his neck. “Dr. Reid–”

“Oh, I know, sweetheart,” Dr. Reid coos softly. “You’re doing so good, keeping it down for me. So good for me.”

You don’t like feeling so pathetic, but Dr. Reid makes you feel safe even while you’re vulnerable, while he’s fucking you on his office desk. You sob, “Dr. Reid, it’s too good– I’m gonna cum, I– please–”

“Come on,” he grunts, his voice laboured as he pants. “Cum for me, my darling.”

Your gasp is louder than you’d like it to be, in a professor’s office of all places, but you feel too good to remember to keep it down. You shudder through your orgasm, unable to control the way your body reacts to all the pleasure given to you. 

“Fuck,” Dr. Reid blurts, his cock sliding out of you faster than you expect. You whine, but Dr. Reid is cumming all over your cunt, thick, hot spurts all over already-slick skin. “Oh, shit. Fuck.”

You’re thankful Dr. Reid didn’t cum inside, only because he didn’t have a condom on. You feel like a mess, but Dr. Reid’s looking at you like you’re a goddess. You feel his softening cock resting on your thigh. You want to go again, to feel him inside of you again, but perhaps that’s too desperate. 

When his head is clear, Dr. Reid is quick to step back, reaching into the desk drawer. 

“Sorry, let me just–” The commandeering, dominant Dr. Reid you just met is now gone, back to his slightly silly, bumbling self. He takes two wipes out from the packet of wet wipes he had pulled out from the drawer in his haste, but his hands are gentle when he wipes you clean. His touch is soft, sweet, and you feel so special in his hands. “I’m sorry I made a mess of you.”

You chuckle. “Dr. Reid, I’m more than okay with it. I think it comes with the territory.”

He smiles, albeit a little awkwardly. “Yeah, you’re right. I just don’t do this often, I suppose.”

“Oh, please. As if you don’t have other students throwing themselves at you too, Dr. Reid,” you laugh, waving him off.

“I do, but I’ve never done anything with them. Even if they try to proposition me, I tell them to leave my office. I’ve only… It’s just you.”

You’re stunned for a moment, blinking up at him. “You… Seriously?”

He frowns slightly. “Does it seem like I sleep around with my students often?”

“No! No, I just– I didn’t expect that. I thought you would be more… experienced? Considering how readily you let me… seduce you. I guess.”

“You’re definitely convincing,” Dr. Reid smiles. “Besides, I think you’re really special. I’ve never had a student like you.”

“Oh,” you say, because what else can you say in this scenario? Should you say anything else? It’s starting to hit you now, the implications of what you’ve just done walking into your professor’s office like this. “That’s… flattering.”

He tilts his head, brows furrowing. “Your pause seems to imply you don’t really mean that.”

“Oh, no, Dr. Reid, not at all, I–” You shake your head. “I’m really flattered that you think I’m special, I just– I’m not sure how I can navigate this. We’ve had sex, and it’s really hitting me now that I should not have seduced my professor because that’s definitely a violation of conduct, and–”

“Hey, relax,” Dr. Reid says, putting his hand on your shoulder. You breathe in deep. Dr. Reid looks at you warmly, and says, “I know we probably shouldn’t have done this, but I couldn’t resist you. And besides, it’s already done. We’re close to the end of the semester anyways. If you– I– If you want to continue this… outside of campus, I’d be more than happy to.”

“Dr. Reid,” you gasp, shocked that your professor would even be interested enough in you to suggest something like that. A relationship, outside of class? Or whatever it is he was thinking of. Frankly, even if Dr. Reid wants to meet once a month just to fuck, you’d take whatever you could get, especially with a man as gorgeous as him.

“Call me Spencer. Please,” he smiles. “Outside of class, at least.”

You grin. “Okay, Spencer.”

[crows-in-the-house]

Bill Cipher x Reader possesion hc's

tw: harm to reader, violence and blood?

i think he would posses you in your sleep, making sure you are deep in nightmare realm, getting in only when he's sure you won't wake up :

he will start his fun with drawing eyes on your eyelids and your forehead, maybe whole body if he's in the mood,

and the best part? It's going to be with a the pernament marker sucker!

if he gets bored he might start drawing triangles or riddles, sometimes just in places you won't see, like "Bill's property" on your nape (ha! you still have that you fool!)

oooh, and maybe he will tattoo that if you've been ignoring him lately

just so you know haha

will try to see if he can bite of ur fingers

will eat spiders (his fav human must be well feed)

will bath you in nailpolish so you're "well preserved"

will prank call random people hoping he finds any of the Pines numbers (so you two can go on a murder date!!)

will make a fashion show!

but don't hope it will turn out well, he will cut out "clothes" out of your curtains, make a shawl out of toilet paper and use a grater as a bracelet. Later you may just find yourself half naked cuz he bearly knew how to put back normal clothes on you (he will defend himself saying that real clothes are boring and out of style)

on the other hand he will also put on lots of jewelry and accesories - so you may also wake up with three hats, old winter glove, two bowties (which you didn't own earlier?) and 6 rings on your toes. enjoy!

sometimes Bill will just watch tv. Maybe he will comment on "my little ponny" or other shows, what else can he do? He has to talk to somebody, you know, while waiting for his lazy human. The next day you can feel ur throat burning and eyes itching

"what about building a portal?" - you would ask. Well no, he obviously does that. It's just that it's not so enjoyable when you don't have anyone to boss around! So he gets bored quickly and nags you about it later. Or send you more nightmares about it, cuz how dare you be so sloppy with your work!?

he will also draw himslef on all your mirrors so you can look at him every time u try to look at ur relfection (if you try to clean that off, he will just scratch it with something sharp the next day, so better be cearful, theres going to be lots of glass shards everywhere)

prolly will just throw brokade everywhere cuz its pretty

if he's feeling lonely or desperate he will start rewiring your brain, maybe adding a few fake memories where he's your hero, or putting himself in a place of somebody that helped you in hard sytuation. Remember that one time you got sick and somebody was next to your bed 24/7? Yeah it was Bill, do thank him.

will read all your thoughts about him

will drink a soup made of energy drinks and candy

will write his name on ur brain. or heart. or lungs, maybe just everywhere, why not?

will act like you in front of the mirror and compliment himself!

will try making a piercing. if he fails with your ears he will just practice on your tights! And neck!

will haunt down your friends, you better tell them you were just playing tag with them. Yes, with a knife, who doesn't?

will try to lick your eyeball

and elbow

also will hurt your body in weird ways but that obvious

(buuuut maybe, just maybe, he will make you not feel all the pain the next day. If he likes you that enough, that is)

[drivinmeinsane]

Witness in the Dark

※ Sierra Six x Claire's Older Sister!Reader ※

{ masterlist } ※ { ao3 } ※ { requested fic }

※ Summary: Don't we all just want to feel the companionable reassurance of another human being?

It only takes a single tragedy to tear your life to shreds and make it to where you're unable to sleep through the night. You tell yourself that you will never trust a bodyguard again, but things don't go according to plan when a man with a number for a name is assigned to the Fitzroy household while your uncle is away

※ Rating: T for suggestive themes and canon typical violence.

※ Content/Tags: Slow burn, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Night terrors, Pining, Unspecified age gap, Movie based - Alternate Universe, No use of Y/N, Obsessive behaviors from both parties, Descriptions of injuries, Mentions of parental death, Mentions of past kidnapping, Mentions of past torture, Implied death of minor character(s)

※ Word count: 12,637

※ Status: Oneshot/Complete

※ Author's Notes: I don't know what came over me. This really got uncontrollably out of hand and ended up being wildly self indulgent. Huge thanks for @danime25 for proofreading this. I owe you my life.

"Ladies!" Your sister's nurse calls as she walks into the room. "I want to introduce you to Six. He'll be looking after the house while Mister Donald is away."

You look up from your position next to Claire on her bed only to meet the eyes of the man following the nurse. They're startlingly blue. His face is impassive as he turns away and surveys the room. He carries himself with an easy grace that hints at the violence that his body could produce. He reeks of danger. You instantly don't appreciate his presence. You had fought with Uncle Fitz tooth and nail over hiring a bodyguard for the duration of his trip away from the home. This man’s presence here means you have clearly lost that argument.

"Only the two exits?" He questions, moving past the bed to stand at the ceiling to floor windows. 

"Yeah." Your tone is hard, biting. The nurse gives a small gasp at your rudeness and says your name disapprovingly.

The man, Six, turns away from the window to look at you with a raised eyebrow. You stare at each other silently, sizing the other up. There’s a flicker of some emotion that you might label as respect in his eyes before Claire, picking up on your hostility, throws her hat in the ring.

"We don't chew gum in this house." You've never loved your little sister's faux-snob act more than in this moment. She snaps a photo of him with her Polaroid, staged records forgotten. He doesn't look particularly pleased about it. It’s more exasperated acceptance than anger though.

He's silent for a moment before speaking. "I'm sorry. I wasn't briefed." 

There’s a trace of a smile on his face. It’s irritating and you have to look away from him. You stare at a record sleeve like your life depends on it. He asks for the photo and picks it up. You see a flash of a tattoo on his hand as he plucks the Polaroid off of the bedspread. Poorly done and worn with age. He’s definitely one of Uncle Fitz’s prison recruits then. One of the most morally dubious options he could have saddled you with in his absence. Perfect.

He says his goodbyes to you and Claire before leaving the room. Your heart is beating irrationally rapidly and your mouth is dry. The man with a number for a name is stirring up nothing but bad memories. You know you won’t sleep well tonight. 

───※ ·❆· ※───

“What kind of name is Six anyway?” Claire asks first thing in the morning after she tosses herself into a chair at the kitchen table. The man in question gives her a long look. 

"007 was already taken so…" He says with a relaxed shrug, coffee mug in hand. He's leaning against the kitchen counter in the same suit as yesterday.

You choke back a laugh at the sight of your sister's expression. You accidentally meet Six's eyes over her head. There's warmth in them that douses your amusement immediately. You sober up and turn back to your breakfast. Softness in someone doing his line of work felt… wrong. He isn't trustworthy, you decide, no matter how kind he acts. 

───※ ·❆· ※───

You wake up with a start. The coppery tang of blood mixed with the dry powder of concrete lingers in your subconscious. It takes several heaving breaths to clear your airway and bring you back to the present. You shakily sit up. You press your palms into your eyes. You try to forget the sensation of a knife in your skin. You're here. You're safe . You're one of the last people your sister has. You're the stable one.

You get to your feet in the dark bedroom and open your door to step out into the hall. You trail unsteady fingertips down the plaster and paint as you make your way to the kitchen and living area. 

There's a barely audible scuffle and you peer through the gloom to see Six stalking you. You catch the barest glimpse of his face in a strip of moonlight. It's intent. Predatory. There's no hint of recognition, not while you move through the darkest parts of the room.

You feel cold. Your pulse starts to hammer in your veins. Your throat works uselessly. Words won't come out of your mouth. You forge along to the kitchen and fumble for the light. The kitchen is awash in a blinding glow right as you feel heat against your back. It immediately withdraws as the bodyguard removes himself from your personal space. You don't turn to face him while you get a glass from the cupboard and fill it with ice and water at the fridge's dispenser. You stare blankly at the burnished steel while you take sip after sip.

You refill your glass. You blink. You take a drink. You pretend like your mind isn't shattered. You pretend like the man your uncle hired hadn't been about to…

"Are you alright?" Six's voice cuts through the fog in your mind. It's like a lantern has been lit to guide you back into the waking world.

You find yourself then and turn to look at him. You study him. He looks slightly rumpled and tired. There's tension around his eyes and his mouth is set in an almost apologetic frown. 

"Just another nightmare. Sorry for disturbing you."

The frown deepens. "You didn't. I was caught by surprise, that's all."

"Fair warning, me out here like this is probably going to be a regular occurrence." You smile wanly. "I know you want us in bed, but I don't do the whole staying put thing so well most nights."

He just nods. He's accepted your words without protest. The frown fades away.

You gesture with your glass in the vague direction of your bedroom. "I'm going to go ahead and excuse myself. Goodnight, Six."

"Goodnight." 

───※ ·❆· ※───

Weeks go by. The household falls into a comfortable enough routine. Claire ribs him good-naturedly every chance she gets. He's always got a faint aura of amusement every time she takes a shot at him. You hadn't yet seen him get angry. Pretending to be annoyed? Yes, but never actually expressing any negative emotion beyond mild exasperation. Not yet, anyway. 

He sends the both of you to bed every night after Claire's nurse takes her leave. You inevitably get up in the middle of the night after another vivid nightmare. Six is always either watching the camera footage or doing his rounds. He's stopped being surprised by your presence after the night he hunted you. You linger in the kitchen doorway night after night, watching him keep vigil. He's got a soft face, you've decided. There's tension there, likely from worry and lack of sleep, but not cruelty. You've begun to wonder if he has the capability for it. You know he must. Uncle Fitz has kept you in the dark about a lot of the work he does, but you know a kind man wouldn’t have been a candidate for whatever program your uncle runs. 

───※ ·❆· ※───

You're woken up a few nights later by the sound of hands scrabbling on your door. Your eyes snap open and you remain frozen for a second before you hear Claire's muffled voice. You're immediately out of bed so fast you stumble and twist your ankle painfully. You fling the door open and next thing you know, your little sister falls wheezing into your arms. "Something's… Something's wrong." She gasps out.

She can't breathe and is clutching at her chest with weak hands. Horror races down your back and you're pulling her into your arms in a clumsy embrace, desperately trying to keep her upright.

"Six!" The name is torn from you in a shout. You never thought you would be screaming for a man you'd told yourself you couldn't trust.

He's there in an instant. He puts a steadying hand on your back before he gently pulls Claire away and lifts her up into his arms. She wheezes again and both you and Six freeze.

"I'm okay." she whispers. She looks so small and breakable in the bodyguard's thick arms. Like a bird plucked from the sky, held the mercy of a giant's hands.

"Can you get the keys for the car and unlock it?" His voice washes over you. Its steadiness anchors you to reality. You manage a "Yeah." and take off through the house to the garage, making a pit-stop to snag the keys from their bowl. Your ankle is throbbing. Six is close behind, his brisk stride and long legs keeping time with your hurried scrambling. You mash the unlock button on the fob and throw yourself into the backseat. Claire is gently deposited in after you. Her head is resting on your lap. You comb through her brown hair with shaky hands. 

"Mount St. Mary's." You tell Six the moment he's halfway into the driver's seat. "They're the ones who put her pacemaker in."

He grunts in response, backing out of the garage. You don't remember when you handed him the keys or when the garage door was opened. You don't think about anything other than your little sister. You can't lose her too. You've already lost so much of your family and of yourself. The ride passes in a blur. You're only fleetingly aware of the passing lights. Your heart is hammering in your chest like it's beating for Claire and you both. You whisper pleas and promises to her, stroking her forehead with shaking hands.

You're pulled out of your trance by Six yanking the passenger door open, and you help guide your sister into his capable arms. The medical team whisks Claire into the back immediately the moment he has her on the stretcher. You're left in a stiff, vinyl chair in the waiting room. Bodies haven't been in it long enough to soften the material. You're filling out intake paperwork on your sister's behalf. Six stands next to you, hands clasped in front of himself. You glance over, checking his watch every few seconds, your leg bouncing in place. Nervousness and fear wash over you in all-consuming waves. 

He catches your glance as your eyes dart over yet again.

"You holding up alright?'' His questions surprise you. He rarely is the one to initiate conversations. His gaze is steady, grounding, blue eyes watching you intently.

"Not really." You admit, inhaling and exhaling jaggedly. He nods. There's tension around his eyes. Is he worried too? You have to look away from his face and instead talk to his watch. "She's my sister. I need to keep her safe. I can't lose her too."

You hear him make a noise in response. You watch the seconds tick by one by one on his watch. The two of you are silent for approximately thirty-seven of them before Six breaks the moment by undoing the metal clasp. He pulls the watch away from his skin, revealing a bar of ink across the underside of his surprisingly delicate wrist before he's handing it to you.

"Here."

You stare at the dangling watch blankly before looking up at his face. "What?"

"Keep it safe for me for a while." His tone leaves no room for argument. You reach out with hesitant fingers and take it from his grasp. The steel is warm in your hand. You swallow thickly and drape the watch over your wrist, waiting for the sickening feeling of having your hands bound to hit you. It doesn't. You clumsily latch the buckle. It's sized perfectly for the man diligently standing at your side, no possibility of tightening it without it being resized altogether. It hangs off your wrist like a loose bracelet and you realize then just how big Six is. 

He hides his mass well. His muscles are concealed discretely enough underneath blazers and tailored trousers. He simply doesn't take up space in whatever room he's in, always the expert at being unremarkable, unobtrusive, and not worth remembering. But this… this is a dead giveaway. You cast a sideways glance at his hands and, for a dizzying moment, you wonder how your hand would look pressed palm to palm with one of his.

"Miss Fitzroy. Your sister is cleared for visitors now if you would like to see her." A nurse's voice cuts into your illogical musings.

