#like they have their shots i just never bring them anywhere so once i submit them to the groomer/vet/apartment office i just.

[killbaned]

rufus when he knows what "nails done" in a sentence means and i keep talking about it and it keeps not happening

[jiminiesfavouritecolourisblue]

Our little love part 2 - mafia/yandere au Drabble {angst + fluff}

As always please let me know what you think, I am actually going to go to bed now my brain is angry with me for not sleeping.

It seemed the cycle was never ending, you fucking up and pissing them off, them punishing you by drowning you in their love, only letting you come up to breathe so you could swim in your own guilt and submit to them.

You wince as the victim to your latest fuck up gets another blow to his chest. Taehyung and Hobi held onto his arms as Jungkook and Jimin kick and punch the poor individual. You know not to speak, it’ll only make things worse. Temperament was a fickle thing in their lives, trust was everything, and you still had to build yours up again.

“Y/n help please,” Kai whimpers as you stood with your arms crossed looking away.

“Don’t fucking say her name,” Jungkook growled before punching your ex colleague in the face. You’re frowning, the need to beg them to stop was fighting for exit on the top of your tongue, but you bite it down and pray Kai doesn’t say another word. You know if you do as he asks they’d kill him. Your punishment was to watch silently.

Yoongi strolls up behind you, hands in his pockets before he rests his head on your shoulder, watching the display in front of you both.

“Nothing to say little love?” He whispers as your friend groans out in pain.

Please don’t kill him, you want to say, but you just shake your head in defeat. You want to believe they’re better than this, but the evidence of the contrary was never hidden from you. They showed you every side of them whether proud of it or not with bold eyes daring you to stop loving them, pushing your boundaries and morals waiting for you to snap. But the breaking point never came, you loved them, you shouldn’t and you knew it, but you did. You were completely and utterly theirs, yet still they treated you like you hadn’t seen the worst of them. Like you would run away the second you realised they were monsters, not that they would let you run far, only far enough to let you take a single breath before making you drown in them once again.

Yoongi wraps his arms around your waist, keeping an eye on your reactions. The asshole deserved it, not that they cared either way, he tried to take you away from them, that was enough.

Kai was your old partner before you took a very early retirement, what you didn’t know was that he continued the case you were working on before you left; the case of the seven men you now loved and the reason you quit said job. He had called you to meet up for old times sake and you, very naively in Yoongi’s mind, decided it was harmless. But if it was harmless why didn’t you say anything to the boys? You thought Kai didn’t know the reason you handed in your resignation, but he had been keeping an eye on you all before he realised you were the key to their downfall. He knew you harboured some feeling for him in the past and thought you’d reciprocate when he tried to flirt his way into getting his hands on the evidence you collected, he didnt know you burned it all. You lied to him and said you lost it, same difference anyway. This prompted plan b from him.

“Y/n they’re criminals,” he had said to you. “You’re a cop at heart you can’t love them.”

You floundered at his words when you realised he knew, and yet he still asked you to betray them.

“Kai I think I need to go...”

It was a mistake, you knew it then, but he followed you out onto the street and you hoped tonight the men you loved weren’t keeping an eye on you. Maybe naive was an understatement.

“Are they coercing you Y/n! Do they have something on you or are they threatening you?” He calls after you. “Because the Y/n I know would never love killers, what have they done to you?”

It was when he reached his hand out to grab your arm that your boyfriends decided to show themselves from the shadows. Which lead to the situation now, Kai beat up and bruised beyond recognition, and you forced to watch. He falls unconscious and they let him drop to the floor, you hate this side of them, it was cruel and cold but you’d never leave. They turn to face you now, their anger still present despite the last hour of releasing it onto your old partner. They don’t miss the way you’re shaking, the shallow breaths as you try and keep your tears to yourself. As much as you hate their violence, you hate their disappointment in you more.

——————————————————————————

You’re sitting in Joonie’s lap for what you call the debriefing of your punishment, this happened way too often in your opinion. You look down but he wasn’t having it today, tilting your head to look at him by your chin.

“Why did you get punished today little love?” He starts the same way as usual.

“I went out without telling you guys where I was going or who with,” you say while fiddling with your fingers out of nervous habit.

“And?” Hobi sits across from you in a chair, legs straddling the back and an elbow rested on top with his fist holding up his face. Hobi was hardest to pacify, he was ruthless and unforgiving and while that didn’t extend to you, you still had a hard time with his stubborn anger.

“I met up with Kai, and I let him touch me,” you’ve done this too many times before to not know how it worked. Kai’s ‘touch’ obviously meant nothing to you but for them it was the worst crime anyone could commit against their little love.

You remember the time you nearly tripped in the park and a guy steadied you politely, but you still had to hold Jungkook back from throwing hands.

“Kookie would you rather I fell and hurt myself?” No he hadn’t wanted that so he grumbled in agreement still seething but you cooled it down. “Instead of hitting him maybe you should thank him,” it was a joke but it made the youngest scoff.

“Baby girl why can’t you just be good?” Namjoon’s sigh brings you back to the present. “Why do you always have to test us like this?”

You didn’t mean to, you want to say it but the words are stuck below the sob in your throat. You actually whimper as his tone, bottom lip wobbling pathetically. He hadn’t even told you off properly, but you already felt like a mess as he bathed you in his disappointment. That was the common consequence of your actions and you hated it, you couldn’t do anything right.

——————————————————————————

“Jin do you need help with the food?” You ask your eldest boyfriend politely, he was frowning and you thought it was because today’s meal was too much for him to handle alone, his tone of voice made you realise it was because of you.

“No, I’m alright,” he doesn’t look at you as he speaks and you’re left gaping at him like a fish. Jin loved it when you cooked with him, it was your bonding time without the others, although Yoongi would join you from time to time. The others also tried but Jin wouldn’t let them anywhere near the kitchen, they hogged you enough anyway.

You feel your soul deflate, still standing there as he ignored you.

“Are you mad at me too?”

The way you said it made his heart twinge with guilt, but the others were right you wouldn’t learn and your first betrayal was still fresh on their minds. He sighs and you turn away, refusing to crying in front of them for the tenth time that day. What was wrong with you? Ever since that day where they found out who you really were you felt like you werent enough anymore, you tried so hard to make up for it all but you kept messing up. You weren’t like this before, but after seeing the hurt you put them through you were constantly on edge and second guessing yourself. You wish you could go back and stop them from ever finding out.

Jin hears the sniffle as you walk away and he can’t go through with it.

“Wait little love,” he calls for you. “I forgot to cut the onions, would you mind?”

You shake your head, you didn’t mind, but you didn’t trust your voice to answer for you. Youre grateful to Jin for giving you this task, it hides the fact you’re crying, but you know he doesn’t miss it.

——————————————————————————

Jimin and Taehyung were giving you narrowed stern gazes through dinner, it put you off your food which resulted in getting told off by Jin just after he branched out to you in the kitchen.

You felt alone, like the seven men you loved were against you and there was no one to blame but yourself.

“I’m sorry,” you say quietly before getting up and removing yourself from the dinner table and dining room, ignoring all of their stares. You decide maybe an early night is best, you could start again fresh tomorrow. You don’t get too far up the stairs before a hand pulls you back, you turn to see Jimin with Tae a few steps behind him.

You’re so used to seeing them laugh and play around that it feels like you’re looking at different people. Even during missions or gun fights, the youngest three were always joking their way through the bloodshed, keeping scores of who got the most headshots and other grotesque games. You remember the time Jimin and Tae called you during he middle of a shoot out, arguing with you and each other over who you loved more out of the two while you begged them to not get shot or killed.

“Why did you go see him Y/n?” Jimin asked, he wore the demeanour he used for enemies and it takes you back to that night.

“I... h-he said he wanted to see me to catch up,” you explain but you know it’ll fall on deaf ears.

“And you thought that was a good idea, to see your old cop buddy?” His tone makes you feel stupid, you weren’t stupid.

“He was my friend Jimin,” you say in disbelief, you know in the end it was a mistake but at the time it didn’t seem like the worst idea in the world.

“You’re ours,” Taehyung moved forward, towering over you even though he’s a step below you. His face is close to your own, eyes burning into yours as he looks disgusted at the words that left your mouth as if they’re still attached to you. “How do you think we felt when you went to see another detective? Do you have any idea what was going through our heads?”

“Tae I love you,” you lean away from him, searching his face for a hint of softness and love in his gaze, but there was only fire. “You know I wouldn’t, you all know I wouldn’t, I left that life for you why would I turn back to it?”

He stalks away from you without a word, Jimin close behind, giving you a final cold glance before leaving you alone. You thought your love could make them better but if anything you made their darkness worse.

——————————————————————————

Jungkook needed to vent, the only way he knew how was physically. Obviously it wasn’t the cleverest thing he’s done, taking rounds with the punching bag only to open up the cuts on his hand from beating the bastard earlier. He mutters a few curse words under his breath, why did you make matters worse? Maybe they were being harsh on you before today, finding any excuse to punish you a little, test your boundaries and see if you would run, but today they honestly feared that was what happened. They thought you chose to leave them and go back to the life you had before them, but they’d never let you go, they couldn’t let you go. Despite everything you loved them and they worshipped the ground you walked on. You were everything for them now, there’s be no point to any of them without you. Why didn’t you understand that?

He throws another punch to the bag, spreading his blood across them, it hurt like hell, but the thought of you running back to your old partner still played on all of their minds. He wanted to cry, he wanted to find you and beg you to never leave them, they’d be nothing without you.

There’s a knock on the door and he finds you on the other side, waiting for permission to come in. You never waited for permission, it makes him frown, maybe they were too harsh on you today. He could see you shuffling your weight, insecurity screaming through your eyes, you feared his rejection more than his anger.

He notices the first aid kit in your hand, you must’ve heard him. He doesn’t let the fluttering in his chest reach his face as he sits on the bench, waiting for you to come to him.

His gaze is expectant, daring you to cross the threshold and face him, you were no coward, you didn’t fear them the way others did, why were you behaving so meekly now? You force yourself to move and sit beside him, setting the kit down and pushing your hair back behind your ears. He doesn’t move his gaze away from you, even with the sweat and hair hanging in front of his face.

You carefully take a his hand into yours, sucking air between your teeth at how injured it was.

“I’m sorry you hurt yourself because of me,” you say, eyes on his bloodied knuckle as you press the ointment against the open wounds. “Are you sure you want me to stay, I keep hurting you...”

You try to sound like you’re joking, that you’re okay and the hurt isn’t weighing you down with your doubts. He frowns, they really did take it too far. He sets down the cotton wool from your grasp, taking both of hands into his before kissing each finger delicately without letting you look away.

“You’re perfect little love,” Jungkook says, reassuring you with no question in his voice. “We’re the ones who don’t deserve you, we’re mean and cruel but we’re never letting you go.”

You remember how loving they were before that night, maybe while they accepted the truth at face value they could never really forgive you in their hearts. Maybe that’s why they were being like this, they didn’t love you the same way anymore.

“Do you love me?” You had to know, the doubt was eating you alive.

He looks at you as if you’re insane, maybe you are, you don’t know anymore.

“Little love, don’t you see how much we love you?” He asks sincerely. “We would do anything for that love even if it made you hate us, you belong with us, and no one is going to take you away.”

You could see the crazed look in his face grow as he spoke, you believed him, the honestly worn like a heart on a sleeve. But his answer bought a wave clarity to your hazed vision, you made them like this, you made them worse, you had to leave.

[valwentinefics]

Instincts - Helmut Zemo x F!Reader (omegaverse) 18+

Plot: Y/n, an unmated omega, forgets to get a refill of her suppressants, sending her into her heat while at work. Luckily for her notorious criminal and alpha Helmut Zemo is hiding out in the backroom. (Takes place after episode 4 of tfatws)

A/n: First of all I’m sorry, second of all I’m sorry, third of all, You’re welcome. This is my first time writing omegaverse so it’s probably not the best and I haven’t read an omegaverse fic in a hot minute. Sorry my smut is always so short, I really gotta work on that.

Warnings: smut, normal a/b/o things, possessive dirty talk, mentions of omegas being harmed, mentions of fear of being assaulted. (if i missed anything please let me know)

As an unmated omega, Y/n knew well of the dangers of the world. Everywhere she looked alphas lurked around looking for their own omega, a rare thing to have in this society. Although omegas were coveted and prized they were still at the bottom of the hierarchy and were expected to be subservient to whatever alpha marked them, a thought that terrified Y/n. Stories of alphas that harmed omegas were sickeningly common, and with everyone plastering on fake kindness in hopes to place their mark on her neck, Y/n was terrified she would end up a statistic.

Suppressants were Y/n’s saving grace, an illegal method to mask her true nature from the world and pose as a beta where she could live her life peacefully, something she could never do as an omega. If she were to get caught she could face serious time in a correctional facility built just for omegas to learn their place in the world, and so every day was filled with caution and fear.

“God I look like shit.” Y/n’s heavy eyes looked at her reflection in the bathroom mirror, the bags under her eyes deep and only looking worse due to the harsh fluorescent light buzzing away above her. The illegal suppressants had many side effects ranging from life threatening to mildly troublesome, but the one that affected Y/n most was the inability to fall asleep. Each night was spent tossing and turning, her body feeling restless. 

Sluggishly Y/n grabbed her concealer, dabbing it on beneath her eyes, her hands shaking with exhaustion. She finished with a sigh, running her hands through her hair to remove any major knots. She didn’t have the energy to fully go through her hair, not seeing the point. She was hidden as a beta anyways, no one would give her a second glance. Y/n opened the medicine cabinet, looking for the white box of suppressants, only to not find it anywhere. Her stomach sank as she realized she forgot to get her refill yesterday. It would be fine though, she hoped. She had gone without them before and hadn’t gone in heat, surely it would be the same thing this time, but for some reason there was a nagging feeling in her mind it wouldn’t be.

Y/n grabbed her perfume, spraying it on herself. The scent was cinnamon, similar to her natural scent as an omega, but it had the slight acrid scent of being a perfume. She hoped that would be enough to convince the alphas she passed by that she was just a beta wearing perfume. It wasn’t something she used often, only when her overtired brain didn’t remember to get the refill of her suppressants. 

“That's good enough, I hope.” Y/n mumbled to herself. She smoothed out her short sundress, the light flowy fabric ending at her mid thigh. It was her favourite dress, she felt and knew she looked cute in it. Y/n didn’t like to wear things like this often, she didn’t want the attention of anyone, but frankly she felt like shit and needed the joy looking nice brought her.

The walk to the flower shop had Y/n’s body feeling hot, however she assumed it was the warm weather, not wanting her paranoia to make her miss work. The flower shop she owned was Y/n’s only source of income and it wasn’t a bad one at that. It was common for alpha’s to come in and buy bouquets to give to the first omega they see on the streets in an attempt to woo them. That was another reason Y/n refused to accept her status as an omega. Every bit of romance was just disingenuous. Alpha’s only wanted to have the honour of being chosen by an omega, they didn’t care about who that omega was. However, Y/n was happy it paid her bills.

-

The day went by smoothly until closing time when Y/n turned off the open sign, the neon light no longer lighting up the darkening street outside. As she grabbed her keys to leave a sharp pain went through her abdomen, causing a gasp to escape her throat. She rested a hand on the painful area, eyes wide. She should have listened to her instincts, she should have stayed home, but she didn’t and now she was going into heat in her store. Y/n paced, her mind running at a hundred miles an hour as she tried to figure out what to do. She couldn’t go home, walking would be near impossible for her with her heat approaching fast. She would have to wait it through in her shop with no relief. 

“Oh fuck…” Y/n groaned in pain, leaning against the wall. She knew she had to find something to eat to get the strength to get through this. With shaky steps she headed to the back, her hand glued to her abdomen as if that would alleviate her pain. As she approached the door to the back room her blood went cold, her nose picking up the faint scent of an alpha through the thick door. 

She debated opening it. Her instincts were telling her to open it and get his help with the heat, her brain told her it could be dangerous. Eventually decided to confront him, to ask what he was doing and maybe for his help getting home if he didn’t seem too awful. With her keys clutched between her fingers just in case, she slowly opened the door, her body almost melting at the scent that wafted to her.

A man dressed in a long coat with a fur collar stared back at her with shock, the scent of pine trees wafting off of him. “Omega…?” He spoke with a Sokovian accented voice. It took Y/n a few moments before the identity of the dangerously handsome man registered in her mind. She had seen him on the news. He was Helmut Zemo, the man who almost single handedly destroyed the Avengers.

Y/n shook her head, forcing herself to concentrate. “You’re Helmut Zemo… What- what are you doing here?” She asked, fixing her posture to appear assertive and trying her best to resist the urge to submit right there. A mixture of fear and arousal was filling her body to the point where she thought she might explode.

“So you’ve heard about me?” He tilted his head slightly. “I needed a place to hide for a bit, I’ve been scoping this place out. You’re the owner, Y/n, correct?” Y/n gulped but nodded, worried about why he was hiding out. “That doesn’t matter right now. Why are you here? It’s not safe for an omega in heat to be out in public.” He scolded as if Y/n didn’t know that. It was odd, having the notorious criminal seem to care about her safety. She wondered what he was trying to achieve, if anything.

“It wasn’t my choice okay?” She snapped, a wave of pain washed over her and she slumped against the door frame with a groan. Zemo got up, moving to her quickly but stopping once Y/n had flinched, worried he was going to try something.

“You need to get home, where’s your car? I'll escort you there.” He said, his voice was strained and Y/n’s eyes couldn’t help but land on the growing bulge in his pants. He was going into a rut which explained his current caring and protective nature. Her mouth watered at the thought of having his cock in her mouth but she tore her eyes away, looking to the side to avoid him. 

“I don’t have a car… too expensive.” She groaned out, her breaths growing to pants as she started to overheat, fanning herself with her hand.

Zemo let out a staggered exhale, running his hand through his formerly perfectly done hair. “What’s your address? I’ll bring you there myself.” Y/n was impressed at the amount of self control this alpha had. Even as his rut was beginning he managed to stay calm and collected for the most part, but Y/n knew it was hard for him, sweat ran down his forehead as he strained to keep control.

Reluctantly Y/n told him her address knowing he was her best bet at getting home safely. A whimper escaped her throat as she felt her slick begin to drip down her thigh. She clenched her legs together, desire seeping into every part of her. She wanted the alpha’s knot more than anything she had ever wanted before. She could hardly focus on what Zemo was doing, not noticing he had draped his coat over her and picked her up until they were already out the door.

Zemo didn’t breathe as often as he needed while he walked, trying not to inhale Y/n’s scent as he moved at a quick pace, shooting piercing glares at every passerby that dared look their way. He felt protective over the little omega. His cock strained uncomfortably against his pants as his mind filled with thoughts of mating with her, but he pushed them back, not wanting to take advantage of her. Arriving at the apartment building he used her keys to unlock the door to the humble apartment, locating her room and placing her down on her bed. Y/n took off his coat and offered it back.

“You can keep the jacket for now, I’ll come back for it once you’re done with your heat.” He said, quickly turning around. Y/n’s hand shot out, grabbing his gloved hand.

“Please alpha, don't leave, help me.” She whimpered. Y/n didn’t know where that had come from, but she didn’t regret it, knowing it wasn’t just her heat talking. He was powerful, respectful, not to mention handsome. Everything a good mate should be, even though Y/n knew mating with a dangerous man like him was out of the question. Y/n found herself liking the man despite knowing what he had done and not knowing him long. She knew he would treat her well during her heat, if he accepted.

“Are you sure omega?” He asked, not facing her in fear that he would pounce on her as soon as he saw the desire in her eyes. 

“Yes alpha, please…” Y/n whimpered again, giving his hand a small tug. “I need you”

That was all he needed to lose control. Zemo turned around to face her, stalking to the bed as he removed his shirt, straddling Y/n’s warm needy body. Her smaller hands reached out, undoing his belt and palming Zemo’s cock through his pants. Y/n couldn’t help the filthy thoughts that flooded her mind, desire for the dangerous man’s knot consuming her.

Zemo let out a groan, taking off his pants and boxers, letting his painfully hard cock free. Y/n’s eyes were clouded with lust as she leaned forward, mouth open and ready to suck it. He tapped the side of her cheek with his cock, running his hand through her hair and gripping it.

 “No liebling, this is about you. I can wait for another time.” He let go of her hair and Y/n laid down, watching the alpha as he took off her panties and put her legs over his shoulders, running his cock slowly up and down her folds and coating itself in her slick, the tip teasing her as it came so close to going in. Y/n let out a little whine, letting him know she was growing impatient. “I apologize omega, it’s rude of me to tease.” He smirked before shoving himself all the way in easily.

Y/n’s toes curled as she let out a loud gasping moan, throwing her head back in pleasure as he began to thrust in and out of her, the position they were in allowing him to reach every part of her with ease. His hands ran up and down her waist as he let out a deep moan. Y/n’s eyes were locked on him as he fucked her deeply, causing her to let out a whimper of pleasure with every thrust.

“Look at you little omega, taking my cock so well.” He reached over to cup her cheek in his hand, rubbing circles into the soft flesh with his thumb. “Does it feel good?” His hand dropped from her cheek and began to rub her clit with just enough roughness to send her over the edge, a loud moan escaping her as she came.

“Yes, fuck! harder, please!” She said between moans, her hands tangling themselves in Zemo’s hair and gripping it as she panted.

Zemo moaned as he re-adjusted her legs on his shoulders, picking up the pace. “This pussy of yours, it’s mine now. I’ll fuck you through this heat and every heat you have next.” He growled, hitting Y/n’s sweet spot, making her cry out in ecstasy. 

Y/n felt warm inside at his words. Her pussy clenched around his cock as the stimulation from him rubbing her clit and pounding into her sent her over the edge again, panting as she came hard. He was good at making her feel good, and for once Y/n was glad she was an omega.

“Fuck, you feel so good clenched around me. Do you want my knot in you, little omega? Do you want me to fill you up with my cum?” He asked cockily, receiving a desperate whine from Y/n.

“Please, please, please!” She begged, the only thoughts filling her mind were those of need for his knot buried deep into her. 

“How can I refuse... when you’re asking so nicely, liebling.” He spoke between grunts. His thrusts slowly became more sloppy and deep and Y/n knew he was about to cum.

With one last deep thrust Zemo buried his cock all the way into Y/n’s pussy, his knot trapping the two together as he emptied his cum into Y/n. She felt so full in a good way, her breaths heavy with exhaustion as she internally frowned at the thought of Zemo pulling out of her. His knot alleviated the worst of her heat and as she laid there sore and sweaty, her now clearer mind had no regrets about what had happened. 

Zemo pulled out after a while, his knot going away. A smile danced on his lips as he saw the cum dripping out of her as he pulled out his cock. Y/n’s eyes fluttered closed as she moved to a more comfortable position on the bed. Zemo grabbed his jacket from the floor, dusting it off and draping it over the omega’s tired form. Hesitantly he hovered over her before pressing a soft kiss on the top of her head, deeply inhaling her scent. 

Not wanting to intrude any more, he got dressed and walked over to the couch, exhaustion filling his body as he slumped down onto it, closing his eyes with a smile. He could tell he would need all the rest he could get while he rode out the omega’s heat with her. He was so happy he decided to hide out at that flower shop.

-

Tags: @peculiar-monstar​ @lovelyzabrak-meadow​ @captainsherlockwinchester110283​

[jean-does-not-have-a-horseface]

Would you do a Jean x Reader x Reiner one? The reader felt so betrayed by Reiner being a titan shifter and when he left she felt so confused whether she can loves him or not after finding out the truth. Jean comfort her and they eventually fall in love. Or you can do a modern au one where Reiner cheated on the reader and Jean begin to see his chance with the reader then they both had a relationship. But she still can't forget Reiner. I truly love your writing! Have a good day ! ♥

i was wondering if you could do a modern au jean x reader. where the reader is very stressed for a test of some kind, and jean and the reader end up skipping the test and spend the whole day together instead, where towards the end of the day jean confesses his feelings for the reader. a lot of fluff please if you could i am obsessed sorry by @cj-sparkss

A/N: So i decided to merge those two requests because they fit really good together in my head! I hope ou guys like this! I strongly recommend listening to any song in Halsey's album, Manic while reading.

Pairing: Jean/ Reader, some past Reiner/ reader if you squint

Tags: college!au, art school au, fluff all the way

Warnings: Jean being way too cute for his own sake, seriously

Sketches Of You

Your head was burning.

Your eyes were stinging; tiny little little blood vessels were popping here and there, throbbing profoundly as they merged together, rushing their way to your irises. You didn't know for how long you had been awake, mostly because a few days had passed and you didn't remember falling asleep or waking up on your once comfortable desk chair.

Before you laid numerous books open in different pages, most of the writting they held emphasized by your favorite pastel highlighter. What felt like your lamp buzzed, burning a canary yellow light over the mahogany material of your desk, warming up the spot where your hand used to lay. A pen in your hand was all you could bring yourself to hold with your numb, frozen fingers, the plastic edges of its tube sunk into your skin, carving bumps to mark their spot in your hand.

Wait, oh no, you thought as you looked around this wasn't your dorm, this was the university's library.

The library around you was extremely quiet as you laid face down on one book, your mouth slightly part and your lips dry save for the little ribbon of drool that moistened a line down your right cheek. Only for one more minute, you told yourself, deciding to shut your eyes together just to allow them sometime to rest, ignoring how such request was what had caused you to drift off to such extend in the first place. Stinging tears escaped the corners of your eyelids, signifying how tired and dry your irises had grown to be. Letting out a huge sigh you tried to lift your head, at least this could be an attempt to get your life together for the day.

Your scattered books came to close quietly under your palms, the numerous pieces of papers and notes being tucked messily in between pages, your own fatigue causing you to break your own rules when it came to being as neat as you could with your notes. Another sigh left you as you sank into the back the plastic chair, your books firmly standing on top of eachother and into your palms.

This test was going to end you. You knew it. Despite having tried to memorise all the information that was required for you to even try to get a five -seriously, a five would be absolutely godsent if you could at least get that grade- all you were left with was your brain feeling mushy and muddy without any actual knowledge of the subject you had been studying for. Why on earth was gothic architecture an essential class in your first year in art school was beyond you. Was this university never supposed to let you graduate on top of trying to prevent you getting in for numerous years?

Resisting the urge to scream or pull your hair off your head you decided that it was time to get up, your knees straightening slightly at the your brain's command, only to be sent back into the blue plastic of your chair, your whole body growling in fatigue. Your chest heavied as you let out a whine, bringing your hands to your eyes to scrub away the stinging ache you were feeling.

"You good?"

Your head turned to the direction of the voice maniacally, your eyes shooting wide as you practically ripped your hands off of your face. Looking up, your (e/c) orbs met with hazel ones, little specs of yellow and green stared back at you through thick eyelashes, adorned with a complex of worry plastered on dark chestnut eyebrows.

"Yeah Jean, I'm just studying."

"Oh it's Mr Ackerman's test right?"

