#makes sense considering it was a name I came up with hastily and on the spot because my old blog got deleted once-

[hes-a-rat-whisperer]

I am once again considering changing the name of my art blog! 👌🤔

[tonycries]

Bed Chem - T.F.

Synopsis. No, you’ve never gone through a heat. No, your big bad neighbor, Toji Fushiguro, hasn’t had a rút in years. No, you don’t think you’ll make it out alive when all that changes with your…bed chem.

Pairing. Toji Fushiguro x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! oméga! reader, alpha! Toji, OMÉGAVERSE AU, slight enemies-to-Iovers, rúts, breéding, MARATHONS, cúmplay, búlges, Toji is BIG, heats, face-sítting, 69, spítting, praise, oraI (f + m), knottíng, he goes FÉRAL, DÚMBIFICATION, one use of “ma’am”, fated mates, matíng bites, p talking, breaking furniture, pet names, swéaring.

Word count. 9.9k (whoops)

A/N. Hope you have a lovely week <3

“-oh! And, darling, my friend recently showed me this new serum that could-”

“-help with my…condition, huh?” You’re finishing off, teeth grit almost as hard as your fingers were around your glaring phone. “Mom- I’ve already told you that I want nothing to do with those sketchy inducers. I’d rather stay dormant like this forever.”

There’s slight static crackling from the other end of the line, “I’m just so worried for you, especially with that massive alpha-”

“Who? Wait- Toji?” You’re braving out a chuckle, gut clenching at the memory of your utterly hot new neighbor and his muscles upon drool-worthy muscles. “Y’know, the doctor has already determined that it’s impossible for me to go into my first heat now.”

And despite it all, you can’t help but drink in a deep inhale the moment you step foot into your cozy local convenience store. Only for your senses to be met with…nope. Nothing, again.

“Besides-” Fingers hovering over that angry red End button, you’re speed-walking your way as inconspicuously as possible towards the Heats and Ruts aisle. “-Toji doesn’t have ruts.”

Well… 

Nobody ever said that you weren’t a hypocrite - but, hey, you were desperate at this point. 

Even if you had to consider another one of your mom’s attempts to artificially induce your inner omega into finally putting in the work.

With your goodbyes hastily muttered, and your phone stowed deeply away into one of your pockets, you find yourself slowing down near that one particular section of the Omega shelves. Gulping at the somewhat-shady inducer portion that you found yourself familiar with ever since you’d reached late puberty without a single heat. 

It was ridiculous, but it wasn’t impossible. 

Mandatory school bloodwork revealed you to be an omega - yet, you felt like anything but that. Anything but what you supposedly were as you watched more and more of your fellow omega classmates miss out on a week or two of school to deal with their heats. 

Consoling you with pitying glances and half-hearted complaints that alpha scents were annoying anyway. But you didn’t care if the pheromones were obnoxious, and the cycles even more so.

Your months just came and went by without any of it.

You’d visited many fertility and growth doctors over the years, and not a single one had been able to pinpoint exactly what was blocking you from accessing the pheromones and biology that everyone else could. That you wanted to. 

Hell, even betas were said to have at least a faint ability to smell wafting clouds of musky perfumes.

Most professionals claimed that everything was as it should be, that you might just be dormant - a late-bloomer, if you will. A very, very late bloomer. 

A majority presented at the start of puberty, or perhaps - in only very rare, alleged cases you found on barren forums - after meeting their fated mate. Two souls bound to fill in each other’s missing pieces. 

The theory was something you let yourself indulge in guilty sips, the sort of fantasy that flashed through your mind right before you wound up with yet another heartbreak.

But after graduating college without a mere half-sign of anything to do with your second gender, you vehemently called bullshit on that one. 

Some suggested that you might merely be a beta in disguise. It was almost comforting to think that it might have all been one big mix-up, yet, every medical test after medical test you’d done always came out the same. 

An omega.

“Damn second genders.” You’re grumbling, traitorously curious fingerpads skimming over the sterile boxes of medicines with official-sounding names. You’d tried out a few with the least amount of side-effects before, and it always ended up being a waste of your time (and your paycheck.) “Damn- damn inducers-”

CLACK!

In your reveried haste a few unstable boxes of products found themselves plonking onto the ground. Wincing at the withering glare of the manager unhelpfully peeking in from a few aisles down, you urgently dropped to your knees to put them back-

“Damn, what did those scented lotions do to you? Remind me not to get on your bad side, doll.” 

You see him before you hear him - strong, engulfing hands motioning into your field of vision to dexterously grab at the mess you’d created. 

And then once you hear him it isn’t any better, because you could recognize that richly rumbling baritone anywhere. 

“Wha-” Cutting your own self off with a strangled mess of a yelp the moment your furrowed gaze looks with viridescent eyes. “-oh.”

Oh? Oh?

Toji Fushiguro quirks up one brow in a way that is unfairly attractive, sultry scar engraved onto one side of his sleazy grin tilting up ever-so-slightly. And was that- a dimple? “Heh- n’ the pretty girl says oh. Cat got your tongue, sugar?”

It’s only then that you’re realizing that this was the first time you’d ever been so…close with the man himself. 

Usually settling for grumbling conversations from your doorstep and incoherent text conversations from his toddling, cherub-faced son stealing Toji’s phone.

So ah, there was one thing you’d forgotten to mention to your mother. Sure, you might have let it slip that Toji was…ruggedly handsome - all Herculean physique, a glossy black Harley Davidson bike, and long legs that carried him well over six feet - but you’d always omitted one thing. 

He was just so cocky.

And you can already feel your blood curdling strangely in your veins, scoffing out a heated puff of breath. “Nah, more like the alpha in the Omega section is.” Darting your eyes anywhere but at the strain of Toji’s sinful compression shirt sneaking winking at you underneath his leather jacket, practically painted onto the ridges of his washboard abs. “Thinkin’ of a secondary gender change, Toji?”

“Ah, yeah yeah-” He’s rolling those hooded eyes, leaning in so pointedly close that you can practically feel his slow, seeping look up and down. “-got tired of havin’ cute lil’ omegas falling all over f’me.”

You scramble to finally stand, “You wish.”

The bout of husky snickers that escape from him make your thighs squeeze together, and Toji’s promptly following you to place back all those fallen lotions. “‘Course I do. That n’ the brat is out on a trip with his lil’ pink-haired friend, m’just killing time.” Tilting his head at you, “You? Thinking of going for alpha? Or…” Crossing his big, beefy forearms, and he must know the effect that has on you and your greedily ogling eyes. “-an alph-”

“Just this.” You’re cutting him off before Toji could fray at your sanity even more, holding up that heat-inducing serum your mother had mentioned. 

But, oh.

Oh.

That wasn’t the expression you’d expected on the handsome face of Toji Fushiguro. Maybe something more smug, perhaps even amused as he realized your little predicament- but never this.