You stand up so abruptly that the chair you were just sitting on screeches agonizingly loud on the polished vinyl flooring before it thuds into the wall. The nurse flinches slightly, but Six is steady at your side. He falls into step behind you as you follow the man through the winding hallways to Claire.

The doctor stops you at the door, arm barring you for a moment before letting it drop. "She's stabilized. Tell your uncle there was a programming glitch. We were able to repair it. Non-invasive." She pauses for a moment, giving the man hovering behind you a hard look before continuing. "The remote system flagged it ten minutes before he pulled up."

"You're able to monitor from that distance?" You interrupt. 

"We can keep track of her pacemaker from just about anywhere. You may see her. She can be released later tonight after we have her under observation for a while longer.” The doctor catches your pinched expression and adds. “Just to be safe.”

You nod, gaze bypassing her to focus on Claire. She’s been watching the exchange and, at your attention, she pulls a weak smile under her oxygen mask while raising a pale hand to flash the rocker sign. The doctor finally steps aside but not before blocking Six as he makes to follow you into the room. “Only family allowed.”

You look at her incredulously and open your mouth to protest before Six cuts you off. “I understand. Thank you, Doctor.” His tone is bland, unemotional. He arranges himself to stand with his back to the inside of the open door. He’s obnoxiously in the way of anyone that would need to come or go. He spends the passing minutes as they bleed into hours standing there like a steadfast sentinel. Back straight, hand clasped over his right wrist, left wrist startlingly bare, head lowered in waiting supplication; he’s the very image of patient servitude.

You sit at your sister's side in your own vigil. The three of you wait in tired silence until a nurse finally announces Claire is free to be discharged. 

She fusses as she's helped into a wheelchair. You and Six stand aside, letting the staff fight the battle. They win, but as soon as everyone spills out of the automatic doors, she's pulling herself out of the mobility aid. She gently slaps away yours and Six's reaching hands when the two of you try to steady her. "Don't you dare."

"But-" you start to protest before you're immediately shut down. "I can walk to the car. I'm not that much of an invalid."

Six doesn't even try to say anything, just forges ahead through the parking lot like nothing happened. He's learned by now that there's no arguing with your little sister. The traitor. You and Claire make it to the vehicle after him and you move to slide into the back seat with her but she pulls a face.

"You're smothering meeeee." she exaggeratedly whines. You give her a flat look. "Smothered." she insists. She dramatically points at the front of the car and raises insistent eyebrows.

You end up buckling yourself into the front passenger seat with an exasperated sigh. You look over at Six. The tension has bled away from his face. He looks more relaxed, relieved even. He notices your stare and the two of you make eye contact. You roll your eyes pointedly at your sister’s antics. Six maintains a serious expression until it cracks and you’re rewarded with the bodyguard's smile.

Six's arm brushes ever so slightly against yours when he puts the vehicle into reverse and then into drive. The feeling of his warmth lingers like a brand on your skin. His watch hangs heavily around your wrist. You fight the urge to gently touch the gleaming metal and instead interlink your own fingers together hard enough to hurt.  

You spend the car ride sagged against the leather of the passenger seat, desperately trying to focus on the passing scenery and not the man seated next to you. Not his kindness, not the way he had kept you grounded. You tell yourself he was just doing his job. Any bodyguard would have been tender and careful with your sister…  and with you. You try to not read into what Six offering his watch to you for "safe keeping" might possibly mean.

Soon you're back at the house, waiting in the garage with your little sister while the hired man does a sweep of the building to make sure no one has breached the perimeter while it lay vacant. Claire is tucked against your side. She's bleary eyed with exhaustion. 

"Clear." Six's voice cuts into the silence of the garage.

You tow Claire along with you and sit her down at the table. She slumps with her cheek resting in her hand. You busy yourself with getting a bowl of ice cream set in front of her.

She gulps it down in huge mouthfuls. Six sits to your right at the head of the table while she eats. His eyes are focused on the screen of his laptop. You're sitting across from your sister, half curled up in the dining chair. The adrenaline has long since left your body, leaving you feeling heavy with exhaustion.

"You feeling better?" Six directs at Claire.

"Just another Thursday." She says with a shrug. "Uncle Donald and my sister say this is the best medicine. Ice cream. I tend to agree."

"They're smart people."

"Only family I got." 

Six’s response is instant, like he’ll choke on the words if he doesn’t get them out of his mouth fast enough. “Fitz’s the closest thing to family I’ve had in a long while.”

"Maybe that kind of makes us family." 

You catch the way that he smiles. He ducks his head to hide it, but you see the hopeless spread of it across his face. There’s something so tender and vulnerable in his eyes that you get stung by a pang in your chest. Your heart aches for the people sitting at the table with you. Claire for carrying the loss of your parents and Six for whose closest hint of a familial tie is his boss. You get pulled out of your spiraling thoughts by Claire yawning. 

"You should go to bed." His voice is soft.

You haul yourself to your feet, exhausting hanging on you like a blanket. You whisk Claire’s empty bowl away and gently touch her shoulder. “C’mon, you heard the man.” 

She grumbles a little and stands up with you. You’re about to guide her to her bedroom but she pauses and turns. “‘Night, Robot.”

“Goodnight, Claire.” He sounds exasperated with an undercurrent of amusement.

He doesn’t look away from the screen as you and your younger sister retire for the night. You fall into bed, wrung out from the hospital trip. It’s not until you’re firmly under the covers and settled into bed that you realize you’re still wearing Six’s watch. You stare at it, warring with yourself on if you should scrape yourself off of the mattress to go give it to the bodyguard keeping vigil at the table or to just set it aside to give to him in the morning. You do neither of those things. You fall asleep watching the silver metal reflect the moonlight peering through the shivering curtains. You do not dream of your past captors and their leering smiles that night. Instead, you dream of a comforting hand on your wrist, the gentle hum of a deep voice. 

───※ ·❆· ※───

The three of you settle back into routine following Claire’s hospital visit, but things have shifted slightly following that night. You gave Six his watch back the following morning before your sister got out of bed and before her nurse arrived for the day. He took it from your hesitantly offered hand. His thick fingers gently brushed your palm as he lifted the piece from it. Your wrist has felt desolate, too light ever since you took it off. You try to ignore it all, try to regain the distance you had before. You don’t succeed. Something about Uncle Fitz’s hired man keeps eroding the walls built from mistrust and agony. 

───※ ·❆· ※───

You snap awake, soaked through with rapidly cooling sweat. You’re certain you didn’t scream out. Your throat isn’t sore, but your face is wet, moisture clinging to your lashes. You must have been silently sobbing through your nightmare. You uncurl yourself from your tensed position and drag yourself out of bed. You walk through the darkened hallway to the kitchen. You make sure to roughly trail your hand along the wall and clear your throat. It won’t do anyone any favors to startle Six. 

You get your glass of water and make your way into the main sprawl of rooms. The bodyguard is sitting at the kitchen table, laptop open, as he is most nights. You pull out a chair and sit down with your glass. You look at it hollowly, trying to ignore the lingering terror from your nightmares. You can't but notice Six’s eyes flickering over to you now and again. There’s a concerned crease between his eyebrows.

“Rough night?”

“The usual. As Claire says, it’s just another Thursday.” Your voice comes out more bitter than you intend. You tighten your grip on your cup until it feels like it might shatter in your hand. You force yourself to loosen your clenched fingers. 

The man seated at the table with you gives an acknowledging hum, sedately chewing his gum. He doesn’t press, doesn’t try to force any explanations out of you. You relax a little in your seat. Having another human being awake and nearby is a comfort. You rest your cheek on your hand and observe him. He looks tired. The light coming from the screen serves only to highlight the weariness weighing down his face and stooping his usually rigid shoulders. Looking at him like this reminds you of the night you watched this man and your sister interact after he drove you both home from Mount St. Mary’s. 

“She’s happier with you around, you know.”

There's such a long silence following your unprompted comment that you don't think he'll respond but he finally does. "She's a good kid."

"Yeah. Yeah she is." You don’t think you could have clung to life in the wake of the incident without her there to be strong for. Most weeks, she was the only reason you bothered to try to function.

You drain the rest of your glass and stand up. The ice clinks. You dump it in the sink and put the cup in the top rack of the dishwasher. You felt wrung out enough to attempt sleep again. You pause in the doorway and look back at the man at the table. "Six."

He looks up, eyebrow raised. His lips are slightly parted. 

"'Night."

"Goodnight." You can’t decipher his tone.

Your nightmares don’t return that night. 

───※ ·❆· ※───

About a month later, you’re screaming and thrashing in your bed. You’re choking under your captor’s hands, the sensation of soaked cloth over your face. You feel the pressure of those cruel fingers on your throat, over your mouth. Water moistening every ragged inhale. You can’t breathe.

Six’s response is all but instantaneous from the moment he hears your first scream. He pushes your door open, one hand on the knob and the other wrapped around his drawn gun. He’s sweeping his eyes across the dark room, There’s no attacker to find, there’s only you writhing on your bed, plagued by your own mind. He holsters his weapon and goes to your side. He tries calling your name, but there’s no acknowledgement, only your panicked wheezing. He puts one knee on the mattress for stability and grabs your upper arms. He tries to shake you awake. That gets a reaction. You start fighting him. Your hands claw and hit at him. He ignores it and repeats your name, asking you to wake up with an edge of desperation to his voice. He’s wildly unprepared for this. A physical enemy he can handle, but this…

You come out of it, going limp in his hold. Your chest is heaving. You blink away the lingering horrors of your dream and look up at him, horrified. For a split second your panic flares anew until you focus on his face. You remind yourself that you know this man, that you trust him with your sister’s life. He releases his grip on you and leans to turn on your bedside lamp. You wince against the explosion of light before bolting upright to reach towards his face. He’s scratched and you wonder if he’s going to be sporting a black eye. He lets your fingertips rest on his cheek for a heartbeat, something unreadable in his eyes before he’s withdrawing his knee from the mattress and standing at the side of your bed. He’s the picture of composure.

“I’m so sorry.” Guilt is suffocating you almost as much as the man in your nightmare. 

"You don't need to apologize. I should. I wasn't briefed about how to handle it." He sounds genuinely sorry, a touch of distress bleeding into his tone. It twists the knife of guilt deeper. You feel your eyes start to well. 

"No, no it's not your fault.. I don't want to be like this, I'm sorry." The tears spill over. You turn your face away and scrub your hands over your cheeks.

He hesitates and sits down on the bed next to you. There's a yawning span of distance between the two of you. There's not a hint of anger or frustration coming from him, not even pity. just.... sorrow. Understanding.

"Fitz briefed me on your history." It's blunt. matter of fact.

"Then you know about the...." You hesitate. 

"Yeah.” He answers before continuing. “Does he know how bad it gets?"

"No… I never told him all the details. I didn't want to burden him. He's got enough to worry about." You shrink into yourself. Your eyes focused on the items cluttering your nightstand.

"Your wellbeing isn't a burden." There it is. There’s a taste of the anger you’d been waiting for in his tone. You squeeze your eyes shut.

"I'm the stable one, Six. I can't let everyone down again ." You laugh a little, self-deprecating. You press your palms against your eyes. Baring down until stars explode behind your closed eyelids. 

He hums, and you feel the shift of the mattress as he stands up. You think he’s leaving, disgusted with you and your emotions, but the heat of his presence doesn’t go away. The warmth of him bleeds through your sleep clothes. You can feel him looking down at you. You nearly jump out of your skin when he nudges your arm. You look up at him, startled. He quirks an eyebrow.

“Come on.” He says, offering his hand to you. You take it. He easily guides you up onto shaky legs.

He has you follow him down the hallway and to the dining table. A path as familiar as an old friend by now. He motions for you to sit at the table, and you mutely follow his direction. You hear him move around in the kitchen. He returns with a bowl of ice cream and a full glass of water. He sits both in front of you.

"I have it on expert authority that this should help. All the smartest people I know support it." He's so serious sounding. You look at him flatly. He holds his grave expression for a beat before he winks. You crack a teary smile and lay into the ice cream like it personally insulted you.

He settles into a chair across from you while you eat. He occasionally glances over at the open laptop’s screen to check the security footage, but his main focus is on you. You feel a little self conscious under his gaze. You scour your mind for something to say, anything to lessen the intensity he’s directing towards you.

"Do you ever sleep? Like… go to bed sleep?" The question comes out of nowhere. a flash of surprise crosses his face. You'd seen him cross his arms in his chair and tip his head back. Caught him leaning  against the wall, hands in his pockets, hip cocked for stability. But the thought of him actually dressing down into pajamas and tucking himself under the blankets  seems.... implausible. too soft for this man who is alert and buttoned up into his crisp slacks and fitted shirts no matter the hour of the day. You half supposed he showered in the damn things.

"Not as often as I should. I don't sleep easy either." The honesty surprises you. 

"Why?" It's probing but you're too exhausted and raw to care.

"Too many memories. My line of work isn't exactly conducive to pleasant dreams." You wonder if he would have been willing to be so open this entire time or if something changed between the two of you. When would it have changed? Were the moments you found significant also important to him? Was he starting to crave your company in the inexplicable way as you’ve begun to crave his?

You almost apologize to him for prying, but you stop yourself. You nod instead. You understand how it is to have a beast pacing the maze of your sleeping mind, pulling out the threads of your worst memories like entrails for you to witness over and over again. 

"I still think about it… About them." You admit. Your eyes skitter across the table like a frightened mouse, focusing on Six's watch face before darting away. You can’t tell the time from this distance. There is a pressure welling up in your throat. Something is clawing its way out into the open.

“Talk to me.” His request is firm, paving the way for your words. He takes his watch off, a mirror of the other night. It slips free of his arm in the same way, inky black revealed on the underside of his wrist, tendons shifting, the movements delicate. He sets the watch on the table in front of you. The metal links clatter on the polished wood surface. You glance up at his face, shadowed in the dim light. “For safekeeping.” He remarks.

You reach out and lift it from the worn surface, running your fingers over the band. The weight is soothing in your grasp. The seconds tick by and it feels as though your heart is trying to race them. You finally open your mouth and release your burden.

“Claire had her birthday party that day. It was the last good day we had with our parents. It was hard to keep the security straight since there were so many people in the house. I didn’t think anything was wrong when two men came up to me and introduced them as part of the security detail. I still didn’t think it was weird when they asked me to come with them. How could I have been so stupid ?” Your breath catches, anger palpable in your voice. Six twitches like he might reach out, but he stills and you continue.

“They got me out of the house. I wasn’t strong enough to fight them off when they put me in the back of the SUV. They… they kept me for days asking questions I didn’t know the answers to. They didn’t like that I didn’t know anything. They tried to be more persuasive… so I started making up things. I just wanted them to stop but they wouldn’t. The wrong answer or the right answer, it didn’t matter. They offered me in exchange for a ransom and eventually they pulled me out of the basement. My parents were there to do the handoff. The guys wouldn’t let anyone else do it. We made it about three miles down the highway before they caught up with us and shot out the front tires. I don’t think they expected anyone to live after we went through the guardrail, so they just.. drove off. Left. I don’t know how long I was in the car staring at my parents. Claire was too young to understand that I ruined her life. I’ve been waiting for her to realize what I did. She hasn’t yet but she will.”

“How did you ruin it?” Quiet, disbelieving.

“I got our parents killed. I shouldn’t have gone with those men. I should’ve known better.” You hear a noise like a wounded animal. A creature left for roadkill, great heaving breaths rattling in that damaged chest. It’s you, you realize dully, you’re the animal. There’s a large hand enveloping your wrist. It’s Six and he’s holding onto you. 

“How could you know?” He asks. You shake your head, a sob escapes you. You feel shame. Grief. Six’s hand squeezes almost tight enough to hurt. It grounds you, you can’t escape into your own mind. Not with that insistent pressure to stay . You feel the metal of his watch biting into the skin of your palm. It’s a good kind of ache.

“It wasn’t your fault. You trusted people you were meant to trust. Who could blame you for that?” he insists. His eyes are too soft, too kind.

“Uncle Fitz.” It slips out, involuntary. You would bite your own tongue off if it could take back the betrayal. You don’t dare to look at the man seated across from you. You had all but swung a bat at the person who he said was the closest thing he had to family. 

His hand withdraws from your arm, and for a moment you’re certain that he’s going to walk off and leave you sitting here by yourself. He doesn’t, he surprises you once again. He simply leans further over the table, capturing your hands with his before plucking his watch from your ironclad grasp. He lays it over your much smaller wrist. He handles you with so much gentleness it almost hurts. He secures the clasp and simply… holds your hands. He says your name and you look up 

“Your family loves you.” He states simply. He says it like it’s an indisputable fact. Like it’s something as true and honest as the rotation of the Earth. You nod mutely. You can’t argue, not when he says it with so much assurance. He gives your hands a final, comforting squeeze and stands up. He gathers up your dishes, bowl, spoon, and glass. The bodyguard makes a soothing gesture to stay seated when you make a motion to rise and help him. You listen to the domestic sounds of him running the sink and loading your used dishes into the dishwasher. Your eyes start to drift shut. There’s a weight off your lungs, your burden has been dispersed, even just for a little while.