"Hm" you hummed in response, another whine coming out of your lips.

"Yeah I remember how that class went for me. He's pretty nice if you get to know him though. I have to submit a few sketches for tomorrow, can I sit with you or were you leaving?"

"No, I'll keep you company, I need a break from whatever.." your eyes wandered at the books in your hands and the numerous note sheets peaking out from anywhere you could lay your gaze on "..this is."

Extending a hand Jean reached out for the head of the chair right next to you, pulling it back in order to let himself sink into the dark blue plastic seat, similarly to you. His lips pushed into a thin line as he looked at you, his cheek puffing up in the action. A hand came to your shoulder comfortingly as another one pulled out his sketchbook from his run down and way too littered with dry paint tote bag.

"Are those for Moblit's workshop?"

"Mhm." Jean confirmed. "You got any 0.8 tipped inks?"

"Yeah, I do."

Setting the leather covered sketchbook on the mahogany table Jean turned his head to you again, pointing his eyes onto the black pencil case in front of you. In response you shrugged your shoulders, your palms shooting up to your eyes once again. Jean's hand grabbed on your case, his long fingers digging through the numerous inking pens and markers that overlapped each other.

"I can't believe you have the Sakura Pens when you know I don't like them." Jean whined, hands roaming through your belongings still.

"Jean," you said, a deep chuckle escaping you in the process "I happen to like them, you know."

"They're yikes."

"You just can't use them correctly."

"How do you use an inking pen correctly. Enlighten me." Jean mocked, his fingers throwing signs in the air to accentuate his words.

Resting his head on his fist Jean opened his sketchbook, swiping through numerous ivory cold pressed pages, filled with inked sketches. Your eye twitched as you tried to keep up with many of the drawings you could spot; you had seen the contents of this sketchbook a thousand times, admiring Jean's skill with ink. His professor, Mister Moblit had one of the most interesting workshops for students who specialised in inks, and you aspired to take his classes in your following year in art school, supposing you could pass your classes this very semester.

"What are you supposed to be drawing?"

"Anything, mostly things that make us feel like they are important to draw." Jean said.

"Oh and library is important?"

"Sasha said you'll be here, so yup. And I want to draw my hands actually "

You clicked your tongue, shaking your head in borderline disbelief. Honestly, if you weren't that bummed about your test and your recent break up you could have laughed at Jean's sly arrogance. Your eyes traveled to Jean, examining his quiet form as he studied his palms. Inevitably your eyes studied them as well.

His fingers were long and tan and harsh to look at, scrapped in most places with tints of Indian ink. They stuggled to manage with your pencil case, his pinkies and thumbs couldn't even begin to fit in the little object and it made you wonder how he even managed to work his inking pens correctly with such enormous hands. Some veins popped from here and there, accentuating his bulky joints perfectly; they run from the back of his palms to his wrist, mingling with more of their blue kind in his calfs and biceps. The occasional blotches of dried paint were decorating them. Even some paint covered hairs spiked as the light contracted his form.

You smiled miscellaneously.

Your own finger traveled without remorse towards them, poking at a few hairs that were littered with paint. By pinching one, Jean shot back in half pain, his brows furrowing in confusion as he stared at you. "Hey, what they fuck!"

"You do that to me all the time when i have paint in my hands!" You half laughed, shooting him a mocking furrowed look as well.

“You’re so cruel!” Jean grinned.

“To pay you back with your own penny right?”

Jean cocked his eyebrow at you, a few lines begging to make an appearance on his forehead. He shook his head a couple of times, throwing a few shaggy strands of hair away from his face, his forehead immediately lighting up as his ashy blond locks overlapped just above his ears. You mimicked him, using a hand to move your feathery bangs away from your face as to not have them intertwining with your vision.

Jean brought a digit to his mouth, biting at the bulky knuckle while wrapping his lips around it to suck at the sore spot, dramatically mourning the loss of one single hair. It made you laugh harder than it should have and you told him off, quickly grabbing his hand by the wrist to pull it further away from his mouth.

"Ew you idiot are your hands even washed!? Don't put them in your mouth!"

Jean's smile faded gradually as he nodded its only reminder remaining in his eyes as they softened with each passing second they looked at you. You bobbed your head to the side, taking in the way he was looking at you and you felt your gut grunting in the anxiety you had managed to drown at one time.

You definitely knew that look.

"So how are you after... The whole Reiner thing?"

When Jean let the sentence out, he instantly regretted it. Biting back the inside of his lip, his teeth dug into his soft, fleshy gum, the tiny specks of spiky under lip hair he had poking through his chin. You could see the regret plastered on his face, yet you ignored it with a sigh, pushing your stern further back into the chair again.

Of course Jean would ask about that. Reiner and you had broken up a little less that a month ago and it was stressful enough to send your anxiety over the roof. Coming home to find him drapped in the sheets with someone else was still burning through your brain like a hot iron, marking the fleshy crevices by piercing your skull.

Jean and you hadn't had a chance to talk about your break up yet; in the midst of it being a spontaneous reaction to Reiner's anathema and your upcoming mid-terms, you had chosen to indulge yourself fully with the everlasting pleasure of delving into studying.

And now, as you tried to utter your awaited words your stomach clenched at the foreshaken memory that you had tried to bury in the depths of your soul, your hands sweating just a tiny bit as you gulped down on some saliva to dumpen your dry throat. Jean's hazel orbs were set on you with curiosity and reluctance, his skin tingling inside his crewneck sweater.

"I mean, Eren told us about it and then we fought on who would punch Reiner first you know."

You oggled at him as he spoke awkwardly, your lashes batting rapidly as a wave of confusion washed through you.

"You don't have to hit Reiner you know, we all make our choices and he made his."

"Ah," Jean sighed heavily "I suppose so. I'm here for you though, you can talk to me."

"You're actually doing an assignment at the moment" you said and pointed your finger onto his sharp nose, giving him a playful push to the side. "No need to talk about my sorry love life."

"Your love life isn't pitiful, don't talk about it like that!"

"It's not pitiful, just sad." You sighed, reaching out to your pencil case. "Just sad."

Your fingers run through the case even though your eyes weren't fixated on the action, your sense of touch working its way to let you know which object you were seeking. The tips of your fingers caught on the thick Posca marker quickly and you locked it in a grasp between your pointer and middle finger, bringing it up through the zip up opening.

"Give me your hand." You ordered at Jean as you clapped your fingers to your palm in a 'come here' motion.

"It could always get better you know." Jean spoke and threw his hand to you.

Slowly the cap was off the market with a snap and you slid it up towards it's butt to pop it on there as to not lose it in any case it feel off of the desk and onto the mosaic floor.

Jean's nose lit up in a faint scarlet and his ears followed right next, lighting up in a deeper shade of the color on his nose which made his hand snap away from you in a matter of seconds. With puckered lips he stared at the corner of the room that was in the opposite direction of yours, his gut drenching him in short tempered anxiety.

"You done painting my nails with the posca pen?" Jean remarked, lips still puckered as he turned to face you. "When's your exam?"

"Three o'clock."

"Wanna ditch?"

Your eyes goggled in his for a second. The luminous morning light that peaked through the library binds fell onto him dearly, caressing a few of his features in a lemony colored mellow way, your gaze traveled into anywhere on his face as you tried to examine his expression while your gut was beginning to churn at the sly thought of agreeing with his query.

Weighting your options wasn't a seriously hard thing to do; if you took the test you were most likely going to fail, but if you didn't take it you'd have to live with the guilt of not even putting the minimal effort in it for a few weeks. But, you had tried so hard to pass all of your other classes so why shouldn't you slack off for one that was bound to end in a fiasco?

You found yourself nodding to Jean before you could actually give more thought to it. His face immediately lit up, ashy blond locks flying over his eyes as he shook his head in excitement. With one move his sketchbook was closed again, left to mourn over the non existent scribbles Jean could have made during all this time he was sitting next to you.

The hard cover protected sketching pages were thrown into to his tote bag once again, the sound of the sketchbook colliding and clashing with a few more objects he had in the bag filling the silent air of the library.

"Put your books in here!" He offered, opening the sides of the tote bag right on front of your face, signaling you to do as he suggested.

By taking a long sigh you took a turn in throwing your books and pencil case in the bag, one object following another on the pursuit of finding their own place in Jean's crammed bag. A shy smile adorned your features as you looked at him, the mischievous little devil on your shoulder smiling proudly at your actions as if you were a high schooler skipping school.

_____

Black Cat was a notorious cafe among art university students for numerous reasons. For example, it featured a decent amount of of beautiful contemporary art that was meticulously merged with the soft, cobblestone-cottagecore-home-during-the-winter aesthetic and all of their tables, stools and booths were artist-friendly to the max. Additionally it played Nirvana and Metallica for most of the day and on top of that they actually had a chunky and extremely cuddly black cat roaming around the store that you often found on your lap during your time there.

Oh, and the batwoman made amazing custom cocktails.

Really was there anything else anyone needed in a store?

The soft tangerine light flickered open as the sun outside started to hide it's shy low lights under the peak of a mountain you couldn't recall the name of, the soft smell of apple pie filling your nostrils as you sipped lightly from your earl gray tea occasionally, stealing a few glances of Jean's focused expression. A knowingly half smile went up to your face as you looked at the scenery outside before fixing your eyes back onto the bright screen of your phone.

Jean cooed in his leathery chair for the upteenth time today, his gaze fixated on the sketchbook on his hands. You had spend last hour in absolute silence; you had decided to roam around in your phone for references for an assigned collage you had to do in Photoshop as Jean had settled on drawing the horizon from outside the window to practice on his perspective while finishing up the sketches he had to submit.

Your day had passed by pretty fast; you had visited an urban side of the town that was flooded with art supply stores and you had delved into every single one roaming around to find any kind of supplies you were short on, or just generally needed. As Jean correctly had said, you are always short on art supplies.

Thus, you had ended up with a bag filled with complementary acrylic colors in tubes of 20ml mostly because they costed a dollar each, and also because as art students you got to receive twenty percent off of all your supply bills. Jean had only bought a new set of watercolors and a few Edding inks and 0.7 tipped poscas, as he was sure he would ruin your expensive Sakura Liners in his attempts to finish his project.

Then you had decided to cram your place for some much needed lunch before heading off to Black Cat to have some tea and coffee while Jean would finish off his last few of the sketches he had been drawing throughout the day.

"So" Jean awkwardly spoke as in to break the deep silence, his thumb pressing over the edge of the page his drawing was placed as he closed the sketchbook carefully "I wanted to ask, because ahem, I'm your friend and I'm worried about you... Do you want to vent about Reiner?"

"Ah, no" you shook your head and fixed your gaze onto the auburn colored liquor in your cup as you reluctantly lift it up to bring it to your lips before speaking "I mean, I got so sad you know. And I haven't gotten over it, of course, I mean I liked Reiner. A lot."

"I came see it in your eyes. But I'm here for-"

"And he's a bitch you know? He could have told me if he was bothered by anything I did or if it wasn't going well for him. I'd gladly work anything out or even break up peacefully."

"You know," Jean sighed, he too bringing his cup of coffee to his lips to take a sip before gulping it down. "My opinion is obviously biased here, but I support you. I've took a psychology class and we were actually delving into as to why some people cheat, there are many reasons as to why it could have happened."

Your heart slightly aches as you looked at him, a few veins in your hand twitching slightly as he continued rambling about all things he had grasped from his class. Your stomach growled angrily in anxiety, warning you to put an halt to your friend's words but you couldn't bring yourself to do so.

Not knowing the reason as to why Reiner had chosen to see someone else behind your back had hurt you beyond repair. Deep inside you still felt the need to get some closure, although with your stress on your exams you had been sure you would most likely give in to anything Reiner would say and this wasn't who you were.

You could go on without having any closure, it shouldn't have mattered so much to you in any way.

And to some extent it didn't.

"I'm hurt, but I'm the other hand I don't really care about anything you know?"

"Mhm, yeah, look at you getting over it so quickly!" Jean said semi enthusiastically. "You need to be able to share your pain in order for it to become small and eventually non-existent."

"You know, for someone who takes such sophisticated classes you talk like you haven't slept in ages!"

"Give me a break, as if you don't."

The two of you burst into bubbling laughter, your chests heaving and falling as the sounds of joy left you one by one. Jean's hand had come to rest on top of yours softly, giving you a couple of squeezes as his eyes squinted in synch with yours.

And then, in a moment that seemed like it was forced out of a coffee shop au fanfiction, Jean's hand rubbed a few soothing circles over yours. Slowly his laughter was begging to set into a silent harmony, the woody brown specs of his eyes providing the slightest tint of warmth into his gaze.

"This is why I love you so much."

The choice of words was supposed to be naive whether it was intentional or not, or that's what you tried to tell yourself because you thought you knew Jean better than anyone. The look in his eyes, the soft upwards curves of his eyebrows, the way his top lip overlapped go bottom one as his eyes glimmered into yours; this wasn't a very casual look for Jean, it was the look he had on when he was looking at something that mesmerised him. And you knew he meant exactly what he had said.

But did you like Jean?

Well, was there anyone who could spend so much time with Jean and not fall for him, even without realising it?

At one time it had become obvious that he liked you, although he'd never act upon it. You knew it in his movements, in the little ways he looked at you or cared for you like no one else actually did while hiding behind the mask of being a friend. Eren had been one to tease him for it restlessly and you had been able to catch upon that too but you had never let it be known that you had been able to see through his facade.

"Forget it I shouldn't even have had-"

With curious eyes you stared back, your gaze never truly leaving him. When he suddenly shook his hand off of yours you found your other hand pressing on top of his, trapping the limb in place as you tried to open your mouth to utter any word. It was still hard to find the right choice of words, ones that wouldn't hurt to be heard.

"Jean... I-"

"No, forget it, it just slipped, shit."

"Look Jean shut up for a second please I want to speak okay?" You huffed half playfully, despairate to stop Jean's mumbling "I know."

"You know?" Jean cursed under his breath.

"Yeah, I do, it's obvious. And I've had this huge crush on you ever since fifth grade you know? I never really got over you because I spent all of my teen years thinking we'd end up together."

You watched as Jean's face lit up at your words, a new glimmer adorning his eyes just as the sky turned a sheer violet as the sun retreated deeper into a non visible horizon.

"And then we kissed in eighth grade and we fought about it and we stopped hanging out because I asked for space since I just could believe what was happening. But we're friends again and it's the best thing to happen to me in years."

You continued, your hand never leaving his while soothing circles were rubbed onto his palm.

"But I'm not going to ask you for space this time."

"You're not?"

"No. Just a little patience. I'm still getting over Reiner and I don't want to be unfair to you and rip you off of something that you might ask from me."

Jean snapped his hand away from yours and you retreated your hands back to yourself shyly, a bitter mouth leaking into your mouth as you tried to swallow it down fast to no avail. Somehow your heart felt a strong stinging, the pulling of your heartstrings at steak while your heart was sprawled before you.

Was that your last chance with Jean? You had told yourself that time and space between you would be right one day, but that day seemed to stray further away now, slipping right off your hands because you couldn't forget Reiner fast enough.

"I'm not fourteen anymore, so don't be afraid about me straying away. I just wanted to show you something."

Jean's worked through the pages of his sketchbook, taking a few seconds before they landed where they wanted to. Flipping the sketchbook to match your point of view, he revealed the sketches he had been scribbling all day. They depicted you in majority. The look on your face as you picked a tube of paint, your hands as they grabbed through numerous brushes and sketchbooks. Even the way you stared at your phone as you sat across him was perfectly sketched on the paper and hatched in indian ink, adorned by Jean's raw drawing style.

"Jean, that's me!"

"Mister Moblit told us to draw things that were personally important to us. So, I hope you don't mind."

Damn, you felt like tearing up.

In the midst of trying to get your stupid heart to calm down from the impossible rhythm in which it was beating at and stating at Jean's sketches so hard that your eyes felt like they'd pop out and any given moment your would felt like setting fire to your whole being while your tears were restlessly trying to put it out. It was even outdated to feel like that about Jean, your younger self told you but there was no way you could help it.

With rivers of tears running from the corners of your eyes you looked up at the hazel orbs that were set on you, feeling your heart want up by their luminous gaze.

"Jean I-"

"Shush, you don't have to say anything. Just let me know if I can hug you."

"I'd love that." You said shyly under your breath.

Next thing you knew Jean had gotten up from his seat and had plopped himself right next to you, pushing your head deep in his chest. The song in the background faded gradually as you felt serenity wash through you, despite your heart hammering in your chest beyond a point you could actually feel it.

And for now all that mattered was that you could listen to Jean's heart beat nearly as fast as yours while his words played inside your head.

Maybe, just maybe time and space between the two of you was right this time.

taglist: @sasageyowrites @levisbrat25 @ackermans-freedom-inc @melancholicmonologue @berrijam @callmepromise @nobody-knows-anymore 

[allteacher]

Eris has been thinking about Oryx.

This is what she tells the Vanguard, but it feels wholly inadequate. She feels half-consumed, again, burying herself in Toland’s letters and in the shorthand notes she’d carved into her armor down in the pit, contrasting her scraps of arcane knowledge with newly-classified Hidden reports of some alien brightness emitting from the depths of the Shrine of Oryx. All the information she has points her unerringly to that same place, that same desolate object in orbit.

She still has not been back to the Moon.

Ikora has not leashed her, but all of her missions have been strictly planetside, no more dangerous than the assignments of civilian intelligence agents. Eris knows this is because she is a civilian, now, no matter what Hunter-instincts still guide her. But she still feels stifled, trapped in the Tower, despite what the other agents whisper about healing and recuperation and trial periods.

Despite the hopes and fears of the Vanguard, she does not want to rush headlong into her final death; there is a reason she directed the Guardian like a blade across the surface of the Moon to hunt Crota’s brood. But something is stirring in the nearest seat of Oryx’s power, and she needs to see it for herself. They must learn more about the King before he sweeps into their little corner of the universe and kills them all.

After Crota there had been scarcely a night to celebrate, to sit quietly with her grief, before her work had continued. She can accept this if she can be of use once again, if she can follow her chain of vengeance up the royal lineage of the Hive until there is nothing left, no trace of the Hive left to burn.

The Guardian comes to retrieve bounties every morning, bringing Eris what scarce information she can find in the field. The Wolves are freshly escaped from their prison, and the Tower is in a frenzy. Crota is dead with his father a million lightyears away. They are of no importance, now.

“You destroyed the Shrine of Oryx,” Eris says over a handful of sticky idols. It is not a question: she has read the after-action report.

“Yes,” the Guardian says, her black hair hanging over her eyes. “Well— we did.” Her voice, always quiet, sinks lower. “I don’t understand why the Speaker had us chasing Osiris’ prophecies, after everything I’ve heard about the exile…” She is still newly-risen, but already she knows the value of a secret.

Eris leans in at that, curious. “Osiris?” There had been no mention of him in any of the mission data, though she can already guess that the Speaker had a hand in this. Few remembered Osiris’ prophecies about the Hive; they did not need reminding of their truth with Oryx hanging on the horizon.

The Guardian leaves shortly after, bond gleaming on her arm, promising to send her a recording of the mission in full. Eris suspects she has all the information she needs. There is, at least, one person she can trust as a traveling-partner.

She needs to get to the Shrine. The Vanguard are still fighting among themselves as to Oryx’s existence and importance, the Speaker furtively seeking information from the same man he exiled, so Eris considers her mission a Hidden matter. She sends Ikora a message and departs before she can ask too many questions.

It is still early enough in the day, so she takes her ship out of the hangar and flies it into the wilderness, somewhere she can sit without being bothered by any well-meaning Guardians passing by. She adjusts her radio until she finds the channel spitting out static cut through with the trill of a harpy. She hears numbers occasionally, two two seven…

Eris waits, but she is used to it. Eventually the static cuts, the harpy-song violently ended.

“Osiris,” comes the voice on the other end, brisk, like he’s still Vanguard Commander, fielding calls. As if anyone else could be on the other end, as if anyone else could be reaching out through the heavy curtain of exile to seek him out.

“Eris Morn,” she replies, then, “I have news of Oryx.” She is still newly-returned, still refiguring herself in the wake of her own personal catastrophe. Talking to Osiris is at least easier, because he leaves no space for anything but what is necessary.

She thinks maybe he has forgotten how to do anything but question, too, in an exile less excruciating but no less lonely. Here they both are, grasping at the edges of something.

“Oh!” Sagira gasps on the other end of the line, excited. Something in Eris, at the very back of her mind, shutters— not completely alone, she forgets. The emptiness over her shoulder aches in tandem with the ever-present burning in her eyes. Some things will always be only her burden to bear.

“Yes,” Eris says, pushing forward despite the feeling, because that is what she does. “The Shrine is awake again.” She suspects he already knows, may be watching it even now. “I want to know what we can learn from it.”

She knows they will find something. She also knows that there is more to this bone-deep desire for shared action, when she has been alone in her hunt since she and Eriana and the rest first sought Crota’s realm and died in the seeking. She is certain she would die before telling anyone. Some gnawing uncertainty of what may happen to her if she was completely, devastatingly alone in those tunnels again. All that blank terror and wordless desperation, still hiding somewhere in her mind.

Eris knows she is not mad, regardless of the whispers from the young Guardians burning shockingly bright. But her wounds are still seeping, not six months since she crawled out of the Moon. She still has nightmares of finding bodies in the dust, of being stripped of her Light, of being split open that first horrific night of the Great Disaster. These, she suspects, will never stop.

The thought makes Eris feel ridiculous, like a child that cannot take care of herself. But for this, for the fate of humanity, she is willing to submit to her own self-doubt. There is work yet to be done.

“The Shrine!” Sagira squawks over the line. “I told you it wouldn’t stay closed forever! That Guardian, what, shot at it? Eris, we’ll meet you in orbit. The signal!”

Osiris sighs, irritated. “Yes, we will. Bring any information you have.” The line cuts. Because no one can see her, Eris allows herself to think of Brya.

—

Sagira transmats Eris aboard their ship once she arrives. It is remarkable how utterly alien it appears, as if the Vex had terraformed it from the inside out. She has met with them a few times, in the search for Crota’s court, but never anywhere Eris could begin to grasp the full scope of Osiris’ obsession.

Osiris huffs something at her by way of greeting, splitting his attention between a terminal screen and an ancient book. Eris occupies herself with spreading her materials out on a little card table, conspicuous, next to the navigation controls: scrolls, notes and their translations, runes, her Ahamkara joint.

After a few minutes Osiris stands, tips his head toward her. “Toland’s things?” He asks, moving to sort through the Hive-lore Eris has managed to accumulate.

“Some of it,” she says, reaching for the book Osiris had been examining. It’s one she’s never seen before, a rambling theory about Hive communication logics. She digs through it in silence while Osiris and Sagira examine her own theories, Sagira occasionally making comments as she draws comparisons.

Eris tries to keep herself from growing too comfortable, too complacent, but in the dim light and the ship’s low static hum she finds it far easier to think. Especially in comparison to her place in the Tower, where even in the shadows she feels exposed, on display.

In time they go down to the surface of the Moon, the harsh architecture of the Hive looming over their heads. Eris expects herself to be more nervous, some paranoia still buzzing in her skull. Now, though, there’s only a sort of anticipation. Clarity in action, just as it had been hunting Crota.

Osiris enters the underground first, Sagira buzzing around his head. There are a few Thrall lingering around the moldering stonework of the entrance, all neatly dispatched.

“What do you expect?” Eris asks as they make their way down the long corridor to the entrance of the Gatehouse. It’s suspiciously empty, no acolytes making their rounds, no thrall kicking up rocks to search for worms.

“If the shrine is active again, it’s worth protecting,” Osiris says, stopping at the edge of the harsh cliff-face to glance at the stars above, the darkness below. “It would explain the lack of Hive on the surface levels.”

They continue, cautious, Eris stepping lightly enough that she doesn’t break the bones littered across the steps. There’s nothing as they creep ever downward, as the yellow glare of the lamps turns to the icy blue-green of the Circle of Bones.

Eris remembers such names from her first journey to the Moon, from when she and her fireteam were first racing screaming through these corridors. She wonders if they were translated or if Toland had made them up as he saw fit.

She almost startles as she sees a lone acolyte peering off its balcony, though she throws her dagger at it before Osiris can move to kill it himself. It drops silently; she goes to observe it, crouching down to retrieve her knife. The motion makes her knees ache.

Osiris comes up behind her, nudges its cleaved skull with his boot. “Not so graceful as the Vex,” he comments.

“But much more ravenous.” It has been months since she has killed any Hive, she realizes. In the tunnels, again, she feels almost as if she’d never left.

“The Vex devour entire planets without thought. They are less visceral, but no less dangerous.”

Eris stands, looks out into the dark hallways of the Hive to ensure they are not being ambushed. “And yet you live among them willingly.”

“Not so willingly as one may think,” he says, and then he’s moving again, trailing sparks, leading them both.

Some part of her wants to know what keeps him there, if it is anything like what draws her back to the Moon, again, after so much death and pain. But he has not questioned her motives, has not pitied her. She will not seek information she would not give.

The great tunnels of the Hall of Wisdom echo as they move through them, the sound distorting as it passes down the lengths of not-quite-stone. The answering echo sounds like something screaming.

When the shrine-room opens up around them, Eris expects something grandiose in its terror. But there is no immense shadow of Oryx looking down on them, only the simple cruelties of the Hive’s existence.

At the base of the shrine is a small coven of Wizards, all hovering above a lovingly-drawn spell circle. A half-dead Ogre, larger than any Eris had seen in the pits, lays bleeding oil within it. The room is, Eris notices, completely silent. The animal part of her brain, the part that kept her alive in the tunnels, wants her to run until she can see the stars again.

She drops to a crouch, scrabbling backwards to hide more fully in the empty tunnel. Osiris’ ambient Light goes out like a match as he joins her, surveying the ritual around a jut of stone. He looks at her, head tilted, a question. She shakes her head, presses herself flat against the wall.

After a moment, the chanting starts.

It’s not the overwhelming scream of the Deathsingers, but Eris wants to scream back, to chant the names of her fireteam again, to not lose herself in the dark. She grips the handle of her knife hard enough that her hand goes numb.

The wizards sing in turns, the shrine moving under the will of their voices. The ogre shudders as it dies, the circle glowing a sickly green underneath its hulking form.

Eventually, the wizards go quiet. Osiris reaches back against Eris’ shoulder, taps in Hidden shorthand: first opening wait for transmission. She doesn’t dare to move, to acknowledge.

They wait for a few minutes, still and silent in the half-dark of the tunnels. Then the great orb begins spinning, a low drone filling all the gaps in the room.

“Oryx,” Eris whispers, listening to the discordant hum and, through it, the great deep voice of the king of the Hive.

—

They spend the next four hours translating the message. The bulk is an edict on the new chain of tithes, now that Crota is dead.

The ending, though, is what she at once expected and feared: a declaration that Crota’s death will be avenged.