Eyes stony, sharp jaw clenching with a jumpy little tick. And Toji’s fingers are so thick when they pluck the box cleanly off your hands, the split-second graze of his burning skin making you feel almost feverish.

“This trash? Yer takin-” He’s glaring down at the serum as if it had offended him personally five times over. Something about the utter look of discontent makes your chest burn, “-this trash?”

You find yourself defensive, “N-no. At least, not yet. What about it-”

“Because s’gonna ruin your inner workings that’s what.” And for all the world, you never expected to be getting lectured by Toji Fushiguro of all people on your health - though, one look at his sculptured body should have told you all you need to know about just how seriously he takes it. “Don’t even know why s’on the market. S’not good for ya, mama.”

And you knew that. Probably. But ah, the things you do when you’re at your ropes end. “And? I’ve never had a single heat my whole life, y’know?”

“And I should know, bratty doll.” Toji murmurs, throwing that oh-so-famed miracle serum haphazardly back onto the shelf and flipping off the manager who glares at him. “Haven’t had a single rut in years, not since Megumi’s- anyways, all these inducers here are full of shit.”

“Oh.”

Wrapping a staggering arm around your waist to guide you, your body practically burns. Weird. “Tch- silly girl.”

Two peas in a pod.

Before you know it, you’re being dragged by a disgruntled Toji away from the treacherous clutches of the Heats and Ruts aisle and past the cashier - who only smiles as you so-very-subtly sneak in a long whiff of the air. 

Again. Nothing. 

With the stinging pang of disappointment, you sigh as you step outside. Only for Toji to rub your back with a hum, “S’alright. You’ll be alright, sugar- you’re my strong girl, huh?” Eyes widening at just how…sweet Toji was being. That is, before he opens his mouth once more- “Besides. Who needs inducers when you’ve got such a big strong alpha-”

“Pass.”

“Don’ act like ya don’t like it, little miss neighbor. I see how ya look at me.”

“I- I don’t-” You did. And you do. And you will - in fact, you were looking at him that way right now as Toji swings over one thick thigh to straddle the padded leather seat of his prized Harley Davidson. Looking like he’d just stepped out from your wettest of dreams and it makes you almost simper out a sigh.

He’s jutting his head back at the tempting extra space behind him, and you could already hear the suggestion oozing into his next words. “Mhm— whatever ya say, girl. Now stop just standing there looking pretty n’ get over here, I’m a busy man.”

It’s almost as if on auto-pilot when you do.

Toji Fushiguro’s motorbike was big, and just as intimidating as he was. And it’s only on shaky legs that you manage to press yourself only mere precarious inches away from his hulking form. “Heh, ‘er name’s Harley. Fitting for a bike, huh?”

“If- if you crash I’ll kill you.” You’re puffing out a few thickly muffled words through the sleek matching black helmet he was deftly putting on you. Wondering just what led you to be…here of all places. 

“Yes ma’am, I’ll help ya hide the body.”

“M’serious- no funny business.”

“Uh huh, anything else, mistress?”

“And I’ve seen you run red lights so no-”

SMACK!

Your heart stutters with a loud ba-dump! as Toji’s rounded, calloused fingertips leave a good smack against the side of your thigh to get your yammering mouth to halt. And he’s letting off a titter at the shocked expression of your face even through the tinted helmet before turning to rest his hands on the handlebars. 

“Hold on tight.”

It’s all the warning you get - and, honestly speaking, you don’t think any sort of warning could’ve prepared you for the way that Toji rides. 

Something about it is so attractive. 

Maybe it was the creaking stretch of leather as his biceps strained against it from underneath, maybe the way your ears ring with his words even louder than the growl of the bike, maybe it was the way that you were holding him.

Arms stretching to connect over Toji’s broad front, your skin mushes against the curvaceous mounds of his toned pecs. Firm and warm. So, so warm that you can’t help the way that your eager self was mindlessly inching ever-so-slightly closer-

“Phew.” Startling - but not moving away - at the low whistle that Toji blows out, eyes still trained weaving through traffic. “Dangerous game yer playin’, omega.”

Sidling even closer, the defined angles of his back muscles only flexed at the innocent smooch of your tits. “What?”

“S’fucking close.” And not just to him, but to his scent glands. So sensitive and prickling the shaggy black hair at the base of Toji’s neck just from your heated proximity. Huh, strange. “S’a damn good thing I ah- don’t get my ruts, huh?”

And, suddenly, you’re despising what these helmets hide from you. “Well, it’s a good thing I don’t get my heats, huh?”

The exact same words playing over and over in your minds once Toji’s braking to a stop at his designated spot right outside your apartment building. And part of you almost feels upset that this little ride with him was over. 

Letting him do as he pleases when he’s seating around gruffly to take off both your helmets himself, you couldn’t help but notice that something about the air seemed…thick. Like it had just been dipped in candy and right now you were gladly suffocating in the sugary sweetness. 

Your eyes catch onto a lock of deep black that’d curled behind Toji’s ear - and you knew right then and there that something was wrong, you knew that you weren’t thinking. That you weren’t listening to your common sense. 

Because before you can stop yourself - before you can even register it - you’re swiping away the stray tuft, sensory curves of your fingertips just catching onto the skin above where Toji’s smooth glands should be.

“Fuh-fuck-” He’s hissing, willowy eyes curtaining behind a scrunch of his lids, and it’s almost as if on instinct that his thick digits fly upwards to trap your hands right there. “Hold on- just a little, mama-” Pressing down even tighter, and the way that Toji’s letting his head tumble back makes your mouth lacquer with a syrupy wave of drool. “-s-so you said you haven’t had a heat in years-”

“Ever.”

“-ever, huh?” Dewy whirlpools of his eyes examine you, and suddenly you feel like running away. But Toji only grins, “Say, why don’tcha scent me?”

Your maw falls slack with a hot shudder, and you’re not sure if it’s in shock or if it’s from how much you wanted it. To have an alpha offering himself on a silver platter - let alone Toji. Letting out an eloquent, “Wh-what?”

You’re being reeled in even closer with a tug of Toji’s strengthened hands, plummeting onto his chest with a cushioned oof–! He only repeats, breathing bated like he didn’t want to know anything himself until you did. “Scent me, pretty girl.”

“I-I don’t know why-” Your fingers unlatch, and you swear it makes Toji’s chest rumble with a low whimper. Steadily planting them onto the collar of his overpriced jacket to pull. “But if this is your idea of a- oh.”

Shit.

Shit.

And something…is different. There. 

Was- was this how he smelled? This heady concoction of jasmine and something so undeniably…Toji? 

Something snaking and boiling bubbles up throughout your body, you all but slump yourself into his eagerly awaiting arms. You can’t even register what you’re doing, nuzzling into his tender throat. Can’t even recognize the look on your face when you’re gasping in greedy heavals of what was obviously his scent.

That you could smell.