There’s a soft touch to your shoulder. It’s Six and he wants you back in bed. You get to your feet and let him escort you to your bedroom door. You feel oddly nervous, fidgeting with your fingers and avoiding meeting the hired man’s eyes. It feels like the awkward end of a weird date where everyone was too uncomfortably honest.. No matter how delusional that sounds even to yourself.

“Goodnight.” he’s the one who breaks the silence first. You feel relieved. 

“‘Night, Six.” is your response as you put your hand on the doorknob and slip into the room, away from his unreadable gaze. When you fall asleep for the second time that night, you dream of steady hands marked with prison tattoos.

───※ ·❆· ※───

The morning dawns without preamble. It feels like you have barely laid your head on the pillow. You check the time on the watch hanging loosely around your wrist. Less than four hours have passed since your night terror and subsequent comforting via the household bodyguard. Your morning routine feels more laborious than usual. Every movement feels like crawling through tilled soil. 

You’re dressed for the day and walking into the kitchen when you hear your little sister badgering Six. 

“What happened to you, Robot?” she asks.

You pop your head around the corner to take a look at the man she’s addressing. You stop cold. It’s a mess. He’s a mess. The skin around his left eye is puffy and bruised. There's clear nail marks on his cheeks and down to his neck. Any exposed skin had taken the brunt of your panic. You can even see some redness through his facial hair. You feel sick, betrayed again by your body. Your own hands had tried to tear him apart. 

"Well..." he starts and shrugs his jacket off. He folds it and drapes it over the back of one of the chairs.

He's about to go on his outdoor rounds, which you and Claire have secretly dubbed ‘enrichment time’, and continue wearing a trail into the yard. If he’s feeling particularly comfortable, he might sneak a nap in one of the lawn chairs now that the sun is up. Provided that he’s sure the two of you are secure and can survive without him awake for an hour or so. 

"Your sister beat me in a fight. I'll have to hand in my championship belt." It's relaxed and easy. He gives you a conspiratorial wink when Claire rolls her eyes with a scoff.

You match his earnest tone with your own. "You should have seen it, I was about to get the folding chair and everything."

“Ooh-kay, I’ll just assume it was a weird sex thing,” she comments, turning back to her breakfast. “Looks like you already won his watch though. Congrats.” 

Silence follows. Claire smugly scrapes her spoon around in her bowl, capturing every last shred of cereal. There’s a self-satisfied smile on her face. Neither of you protest. Either you let it go and hope she loses interest in the bit, or you launch into a defense that will only get her to double down. No matter what, you’ll be the losers. 

Six pushes a heavy exhale through his nose and walks out of the room. You follow him right out the back door and onto the deck. The two of you stand there for a moment in companionable silence. It’s beautiful out here. The sun is a sedate creature in the sky. She's lazily casting her rays over the yard. The water in the pool is sparkling in it, lapping playfully at the concrete walls. Six’s shoulders are still tense in your field of view. He looks as though he’s holding himself up through sheer force of will.

“I’m sorry again about last night.” You say to his back.

“Please don’t be. Things happen.” He says with a sigh. You falter. He sounds as exhausted as you feel.  You don't want to push the issue. 

He gestures for you to sit in one of the deck chairs by the pool. You don’t, instead choosing to trail him as he does his rounds. He’s lit by the sun. You’re in his shadow. His hair looks like a field of golden wheat. You almost want to run your hands though it in order to feel the softness for yourself. You instead soothe the urge by toying with the band of his watch still loosely encircling your wrist. He looks back at you every once in a while, eyes dazzlingly blue in the bright sunlight. You had never noticed the angles of his face before, the curves of his nose with its distinctive bump, the set of his cheekbones, how his facial hair is darker than the hair on his head. You hate that you're noticing these details now. After the events of last night, any tentative bond feels tainted.

The morning grows warmer as you drift behind him like a ghost. Eventually he rolls his sleeves up to reveal his forearms. You start to understand why people in bygone eras got so flustered at the sight of a lady's ankle. His wrists are bodice ripping enough, you suppose, but the space from his fingertips to the crook of his elbow? That is home to so much previously unseen skin. Had he been rolling up his sleeves every morning? If you had simply looked out one of the windows, would you have seen the sight that you’re witnessing now?  Would you have seen the distinct veins trailing up the insides of his muscular arms? What about the tattoos whose mere existence beg to have a finger trace along his skin? You avert your eyes, not wanting him to notice you staring. You tell yourself that it’s just the novelty of it all, that the surprise at seeing him less buttoned up will wear off.

With the rounds done, the two of you are back at your starting point. The bodyguard settles onto one of the deck chairs. He lets out a borderline obscene groan as he lets his body relax against the wood. His eyes flutter closed. He shifts slightly, another noise escapes his throat as he does. You make your way to the chair next to him on shaky legs, and drop into it. He doesn’t stir. You debate on standing up, you don’t, the thought of leaving his side makes you anxious. You make yourself comfortable in your seat. 

Through the open window, you can hear Claire’s record player. You hear the notes of Feel the Warm. She’s playing Mark Lindsay again. You let it wash over you. The sunlight is dappled across this part of the patio. You cast a glance over at your companion. His arms are crossed and he looks dead to the world. Your own eyelids are drooping, He’s the last thing you see before you drift off.

You wake up gradually, it’s an easy kind of waking. No wild jerk of consciousness, just the soft trickle of awareness. You’ve managed to curl on your side in the deck chair. You squirm upright and feel cloth slide down into your lap. It’s the hired man’s jacket. He must have gone back inside to get it. You touch it with hesitant fingers and look up, scanning for him. He’s currently out of sight, but you do see Claire in the hammock chair across the way. She’s engrossed in her phone and frantically tapping at the screen. You check the time on the watch in your possession before you catch a glimpse of Six coming up the patio steps from the lower yard. He’s got a sandwich in one hand and his own phone in the other. He’s intent on the device. He glances up and accidentally meets your eyes. He jumps slightly as if startled you’re awake. He recovers and gives you a nod.

“‘Morning.” His mouth is full. You know Claire will give him the tongue lashing of a lifetime if she notices.

"It's after twelve." You playfully retort, watching unimpressed as he fights to swallow the bread in his mouth. He’s really struggling for a second before he gets it down, his throat working roughly. You get to your feet, carefully folding his jacket over your arm. You approach him with it. 

"Good afternoon then." He says quietly. You swear you catch the ghost of a smile on his face as he looks at you. 

“Thanks for the blanket.” You say, offering it to him. He takes it with his unoccupied hand before shrugging it on, doing a quick change of hands with his lunch. 

You move to take off the watch and return that as well, but he stops you with a disapproving noise. “You’re keeping that safe for me, remember?”

You pause for a moment, mind racing wildly with the effort to make sense of his words. To find meaning in them. Your hand falls away from the metal and you surrender with a mute nod. If he wanted you to keep it for him for a while longer, who were you to protest? It’s a strange kind of comfort to have it. 

───※ ·❆· ※───

Things come to another disastrous head some weeks later. It happens after the nurse sees Claire tucked into bed before heading home for the evening. It happens after you give your sister your own goodnight wishes. You had gently brushed her hair from her face and gave her a kiss on the forehead even if she scrunches her face in mock disgust each time you do. There’s no telling which moment between the two of you will be the last. You hadn’t had the luxury of knowing that your mom’s wet pleas for help would be the last gift from her in that twisted hunk of metal. You wanted your little sister to have a happy memory of you if a goodnight ever turned into a goodbye. Less nightmares that way.

You had stood up from your seat on the edge of the bed, made sure to smooth her blanket out. “Sweet dreams, Claire.” you said before you extinguished the slow glow cast by the lamp on her nightstand. 

“‘Night,” she had said to you before yelling. “‘Night, Robot!” in the direction of the door. 

You heard a weary sounding response from the ‘robot’ in question. Six was hovering in the hallway, patiently waiting to escort you to your bedroom door. He’s been diligent in performing the action every single night without fail since your impromptu wrestling session with him. He also hasn’t let you return his watch to him yet. You closed the bedroom door behind you, stepped into the hall and nearly brushed against the tall man. He moved back only enough to give you the barest clearance to get past him so he could trail after you for the scant few steps to your own door. It seems lately that he’s been standing closer to you. It also seems like his eyes have been lingering more on your face than the surveillance feeds at night when you emerge from your room, wide eyed and shaken from whatever terror that had gripped you. Your exchanged goodnights haven’t been anything out of the ordinary though, even if his voice was lower… more intimate than it used to be.

The bubble officially bursts for you when you abruptly jerk awake. You assume it was a nightmare you can’t remember, though you don’t feel any of the usual symptoms. There’s no tremors or wild breathing. You’re just… awake. You think about laying in bed and trying to drift off, but there’s a sense of unease you can’t shake. You make up your mind and shuffle over to the door. Like any other night, you turn the knob and walk out into the hall.

Like a snare snatching a rabbit, rough hands seize you. Your mouth is covered, fingers digging in harshly. And with a sudden drop of your stomach, you register the sensation of a gun pressing into your side. The metal’s coldness burrows though the thin layer of your sleep shirt. You’re frozen in shock, mind racing. Where's Six? Where's the bodyguard uncle Fitz had hired? He was supposed to protect you and your sister. Keep you safe. Why wasn't he doing his job? Why was this man in the house? 

Tears start running down your face without your permission. Your sobs are broken off against the inside of your mouth. They can’t escape the crushing pressure. A scream you can’t release is building in your throat. What if this man did something to Claire?

The gun digs in deeper, grinding against your ribs. He drags you down the hall and into the living room. It’s dark and you flinch as you feel something sharp dig into one of your feet. You whimper. The floor is littered with broken glass. The sound of it shattering must have been what woke you up. 

“Shut up.” the man holding you hisses, giving you a tooth rattling shake while he leans over your shoulder to see where he’s steering you. His breath is sour. “Where is he?”  He must mean Six. 

The bodyguard must still be able to present a problem if this man is asking about him. You’re not completely alone in this. It’s enough to sharpen your mind. To direct your focus. Your eyes are straining to make out anything in the darkness. It’s a mess of shapes that are so familiar in the daylight, but they look like strangers in the darkness. You manage to recognize the coffee table before the attacker does and you pull your leg out of the way. He slams into it and stumbles. He curses loudly through the pain of hitting his shin on the corner. You see your opportunity and savagely bite the hand covering your mouth. The saltiness of blood washes over your tongue but you bury your teeth in deeper. The tendons and nerves give way beneath your teeth. You go until you hit bone and hang on. Even if you don’t make out of this alive, you’re going to make damn sure this fucker doesn’t get to keep full use of his fingers.

He’s groaning, blinded by the shock of pain. You dare to release your hold on him in order to slam the back of your head into his face as hard as you can, throwing yourself into a backwards jump to do so. He lets out a wounded noise and clutches his face. He’s completely let go of you to do so. The gun is on the floor now, dropped in the surprise of your retaliation. You skate awkwardly on the glass as you make a run for it. The floor feels wet under your feet as you sprint for the hall. You’re leaving a trail of bloody footprints in your wake. The scream you’ve felt building weakly escapes. It’s a too quiet utterance of Six’s name. You can’t find the ability to yell as loud as you need to. You’re nearly sightless from a lack of light and terrified tears. You’re battering against the walls and furniture like a moth around a lightbulb. You make it halfway down the hall to Claire’s bedroom when you feel it. A brush of the assailant’s hand against your back. He shouts when he misses you, and you jitter to the side, making contact with the wall right as he slams into the floor. You put your back to it and look down, eyes wide enough in terror to make out the shapes of two struggling men. 

Six is on top of the man who had grabbed you. His silhouette is identifiable even in the murky dark. Relief turns your legs into jelly. He’s come for you after all. You allow yourself to go limp and slide down the wall, curling up on the floor. You squeeze your eyes closed so you don’t have to put a visual to the violence you’re hearing. It’s wet, crunchy. Eventually you only hear the heaving breathing of one man. You don’t know how long you sit there shaking. 

You’re coaxed into opening your eyes by Six’s voice saying your name. Your bedroom door is ajar and the light is on, illuminating the hallway enough to comfortably see, but not enough to where you can’t pretend the dark smears and streaks are shadows. The attacker isn’t in the hall any more. Six is kneeling in front of you. He’s got a cut on his cheek but otherwise looks unharmed.

“Are you with me?” It’s said with aching concern.

"Yeah… Yeah I'm here." You’re all too aware of your stinging feet, the ache of your muscles, the pain in the back of your head. 

Relief floods his face at your words. He reaches out but stops himself before making contact with you. You notice that his knuckles are split open and already bruising. His hand hovers in the space between your bodies, trembling slightly like he can’t bear to touch you but withdrawing is equally torturous. You rock onto your knees and shove yourself into his arms instead. They’re instantly around you. He holds you to himself. It’s all you can do to cling to him in kind. If you could nestle alongside the lungs in his chest, you would make a home in his rib cage. 

"You did well. I'm sorry I wasn't able to keep him from you. His pals kept me busy." His voice is full of bitter frustration. 

You shake your head and speak against his collarbone. “Is Claire okay?”

"She slept right through it. She's still asleep. I just checked on her." He soothes, running a hand up and down your back.

“Good…” you respond, unspeakably thankful. You could cry.

“Do I have your permission to pick you and take you to your bed? I don’t want you walking with your feet like this.” 

“Yeah, but I’m too heavy?” You’re surprised and uncertain. Sure, he had slammed around a grown man like a rag doll, but what if….

“Believe me, you’re not.” He sounds almost amused.

He eases you up onto your knees and over his lap. He encourages you to put your arms over his shoulders. It’s startlingly intimate. You can easily see the fine lines around his eyes at this distance. His breath is warm and against your face, smelling faintly of the watermelon gum he chews. You have just a second to try and process it before he’s gaining a foothold. He stabilizes you with one thick arm under your thighs and his hand on your back. You reflexively gasp and clench the back of his jacket in your hands. Each of his steps is steady. There’s no sign of strain even as he navigates your bedroom doorway. He carefully lowers you to the edge of your mattress and withdraws his arm. Your thighs release their death grip against his hips and you settle into place, feet off the ground. You avoid looking at his face, you know yours feels like it’s on fire. 

You notice that he had already moved your trashcan to your bedside and collected the first aid kit and a roll of paper towels. He must have known you’d cooperate with him. He drags your desk chair over and takes a seat. He pats his thigh encouragingly, and you place your heel right above his knee. He steadies you with a firm hand around your ankle. He removes the shards of glass. He doesn't let you jerk away, not with the grip he has on you, even when the tweezers catch on a particularly deep piece. He works in silence and you eventually allow yourself to lay flat on the bed while he does his task. You don't ask what happened to the man in the hallway. You don't ask how Six got detained in the first place. He doesn’t volunteer the information. The time passes and you’re halfway asleep by the time he’s tying off the wrap securing the bandages on your other foot and carefully easing your leg back down from its elevated position on his thigh. 

"Please stay." You ask the ceiling. You feel more than see Six freeze in response to your question.

“I shouldn’t.” He sounds conflicted. You prop yourself onto your elbows to get a better look at him.

“Do you not want to?”

“It’s not that. It’s anything but that.”

You bite your lip and decide to throw all your cards on the table. “I sleep better when I'm around you. You keep the nightmares away.”

He looks surprised, devastated even. His demeanor couldn’t have been any different than if you had asked him to bare his neck and slit his own throat. Resigned, but he would still pick up the knife for you.

"Give me a minute," is his response. 

He gathers up the supplies and turns off the light on his way out of the room, plunging you into the familiar dark of your room. You're not sure what exactly he does while he’s away, but he comes back sans jacket and with his sleeves rolled up. He carries the acidic tang of cleaning chemicals. He settles back into your chair after tossing the laptop on the desk. The two of you watch each other for a moment 

"Are you okay?"

"Emotionally? I've been better. Physically? I'm fine. Just a few scratches and a bruised ego. " He's soft. You nod, reassured.  

You keep your eyes on his face. It’s lit by the soft glow of the screen. It’s become an unhealthy habit, observing this man. You drift off to sleep facing in his direction. He's there when you wake up. He's clearly gotten up at some point to shower, but he did come back to resume his sentence at your side. You greet each other and he excuses himself back to the common areas of the home.

───※ ·❆· ※───

It becomes a thing, you spending time in his presence outside of what follows your nightmares. Something changed in you after the attack. It has culminated in a strong desire to be near him, to be within the frame of his reassuring gaze. Most of the time but not always, you go with him on his surveillance rounds. You walk with him through the yard. It always feels a little like you’re two society members having a chaperoned walk, but it’s soothing. Routine. You’ve also begun sitting with him in the hours before bed. At the table or on the couch while he watches the TV. The two of you simply exist together. 

You rarely return to your room most nights, choosing instead to make your bed in the living room. If you lay just right on the couch, you can spot the bodyguard keeping watch throughout the night. His presence in the room eases your mind enough to allow you to peacefully sleep. You wish that he hasn’t become so essential. You don’t want to think about what your uncle’s return will mean.

He accepts your new routine without question. You notice that he always has the throw pillow moved from the armchair to the couch on the nights you don’t tell him you’re going to bed. There’s no blanket in the living room, but you usually wake up with his jacket of the day draped over you in lieu of one. 