“We knew he would come,” Eris says, trying to stay composed. All the blood Crota spilled, a newborn in the eyes of the Hive, and now his father coming to rain devastation. “I’ve warned the Vanguard.”

Osiris scratches something out on the pad in front of him. “The Vanguard never listens in time. You know that.” It would be barbed, coming from anyone else.

“We have proof now. That might convince them that we are right.” She sighs. She had not expected to feel so drained, so completely bloodless, after such a short journey. “They are still focused on eliminating the rest of Crota’s brood, the Wolves. It will be a struggle.”

“This is not a battle that can be won alone. The Vanguard cannot ignore the Darkness to chase Fallen forever.”

“We may not need to fight alone,” Eris says. “The Queen of the Reef has opened their gates.”

Osiris snorts. “If you think she will listen.”

“Oryx is not just a threat to Earth,” she replies, too exhausted to bristle. She is learning the shape of Osiris’ knowledge, which lies in his challenges. “And we do not know where their knowledge lies. They may yet be able to help us.”

“It is an idea worth pursuing,” Osiris replies after a long few moments, “but it will be difficult to achieve an audience. First we must prepare.”

Eris has been preparing for disaster for as long as she can remember, has spent years guarding against some future ruin. She knows the shape of it, what is at stake if they fail.

Out of the corner of her eye, she watches Osiris card through Hive dictionaries and Eriana’s blood-stained research notes. She had given everything to make it out of the Hellmouth, had become something monstrous to carry her warning back to the City, had destroyed Crota through the stares and the whispers and the doubt.

But she is out of the Hellmouth, now. The City may not trust her, but she has allies beyond its walls, those that can understand this drive to step into the Dark to understand it, destroy it so completely that there is no memory of it left. She will not live to see the end of this war, but the mantle of her vengeance will.

“Tell me about the Vex,” Eris says, arranging her own papers. It is only fair to take on this mantle in turn.

[moon-light-jukebox]

“All you have to do is ask.” Chapter 11 - [Reid x Reader]

previous chapter // series index // epilogue

Summary: Spencer and Reader haven’t been able to spend the kind of time together that they’d like to. When they finally have the chance, they’re all to eager to take advantage of it.

Pairing: Spencer Reid / Female Reader

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 3.8k for Chapter 11 

Content Warning: Smut. Pure smut. Oral sex (female receiving), penetrative sex, unprotected sex, femdom, pegging, bdsm themes, slapping, spitting, degradation, mild humiliation, the usual for the series. 

A/n: For those of you that don’t want a cheesy epilogue, this is it for our love birds. I just want to thank you all for sticking with me on this massive undertaking. Your messages have meant everything to me.  The epilogue will be out tomorrow. 

Thank you, thank you, thank you. 

-- Chapter 11 - I love you too -- 

The wonderful thing about working with my boyfriend is that even when we were away on cases, we got to spend time together.

It was just never the kind of time I wanted to spend with him. I had told Spencer in the beginning that I had always viewed our BDSM sex scenes as just a part of our sex life. I was fine doing things that weren't in the realm of the dominant and submissive relationship. I wouldn’t trade sleepy morning sex with my boy for anything. And even when we were away on cases, we were still able to do some things.

But, while I'm as sex-positive and progressive as the next person, I just couldn't put a strap on or a butt plug in my go-bag.

We’d only had that one weekend together at my apartment, but I was ready for more.

And I think my boy was too.

--

“Alright, once we touch down in D.C., I need everyone to submit their paperwork for the Wilcox case,” Hotch told us while our plane was fast approaching Virginia. “That case goes to trial next week and the ADA needs to make sure everything is set.”

Morgan scoffed from his place across from Rossi. “I mean, I feel like it’s a pretty open and shut case anyway, Hotch. She all but admitted to it!” Emily was nodding, not looking up from her book. “Plus, the only work they should need is the profile y/l/n came up with.”

I felt Spencer tense beside me; I placed my hand on his thigh in an attempt to calm him. “It was a pretty solid profile, Morgan,” I said easily.

Morgan’s eyes kept jumping back and forth between me and Reid, a smirk turning his lips up. “I just wanna know, in this little relationship, who is calling who ‘Daddy’?”

I could feel Spencer flush beside me, but I maintained my composure. "I don't think either of us has called the other Daddy, have we, Spence?" I looked over at him, quirking one of my brows. Come on, baby. Don’t take his bait.

My boy cleared his throat. “N-not that I remember.”

I nodded, my gaze never wavering from his. “If you want me to call you daddy, just ask.” I shot him a wink before I turned around to face the rest of the team.

Rossi and Emily looked equally amused, JJ looked horrified, Hotch looked like he had never experienced any sort of human emotion. Morgan looked like it was his birthday. "Na-uh. In Nebraska, you said men have called you daddy.” He pointed his finger at me, then gestured back and forth between Spencer and I. “So, how bout it, Pretty Boy? Have you called y/l/n Daddy?”

I should have learned to never underestimate Spencer Reid.

“She hasn’t asked me to call her daddy, but I would,” he said simply. “She prefers Ma’am, though.”

A choked laugh bubbled out of my mouth a few moments before a roar erupted from the rest of the team.

I was smiling so wide I was worried my face would split in half when I felt Spencer’s fingers lace through mine.

--

I was still laughing when I unlocked the door to my apartment later that night. “I will never forget the look on Morgan’s face for as long as I live.”

My boy chuckled behind me. “I have to admit, I’m pretty proud of that one.” He shut and locked the door after we walked inside, dropping his bag right beside mine. “At least he has stopped asking me if I’m a virgin.”

Turning, I wrapped my arms around his shoulders while his hands settled on my hips. “There isn’t a part of you that’s a virgin, Spencer Reid. I’ve seen to that.” His smile delighted me to my core. “Why did you say ‘ma’am’?”

He laughed softly. “I love Morgan like he’s my brother, but if I heard him call you Miss, I might try to fight him.” I pressed a kiss to my forehead when I laughed. “He’d kick my ass, but I’ve had my ass kicked before.”

I stood on my tiptoes, bringing my lips to his in a soft kiss. “I love you; you know?”

“I had a feeling.”

I scoffed, pulling away. “You’re still a brat.”

He just nodded in acknowledgment. "Can I ask you a question?"

I turned around from my place in front of the fridge, giving him an eye roll. “Shoot, Pretty Boy.”

Spencer fidgeted slightly. “Was that true? What you told Morgan? Has someone called you daddy before?”

"Oh, yeah, once," I confirmed with a laugh. "I mean, sometimes I break during sex scenes because sex is objectively funny. But…to this day, I have never broken out of my dom mode faster.”

Spencer walked into the kitchen, accepting a bottle of water from me. “So, it wasn’t planned?”

I snorted. “No, not at all. I was pegging him, and I said…something, I don’t even remember. But he just moaned out, in this very high-pitched voice, ‘daaaaaaddddyyyy’.” I was laughing in earnest now. “I don’t have a problem with daddy kinks, at all. I wouldn’t even mind if someone wanted to call me daddy. It was just unexpected. And I was still a baby dom. I didn’t know what to expect yet.”

Spencer regarded me thoughtfully. “I’d call you daddy.”

“You would?” I grinned at him while I moved to stand in front of him. “Well, I appreciate that, my love. But, right now, I just want you to call me Miss.”

His breath caught. “N-now?”

I nodded. “If you want. Or, we can wait til tomorrow. But I’m going to fuck you, Dr. Reid.”

I heard the whimper leave his throat. “Can it be now?”

“Needy boy,” I murmured. “Go into my bedroom. Take off all your clothes and kneel by the left side of my bed. You’re not to look at me until I tell you.”

Spencer scrambled to my bedroom, much to my amusement. I took my time putting the water bottles away, thumbing through my mail on the counter.

I wanted him squirming by the time I got in there. I started undoing the buttons of my shirt while I made my way down the hallway, but not before I stopped to get something out of my bag.

Such a good boy, I thought when I saw him. His clothes were put neatly on the chair, his eyes were downcast, his palms resting on his thighs. I made no move to acknowledge him; instead, I went to the chest at the foot of my bed. I could feel the tension radiating off of him, but his eyes stayed on the floor.  

I removed my pants, leaving me in just my bra and panties before I went to stand in front of him. “Look at me, Dr. Reid.”

His eyes moved up my body slowly, and I reveled in the groan I heard. I may have been expecting this, so I wore my favorite underwear set. They were black and lacy; the panties hugged my hips low, and the bra made my tits look fantastic. I reached out to brush my fingers through his hair. “Do you like how I look, Dr. Reid?”

"Yes, Miss."

I tugged on his hair slightly, pulling a whimper from him. “Do you know what I’m going to do to you, Dr. Reid?”

“No Miss,” he muttered, licking his lips.

“First, I’m going to make you lay on my bed while I put my pussy on your face.” My fingers continued to scratch along his scalp. “And if you eat my pussy well enough, I’m going to fuck you. And if you make me cum, then I’m going to have you on your hands and knees for me.”

His eyes were wide, his pupils blown with lust.

“Lay on the center of the bed, Dr. Reid.” He moved so quickly I’m surprised he didn’t fall over.

I got on the bed more leisurely, straddling his stomach before I started to drag my center up his body. Spencer had been hard since the moment he looked at me, but I wanted him to be a desperate, whimpering mess.

“Miss,” he murmured. “Your-your panties are…”

Slap.

“Did I tell you to speak, Dr. Reid?” My hand stung with the force of the impact. “You’re my little fuck toy, do you understand? You only do what I tell you to.” I pinched his face in my hand. “You haven’t earned my pussy. So,” I mumbled, leaning over him, bringing my face above his. “You’re going to use that pretty mouth of yours to lick me through my panties. Assuming you can do that right, and I get wet enough, I might let you really taste me.”

He nodded frantically. “Open.” I spit into his mouth, he swallowed it instantly. “You’re very dirty Dr. Reid.” With that, I brought my body all the way up. My hands gripped the headboard while I lowered my panty covered pussy to his mouth.

His first lick was hesitant, his tongue running over the lace softly. “This isn’t going to get you anywhere Dr. Reid.” I let out a sigh, moving my hips off his face. “Do you want to eat my pussy?”

“More than anything,” he moaned.

“Then fucking act like it.” I lowered over his face again and to my delight, his response was immediate. He sucked the lace into his mouth, wetting it before he released it. His tongue massaged against the fabric, rubbing directly against my clit. I let out a breathy moan. Always the quick study.

My hips were shamelessly rocking against him, I could feel his frustrated groans against my panties. “What’s wrong, Dr. Reid? Do you want something?” Come on nervous boy, beg me.

“Please,” he breathed in a broken plea. “Please let me taste you, Miss. I need it.”

I pretended to consider him for a moment before I moved off of his body. His cock was hard against his pelvis, the head weeping with precum. His fists were balled up at his sides; his entire body was tense. Slowly, I hooked my thumbs in my panties, pulling them down.

“Is this what you want, Dr. Reid?” I said, running my fingers over my drenched lips.

"Yes, Miss. Please.”

Grabbing the headboard, I swung my leg over his head again, bringing my pussy just above his mouth. “Since you asked so nicely.”

No sooner had the words left my mouth than Spencer attacked my pussy. His mouth felt like it was everywhere all at once. I felt his tongue spear into me before it circled my clit. He opened his mouth and covered my entire pussy, sucking softly, causing my hips to buck.

“Fuck,” I moaned, grinding against his mouth. Your mouth is a fucking treasure, baby.

Very reluctantly, I pulled off of him when I felt my orgasm approaching. His head lifted up off of the bed, trying to follow me. I smiled down at him. “As much as I love that pretty mouth, I want to cum all over your cock, Dr. Reid.”

I moved off the bed to the chest again. This time I grabbed 3 different things. I tossed the first two on the bed while I kept the other in my hand. “Do you know what these are, Dr. Reid?”

He nodded, biting his lip.

“Put your arms up.” He put his arms against the bars of my headboard, moaning softly when my handcuffs clicked in place. I moved down his body, pressing a kiss to his mouth, tasting myself on him. “Now, just think about how hard that pretty cock is going to get every time you see those at work.”

Spencer whimpered loudly. “Those are your w-work ones?”

I nodded, grabbing the butt plug and the lube before I settled between his thighs. “That they are, Dr. Reid. And I have to say, they look very nice on you.”

His teeth dug into his bottom lip when I pushed his legs up and apart. “We’ve talked about this, baby,” I reminded him, giving his thigh a sharp slap. “I’m going to have you face down in this bed while I fuck you. Don’t be embarrassed now.”

Once it was coated in lube, I started pressing the plug into him. It was slightly larger than the one we had used previously, and that’s because I wanted to use a bigger cock. I smirked at him when he groaned while I started fucking the plug into him. Pushing inside a bit before pulling back out.

I leaned over, pressing a soft kiss to his inner thigh. My teeth bit down on that skin right when the butt plug was seated inside of him. He let out a strangled moan, his back arching up. ‘Fuck, Miss. Fuck.”

My tongue flicked over the bite mark, soothing the skin. “That’s the plan, Dr. Reid.”

I moved my body over his, lining up my drenched pussy above his cock. My eyes were on his face when I slowly began to lower myself onto him. We’d never had traditional sex while he had a butt plug in; and I was very excited to see how my boy reacted.

My pelvis met his hips when he bottomed out inside me, my hands braced on his chest. “Fuck, baby. You have such a nice cock.” I started to rock against him slowly. “Such a nice cock on my little fuck toy, isn’t that right?”

“Yes Miss,” he breathed out, his eyes shut tight. “Miss, you feel so good. I…I’m close…”

Slap.

“No.” My voice was hard as his eyes snapped open. “Fuck toys like you don’t get to cum until their miss says so, is that clear, Dr. Reid?” I rose up, sliding up and down his cock, my fingers ghosting down my stomach until they found my clit. My other hand tugged the cups of my bra down. “You may have other people out there convinced that you’re not a dirty, needy, little thing. But I know better.”

My fingers sped up against my flesh, my other fingers pinching and rolling my nipple, as I sought out my pleasure.

“You’re nothing but a needy fucking slut, isn’t that right, Dr. Reid?”

His words were strangled, his eyes fixed on my pussy taking his cock. "Yes, Miss. Fuck, Miss.”

“Good boy,” I said softly. “Such a dirty fucking boy. Now, hold still while I cum all over you. Can you do that, Dr. Reid? Can you be my good boy?”

Spencer’s head was thrashing on the pillows when my pussy finally clamped down around him. I threw my head back, my vision going white. “Fuck!” I worked my hips desperately against him, seeking every ounce of my pleasure.

Once I came back down, I collapsed against him, pressing open mouth kisses against him. His teeth caught my lip, tugging me to him while his tongue slicked over my own.

“Such a good boy,” I mumbled against his mouth. I reached out to grab the keys to my cuffs, releasing him. I inspected both of his wrists, kissing the indentations softly. “Now, I want you to turn over for me. Can you do that, Dr. Reid?”

I knew he was still uncomfortable; things were still new to him. It’s always your choice, baby.

My darling boy just nodded. “Yes Miss, I’ll do anything for you.”

And I you, Spencer Reid.

Moving off the bed, I returned to the chest, picking up my harness before I selected the 8-inch dildo attachment. I looked back up on the bed, taking in the mess I had made of Spencer Reid. His ass was in the air, the base of the plug clearly visible. His cock hung heavy between his legs. His fingers were gripping my sheets tightly.

“Normally,” I said, moving behind his hips. “I’d want you to suck my cock before I fucked this tight little ass.” I slowly started to pull the plug out. “But, since you were such a good little toy, I think you’ve earned this.”

Spencer moaned loudly. “Thank you, Miss.”

I couldn’t control my smirk. You’re a natural at this, my darling boy.

Lining my dildo up against his asshole, I slowly started to pitch my hips forward, one hand on his ass, the other at the base of my ‘cock’. “Look at how well you take cock, Dr. Reid. You’re just pulling me in. Such a filthy fucking boy.”

I started a slow rhythm, still not having entered him fully yet. “Fucking- fuck, Miss. Please!”

“Please what, baby?”

He groaned, partially in embarrassment, partially in desperation. "Please fuck my ass, Miss. I need you to fuck me, please.”

“All you have to do is ask, Dr. Reid.” My hips thrust forward, my pelvis meeting his ass. “Such a pretty fucking boy.”

I started to move in and out of him, my eyes fixed on how he was taking the dildo. “It’s a shame that you’ve never had a real cock fuck you, Dr. Reid. You look so fucking pretty like this.” My motions sped up. “But, you’re my pretty boy now.”

When he didn’t respond, I reached out and grabbed his hair, pulling harshly. “Isn’t that right Dr. Reid?”

“Yes, yes, yes, Miss. Fuck. I-I,” his voice was pleading. “Miss, please.”

I kept my grip on his hair, my hips now pounding into him. “Touch your cock for me, pretty boy. Jerk your pretty cock off while I fuck your tight little ass.”

His right hand moved down to fist around himself. His upper body was only supported by his left arm and my hand in his hair. “There’s my good boy,” I praised, keeping my pace up. “I like fucking you like this, Dr. Reid. The only problem is, I can’t be the one to make that nice, pretty cock cum. So, I think tomorrow I’ll have you bounce on my cock again.”

Spencer was moaning loudly now. “Miss, I’m going to cum.”

"Cum for me, Dr. Reid." I pressed a kiss against his back, a moment of gentleness in such a rough, beautiful act.

His face dropped down into my pillow and he screamed. Spencer Reid screamed while I pounded into his ass, his hand jerking his cock quickly, cumming all over my bedsheets.  

He was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.

I worked myself out of him, still giving a few pumps to help prolong his pleasure. When I was sure he had come down completely, I pressed another kiss to his back. "You did so well, Spencer."

I hopped off the bed, unhooking my harness and hustling to the bathroom. I returned with a wet rag and some ointment for his wrists. Spencer had all but collapsed on the bed.

“You did so, so well, Spencer,” I praised, wiping the lube from him. “Can you turn over for me?”

With a groan, he flipped his body over slowly, his eyes glassy but focused. “Fuck,” he mumbled.

I smiled at him, pulling his wrists into my lap. “I didn’t have the cuffs on tight, but you kept pulling,” I teased.

Spencer just smiled; his expression blissful. “I love you so much.”

His soft words made emotion rise up in my throat. “Not half as much as I love you, Spencer Reid.” I pressed a kiss to his sweaty brow. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I feel…I feel fine, it’s not like last time but I-I still feel like I need to be near you.”

“Good,” I said pressing a soft kiss to his lips this time. “Because I always want to be near you.”

I hopped off the bed, reaching my arms for him. “Can you come shower with me? I got you very dirty.”

He chuckled tiredly but let me pull him into the bathroom.

I turned on the shower, waiting for the water to get warm before I got inside, tugging Spencer in after me. We stood under the spray together, arms wrapped around each other for several long moments. He needed to be with me just as much as I needed to be with him.

I almost felt guilty for how happy I was in that moment. How could one person feel this? What have I done to earn having this miraculous man in my life?

“You’re wrong, you know,” my boy mumbled against my hair.

“Beg your pardon?” I said, pulling back to squint at him.

Spencer was smiling at me. Really smiling. His eyes were crinkled at the corners, happiness radiating from him. "You said I didn't love you half as much as you love me. That's simply untrue," his voice was grave, with just a hint of teasing.

I poked his side. “This isn’t a fight you’re gonna win, Doc.” Pulling away from him, I reached for my shampoo. I squirted some into my hands before I passed it to him. “You should just start leaving stuff here,” I said, giggling when he put some of my citrus shampoo into his hand.

“I don’t mind. I like smelling like you.”

My laugh was cut short when I lifted my arms. I hadn’t realized how stiff my shoulder was until I reached up to begin washing my own hair.

“Are you okay?” Spencer asked, having seen the grimace on my face.

“Yeah, Doc. I’m just a little sore.”

Spencer frowned. “Turn around,” he instructed. I obeyed his request with a roll of my eyes, surprised when I felt his fingers on my scalp.

“Are you washing my hair, Spencer Reid?”

He made a noise of affirmation before he reached for the shampoo again. “I’ve never washed anybody else hair before,” he said softly. “Let me know if I mess up.”

My heart squeezed while his fingers massaged my scalp. “Impossible, Doc.” I felt his lips press against the back of my neck a few moments later, signaling that he was done. Once I opened my eyes again after rinsing my hair, I saw my boy’s eyes clouded in sadness while he stared at me.

I didn’t have a chance to ask before he made his thoughts clear. His hand lifted to my chest, his fingers pressing against my collarbone, tracing the shiny new skin of my scar. “The moment you got this was the worst of my entire life,” he whispered, his fingers ghosting over the raised skin. He pulled me to him, engulfing me in a hug that only he could give. “I was so afraid to lose you…but I didn’t think you were ever really mine to begin with.”

I felt tears prick in the corners of my eyes, causing me to hold him to me tighter. “I think I’ve always been yours, Spencer.”

He chuckled, pulling away to look down at my face. “Then why did you make me wait so long to have you?”

“You should have asked me before Nebraska,” I teased.

Spencer’s hands came up to cradle my face, his thumbs brushing over my cheeks. “Now that I have you, I hope you know I’m never letting you go again. I love you.”

“I love you too.” Forever and ever, my darling, nervous boy. You wonderful, wonderful man.

--

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[the-wintershade]

the difficulty of your own soul 

pairing: loki x reader summary: a ball just happens to bring you two closer and the thought of really giving this a chance crosses your mind, but everything alters again when the past always inevitably catches up to you. wc: 4.0k+ genre: angsty, warmth, intensity, past trauma masterlist

for you anon, even though I couldn’t get it out sooner. thank you.

“What are the stakes?” 

Your father’s angry cries shredded through the pounding rain, easily cutting through the battalions of water droplets falling through the sky, imploding against your skin. 

“When will you learn that the life you have will always be at stake? Everytime you leave your house, everytime you walk away from a safehouse, get into the car, or walk down the street your life will always be in danger.” You could see the tightening of his lips, the frown of a snarl forming, the verbal insults ready to be unleashed in your direction.

Shivers coiled up and down your spine. Your hands were clenched tightly against your arms to try to huddle for warmth, staring up at your paternal figure like a coward.

That wasn’t completely the truth. You were an inferno coiled to spark, but pretending to be weaker than you really were always gave you an advantage. He taught you well, so well that he didn’t even notice his own daughter playing back the same hand he revealed just a few months ago.

The shaking was real. Your body temperature was dropping fast. Your clothes were nearly ice and your teeth almost cut your gums because of the clattering. 

The situation was bad; the side sweep your father just gave you, worse.

You saw the dagger before you felt it against your neck; it was right about then that you suspected something was wrong. Even if he believed that you were lying, he wouldn’t threaten you to this degree. 

This had to be preparation for something worse, whatever that could possibly be.

Metal slightly pierced your skin, a small tear opening for a small amount of blood to dribble out. You frowned, the cold tension in your body dissipating as adrenaline began to take over. “What are you doing?” The words were shaky, but you caught the bite at the back end. Still not ready to wave the white flag, not even close.

Then, he laughed. Laughed. 

No, this was wrong. This was a training exercise, five laps around the garden in the rain, dagger throwing, archery, and then sparing. This was the final sequence. 

You were still a teenager, he never pushed you this hard until you were well ahead, obviously capable of handling more advanced weaponry and techniques. 

You were still too uncoordinated to hit targets in the rain. You couldn’t have been more than sixteen. Too young, too young for the reality of death quite yet.

“Something I should have done a long time ago. You’ve failed me, made me believe that you had potential.” Pain flashed across his features, as if he was about to regret his next decision, regret what he would have to do. If the knife gave you any indication, you knew you wouldn’t want to figure out what that was going to look like. “I cared about you, (name), but you’re not enough. I was so foolish to bring you here.”

He never sounded like that. Never sounded that soft except for once in your life. Your blood ran cold and you froze where you laid against the ground. “Dad, stop. Think for a second.”

“Give my own advice back to me, huh?” That’s not his, it was hers, a woman you wouldn’t meet until two years from now. He gazed at you with somber eyes and a heavy soul, a soul you stared right into. “Sorry, kiddo.”

And then you were six years old, chained against your will to his leg, wobbling along at his beck and call. 

It was raining again, although when you remembered his hand in yours, walking you across the street, there were no chains involved. Lightning cracked but you stayed firm, assured that your dad would be there to protect you. 

When you’d crossed the street, he’d stopped your progress, bending down to help tie your shoe. As he looked up, you’d smiled at him, in awe of your superhero dad. He’d smiled right back, those dark orbs a vacuum you frequently felt lost in.

You tried to shrug your leg to get free of the chain and for a second, just a moment, his face morphed into a monster, a creature with dripping black skin and totally black eyes that had no beginning or end. 

He looked angry, so incredibly angry that you felt fear for the first time in being chained to this man, this foreigner.

And that’s when it all came together. 

The intelligence in your six year old mind reminded you to smile and suddenly your father’s face morphed back into view. You placed a small hand against his check, maintaining your loving grin in the process and then you’d reverted back into your sixteen-year-old self, staring at the same monster.

The chains appeared just as they had before.

You kept that one hand — now remembering how this story ended — placed on his cheek. The knife lowered and the world around you began to swim with darkness. It didn’t frighten you, this was how it normally ended, and you kept your eyes steady on your father who began to change into ashes.

The chain around your leg disappeared and instead a red brand formed where it left, flashing the same red of your father’s dissipating form. He looked confused and concerned, turnt around on a rare occasion, but you willed him to look at you even as his face disintegrated into dust.

Then you sat, no emotional response, just emptily staring at the pile of red ashes in front of you, feeling them call to you, knowing that no matter where you went those chains were still going to be pulling the strings, burning the brand on your skin until you submitted.

No matter how hard you tried, no matter how hard you would attempt to be free of his chains, no matter how much you struggled to get rid of them, you would still be that little child, soaked in the rain, staring the devil in the eyes.

The eyes of your darling father.

…

“...have you?” You shake yourself out of the events of last night, ignoring the way your dream father’s black eyes felt like nothing, how empty they were, how devoid of anything human.

You weren’t paying enough attention to know what Fury just asked you. “Can you repeat the question?” You gazed at him, expectant, and aren’t surprised when you see irritation mirrored back at you.

“Something else more pressing at the moment, agent?” Fury props himself against the wall and crosses his arms, his long trench coat scuffing against the ground. You fight to stay present. 

A smirk — similar to the ones a certain someone would pass off at you — captures your face and you look at the files again on the table, trying to play off how shaken up you are about the dream, the look of despair on your father’s face as he began to vanish, how guilty you felt that you couldn’t have done better. Been better. 

Clearing your throat, you take another look. “So, the fake isn’t going to be there tonight?”

“Oh no,” He says matter-of-factly, tilting his chin up. “It’s going to be there, but the version that Loki’s seeing is going to be the fake.” He walks closer, propping his arms against the table while you start memorizing exits, ventilation vents and access points, and various security systems the building has. “Which brings us back to the same question: do you have his trust?”