With a gasp, you’re pulling away, eyes diverting to him and- oh, it was much the same for him.

There was no other explanation for the lecherous look of devastation on Toji’s pretty features right about now. 

Scarred lips parting in awe, weighty lids drooping down until those heart-eyes him were almost invisible, face veiled with a delicate flush. His palms find their way to rest on the dip of your hips and stay there.

You’re croaking out, “T-Toji-”

It happens so fast - too fast. 

It’s as if your mere voice was enough to send a zillion volts of electricity shattering down Toji’s spine, jolting him with something darkly visceral. Enough to snap up one tannish forearm and bite-

“Ngh-” Toji’s pearly canines coat with a slight tinge of red, eyes shuttering open - and you notice that they seem slightly less glassy now. Slightly. “-fuck ya really are dangerous, doll. Was almost g’na have me take you right here right now.” The slight dip of his strawberry-pink tongue as Toji pulls away makes you gulp, “N’ I don’ wanna spend my first rut in years here.”

.

.

.

Toji couldn’t think - he couldn’t breathe. And if he was any lesser man he’d have fallen to his knees with only one whiff of your candyland smell. 

Addictive. 

Fingers clutched tightly underneath the plush of your thighs to carry you all the way in through your cozy apartment. Never faltering. Never slowing. You could almost roll your eyes at the blatant reminder of strength if you didn’t feel so feverish.

Toji’s steely eyes light up at the way your trembly fingers clutch the silken hem of your skirt, lips wobbling with every spilling word. “T-Tooooji, feels so hot.”

“S’that so?” He’s swiping the regal button of his nose down where the sides of your neck were swollen, breathing in the hot, sugary waves emanating from your skin. “Feel anything else?”

And the slight hitch of your breath is all that he needs as an answer, well, that and the goopy wetness that was formulating between your thighs. Shit, he never thinks he’s kicked down a door off its hinges harder than he has to your poor bedroom door. 

Draping you gently onto the plethora of silken sheets, you whine at the slight recoiling bounce.

Barely even given the time to gather your wits before Toji’s sliding his jacket and his t-shirt teasingly off, all thick, muscled limbs stalking towards you like a predator that’d just cornered his favorite prey. And you eye his rippling back, his rumbling tone speaking over your mattress’ creaks. 

“Ya better know…” he’s hurling out, mouth just only centimeters away from yours. Hot. “-m’not here ta fuckin’ play around jus’ cause you’re in heat, sugar.”

Ah, that’s what it was - heat. You were in heat. Fuck. 

Your fingers leave neatly indented semi-circles on his flesh when Toji’s grasping your throat tightly, padded ends of his fingers pressurizing right onto the treasure trove of your scent glands. “If I fuck you now, you will be mine. You and…” Before one largely crowned kneecap of his sidles into the snug cove of your pussymound. Weighing down- “...her.”

It’s the only thing you could do to bat your lashes up at him in a way that makes Toji’s achy cockhead twitch. “I want you…wan’ you to touch me, Toji–”

And that’s all that he ever wanted. 

Roughened hands shove you meanly back onto the cushy bed, and Toji’s sliding his palms languidly down, down, down every curve and dip on your body. As if he was trying to worship you with them. 

“Oh? Only wan’ me to touch ya?” Toji’s humming, Adam’s apple bobbing with wads of salivation once his fingers slink down to curl at your bra strap and snap! “Not to take this off or-” You gasp, the sting almost making you forget those minute rips! echoing from where he was grasping your t-shirt. “-this? Guess I can do whatever I please then, right?”

Before you can say a word of shrill protest, those useless pieces of fabric are tattered off. Ending up not-so-nicely in a pile right beside your bed with Toji’s intact clothes. 

“H-hey!” You whine, “Those were ah- limited edition-”

“Ah, I’ll buy ya five more of those.” Toji rolls his eyes when your lips part open, “What? Thought I wasn’t filthy rich or somethin’- Oh, girl, you are about to be spoiled. But first, a kiss-” Innocent and sweet onto your lips, “-here. And…”

Toji huffs out a few cocky sniggers at his own little joke, because of course he does. Leaving you off with a gentle swat! to the perfect curve of your hip and your heartbeat throbbing at your drooling cunt. 

He’s shuffling onto his very knees at the bottom of the bed, tutting at how unfairly far you were from his greedy mouth - well, that had to be fixed. You almost get whiplash from how swiftly you’re being dragged to let your jittery legs be thrown right near his tightly coiled deltoids. “-here.”

Head bobbing in an urgent yes yes yes when Toji rids you of your flimsy skirt and slowly slides down your drenched panties. All bunched up and leaving a glimmering coating of slick down your skin.

Stuffing it into his pants pocket, “This is a lil’ reward f’me.”

“Filthy.”

“Oh, well helloooo there, pretty girl.” He’s drawling, eyes flashing with such darkness at the heavenly mess of a banquet all laid out in front of him. “You’re so in heat- so fuckin’ in heat. See? Who needs fuckin’ inducers when ya have me.”

Toji’s pupils were swallowing up his verdant orbs. Needy. And he’s unashamed in taking a long deep inhale of your saturated pheromones. His favorite perfume now. “Lookin’ real happy ta see me. Happy s’your hah- first heat, hm?”

You’re squirming, fingers tangling into his silken tresses in an attempt to try and shove his face closer. “Are- are you talking to-”

“Hush now, doll.” Toji leaves a wet pap! of his fingers thwacking against the treacly slit of your pussy, watery with your flooding slick and greedy. “Lemme talk to ‘er- lemme talk this cute cunt through her first heat. M’honored, y’know?”

And honored just doesn’t begin to cover it.

Toji was devoted.

It’s like your wafting clouds of heady scent made his mind dizzy, until the only thing he could do was to let his slutty tongue loll out and sliiide at the splatters of translucent sap soiling your inner thighs.

“Oh- fuck-” You’re squirming your hips in a wild buck upwards, only to have him pin you down with the heavy-handed weight of his forearm. “-feels so- so…”

“Yeah? Good? Ya always get this wet or s’that jus’ f’me?”

Truly, you could only jumble out a few nonsensical syllables. Because Toji didn’t want to waste a single ounce of your precious juices, slurring out a few open-mouthed kisses across every inch of skin you’d exposed to him. And the moment that rosy peak of his tongue touches upon your teary pussy- oh.

He thinks he might just be the one about to cry.

Because you didn’t just smell like his favorite candied lollipops - you tasted like it, too. And, fuck, he can’t help but go in for seconds. Thirds.  

Guffawing out breathily with disbelief, he’s drawling his tongue to mush open the gummy folds of your pussy. Swirling out a lazy flick of his sopping muscle to stretch out the tight ring of your wide agape-

“Just look at ‘er all hngh- overflowing.” You watch with bated breath when Toji’s prying your quivering entrance with a bullying few inches of a singular thick index - only one, but Toji was so incredibly towering with his size and strength that you find yourself keening. Coral pink lips puckering up to give your hooded clit a squelching kiss. “Heh…like a damn waterpark, aren’t ya?”