───※ ·❆· ※───

One night, you and Claire manage to bully him into a game of monopoly after the nurse leaves. You’ve been made the banker because Six doesn’t trust your sister and she doesn’t trust him enough either. 

“You just landed on my boardwalk. That’s fourteen hundred bucks.” Claire announces.

Six takes his hand off the game piece and gives her a look . “I thought you owned the brown properties, not the blue ones.” 

She picks up the deeds for Boardwalk and Park Place and waves them pointedly in his direction. “Nope, fourteen hundred. Fork it over.”

Six lets out a genuinely flustered growl. You have to smother your laugh. He counts out the remainder of his money and tosses it in front of your sister. He’s woefully short and out of assets. You and Claire had run him ragged the course of the game until she managed to bankrupt you with some suspiciously underhand tactics. Looks like she got to Six as well. 

“I’m out.” He says, resigned. 

Claire stretches her arms over her head and lets out a satisfied sigh. She then slumps back into her chair in smug victory as the bodyguard extracts himself from his seat at the table to do his nightly check of the doors and windows. She leans over and taps the watch on your wrist. 

“He hasn’t won this back yet?”

“Oh… uh. No.” Your answer sounds flustered, even to you. 

Your little sister raises her eyebrows. There’s a mischievous gleam in her eyes and she opens her mouth to say something before pausing. She instead gets up and gives you a squeeze around the shoulders. You return it with a one armed hug. “‘Night, sis.” 

“‘Night. I’ll see you in the morning.” You return affectionately, letting her go. 

“‘Night, Robot!” She cheerily shouts. There’s a responding grumble from the direction of the garage. Claire flashes you a grin and a thumbs up. 

She’s in her room by the time Six finishes his checks. You’re in the middle of putting up the game when you feel the weight of his eyes on you. It’s just the two of you alone.  He sits back down at the table to help you with it. He’s like a fire against your left side. You’re surprised he didn’t sit in his usual spot at the head of the table.

He lets out a yawn that he can’t suppress. He’s more undone tonight than you’ve seen him yet. He’s wearing a t-shirt tucked into slacks today. No blazer. His hair is tousled, not smoothed into place with product like usual. You think he looks more approachable like this. Your hands touch when you both go to scrape the same pile of deeds off the table. You both freeze. You hear your heart pounding in your ears and with it muffling every other sound, you trail your fingers over the top of his. He shudders when you brush over his knuckles and skim over the dots tattooed into the meat of his thumb. He doesn’t move, staying perfectly still for your exploration. You reach the horse on his forearm and you think his breath hitches in response. You linger on the horse, using your pointer finger to trace its outline. You follow the swoop of its tail, down the outstretched hind leg. 

A soft groan from the man you’re touching makes you remember yourself. You withdraw your hand like you’ve been burnt. He twitches and jerks his own hand towards you like he’s about to reach out and stop you, but he doesn’t. You can still feel the sensation of his skin under your fingertips even as you glue your eyes to the remaining monopoly money and sort it into the tray with unsteady hands. You finish putting up the game in silence. You sleep in your own bed that night. He escorted you to your room. 

───※ ·❆· ※───

You wake up weeping the next night. You lay on the couch staring at the living room ceiling while tears involuntarily run down the sides of your face. The imprint of spider webbing glass still swirling around in your mind. You must have made some kind of noise, because Six is making his way across the room. 

You sit up and take a swipe at your face. “I’m sorry.”

"You have to let it out somehow. May I?” He asks, gesturing to the space next at your side. You nod and scoot over to give him slightly more space.

He puts the ever present laptop with its surveillance feed on the coffee table before sitting down. You feel your cushion dip. Against your better judgment, you lean against him. He’s solid. He relaxes underneath the pressure of your body. You instantly feel better. You watch the cameras with him for a while, sighing along with him as the local monkeys throw the lid off the trashcan at the curb in search of a meal. You’ll have to clean up after them after the sun rises. It’s one of the downsides to living in Hong Kong. 

You stay leaning against him for a while, but a stiffness in your neck gets you to change position. Moving slowly so he’s fully aware of your movements, you carefully lay down. He’s taken the place of your improvised throw pillow cushion. Your head is resting on his thigh. He puts his hand on your upper arm and gives it a reassuring squeeze. He leaves it resting there, heavy and warm. 

You wake up a few hours later. The sun is cascading through the living room, throwing rainbow hues on the floor thanks to the decorative glassware. You’re comfortable, too comfortable you realize. Your eyes widen in horrified surprise. You’re still using the bodyguard as a pillow. He's shifted slightly through the night, more slumped and relaxed. He's slid down further, and your face is firmly pressed against his hip now instead of his thigh. You know that you’re going to have the imprint of one of his belt loops on your cheek. His arm is loosely draped over you with his hand tucked underneath your side, a bastardized attempt at spooning. You crane your neck to catch a glimpse of his face. He’s sound asleep. 

You try to sit up without disturbing him, but his arm tightens around you and applies pressure. You’re locked into place. Your mind races. If the nurse or, worse, Claire comes into the room and sees you and Six like this… You have to get up. You put a hand on his thigh and use it as a support to push yourself up. He’s instantly awake from the overt movement. He lifts his arm off your body and lets you sit up. You turn to say something, but find him already staring. His blue eyes are focused on you, they’re sleepy and confused but quickly sharpen to alertness. He looks vaguely distressed. All you can do is offer him a smile and squeeze his leg. You stand up and he follows. Your day goes as usual.

───※ ·❆· ※───

Your nights are largely the same, except that Six seems more distant. He doesn't linger as closely or as comfortably as he did before. Your interactions with the man are more professional. It’s as though weeks, months , of getting to know each other have been erased and you’re back at the beginning. Strangers again. It hurts. You miss him like hell even though he’s right there. Your sleep is worse. It’s almost as bad as in the weeks following the incident that started them in the first place, but they’re different. Amongst the disjointed scenes, there’s a broad shouldered man with dirty blond hair walking away from you in your nightmares now. You scream for him but no sound ever escapes you, just noiseless air. You never see his face. 

You finally have enough when he escorts you to your room one night. You haven’t slept on the couch for over a week, and he’s taken that as his cue to resume seeing you to your bedroom door. You turn to face him as always in the doorway. Instead of saying goodnight like you do every night, you confront him. It even catches you by surprise.

"You're avoiding me.” He doesn’t deny it and you think that hurts more than the newfound distance itself. 

“Why?” You ask only to get more silence. He won’t look at you. 

”What did I do wrong?” Your voice trembles and you hate it. You fumble to take off his watch, to return that final tie between the two of you. He reflexively clamps down on your wrist before you can undo the clasp, pinning your hand to your own wrist. He releases his near crushing grip almost immediately, but the ghost of it lingers. Point taken. You let your arms fall to your side in a clear display of frustration, willing him to talk.

“It wasn’t you. I  overstepped. Your uncle hired me to do a job and I've stepped beyond my purview. " The confession is rough. Torn out of him. The corner of his mouth pulls down in a grimace.

You stare at him blankly. "What?"

"I allowed myself to be too close with you. I apologize. I was unprofessional." He explains, but he won't quite meet your eyes. He hasn't for a while. Not since the morning following the night you fell asleep on him.

"You were... unprofessional?” You question, absolutely lost.

"Yes. I let my feelings about you affect me and my work.. I’ve become… compromised." It's matter of fact. It’s said like he hadn’t just dropped a bomb on you.

You reach out and grab his jacket lapels. He looks at you like a beaten dog might, as though you might strike him. He makes no motion to pull himself from your grasp. You swallow hard and let out a breath.

"What about my feelings for you?" You ask. His breath catches and he shakes his head, disbelieving. 

“It would be better if you didn’t feel anything for me.” There’s heartbreak in his blue eyes even as he looks at you like there’s nothing else in the world he would rather be seeing. 

“Better for who?” Your mouth is unbearably dry as you ask the question.

“You. I’ll only jeopardize you.”

”Six…” 

You pull him down and you press your mouth against his. He's rigid and unmoving for a moment before he's kissing you like a dying man who has just been offered immortality. His hands come to rest on your back. He grips your clothing like it’s a lifeline keeping him from going under. You gently nip at his bottom lip and he gasps against your mouth, a broken little noise. He tastes like watermelon gum.

 You pull away. “Jeopardize me then.

That forces a quietly helpless laugh from him. "Now that was unprofessional." His voice is hoarse.

"I had to give you a proper example." 

"Good job. I feel exampled.”

" Good ." You say and kiss him again. He's ready for it this time. He keeps it slow. His hands gently trace your body. He's slowly rubbing his thumb back and forth against your side. You step back, walking him into your room. His breathing is ragged and he's gripping you with a desperation you can’t put your mind around. You stand there, intertwined in each other. His facial hair is rough against your skin but the burn feels good. Your hands make their way around his neck and you gently card your fingers through the short hairs at the nape of his neck. He makes a wounded sounding noise in response before he pulls away. His hand is cradling the side of your face to keep you in place while his eyes roam across your face. It's as though he’smemorizing you, imprinting the fine details of this moment into his mind. As though he’s preparing to say goodbye. He trails his fingers gently down your jaw before he lets his hand drop.

"Will you stay? Can we sleep?" You ask before he can make up a way to excuse himself.

There’s a dizzying moment of silence before his face softens. “Okay. Yeah.”

The two of you are left to navigate the awkwardness of getting ready for bed. You spin your finger around in a circle and Six immediately gets the idea. He puts his back to you while you change into your sleepwear as quickly as you can. You turn around after giving him the verbal ‘all good’ in time to see him pull off his jacket and toss it onto the desk chair he had occupied when you first realized how addicted you were becoming to him. He pulls his belt off, coils it around his hand before setting it aside. You watch him unbutton his dress shirt. His fingers work deftly to slip the buttons through the holes. He shrugs the shirt off and lays it over the jacket. He’s in his undershirt and slacks. He bends down to untie his shoes and sets them aside. He straightens up and there’s nervousness on his face. You’ve never seen him nervous before. Worried? Yes, but not nervous. 

You slide into the bed and fold down the other side of the blanket for him. You gesture for him to come lay down beside you. He approaches warily and settles in stiffly at your side. His head is on the pillow, hands overlapping on his stomach. He looks like a body in a coffin. You gently touch his hands. He jolts.

“Are you okay?” You ask softly, letting your hand rest on top of his.

“I haven’t slept in the same bed as someone since I was a child,” he admits.

“Oh… and that was…?”

“Over twenty-five years ago.”

You allow yourself a moment to grieve for this man before you pull away to shut off the bedside lamp.. You roll onto your back and flop your arms to the side. “Come here then. I’ve used you as a pillow. It’s time for me to return the favor.”

You feel the mattress shift under his weight and he hesitates, hovering over you with arms braced on either side of your body. It’s intimate, having him over you in this way. It’s enough to make you want to kiss him again.You hear him draw breath to raise some kind of concern so you just wrap your arms around him and pull him down on top of you. The weight of him pins you into the mattress. It’s comforting. He’s heavy and warm, akin to a weighted blanket. Granted, a weighted blanket wouldn’t have a muscular thigh wedged between your legs or be breathing against your neck in a way that makes you want to shiver. You fight to ignore your body’s response to him and work on easing the tension that’s holding him rigid against you. 

He gradually relaxes as you trace your hands over his back. You feel more than hear him groan when you pass over a particularly sensitive spot. The rumble feels almost like a purr against your chest. You narrow in on that location, working your fingers into the tight muscle. He allows himself to go limp on top of you, no longer stiffly trying to spare you the brunt of his mass. You run your fingers through his hair, gently scratching his scalp as a reward for letting himself relax. It earns you a low moan and an involuntary shift of his hips. You’ll have to keep that reaction in mind for later. 

Six’s breathing soon evens out. Years of exhaustion and sleep deprivation have him rapidly sinking into the oblivion of sleep when offered such a precious comfort. You fall asleep with your hand still in his hair. You have the most peaceful rest of your adult life. There’s no night terrors, no pain, no fear, no longing, you just sleep .

The bodyguard is still asleep on top of you when you wake. His breath is whistling slightly through his nose. Not quite a snore, but it’s a sound that gets a fond smile out of you. You wish you could wake up like this every morning. Just this once has given you an insatiable longing for more. You bite the inside of your cheek at the thought of the future. Uncle Fitz is due to return from his trip soon, which means the dismissal of Six from the Fitzroy home to complete whatever assignment is next on his task board. You don’t figure him for the abandoning type though. That way of thinking about him doesn’t fit in with the loyalty and thoughtfulness you’ve seen him exercise in his time spent with you and your sister. You’re sure that he’ll find a way to stay in contact after this job ends. 

You gently smooth down his hair. He shifts and buries his face against the hollow of your throat more firmly. You pause, hoping you didn’t wake him, but then you hear a sleep roughened voice say, “Don’t stop on my account.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

[iovetecchou]

When A Stranger Calls ⧸ Jouno Saigiku.𖥔 ݁ ˖

Dark Content! Don't Like Don't Read, You Have Been Warned!

summary: When a stranger calls, Jouno answers. Pulling himself into a world of trouble.

༞ Contains...! phone sex, mutual masturbation, serial killer!reader, highkey yandere!reader, blackmail, coercion, manipulation, dubcon, mentions of stalking, mentions of murder (sorry tecchou)

༞ GN Reader.

༞ 2,440 words.

kinktober masterlist!

Jouno was beyond fed up with the week and it was only Monday. Fukuchi put Tecchou and himself on this serial killer case. It has been weeks since they first got a lead. But still no luck in getting the perp behind bars. The worst part of it all? Was that Teccou was an idiot and hardly helpful in this investigation. He called Jouno every night about the details of the case, nearly boring Jouno to death with the repetitiveness. Hearing about the elements only aggravated Jouno even further because they had no advance in the case yet. 

Tonight was no different. Jouno had only just stepped through the threshold of his apartment. He had a second to kick off his boots and remove his hat, placing it atop his kitchen counter before his phone rang. Jouno clicked his tongue at the pesky ringtone. He just got off the clock. He didn't get paid enough to deal with Tecchou's stupidity off-duty. 

Jouno tugged his phone out of his pocket, answering it before shouting, "What could you possibly be calling me for now, you fool!" The blind king grimaced, clutching his phone tight, nearly cracking the screen. His anger only grew tenfold when more seconds ticked by, and there was no response from the man on the other line. "I'm hanging up. Don't call again, idiot."

Jouno huffed as he made quick strides toward his bedroom, tugging off his uniform in haste. He was beyond frustrated with everything as of late. All he wanted to do was shower after a long day. He stripped down to nothing but his boxer briefs, making his way toward the bathroom. He halted in his stride the moment he heard his phone ringing once more from where he left it on the kitchen counter. 

Did this idiot have a death wish?

Jouno stomped into his kitchen, swiping his phone off the counter, answering once more. "Tecchou, if you call me one more time... I will come to your place and wring your neck. You hear me?" 

"Woah... scary." 

Jouno's body went tense. This gruff voice certainly didn't belong to his counterpart. But the number this call was coming from was certainly Tecchou's. Jouno had specific ringtones set for each of his colleagues so he knew exactly who was calling. Something was off. Jouno had a bad feeling about this. 

"And who might you be?" Jouno quipped, keeping his voice calm as he tried to hear any background noises coming from the other end. He picked up on the rustling of leaves, the wind whistling, and perhaps the sounds of cars in the distance. Strange. 

"I'm quite hurt you don't know who I am, Saigiku. You've been my secret admirer for a few weeks now." You were using a voice modulator, Jouno noted. There were moments when your true voice would crack through, throwing him off. 

More importantly, how did you know his first name?

"Where did you get this phone from? Answer me now, mutt." Jouno barked out, quickly making haste toward his bedroom. He grabbed his discarded uniform, about to tug it back on before the voice over the phone snickered, 

"I wouldn't do that if I were you, Sai. Those clothes are dirty, plus I love to see you nearly on full display for me. You have a cute butt." 

Jouno's blood ran cold in his veins. All of his blinds were shut, he was sure of it. He didn't detect any movement in his apartment, and from the background noise coming from your call, you were outdoors. 

"I'm hanging up." Jouno deadpanned, trying to keep his composure. Even though he was beginning to freak out internally. "Do that, and you'll regret—" The line went dead before you could finish your threat, but it didn't take a genius to know what you were trying to say. 

Jouno hastily checked the lock on the front door; it was secure. He tiptoed around the apartment, trying to listen to any abnormalities. His hands grazed along the windows, causing his fear to spike further when he realized all the blinds were, in fact, down. Nothing was out of place, and his apartment was as secure as ever. So, how were you able to see him?

He tried to think for a moment. You said he was your "secret admirer" which made absolutely no sense. Sure, many people fawned over him; but it was never the other way around. Plus, all he had time to do recently was work on this serial killer case— wait—. 

Just as Jouno put the pieces together, the phone rang again. His heart pounded as the sound of Tecchou's ringtone flooded his train of thought. Slowly, he answered the call once more tonight. He kept as still and quiet as he could. 

"Finally know who I am, darling? It's about damn time." Your altered voice boomed through his desolate apartment. You sounded displeased as you continued, "What, getting all shy on me now? Go on, say what's on your mind."