You fight down the shot of anxiety flaring in your core. You could give him a version of the truth. To be honest, it’s not likely that he trusts you fully, even if at all, but he does trust the idea of you going to the event and you would bet money on his attendance. 

There’s trust in the event and that’s where trust begins anyway, in the small things.

“I’m getting close.” You close your eyes as the rebuttal you were already expecting comes right at you.

Fury glares at you. “You’re telling me that we’re about to risk an asgardian superpower getting their hands on the tesseract and causing world destruction all on the fact that you’re ‘working on’ getting his trust? I don’t know about you, agent (last name), but that doesn’t give me full confidence.”

“He’s pretty fickle, hard to pin down.” You glance in Fury’s direction and meet his stare head-on, one of the first time’s you’ve done that this whole time. “But we have an understanding. I’d have no problem betting my entire savings on the fact that he's going to this event, and I’d be willing to bet that there’s no way he’s going to attempt a grab at the tesseract. You know why? I’ll be there and I’m his date. A SHIELD agent is his plus one for the evening. He knows that no matter what trust we have, it’s not strong enough for him to be able to get the tesseract and leave the building.

“I’m positive that this is just reconnaissance. He’s trying to figure out who has it, what their plans for it are, and how he might be able to acquire it. But it won’t be tonight.” You watch as Fury shifts, leaning back. You know you’re out of hot water when he looks down his nose at you. 

“Okay, agent. I’ll buy the story. But the moment you even suspect that he’ll make a pass for it, buss a cap in his narrow behind.”

You smirk. “As always, Director.”

…

There was no way you were ever going to consider the possibility of shooting Loki. Not ever. And that idea should have probably scared you more than it did.

Because that meant that your interests were divided and if your father ever reinforced anything, it was the dangers of your soul and your mind being split. The soul guided the mind in all decisions, it was it’s determining force, it’s guiding will. 

When your guiding-will laid anywhere outside of the parameters of your assignment, it was likely you would end up being killed.

And no matter how much that advice should have concerned you, it didn’t. Death didn’t really scare you. Not like before. Not like when you were just that little girl at sixteen.

Death tasted like freedom and the promise of freedom was enough.

…

You step out of your car, a slim heel glimmering against the lights of the party. Using the handlebar overhead for balance, you allow one slim heel to tap against the ground.

The anxiety within you pulses for a moment, but you keep the appearance of calm on your face, another half-truth. You were almost getting too good at those. Almost.

 A man appeared next to you, offering his hand to help. “Good evening, miss. Welcome to Mr. Williamshire’s estate.” 

You coyly smile and slip your hand into his, letting him steady you. “Thank you, sir.” You reply, kindness sweating your words. Your gaze lifts to the marble staircase you’ll need to walk up, anxiety churning again. It doesn’t look too daunting. 

Your eyes wander for a second, looking at balconies, escape routes, the hedges near the windows, the drapery hanging off the side of the building. Fury warned you to stay on your toes, but your father’s training had already taught you that. Plus, if things go south, you’ll need a quick get away.

Pretending to steady your nerves, which is less of an act than you make it seem, you shift your face from anxious to calm. The man who came to help you falls for it. “Don’t worry, miss. Plenty make it up the stairs just fine. If you’d like, I can provide an escort for you.”

Laughing softly, partially for keeping up the charade, partially because there’s no way in hell you need an escort, you flash him the game winning smile. “Thank you, but I think I’ll manage.” You place your keys in his hand and slip him a $40 dollar tip. “Take good care of her for me.”

The man nods along, a professional smile on his face, and slips into your vehicle.

You grasp the bottom of your ballgown, pulling the material away from your legs as you make the flight of stairs. Your thoughts shift to the evening, wondering where you’re going to sit, if Loki’s even going to show up, and when the tesseract is going to be unveiled. A churning activates in your stomach and the tightness in your face isn’t fake.

Finally, you make the landing and stride in head held high, a small smile plastered on your face. 

The landing is enormous and the building much more spacious than you gave it credit for. A double staircase would lead you down an open dance floor, a grand chandelier casts sparkles all over the room, and a band plays a melodious jazz tune. There’s entertainment rooms to your left and right, some containing cards, some billiards, and some assorted backroom deals shrouded in secrecy. 

It makes sense for money this old to have the luxury of hosting a ball, but it still doesn’t fail to blow your mind. Perks of the job you suppose. 

Deciding taking a seat would be best—it’s almost time for the ball to officially commence—you tread down the stairs, walking over to the tables set in the next room and search for your name. You find it, seated next to someone named Matthew Lexington, whoever the hell that is. Glad to be off your feet, you take a seat, letting yourself rest and reset, taking in the details of the room, the number of couples, the susceptibility of someone being another agent.

The time passes slowly for a few minutes and the nagging anxiety of Loki failing to show up keeps gnawing at your core. You try to let it go. 

Then, the chair next to you moves. 

You force yourself to keep your head still, letting the person sit down without an oogiling pair of eyes staring them down.

“Worried I’d stand you up?” A silky voice says right next to you. You roll your eyes almost immediately. 

“Matthew Lexington, really?” You spare a glance at him and realize you probably shouldn’t have, he looks dashing. His dark suit makes his eyes stand out more. 

He gets a better look at your dress at the same time you look at his suit. “I didn’t think you were the glitter type.”

“You’d be surprised.”

“Hmm.” He nods his head, softly smiling. “It suits you.”

You nod and give a smirk, looking at him through your eyelashes. Are you still acting? “As does your suit, though I admit a pocket square would have tied the whole look together.”

“Oh-ho.” He laughs and puts his hands up in the air. “Do I hear critique, and right after I completed how you look in the dress?”

“We can’t all be perfect, Mr. Lexington.” You take a sip of the water in front of you and shoot your eyebrows up in a teasing smirk.

He glances away from you, chuckling to himself slightly. “I admit, I was starting to get nervous when you took a little while to show up.”

“Fashionably late a new phrase for you?”

“Absolutely not, but I assumed with your job that you’d be someone that values punctuality.”

“Before I had this job, I was a regular woman. I knew the tricks of the trade like the back of my hand. Being fashionably late is practically a rule.”

“Fair point.” He spares a glance around, watching as people come in to take their seats. 

“When’d you see me?”

“When you first came in.” His eyes are still moving for a second before they land on you again. “I was in a sideroom, trying my hand at blackjack when you made it up the staircase to the landing.”

“Hmm.” You nod, trying to search for another thing to talk about to keep you distracted from his eyes. “So, where’d Matthew Lexington come from?”

“Oh, just an alias from a few years ago.” He sips his water, putting his elbows on the table. How improper. “It comes in handy quite often.”

“Ah. I assumed you used it to help with the seating arrangement.”

“What?” He says in fake shock. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“You think I’d actually believe that this was a coninsciendence.”

“How about a happy surprise?”

“Whatever.” You chuckle and notice a mass exodus from the dance floor to the banquet area you’re in right now. “Looks like the show’s about to start.”

“It would seem you’re right in that, miss (last name).” A tingle shoots down your spine involuntarily.

…

The opening remarks are...cute. That’s all you’d really give it. It was really one of the driest things you’ve heard in a while, but you tried to act interested. Really, you’re buzzing, swimming with electricity.

And it all, unfortunately, has something to do with the special someone sitting to your right.

You readjust for the second time. If you sit like this any longer your butt is going to fall asleep. Loki smirks in your direction, his eyes sparkle and darken. Uncomfortable, he mouths, an eyebrow shot up in the air.

You glare back in reply, sliding your eyes back to the speaker as they make their final remarks. Loki’s small chuckle colors the dark beside you. 

As the speaker closes, you both politely clap and you stifle a yawn.

The guests stand with stiff legs and bones pop and crack. Men offer their hands out to their ladies guiding them out to the dance floor. The couples that were seated with you at your table stand.

“Well, I think we’re going for drinks, care to join us?” The woman remarks turning to stare at you and L-Matthew. You press your lips together in a small smile. “I think I’ll stay here as a lookout,” you chuckle to yourself, a mere gesture of politeness, “but I appreciate the offer.”

She nods in acknowledgement and looks expectantly to Loki. “Oh, no, thank you. I’m with the lady.” You feel his gaze hover to your back for a second before looking at the woman in front of you. 

She smirks knowingly, as if aware of some inside joke or secret. “It was lovely meeting you two.”

“Same to you.” You sincerely reply. 

You nod good-bye to each other and watch as her and her husband walk away. Stifling this next yawn takes effort. 

“Not enough rest, huh? That nervous to see me?”

“Oh, please. Don’t flatter yourself, Mr. Lexington.”

A small smile flutters across his face before his signature grin takes over. “So, Ms. (last name), what’s on the agenda tonight, yawning notwithstanding.”

“You know, Mr. Lexington, I think I’m going to have a chat with some old friends of mine.” You up your pitch and darken your tone, as if you were old royalty.

Loki’s stance changes a bit as if he were expecting something different. His eyes flutter to the dance floor for a second before looking directly at you. 

“If you would like to make your way to the dance floor, by all means, Mr. Lexington, don’t allow me to stop you.” 

“Oh no, I’m the abandoned lover, remember? My charm rests in my ability to play my part well. I’d be able to pick up a partner in no time.”

Lover, huh? The thought of you being his...significant other...flashes in your mind for a second, just one. You could almost see it, almost see the smiles, the banter, his pearly teeth smoothing into a grin, the way your eyes change when you look at him. 

No. You’re stronger than this. You’re stronger than your emotions.

You’re stronger than him. Are you?

“If I were to assume that I were your long lost lover in this situation, was my judgement wrong?”

Something shifted in him as if he’d just registered what you’d said. As if he could see the same thing you just saw a second ago. He looked at you coyly with less edge than you were used to. “That would be,” he swallowed for a second before the smile returned. “Correct, Ms. (last name).”

“Well, if you hadn’t noticed Mr. Lexington, we’ve been speaking all of this time.”

“Yes, that’s an accurate observation.”

“So, how would you describe your current predicament to future partners?”

“Easy. You’re cheating.”

“Ah,” You nod along. Always like him to make something out of nothing. “Of course. It only makes sense.”

“See,” he nudged you softly on your shoulder. “You’re catching up just fine.”

Your breath hitched for a second and the playful smile on your face drooped. His body heat began transferring through the thin sleeves of your dress and you’re very aware of how close you two are. It takes a strong amount of mental effort to stay calm and remember who you are.

“I try.” You utter but it lacks the confidence you had just a moment ago. 

The air around you two changes for a moment, much more serious and intimate than just a moment prior.

The both of you stand, together, shoulders pressed against each other, the closest you’ve been in days. You allow yourself two breaths, enough to savour the moment, enough to get a taste of what this could really be like, and then you step away, clearing your throat.

When you turn to Loki, his face holds a combination of deep regret that you’ve never seen before. “Well, I must attend to my friends. I’m sure I’ll see you soon, Mr. Lexington?”

“Ye-Yes.” He nods but he’s distracted. “Of course, my lady.” His smirk is dull, fleeting. You want to ask more, but he’s already moving away from you. You accept his departure as your cue to make your way over to Stark’s Investor.

…

Stark’s investor is nice enough, gladly extending the invitation to allow you to view the tesseract. This was already pre-arranged so their offer comes as no shock to you. What does come as a shock is the amount of times you and Loki have made eye-contact from across the room.

You knew he was watching you — you’d recognize the sense of those darkly beguiling eyes pressing into your back anywhere — but you didn’t expect to want to watch him. It was like your eyes were drawn to each other, listening to your own respective party for mere seconds before your eyes met like lightning, like magnets. 

It was exhausting for you, because manning a conversation while distracted is already hard enough, but staring at him and not getting lost was a whole different ordeal. Worrying about him was new too. 

Even worse, how was this all going to play out when you were supposed to be in the same room, viewing the tesseract at the same time. Would you even address the staring, would you just ignore it, would you try to establish something deeper out of this. The options were too diverse to understand now.

Your eyes meet again and a tingle rushes down your spine, a heat jolting through you. He stares more directly this time, refusing to look away. You turn for a second to look at the investor and then back to him whose eyes never moved. You see his lips curving into a smirk. What a dork. You’re just about to stick out your tongue — how unlady like — in return before you spot a figure just behind him.

A figure that you’d hoped you’d never see again.

Not in this lifetime or the next.

What gives her away is the red hair, always the red hair twisted into curls that runs down her back. 

And then it’s the way she walks, sauntering with a confident arrogance. 

Your blood hasn’t run this cold in a while. Out of the corner of your eye, you notice Loki pivot to spot what you’re seeing. 

By the time he looks back, you’ve excused yourself from the Stark industries investor and are already making your way toward the door.

…

[prbni]

Dramione Headcanons/Prompts

(Note:Might update the post and tags according to the requirement)

A 15 y/o Scorpius Malfoy accidentally stumbles upon a pensive of his father, that contains the memories of a certain witch he had feelings for before he met Scorp's mother. Seeing the loneliness and despair that has fallen upon his father after the death of his mother Astoria, Scorpius decides to use the prohibited Time-Turner to change the courses of the past.

But this meant two things: he'd never be able to experience the love and warmth of his mother and....he probably would cease to exist.

"This is madness Scorp!" Albus shouted angrily. " Uncle Ron and Auntie Mione are happily married. They have loved each other for ages. And this also means,Rose wouldn't exist as well. Do you really intend to do this over the one-sided crush that your father had on Auntie Mione once upon a time?!"

Basically, Albus trying to convince him in all possible ways that this is a bad idea.

Cue to Ron and Hermione arguing at the backyard of Harry-Ginny's house. They even forgot to cast Silencing Charm. Hence,everyone including the kids heard their argument.

"Oh,stop behaving like you're the only one who has been compromising in this marriage!!! Did I tell you to give up your position in the Ministry of Magic? No!" Ron yelled. " Why are you even bringing this up?! I never said it was your fault or anything!"Hermione tried to reason. "BECAUSE I'M TIRED. TIRED OF EVERYONE PRETENDING LIKE YOU HAVE DONE ME A FAVOR BY MARRYING ME WHEN IT IS THE OPPOSITE!!!" "Wh-what do you mean?"Hermione asked meekly. Ron scoffed. "Your parents are gone,Hermione. If we didn't take you into the Burrow, you wouldn't have anywhere to go. You needed us. You needed me." Hermione looked like she was trying to process the words that Ron just said. Or maybe, she was just trying to convince herself that Ron is capable of saying something like this. It's just Ron being in a foul mood. He definitely doesn't mean it."Ron let's talk about this tomorrow, okay?" Hermione tried to calm herself down. "Harry and Ginny are probably waiting for us in the dining table."

"Why? Can't face the truth?" Ron sneered. "If you were sensible enough Ronald, we'd be having this conversation at our own home,with a Silencing Charm on and without children listening to this," Hermione retorted while hinting towards Albus and Scorpius behind them,who were looking warily back and forth between the older duo. It took a while before Ron realised what she meant and grudgingly complied to go inside the house.

Scorpius gave Albus a if-this-is-what-you-mean-by-them-being-a-happy-couple look.

"Well,older couples fight. My parents fight as well. Uncle Ron is a bit aggressive,you know. But they have been like this for years.Also we don't know what actually happened between them.See,Aunty Mione didn't even fight him back," defended Albus."She didn't fight back because she knew we were listening,Al. And I don't know but this sounded more like defamation than argument." Albus sighed loudly,aware that there's no point in arguing. "So, you're still keen on getting Mr.Malfoy and Auntie Granger together in the past?" he asked instead.

"I think now I'm even more keen on getting them together,"Scorpius replied with a slight grin.

Yule Ball AU: Draco is awed when Hermione descends downstairs.

His expressions form into a scowl when he witnesses Ron and Hermione's encounter,and it pisses him off to no end when he sees her crying.

"Pathetic shite really. Ruined the whole festive mood" he mutters to himself. Even all the purring and cooing of Pansy Parkinson beside him couldn't fix his mood."Well that's what she gets for gushing over Weaselby of all possible blokes. Even Longbottom or Potter would know better than making her cry at the Ball. Seems like Weasley lacks in everything,even courting manners. But well,what do I care?"

"Enough to disturb others' sleep through your late night self-indulgent altercations" a voice drawled in beside his bed.

"Seriously,mate. Try to sleep or let others sleep. This was a long,tiring day and we have a tournament ahead,"Theo grumbled from under the covers while Draco shot a glare at this direction.

Another Time Travel fic. This time it's Hermione and Draco going back to time for their own purposes but getting entangled in the middle as they decide to help each other out before returning to the original timeline.

"Be wise before you hold my hand,Granger" Draco said. "I'm not just offering you for a dance. I'm offering you for a lifetime with me. Once you accept this, you're never returning to Weasley."

If Hermione didn't know better what Draco looks like and sounds like when he's joking,she'd almost think this was just one of his attempts at flirting. But one look at his eyes and the intonation of his words sent her shivers.

"That's not how time traveling works,Malfoy. We aren't supposed to end up together. That's not why we're here,"she explained.

"It's okay,Granger. You can just tell me you don't want this,"he chuckled bitterly. "For if you did, you wouldn't care what happens and what's supposed to happen. You'd just join me without excuses."

"I'm not making excuses,Draco. I'm a mother as well. If I mess here in this timeline, they'd be gone there in the future,"seethed Hermione.

One of the common tropes here: Compulsory Marriage under Marriage Law post-war. Here, Hermione is literally fighting with the Ministry to prevent her marriage with Draco. While Draco reluctantly agreed to the marriage since this was the only way to save himself from landing into Azkaban, Hermione had a huge outburst.

"Minister,are you seriously telling me I have to marry this git?" Hermione scoffed in disbelief. "Now now Granger. That's not the way to refer to your future husband," Draco drawled in. She almost forgot Kingsley called both of them to talk about their compatibility in terms of marriage. "Quite rich coming from someone that called me filthy mudblood the entire time he'd known me".That seemed to shut Draco up. The Minister in the question coughed a bit to grab their attention. "Hermione, I'm sorry,okay? I tried talking with the other ministers about this. But nobody including myself seem to come up with a solution better than this." "Granger, don't act like this is a punishment only for you. If choices or circumstances were any better, I'd rather do a dirty dance with goblins of the Gringotts than showing up here and talk about the prospect of marriage....or whatever this is," Draco said in an annoyed tone."Serves you right for all the horrid things you were part of," Hermione replied to him and then turned to Shacklebolt, " I understand why and how this is a punishment to him. But this is a punishment to me as well. And what am I being punished for?"she almost cried out. Draco visibly flinched a bit. "Ever since I stepped into the Wizarding World, almost everyone has taken a knack of making a point to me that I'll never be good enough to belong here. So, I studied.I learnt as much as possible,more than anyone else and tried to dedicate myself to whatever it takes to make a perfect witch. Then, Voldemort returned. Second Wizarding War came along. Everyone talks about what or who has been lost who has made sacrifices but does anyone know I had to take it to myself to wipe out my parents' memories of me and drive them away because the Wizarding World cannot provide them with protection?!"Her eyes were glistened and voice became hoarse. "Hermione,you have to know I'm sorry and thankful-" "No,Minister. I'm not holding anyone accountable for what became of my parents. That's completely my own doing.What I'm trying to understand is after everything I've seen and been through, why am I to be hitched against my own volition to this rotten scum of a Deatheater?!" "Ex.Death. Eater,"Draco said in a dangerously low voice. "You have all the reasons to hate me,Granger. But don't carelessly throw around words like you know me. Despite all the hatred and animosity over the years, I tried to warn you during the Triwizard tournament. I didn't want you to end up at the Manor and I definitely didn't want this!"he shrieked pointing at her forearm where that eight-lettered word was curved in forever. "I didn't want this either," he said in a softer tone,pointing at his own forearm and own scar this time. "So,you see. I'm not the good guy that you'd want as your husband. But I'm not as evil as you expect me to be either." Draco's eyes held nothing but honesty and sincerity which took Hermione aback. "Have you said your piece?" she asked with a renewed vigor to which Draco nodded.

"I'd submit my wand and all magical articles to your office tomorrow,Minister. And return to the Muggle world for good. I shall take your leave now." With that she stomped out of the room without even sparing the other two wizards a glance or letting them speak.

Draco's boggart wasn't his father's disappointment in him. Heck it wasn't even the Dark Lord himself. His boggart was a certain Muggleborn witch crying and writhing in pain on the stone cold floor of the Manor,her screams ringing through the Manor walls tortured by his own aunt while he stands there like a coward, doing nothing,not even looking at her.

After being able to successfully able to restore her parents' memories using the Memory Charm,ever-so-curious Hermione Granger tries it on herself. What she didn't expect was an overwhelming rush of memories consisting of a certain very familiar blonde with very unfamiliar moments between them. Shock,surprise,sadness and anger crashed down on her altogether. Did anyone else know? Had he obliviated himself as well?

She knew accepting a dare from Weasley Twins meant trouble. Yet,when they called her a scaredy cat for trying to back down from the bet,she lunged into it. Even if that meant she had to stalk Draco Malfoy the annoying ferret for a week while disillusioning herself. What she didn't realise was that the thing that started as a dare would become habit while being thrust into a totally different perspective of what the-boy-who-made-her-school-life-hell really was.

She was tired of being called ‘boring’ and ‘no fun’. The one time she decided to pull on a prank was on someone no one would expect. Draco Malfoy. So,when an accident happens while concucting the Love Potion and the cauldron explodes,Hermione falls in love with her forever nemesis. Or should I say, pretends to fall in love with him.Draco Malfoy was already having a hard time accomplishing the task he was assigned with. A bushy headed witch being all sappy and clingy was the last thing he needed at the moment.

[yikesharringrove]

(( Soooo Pokemon AU? Idk if you’re a fan of Pokemon but given all the cool snippets and stuff you’ve written I figured I’d return the favour in a way and write this and submit it to you! I included some notes at the end! ))

– Unstable Genes –

Billy knew Steve would have a preppy, rich boy Pokemon. He just knew it. Granted he expected it to be something more powerful and less, cute.

The Eevee was always at Harrington’s side, matching brown doe-eyes observing the school. It didn’t shy from the larger Pokemon that approached it, nor did it act sickeningly sweet. It stood it’s ground, head held high, matching Steve’s general disinterest in the bustle of the school or the gossip around it. It was so weird to see such a small ball of fluff regard bigger, tougher Pokemon with such little concern. Billy didn’t know a lot about Eevees but he knew Steves was… off. For one thing, the aloofness. For another, it was (apparently) strong as fuck according to Tommy and half the school. Tommy in particular wouldn’t shut up about the battles the little Eevee had won, helping to secure old King Steve’s crown before he lost it. The other thing was that it hadn’t evolved, despite Steve apparently having it since he was ten.

Billy knew an Eevee’s DNA was extremely fucked. They evolved if you so much as looked at them funny. Buy some expensive stone and shove it in your Eevee’s face? it’ll evolve. Take them aboard to some fancy place and rub it on a stone in a specific place? It’ll evolve. Give it a ton of cake and pet it a bunch? It’ll evolve. It’s not hard to get those things if you can afford the Eevee in the first place. There were no wild Eevee’s anywhere; they were all from breeders and cost far more than anyone should pay for a Pokemon, so if you could afford the Eevee, you’d evolve it. If you weren’t keeping it for a pet.

It just made Billy all the more curious. Curious about the once King Steve and his un-evolved Eevee. And Klaus - his Luxio, the only Pokemon he had managed to keep from Cali - was equally curious. It wanted a decent fight. It saw the little Eevee, heard the stories, and licked it’s teeth, eyes gleaming. Klaus always looked for that Eevee, always trying to catch it’s gaze, caught between growling for it’s attention and purring, letting eelctricity crackle in it’s fur with every step. Billy couldn’t blame Klaus. He saw Steve and ached for the fight. To see his eyes focus on them and them alone, take charge of the battle, hear him issue commands to that Eevee. To get Steve’s skin under his fists, under his hands, to scratch, to grip, to grapple. To feel him sweat and bleed. To press him down with his body.

Then came the Night. Billy got to face King Steve, staring him down after being sent on a bullshit mission to find Max. He’d wanted this for so long but not like this. Not when it was backed up with the shit from his old man. Not when he saw Max peered from the window. Not when Steve fucking lied to his face about his sister being there with a bunch of weird boys. Klaus snarled, and Steve’s little Eevee puffed up, digging kitten claws into the earth.

It was criminal Billy couldn’t remember the fight that followed, thanks to the drugs Max had shot into him (that shit was crystal clear - the rest of the tape, the good shit, was covered in static and fuzz). He remembered throwing a punch. He remembered getting punched back. He remembered smashing a plate. He remembered feeling a pair of canines sink into his ankle as the little furball bit him, evading his attempts to kick it off. He remembered Klaus lunging, electricity crackling in his teeth as he lunged at the Eevee. And then, jackshit. But he saw the results of it the next day.

Steve was bruised, deep purple splotches darkening as his body worked to recover. On his pale skin they were beautiful, vivid proof that Billy had gotten his hands on King Steve and left a mark. Steve glanced over and for a moment, their eyes met. Billy didn’t look away. Steve didn’t either. Billy resisted the urge to lick his teeth. To make it another challenge. It was when his Luxio gave a deep, rumbling noise beside him, caught between a growl and a purr, that Billy turned, following his Luxio’s gaze to the Pokemon at Steve’s side. Billy wanted to punch something. Steve’s Eevee was no longer an Eevee. Steve’s Eevee had evolved, during or just after their fight, and he couldn’t remember it.

Billy didn’t know a lot about Eevee’s aside from them evolving at the drop of a hat. He didn’t know what it was, but it was not a preppy little furball anymore. It’s fur was sleek and black, with yellow rings on it’s legs and forehead, matched by bands around it’s ears and tail. The doe-like, black eyes were gone, replaced by knowing, red eyes. It looked directly at Billy. For an eternity, Billy stared at it as it watched him. The yellow rings glowed and dimmed in a hypnotic pulse rhythm. Yellow on black, like every caution and warning sign Billy had seen. Finally, it turned, following Steve down the hallway.

It didn’t take long to find a book on Eevees in the library, to find out what the hell Harrington’s Eevee had become. He found the page with a picture of the Pokemon, reading through it and freezing, ignoring the dirty look from the libraian as Klaus stood on his hind legs to look at the book, as if he could fucking read (Really, he was just staring at the picture).

“Umbreon, the Moonlight Pokemon. A well trained Eevee with a strong bond to it’s trainer can evolve into an Umbreon under the influence of the Moon.

A nocturnal hunter, it blends in with darkness by dimming the markings on it’s body. When excited and ready to strike, the markings shine brightly, startling it’s prey. It’s possible that it uses the glow of it’s markings to communicate with others… Not much is known about this Pokemon; Umbreons (and Espeons; see page 196) are unknown in the wild, and few trainers evolve their Eevees this way. Most cite that it is easier to evolve their Eevees through other means and train them appropriately according to how they evolve, rather than spend the time to attain these forms and then hone their training. Fewer still are willing donate their Pokemon for research on this elusive species…”

Billy looked down at Klaus, snapping the book shut. He knew Max had told him to stay away from her little weirdo friends. Which apparently included Steve. Which was still extremely fucking weird. But he wanted to know. He wanted to know what the fuck happened that night. Why Steve was there. What the fuck Max and those kids were doing. How Steve’s Eevee had evolved from some little bundle of fluff into a literal Pokemon of the night. “Klaus. We got some training to do.”