Filthy words only making you filthier. Making your omega inside blink up and yearn.

Your gushing wads of juices bawling from between your legs in torrent. And you yelp at the lecherous sounds that echo out - the waterlogged squelches and slurring that only makes Toji grin. Wild and sly. “Mhm, real talkative.”

Arching your back into the perfect slutty curvature off of the prespired sheets, “Tojiii- s-stop teasing n’ give me- ngh- more.”

More. 

And just then you feel him fuck his softened digits into you slow and thorough. Curling up to swipe down the mushy soft spots of your walls - Toji was burning up. But you were burning up even more, and shit.

Shit. shit shit shit-

You don’t know if it’s because of your heat, or if it’s because Toji is just that good with that rude mouth of his - but you’re cumming faster than the thought could even flash across your melty mind. “Wait- m’close ngh- Toji- I’m gonna-”

It’s like a tidal wave of bliss peaked up further and further with every slashing motion of Toji’s gyrating make out with your cunt. You’re so very extra sensitive right now and he makes use of it - bumping up that rounded angle of his nose to press your fleshy clit just right. 

It’s so intoxicating. So heady that he finds himself pushing back those sweat-dampened bangs of his to lower down loooong breath. And then finally another passionate French kiss onto your bulging pussy. 

“Fuck- I-” Pearlescent droplets of tears welling up at the scrunched corners of your eyes. “M’so- sensitive–”

God, his wolfish canines were sharp nipping teasingly into the fat pucker of your pussy lips. Parting your slick-gleaming mound to squeeze his tongue into your tight hole, the stretch is incredible. It’s staggering. And Toji can only sully your insides with a gentle brush of his lengthy tongue along your gooey insides before pulling back with a huff. 

And then again- to let out a throat groan when your elastic walls push with resistance. And again. And again and again-

“Now m’offended.” Toji’s letting out a surly swat! where you’re trickling down viscous fluids of sickly sweet slick that coat his mountainous knuckles, his wrist, the raised trailways of his veins. “Wanted more but tha’s all ya can take- tch.” 

Oh, by the time your white-hot tingles of pleasure were bating you should’ve known better than to think that Toji Fushiguro was done manhandling you with his superhuman strength to every whim and want of his. 

That he would give you even a second of a warning before hovering over your frame and flipping you into such a pliable position over him.

His back hitting the puff of the pillows, strands of hair making a dark halo underneath him. Toji looks so fucking handsome that you can feel your pussymound slobber a few streaky puddles of slick onto his heaving abs. 

Hands positioned on either side of his leering head, you mewl. “Give me a warning first, you animal-”

“Hell yeah.” He’s snarking up at you, but there’s not a single speck of heat behind his words other than towards you. Towards what he wanted to do to you. Planting a heavy smack! on your ass, “Tha’s right you’ve got me in a rut after years like a fuckin’- animal. Heh, so jus’ lemme throw my pretty omega ‘round a lil’, I can feel how wet that gets ya.”

“N-noo- it doesn’t-” But that was a fucking lie and both of you knew it, knew it from the syrupy pool of sap laminating his heated skin. 

“See? She’s on my side. Doesn’t talk back.” The curvaceous pads of his fingers twiddle and tease your plumpened clit, so dirtily that it only makes your dripping cunt drool even further. Leaving a gauzy cobweb of treacly slick with every swat! swat! swat! he gifts. “Has anyone ever had her seated on a mouth, sugar? Made you feel good that way?”

Your head shakes before the thought has even contorted itself into an understandable shape. “No- no one has- ngh- before.”

It’s a confession, it’s a line plucked right from Toji’s filthiest thoughts on those late, late nights.

And he couldn’t look happier when molding you to the exact shape and angle that he wants you in. Turning you right around to bare your sodden pussy from the back, your unbalanced thighs curling on either side of his ravenous head. 

Not even a single command, yet your head is swimming with honey at just how much you were like putty underneath his hands. 

Your head cranes over the plane of your shoulder to give him a pretty plea. “Toji?”

“Mhmmm, Toji’s right here, pretty girl.” He’s awestruck - stunned with the gumdropping droplets of sap plopping down onto his tongue and sliding right down his throat. Making him groan, “Filthy fuckin’ pussy, can feel ya ngh- dripping allll down my tongue.”

And he’s drunk. He’s babbling, he’s heaving and heaving to inch his intoxicated maw to connect with your saturatedly glossy pussy lips. “Lower her down so I can give her lil’ smooch.”

Your hands nimble down along the tufted black happy trail brushing from between his navel and going down, down, down. “L-like this?”

“Nah, more. Can’t believe all those pathetic boys never had ya hah- sitting on their faces. Spread those pretty legs n’ lemme show you-” You can’t even begin to think about merely hovering your entire deadweight above him, because Toji was ready. And he was hauling you to rest every single mass of your flesh onto him, “-how a real man fucks.”

Thickly viscous helpings of your generous slick flood his mouth the second that Toji’s lengthy tongue is burrowing between your folds and driving you mad. 

Sliding all the way up and down up and down up and down with a welcoming flit at your buttoned clit and then pumping you overwhelmingly full. Fucking you with the overheated scratch of his tastebuds exactly the way that he wanted to with his achy cock right now.

“Can still taste m’self on ya- haaah- good.”

Toji wasn’t holding back.

“O-oh my god, m’so sensitive.” Your moans come out mangled. Wanton. Spilling from between your parted lips right along with rivulets upon rivulets of waterfalling saliva every single time that Toji’s bumping the curvaceous search of his tongue into your earliest sweet spots. “Slow down, Toji–”

Your fists maze through the velveteen blankets and clench, hips jerking up-

“Nuh uh, doll, no runnin’ away from your Toji.” Sliding up one slick-glazed hand to snake the small of your back, he’s using his face to nudge your legs even further. Drowning your sobbing cunt with a fat wad of spittle, Toji’s licking down the stray speckles that gravitate back onto his own mouth. So dirty that it makes him delirious, nose crinkling, bottom lip bitten. “Yeahhh, crack ‘em open even wider. She’s eager.”

Eager you were.

Jostling your hips against his mouth until through your clouded mind you were wondering whether he would suffocate. But little did you know that this might just be Toji’s ideal death - buried right there between your pretty legs. 

You’re being bounced so hard that you can feel your legs aching with the strain, hollowing out shuddered breaths and whines of Toji, Toji—

“Say my name.” He’s huffing, easing in a thick few inches of his fat digits that fill up the snug geysering orifices. Each n’ every single volume of space that’s inside you, and those puckered pecks leave screeching squelches that have you halfway through sobbing. “Say my name- say my name heh, g-gonna have a looot of ngh- noise complaints after this.”

Even though he’s saying this, he doesn’t do anything to deter you. Why the hell would he?