Jouno couldn't control the words that slipped past his lips. "You're that lowly killer on the loose. The one Tecchou and I have been hunting down." He didn't intend to speak, and yet he did? Could you potentially be an ability user and this was a cause of your ability?

"Lowly? That actually hurts my feelings. Don't tell me you truly think so poorly of me, darling." You feined offense over the phone, snickering slightly as you whispered, "No matter, I can just change your mind."' 

Jouno knew something was wrong, "I'm hanging up—" 

"No, you're not!" Your voice was playful, Jouno knew you were getting a rise out of this. 

But what frightened him even more, was the fact that he was still on the line with you. He intended to end this call but Jouno was frozen in his tracks. "What's going on?" Jouno questioned calmly, despite his heart beating a mile a minute. 

"Stop resisting, Saigiku. It'll be easier for you if you just give in!" Your altered voice was as chipper as ever. 

"And let you kill me as you did Tecchou? Hah, as if." Jouno feigned confidence, trying to subtly get more info out of you.

"You think... I would kill you? You really do think of me as scum. Saigiku, I would never allow you to suffer the same fate as your stupid colleague— ah what did you just say his name was... oh right, Tecchou." 

Jouno knew you killed Tecchou but to hear it from your mouth was petrifying. "Aww, what's with the sour face? I thought you loathed Tecchou! I got rid of him for you— for us!"

Jouno's breath was labored, he didn't know what to do at this moment. He felt utterly hopeless. "Tell me, how are you seeing me right now? Because I know you're not here with me."

Jouno cursed himself for how shaky his voice was. His face scrunched up as your wicked giggle flooded his mind. "It's a secret. If I told you, It would ruin all the fun! How would I be able to enjoy the sight of you jerking off every night if you somehow got rid of my little secret?" 

"What did you just say?" Jouno felt heat rise to his cheeks. Knowing someone was watching him during such an intimate moment was mortifying. 

"Oh, which part? The little secret of how I see you? Or the part about you fucking your fist like a desperate whore each night?" You snickered, causing Jouno's blush to deepen. 

"You're fucking sick." Jouno spat, and his hands began to shake from this uneasy feeling.

"Hmm, maybe I am. But your little whines are so addicting, I can't get enough. It's so cute as you try to muffle your moans with your hand while you get yourself off. Oh, but my favorite part is when you finish. The way your hips lift off the bed as you make a mess all over yourself is my favorite sight— fuck... I'm getting turned on just thinking about it."

Jouno could hear rustling over the phone, your altered voice coming out more breathless now. "Come on, darling. Why don't you give me a little show, yeah? Go to the couch and take your underwear off for me. Red looks good on you, by the way, and I'm not talking about your boxers."

Jouno's throat ran dry as his legs moved on their own. He placed the phone atop the arm of the couch, tugging his boxers down his thighs before making himself comfortable on the plush cushions. Jouno felt exposed, too exposed and he didn't understand why he had no choice but to obey you.

"Tell me, this is a cause of your ability... yes?" Jouno questioned, placing his palm over his cock. Trying to conceal himself the best he could.

"How about this... I'll answer your every question if you start touching yourself for me. How's that sound?" You panted, Jouno could tell you were getting yourself off from the sight of him. He considered your offer heavily, if he did this, he would be able to track you down. But if he refused, you would probably force him to touch himself anyway, minus the intel. 

"I accept. So, tell me... is this a cause of your ability?" Jouno's breath hitched the moment he wrapped his hand around his softened cock. He tried to stay focused on interrogating you as he stroked himself, getting hard in a matter of seconds from his heightened sense of touch. 

"Yes! It's a mind control ability of sorts, but that's all I'll say for now." You giggled, stifling a moan as you watched Jouno fist his cock. 

"How are you seeing me right now— hah..." Jouno huffed, letting out a small whine as he focused his touch on the head of his cock. Causing his legs to shake.

"Now, now... don't get greedy. That's one secret I won't give away. But since you're moaning so sweetly for me... I'll give you a hint. It's part of my ability." You whispered, the sound of rustling on your end of the call increasing by the second.

Jouno picked up his pace, slowly losing himself in the pleasure. "Why do you have a soft spot for me— ngh... d-do you— ah... do you know me perchance?" 

You went quiet for a moment, the voice-altering device slipping away as you lost yourself in your own pleasure. Jouno's cock throbbed wildly as he heard your voice, your real voice, as you cried out his name. He knew this was wrong, he shouldn't be feeling this way from hearing your sultry whines. You were a sick person... but your moans were like music to his ears. 

"I do know you... but I doubt you remember me. You saved me long ago... but— hn... I-I've loved you ever since." Jouno was trying to pinpoint your voice, skimming through his memories all the while he was trying not to cum from the intense simulation he was granting himself. 

"H-How long ago was that?" Jouno asked through gritted teeth, slender hips lifting off the bed as he fucked into his fist. 

"Years ago... I tried to grab your attention in every— ah... e-every way I could. But you're a workaholic. Never saving any time for a personal life, and so... hah— I-I..." A loud whine ripped through you. You panted as you tried to hold back. Not wanting to cum until he did. 

"You began murdering just to grab my attention? Tell me you're n-not serious— f-fuck..." Jouno spat, balls tightening as his release neared closer. He wanted to get as much intel out of you before he came, so he edged himself. 

"Oh, I'm dead serious— hah, get it? Dead serious— s-shit... gonna cum... Saigiku, stop holding back. I know you've been trying to hold out, but I need to hear you— need to see you cum for me." You hardly realized that your true voice was reaching Jouno's sensitive ears as you got yourself off. Too focused on Jouno and his pleasure. 

"Well then, why don't you tell me your name? I'll be sure to say it while I make a mess all over myself— hah... I'm sure you'd like that, right?" Jouno smirked as he heard you stutter on the other side of the phone. He knew you were contemplating it. If you gave up your name, you were practically turning yourself in. But... you've dreamt about Jouno chanting your name like a prayer as he lost himself in bliss.

"Hah... you're good, Sai. Too good... fuck— you always know just the right thing to say. No wonder you're the Hunting Dog's finest." You panted, scoring your bottom lip with your teeth before gritting out, 

"It's Y/N... go on, hah— cry out my n-name as you come all over yourself, Sai." Jouno finally let himself go at the knowledge of your name. He fucked into his fist vigorously, pace getting sloppy— tasting his release on the tip of his tongue. 

"That wasn't so hard, was it? F-Fuck... Y/N..." Your breath hitched, hearing your name roll off his tongue.

"Say it again. Please!" Your mind was clouded, letting your desperation take over as you made a fool of yourself. 

"Ah... Y/N, I'm gonna cum— s-shit, Y/N!" Jouno threw his head back in bliss as the first ropes of cum shot out past his slit. His thighs twitched as his hips studdered, sloppily working himself through his high. Cum painting his flush chest white. 

"Saigiku, Saigiku, Sai—!" Your voice was muffled as you tumbled over the edge, whining out his name as your own release washed over you. Jouno honed in on your soft panting and whispers of his name as he came down from his high. Trying his hardest to regain his composure. 

"Okay, I'm done playing these games with you, Y/N. Don't try to use your ability on me any further, or else I'll never say your name again." Jouno warned, resting his hips flat against the sofa as he twitched from the aftershocks of his orgasm.

"So cold... and just as I thought we were getting somewhere here! You know, I can just use my ability on you and make you say my name again!" You cooed. More rustling could be heard on your end of the phone as Jouno sat up, reaching over for his phone. 

"Goodbye, Y/N. Next time we talk, It'll be while you're behind bars." Jouno ended the call before you could say another word. You continued to observe Jouno from a distance, smiling to yourself as a blush still bedecked the blind king. 

"Catch me if you can, Saigiku."

[coryosbaby]

Playing Dangerous - Ethan Landry x reader x Chad Meeks Martin (18+)

a lil sum for @knxfesup 🤭

Warning: threesome, jealousy, car sex, angry sex, double penetration, marking, degradation, Ethan is literally so mean in this, dumbification, sir kink, daddy kink (it’s said like one time LMFAOO), cum play, breeding kink, a little bit of anal, dom! Ethan landry, dom! Chad meeks Martin, sub!bimbo! Reader

“Oh, my god! I LOVE Kendrick Lamar!”

Your voice rings out through the party you’re at. You always get loud, but it’s not like anyone is sober enough to care. The boy in front of you, some random frat guy with average frat guy music taste, is conversating you about different bands. He smiles, throwing his head back and laughing at your excitement. He’s cute, with sandy blonde hair and and green eyes.

He’s not Ethan or Chad, though.

And you know that. But neither of two boys seem to, because they’re death staring you and the frat boy from across the room.

Chad’s jaw is clenched, hands gripping his drink harshly, as Ethan’s cold stare examines the way you move your body towards him. An innocent little sway of your hips, but Ethan knows better. He knows that move.

When you walk away from the frat boy, his number now innocently resting in your pocket, you make your way over to Ethan and Chad.

“Hey, guys!” You excitedly bring Chad into a hug and kiss Ethan on the cheek. They give you the cold shoulder, however, and ignore you. You frown, not knowing what you did wrong.

“Are you both okay? You look-”

“Shut up,” Chad snaps. “We’re going home.”

Your mouth snaps shut, but then forms into a pout.

“Why are you being so mean? I wanna stay…”

“We don’t really care what you want.” Ethan says. His hand grabs your wrist and he tugs you to him. Him and Chad begin to direct you to your car, and you follow them, irritated.

Usually Ethan lets you sit in the floorboard when Chad drives, lets you rest your cheek against his thigh while he strokes your hair. And sometimes, when Ethan drives, Chad lets you rest your head in his lap in the backseat.

But this time, Ethan shoves you into the back without even a look at you.

He gets in the passenger side, and Chad throws your bag in the back with you. He begins to drive and you glare at him in anger.

“I was having fun.”

Ethan chuckles. “Yeah, sure you were. With that fucking idiot in the backwards hat. What was his name?”

You realize that they’re jealous, and you roll your eyes.

Chad sees your reaction in the mirror and looks back at you through the reflection to give you a harsh stare.

“Don’t roll your fucking eyes at him. Answer the goddamn question.”

You shrug nervously, your attitude slightly wavering at Chad’s tone. Your pink acrylic nails tap against the door handle. The place you’re driving at is mostly empty. It’s 3 a.m, after all, and the party was away from the city.

“He was just some guy named Alex. He gave me his number because he wants to hang out together at his frat wednesday night to talk about the class we share. It’s no big deal.”

“Yeah,” Ethan scoffs. “I’m sure that was the reason. He’s just trying to get into your pants.”

You frown.

“He was just being nice…”

“Baby, guys like that aren’t being nice unless they want something.” Chad cuts in. His tone is soft. Sometimes he gets scared your naiveness might get you into trouble. Both him and Ethan have to think for you most of the time, after all.

But of course, you still have that snarky attitude.

“Whatever…” you mutter. “He’s probably better in bed, anyway. Maybe I’ll still go.”

Chad’s eyes narrow, his hand tight on the steering wheel, and Ethan turns around to look at you angrily.

“That mouth is gonna get you into trouble, bitch. I would stop while you’re ahead.”

“Or what?”

And then Chad is pulling the car over, the road empty and deserted. Both him and Ethan are fuming, and they unbuckle their seat belts and stalk over to your door. When they open it, Chad leans over to roughly undo your seat belt. Your eyes are wide, face flushed.

And then Chad pushes you down, turning your body over and bending you at your knees. He yanks your skirt up, and your underwear down. He hits your ass with a hardened force, and you cry out, hands scrambling to hold yourself up as he spanks you.

“N-no! ‘M sorry.. I won’t ever do it again, sir!”

“Unless I hear a safe word, I’m not stopping.” Chad growls. He spanks you again, harder. Your ass stings, incredibly so. “You get five hits from me, and then Ethan is going to give you five more. Is that understood?”

You nod, ass backing up against the boy’s hand more. Although you love the feeling and only have three hits left from Chad, you dread the time when Ethan has to punish you. Even if he’s the smaller of the two, he’s the meanest.

Chads hand comes down on you again, and your body surges forward in the warm leather seat. Your pussy clenches, flooding with wetness, and the boy’s hand comes down one last time. You moan at the sting, and he rubs your ass soothingly before moving out of the way so Ethan can finish the job. And when Chad goes over to the other side of the car to get into the seat beside you, he begins to stroke your hair. it’s a form of comfort; he knows how harsh your shared boyfriend can be, and always stays beside you in case you get too overwhelmed.

You can feel Ethan’s soft palms press against you, and you tense. The sting of his harsh hits doesn’t come, however.

Because his hands move from you, and down to his belt.

Your eyes widen when you hear the sound of the metal buckle coming undone. He pulls it through the loops of his jeans, and you feel the leather up against your ass.

“You know I don’t like doing this stuff, sweetness.” Ethan sighs. “But you need to be disciplined.”

And then the belt is cracking down. You cry when it hits your skin, tears welling in your eyes, but Ethan just chuckles dryly.

“Don’t cry on me now. You asked for this.”

You sniffle. “Sorry, sir.”

Ethan rolls his eyes, and spanks you again. It’s harder than the first, and it fucking hurts.

But of course, that doesn’t stop you from being extremely turned on. Your legs are shaking, your tight little cunt begging for release. But you know it probably won’t come, not for the rest of the night or tomorrow. Another one of Ethan’s forms of harsh punishment; he doesn’t like other men being around you except for Chad, and he has little patience. You knew this, of course. You don’t know why you do this to yourself.

The second hit. Your body practically flattens itself to the seat, your ass clenching to prevent the harsh sting of the belt. You try to crawl away from the painful hits, but Ethan notices, and inhales sharply through his teeth.

“Don’t do that,” he grunts. He grabs your legs and pulls you back to him roughly, and you mewl. “You’re gonna sit and take it like your supposed to, like a good fuckin’ girl. Jesus, it’s like you’re begging to get hurt. It’s pathetic.”

You shakily exhale, relaxing your body as much as you can, and the belt comes down for a third time. You sob, tears streaming messily down your flushed cheeks. Your mascara is smeared, lipstick worn off and staining the edges of your mouth. Chad watches your beautiful form next to him, his cock now in his hand as he strokes himself. Normally when you cry he’s concerned; but now, knowing that the pain brings you carnal pleasure, he wants nothing more than to shove his hot prick inside you.

You lift your head up to look at Chad, watch him touch himself and leak all over his own hand. “C’mon, sweet girl,” he murmurs “Just two more…”

“And then you’ll both fuck me?” You look into his eyes with a hazy, exited gaze. He smiles.

“Yeah, baby. Then we’ll fuck you.” He looks back at Ethan, and the boy nods.

“Give Ethan a kiss, honey. Thank him for punishing you.”

You bite your lip, hesitant. You turn around to look at him, and he smiles for the first time that night. You grin, moving your abused body up to press a kiss to his lips. The boy’s hand wraps around your throat to hold you upright, his mouth moving against yours in tandem. But only for a moment, before he pulls away.

“Thank you for punishing me, sir.” you murmur. Ethan strokes the expanse of your neck as he holds you up.

“You’re welcome, angel. Now lay back down, okay?”

You nod, bringing your body back down. He begins to give you directions, ways to position your body so Chad can see more of you and make himself feel good.

“Lift that pretty ass up… yeah, you sweet little whore. Just like that. Show Chad how slutty you are.”

You whine, pressing yourself against Ethan’s hips, feeling his hard cock poking through, as you lift your ass up.

And then he spanks you with the belt again, and more tears begin to flow. And finally, when you’re on the last hit, welts are running along your ass and thighs. You collapse in relief that it’s over. The fact that no one has stopped to see what’s going on is a mystery to you, but you aren’t complaining.

Chad moves onto his knees, his hard cock in front of you. He grabs your hair to lift you back up, and you moan. He shoves his cock into your open, awaiting mouth. You choke, your throat keening under the pressure of his fat dick. Ethan positions himself behind you, and you gasp when you feel his now naked cock pressing against your warm heat. He spreads your pussy lips apart and pushes in, filling you to the brim.

You cry out around Chad’s cock, and he mutters a small ‘son of a bitch!’ before beginning to shallowly fuck your throat.

Ethan begins to fuck you hard and rough, hands gripping your ass as he thrusts into you. He feels so hot, so good inside you, and he laughs when you try to pull yourself towards him.

“Poor baby. You just love being a little cock sleeve, huh?” Ethan spreads your cheeks apart, spitting down onto your other hole. He shoves a finger in, and you mewl. “Can’t even hold yourself up right now, and you think that that frat boy can fuck you better than us? God, you really are an airhead.”

Your cheeks heat at the degradation. The sound of both Chad and Ethan’s hips hitting your skin is loud inside the car, and your juices drip down your thighs as Ethan adds another finger to your tight ass. Chad thrusts into your mouth deeply one last time, before pulling off. You gasp for air, chest heaving, and your mouth hovers over Chad’s waist. Ethan’s thrusts begin to slow. His hips stutter, and you know he’s close.