—

(( Steve’s Pokemon is an Eevee! It’s a rare Pokemon; in earlier games it couldn’t be found in the wild at all, and you’d only get one given to you. They can evolve into a total of eight different Pokemon, depending on what method you use, and each evolved Pokemon is a different type with different stats and abilities. So it’s very popular! It feels like the kind of thing Steve’s parents would give him and think “yep, we’re good parents, back to work/never being at home”. And given how listless Steve generally is, he wouldn’t have decided how to evolve it. Until it evolves in response to…well, the everything happening! Steve’s evolved into an Umbreon, a dark type, which has high defensive stats. Eevee evolves into Umbreon when it had a strong bond with it’s trainer and levels up at night-time - I feel like the events of Stranger Things would cause Steve to develop a very real bond with it and cause the evolution. And I can’t decide what he would name it or if it would be a boy or a girl (girls are much rarer than males - it’s like a 1/8 chance of obtaining a female Eevee).

>>>

Billy’s Pokemon is a Luxio! It’s essentially a teenage lion, and an electric type. They’re not super rare but they look extremely rad and channel electricity into their claws/fangs when they attack! They also develop the ability to see through walls when their eyes gleam a golden colour, which they use to trakc prey or lost cubs of theirs… It evolves from a Shinx (a cub basically) and then evolves into a Luxray (the adult lion). It feels very Billy to me! I imagine he had another pokemon that was a water type/fish, so he had to leave them in the sea when he ended up going to Hawkins. I also took the name Klaus from the lead singer of the Scorpions cos I am not that good at coming up with names.

God this ended up being massive, I completely understand if you don’t post this. I don’t really know how to sign this off cos this is literally my first contribution to the Harringrove fandom despite lurking for a while. But again, thank you for all the stuff you write! I hope that even if you don’t like Pokemon, this makes ya smile. I guess I should leave a name or something, URM

- that guy who made the stupidly long Pokemon AU submission

-

I LOVE pokemon this is so fucking good. I’ve definitely thought about Steve having an Eevee before, and I love it evolving That Night, especially into Umbreon, that’s so GOOD and POWERFUL. I also love the idea of Steve with Mimikyu for,,,, angst reasons. And I love Billy with Luxio. I totally see him with electric or fire types because he would really like the strength and energy those types bring. I’ve thought about him with Cubone (also for angst reasons), or even Growlithe/Arcanine mostly bc I’m more familiar with gen 1 and 2. Seriously, I love this SO MUCH and if you ever wanna write more 👀👀 I would LOVE to read it.

[giorno-plays-piano]

The Void

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x mutant!Reader

Warnings: yandere, obsession, HYDRA’s experiments, brief mention of suicidal thoughts, captivity, home invasion, stalking, kidnapping.

Words: 2381.

Summary: Once an ordinary human, you keep running away from both HYDRA and Avengers, knowing what your powers will be used for. The problem is the Soldat picking up your trail.

P.S. The reader is somewhat dark-ish in this one.

________________

Carefully slipping inside the laundry room through a broken window, you landed on the cold concrete floor and shivered, hoping you could find a really warm blanket somewhere upstairs.

Although you still felt a bit ashamed breaking in the houses of other people like that, at this point it was the one and only alternative you had. Of course, there was always an option to submit to HYDRA or whoever else was hunting you down, but you didn’t really appreciated it, simply trying to stay away from both heroes and villains since to you they were all the same. You knew perfectly well once somebody captured you they’d be using you for murdering other people.

Thankfully, laundry room wasn’t locked, and you started wandering the house, peeping into each and every room. Watching photos of the family the house belonged to, you felt guilty again. These people weren’t at fault you were homeless and chased out from every damn place on the Earth, but you still took what was theirs just because you could find no other way to live. Well, at least you tried to leave the place as it had been prior to your break-in, except a broken window in the laundry room and canned beans you’d eat.

God, you could kill for a bowl of homemade chicken soup. You barely remembered eating it before HYDRA captured you a few years ago. Of course, they didn’t try to starve you there, but you couldn’t call what they’d been giving you real food either. Thinking of your cell and those meals made you squeeze your eyes shut and take a deep breath. Everywhere was better than there, so you needed to put your shit together and take whatever fate offered you.

It was getting late, and you glanced at the tiny window in the basement, wrapped in a big grey comforter you brought from upstairs. You never slept in the rooms of other people, not knowing when the rightful owners of the houses you broke in could come back. Generally, you didn’t have problems with people, either escaping before their return or finding your way out secretly without them knowing somebody was hiding in their basement. However, sometimes you had a feeling people hunting you were coming close, and you didn’t risk getting too comfortable. Today was one of those days, and you bit down on your lower lip. These ones were probably not HYDRA operatives - they’d never risk attacking you at night when your powers were at peak. Nevertheless, it didn’t mean whoever was coming for you was harmless. You had to be prepared.

That’s it. Somebody was approaching, you could feel it in your bones. It was probably the one and only thing you were grateful to HYDRA - you were nearly invincible in the dark.

Silently leaving the comforter on the floor near an empty can, you got up, moving to stand near the wall behind the door, hardened black mass blocking tiny windows and leaving the intruder only one way to get in. You hoped they weren’t bringing explosives as you still had a hard time compressing the darkness around them - a month ago it resulted in some serious damage done to the house where you were hiding.

But this time was different: there was only one man who came for you, A strange man, though. He had a metal arm, and his body… It was something you had never felt before. The man was like that Duracell bunny they showed in TV ad, enhanced to the point he was barely human, probably.

But he was still just a man, now all alone with a monster like you.

When he entered quietly, leaving the door barely open, you blew it off its hinges. You had very little patience - now you would have to have a sleepless night, trying to find a new hideout as far as you could from this place and hoping HYDRA wouldn’t track you down. Its operatives were way more creative in their attempts to catch you: that mirror box trapping light nearly killed you last time.

Wrapping your fists into black mass like boxing gloves, you punched the man, but he quickly moved away, apparently, more skilled in combat than you were. Well, whatever, you thought as the darkness disintegrated on top of your skin, and then the intruder got a direct blow to his stomach without you getting near him. Coming to you at night was a suicide.

You kept beating him down until he dropped to the cold floor of the basement, beads of sweat and blood shining on his skin as you pinned him down, completely unharmed. You did your best to avoid the vital organs, but it was probably unnecessary - you could literally feel the soldier regenerating while he laid down, staring at the ceiling. Was he HYDRA’s creation just like you were? Or did good guys make beasts like him, too?

“I won’t do anything to you,” you told him, coming closer to look into his surprisingly handsome face, “but I’ll kill whoever you send to catch me next.”

“HYDRA’s… coming after you.” The soldier muttered, coughing and wincing from pain as you towered above him.

“You or them, doesn’t matter much.”

A part of you felt remorse for beating the stranger so bad he couldn’t rip the restraints holding him down despite his enormous strength, but the other part made you remember you were the victim, not him. The only thing you ever wanted was living like a human being, not a lab rat or a weapon of mass destruction used by whoever hold you hostage.

Besides, if this guy didn’t know the nature of your powers before attacking you, now he certainly did. It was unwise to let him live - he would definitely let his masters know - but you couldn’t force yourself to end him. Killing wasn’t nice. You had never enjoyed it.

“Avengers can protect you.”

What? Did the man work for them, then? You smirked, shaking you head.

“Avengers can’t protect themselves. Now please be quiet and let me leave. We’re done for today.” Turning your back at him, you went to grab your backpack and then put a few cans in it to continue your journey, tired and upset you couldn’t rest despite travelling all day long.

“I can help you.”

You abruptly turned to face him still chained to the floor and clenched your teeth. This was what HYDRA’s men were telling you year after year. Helping you, that what they were doing.

“If you don’t shut the fuck up, I’m going to plant spikes right through your tongue.” You hissed at him, going back and watching him with his pretty mouth finally shut. “If you wanna play a hero so much, go wipe HYDRA out and forget I’ve ever existed.”

The soldier stayed silent, and you exhaled angrily, marching through the basement to the stairs and quickly going up. God knew how many people could be waiting for you outside of the house - Avengers were usually gathering together on the missions, even you knew that from occasionally seeing them in the news.

Shit, it was going to be a long night.

________________________

One more month was gone as you continued to run and hide like the world’s top criminal, chased out of many cities where you could find peace for at least a couple of days. Now it was mostly one-night sleepovers anywhere you could find. You finally understood what being a mad dog meant - sometimes you thought you could kill for those canned beans you hated so much before.

Slowly, but surely you were running out of options where to hide. The only place now was the forest surrounding that little town where you relocated after your brief encounter with HYDRA two days ago. Forest was a bad place to be. You had very little skills allowing you to survive out in the wild for long. The more you thought about that, the more you realized you had, in fact, only one option left.

Suicide. Only then you could become truly free of that mad chase and ensure no one would use your abilities for killing others. You already had enough blood on your hands.

And still, when you though of black spikes piercing your head, you were shaking. It would be so much easier if somebody just shot you when you weren’t looking.

Huh, what a cruel world you lived in, you thought while finishing a can of chicken ham - God, you didn’t even remember when you ate something so delicious. It was harder to imagine killing yourself after a good meal, but you still considered the option, looking at the carpet with a dull expression on your face.

You were euphoric after your escape from that facility where you were held, and now you were thinking maybe it was better to just wither there like all those countless men and women before you, unable to contain their enormous powers in pathetic human bodies. What was the point of being so strong if you couldn’t have your life back? What were these powers for except the destruction? You’d gladly exchange your fantastic abilities on a chance to return home to your family. That is, if HYDRA let it be, which was unlikely.

You blinked, tired to the point you barely felt your own body. If they’d decide to come for you now, you probably couldn’t dodge the attack this time.

But it wasn’t HYDRA who came for you - with a syringe in your neck, you suddenly fell down to the floor, watching the handsome face of a man who had seemingly emerged from the wall behind you like a ghost. What was that? Was he like you, too? You didn’t sense it in him the first time, but maybe the soldier was more dangerous than you anticipated. Well, he certainly was, you thought as he carried you upstairs like a firefighter escaping the burning house. Would he lock you down in a cell, too? Would he let his masters experiment on you for the sake of humanity? Would he kill you once you closed your eyes?

Before the soldier reached the front entrance, you had already lost consciousness under the influence of the drag he injected.

The darkness that followed should had been calming, soothing, as you only felt safe in complete darkness, but you couldn’t find your peace: it was cold and lonely and scary when you were falling down deeper and deeper into the black void. Did he kill you, then? Was it the end? Would you spend your eternity in the dark?

It certainly felt like eternity before you woke up, still in the middle of nowhere, but feeling a soft mattress beneath your back. Your arms and legs hurt - it felt like you were tied up to bed. However, the fabric of your clothes was nothing like the ones you wore before the assault. It felt soft, and smelled pretty nice, too.

But you still saw nothing, nothing at all. Everything was pitch black.

Were you in a dark room? A cell? Whatever, you could work with it, you though and called the darkness as if it was a part of you.

And nothing happened.

You called again, then once more and once more, but the darkness didn’t free you. It didn’t answer to your plea - it wasn’t there at all.

Suddenly, you realized there was no darkness surrounding you as you heard a subtle buzz of dozen projectors directed right at you. The darkness was in your head because they blinded you.

You were screaming and crying and jolting on the bed, trying your best to break free, crush the metal headboard, do anything at all to just touch your eyes, discover what they did to you as you felt nothing but numbness and some tingling. Did they pluck out your eyes? Did they take them out because it would be easier to control you once you lost your eyesight?

You didn’t know whether you were still screaming when you felt a stranger’s hand on your cheek as he sat down on the bed. Exhausted and horrified, you tried kicking him, but the restraints kept you in place as he lowered his head to your face, “it’s alright. You’re safe.”

Oh, it was him. It was the soldier who had emerged from the wall of the house you were hiding the last time.

“What did you… do to me?” Breathing hard, you yanked your head to the side to avoid his touch. Huh, safe, that how he called it. HYDRA or Avengers, there had never been any difference to you.

“I had to temporarily blind and drug you. The effect will wash off in a few days.”

With that, you forgot how to breathe for a couple of seconds. Temporarily? Did it mean you eyes would be alright? Did he not pop your eyes out of their sockets?

“Please, calm down. I won’t hurt you.”

You stayed quiet, but not because the soldier asked you to. You just laid there, listening to the buzz of the projectors and thinking you would be able to see something again. For a few seconds you were filled with a bitter sense of triumph. Maybe you were crying again, though you couldn’t really feel the tears streaming down your face.

Oh, how could you wish to die? How could you even think of committing suicide? No, no, never again, even if you’d have to break each and every bone in the bodies of your enemies, and rip their heads off. Whatever it takes just never to return to that black void again.

“No one knows you’re here.” The soldier said somewhere close to your face, and you furrowed your brows. “HYDRA won’t find you.”

“Until you push me to the battlefield.” You sneered, still furious he did such a horrible thing to you, leaving you here like that.

“Avengers don’t know you here either.”

Laughing sarcastically, you fell silent as you felt his flesh hand touching your cheek and brushing the hair out of your face.

“Don’t worry, I will fulfill your wish.” You could smell the metal of his breath. “You won’t exist for anyone but me.”

_______________________

Tags: @finleyjayne​ @alexakeyloveloki​ @helenaeisenhower​ @villanellevi​ @hurricanerin​ @void-hoechlin​ @abyssaint​ @heeeyitskay @chris-evans-indian-fanfic​ @navegandoaciegas​ @rosalynshields​ @brattycherubwrites​ @sllooney​ @angrythingstarlight​ @soleil-dor​ @lookiamtrying​ @buckysbunny​ @iheartsebastianstan​ @stargazingfangirl18​ @ninefuckingoneone​​

[theunconcernedembalmer]

what’s the issue with elisop? is it just bc you hc aesop as ace? im so concerned by seeing ppl adamantly opposed to mlm/wlw ships but im also genuinely curious about why you dislike it and other lgbt ships so much lol

hmm. that is a strong accusation, n i find it just a bit odd. are you new here? or perhaps you are taking personal offense at my dislike towards a favourite ship of yours and using the lgbt argument as moral high ground?

whatever the case may be, i thank you for asking. if u r truly looking for an answer, its below the cut n it is very very long. mind u these are all my personal opinions n i am in no way policing how others enjoy ships. just in case this wasnt clear; i dont wish to start discourse on this blog, especially since my takes are probably... unpopular.

firstly i would like to address the “disliking lgbt ships” bit, because this has very strong implications in itself. i have nothing against lgbt ships. i enjoy them, even. if the two characters have chemistry between each other, i ship it. however, the moment characterization is broken for the sake of romance, i lose interest. this is generally my stance on ships in general, n this applies for both straight n lgbt ships. 

the ships themselves are fine. however, i do have issues with the ship dynamics, so ill let u in on that.

i want to touch on mlm ships in particular; i believe u are familiar with the top/bottom dynamic that is rampant in these kinds of ships? (i wont deny that this dynamic can be found in other types of ships, but for arguments sake i will be focusing on gay ships because i feel that this occurs more commonly here) its such a popular dynamic that is prone to stripping the personality from one if not both characters, only for them to be reduced to being dominant/submissive. for a character to be pigeonholed into a stereotypical category based on... preferred sexual positions? its just downright insulting, never mind the larger more problematic implications of it. top/bottom is not indicative of someones personality, by the way. flattening multi dimensional characters into these stereotypes is so so so insulting.

unfortunately this is The Most Popular portrayal of just about any gay ship around. ive seen it being used everywhere in so many fandoms n it just about becomes apparent to me that ppl come to stories looking for a Ship. not the stories, nor the characters, just a ship. while id like to say theres nothing wrong with that, keep in mind not everyone is just looking for 2 characters that look pretty next to each other. if i ship something, i see interesting n meaningful interactions between 2 characters, which is so often not the case once u bring in the top/bottom dynamic. why is it so popular? because somehow this is what ppl like from a gay ship n hence it sells. ppl want the drama, characterizations be damned. ppl want to see the big kiss that happens in the end, n maybe the sexy parts that come after. characterizations be damned.

so u can say im a little wary of gay ships when they cross my feed. hell, as a joseph aesop shipper i see this trope everywhere n im pretty disappointed as well. small tangent but i feel like this is the reason why zh0ngli n ch1lde is so popular in g3nshin. i try to see the appeal, i really do, but after a long while of analyzing their respective characters i dont think they have as much chemistry as ppl think they do. dont even get me started on how incredibly ooc they make either of these very interesting n unique characters in ship portrayals. all because of the top/bottom dynamic that ppl want to see. i say this for that particular ship, but this is pretty much the case for a lot of ships out there, n the latter part is painfully true even when the 2 characters do have potential between each other. ill say it again im disgusted by the blatant disrespect to the characterizations if all ppl ever want is 2 pretty puppets to mush lips together. cos thats what theyre essentially reduced to this way.

n its so obvious to see when an artist subscribes to this rhetoric, because u can so clearly see it in the way they draw their characters. the “top” generally has sharper features to go with their “dominating personality”, while the “bottom” has disturbingly softer, feminine, dare i say sometimes child like features “to submit”. n thats where the uwu soft gay trope comes from, i believe. which, in case u still dont know, i hate with a burning passion.

so again for ppl with impaired reading comprehension, im fine with ships, including lgbt ones, but the moment u break characterization for the sake of the ship, im not that okay with it. u want to do it for a short crack comic? fine. but if thats the only way ur portraying the 2 characters then im immediately wary of ur content. ill still look at it cos usually the art is really good, but im very very wary. so im not “adamantly opposed”, just very critical of how the ships are being portrayed. if other ppl want to enjoy their ships like that, sure. just dont expect me to join in on something i dont agree on.

.

now id like to address not shipping “because i hc aesop as ace”. for ppl who are new to the blog (hello there), im an ace in a romantic relationship, so thats definitely not the reason i dont ship elisop. its more of being in a relationship has largely shaped my views towards romance as a whole. even before i met my boyfriend, i hated the romance genre in stories n media. most of it comes off as incredibly forced, especially those love triangles they seem to love putting into teen novels. thats one reason why i stopped reading when i was younger, but i digress.

did i partake in shipping when i was younger? i did. for a gay ship too (if anyone really wants to know, its kurotsukki from haikyuu. at least this was one that i can remember, i was mostly working on my 20 odd ocs for the longest time). i also used to write little short romance ficlets that i never posted anywhere cos i hated (n still do hate) my writing. but writing romance when u dont have experience was really just a way of projecting n probably a way of coping for myself, not that i knew at that time. but after i actually started a relationship with my boyfriend (whom i love n cherish a lot thank u very much), i began to see how much all these have skewed my views towards romance n have actually done some harm to our relationship. the bullshit that the general media feeds u constantly doesnt help in the slightest either.

quick topic shift to elisop in particular (about time, right?). i already stated that i only ship characters if i sense chemistry between the two personalities, n if u have seen the part where i dont ship elisop then u must have seen how agonized i am over not being able to have a concrete personality for eli. that is the main problem i have with elisop: eli does not feel like a solid character to me. n that is a huge problem, because if he doesnt have any defining characteristics besides being mild n nice, then he can be whoever i want him to be. (i have done this in my exorcist comics, i will admit this. n the fact that i can just do that... it really does not sit well with me personally.)

n that is dangerous.

back to young me doing lil ship things. i think its also pretty safe to say when u really do ship 2 characters, chances are u kinda really relate very very hard to at least one of them. that very quickly can turn into projecting, n shipping therefore is not “exploring the relationship between 2 characters” n it becomes “my preferred dating simulator 101″. of course this isnt always the case, but at least it was for me, n subconsciously it might be for lots of ppl too. n since this is ur mental playground, u call the shots, n there is no consequences if u slightly (or even entirely) alter one or both personalities to fit ur desired narrative. n u wouldnt even notice or know, cos ur blind to ur own biasness.

we bring our perceived notions into real life, im sure u know that. so when ur partner does not become that perfect knight in shining armour, or when they get upset at things that u do (which is a very normal thing by the way), n u think (very subconsciously), That isnt what my otp would do, something is wrong here (nothing is wrong, actually its just ur skewed perception of a stable romantic relationship). why wouldnt ur otp do this? because u are both halves of ur otps, there is no hidden secrets between them (apart from the pining part but thats irrelevant), n again they have been altered to fit ur preferred narrative. 

a real relationship requires a lot of communication between parties, because newsflash, liking someone doesnt mean that u have to like every single thing they do, they will make mistakes n it will hurt u, n guess what, the reverse is also true. if u do go with absoutely anything that they would do with 0 objections whatsoever, ur not crushing on someone, ur idolizing them, n that power imbalance is detrimental to a relationship. these things are not obvious to ppl, especially when the whole climate is hell bent on getting into romantic relationships by a certain age or some bullshit. communication is key n is pretty much the only way to solve relationship issues, because the other person has a lot that u r not seeing n vice versa. as similar as 2 ppl can be, i doubt u can have 100% the same thoughts on all things. i dont make the rules.

so in ur mental playground u focus on the fluffy parts, maybe there is communication, but rarely is there any meaningful conflict. thats unrealistic, n if u bring that mindset to an actual relationship, thats not going to end well. i say meaningful conflict, because yes, generally u shouldnt have conflicts with ur significant other. but inevitably when ur with each other for long enough, u will realize that there are habits that u must change in order to be with the other person. habits that are harmful to the other person directly, or harmful habits towards yourself that indirectly harm the other person. these are meaningful in a sense that if left alone, it will manifest into larger problems that will harm u, the other person n the relationship as a whole. its meaningful to the relationship.

all these is made even worse if ur neurodivergent. maladaptive coping practices, self sabotaging behaviours, inherent disabilities. all these must be adjusted n addressed. im so incredibly thankful for my boyfriend for being incredibly patient with me when working all these out, n it has not been easy for me to work on myself n all my problems, n im still not done working on them. this aspect is often not explored in romance in general (or properly), n there is a very good chance i would have still been stuck in the unhealthy mindset of “this isnt like my otp, maybe we’re not meant to be”. because loving someone is a choice. no one is made for each other, it is a conscious choice made between 2 ppl to make things work. this is how arranged marriages work, i am told, n i do see the appeal, not that it actually does appeal to me culturally.

special mention to the kurotsukki ship, cos from there i found a very, very good fic that explored their relationship before n after getting together, n it actually showed aspects of this problem in the incredibly slow burn of (at that time) 20+ chapters. it was just one fic (n a very good one at that, i believe it was called Leviticus), but it had a lesson i never thought i needed to learn, n learn it i did, with a lot of help from my dear. 

this is also probably the reason why i dont really want to delve too much into romance now. i know its a lot of work, n everything (mostly) that the media feeds u is really false advertising, but ppl eat that shit up n so it remains one of the most popular genres to date. im just very wary that if i do start on a romantic story, i want to be able to show it in a way like that fic did, the truths of relationships, because i dont want to make something that sells, i want to make something that meaningful to me, if a little indulgent. n that also includes being very careful in how the respective characterizations will change in a relationship. almost too careful now that i think about it, but its not something that i mind. i was never one for romance from the start, n now im very careful about shipping because of what happened to me persoanlly.

okay enough about me, lets talk about aesop. in any au u put the character in, the essence of the character must remain despite the change in environment. so lets say we have ur typical modern au. dead mom, check. shitty mentor doing illegal stuff? also check. autistic boy with social anxiety? we’re good to go. all these have implications on aesop as a character, n while ppl are aware of this, again the way they go about portraying it can go, in my personal opinion, very wrong. ppl who immediately woobify aesop completely because he has autism annoy me. ppl who reduce him to uwu soft boi cos he has social anxiety do not know how the disorder really works n as someone who has that i hate it to the core. ppl who do all these for the sake of ship have lost my respect. its insulting.

remember the top/bottom dynamic? not that elisop is completely free from that (even if i dont know much about eli, to put him in either one of those stereotypes feels very insulting to his character. i wont even say anything about doing it to aesop its so upsetting), but its not entirely made up of either. but now i want to introduce another trope i am very wary of, which is “i can fix him”. im sure u guys have seen the meme going around poking fun at this trope (for those who havent, its along the lines of “u can fix him? well i can be his worst nightmare”) n no doubt yall would have seen it n gotten sick of it in some forced hetero romantic bullshit. we have one damsel in distress with a saviour that solves all their problems just by existing n being romo with each other.

remember “my preferred dating simulator 101″? this is not mutually exclusive n from my point of view this is dangerously close to this trope. lets be real, if it was actually a thing that all ur deep rooted trauma magically disappears if someone were to waltz into ur life, we would want it. definitely. no painfully dissecting ur own problems n constantly facing them head on. real life states that this is not the case, but it will not stop us from dreaming. n so this trope is born n lives n will go on.

(finally) pulling aesop n eli into this, at least in my mind, u have one severely traumatized boy with lots of issues n u have this. nice mild guy who can be anything u want him to be. i hope u can see where im going with this, n thats the direction i see some elisop heading towards (i dont read a lot of elisop to be fair). if u came from my eli character talk, i mentioned that it is incredibly one sided. this is exactly what im talking about.

putting it all together in case u havent already, aesop is the damsel in distress, whose problems magically disappear because of elis godly kindness n little to no work on improving himself, n they lived happily n gayly ever after.

can u tell how much that does not appeal to me. 

never mind the butchering of character that inevitably happens somewhere somehow, the unrealistically perfect themes n implications of this trope makes me so viscerally uncomfortable. this is, of course, due to personal reasons, n i definitely see the appeal of this dynamic because i would probably have been interested in this once upon a time as well. but as i am now, with everything i have explained up there n everything i have been through, i would politely rather not.

n its difficult to think of another dynamic, because of how little i know about eli apart from him being this saint, which easily makes him a candidate for being aesops trauma panacea. never mind aesop rarely, if ever, does anything for eli as a character in return, n its so damaging to buy into this rhetoric, where a person like this who would solve all ur issues no strings attached exists somewhere in the world. they really dont. a relationship has to be mutually benefitting, or it will be draining n disastrous. maybe u say, Oh its nice to imagine it once in a while. n yeah, i agree, except once in a while is a little difficult to keep track of n that is sort of what happened to me. id rather stay as far away as possible from this kind of unrealistic fantasy, i just got this shit sorted out with myself n my boyfriend.

i have some other reasons, but theyre more personally problematic, so i wont go into them here. but this is mostly n generally why i do not ship elisop romantically. if u do, u do u, and have fun, but again dont expect me to join u. thank u for coming to my ted talk, this took a lot longer than expected.

[imagineredwood]

Summary: After a rough session, Nestor has left a couple marks on you and wants so spoil you. Taking advantage, you use the opportunity trick him into letting you spoil the both of you. 