Pumping you full of one finger, two, three until your gummy ring of muscle was being molded to the plump circumference of his lengths. Multi-tasking. 

All the way until he was slathering the patterned bumps of his knuckles with a sticky second skin of slick, Toji curls those rounded tips down the tenderized walls of your channel and drags. Feeling for that one special target of his-

“G’na make ya feel s-so good.” He’s whispering, breathing like it was the truest of true words. And shit- he hasn’t felt like this for ages now - years. Secondary gender growling from his inner depths with guttural need to give you more more more. “Gonna find- ah- found it.”

And Toji knows he found it with the way you squeal. Wafting scent intensifying, lashes fluttering with a clinging swash of tears once he jerks a good push into that bulging bullseye that makes you see stars.

“Right there- Toji– right there-”

“S’fucking loud.” He’s rolling his eyes for what seems like the nth time today, but it was impossible not to when you were just so cute being teased like this. Bubbling out a few sloshes of slick and spit when your fingers dip right underneath his trousers and push. “O-oh? Trynna keep yer mouth full, huh? Let’s see ya try then.”

Your low lip juts out into a pathetic sort of pout that Toji finds adorable, that only makes his clothed cock pool out a darkening patch of precum onto his boxers. 

“Wan’ taste you- make you feel good.” Your words are warbly and broken, tone hitching upwards with every tiny slip of his sticky underwear downwards. It’s like you were teasing him - teasing yourself. And your inner omega was oh-so-very impatient. “Wanna make you feel…oh.”

“Heh, cat really got yer tongue now, huh?”

And you couldn’t even retort, you couldn’t even snap back as you usually might have because you were stunned. 

Maw falling slack at the generous girth that was throbbing fatly between your fingers, honestly from this lecherous angle it seemed like a struggle to even close your fist around him. Because Toji was…big - and even saying that was an understatement. 

Just about nine throbbing inches with hefty breeder balls that your bleary gaze could make out, flushed a candied pink on the rounded curve of his mushroom tip. Graduating down, down, down into a pale baby rose - you didn’t know whether it was the heat talking but right now he just looked like your favorite sort of lolly.

“L-look so pretty, Toji.” You babble away, words getting breathier and breathier as sloppy as his kisses get. Your puckered lips are almost stinging with just how thorough he was. “Wanna taste…”

Oh, and you didn’t realize that one perk of having your secondary gender presented was realizing the shift in his pheromones. 

You didn’t know how you knew but there was a tinge of utter adoration in Toji’s jasmine-infused scent as you plop down a wet mass of slippery saliva right onto his strawberry divot. Lathering the split, plummy globe before planting your mouth down and kissing.

Your mushy tastebuds looping little motions over the creamy butter-topped cap of his splurging cock, he tastes so heady. Rich pre melting on your tongue and it was so musky, so…him. 

“Oh, girl-” he’s breathing out through a rasping sigh. Darkened brows marrying together at just how warm your mouth was sheathing around his painfully hard shaft, “That’s it- thaaaat’s it. Suck on my cock like a good girl, mama—”

“Ngh-” Your jaw aches, throat jumping at the squeezing sensation of his lustrously crowned tip tunneling right down. Craning your head so that he could count every bounce, “S-sho bwigh.”

You were so heavenly, alternating to leave shy little snogs over and under his sensitive slit - and Toji was one competitive man. It was in his nature, of course. 

Tumbling your hips to rest even greater onto his mouth, he didn’t need to breathe. Didn’t even want to even dream of it when he had the circles of his fingerpads latched on your jiggling ass so hard it was sure to leave battered bruises for the next week and weeks and weeks.

“Damn, she’s good, huh?” Toji’s whispering at the sopping wet purse of your lips, “But I can’t have myself  c-cum before- fuuuck- my girl.” 

Your eyes were sprinting all the way to the back of your heavy lids with ever swaying lash of his mean mouth. And it didn’t matter just how vulgarly you were sliding your starved tongue down the heated ridges and veins of his swollen cock - Toji was doing ten times worse. 

Every deepening inch you swallowed up into your cavernous mouth only made him plug you fuller. Every stray swipe of the thick, ivory beads of his pre made Toji douse out lumping masses of saliva lewdly. And every twitch that made you sure Toji was right on course to tumbling over the edge was urging him to push you headfirst into your orgasm with a final teasing pinch at your clit. 

And your mouth opens with an accusing gasp - did he just…pinch your clit? But all thoughts of his audacity and the fact that Toji was chuckling out right after washed away as soon as your high was flooding you.

Moans being muffled around his generously fat shaft, the only thing that you get is just a single wispy wire of condensed cum being lacquered onto your tongue. Just one. Right before Toji’s free hand splays out onto your scalp and pulls you free with a wet pwah!

“Tha’s it-” You hear him mutter in the blinding cloud of your orgasm, it felt so blissful that some darkly primal part of you said that you were never letting him go after this. He was yours. Your mate. “-louder. Louder– good fuckin’ girl cummin’ all over my mouth.”

Toji didn’t know how the hell was multitasking with your pussy kindly spraying him with a sheeny covering of all your remnant juices. But for you? Anything.

Anything anything anything and he was whispering the very same mantra into the quavering, slick-flooded entrance of yours. Letting your hips drag sloppy grinds to ride out every edge of your peak - to use him in a way that no other alpha might just.

Toji’s strokes up into your tightly-clasped fist were deep, and he doesn’t stop even when your eyesight stops tinging with black. Not even when your back arches with oversensitivity, waterfalls of tears producing from your ducts. Sobbing, “I-I’m- ngh- Toooji- I can’t anymore-”

“Sure, ya can–” Looking you right into your thoroughly half-lidded eyes as he nods along with the slurring symphony that he was orchestrating from between your overworked legs. “-she says ya- ngh- can.”

Toji wanted to taste you again. Needed it.

“But-” And, yet, he finds his ear perking up at the wobbly sound of your voice, blushing bludgeoning tip creaming out another thick mess of white. “-but I wan’ my next- ah- next orgasm around your cock, Toji–” 

And, well, how could he say no to that?

Toji thinks he could never say no to anything you ask ever again with the way you were positioned precariously on top of him and still begging. 

He’s saying goodbye to your pretty pussy with a slow peck as a lover would. Breathing in heavily - oh, how he loved the smell of you. “M’gonna see ya later, m’kay? Don’t miss me too much.” 

And another gifted spank! to your tenderized ass makes you jerk a few inches off of his sugary mouth. Sweet, sweet praises being pecked up the bending arch of your spine when he sits you down all cutely on his lap.

You’re heaving out a huff, scent glands throbbing with a spike of something slightly salty. Jealousy. “M’startin’ ta think you’re playing ngh- favorites.”

“Well, duh.” He’s fluttering his long, bestowed lashes with an eyeroll, barely even flinching before cupping your slobbering pussy with one large palm. Teasing, “I’ve got yeeears ta make up for.”