“C’mon, Eth,” you beg, fucking your ass back onto him. He moans. “Don’t you want to cum inside my pussy? Wan’ your cum, sir, wan’ it so bad-”

“Fuck!” He groans, his cock finally spilling inside your tight heat. Your eyes roll back at the warmth, and Ethan rests himself on top of you. Your cunt is throbbing, finally getting the hot cum that it’s been aching for the entire night. Ethan rests for a moment, trying to calm his racing heartbeat.

“Gonna let me fuck her, man? Or are you gonna keep her all to yourself?” Chad teases to the boy , and he rolls his eyes in annoyance.

“Yeah, Jesus. Let me pull out.”

And when he does, he grabs you by your shoulders and spins you around. Your pussy faces Chad now, and he uses his fingers to gather the sticky cum dripping out of your opening to soak his cock. Ethan’s dick jumps at that, and he can feel himself getting hard again. His stamina is honestly scary, but it makes for good fucking at the end of the day.

You whimper when you see that he’s hard again. Chad pushes into you, the sound of Ethan’s cum inside of you making a loud wet sound. You clench around him, and the boy grits his teeth to stop from orgasming too soon. He lifts his shirt up and holds it with his teeth, watches your ass bounce as he fucks you and Ethan’s white cum create a thick ring around his dick. He brings his hands down to grip the red welts on your ass tightly. You cry out in pain, but it only spurs him on.

Ethan rubs his tip against your lips, and laughs.

“I’m gonna cum all over this slutty little face. God, you’re gonna be covered, baby. If this doesn’t get you pregnant, I don’t know what will.”

You moan, lips coming up to kiss the tip of his cock.

Ethan grins. “You like that, you sweet dumb thing? Wanna make me and Chad a daddy?”

“Yes! Please, please fill me up!”

Chad huffs, face on fire, and you clench down on him. He makes a low animalistic sound in his throat as he orgasms, his cum filling you up just like Ethan’s did. You clench, wanting to keep him cock inside for warmth. And he does just that, cock warming you as Ethan begins to touch himself in front of your face. You stick out your tongue, waiting for his load to land on it. It doesn’t take long before he’s creaming all over your tongue, face, and neck.

“Good little bitch. Take daddy’s cum. Yeah, that’s it. Filled the fuck up, aren’t you?”

You nod, trying not to giggle as your mouth stays open. Ethan lifts your chin up so he can examine his handiwork.

“Good girl. Now swallow.”

You obey, swallowing him down. He takes his fingers and scoops up some of the cum on your neck and feeds it to you, and you take it eagerly. Behind you, Chad finally pulls out, and tuts when he sees that his seed is dripping out.

“Can’t have any of that slipping out, sweet girl. Think you can hold it in with your fingers until we get home?”

“Yes, sir.”

And you do just that. As they fix your clothes and buckle you back up, you keep your fingers inside yourself obediently. Ethan keeps you company in the backseat as Chad drives once again, one hand kneading your tits and the other pressing kisses to your collarbones.

“You did such a good job. I’m so proud of you.”

“Proud enough to let me cum?” You whisper. Your eyes are hopeful, and he sighs.

“Fine, but just this once.”

And then he’s rubbing your clit in slow circles, and you’re tilting your head back in ecstasy.

[battlekidx2]

Alastor Theory

Okay, I'm gonna throw my hat into the ring when it come to who has Alastor on a leash and I'm not gonna say Lilith.

I think Eve might also be an option for being the one that owns Alastor's soul.

I think the Lilith connection is a bit too obvious and Lilith hates being forced into subservience canonically within the show, so it would be weird if she chained another soul to do her bidding. And Eve is easily the character that would have the most issues with the Morningstar family, heaven, and hell. She was made out of Adam's rib and given the apple by Lilith and Lucifer. She's been a pawn in other people's plans since the beginning. She's the one blamed for original sin and it's clear she's not in heaven. She was the scapegoat while Adam got off relatively Scott free.

She has so many reasons to want to get back at everyone and what better way to gradually gain a foothold without drawing attention to herself than enlisting the services of a sinner in hell?

It’s said that Alastor immediately started taking out overlords that had been dominant for centuries the moment he stepped foot in hell. There has to be a reason for that. It feels too calculated to be a coincidence.

Plus Lilith’s disappearance coinciding with the Alastor's isn’t necessarily a factor against this theory because it can be explained as Eve essentially throwing Alastor into a battle with Lilith where Alastor was injured and had to take time to recover.

His reaction when Zestial said people thought he had been struck down by holy arms was a bit telling to me. The way he took that moment to look away and collect himself to brush it off read as Zestial hitting too close to the mark.

He's super touchy about why he was gone for 7 years and we've seen that Alastor's berserk button is his pride and he dislikes his strength being questioned. He absolutely would not want to admit he was gone because he was recovering.

That comment seemed too pointed by the writers to be completely written off.

Maybe in this battle Eve got Lilith's soul. If she doesn’t why would Lilith be gone from Charlie’s life for seven years? Why wouldn't she return around the same time as Alastor? She seemed to really care about Charlie. Charlie still tries to call her and she doesn’t seem to hold any resentment toward Lilith, so I think there would have to be a reason beyond nebulous plans that's keeping her away.

Alastor also clearly does not have a good relationship to whoever has his soul, so I kind of imagine if it was Lilith he would be a bit more hostile towards Charlie or it would show a bit more in the moments where he was alone or when Charlie isn't looking. (Alastor is the only character this show is truly subtle with)

I just wanted to put my opinion out there because I've seen so many Lilith owns Alastor's soul theories out there and I wanted to offer a different angle.

[blueflipflops]

Been deep into dp x dc rabbit hole these days. Don't know how those two fandoms got together like this but damn do they make good stuff. So heres my little hat in the ring.

I know we love @tourettesdog's Little Baby Man! Danny but how about we pitch in an Eldritch Nightmare! Jazz in the same au?

Imagine while Damian takes in Little Baby Man!Danny, he sometimes disappears and reappears back at the mansion at weird intervals like a stray cat that invites itself to your house, demands to be fed, naps, and then leaves to roam around in the streets.

Damian tries his best to entice the creature to staying permanently in the mansion with food, bed, toys, etc but while Danny likes to stick around him, he doesnt stay for more than a week before he leaves the mansion to roam again. One time Damian tried to stop him, he just gave him big teary eyes and Damian folds like a wet paper towel.

He can't exactly keep him in the mansion when Danny keeps doing this so he tries to follow him instead to know who/what is keeping this creature's attention more than him. It should've been easy but Danny keeps losing Damian either with his powers or he just flies too fast or to small narrow places.

He is so invested on keeping this strange creature that the others are noticing Damian's weird behavior. When they do, they inevitably got invested as well that they actually make bets on catching the weird flying creature their little demon brat of a brother wants to keep as a pet.

They noticed that the creature was going to same area everytime, no matter how far he came from. So they investigated this on their free time until they narrowed it all down to an abandoned warehouse near the sewers.

One of them (y'all pick which batkid, I like to imagine Tim cuz i love tormenting the lil guy) followed the trail to this warehouse and hear the familliar happy excited chirping of the flying menace but the vibes are off. They held their breath as the air suddenly feels heavy. Like one wrong move could be fatal. Like they're in the prescence of a predator. For a minute, everything is silent. Until... something chirped back.

It was a deep and guttural echoing sound that they felt deep within their bones. Their heart raced as they realized that this might have been a bad idea. Nevertheless, they took a deep breath as they turn around to peek at what the actual fuck made that sound.

Their breath caught as their face rapidly lose colors. Before them was a huge creature with a long orange hair that pools onto the floor, similar ears and tail to their brother's little pet, a humanlike face and upper body--well, until the torso which was showing ribs and the creature's insides barely being held together by a thin membrane across its 'stomach' but some intestine like thing is dripping down. Its arms and hands are boney with a thin purple blue skin and long sharp claws.

It hummed as the little guy flew around the eldritch creature with excitable chirps and it felt like the wall he's hiding behind shakes in vibration.

Throwing caution to the wind, they sent a messege to their group chat with a slightly blurry and static-y picture.

'Found your flying noodle. Also found its mother/sister/something??? What the fuck, Damian. What the fuck did you brought back to the mansion?'

Next

Heres without the green haze

[multifandumbmeg]

I have seen some posts speculating about the nature of Adar and Sauron's relationship and I would like to throw my own hat into the ring...

I'm reading Daddy Issues. When I see Adar's rage at Sauron, his monologues and surprisingly earnest fashioning of himself as the "father" of the Uruk/Orcs, I see someone who is raging against what they see as a failed father. I speculate that is because Sauron actually fashioned himself as the "father" first.

But he was a bad one.

Sauron participated in the experiments that created the orcs with Morgoth. Adar also says he sacrificed many more orcs to further experiments for Sauron in his conversation with Galadriel in season one, which I presume is referencing the location she found in episode one. Then there's the flashback where Sauron tries to gather an orc army he's clearly disgusted by for yet another war and Adar has enough, finally just stabbing the guy, leading the orcs against him. Sauron in that scene is more like a dictator, but one might argue a narcissistic father.

Then we have that conversation between "Halbrand" and Adar in season 2, where he recounts Sauron offering him wine after being left on a peak seemingly for dead. Adar speaks about it with such intense bitterness as he attempts to get Halbrand- unknowingly Sauron himself- to tell him where Sauron is so he can finally kill him. The Sauron he describes is working for Morgoth, it sounds like. The thirteen were tortured, and then Sauron was sent in with the pretty face and wine to play Nice Cop and win them back over with his silver tongue. It worked. And the tragedy is, you can tell Adar sees it now, that he was manipulated and resents it, but you can also see that single tear from Sauron. This is one of those rare occasions he feels remorse.

But at any rate, I think Sauron was assigned the role of "Orc Dad" by Morgoth and more or less tried to keep it (even though he may not have even liked the idea of orcs/their creation) because it was useful to him, but Adar stepped up and usurped it successfully because he saw that they actually needed it. A real home, a real leader, a real parental figure who saw them as living beings deserving of existence, respect, and even love.

I think the two of them are an extremely rich text.

[see-arcane]

Lucy and Jonathan

“We met some time ago a man that would just do for you, if you were not already engaged to Jonathan.”

I’ll admit, while it probably wasn’t anything more than an airy throw-in without any real barbs behind it, the inflection on Lucy’s comment followed by the idle advertisement of upcoming character, Dr. John ‘Jack’ Seward, as a higher-up-the-ladder ‘what-if’ prospect, still kind of stung to hear. I know it’ll get sanded back in later chapters because—minor spoilers—context clues will show that Mina, Lucy, and Jonathan have known/been friendly with each other since they were kids, and comments from future letters will show a more mutual regard. So it makes me wonder what the reason for the implied derision was.*

*(Beyond her possibly trying to push Jack in a way that says ‘Nope, No, I Choose Not to See the Crush, No Thank You, Hot Potato.’)

My guess? It’s a bit.

Specifically, a holdover from hers, Mina’s, and Jonathan’s earlier days when all of them had grown into adolescence, social mores started getting hammered in in earnest, and Mina and Jonathan were just starting on their official courtship.

Suddenly, they’re no longer a trio of kids enjoying each other’s company. Now it’s two young ladies—one rich, one poor—and a charming young man—also from a lower class. Considering the period, it would be only too easy for whispers to start flying behind fans and cigars that the young Mr. Harker might consider leveling up his prospects, or that the lovely Miss Westenra, a veritable Victorian Helen of Troy, might idly snatch her low-born friend’s man out from under her nose on a whim. And aren’t they such a pretty picture? Quoting their Shakespeare at each other, so intriguingly close compared to most men and their ladies’ friends…unless there are certain extra friendly circumstances involved, ha ha.

A ribald comment too many from coworkers at Hawkins’ firm and a backhanded compliment or three at the latest spring ball probably shocked Jonathan and Lucy respectively into action. Bonus points if one of the inciting remarks came from some tittering debutante, “Well, I can’t say I’m surprised. You two are so alike! Such sweet bonny things, parroting the Bard at each other, prattling merrily about the latest little outing without stopping for breath. Really, Lucy, he would just do for you.”**

**(Some have wondered if Lucy was nudging Jack toward Mina due to certain similar traits they shared. Some morose aspects, intensely focused, interests in modern technology. You’ll see when you meet him. Either way, it’s another parallel to ponder here.)

Cue Mina having to endure her loved ones defending her honor from being dubbed a victim of romantic betrayal in the most vaudeville manner possible. Though she should expect no less from Theatre Nerds 1 and 2.

When they go out, Mina is permanently sandwiched between them as if they’re ducking behind a red-faced shield. Lucy brandishes a parasol to ensure they’re at least the shaft’s length apart; sometimes she’ll even open it to make sure they’re not swayed by looking upon each other, may Heaven forbid such scandalous temptation! Jonathan sits on the bench with them with his hat pulled down over his eyes for safety’s sake. At least a quarter of an hour at the start of each outing is dedicated to a back-and-forth of:

Lucy, nose up so high she’s looking more at the ceiling than him: Mr. Harker.

Jonathan, checking his pocket watch to see how long he must endure this most arduous company: Miss Westenra.

Mina, head in her hands: It’s been months.

Lucy, scoffing: Months of torment in his presence.

Jonathan, scoffing harder: Agony in hers.

Lucy, on a fainting couch: However can you stand him, Mina?

Mina, about to pull her hair out of its pins: You helped him pick out the ring, Lucy.

Jonathan, picture of woe: Tormentedly, of course.

Lucy, nodding: Agonizingly.

In short, Jonathan 🤝 Lucy:

[small-sinclair]

Rings and Keeps

@fluffy-little-demon and @sketchy-rosewitch, I give you, your husband—

Bo Sinclair x reader

“Are you sure you haven’t seen him in the shop?”

“Sorry, y/n,” Lester said over the phone. “Haven’t seen Bo all day. Promise.”

You sighed tiredly and said, “Okay, Les. Call back if you hear from him.” You hung up and looked nervously at the front door again. It’s not like your fiancé to up and leave Ambrose without telling anyone, let alone, not tell you. So, why’d he left? What made him up and leave?

Is he getting milk and cigarettes like my dad did? You thought jokingly to yourself, but that didn’t help you at all.

Still, dinner had to be finished and put away. You didn’t want to eat without him, and you felt too nervous with him gone. So, you started pacing to keep your mind off things. Back and forth in the house you tried to keep your thoughts on something else. Baseball. Football. Weather. Vincent. Lester and his raccoon army (don’t tell the twins). Bo’s ass— but noting. You flopped down on the couch and hugged a throw pillow as you looked at the door.

Maybe he doesn’t love me? Maybe he up and left to figure out the best way to kill me?

“No, don’t think about that,” you told yourself in a whisper. “Bo’s fine. He might be getting something.”

When 10:30 struck on the clock, Bo’s truck lights lit up the front of the living room, but you were already asleep, cuddling Bo’s sweatshirt, when he walked in the house. He bit his lower lip nervously as his eyes found you sleeping on the sofa. Quietly, he took off his jacket and hung his hat next to a picture him and you, where he’s hugging you from behind and your laughing in the summer’s glow. Vincent took this gem and had it framed next to his hook on purpose, but Bo’s not one for complaining. It just reminds him what his aching arms are for when he comes home to you, to his beloved.

He kneels in front of you and kisses you gently to wake you up. “Sweetheart,” he drawled tiredly. “‘M home.”

He watched your sleepy eyes flutter open as he thumbed your cheek. “Bo? Where have you been?” Your voice is so soft and tired it reminds him of a kitten.

“Was gettin’ somethin’,” he hummed.

“What?”

“Gimme your right hand.”

You do as your told and showed him your hand. He digs into his pocket and pulls out a little black box. Your eyes brighten as he slipped on a simple silver ring with a small white diamond in the center. “It ain’t much,” he started, “but I thought ya need somethin’ better than ‘at paper ring.”

“Bo,” you sigh, getting a better look at it. “You didn’t—“

“Hush,” he said. “I wanna do something right for ya. So, I, well…” he rubbed the back of his neck. “I sold the ‘86 Dodge.”

“But,” you sat up and held his cheeks. He rested into your touch and closed his eyes. “But that’s your baby!”

He shrugs. “I know, y/n, I know, but,” he kissed your palm, “I wanna to do something good for you. Somethin’ right.” He leaned back and took your hands. “I wanna to give ya somethin’ better than Mama’s ring. Shit,” he eyes shines as he looks up to meet your eyes, “when I saw ya looking at that ring the other day, I knew I had to get it for ya because…” his voice trails as his head fell. “I’m afraid to lose you. I have so much blood on my hands, so how? How can you even stand me? Let alone, love me?” You’ve never heard him talk like this before, and this side of trust was so valuable that you felt like he was glass waiting to shatter. “Just wanted to do something right for once.”

Your shoulders fell, and you pulled Bo into your chest, rubbing his back. “That’s why you’ve been nervous lately,” you sighed. “Beauregard, I love you no matter how bloody your hands get.” You curled your fingers through his hair. “And I love this ring because you got it for me.” You lifted his head and kisses his lips. “You never have to worry about me not loving you. I’ll always love you.”

Bo smiles and lays a kiss on your neck. “Even if I lose control?”