Pairing: Nestor Oceteva x reader 

Warnings:  Daddy kink, alluded sexual content, everyone is an 18+ consenting adult, mentions of spanking and markings

Word count: 1.1K

***I know Nestor got a pretty PG-13 one last time so I tried to give y’all a little more this time. Not smut, but more the aftercare after smut.***

“How are you feeling, princess?”

You smiled softly as Nestor ran his hand along your tummy. He was equally as naked as you were, his hair down and luscious. You both looked satisfied and exhausted simultaneously. The only difference was that your body had scattered in hickies, bites, and welts while his wasn’t. That was how you both liked it. You liked submitting to him. Letting him have his way with you. Not knowing if he was going to be soft and gentle or rough and animalistic. It was always a luck of the draw with him and the suspense always kept you on your toes. Tonight had been no different.

“I’m ok, Daddy.”

Nestor nodded, his hand still smoothing over your tummy.

“Are you sure? You don’t hurt anywhere?”

You wiggled a bit in the bed and then winced as the sheets rubbed against your bare bottom.

“My butt hurts a little.”

Nestor nodded having expected you to say that. He had given you a fair share of spanks and while it hadn’t been your harshest punishment ever, he knew you were bound to be in some discomfort at the very least.

“Let Daddy see.”

You turned slightly so show him your bottom and he nodded, seeing how your skin was slightly raised in certain areas where his hand had landed so many times. He reached over and you flinched, Nestor’s voice soft as he hushed you.

“You’re alright. I won’t touch it.”

He placed his hand on your lower back and leaned forward to get a closer look before pulling back once again.

“Come on, let’s go take a bath.”

You beamed at the suggestion and Nestor couldn’t help but smile himself at seeing you perk up.

“Let’s go then.”

You stood from the bed slowly, your body still both achy and weak. He walked with you arm in arm to the luxurious bathroom and reached down to the faucet to start filling the tub. He turned back to you then and grabbed your special lotion, made to soothe and cool and poured some into his hand, rubbing them together and then softly rubbing your bottom. It really didn’t hurt that bad but seeing Nestor in his relaxed and pampering state was always your favorite and you were prepared to milk it as much as you absolutely could.

You gave a soft gasp as soon as his hands touched the hot skin and he pouted.

“I’m sorry, baby girl. I’ll be more gentle.”

You nodded, though you were grinning evilly on the inside. If you played your cards right, he would let you call the shots for the rest of the night and that was always fun. So, you whimpered and whined as he rubbed the lotion in, even though the welts were already starting to feel much better. Once the lotion was all soaked in, he led you to the tub, hopping in first and then holding his hands out for you to climb in with him. You followed, climbing in, and settling in front of him. You sighed as the warm water started to soothe you immediately. Nestor ran his hand down your back, scooping some of the water in his hand and bringing it up to drip over your skin. He was being soft, and you decided to milk your state. Turning back to face him, you pulled the best puppy eyes you could without being cheesy and looked at him, his hand now coming to trace his wet fingers over the side of your face.

“Daddy?”

“Yes, baby?”

“Can I put in the bath bomb? The glitter one?”

It wasn’t that you weren’t allowed to use it, it was just a rule that you could only use it when you were bathing alone. Miguel hadn’t let Nestor live it down when he had shown up one morning looking tough as ever with specks of pink and gold glitter on his face. He had been tempted to lie and say it was from strippers, but Miguel would never have believed it. He knew that you were Nestor’s one and only. So, Nestor had come clean about the strawberry unicorn glitter bath bomb and Miguel had used it to tease him since. And thus, the rule came to be: no bath bombs when bathing with Daddy.  With a pout of your lip though, Nestor sighed and nodded. He was off tomorrow anyway.

“Sure. Get the yellow one though please.”

You chuckled and settled for the yellow instead of the pink. At least that one looked more normal on the skin. You didn’t mind being covered in pink glitter and looking like a strawberry disco ball, but it wasn’t the best look for the leader of security of the Galindo Cartel. You grabbed the yellow bath bomb and dropping it into the water with a plop, watching happily as is started to fizz and release the color, the water starting to look like something out of a fairy tale. You used your arms to slosh the water around, Nestor simply watching you with a soft smile. These were the moments that he enjoyed the most.

You played around with the water for a few minutes more before it lost its magic and you turned to face him.

“Can I wash your hair?”

Nestor was ready to decline, knowing that he needed to get you food and water after the encounter that you both had just had. Your pout came back again though and he sighed, before submitting once again.

“Fine. But we have to be quick. You need to eat.”

You nodded enthusiastically and turned around in the tub quickly, facing him now instead. You grabbed the shower head and turned the water on low, waiting for it to be warm enough before you started wetting his hair. You let the water soak in, and Nestor closed his eyes, letting you enjoy yourself. It was not often that he let you be the one to pamper him. He knew how much you enjoyed it and figured you deserved it after being such a good girl for him. He laid still as you poured the shampoo and began to massage his scalp, giving a spa worth massage if he was being honest. He was nearly dozing by the time you rinse and moved onto conditioner. Opening his eyes, he looked at you as you sat back, a small smile on your face.

“My hands are tired now. Can you bathe me?”

Nestor chuckled. He knew you were always three steps ahead and this play didn’t disappoint. Sitting up some, he let the conditioner sit in his locks while he grabbed your washcloth and soap, starting to wash your back.

“Always a mastermind, little one.”

SDOD taglist @justahopelessssromantic​ @dazzledamazon​ @lightinthedarkuniverse @emoengelfurleben​ @scribbuluswrites​ @woahitslucyylu​ @glimmerglittergirl​ @lunapiper @teamcardenas​ @robbosugdens​ @that-chick212​ @browngirldominion​ @dreamsxoxous​ @spiced-reads​ @rosabellablood​ @docsangel​@claytoncardenasbabymama @ifoundmyhappythought​ @weirdosandhopelessromantics​ @jasmine10128 @gemini0410 @kaystacks17​ @estxxbritt​  @lilithhastoomanyloves @my-rosegold-soul​ @ateliefloresdaprimavera​ 

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

the webs we weave

For @jitsukawaa as requested for a Raffle prize!

Warnings: noncon/dubcon elements (oral, intercourse)

This is dark! (aged up) Peter Parker x Reader and explicit. 18+ only.

Summary: The reader is a journalist at The Bugle but she finds not all her co-workers are what they seem.

Note: This is a bit of a long one but I got a bit carried away. I tried to fit the request as much as I could. Anyway, hope y’all enjoy. Leave some feedback, like and reblog if you can <3

Another late night. Those were common as of late. Early mornings, too.

Given the content of your days, the stories, it was expected you’d be sleepless. A string of assaults across the city. All of them women. The perpetrator, according to the limited input of the police and the hesitant interviews of the victims; a man, masked, faceless. The descriptions varied, skewed by fear, by trauma. Neither you or the authorities had a concise picture of the suspect.

The first few incidents were reported by a senior report, Colin Rusk. But once the novelty ran dry, Editor-in-Chief Jameson, redirected Rusk to ‘more pressing’ stories and dropped the serial assaulter in your lap. 

You were new with little more under your belt than lifestyle articles and the occasional fluff piece on fleeting fads. Your inexperience made it difficult, if not impossible, to say no. And despite your resilience, your ongoing investigation, the cases would likely go cold and be shoved to the back of the paper until there was no room left for them. Your singular goal was to prevent that cynical end. Making your name as a reporter was secondary.

That morning, you raced down to the latest crime scene. A woman, blonde like most of the others, sat with her legs hanging out of a police car as she gave her statement. Visibly shaken and with bruises on her face, she was just the latest in a string. You’d not be permitted to speak with her until the police took her to the station and filed their report. For the time, you documented the scene as it was.

You were pulled back to your desk. It was almost as if you could still feel the dampness in your bones. It rained overnight and the streets had been slick and shiny in the afterglow. You pored over your notes, the little diagram you’d drawn of the alley way. The minimal details gleaned from the officers on sight. It was all so grim. And sadly familiar.

The attacker had a pattern; a demographic. Lone women, unsuspecting, vulnerable. Blonde, or light brunettes, small enough to be overpowered. You sighed and rubbed your eyes. There were thousands of women fitting that description in the city. Impossible to predict the perpetrator’s next move when it could happen anywhere.

You closed your eyes and leaned back. If the police couldn’t solve this, you surely couldn’t. But that didn’t mean you stopped. It didn’t mean you quieted the voices of the victims as so many others had. No, you kept going. Kept writing their stories down.

You were jolted as a folder slapped across your desk. Your eyes shot open and you looked up into the warm brown eyes before you. Peter mirrored your fright and gave a nervous smile. He pulled his hand away from the folder he’d just laid before you.

“Sorry, I thought you heard me,” He said. “I figured I’d give you a print of the photos I got this morning.”

“Really?” You reached for the folder and peeked inside at the glossy paper. “Thank you.”

“No problem.” He preened. “Jameson won’t want them anyway. Just the ones of the fire on the next block.”

You nodded and set the folder down with your notes. You ran into Peter by chance. He was passing by on his way to his own assignment. He stopped and snapped a few shots, made his usual awkward small talk, and moved along. He’d only been full-time at the Bugle for a year; before he’d been a freelancer throughout his schooling. He was a kid, even compared to you.

“Jameson doesn’t even want this,” You scoffed at your messy desk. “I swear, he’s just trying to force me out. I mean, I guess it’s better than writing about the mayor’s new wallpaper.”

“Jameson’s an idiot but you’re a good reporter. Besides, the Bugle is just your beginning. I know it.” He smiled. He was always so optimistic. It made you feel old.

“Easy for you to say,” You shook your head. “I’m almost thirty and just starting out. You’re still a kid and...Sorry, Peter. I’m just frustrated.”

“Hey, it’s okay. I might be young, but I know how you feel.” He leaned on your desk. “You know, everyone thinks I’m a kid and they just don’t take me seriously but I’m not, you know, a kid. Age is just a number, not a deadline.”

“Peter, I didn’t--”

“I know you didn’t mean it like that. You’re not one of them.” He shrugged and pushed himself straight. “Not like Rusk.”

“Rusk?” You wondered aloud. 

The man was stern, business-minded. A tenured writer. But you’d never had much issue with him yourself. In fact, he’d been most helpful in your early days at the Bugle. You might be picking up his scraps but it was far better than writing a tenth of a page on a dog show.

“Yeah,” Peter blinked at you. His smile changed, as if he knew something you didn’t. “Oh, alright.”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Peter.”

“Well, I...you’re not that naive, are you?” He asked.

“Am I? What do you mean?”

“Rusk never worked for his job, he’s the son of an old friend of Jameson’s. He came on full-time with top billing from the start.” Peter lowered his voice, cautious even though the office was empty.

“Oh, but...I mean, he’s still a good reporter.”

“Good but not entirely...professional.” Peter scoffed.

“Do I sense jealousy?” You teased.

“Me? Jealous of him? No.” Peter’s smile fell. “I’m doing just fine and the Bugle definitely isn’t it for me. I’m starting school next year and then one day, I’m out of here. I don’t wanna be a camera jockey forever.”

“I don’t know, this might be it for me.” You said. “A little late to be starting over a third time.”

“It’s never too late. Just don’t let yourself get sucked in by Rusk and his cronies.” Peter urged. “They’re no good.”

“Thanks, Peter.” You said lightly. 

“Really,” His face darkened. “I mean it. He has...a record in this office. With the women. And I’ve seen how helpful he is with you.”

“Peter, it’s not--”

“I know, I know, I’m young, clueless,” He raised his hands defensively. “I get it. Just...advice. You don’t have to take it but it’s there.”

You nodded and tapped your fingers on the folder. You thought for a moment on your work with Rusk; his insistence that you take over his story; the way he offered to proofread your back page drivel. Peter might be young, but he was smarter than his age belied. There was nothing wrong with being cautious.

“Thanks, Peter,” You flicked the corner of the folder as you looked up at him. “These will help a lot.”

“Really, it’s nothing.” His smile resumed. “Let me know if you ever need a lens. I’d be more than happy to help.”

“You’re too sweet.” You said.

“And you’re too humble.” He tucked his hands in his pockets. “And it’s late so...I’ll leave ya to it and see ya tomorrow, maybe?”

“Yeah, maybe,” You chimed. “See ya, Peter.”

“See ya.” He slowly backed away. “Oh, and let me know if Rusk gives ya any trouble.” He gave a comical flex. “I got your back, newbie.”

You laughed and he did too before he turned away entirely. You turned back to your desk and sighed. How was it that he made you feel young and old all at once? You shook off the cloudlike feeling and grabbed the folder. You’d go through the photos and call it a night. Hopefully, the morning wouldn’t bring a new victim.

🕷️

Your door was open. The chain was snapped and the lock busted in. Worse, you hadn’t even heard the disturbance. Hadn’t even sensed the intruder as you slept in the next room. A rude awakening as you got up and found the door ajar but your apartment otherwise undisturbed.

You called the police and waited in the hall. When they arrived, they asked you their usual questions, the same they asked the women you’d been documenting. Then they investigated you apartment. Nothing was out of place; nothing taken or moved. It was all very peculiar. Almost, the insinuated, as if nothing happened.

When they left, your landlord arrived. You stood by as he called the maintenance man and a locksmith. By the late afternoon, your door was repaired but your wits were fractured. Weeks spent tailing a monster had you paranoid. In your overwrought mind, you wondered if perhaps their attention had turned on you. It all felt too circumstantial. Too farfetched.

You locked yourself inside and submitted your write-up from home. You spent the night on the couch, sleepless, listening for any movement from the other side of the door. Nothing. Exhausted and nervous, you fixed your coffee and dressed. You set off for the day, though the sound of your lock sliding into place gave you no reassurance.

There was another assault. You spent five minutes at the office before you were back out on the street. This one happened only a block from your building. Was that another clue? A confirmation of your outlandish suspicions. You shrugged it off as you came upon the police tape; the scene all too familiar.

You went through your usual routine. Rebuffed by the police as you examined the sight for any clue. Listening to any morsel that slipped carelessly from officers and onlookers alike. You finished your notes and tucked them in your bag. You took one last look at the dumpster, the shadowy fire escape, and the cracked pavement. The image was burned in your mind. An omen of your new fear.

When you returned to the office, you were shaking. You didn’t realize it until you were sat at your desk with your bag in your lap, staring at a dead screen. The voices and typing all around you buzzed in your ears and you shuddered as you hugged you leather bag to your chest. The bright fluorescent bulbs burned your eyes and it felt as if they were watering.

“Hey,” You snapped your head up as Peter greeted you. His face was creased with concern. “You okay?”

“Ye-yeah,” You stuttered and let your bag slip to the floor. You kicked it under the desk and hit the power button of your computer. “Just...thinking.”

He didn’t look convinced. “I didn’t see you yesterday.”

“I...had to take a personal day.” You signed in and shuffled through the papers on your desk. “I’m here now, though.”

“Are you?” He asked. “You sure you’re okay?”

“Fine, just...it’s a heavy story, ya know? Starting to get old.” You bent down to reach into your bag blindly, awkwardly craning your head up above the desk as you fished around.

“Hey,” A voice had you sitting up quickly. Peter’s eyes narrowed as you turned to Rusk. He wore his usual striped button up and skinny tie. “You rushed out this morning. I didn’t get a chance to ask you how you were?”

“Hmm, I’m f-fine.” You stuttered. “Just fine.”

“Yeah? Heard about the break-in. Scary stuff.” He put his hands on his hips. “You need anything, to talk, an escort, let me know.”

“Really, I’m fine.” You insisted. You glanced between Rusk and Peter; the latter watched you closely. “It was nothing.”

“Well, just know, I’m here for you. Whatever you need.” Rusk winked before he turned away and you watched him stroll back to his office. 

You sighed and looked to Peter. His eyes were on Rusk’s door. You’d never seen him anything close to angry but he scowled dangerously after the writer.

“Break-in?” He said as his eyes drifted back to you. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I...I don’t even know how he found out,” You sniffed. “Really, the police didn’t even take it seriously. There was nothing stolen, they didn’t touch me. I don’t --they think it was a drunk or something.”

“It doesn’t matter. You should be safe.” Peter insisted. “Look, I don’t blame you for turning away his offer, guy’s kinda a skeez, but let me walk you home.”

“I take the subway.”

“Then let me ride with you.” He said. “I know I don’t look like much but it’s better than being alone.”

“Peter, you don’t have to--”

“I want to.” He asserted. “Just humour me.”

“Why?”

“Because...we’re friends, aren’t we?” He asked. “Haven’t got many of those around here.”

You considered him and leaned on the arm of your chair. “Yeah, we are, Peter.” You grabbed your mouse and looked to your screen. “I hope you don’t mind staying late.”

“I’m a night owl,” He assured you. “Have to be in this line of work.”

🕷️

Peter was true to his word and waited for you until well after office hours. You were quiet as he walked you to the station and sat with you on the train. He didn’t hide his glances over his shoulders and his fleeting eyes, as if he expected to catch your intruder then and there. It was almost endearing.

You were tired. You needed sleep and were ready to doze on the train. Peter nudged you awake at your stop and followed you out onto the platform. He let you lead him up the steps to the street and you stopped at the corner.

“I think I can handle it from here,” You said. “Building’s just across the street.”

“No, I insist. For my peace of mind, please.”

“Peter.”

“What’s a few more steps?” He prodded.

“What if I’m worried about you getting home?” You teased. 

“I don’t live far.” 

“Still. It’s late.” You chided. “You didn’t have to come all this way.”

“I did.” He said. “I’ve been out much later than this.”

“Ah yes, I forget. Youths.”

“I’m not much younger than you.” He insisted.

“Young enough.” You remarked. 

The street light glared in his eyes. For a moment, you were taken aback. The way the shadows cast his face. The innocent boy looked almost sinister.

“I’m an adult. I can take care of myself.” He said. “So let me walk you to your door.”

“Alright,” You relented. His tone was disconcerting. So unlike the carefree upstart. “Come on.” 

He walked with you across the street and you bit your lip. You could feel the tension rising off of him. Was he mad at you?

“Peter,” You turned to him just in front of your building. “I’m sorry if I--”

“Sorry?” He looked genuinely confused. “For what?”

“Uh, nothing.” You shook your head. “I’m tired. I thought--Thank you. Really, I feel a little better.”

“Not at all,” He smiled. “You good?”

“Yeah,” You replied. “Good night, Peter.”

“Night,” He said sweetly. “Just…” He hesitated before he could step away. “...remember that you’re not alone.”

“Yeah, thanks,” You nodded and took your keys from your pocket. “See ya.”

You listened to his light footsteps recede as you unlocked the front door. Inside, the elevator bore a staunch out of order sign. You grumbled and headed for the stairs. Ten floors up and you were out of breath and even more exhausted.

Your lock was still in place. That was slightly reassuring. Inside, it was dark and you didn't bother to flip the light. Too tired despite your paranoia. You dropped your bag as you neared the bedroom. There, you flipped the light switch and felt an unusual breeze across your front.

The window was open. The curtains stirred as the air washed in and your heart clutched. You rushed over and slammed down the window with a defeaning bang. You twisted the lock into place and turned back to the room.

Your top drawer hung precariously from your dresser. Your panties were messed, as if they'd been rifled through, and you felt the bile in your throat. 

You ran back into the front room and turned on all the lights. Nothing else had been touched. It all stood as you left it and no other sign of your intruder remained. Not a speck of dust out of place.

You searched high and low; in each closet, beneath the furniture, even behind the shower curtain. Nothing. You were alone, but you didn't feel it.

Should you call the police again? Let them laugh at your paranoia? As it was, you were certain they'd tossed away their last report. 

You went to the kitchen and grabbed a knife. You sat on the couch and pulled your knees to your chest. You hugged them as your eyes flitted nervously at each shadow. The knife shook against your leg as you counted the minutes until daylight.

🕷️

The morning saw you at the office, bleary-eyed and baffled. The night seemed a haze to you; dreamlike and distant. Before you was the final draft of your latest article on the city's terrorizer. The words were real, the events real, and the letters read bolder than before.

Your habit of spacing out at your desk once more had you jumping in your skin. Colin Rusk stood beside you. His grey-blue eyes peered down at you as he clicked a pen casually in his hand.

"You got a moment? Need to see you in my office." He asked but it wasn't a question.

"Sure," You stood and he reached past you. He leaned so close you could smell his cologne as he snatched the article off your desk. 

"I'll take this." He spun with the papers in hand and led you across the office. 

You glanced around as you walked between desks. Peter's brows were high on his forehead as he watched. He frowned and you turned away to follow Rusk into his office.

He closed the door after you. He waited for you to sit before he did. When he faced you, he was nonchalant. He dropped your article on his desk and smirked.

"You've done some good work." He said. "You should really be proud of yourself."

"Uh, thank you." You gripped the arms of the chair. Tired. Ready to keel over.

"Really. You're coverage is thorough and compelling. Riveting…" He huffed as he smiled piteously at you. "You're a good writer but this story isn't going anywhere."

"No…" You breathed weakly.

"Jameson wants it cut. Three months and no leads. Police are close-lipped as nuns."

You frowned. You couldn't help your disappointment.

"But I've got you a new assignment." He announced. "A grassroots movement in the ghetto. Silent protests. Real underground."

"Really?"

"As long as you don't mind sharing. It's kinda my story but I could use a hand." He offered. "That sound okay?"

"Y-yeah." You smiled. "I'd love--" 

His phone chirped and his brow arched. He grabbed it and checked the screen. He shook his head and slowly stood.

"Pardon me. Jameson." He waved his phone. "Right back."

He rounded his desk and passed you. You watched him go then sat awkwardly in his office wringing your hands. Your eyes bounced from corner to corner. Awards framed on the wall, a plaque on his desk, fancy pens and a leather folder. 

His bag sat on the table against the wall. Unzipped and on its side. Papers threatened to spill out and a shock of cornflower blue. You tilted your head at the familiar shade. 

You peeked over your shoulder. The door was open a crack but you saw no movement on the other side of the frosted glass. You stood and cautiously neared the table. You looked again. Nothing.

You lifted the bag to peer inside and ripped your hand away. It was as if you'd been bit. Those were yours, at least they looked like yours. You shook and heard footsteps near the door. You lifted your head and pretended to read the framed certificate on the wall as Rusk entered behind you.

"That was my first year here," He preened as he neared. "I'm sure you'll have one of your own soon enough."

"Uh, yeah," You stepped away from him slowly. "Um, can I... think about it?"

"Huh?" 

"Sharing the assignment."

"Sure. Only a day though. I, rather we, have a deadline," He reached out and pulled a string loose from your sweater. "That enough, sweetheart?"

You watched his hand a nodded. You bristled on the nickname and backed away. "Anyway, I'll let you get back to work." You sidled along to the door. "Thanks."

"No problem," He purred. "This could be it, you know? You're big break. Your name next to mine."

"Mhmm," You skirted out quickly and closed the door behind you.

Peter was at your desk. You didn't notice at first and stopped yourself from sitting in his lap. He watched you curiously. You held back a yawn and leaned against the desk.

"Peter." You crossed your arms.

"What was that about?" He asked.

"Just…my assignment got pulled."

"Oh?"

"But Rusk offered me a new one. Dunno if I should take it." You played with your mouse.

"Sorry, I'm in your seat." He made to stand.

"No, no, it's fine." You waved him off. "I don't really have anything pressing, do I?"

He considered you a moment as he swiveled in your chair. He stopped and sat up. "You okay?"

You blinked. After a moment, you nodded. You pushed yourself off the desk and rubbed your forehead. "I gotta use the restroom."

You walked away hurriedly and almost tripped over the loose laces of your heeled oxfords. You quickly hid yourself inside the restroom and tried to rein in your reeling nerves. You were crazy, you had to be. 

Rusk definitely hadn’t broken into your apartment. That was ludicrous. Maybe it was a pocket square or a random sock. It wasn’t your panties. That was just...creepy. You were just paranoid.

You couldn’t believe entirely in your own delusion but you had to push it aside. You had work to do, albeit not much. You breathed shakily and swallowed down your anxiety. Just be normal. Just relax. Act like it was nothing and it would be.

You pulled open the door. You almost crashed into Peter as you stepped into the small hall between the restrooms and the office. You caught yourself against the wall.

“Woah.” You squeaked.

“Sorry, I...just wanted to make sure you were alright.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m...just disappointed.”

He narrowed his eyes. He didn’t look so innocent anymore. He looked as if he could see right through you. “What is it?”

“It’s nothing.”

“I know you think I’m blind but I can tell when you’re upset.” He prodded. “I swear, mum’s the word.”

You sighed and looked out into the office. You turned back to him and pointed down the hall. You sidled along with him and lowered your head. Your stomach flurried wildly as you mustered the words. How could you say this? You’d sound crazy.

“I think you were right about Rusk,” You kept your voice soft. “He...He offered me to share an assignment but I don’t think he really cares about the story.”

Peter blinked. An exaggerated bat of his long lashes as he huffed. “I won’t say it.”

“I know, you told me so, but Peter…” You looked over your shoulder before you continued. “Peter, weird things have been happening. Last night, after you left, I went upstairs and...my window was wide open and...I don’t know. My dresser-- someone was there. Someone broke in again.”

“Did you call the cops?” He asked.

“No, I-I was embarrassed. I thought...when I called them the first time, they were laughing at me. They thought I broke the lock myself, I know it.”

“You should’ve called them.”

“Why? So they can mock me?” You caught yourself before you could raise your voice. “Look, that doesn’t matter what matters is...I think it was Rusk. I mean, it’s stupid but, I think he has...something of mine. Something that would connect him to the break-ins.” You gulped. “The more I think of it, the more I think of how he passed this story off on me about all these attacks, I wonder…” 

“You don’t think it’s him?” Peter asked.

“Of course not. I just think, maybe, he...might have gotten an idea or two.”

Peter’s eyes were wide. He looked as frightened as you felt. “Can you confirm that what you saw, that what he has is really what you think it is?”

“I didn’t notice it missing but I didn’t really look. I was too scared.” You confessed.

Peter’s jaw set and his eyes darted down the hall. “I’ll walk you home again and we’ll see if you’re right.”

“You don’t have--”

“I do. Don’t you realize how dangerous this all is? How do you know you won’t walk in and catch him in the act? Or maybe he decides to visit while you’re home?” He gently touched your elbow. “You’re leaving on time tonight and I’m going with you.”

You scratched your head and looked away. You were embarrassed. You were being comforted, protected even, by this boy. Well, maybe you should drop the ruse. He was braver than most men you knew. And he was technically an adult and you really weren’t that much older. That became even more obvious when he was with you.

🕷️

The subway ride was long. Silent and tense. You fidgeted beside Peter, embarrassed and reassured by his presence all at once. He sent you small glances; stifled smiles meant to calm you. But they only served to remind you of why he was there.

Up the concrete steps and across the rush hour street, you had to stop at the front door of your building to catch your breath. Your chest felt as if it was being crushed.

Peter patted your shoulder and said softly, “It’s okay,” and you carried on.