Years of desperation and need pouring and pouring out when Toji folds you easily onto all fours.

And that’s when you’re getting a thorough striking of exactly three times that Toji’s sappy crownhead jolts upwards with a few gummy kisses hello up and down the crying middle of your pussy lips. Smooching. Gently. Before he’s snuggling right beside your hole-

With you bent over and arched right how he wanted you - oh, he was so enjoying the view. Saturated bursts of cloudy pheromones hitting your feverish body and only making the fountains of translucent slick increase tenfold. 

Shit, you were so wet that Toji has to force himself to let one greedy hand go from its favorite job trapping you underneath him. 

Guiding a few dexterous digits to wrap around the bulkily bloated cylinder of his base, he takes his time slipping and sliding.

“Might wanna hold yer breath, mama, h-heh…” You’re squirming your hips deeper into those pronounced hip bones of his despite the fact that simply breathing won’t help you take on his monstrous size. But you wanted to. You needed to. “Gotta c-count- ngh- eeeevery inch like a good girl now, m’kay?”

And that’s exactly what he made you do. 

“Oh!” Saltily flavored globules of your tears had your lips wetted, blubbering unconsciously when Toji anchors the hills of his palm onto the ends of your spine and pushes. “Shit- Toooji, why the hell are you s-so big-”

“Now that doesn’t sound like a ngh- ‘one’ ta me…”  But of course, who was Toji if it wasn’t for a little bit of teasing. Just enough to get your lips pouting cutely and your gluey walls clinging around him as if afraid he would pull away. Adorable. “Now now, c’mon- don’t tell me the biiig stretch has made ya forget how to ah- count, mama.”

So easy to rile up, to get you shaking your head so fervently that you swear you could feel your melty mind tumbling about like a bobble head. “N-no. I can count.”

“Then, say it w’me-” And oh, you knew that tone. That feral tone of his that would never ever bode well for you or your needily dripping pussy. Toji’s inching his hips back mere sinful inches, drawling out all the while. “-oooone.”

He doesn’t even ease you in.

Hitting your spraying cunt with the full force of his mushroom-topped head pushing past the adhesive-like resistance of your flooding entrance. Pushing and pushing and pushing- “One.”

Toji’s hands are clammy - depraved - when they pry your bouncing ass ever-so-slightly to really take in the sight of your gobbling pussy. Because he had no shame. He had no fucking shyness letting out a proud puff of pheromones that make your boneless knees weak.

“There there.” He’s patting that curve of your hip he loved so much - birthing hips, the thought strikes him. Shocked at just how much deeper that drowns him into his heady rut. “My good omega. Now…two.”

“T-two-” You’re sobbing out.

“Hmmm, nah- no stutterin’.”

Oh?

And, honestly, Toji half-expected your omega in heat to snarl at him a little, to let your hugging channel scoop up a hefty few dollops of milky pre right before he’s reeling the familiar pathway forwards again.

But, oh shit, he didn’t expect for you to bare your teeth like a fucking threat. For one hand of yours to dart behind with surprising accuracy and curl around his shaggy haircut, dragging Toji to pump you full. And it wasn’t just one inch. Not two. Not even three - you were damn near yearningly jackhammered with about halfway down his fuming red shaft before he finally got his cottony brain together. “Two.” 

“Damn, greedy girl–” Toji praises, though it comes out as more of a rasping growl that sends voltaged shivers down your spine. “Comin’ back for more, already? Knew my dick was hah- heat- alright then-” And the bed rings out with a few symphonied creaks when he shuffles his muscular thighs wider. Steadier. “-but ya better still fuckin’ count.”

Four. five. Six.

More and more - seven and eight. 

Up until Toji’s puffy head smudges a wet wipe at the canvas of your cervix. You were so soft there that he obviously has to greet the melty depths of your pussy with a good spurting of ribbony pre, swabbing around those drenched springs with a lazy circle of his hips.

“Eight.” Your jaw spills a surging slew of profanities at the feeling of him spearheading you so open, face pushing into the soft mattress when you perk your hips up and push. Only to gasp at there being- more? “Wait- I want-”

“Down, girl.” Toji’s sweat-shimmered biceps flex when he shoves your too-eager body back. “Gotta get you to at least cum on m’cock again before I give ya my- fuuuuck- knot.” 

And Toji fucks you like he’d going to make you remember.

He knows he’s going to make you remember - it’s why he has that big, dopey smirk smearing wider and wider across his face with every fat thud! into the rubbery bounds of your pussy. You’re taking him like you’re made for it, and that only makes his heart stutter even louder than your protesting wooden bedframe.

“Doll, m’gonna ahh- break this damn bed.” He’s uttering out, never ever sounding prouder of himself than right now. “And you.”

“Cocky.”

“Whatever, girl- talk t’me when ya haven’t gotten- hah-” Managing out through blissful hiccups of his breath, “-heart-eyes after bein’ hngh- fucked dumb by me, ‘kay?”

You’re not sure if you’ve heard that correctly - but luckily for you, Toji Fushiguro is allll about keeping his girl in the loop.

All about prancing his rough hands to entrap your wrists and pull you with barely even a wisp of his true strength. Beaded dewdrops of sweat perspiring up and down the heavily toned muscles of his back like their very own personal rollercoaster.

With you right along for the ride with the way that his rightly angled rotund tip romantically scours and scours for your magical g-spot. Jerking you up in midair to snap his slender hips with a particularly vicious pap!

The sensation of skin-on-skin makes your head dizzy, and your core overpour with another sudden downpour of treacling juices. But what was even blasphemously worse was the way that precious geyser embedded into the treasure trove of your walls were pummelled. 

Over and over.

“There- right there–” you’re sounding out as if you were a broken record. Every resonating moan of yours accompanied hand-in-hand with the loudest splish-splosh of sputtering juices. Secondary gender working overtime now to make Toji cum. To make him give you his knot- “-wan’ you to c-cum right there.”

“Where?” Toji’s deepening his angle to bump a heavy-handed slam pounded into your cervix. “Here?” At your vehement shakes - honestly, he wondered if you even knew he was taunting you at this point. “Then…” Only to give your peaked clit a mushy squeeze, “-here?”

You’re almost crying at this point, bursts of heat fluctuating between your goopy depths and your swollen scent glands. Full and ready. And it’s a sight so pretty that Toji can feel his stomach twisting already. “N-noooo.”

He almost loses it once your shakier, smaller hands take the lead to guide one of his own all across your thighs where he loved. Your cunt, where he loved just a bit more. And to about halfway along your pretty tummy to press- “Wan’ you to f-fill me up riiight here.”

And Toji only growls, “Riiight there, huh?”

Pinpointing his puffed-up divot to smudgeon repeated heavy collisions into the latched wall of your womb. Once. Twice. Before thrashing your permeated walls with hosing flushes of his cum. Of such thick ribbony wads - and it’s so fucking dense that you feel your hips weigh down.