“Even if you lose control,” you reassured. Then your face turned serious. “But, promise me one thing?”

“Anything, y/n.”

You looked at him dead in the eye and said, “Don’t sell the T-Bird? I love that car.”

He chuckles and rolls his eyes. “Promise, darlin’. I’m keeping that like I’m keeping you.” He placed a passionate kiss on your lips, rocking into you. “Now, on t’bed, sugar,” his voice rumbled like thunder in his chest, “been missing you all day.” He pulls you up and carries you bridal style. “Lemme make up for leavin’ ya alone like that.”

[poryphoria]

im so enamored w the collective decision to make this guy So scuffed to look at. throwing my hat in the ring as a deep sea fish enjoyer

not communicated very well here (kind of obscured by his hair) but i like to think his "third" eye is just a piece of skin separating one eye in half

wanted to take (what im assuming is) the mantis shrimp plating in his og design & switch it up a little, running the length of his back n coinciding w his whale tail instead so it looks like a mix of both creatures! also saw some1 make his third arm a mantis shrimp one, baby cats very cute i took that n ran

(closeup of See? Him Face!)

he's got these dumbass little extra arms from the mantis shrimp half as well. Admittedly I seem to have put much more of an emphasis on the mantis shrimp and angler fish than anything else here and i might need a third pass at this

and of course. you just KNOW my boy has Parasites Aplenty. he's Gigantic and he's got so many different hosts mixed into him of COURSE he's got ectoparasites!!!!

lastly: with whale baleen, snake fangs AND anglerfish teeth AND!!! human ones, Surely nothing good is going on in the mouth region

[amorgansgal]

Practice Makes Perfect

So here we go! At long last, I've finished my fic and I loved writing this one so much! Just to ensure absolute clarity I'm kind of seeing the academy as a university, so everyone here is over the age of 20 and somehow I've pegged Gale as a complete slut evidently!

Gale x Fat Female Reader

CW: Sexual content, Oral sex

‘I really don’t think this is a good idea,’ you desperately whisper to your friend, Nira, who is dragging you through the mahogany panelled library where absurdly high bookshelves tower above you both.

The library is quieter in the late afternoons and evenings, there are only a few students either absorbed in the small mountains of books that surround them or are busily writing out long essays, the familiar, comforting sound of turning pages and the scratch of pen against paper fills the large room. As you pass the candlesticks the wicks catch alight, now that the room is getting gloomier and the sky is darkening. The sun is sinking low in the sky, casting the last rays of golden light to be dispersed through the diamond patterned windows. The dark wooden floorboard underneath your feet glitters with the thrumming magic that spills from the books in the room and the stunning reds, golds and oranges of the last light of the day.

‘Don’t be such a wet blanket,’ Nira hisses in response. ‘Besides, I thought you were interested.’

‘I am,’ you insist, though a hot blush still creeps up your cheeks. ‘But I don’t want to be mocked or for him to judge me.’

‘He’s not going to judge you. From what I heard he quite likes…’ she hesitates, pursing her lips as though wanting to find the right way of putting it.

‘Fat women?’ you prompt.

She sighs. ‘I was going to say ladies with larger thighs, but sure, fat women.’

‘You promise me, he won’t laugh or-’

‘He’s not going to laugh and if he does I’ll fireball him right in his face.’

You bite back a laugh at the thought and Nira grins at you, then continues, ‘Besides, I’ve had the joy of experiencing Gale’s tongue and it’s well worth it. Honestly, I wish he was interested in properly dating someone, because I’d throw my hat in the ring, so many men act like the whole thing is disgusting. Oh but we’re expected to suck them off whenever, even if their dicks stink like piss!’

You smile, it’s been a complaint of Nira ever since she got to experience Gale’s tongue and you’ve heard all about his ability non-stop since. Most of the girls in your class have talked about it. You’re surprised they’re not jealous of one another or are trying to win him over, but he apparently doesn’t seem to care about entering a serious relationship and is just happy to oblige his classmates’ desires. You had your concerns though that he would not be interested in you. You’d always been on the larger size, your mother certainly didn’t help matters by pointedly making remarks about how most people associated female magic users with beautiful, ethereal waif like creatures. No one thought of dumpy little witches unless they were old and ugly. You did your best to shrug off comments like that but it still stung and you felt like you had to work twice as hard as your classmates just to be given any forethought or attention from either your peers or your teachers.

Gale, when you had occasion to work with him, was refreshingly respectful, kind and seemed to actually see you. You’d grown almost accustomed to any man’s gaze immediately drifting past you and onto your thinner friends. If it didn’t happen so often you might have even been angry about it, but you didn’t really see the point. So consequently your experience with men was rather limited. You’d been kissed, sure, but it was such a fumbling, innocent mess of a kiss you weren’t quite sure whether to count it. You’d touch yourself but you always felt a bit embarrassed about it and sometimes your own self-doubts would turn you off. So it was usually a rushed affair and didn’t quite leave you fully satisfied.

‘Ah, there you are,’ Nira says as you reach the end of the library where instead of desks and rigid back chairs there are soft, plush sofas nestled in alcoves and you see Gale look up at your approach. He gives you both a warm smile and you immediately feel that this whole thing is a horrible, terrible idea. Your feet slow and Nira is practically dragging you over. Your heart is thudding in your chest, the blood rushing in your ears, and it feels like your throat is about to close up. Gale is handsome. He has foppish brown hair that tickles the back of his neck. His eyes are a warm, deep brown. His easy going smile is inviting. And you feel all your weight, the soft plumpness of your belly, your thighs catching slightly on chairs and tables as you walk over. He is going to say no, he is going to look at you like you are disgusting and repulsive and how could you even think he would want to give you pleasure?

‘Good afternoon, Nira,’ he says and inclines his head in greeting. ‘To what do I owe the pleasure?’

‘Well, it’s not so much pleasure you owe me!’ Nira says with a grin and tosses her head at you. ‘You remember Y/N, right?’

‘Of course, I still am very resentful you soundly beat me in my alchemy test!’’ he says, though there’s no malice in the tone as his smile widens and his eyes glimmer with mischief. 

‘Well, she’s heard what you like to do.’

Gale laughs, and for a moment your heart seizes in terror. ‘Really? Am I getting that kind of reputation?’ he asks, though you can see he’s quite proud of such a reputation.

Nira rolls her eyes. ‘Oh come off it Gale, you’ve practically had every girl in the classroom that way and we all talk about it!’

His eyes flick back to you and a shiver runs down your spine. The pupils in his eyes have widened and you’re quite certain it has nothing to do with the gloom of the library. He wets his lips and you’re almost scared of the way he’s looking at you… he’s looking at you with desire and your silly heart doesn’t quite know what to make of it. But then he clears his throat and gives you another sweet, winning smile.

‘And I take it you’re interested in allowing me to practise? Because if you’re not and Nira has just dragged you here when you don’t like the idea, then please don’t be bullied into it. I’m very happy to have a chance to work on my technique, but I don’t like the idea of someone being less than enthusiastic,’ he says and his gaze is entirely focused on you, and you almost don’t want to look at him because it’s so startling being treated like an object of desire. But you manage to keep your head raised and your eyes fixed on him.

‘Yes, I do… I am interested,’ you say. ‘If you’re… um… interested in me, you don’t have to if it would prove distasteful.’

That same wicked, mischievous gleam is back and he draws closer to you. ‘I am interested and I assure you, it never proves distasteful, quite the contrary in fact.’

‘Gods, should I just turn my back or are you going to wait until you’ve gone somewhere more private?’ Nira asks and you flush at her words, though Gale lets out another burst of laughter.

‘I would assume my room would be preferable,’ he says to you. ‘Though Lucia and I did make use of that corner over there,’ he gestures to a table tucked into a corner by a bookshelf and you inhale quickly, imagining your hands holding tightly onto the shelves, your butt on the table and Gale’s head between your thighs. You bite you lip and press your legs together, there is no denying the desire that courses through you at the thought of the risk that would be, the possibility of being caught, though you would find it mortifying. It’s better to not get ahead of yourself and you nod.

‘I would prefer the privacy of your room,’ you say, and Gale offers his hand to you. It takes you a moment for you to take it, but he gives your fingers a gentle squeeze and then puts the book he was holding back on the shelf. 

‘I assume we should go there now, unless you have prior plans,’ he says to you. Were it any other man you would have assumed he might be trying to put you off, but it sounds like he genuinely cares about whether or not you’re busy.

‘No, no, we can go there now,’ you say, then glance away because of how embarrassingly eager you sound.

‘Good,’ Gale says and takes hold of your hand more firmly. Nira catches your eye and smiles as he begins to walk by her.

‘Have fun!’ she says.

‘See you later, Nira,’ Gale says to her, you only manage a nod as you feel rather tongue tied.

***

Gale’s room is definitely cleaner than some of the guys’ rooms you had seen within the dormitory rooms of Blackstaff Academy. Oh, there’s robes tossed over chairs, the desk is littered with books, papers, quills, an open box of herbs and crystals and sublimates. But there’s no forgotten plates or dirty cups. Gale’s room actually smells quite good too, a faint hint of bergamot and cedar. He pulls out the chair in front of the desk and turns it around to face the bed, then gestures for you to sit in the chair. You sit down, nervously placing your hands in front of your belly, suddenly feeling self-conscious. Gale closes the bedroom door, then sits down on the bed opposite you.

‘So, now that Nira isn’t around, you definitely want to do this? He asks.

You nod, your throat feels very dry and tight. Gale smiles at you softly. ‘Just want to check, as I say, don’t want to do this with anyone who has doubts. I’d like to ask you a few things first.’

You nod again and curse yourself for losing all sense of any wit or wisdom you once had in your brain! But Gale is relaxed and begins work on removing his boots. ‘First, easy one, do you want me to lock the door or just have it closed. I’m sure you know I have a tressym and she comes and goes as she pleases, and while she’s respectful and polite, I don’t put it past some of our classmates not to barge in!’

You think about it carefully, then say, ‘Lock the door please.’

He casts arcane lock on the door and then grins at you, you can’t help smiling back. ‘And you know knock, so you want to get out you’re free to go whenever you want,’ he says, the implication runs underneath, you’re in control, what you say goes, if you don’t like it you can go and there won’t be any hurt feelings. You feel rather touched he’s going to all this effort.

‘Next question, would you prefer to be partially clothed or entirely naked? When I do this I do quite enjoy touching my partner everywhere, but your comfort is more important than what I find enjoyable,’ Gale says.

You look away, you still feel self-conscious about your belly and you can’t imagine Gale would want to touch the soft, fleshy weight of it, let alone even see it! ‘I’ll keep my blouse on, if that’s alright,’ you mutter.

His two fingers catch under your chin and he lifts your head. ‘It’s fine by me, but it’s more important that it’s what you find alright, your comfort comes first. Now, biggest and hardest question,’ he says, smiling. ‘Can I kiss you or would you rather I didn’t and just work my magic between your legs?’

‘Yes,’ you whisper, your eyes are captured entirely by his and your voice sounds faint. ‘You can kiss me.’

His hand slips down your cheek, lightly resting against your neck, his fingers curve round your head and he pulls you forward. His mouth finds yours and he kisses you sweetly at first, tentative, gentle, as though he is worried you might flinch away, but nothing could be further from the truth. Your heart hammers in your chest and you feel like you might forget to breathe. Your hand hesitantly goes to his chest, you don’t want to push your luck, but he instead presses his free hand over yours and you can feel the warmth of him bleeding through his shirt. He lets out a groan and then pulls away from you, breathing hard and certainly wearing an expression of wanting to eat you up. 

‘Sorry,’ he says. ‘If I’m not careful I’ll get carried away!’

You wonder what ‘carried away’ might entail, given what you’re about to do. But you don’t have much time to think about it, he helps you up from the chair and unties the laces of your skirt. He tugs it down over your hips and you watch him bite his lip when your thighs come into view, he’s utterly focused on your legs and his hand reaches out eagerly, but he seems to collect himself to not just grab a meaty handful. Gale gently strokes down your thigh and guides you to the bed, grabbing the pillows and putting them behind your back. He removes the slippers that had been on your feet, tossing them off into a corner of the room and seems to admire the stockings you wear, though they aren’t particularly sexy you think, just the fairly standard academy uniform ones. Once you’re comfortable, he returns to looking at your legs, he traces his fingers up from your ankles to just behind your knees, making you shiver. You still feel a bit embarrassed about Gale seeing you like this, of opening your legs so he can see all of you.

Gale catches your eye and smiles. He leans down and kisses you, that same sweet, soft kiss. ‘You alright?’ he whispers.

‘Mmhm,’ you manage, well at least you made a sound this time. Gale chuckles quietly.

‘You look so beautiful,’ he says, then trails kisses down your mouth, your jaw and neck, nipping at your ear and making you gasp as the hot little jolt of pleasure soars through you. You decide to ignore that him saying you’re beautiful is probably both something he says to all the girls who come to him for this and also definitely a lie in your case.

He scoots down the bed and slowly pulls apart your legs, his stare is so intense you have to close your eyes. His fingers skim up your legs, his nails stroke down your thighs, until they reach the crease between them and your mound. 

‘Hmm pretty,’ he says, and he pulls his right hand away for a moment. You open your eyes to see him with his thumb in his mouth that he pulls out with a pop and then he places it against your clit and circles it. The sensation makes you gasp and arch up, though you still cover your belly with your arm. Gale lets out another tight groan and suddenly lies down between your legs, his fingers still play with your clit, feather-light touches sliding down to your entrance and teasing it, then going back up making you bite your lip hard to not let out a sound.

‘You can make as much noise as you like, in fact I’d rather you do,’ he says, then brings one of your thighs over his shoulder. Your eyes flicker open as he presses kisses against it. He nips at the sensitive skin, a playful, teasing bite. ‘It tells me if I’m doing a good job.’

He keeps kissing down your thigh and suddenly he’s at the apex, his hungry dark eyes watching you intently, you can feel his breath on your nether regions, your belly feels tight and it’s all you can do to both stay on the bed exactly where you are or beg him to relieve you of the growing ache and need for something. He gives you one quick, delicious smile and then buries himself between your thighs. You don’t know what to expect, but his warm tongue darting out, circling your clit and then more firmly suckling it makes you feel like a hot jolt of electricity zapped through your body. The pleasure is mind melting and Gale is all to happy to apparently drown in you, his mouth and lips and tongue… You forget yourself, forget all your shame, the hatred of your body, the disgust you feel with yourself, and surrender yourself utterly to pleasure. 

He’s good, too good. He seems to cotton on quickly to what you like, how best to draw out every bit of pleasure, everything that makes your toes curl, that tighten the muscles in your thighs, that makes you instinctively grasp a handful of his brown hair between your hands and he keeps bringing you to the peak of pleasure over and over, until you see stars in your eyes and feel so lost to it all, so desperate you wind up babbling and pleading for him to let you cum.

‘Please Gale, please, please, don’t stop, please don’t stop. I need it, I need it so badly!’

You feel his laughter vibrate through his body, but finally, mercifully, he acquiesces and you are undone by pleasure, it roars through your body like a furnace, his tongue still maddeningly teasing your clit and you are left almost sobbing on the bed, uncaring of the warm gush between your legs, the air not filling your lungs enough, the world feels dizzy and spectacular and glorious. His head pops up and you can’t help the laugh you let slip at his slightly dazed, but altogether thoroughly pleased expression. 

‘You need to taste yourself,’ he insists, and he kisses you again fiercely, his tongue sliding into your mouth and you do. It’s not a bad taste to your surprise, musky and a little tart, but intoxicating and sweet. Once he’s satisfied he raises his head, though he’s still lying on top of you, he rests his forehead against yours and sighs contentedly. His chin and small beard is soaked through. ‘How was that?’ he asks.

It takes you a moment to clear your throat and find your voice, but more because you’ve been done in, not because you are flustered. ‘Good, very, very good. Thank you.’

‘No, thank you,’ he says, and you let out a breath of laughter that he’s still ever the gentleman. He gets to his feet, grabs an empty basin and a cloth, and comes back to your side. He fills the bowl with warm water using a prestidigitation spell and starts work cleaning you up, tenderly washing you down, though you almost feel a little disappointed you couldn’t keep the slick between your thighs. There’s already a delightful prickling sensation from where his beard rubbed against your legs.

He helps you to your feet, then picks up your skirt, giving it a little shake to remove any dust and holding it open for you to step in. ‘I can manage to dress myself,’ you say.

‘I know, didn’t doubt that, Miss beats-me-soundly-at-alchemy,’ he teases. ‘But I like doing this.’

He brings over your shoes and insists on helping you with those too, having you sit back down on the bed as he puts them on your feet. You have a feeling it might just be because he gets to touch your legs once more.

‘You have the best legs,’ he murmurs. 

You let out a snort of laughter. ‘Given how many you’ve apparently seen, I doubt that!’

But he vehemently shakes his head. ‘I mean it, the best legs in the whole school. If you ever wish for another time I’d be happy to oblige, but I’d quite like it if you sat on my face.’

‘Gale, I’d squish you or break your nose!’ you say.