Your apartment door still bore signs of the previous break in. The new lock was shiny against the flaked paint and torn wood. You slid your key in and turned. You opened it slowly as you peeked inside, certain you’d find your tormentor within. Nothing.

Peter followed you in and chained the door behind him as if to assuage you. You looked away ashamed. “I’m crazy, aren’t I?”

“No.” He said. “I don’t think so. Just scared, and why wouldn’t you be?”

You nodded and turned away from him. Warily you walked across the front room and glanced around. Nothing seemed out of place. Peter followed closely as you neared the short hall that led to your bedroom. You spun back to him. 

“I’ll go see if--if I was right.” You stopped him. “Wait here.”

“Wait here? Shouldn’t I--”

“I’ll scream if I need you.” You replied. “Okay?”

“Of course,” He relented. “I’ll be here.”

You left him there, a concerned furrow in his brow. You entered the bedroom, the dresser drawer was still open but the window was locked and in place. The sight reassured you. You slowly walked across the room and stopped before the drawer. 

You sifted through the messy contents, your hands growing frantic as the cornflower panties were nowhere to be found. Next you checked the hamper, maybe you’d worn them that week. They weren’t there.

You stumbled back out to the hall numbly. You felt hollow and worn. You caught yourself on the wall before your legs could give out.

Peter was by the coffee table. You watched as he reached for the knife you’d left there and he lifted it to the dim light peeking in through the windows. He turned to you with a question curled in his lips.

“It’s not there...he took it.” You pushed yourself straight and stepped fully into the room. “I can’t believe--It can’t be, Peter.”

“But you do believe,” He said and he turned the knife in his fingers. “You must. I mean--” He gestured to the blade. “You wouldn’t be so scared if you didn’t believe.”

“Should I call the cops now?”

“You could but...You’ve corrupted the scene, right? It’s been what? A day?” He set down the knife and sighed.

“So what do I do? I--Jesus, why am I asking you? You shouldn’t be dealing with all this.”

“I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to deal with it.” He assured you as he neared you. “There’s only one thing you can do. You have to wait for him to try again.”

“What?” You reeled. “What if--”

“With me.” He gently reached out and took your hand. He squeezed it as he spoke. “You can’t stay here. Not alone. So either you come stay with me or I’m staying here, but I can’t let you be alone.”

“Peter, you’re too nice. You shouldn’t--”

“But I am, so I’m either going to settle in or you’re going to pack a bag.” His grip tightened on your hand before he released you suddenly, as if recalling that he was touching you.

“It’s too much.” 

“Anyone would do it. Anyone who cared.” He shrugged. “So what’s it gonna be?”

“I can’t sleep here.” You said.

“Alright,” His jaw set determinedly. “So, grab a change of clothes and let’s go.”

You nodded shyly and let your leather shoulder bag fall to your elbow. Your lips parted to ask if he was sure and he tilted his head sternly.

“Come on,” He intoned. “I’m hungry. Once we’re outta here we can grab something.”

“O-okay,” You gave a weak smile and he mirrored it.

You turned away and dragged your feet back to the bedroom. Every time you entered, you were reminded of the open window, the ghastly breeze, and the stab of fear deep in your gut. You went to your dresser and blindly grabbed for a set of clothes to shove in your shoulder bag. A night away from this place would be good; safe.

🕷️

Peter’s apartment was small but cozy. Lived in but neat. It was almost endearing. The Playstation controller on the coffee table, the throw still curled in the shape of his body on the couch, posters of his favourite comics on the walls. He apologized for the mess but you assured him, you seen worse from men older than him.

He was courteous. He took your bag and led you to the bedroom. He insisted on taking the couch. He dug out his second set of sheets from his closet and placed the piled neatly atop with a promise to fix up the bed after you ate. He didn’t listen to your protests, merely brushed you back through to the living room.

You sat beside him on the couch. You felt welcome but uneasy. You always found it awkward to be in anothers space. Peter pulled out his phone and tapped the screen with his thumb.

“Sorry, I’m not much of a cook.” He chuckled. “You like pizza? Chinese?”

“I’m not picky,” You replied.

“Easy to please?” He ventured playfully.

“In certain ways,” You squinted at him. “How about Mexican?”

“Sure,” He scrolled on the screen and turned the phone to you. “Here. Pick something.”

You took his phone and browsed the menu. You realized you hadn’t eaten since the day before; nothing more than your usual morning coffee. Your stomach growled and you restrained yourself to a vegetarian dish. Overdo it and you’d wake up in agony. Thirty loomed closer every day.

You handed his phone back and he quickly picked his own dish and hit confirm. You rubbed your hands together nervously. You looked around his small apartment. It reminded you of college; of the useless degree hidden in the back of your closet.

“I’ll send you the money.” You offered.

“You won’t. My treat.” He insisted.

“But...you’ve already done so much.”

“What’s a couple bucks?” He shrugged. “So, you like video games? I got a second controller around here somewhere.”

“Does Tetris count?” You teased.

“I have Tetris,” He smirked. 

“I was kidding.” You took the controller from him as he handed it to you. “But no, I don’t play very much.”

“That’s okay.” He grabbed his own controller and switched on the t.v.  “I’ll take it easy on you.”

“Oh yeah?” You challenged. “You wouldn’t be talking shit if we were playing Tetris.”

“We’ll see who’s talking shit at the end of the night.” He jibed as he sat beside you. 

You shook your head and laughed at him. You could almost forget that he was the upstart kid with his oversized camera. Or the break-ins. Or that you were here hiding. The fear seemed to dissipate when faced with his perennial optimism.

🕷️

After you ate, you found yourself even more tired than before. You didn’t recall dozing but Peter woke you with a nudge and helped you up. He showed you to the bedroom where he’d made up the bed for you. You thanked him groggily, your fatigue catching up to you, and he left you with lingering good night.

When the door closed, you grabbed your bag and clumsily pulled out the loose tee and pair of booty shorts. You changed and draped your worn clothes over the bag and shoved it aside. You got up to turn off the light and stumbled back to the mattress, landing stomach first across it. You hugged the pillow as sleep beckoned you forth.

It hit you all once. You slept so deeply your head felt full of sand. Your body too. Your mind was murky. Shadows rose from the depths but never fully formed. You forgot your existence, the open window, the missing panties, and Rusk’s open bag. Hours passed like seconds and eternity felt possible.

You awoke to fingertips on your cheek. Gentle as they coaxed you back to the surface. As you emerged from the depths, your chest clutched. Your eyes fluttered open, your lids heavy and lashes sharp. There was a dim light in the room, soft and eerie. A shadow laid beside you, its fingers traced the line of your jaw as it watched you awake.

Your vision cleared a little at a time. You recognized Peter through the haze. His warm brown eyes were dilated and dark. You reached up and caught his hand as he pressed his body against yours.

“What are you doing?” Your tongue was thick and your words awkward.

“Shh, it’s okay,” He pulled his hand away and dragged his fingers over your lips as he leaned in to smell your hair. 

“P-Peter,” You grabbed for his wrist. “Stop.”

Your hand missed his and hit his shoulder instead. You shoved against him but he didn’t flinch. He was stronger than he looked. You tried to sit up but he caught your neck and held you to the pillow.

How long had you been asleep? How long had he been there?

“Peter, please,” You reached for his hand as it stretched across your throat. “What--”

“I won’t hurt you. I only want to keep you safe.” His breath was hot against your cheek as his lips brushed your skin. “Don’t you want to be safe?”

“Let me go, Peter,” You squeezed his wrist. “Please, you’re scaring me.”

“I’m scaring you?” His hand didn’t move but he pulled back to look you in the eye. “I’m protecting you.”

Your hand trembled as you pleaded again. His name died in the air.

“From the city.” He breathed. “From Rusk.”

“You-you are,” You rasped. “You’ve kept me safe, but...this...don’t you want me to feel safe. This isn’t--”

“You can’t see it. You aren’t safe. This city is dangerous and you need me.”

“I do need you, okay?” You bartered. “Of course I do, Peter, but...I need sleep, too. I’m very tired.”

“You don’t have to be afraid of me.” He shifted closer and your body tensed. “I’ll take care of you.”

“Peter--”

“Let me take care of you.” He moved lithely over you as he pulled your hand from his. He framed your face with his fingers and held your head in place. “Why won’t you let me take care of you?”

“Peter,” You exclaimed as the tears threatened to rise. This felt like some horrid nightmare. “W-We’re fr-friend, aren’t we? Friends don’t do this.”

He blinked. He glared at you and his face slowly softened. “Friends...no, we’re more than that.”

“Wh-what?”

“You’re mine. We’re meant to be. Can’t you see that?” His thumbs ran along your cheeks as his breath glossed over your lips. “In a city this big, to be brought together, it’s fate.”

You stared at him. Stunned, horrified. You didn’t know what to say.

“I’m not like him.” He hissed as his eyes turned dark. He focused on your lips hungrily. “I won’t use you, like him. Manipulate you.” You gulped as his lips hovered just above yours. “Violate you. Invade your space...steal from you.” 

He pressed his mouth to yours and you squirmed beneath him. Your hands were caught under him. His torso was bare and the heat of his body shrouded you. You struggled to breathe as he kissed your forcefully, as he crushed himself against you. You felt his arousal as it poked you and your eyes rounded desperately.

He pulled away at last. His lips made a trail along your cheeks as he spoke between little pecks. “Can’t you see how much better I am than him? Than anyone?” 

You wriggled under him but it only seemed to encourage him. You slipped your arms from beneath him and pushed against his sides. He drew his hands away from your face and caught your wrists. He pulled them up beside your head and pushed himself up as he pinned them to the mattress.

“Who does that, hmm? I’m better than him. I’d never...take your panties like some pervert. I’d never--”

“Panties?” You croaked and his eyes flashed. “How do you--Peter?”

“He’s just a pervert, don’t you understand? But I love you. I love all of you. I want all of you.” 

He squeezed your wrists and you watched the muscles of his arms draw taut. His chest was broader than you imagined and his torso was finely lined. You stopped your eyes before they could venture further. He was naked.

“If you love me, Peter, you’ll wait. Wait for me, won’t you?” You cooed. 

“Wait? I’ve waited.” He sneered. “I’ve watched you fawn after Rusk and I’m done waiting.”

“Peter, I don’t care about Rusk, I swear, but I’m not ready. I’m tired. I need... sleep. Can’t you wait for me…” You stared up into his dark eyes. “I-I--” Your nerves flurried wildly. You’d never been so afraid. “I love you, too.” You lied. “So won’t you wait?”

He exhaled and his lips parted. He blinked and a smile crawled across his lips. “You--Say it again.”

“I-I love you,” You whispered. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.” 

He bent and kissed you again. This time harder, deeper. He didn’t stop until you were out of breath. Until your eyes were damp with tears. He sat back and straddled you between his thick thighs. You quickly looked away from his hard cock. He let go of your wrists but you didn’t move. You were too afraid.

He lifted himself slightly as he tugged the hem of your shirt free. He inched it up, his fingers feeling along your skin as he did. Your strength returned and you caught his hands before he could bare your chest. You were shaking.

“I want to wait, Peter.” You begged. “Don’t you love me?”

“I do, I do,” He rocked atop you, almost frantic. “I do but I can’t. I can’t wait. I need you. I love you so much.”

You whimpered as he twisted his hands away from you. His thighs pressed against you and reminded you of his strength. You closed your eyes as your arms fell to the mattress. You were so weak. So afraid. And you could do nothing.

He shoved your shirt over your chest and you heard the gasp fall from him. He pulled the fabric past your head and tossed it aside. He bent over you as he cupped your tits, his thumb circled your nipples. “Beautiful,” He groaned as nuzzled your skin. 

His lips tickled along your cleave and the curve of your chest. His tongue teased your bud as his fingers played with the other. He closed his mouth around your nipple and teethed it softly. He purred and you bit your lip. 

His touch stoked something within you. It wasn’t him, just the basest of your instincts. A carnal reaction long withheld. 

He kneaded your flesh with hand and mouth. He tended to you as if you were delicate and yet so firmly you could not resist. You couldn’t think to. Was it fear? Was it weakness? Was it a latent desire you refused to accept?

Then he moved lower. His lips and teeth made the treacherous crawl along your stomach. The dread built as he moved further and further, as he lifted himself from your waist and his fingers tickled you. As he slid your shorts down your thighs and legs. As you let him.

You still didn’t move. You pressed your legs together but he easily wrenched them apart. Another confirmation of your helplessness.

His nose brushed along your vee and his warm breath crested your pelvis. His hands slipped up and he pressed his thumbs to your hip bones as he settled between your legs. You closed your legs around his head in an effort to keep him away but you only welcomed him closer. You looked down at him, eyes sparkling as he gazed back. Then slowly his focus descended.

He dipped his head and you writhed. Tried to get away but it was just as futile. He rubbed the tip of his nose along your pussy and his tongue followed shyly. He dragged it slowly along your lips then back down. He pushed between them and flicked over your clit. 

You spasmed and his hands squeezed your hips. He repeated the motion and you cried out in surprise. His tongue was cool against your warm folds. It felt good even when your head told you it shouldn’t. He swirled around your bud and pressed his lips around it. He sucked and lapped then slipped his tongue down again. He drank you in and savoured your taste.

You covered your face as your other hand clawed at the blanket below. You whined, weak and wretched. You felt the rise. The ripple as it rolled along your spine. The buzzing in your thighs. The pulsing of your core. Every nerve wound together and his tongue untangled them all at once.

You rocked your pelvis into his face as you came. Wanting him to stop but not. You needed more. The release was overwhelming and left you dizzy. And he kept on. He teased your overly sensitive clit so that you squirmed. Until another climax rose and you bit into your hand to keep from screaming. And still he kept on.

You were breathless and baffled when he finally lifted his head. Your sight was blurry as you shyly looked down at him. His lips glistened as they came into focus and he crawled over you. He kissed you; wet and warm. You could taste your sweetness as he forced his tongue against yours. 

He snaked his arms up under your back and hooked his hands around your shoulders. He pushed his thighs to yours as he lifted you. He sat up with you against him. You hung from his grasp as his lips wrestled with yours. He kept you aloft with one arm as he felt around between you.

You flinched as you felt his tip against you. He grazed your clit and you twitched. He pressed along your folds and stopped at your entrance. He pulled away from your lips and looked into your eyes as he pushed his head inside of you. You grabbed his shoulders and tired to shove yourself away from him. His arm clung to you tightly.

He eased into you until he bottomed out. He sighed and his hand grasped your hip. He began to rock you against him, his own pelvis tilting with yours. He hummed and kissed your jaw, nibbled along your neck, and bit into the flesh of your throat. He sucked as he moved you against him. And you were horrified as you let him.

He felt good. He shouldn’t, but he did. You slung your arms over his shoulders without thinking and chased the peak before you. He moved you faster, harder against him. You felt your juices spreading between your bodies. His hand slid down your back and he stretched his fingers across your ass. He guided your body and you followed his lead.

You were panting, desperate for another orgasm. Your clit rubbed against him with each rock of your hips. With each thrust, you moved faster, eager to reach the pinnacle. You gasped and groaned. A voice told you it was wrong but it didn’t feel wrong. 

Peter buried his head in your chest. He hummed as he took a nipple in his mouth and bounced you against him. Your fingers dug into the muscles of his back and you threw your head back. You came with a sharp cry. Your body shook against his and the world dissembled. The worries in the back of your mind drowned beneath the waves.

He fell forward until your back was to the mattress. He thrust into you as your legs curled around him. His hand was at your chin again, cradling your face as he lifted his lips to yours. He kissed you, consumed you. 

He moaned into your mouth and his hips stammered. His motion turned erratic and he lifted his head to grit back a roar. The tension squared his jaw and drained from him all at once. He sank into you as deep as he could go, long soft strokes as he came. 

He dropped down over you, his head beside yours as he panted. He shuddered and groaned. His body went limp atop you, his fingers lazily caressed your cheek. The glow sloughed away and the room grew darker. The lines were bolder, the shadows more sinister, the colours greyed. 

You pulled your arms back and pushed on his shoulder. He didn’t move. Didn’t even react. You tried again and slowly he lifted his head. He pushed himself into you as deep as he could go and you whimpered.

“Can’t you feel how much I love you?” He didn’t relent. Didn’t pull back as your walls strained around him. “Can’t you?”

You nodded, unable to speak. He was stabbing your cervix painfully and you just wanted him away from you.

“I can feel your love.” He thrust and poked you again. You squeaked. “You love me.” He began to move steadily. “You love me.” He repeated with each tilt of his hips. “You love me.” You closed your eyes as the mantra filled the room. “You love me.”

“I love you,” You croaked through your tears. “I love you.” 

But he didn’t stop. He wouldn’t. 

You were trapped in the spider’s web. Live prey paralysed as he wrapped his legs around you. As he devoured you entirely.

🕷️ 🕷️ 🕷️

[allsassnoclass]

Hazel! Can I submit ““i got you for secret santa so i got you this really expensive but sentimental gift that you’ve always wanted, hoping you’ll never find out it’s from me - and that i’ve been in love with you 1234567 years” for lashton??

as you wish my dear

Ficmas Day 2

Rating: teen and up

Read on AO3

Ashton knew he was screwed the moment he picked Luke’s name out of the hat for Secret Santa, but it doesn’t fully hit him until the night before the last day of school before break.  They’re going to exchange gifts once all of the students leave at the end of the day, and Ashton has to admit that he went a little overboard.

He’s supposed to wrap and bring one gift.  He has six.

“Hey, Calum,” he says once the other person picks up the phone.  “So.  I’m in a bit of a pickle.”

“Why?” Calum asks, voice tinny and almost overpowered by Michael’s very loud singing in the background.  He gasps.  “Ash, tell me you didn’t leave Luke’s present until right now.  There’s no way I can help you with less than 24 hours to go.”

“How do you know I have Luke?” Ashton frowns.  “Have you been snooping?”

“No, but I saw your face when you drew the name.”

Ashton sighs.  “Fuck, do you think he knows?”

“Well, he’d have to know that you’ve been in love with him since he started at the school, and we both know Luke is not self-aware enough for that.  You can’t drop hints with him, because he won’t pick them up.  Remember when we all went to eat and the waitress was tripping over herself to flirt with him?  He didn’t even notice.”

Ashton remembers that night well.  It hadn’t been the first time a stranger tried to chat up Luke, and just like every instance before Ashton had to tamp down his jealousy.  Luke is an attractive and appealing guy.  He can’t fault other people for noticing that too and shooting their shot.

“That doesn’t help my crisis.”

“Which is…?”

Ashton glances at the presents sitting on his floor with wrapping paper next to them.

“Can you come over?” he asks.

“You didn’t get him another dog, did you?” Calum asks dubiously.

“Of course not,” Ashton says.  “I’m not an idiot Calum.  Dogs aren’t surprise presents.  I just… still may have gone a bit overboard on this one.”

“Overboard how?”

“I have six presents and I need you to help me choose.”

Calum sighs.

“I’ll be there in five minutes, and I’m bringing Michael.”  He hangs up before Ashton can protest.  

Great.  Now instead of being subject to Calum’s quiet judgement, he’s going to have to deal with Michael laughing at him, too.

They find him sitting on the floor of his living room, wrapping paper tube in hand but no closer to figuring out what he’s doing.

“Hey,” Calum says, sitting down next to him.  Ashton grunts.  “Walk me through the presents.  Let’s see what we’re dealing with here.”

Michael flops down on the couch behind them.

“Well, I got him a cookbook, because I saw it at the store and know he wants to start cooking for himself more, plus it says they’re easy.  But cookbooks are so bleh, so I made a donation to the shelter he got Petunia from in his name, but I don’t want to show up and have him be the only person who doesn’t get to take something home with him at the end of the night, so then I started thinking about how he’s always late so I got him this personalized watch with his name and an engraving on the back, but I don’t want him to take it as something passive aggressive so I got him a framed artistic map of his hometown since I know he misses it, but then I thought that’s lame because he can get a map anywhere, so I called up his mom and there are these rings that you can get thumbprints engraved on so I worked with her and got one of those with her fingerprint because I know he misses her like crazy, but that’s way too much and I wasn’t sure if it would arrive on time so I got one of those books of affirmations and personalized a few for days when he feels bad.”

Calum gapes at him.  Michael pats him once on the head.

“I think you should just fuck him for Christmas.”

Ashton groans and buries his head in his hands.

“Shut up, Michael.  No one asked you.”

“I’m just saying!”

“Ashton,” Calum says slowly.  “We are teachers at a public school.  There was a $20 cap on the presents.  How much did you spend?”

“Um,” he says.  “If the cookbook was paperback it might have been less than $20.”

“Well,” Calum sighs, “at least you aren’t the economics teacher.”

“If you fuck him, it would be free.”

“Shut up, Michael!”

“Babe, stop antagonizing him.”

“But I’m right!”

Calum gives Michael a look that makes him sulk off to the kitchen, probably to eat all of Ashton’s ice cream.

“Okay,” Calum says.  “You can’t give him all of that in front of everyone.  He’ll definitely know you’re in love with him, and it’s not fair to everyone else getting smaller $20 gifts.  Wrap the cookbook and give him the rest later.”

Ashton grimaces.

“Luke deserves better than just a cookbook, though.  He’s…”

“He’s what?”

Ashton has known Luke for three years and is still no closer to figuring out how to describe him.  He’s an English teacher, yet all words fail when he thinks about the math teacher who’s classroom sits down the hall.  It makes him want to read more Shakespeare or Browning or EE Cummings to see if someone else can say it better than him.

Luke is a breath of fresh air when he’s been underground too long.  He’s flowers in bloom, meteors visible from Earth, and rain when the sun is still shining.  He’s incredibly grumpy in the mornings when he comes in to work, but always gives Ashton a smile.  He gives his students pop quizzes but doesn’t count them towards their grades, only uses them to see what concepts need clarifying.  He has his students complete logic puzzles for extra credit and brings snacks on Fridays.  He has stupid rhymes and songs to help people remember formulas and they actually work.  Ashton had never seen a group of students truly excited about math until Luke joined their staff.

“He deserves better than a stupid cookbook for his present.”

“Meet him later to give him the rest,” Calum says.  “Unless you want everyone else on staff to know you’re hopelessly in love with him, too?”

“You don’t,” Michael calls from the kitchen.  “If you think I’m bad, you have no idea what Sierra is capable of.  When she found out I like Calum, it was brutal.  Hey, do you have any chocolate sauce?”

“You were no help tonight.  You don’t deserve chocolate sauce,” he calls back.  Michael appears in the doorway with a bowl and spoon, distressed.

“I said you should fuck him.  If you need different advice, then do what Calum says.  He’s smart most of the time.”

“Aw, thanks,” Calum says.

“Most of the time,” Michael emphasizes, brandishing his spoon.  “You’re still stupid for liking the lesser science.”

“Please don’t start that again,” Ashton says.  “If you two start arguing about chemistry and physics I’m kicking you out.  I know it’s foreplay for you, and that makes it weird.”

“Well, Michael and I do have a lot of chemistry together.”

“Nice,” Michael says.  “We should use my lever to shift your center of mass.”

“I hate you both so much,” Ashton groans.

“You’d hate us less if you had a boyfriend of your own,” Michael says over his shoulder, already heading back to the kitchen.

“That’s not the point,” Ashton says.  “I’m not trying to get a boyfriend right now.  I just… I don’t know.  I want him to have nice things.”

Calum clasps his shoulder, giving him a small shake.

“You’re a nice thing, too.”

Ashton buries his head in his hands again.

“Hey.  He’ll love his cookbook, and if you give him the rest he’ll absolutely love that, too.”

Something crashes in the kitchen.

“I’m going to go check on him,” Calum says.  “Give Luke the cookbook.  Ask him to meet you later so you can give him the other presents.  I’ll be right back to help wrap them.”

Ashton nods miserably and unrolls the wrapping paper.

-/-

Ashton wakes up the next day with a headache already pressing against his skull.  Calum and Michael had stayed late the night before, helping wrap the presents and then poking at him until he agreed to play a few rounds of MarioKart with them.  Halfway through the first race he remembered that he still had papers to grade that he promised the students would be done before break, so he moved his grading to the living room and listened to Michael and Calum trash talk each other and the cheesy music of each course.  Nothing managed to fully distract him from the presents sitting in the corner, though, and even when he eventually went to bed he spent most of the night tossing and turning.

The kids are always squirly the day before a break, but the lack of sleep only makes his patience shorter.  The end of each class period brings a sigh of relief for everyone, and he relishes in the few minutes he gets where he can relax instead of teach as long as he doesn’t dwell on the impending gift exchange.

Not even seeing Luke this morning and having lunch with him had managed to ease some of the tension pressing against the base of his skull.  He can’t fully enjoy his company when he’s the source of his problem.

When the final bell rings, Ashton wishes he could rush out of the building with the students, but instead he puts his classroom back to rights, monitors the hall for a few minutes, then grabs his present and heads to the staff lounge.

“Hey,” Michael says, sliding up to him after he deposits his present on the middle table.  “How’s it going?”

“I’m shitting bricks,” Ashton says.  “And I slept like shit because you and Calum didn’t get out of my house until midnight.”

“Relax, dude.  It’s Luke.  What’s the worst that could happen?”

Ashton doesn’t say he could hate my present and then hate me or he might figure out that I’m hopelessly in love with him.  He shrugs.  Michael snorts, then promptly forgets about Ashton as soon as Calum walks in the door.  Luke walks in right behind him, so Ashton pretty much forgets about Michael, too, because Luke is wearing a red button up and black slacks and his hair is a big curly mess.  His math classes seem to be perpetually bursting with activity, and Ashton loves seeing the transition from grumpy and put-together to beaming and unkempt throughout the day.  Luke is the only person he knows who gains limitless energy from his students, always bouncing after the last class instead of exhausted by a full day of work.

Ashton doesn't have a chance to greet him before Principal Feldman walks in, promptly starting the gift exchange since "so many of us will be happy to go on break and there are a lot of us to get through."  He takes it upon himself to start passing out the presents.  Ashton joins along with everyone else "oooo-ing" and "ahhhh-ing" at each gift, but he's too distracted to try to help people guess who their particular Santa may be.

Michael gets a stapler and a gift card to an office supply store because he keeps misplacing his desk materials.  Calum gets a shirt with a chemistry pun from Anne in the office. Ashton ends up getting a small care package from Calum with some bath bombs, chapstick, and a scented candle because Calum says he needs to learn how to relax more.  Ashton is just happy it wasn't another mug with a book pun on it, because Calum likes sending him pictures of those whenever he runs across one but Ashton already has too many to fit in his cupboard.

Luke is one of the last people to open his gift.  He comments on the cute snowflake pattern on the wrapping paper then tears through it, flipping the book around to fully read the cover.

"It's a cookbook!" he enthuses.  "I need this.  Who knew I needed this?"  He looks around the room, lighting up once he locks eyes with Ashton.  "Ashton!  Is it you?"

"Yeah, that's from me," Ashton says.