Or perhaps that was because of your own orgasm the- third of the night?

Just about all you can manage out, syllables falling from your lips slower than you’re being hammered through the faintish spurts of your high. “C-umming–”

Before you know it, you have one of his muscular forearms around your throat in headlock, bulging Toji’s rounded biceps hard and possessively at the bumpy area of your glands.

“Cummin’ again?” Toji snarls against your ear, nails clawing at your hip to keep them under his control. “Yeah- yeahhh tha’s right. Milk your dear Toji, t-take this fucking cock. Take my…”

And Toji was about to overstuff your awaiting hole with the fat circular ring that’d swollen around his base, to finally give you his knot the way he’d been dreaming of ever since you waved at him on the day he moved into this fucking building. 

But just one sneaking glance at the ivory lipstain your puffy pussy was wearing, the way the ends of your sopping slit drown with a swamping drip drip drip of his lustrous cum makes Toji go a little…crazy. 

Makes the bulgingly tender crook of your neck look so, so tempting. 

His glassed-over eyes lock downwards, breath hitching at the way he slowly sinks back out and in has your pussymound mewling out such a cute glomp! His second-favorite girl - after you, of course - was speaking back to him. Lathers of splashing cum painting his bulky heft with a ring of frosted seed. 

Oh.

Toji would never get tired of this. How the fuck hadn’t he had a rut in years again?

And he says only one word, “More.”

“M-more?” Your fingers experimentally nudge at the tautly coiled pressure at your stomach and find yourself slobbering - from both drizzling lips. Even with the dredges of pouring cum, you were still so full you felt that you could burst. “Can it even fit?”

Right now he thinks the hazy fog covering his brain would never stop - and he doesn’t want it to. Waves of pheromones wafting off of him in such high concentrations that you find your mouth flooding with saliva all over again.

Cobwebs of it overspilling down onto the veined muscles of his forearm - only increasing in saturation when he tilts your head up in the perfect 90 degree curvature to face his boring gaze. And his mean mouth.

Spitting right onto the tainted bullseye of your tongue, streamy rivers flowing back into your mouth when he firmly nudges it shut. “If yer droolin’ n’ can still t-take ngh– that,” Branding the thorough push of his circled circumference into your cervix like he was branding the swollen indentation there permanently. “-then ya can take allll of haaah- this, okay, mama?��

Shit, was Toji glad that both your concoctions of pheromones kept him still hard. And he’d heard of ruts that lasted a week - two, uncommonly. The longest ever recorded was twenty days and by god was he going to gain the title of world champion.

Even if it meant he had to lift you cleanly off of the now-broken bed, the exact same one that you were only now noticing. Just barely so. 

You’re gasping, fingers digging into Toji’s smooth skin when two arms wrap around your middle and jostle you over a few coiling bedsprings that’d started to stick out from one sagging end of the mattress. Being pushed to bend over in such a complaint position at the end of your cool mahogany desk. 

You’re dipped deep, but his battering rams were impossibly deeper.

And the zig-zagging probe of his veins were massaging you just right, thrusts determined and practiced now that Toji had every scouring inch of your pretty pussy drilled into his mind.

“Th-three’s the ah-” Toji’s chest rumbles with a sensitized shiver once he hikes up a strong leg, caging you with him and his ruthless cock and him. Letting you gape at the documents rustling and flying about, “-charm. Or was it four? Ngh- f-five? Six?”

Just how long did he intend to mess up your insides? 

Though, you really, really aren’t complaining at the way that every merciless dab of Toji’s sharp hips into your fleshy mounds fuck you stupid. Entire body burning up - all the way from his lolling, sweat-stucken head in the crook of your neck, to the splurging torrents of streamy sap coating you.

And then there was that stinging plap! of his tightened knot behind you-

“C-can I have your knot now, Toji—?” 

Shit, his hips stutter their sloppy staccato, did you even know what you were asking for?

You never knew that heats came with such a side of begging, but right now you couldn’t really bring yourself to care. Or to complain. Because Toji liked it, earning your pillowy walls with extra thorough hits. 

“Impatient girl.” He’s raising a hand to give two messy spanks on your bulging pussymound, deep snickers hitting your ear in condensed pants at the way it only makes you filthier. “Real diiiirty, too. mmm, wonder if she’d ngh- m-make an even bigger ngh- mess if I…”

And at this point, you were hanging onto every word falling from his kiss-bitten lips. A side-effect of just how good he was fucking you into the digging edges of your clattering desk right now. “What- ngh- what? P-please-”

“Ohhh, know yer m-manners, huh?” Full body wracking at the oodles of slicked sheens frothing down the plump curve of his globed balls and making them clench. Dangerously so. “S-since ya asked so fuckin’ nicely, I’ll let you ngh- know, sugar.” 

Nothing could have prepared you for the way that Toji moistens his parched mouth with a few sultry licks of his lips as if preparing to share his deepest, darkest secret.

Nothing could have prepared you for the notched up burst of his jasmine perfume that makes your legs resemble weak jelly, and Toji’s support yours until they were hovering almost midair. 

Because he was craning his head down to nip at your scent glands, with a sudden snicker. Crazed. A few octaves higher. Like he doesn’t even realize it’s tumbling out before sighing, “-wonder if she’d make an even bigger mess once I get ya…pregnant, mama.”

And oh you think you’re cumming - hot spurts of bliss tackling you by surprise. Fuck, and if you thought that the last orgasm had taken a lot out of your Toji then you’re sluttily glad to find out that that was not the case.

The complete opposite, in fact.

You’re sure that Toji cums even more this time, sunken divot into the elastic material of your walls welling up with the creamy helpings of his bloated cock. So much seed spilling out of him that you wondered whether this was the rut or just him.

Just his urge to fuck you full until you were pathetically overspiling, until had had you in a hold so tight that you think you could almost feel Toji’s delicious crownhead fuck his cum into you until it reached your lungs. 

For what feels like rounds upon rounds until your saliva had amassed in a forevermore pool underneath you. You didn’t know what time it was. How long it had been- 

Only feeling the firm glissade of Toji’s washboard abs against your back. The way his thighs shivered and jerked at every one of your gripping clenches. And despite being so fucked, you were already drooling at the heavenly cushy push and pull of his Adonis-like pecs heaving in throaty gasps. 

So unfairly sexy that it made your primal instincts preen. Mate.

And, apparently, Toji was thinking much the same. 

“F-fuuuck-” He’s letting his mouth nuzzle the side of your throat with all the tenderness that he wasn’t bestowing upon your sappy cunt. “Think about i-it- you all ngh- round and glowing n’- rooound–“ Rambling and rambling at the wet splashes inside you of his stuffing, “You’d make the prettiest momma.”

As if to prove his point, a gentle hand greets the inflationary outline that was slowly forming its way at your tummy. Made by yours truly - Toji. 