His eyes gleam at the thought. ‘Well worth the risk!’ He gets to his feet, then offers you a hand and after helping you up, he turns your hand over and presses a kiss to the knuckles. ‘Please come back any time.’

You shiver with delight at the thought, but simply nod and leave the room.

***

Of course Nira wants all the juicy, sordid details and you spend the better part of the evening quietly whispering and giggling in your dormitory room as you recount it. She does seem surprised though when you mention that Gale had asked if he could kiss you.

‘Really? He didn’t ask to kiss me,’ she muses, then gives a shrug. ‘Maybe that’s just something new he does, though I swear Jacanthe was just before you and she didn’t talk about him kissing her. I’ll have to ask her at breakfast.’

It’s an odd, trivial notion you’re sure, but you can’t help the pleased little smile at the thought that maybe, just maybe he had solely wanted to kiss you. But you dismiss it, Gale could have any women at the academy and you know better than to get swept away with the idea that maybe his feelings ran deeper for you than anyone else!

[nottobehornyonthemain]

I’m just going to throw my hat into the ring about Steve’s parents because I’m bored. But like, Let’s spice up the level of shitty parenting.

Give me a Mrs. Harrington who’s actually a professional. Steve has said that she’s “super well respected” and, for as much as the fandom likes to play him as a dumbass, you don’t put people whoes only achievement is being a jealous housewife on your résumé, especially when you have another parent with a notable (ostensibly white collar) career.

Give me a Mrs. Harrington who’s a news anchor, or a lawyer. Give me a Mrs. Harrington who worked her ass off to be taken seriously by men for the entire late 50’s and early 60’s. Give me a young, ambitious woman with hazel eyes at a mixer for the company she’s working for in Chicago one night, who caught the eye of the charismatic man with ridiculous fluffy brown hair.

Give me a Mr. Harrington who grew up with a veteran father who never really seemed to care. Give me a little boy waiting, every day, for his dad’s letters, waiting for his father Otis to get back from this horrible war. And then he does, and he’s a hero, and suddenly it’s like nothing his son does is worth his notice. When he’s 15 and gets into his first fight? Otis doesn’t even comment on his bruised face before he walks out the door in the morning. When he gets into college? His mother is the one to hand him the watch his parents allegedly both got him as a graduation present. When he gets a job! A good job, where he has his own office and his name on a plate on his desk, not so much as a card.

Give me a Mr. Harrington who promised himself that, if he ever had a son, he would notice. He would pay attention to his kid’s grades, and what they were doing in school. That he would be proud of whatever college his son got into. That if his kid was ever doing something stupid, drinking, fighting, smoking, he would care. And he would say something.

Give me a Mr. Harrington meeting a beautiful woman in Chicago one night, and somehow, convincing her to come back to Hawkins with him. Give me the big news engagement and the blowout wedding fit for two people with nowhere to go but up.

Give me the Harrington couple buying their house, and planning to wait a few years before they start having children. Give me them having their first child, a son.

Give me a Mrs. Harrington being offered the promotion she’s been working towards for years almost immediately after, and taking it.

Give me a Mr. Harrington who never really thought his wife would keep working when they had children, but being smart enough not to say anything about it. Give me them realizing that, between both of their jobs, plans change, and their son will be their only child.

Give me a Mrs. Harrington who “doesn’t trust” her husband not because he might be cheating on her, but because, for as much as he can charm and schmooze with just about anyone, he has never had anyone tell him that he lacks actual understanding of his business. Give me a Mrs. Harrington seeing a stack of papers her husband brought home last night where the math doesn’t quite add up. Give me the blowout fight over his shady new business partner and the costs they could save if they just… cut a few corners. Give me her struggling to be taken seriously and explain to him that the consequences could be actual jail time and a complete destruction of their lives. Give me him hating that she thinks she knows better than him about his own business.

Give me a Mr. Harrington who keeps his promise to care about what his son is doing. Give me his unnecessary lectures, and comments and micromanagement whenever his son walks in the door.

Give me a Mrs. Harrington who couldn’t care less what her son is doing as long as he’s alive. Give me her bitchy comments that have been her best defense in the professional world for so long rubbing off on her son.

Give me a Steve who’s let it shape him. Who got his brown eyes, and desire to be at the top of the social sphere as soon as possible from his mom. Who got his begrudging tendencies to care while still finding something to complain about from his dad.

Give me a Harrington couple who isn’t absent, exactly. Who have the occasional business trip, but are actually in town when most of this stuff goes down. Give me a house that’s almost always empty, not because no one lives there, but because Mrs. Harrington is out late again tonight because the boss needs to be sure everything is in perfect order for Monday. Because Mr. Harrington absolutely has to close this deal. Because Steve has practice for both swimming and basketball today.

Give me a Steve who craves the domestic because of this. Who doesn’t have big plans or ambitions. Who, at his center, just wants to be able to flop on the couch and watch movies with the people he cares about. Who wants family vacations, and kids, and a big house filled with noise. Give me a Steve who understands that that’s where his love of parties came from.

Give me a Mr. Harrington who watches as his son seems to completely throw away everything he worked so hard to give him. Give me the fights over the beer, and the weed, and the grades. Give me the bombshell that his son didn’t even manage to get into college, and the realization that he needs to learn to be responsible.

Give me a Mr. Harrington who comes home one night to Robin and Dustin eating cereal in his kitchen at midnight. Who doesn’t really know what to say, so he sets down his briefcase and eats a bowl of cereal while asking these children who they are and why they’re in his house. Give me a Mr. Harrington patting his son on the back the next morning and telling he how much he likes the nice girl who can speak every language, and the little boy who can recite the periodic table from memory. Give me a Mr. Harrington who knows he made the right decision when he made his son get a job of his own instead of just working for him.

Give me a Mrs. Harrington who, when Steve informs her in the middle of a conversation that he has a boyfriend, doesn’t look up from the mirror where she’s applying her eyeliner.

Give me a Steve who’s had enough of her not caring and asks her, “really? You don’t have anything to say?”

Give me a Mrs. Harrington icily meeting his eyes in the mirror and saying, “Steven. You’ve been putting egg in your hair once a week since you were twelve and a girl in your class told you it makes it shiny, and you’ve been stealing my hairspray even longer.” Then goes back to lining her eyes.

[lamialamia]

We have a problem: why am I watching this sex scene again?

Ah. Sex scenes. You wild wild beast. The crossroad of many discourses and analyses and opinions and essays and now, here I am, a mere casual ww2 rpf fan, throwing my own hat to the ring. In this blog post I'm going to talk once more about sex scenes -- two in particular -- and why the eff one of them matters, making the ww2 rpf more compelling and the other did not.

Disclaimer: Whether or not sex scenes are needed in media in general or the right way to implement them across the vast spectrum of art is not part of this discussion. Please keep in mind I'm trying to complain about the writing decision in the small scope of the HBO War shows.

I have discussed the problem with the Crosby/Sandra plot line in a previous analysis here. But I think the problem with it requires another (and maybe a third) write-up. Here, I want to talk about why the tiny sex scene between Crosby and Sandra in episode 7 is a waste of screen time.

So, we have the sex scene in MOTA episode 7. It is somewhat explicit and it was clear it is consensual and that the people who are fucking is very into it. In comparison to other sex scenes in HBO War fandom, it doesn't exactly stands out to me with just the imagery of the act (of course this is a personal opinion, whether or not I find a sex scene hot or bad or corny or lovely or [insert adjective here] is not universal).

However, my problem with this sex scene between Crosby and Sandra is that it doesn't matter to the story.

After getting it on with Sandra, and then after she left him, Crosby never talked about this affair in anyway. Not over the narration, expressing some kind of sentiment over it, not with Rosie or any other guy, so me, the audience, have no idea what he think about it or how he might be affected about it. We didn't know what Sandra think or feel about it either because her scenes are about her spy works and that's it.

You might say: well he doesn't have to tell us how he feel if the show can demonstrate to us the same thing.

Yet, MOTA never did that. Furthermore, the show never portray the sex between them matters to the characters beyond getting their rocks off. And then, the sex doesn't matter to the theme of the episode nor the overall theme of the show either. It's just something that happened.

(Sad to say that maybe this sub-plot distracts me from the rest of episode 7 and 8)

This might be consider 'realistic'. In real life, people can have sex just for the joy of it. Which is true, but in a drama mini-series, the choices to include or exclude details must take in consideration whether what is on screen is valuable to the story the show is trying to tell. Why are they including this sex scene instead of the hundred other real life details that don't make the cut? We don't have a training montage for the pilots, we never learn how Quinn and Bailey get back to base from Germany, we never have the D-Day invasion sequence,...

Let's have a comparison to another sex scene.

In The Pacific episode 3, Sidney Phillips met Gwen in Melbourne and started a romance with her that ended in them having sex before he got shipped back to Pavuvu. Personally for me, it wasn't an awesome sex scene either. Both Gwen and Sidney were awkward, they kissed and the entire thing ended with him kissing her bare shoulder.

But what truly matter happened latter. When Eugene arrived in Pavuvu and reunited with Sidney, he asked Sidney about what combat was like. And to answer this, Sidney mentioned him sleeping with Gwen not to brag about his sexual conquest but to make a comparison with the brutal battles he survived.

Despite the fact that the two of them grew up together, in just a small amount of times, Sidney have been through things and done things Eugene hadn't. All of that (both combat and his brief romance with Gwen) had changed Sidney to the point that Eugene could not longer connect with him. There was now a chasm between them. Eugene looked at his friend and tried to understand him but couldn't. There were things that must be experienced to be understood.

And then, Eugene himself went through life-changing events. The war changed him so much that when he returned to Mobile, he once again couldn't connect with Sidney

Or his brother (who was in the Army and was in the euro theatre) -- another person who had gone through the war himself.

Both Sidney and Eugene's older brother had returned home before him while Eugene had just came back, fresh off the board with his mental wounds, and it showed the chasm had formed between him and these two men who supposed to shared this brutal experience with Eugene.

In fact his brother specifically mentioned how Eugene is still a virgin, which highlight further how he was 'missing out' on that particular experience that both these men have.

And this all started when we were still following H company and witnessed Sidney and Gwen having sex. That small thing compounded over time. It snowballed into all these differences and distance that Sidney would have with Eugene, and then Eugene would be having against his own hometown, his brother, his family, and his best friend. It served to show how war had did its number on Eugene in many ways.

The sex scene between Sidney and Gwen mattered to the story, it served a narrative purpose eventually.

Crosby and Sandra's sex scene did not. And to include it meant there would be less screen time for any other story line, leaving not just the sub-plot of Crosby's arc weaker, but the other ones as well. Overall, this creative decision left MOTA a weaker show in term of its writing.

[dontmixpaintinyourcoffee]

Anyways drawing Spring Unsprung Briar gave me a wild amount of creative energy so here's my pitch for a Spring Unsprung Darling costume

Some details just for fun under the cut:

•Since Lizzie is the designer of the original SU outfits, that's also the case here. Lizzie is perceptive enough of Cerise and her style to very specifically fit her needs without even knowing what those needs are (heavy hood, long hair, big jacket, all very good for keeping covered, no?). The same would happen with Darling. Lizzie might pick up on her fascination with Wonderland, the jewelry fashioned like chainmail or bracers, and decide to incorporate it into her design. I don't know if Lizzie even realizes how perceptive she is, she just has an eye for what brings out someone's real personality.

•In terms of actual design, my main inspiration was chess! I let go of the literal shape pretty fast, but I really liked the idea of her looking like a fancy chess piece as a nod to her wonderland shenanigans. Cerise, Kitty, Lizzie, and Cedar all have black and white recurring patterns with 1-3 main colors, so I tried to mimic that here. I mostly just used the color scheme from my ref sheet I did a hot minute ago

•The hair flowers and colorful makeup were non-negotiable of course. I did want to make the flowers have some kind of relevance, but in the end I just gave up and made 'em generic yellow flowers. Any flower symbolism nerds who want to throw their hat in the ring be my guest!!

•I basically just tried to orient the whole thing around asymmetry and reflection, and I think that worked really well in this case, I think it really makes her pop

•She isn't wearing her typical Charming crest, but the symbol is spread out in a couple of pieces. Heart gem at the center of the neck like normal, and the wing is made into one of those ear cuff things

•The background was just kind of a whim, but there is a reason for it. I decided a while ago that the Charming family animal is a lion, so any heraldry or heirloom or anything like that is probably gonna have that winged heart and/or lion imagery on it. If Daring is the peak of the Charmings, then Daring is a lion. Similarly, Darling is a borzoi. It's just different enough to communicate that she's the black sheep of the family, but has enough similar traits to make it clear that she's not in opposition with them. Plus I think borzois are whimsical as hell with the right lighting and I thought it would look neat

•You can see it right in the corner of one of her eyes, I was playing with maybe giving her partial heterochromia? I think I'm gonna stick with just brown eyes but I'm keeping the concept tucked away in the back of my brain for another character

[numinous-scribe]

I’m seeing a lovely trend of recommending DPxDC fics going around so here I am throwing my hat into the ring lol

+++

Beauty lays behind the hills by Library_of_Chronos

Danny loses everything. He runs fast and he runs far, somehow ending up in a back alley known as Park Row, where a strange man with flowers in his hands changes his life.

While Danny does end up staying with Bruce and a much younger Dick, the story focuses more on giving Danny a good support system both within Wayne Manor and with the Justice League, as they all come together to help Danny fight against Vlad. Status: Incomplete

Law of Retribution by Michaelisunderatted

“The ghosts like you.”

Danny watched as Red Hood reeled. Now that he thought about it, that was probably a creepy thing to say. Danny hadn’t talked to living people in years though, so Jason really should cut him some slack. He was trying his best. It wasn’t his fault living people had such weird hang ups about things.

“Okay,” Jason said, taking a deep breath. “Okay kid, what the fuck.” ...

Jason starts seeing ghosts. Danny comes back to the Living Realm for the first time since the Incident.  He has a job offer for Red Hood

I have not caught up with this one myself, but so far I’m really enjoying the darker/more serious tone of the story. Jason sees ghosts, Danny fumbles the “how to human” ball, and Duke takes no shit. It’s great! Status: Incomplete

Sundials by AkelaNakamura

Damian Wayne is nearing sixteen and it's finally feeling like a future is something he might get to choose. He has a Soulmate, somewhere, who is no longer subject to Grandfather's judgement. He wonders though, how he's going to find him when he's unmarked. There's a thousand ways to find a Soulmate, he knows, but Damian has nothing physical to guide him.

Tucker Foley has always worried that Amity Park will be too much for his Soulmate, whoever they are. Soulmates are supposed to match each other, to walk with each other, but there's not many places that are as wild as Amity Park. The only mark he carries though, is the one that links him to Sam and Danny, so he's left to wonder how they might meet.

Damian turns sixteen and everything changes.

A really sweet Tucker/Damian soulmate au with wonderful lore and mechanics and just overall oozing with tender softness. 100% adore this one. Status: Complete

Bruised by DizzlyPuzzled

The Guys in White are preparing for war. The Justice League doesn't believe in Ghosts and wrote Amity Park off. And Danny just wants things to chill for a moment so he can enjoy his life. But now he is the only thing standing between complete reality collapse and peace.

Ghost King au + political drama + taking down the GIW and Vlad? Amazing, stunning, I’ve re-read this at least five times now. Status: Complete 

Ouroboros by Rhapsody_in_Pink

In the end, it was Jack and Maddie that caused Phantom. It was Phantom that caused the downfall of Jack and Maddie. It was Jack and Maddie that destroyed Danny Fenton. It was Danny Fenton who accepted Phantom. And so Ouroboros swallowed himself.

An alternate take on how Danny acquired his powers and interacts with the ghosts around him as well as well as dimensional travel. I genuinely don’t have the words to describe how much I love this one, it’s just so good! Status: Incomplete

Your City Loves You (And Your Home Was Always Here) by bongo_balderdash

After a meeting between the Reigning Monarch of the Infinite Realms and the Justice League, King Phantom asks Superman to stay behind for a moment. Superman is a little hesitant, but they’ve just agreed to a peace treaty between the lands of the living and the dead, and apparently someone on the king’s council has something they’ve been waiting to say.

Not just a message for Superman. A message for Clark Kent.

This one was so sweet and it made me cry. Status: Complete

A Vigilante A Day Keeps the Government Away by DeathlySilent13

Lucius Fox gets a phone call he'd never expected from a source even more unexpected. Now, he's got to figure out what to do with a betrayed child, a traumatized nephew, a protective son, and an adoption-prone Bat.

Very interesting choice in using Lucius as the main POV, and it provides a fresh look at the beginnings of coordinating a take down of the GIW. This is only the first part of the series, and while it is Complete, there is still more to come!

What’s a Spleen Between Friends? by Cielle_Noire

Tim gets Isekai'd a few times, which is really inconvenient. The guy (meta? ghost? half-ghost?) who keeps helping him is cute though, so it's okay. Well, it's not okay, but it could be worse. Probably.

OR

Five Times Tim Fell Through a Portal and One Time He Didn't

A very witty 5+1 Tim/Danny fic. Great lore, great plot, great jokes. 10/10. Status: Incomplete