"Thank you!" Luke beams.  Feldman quickly moves on to the next present and Luke opens the cookbook, pursuing the pages instead of paying attention.  By the time everyone has their present and starts to filter out of the lounge, Ashton has been doing breathing exercises to ensure he doesn't psych himself out.  Michael pats him on the back when he drags Calum out, which does less to encourage Ashton and more to ignite his nerves, but he's not about to let the other five presents he has go to waste.

"Hey, Luke," he calls.  Luke pauses in his tracks, stepping to the side to get out of the doorway and let the rest of their coworkers pass.  "Can you stop by my classroom?  There's another part of your present I need to give you."

"There's more?" Luke asks.  "Ash, the cookbook is already amazing, I don't need anything else."

"Don't you want to know what it is?" Ashton asks.

Curiosity wins out over any lingering politeness.  Luke eagerly follows Ashton out the door and through the halls to his classroom. It's tucked into a corner, which Ashton likes because it means he has a lot of windows, and he's been there for long enough that the walls are covered in posters, quotes, pictures, and some particularly striking student works.  Four boxes and an envelope sit wrapped on the desk in the same snowflake wrapping paper.

"Are all of those..."

"Yeah," Ashton says.  "I got a little carried away."

"Wow."

"Here."  Ashton hands him the envelope.  "Start here."

Luke tears open the flap as messily as he tore open the wrapping paper earlier, pulling out the donation receipt inside.

“This is the place I got Petunia,” he says.

“I know.”

“Thanks,” he says.  “I try to donate to them every year but… thank you.  They’ll be able to do some good with this.”

Ashton clears his throat.  “You’re welcome.  Here’s the next one.”

He unwraps the map next.

“I know you miss it,” Ashton says.  “There’s some star stickers in there, too, if you want to mark important places.”

Luke’s eyes glitter with memories as he looks over it.  He gasps and turns the frame towards Ashton.  “Here’s my house!  Right there.  And then over here was my school, and the movie theater…. Sorry.  You don’t want to listen to me go on about this.  What’s next?”

Ashton could listen to Luke tell him stories about his hometown all night, but he’s looking expectantly at him and there’s still three presents sitting on his desk.

He tosses him the watch next.  Luke fumbles when he catches it.  Ashton is extremely thankful that it’s packed in the box well and won’t break, especially when Luke shakes it.

He laughs when he sees what’s inside.

“I get it.  I won’t miss our lunch dates anymore.”

“Sure you won’t,” Ashton teases.  “There’s an inscription on it, too.”

Luke takes the watch out of the box and flips it over.

“‘Education is our passport to the future.’”

“‘Education is our passport to the future,” Ashton recites, “for tomorrow belongs to the people who prepare for it today.’ Malcolm X.”

“Appropriate,” Luke says.  “Thanks.”

He puts the watch on, struggling a little with the clasp.  Ashton reaches out and helps, careful not to make it too tight or too loose.  Luke’s wrist is soft beneath his fingers, a patch of smooth pale skin covering his pulse.  When he finishes, neither of them move away.

“It’s wonderful, Ashton.  Thank you,” Luke says.  “I’m going to wear it every day.”

“It suits you.”

Luke gives him a smile that sends Ashton reaching for another present before he does something uncalled for like lean forward and try to kiss him.

“This one’s for bad days.  It’s not much, but I wanted you to have reminders of how amazing you are.”

Luke rips off the paper and softens like butter once he starts flipping through the book of affirmations.

“A lot of them are generic, but there are a few personalized ones in there, and all of them are true anyway.”

“Ashton, this is too much,” Luke says.  “This is insane.  You went above and beyond Secret Santa.”

“Well.”  Ashton scratches the back of his neck, the feeling of a blush prickling under his skin.  “I can’t exactly return them since they’re personalized.  I kept seeing things that made me think of you.”

“Thank you.  I don’t--” he laughs-- “I don’t know what to say.”

“Save it until you get your last gift.  Then you can judge them all.”

The last box is the smallest, but it’s heavy with a phantom weight.  Ashton went above and beyond for this one, going so far as to contact Liz when he’s only talked to her a few times before, and Luke is either going to think it’s sweet or creepy.

“It’s small,” Luke says, testing the feel of the box in his hands.  He glances up at Ashton before taking off the paper, then again when he sees that the box is a ring box.  Ashton holds his breath while he opens it, wanting to spare himself from seeing Luke’s reaction but not able to look away.

The silver ring glints in the light, a thick band pinched between Luke’s fingers so he can look at it closer.

“What…” he trails off.

“I talked to your mum,” Ashton says.  “The engraving on the outside is her fingerprint.  I know you miss her, and this way you can have a piece of her with you all the time.

“I can’t accept this,” Luke says.  “It’s too much.”

He tries to hand it to Ashton, but he closes Luke’s hand around the ring and pushes it back towards his chest.

“It’s personalized,” he says.  “It doesn’t mean anything to me, so you need to keep it.”

Luke briefly looks down at the ring again.  When he meets Ashton’s gaze, his eyes are glistening.

“You’re going to make me cry,” he laughs.  “Sorry.  Thank you.  So Much.”

He reaches for him, and Ashton’s thankful that Luke seems to fit perfectly in his arms.

“I can’t believe you got all this for a stupid Secret Santa,” he sniffs when he pulls away.

“You deserve it,” Ashton says earnestly.  “I kept seeing things I knew you would appreciate.  Guess I got a bit carried away.”

“A bit,” Luke teases.  Ashton smiles.  Luke’s teasing is a different kind, always giving the impression that it’s somehow an inside joke between them instead of Luke laughing at him.

“I have something for you, too,” Luke says.  “I know I wasn’t supposed to, but if you got me so much I feel better giving you this one thing.”

“Oh?”

Luke reaches into his messenger bag and pulls out a book.  Ashton can tell what it is even before Luke hands it to him.

“Leaves of Grass,” he says, running his hand over the vines and leaves adorning the hard cover behind the gold leaf of the title.

“You said you wanted another copy since your old one is full of annotations.”

“You didn’t have to do this,” he says, tracing the swirling script of Walt Whitman’s name.

“Okay, Mr. I-got-a-billion-presents-for-my-Secret-Santa.  I wanted to give you something nice.”

It’s a thought Ashton has had thousands of times during his own gift-buying process, and that’s what compels him to finally ask “Do you want to go on a date with me?  We could go to dinner or a movie, maybe ice skating or something more festive?”

“I thought you’d never ask!”

Ashton grins, smile threatening to split his face in two.

“Maybe not ice skating, though,” Luke says.  “I’m all legs and no coordination.”

“Dinner, then,” Ashton says.  “Do you like Italian?  I could pick you up next week.”

“I love Italian, and getting picked up.”

“Good,” Ashton says.  “Great!”

“Great!”

Ashton knows his smile is verging on dopey, but it’s okay because Luke has the same stupid-happy look on his face.  Luke’s phone rings and shatters the moment, but Ashton can’t even be that upset when Luke takes a few steps away to answer, glancing back with immense fondness and answering the person on the other line with vague and distracted noises.

“I’m so sorry,” Luke says when he hangs up.  “I have to go.  I promised Sierra I’d help her with some last-minute classroom things.”

“That’s okay,” Ashton says.  “I’ll call you.”

“Okay,” Luke smiles.  “Please do.  I mean--yeah.  I’d like that.’

“I will,” Ashton says.  Then, because someone has to be responsible and get Luke out the door instead of locked in a staring contest, he stacks Luke’s gifts and passes them off to him.

“Okay.  I’ll see you later!  On our date!”

“See you, Luke!”

Luke stumbles on his way out the door, too distracted trying to look back at Ashton.  He’s right: he really is all legs and no coordination.

Watching him leave with his new book in hand, Ashton thinks that he got the best gift of all this year.

[cherryblossomstars]

III. Midnight (W. Ushijima)

Taken from my AO3 series of one-shots & reposted here

Pairing: Ushijima x F!Reader

Word count: 2,051 

Genre: fluff/slight crack bc seijoh

Summary: Aoba Johsai's volleyball team has never been able to defeat the Great Ushiwaka of Shiratorizawa. Their manager, however? She can bring him to his knees in mere seconds.

Or, Ushijima Wakatoshi is helplessly in love with Seijoh's Ace's twin sister, and the Aoba Johsai VBC is not appreciative of it.

Previous | Next

"Go fish." Oikawa says with a straight face.

Matsukawa huffs and picks up a white card from the middle of the table, "just when I had Uno."

"Suck it up." Hanamaki smirks, "Eevee uses quick draw. Draw a card, Iwaizumi."

"No, because you activated my trap card." Hajime flips over a card that was on the table.

"That doesn't count!" Oikawa yells.

"Yes it does." Matsukawa defends.

"No, it doesn't." Hanamaki cuts in, trying to avoid losing.

"What does the card czar say?" Oikawa turns to look at you.

You hold cards from Pokemon, Yu-Gi-Oh, Uno, Cards Against Humanity and a regular deck of playing cards. You're not sure what you're playing right now, but the upcoming third years seem to have played this before, seeing as they don't have a lick of confusion written on their faces. Next to the large deck in the middle of the table sits a cup of dice. "Er... Makki and Hajime roll a, um, D6 for initiative. Highest number goes first, so, um, their card will be the affective one."

The group around you nods. Makki rolls a 3, then Hajime follows up with a 6. Makki groans in defeat.

You nearly sigh in relief, you weren't sure if what you said was even close to what you were supposed to do.

The summer break of your second year in highschool, all the second years had decided to go together on a volleyball summer camp in Tokyo. Naturally, they convinced you to tag along as well. The camp was split between age groups, middle school and highschool were grouped together and being taught by adults, while elementary was being taught by adults as well as teenagers. The camp had no need of volleyball managers, so you had submitted an application to be part of the staff supervising and teaching the elementary kids.

Because of your decision to be part of staff, you were required to go to the camp at least a week early to get the basics of both teaching and safety for the camp. There, you found out that because the amount of people coming to this summer's volleyball camp was much more than they normally had, middle school and highschool would be separated this year and they needed extra hands for the middle school division. You had volunteered, meaning you would be supervising both middle school and elementary.

Later, you found out they were getting an extra influx of campers because they had decided to make the camp co-ed. You grumbled about it when you found out the camp was co-ed. You must not have seen the option when you signed up online, likely because Oikawa had been pestering you to bump a ball around with him while you applied. Stupid Oikawa.

It was only the third day of camp (and your tenth day of being there), but you were already so very tired and excited to leave. The camp itself would last three full weeks. Afterwards, you would be forced to stay behind an extra few hours to help clean the school that had allowed the camp to use their campus. Luckily, you managed to rope your fellow second years into staying behind with you to help clean up as well. Matsukawa owed you one for spraining your wrist the month before (even though it was an accident, you still successfully guilt tripped him), Matsukawa had asked Hanamaki to stay behind as well, Hajime had given you a shrug and simply stated "wherever you go, I go", and Oikawa had given into peer pressure.

You rarely got breaks during the day and practically only saw your classmates at night after the elementary and middle school's curfew. Highschool did not have an assigned curfew, which is why you were sat on the floor in front of a coffee table in the common room of some other school's dormitory with your classmates playing an abomination of a card game while three of your underclassmen (which surprisingly included Kyotani) sat on the couches around you.

It was already surprising to see Oikawa up late since he was so strict with himself when it came to his schedule (with the exception of studying other teams' past games before tournaments), but what was really shocking to you was seeing your boyfriend and his best friend come down the stairs at 12am.

It seems your classmates already knew he was here, judging by the lack of shock from everyone around you. The saltiness that immediately began to radiate from your friends and fill the atmosphere, however, was practically tangible.

"Wakatoshi! What are you doing here?" You jumped from your position on the floor to walk alongside him and Tendou, heading for the kitchen.

"Tendou wanted a snack." He shrugs.

"A little birdie told me that the kitchens stock midnight snacks after the middle and lower school's curfew!" Tendou practically bounced into the kitchen, opening up all of the cabinets and digging through the pantry to find a snack suitable to his taste.

Your boyfriend and you stood next to the kitchen island, waiting for him. "No, Toshi, I meant here. At camp. I didn't know you were coming."

"I tried to call you to tell you, but you never answered so I left a text."

"You did?" You tilted your head.

"He did!" Tendou chirped, his head poking around in the fridge, "he was even complaining about how you weren't answering. He got all worried cause his precious little girlfriend wasn't answering her phone~"

"When?" You asked.

He is quiet in thought for a moment. "Last week."

"Oh! I'm sorry, I must have forgotten to tell you I was coming here. The club kinda convinced me to come with them last minute, right before the application deadline." You explained.

"It's pretty cool you're here with us, though." Tendou began to empty out the freezer, looking for something. "Oh! You know what, Iwa-chan?"

You hum, "what?"

"I don't think you've met little Kenjiro yet, right?" Tendou asks, tossing a bag of frozen vegetables onto the countertop.

"Kenjiro...?" You think for a moment.

Ushijima slips an arm around your waist. "His last name is Shirabu."

"Hmm... Nope. Never met him." You confirm.

"He's our brand new up and coming setter. He'll be a second year when the school year starts, but he's already pretty good, right Wakatoshi?"

The man next to you nods, "he's very competent. He's here at the camp, too."

Tendou grumbles, "there's no ice cream sandwiches." He turns to you, "Iwa-chan! How come the guys upstairs had ice cream sandwiches? I can't find them anywhere!"

You let out a light laugh, "that's what you were looking for, Satori?" You remove yourself from your boyfriend's side and begin to head towards a freezer with a lock on it.

Tendou nods eagerly, "yep. Why's that got a lock on it?"

You fish out your lanyard from your pajama's pocket and attempt to find the right key out of all the keys you were given. "Because there are certain snacks only meant for the staff. The camp wants you guys eating as healthy as possible while you're here, even when it comes to snacks. It's why there's pretty much only protein bars in the pantry and fruits in the fridge."

"You have a key?" Ushijima asks from behind you.

You finally find the right key and pop open the fridge, "chocolate?" You ask. When you hear Tendou confirm it, you toss an ice cream sandwich his way. "Want a popsicle, Toshi?" You close and lock the freezer when he shakes his head no. "Yeah, I've got a key. I'm part of the staff. I gave my Seijoh boys some ice cream and popsicles earlier too. Oh, but make sure no one knows I gave you guys these."

"Oh, you're part of staff, huh." Tendou nods in understanding.

"That must be why I haven't seen you around the campus." Ushijima adds.

"Yup. I'm part of the middle school and elementary staff, so I don't see highschool a lot except for after curfew. And since I'm so busy with them, I pretty much never check my phone. Sorry about that, honey." You take your spot next to Ushijima's side once again and get onto your tippy toes press a kiss to his cheek.

Tendou almost visibly cringes, "I'm gonna go upstairs before I get any more uncomfortable. See you in our room, Wakatoshi-kun!" And with that, he leaves the kitchen happily munching on his ice cream, leaving you and your boyfriend alone.

Almost immediately, Ushijima's arms snake around your waist and he rests his forehead against yours. "You worried me."

"I'm sorry." You press another kiss onto his cheek and wrap your arms loosely around his neck.

He hums, "what are you doing after camp ends? My family wants to see you again."

"Sorry, my love. After camp I'm going to Sapporo with Oikawa."

He freezes, "just Oikawa?"

"Sorry, I shouldn't have phrased it like that." You bite back the urge to laugh at his reaction, "I'm going to Sapporo with my family and Oikawa's family. We go every Summer, it's tradition. My uncle and my aunt live up in Sapporo, so we usually stay until the last week of vacation. Nowadays, though, the adults and Takeru usually leave early for work, so me, Hajime, and Oikawa get left alone, anyway."

"I see. That sounds fun."

"Yeah. It is. I look forward to it every year. I'm sorry I won't get to visit your family, though."

"They will understand. It's nothing to worry about."

"Can I postpone the visit until the last week of summer? We can all go to the festival together." You hop onto sit on the island's countertop and pull Ushijima to stand between your legs.

He tucks his head into the crook of your neck, his hair lightly scratching you. "Yes, that sounds like fun. My cousins missed you."

"Pfft. Which ones? You have so, so, so many." And he did. His extended family may as well have extended to the entire country of Japan. When you had gone to visit his family during the holidays, there were so many people at his house it was hard to move around. And even then, he had told you that that was only a few of his relatives.

"Hayato missed you very much." He huffed.

Despite trying not to laugh out loud, your body betrayed you when you began to shake from your attempts at stopping yourself. Hayato, who was four when you last saw him, had claimed that he would steal you away from Ushijima and be the one to marry you. Immediately following that, another one of Ushijima's younger cousins had said she had already claimed you to be her playmate for life, so you would be unable to marry either little Hayato or Ushijima. "Your family is certainly a fun one."

"I'm glad you get along with them, but I won't be able to have you to myself at any point during the Summer."

"My first day back. I'll be all yours. I promise."

"You promise?"

"All yours, my darling love." You lean your head against his.

This feeling, being wrapped in the arms of the love of your life in the middle of the night, was pure bliss. The only accompanying noises were the muffled shouts of your best friends from the other room, and the thrumming of the kitchen appliances around you. And still, despite the incredibly unromantic environment, you couldn't help but feel yourself fall for the man in your arms even more. Yes, perhaps you were too young to be in love. Sure, highschool relationships won't always last. But this feeling was one you wanted to savor, and you were not planning on letting him go any time soon.

This is not a fairytale life. Ushijima certainly had the grace and looks of a Prince Charming, but, unlike in the storybooks, whether or not the clock strikes twelve would not matter. You would not run away and you would not be leaving a shoe at the steps. Instead, you would continue to rest in the arms of the man you love. And sure, there would be no huge, elaborate castle or jewels tossed your way, but this was more than enough.

Fin.

[sadistgalore]

Chapter 4: This Is Where The Fun Begins

Previous | Next | Masterlist

CW: Starvation, human trafficking mention, suicide mention, dehumanization, implied torture, implied non con, defiant whumpee, humiliation, slapping, electrocution, master/pet, beating, broken bones, torture, conditioning

Harper couldn’t sleep that night. She was fucking scared shitless.

She was locked in a cold, dark room being starved, and was being reduced to sleep on a cement floor. Not to mention, she was fucking kidnapped by a pervert that killed her father and took her brother.

She and Beth had read missing person cases, and investigated strange networking of human trafficking. They never got anywhere close, but they met survivors, and the stories they told were horrible.

Being reduced to be another person’s pet, being dehumanized and forced to crawl like a dog or cat, being kept in a cage and getting dog food.

The worst one Harper remembered was a girl her age, who escaped from her “master” a few weeks before. She was visibly thin, likely starved, and she had several scars on her body that she was afraid would never heal. She described her life for three years, where she was mostly confined to a bed being used over and over again. She was nothing more than a toy for her owner however they wanted, and she mentioned the punishments she would have to endure if she didn’t follow exactly what her master said.

Harper still got goosebumps whenever she thought of that poor girl’s story, and will never forget the day when she saw her body in the police station morgue.

Death by suicide.

“Oh god,” she whispered. “Oh fuck, that’s gonna be me.”

She shakily drew in a breath, and exhaled in a sob. She broke down crying, regretting everything she ever did bringing herself here, and could not stop thinking how she would end up exactly like that survivor.

I don’t wanna be...oh my god I can’t even think about it. Will I even get out of here? What will he do to me? He said he won’t hurt me if I follow his orders, but what will those orders be? I don’t wanna degrade myself for him...should I submit or be defiant?

After a moment of thinking, she made up her mind that she wouldn’t break like that girl. She would be strong, for Beth. Beth would find her, or Nic. She won’t be here for long, she knew it.

They already got his name, Alpha team was about to raid the Vault, so they’ll save me...right?

Harper shook her head, she couldn’t think like that. She had to remain strong and not lose hope. She got up and put her back to the wall next to the door, and soon as someone came in, she would attack.

Not even after a minute of standing there, Harper heard a voice from the ceiling.

“Tsk, tsk, little dove. We’re not playing that game. Get back to your little corner, else you’ll regret it when I get there.”

Harper looked around, there’s was no one in the room how did he-

“There’s a camera, dumbass.”

Harper’s face flushed red as she noticed the camera in each of the corners of the room. She sighed and walked back to her corner in shame.

Not gonna submit, huh?

“Whatever,” she mumbled to herself as she put her head in between her knees.

She laid there for about an hour, occasionally whimpering whenever her stomach growled, until the door opened.

Harper scrambled up to her feet and clutched the wall behind her once she saw who it was.

“Good afternoon, Harper,” Dark said as he stepped into the room.

Harper said nothing when he walked right in front of her face, then slapped her.

“What the hell?” She yelled as she clutched her stinging cheek.

“Lesson one,” the man said as he walked into the center of the room, pulling out a cattle prod from his belt.

“You address me with respect, not silence and a scowl,” he finished as he turned on the cattle prod, causing blue sparks to form. It took every ounce of Harper’s willpower not to flinch.

“Let’s start from the beginning, shall we? If I were to call you, you would walk over to me, head down. Do not look at me in my eyes without permission, and be prepared to crawl if I command you to. Now, little dove, come.”

Harper stared at him with a mixture of shock and disgust. “I’m not a dog.”

Dark rolled his eyes and flipped a switch on the cattle prod, which shot a string with the taser heads attached to it. It latched onto Harper and shocked her, causing her to scream immediately.

“You’re whatever I goddamn say you are,” Dark growled as he retreated the tasers back from his captive’s chest. “Now, come. I don’t like repeating myself.”

Harper blinked away tears, those tasers fucking hurt like a bitch, and slowly walked over to her tormentor, eyes on the ground.

“Good girl,” Dark said, patting her head, and Harper couldn’t resist her flinch.

“Next step,” the man continued. “When I say a greeting to you, you respond the exact same thing, ending your sentence with either Sir or Master and, only if I allow it, Edward or Mr. Darmine. I hate the name Dark, the public and your little police force gave me. You will not address me with any other title, no bastard, asshole, bitch, none of that else your punishment will either be a muzzle attached to your face or your lips sewn shut. Speaking of muzzles, you will continue to address me properly even if you are gagged.”

Harper swallowed while she stared at the ground.

What. The. Fuck?! Master? No, no, no, no fucking way. Absolutely fucking not. I guess calling him Sir is fine, but no Master.

“So let’s try this again. Good afternoon, Harper.”

No, fuck please no.

“Look at me, Harper.”

Harper’s blue eyes met his cold, dark brown ones. Not even dark brown, more like black; there's barely a hint of color in them.

Dark rested the cattle prod under her chin. “One last time, pet, address me as Master. Good afternoon, Harper.”

The girl’s mouth opened to speak, further investigating the fear just beneath it, but no words came out.

Dark glared, raising an eyebrow as a small sign of mercy but still, Harper chose to stay nothing.

He turned the cattle prod back on.

Harper couldn’t even scream as her body seemed to freeze in place, but the searing pain still remained coursing through her veins.

Dark threw the cattle prod back and forth between his hands. “I can do this all day, little dove. Just call me Master and all this pain will end.”

“N-never...asshole-” Harper was cut off by her own screams.

“Now, what did I say about those no-no words, dear?”

Harper was twitching, struggling to keep upright, and Dark noticed this.

“Another good lesson you should learn, sweetheart, is to kneel when your owner tells you to.”

“O-owner?”

“Yes, Harper,” the man said while gripping her chin. “You’re my property now.”

Despite her pain and the consequences, Harper spit in the man’s face.

Dark threw her back, disgusted, and reached for a handkerchief to wipe off the saliva from his face.

“You,” he murmured. “Are going to regret that.”

He flipped another switch on the prod which caused a chain reaction to extend the base and retract the taser so the cattle prod looked more like a baton.

He lunged at her, not perturbed by his captive weakly covering her face with her arms. The baton hit the side of her waist, then landed another hit in her calf. He continued till Harper was on the ground, and continued even as a few of her ribs and bones began to break. He finally stopped when he heard a blood-curling scream from Harper, and saw bone sticking through her arm.

“Oopsies,” he chuckled awkwardly. “Sometimes I just see red and just can’t hold back, you know?”

Harper just sobbed as she clutched her arm. Her entire body was in white hot pain, and she wanted to throw up once she saw her bone piercing her own skin.

“Alright,” Dark said with a playtime is over tone. “Get up and let’s try this again.”

“No, please,” the broken girl whimpered. “Please I can’t.”

“Yes, you can because I’m ordering it. I don’t care what you want or how you’re feeling. You do whatever I say, no questions asked.”

Harper still remained on the ground, sobbing, making no effort to move.

Dark sighed and raised his arm, clearly in Harper’s line of sight even through her tears.

“No, please! I’m s-sorry, okay? I’ll try again...I’ll try.”

Dark retreated his arm and stepped back, giving Harper room to get up.

She was shaking all over, and it seemed damn near impossible to just prop herself off the ground. But still, she tried and managed to get on your knees, crying out in pain as she did so.

Harper flinched as she heard the cattle prod crackle. “I don't have all day, pet. Hurry up before I give you another beating, this time with a bat of nails.”

“I’m sorry, sir.” You’re a quick learner. “Please, I can do it just no more-“

Again, cattle prod lifted up her chin and she was met by a deathly glare.

“I hate excuses. I don’t care, keep going.”

Harper nodded as he removed the tool, and finally stood up straight again.

“Try again from the beginning, no mistakes.”

Dark stepped back into a separate corner of the room.

“Come, pet.”

Harper walked over to him, eyes down.

“Kneel.”

She took it as a mercy and listened, considering it a rest from her sore and broken body.

“I’m leaving. Have a good afternoon, darling.”

Still, Harper couldn’t bring herself to do it. She couldn’t degrade herself like that.

She cried out again as she was met with a harsh slap. Dark grabbed her chin.

“You will learn very quickly that I am not a patient man. When I tell you to do something, you do it, understand? Now, address me as Master or I’ll cut out your tongue.”

How could he say that so casually? Plus, he wouldn’t do that...would he?

Dark cleared his throat.

“Have a good night...Master.”

Dark kissed the top of her head. “Good girl, just do that from now on and follow orders, and you won’t get anymore beatings.”

“S-sir…?” Her voice was barely a whisper. She clutched her arm, still in very much pain.

“I’ll give you some pain relievers with your food in a few hours. Oh, and don’t blame me; it’s your fault that happened.”

And with that, he left with a composure that he didn’t just beat the shit out of someone.

Harper fell to the floor, still clutching her arm in pain. She eventually managed to crawl her way over back to her corner, leaning against it in the most comfortable way possible.

I can not believe this is actually my life now. I’ve spent every day trying to find my father’s killer only to be taken as his fucking pet! He seems attached, will he treat me differently than all of the other people he kidnapped? Or will he end up killing me when he gets bored? Maybe he’ll keep me, and if I seem like I submitted to him, he’ll show me around, maybe slip a little, and I can find out as much information as I can from the inside. Maybe he knows what happened to my brother.

Maybe he’s like me, and is in a cell somewhere.

Maybe I could save my brother.

Harper stared up at the ceiling, with a new goal set in mind.

“I’m coming, Harry.”