“I…” And he looks at you like you’ve hung the stars. And his sanity right along with it somewhere up there. “-want that. Oh, I- hngh! want that-”

Words barely out of your mouth before Toji’s hand slams down - he had to keep himself together. He needed to. But that grating desk clearly wasn’t the place, because you flinch when one straining leg snaps!

And Toji’s alpha instincts are flaring up in an instant, wrestling you to the ground right - pulling out for only a nanosecond to flip you onto your prespired back, pretty legs strewn sloppily over his shoulder, even prettier face gazing up at him - beside the wreckage. One that you’d only find it in yourself to worry about much, much later. 

Definitely not when he’s patting the curve of your pussy with a softened thwack! Murmuring, “Then..g-gonna hafta- hngh- take it.”

And if you didn’t know any better, then you’d have sworn that the smug Toji Fushiguro’s voice cracked as soon as he was settling for drawing a languid heart pattern around the velvety perimeter of your entrance. Before thumbing his way inside-

“Hck!” Your lip wobbles with oversensitivity, nails clawing red, red lines of raw need across the faintly bubblegum pink flush of his body. “S-Soooo much–”

And, yet, you couldn’t get enough. 

You watch with a bitten lip with a fat goblet of sweat drips from Toji’s angular jaw and slithers between his pecs to disappear down below. More - you wanted to fucking ruin him.

The desperation of your heat plummeting in heady wavelengths all around you and making the room smell like a candy heaven.

One that you were very much lost in with the unforgiving stretch of Toji pawing his way to working your sprinkling cunt doubly open. Fingers pumping in quick, methodical half-fucks in the same way that his persistant hips were doing.

Every single recoil against your fleshy cervix causes you both to keen at the wet slosh of his mounds of seed piling up inside you from all the endless rounds before. 

Again. And again. And again and again until it feels like countless hours upon hours. 

“Ohhhh- w-ait-” Toji stammers out, attractively sharp jaw falling and wrenching shut a few repeated times. And then his hips slow down. “Think s’gonna- ngh- ohhhh yeah, gotta take this kn-knot okay? Like my goood girl, okay?”

You’re filled with countless inches of a staggering girth that you didn’t even know was possible. Because while alphas were big…Toji was extra big. 

Extra rounded in his sizable knot, rested upon thickly globular balls that still held such voluminous amounts of cum. Pounding open your eager cunt further and- further-

“I-is it in?” You’re shrilling out, syllables slurring and stumbling together with the incredible stretch being made evident from down below. Fuck, your nails create more painted patterns. You didn’t even want to look - you couldn’t afford to cum again just from the sight. 

“J-just ngh- one more inch. Scratch me, ruin me- anythin’. But m’gonna make it f-fit.”

And Toji only hooks in another one of his thumbs, this time swiping the fat pad of a few stray fingers down your buxom clit. “Count w’me, doll-” For his sanity more than anything. Neck straining with a few popping vessels of blood that swell, face reddening with such a maidenly fucking blush as he looks downwards. “-ooone more-”

“-inch.” You finish off, not expecting that exact moment to be when Toji snaps. His patience. You, full of that achingly hot knot that’d been just begging for you to take him the very moment you waltzed up to him with that sweetened saccharine scent. 

His favorite now.

Gulping in cavernous quotas of it the moment Toji’s inflated knot pops and he sinks his sharpened canines into your scent glands with a whimper-

Hard enough to taste your honey-glazed pheromones, to draw blood. To be permanent - just as he’d needed it. 

Hard enough to make him cum all over again at the feeling of your own teeth making their pretty mark on him. Shit, he didn’t even know if it was fucking possible for his overworked cock anymore. But he sure wasn’t fucking complaining at the delicate splat splat splat of milky cum hitting the back of your pussy. 

Already filled to the brim and spilling with every loving grind that Toji was boring down upon you. The only thing that he could manage when you two were connected so…tightly this way.

“Cute.” Toji manages to run his fingers over the proprietorial set of indentations set in his flesh, eyes still laminated dewily with an euphoric sort of stunned awe. “F-fated mates really have some good ngh- bed chem, huh?”

Fated mates. You could only smile and scent that overwhelmingly addictive jasmine scent of his. Taking in a long, deep breath as he held you. Tight. 

Yeah, jasmine. 

But jasmine was Toji Fushiguro’s.

And you’d be damned if Toji Fushiguro ever let you off that easily.

The smile you’re given is feral, predatory teeth glimmering in the dim lighting and making the neat circle of marks at your neck throb. And something about that told you this was far, far from over. 

You could only hope that your floor didn’t suffer the same fate as your bed, and your desk…and your fluttering cunt.  

After all, you both did have years to make up for. 

“Now the only haaah- way to really test our bed chem is to see whether we can make Megs a big brother.”

A/N. Thinking about making an omegaverse installment for every JJK man- what do you think babygirls?

Plagiarism not authorized. 

[yandere-daydreams]

Lmao Gojo is too much of a whiny brat himself to be a dad to someone else, the same dude that’s got mommy issues and needs constant attention. The most I can picture stepcest in his case is him either being the stepson/stepbrother or a child man of a stepdad who makes you baby him, if you ever see him at all.

Id still say stepson who’s into all weird kinky shit like being breastfed, basically you doing all the work and him getting pampered princess style

honestly one of the things that's causing me pause when it comes to step-son!gojo is just T-T T-T who would you even have to marry to get stuck with him T-T T-T T-T he's so incredibly fatherless it's actually insane. maybe geto but that's still a little bit of a stretch.

nonetheless, i have been inflicted with visions of marrying into the gojo-clan for financial/political reasons only to find yourself the unloved spouse of a sorcerer who barely acknowledges that you exist,,, your cursed energy is practically nonexistent and it'd only compound your husband's humiliation to put you to use as a servant, so you spend your days wandering the estate, overhearing conversations you can't make sense of and practicing useless, traditional crafts that'll inevitably end up torn to pieces when you lose your patience for the thousandth time. the only member of the clan who pays you any mind is satoru, and while it's nice to have someone to talk to every now and then, he always seems to need something - a place to nap while he should be attending a meeting, his sleeve repaired where curse came close to scathing him, his tea-flavored sugar made the way he claims only you can. once, he even came to you with a broken nose after a mission. you chided him for not going to the healers instead as you dabbed at the blood with a damp cloth and fussed over the (relatively minor, all things considered) injury. you figure it's mostly pity, if not an active effort to mock you. if you weren't so desperate for company, you wouldn't put up with it.

that's what you think, at least, until your spouse hastily executed for a crime no one seems to be able to name, until you find yourself even more detached from the clan than you previously were. you're distraught, of course, left penniless and without support, but you won't have to worry for very long. satoru's already drafted up another contract, albeit one with conditions less orthodox than your last. unrelated question - have you ever heard of adult adoption?

[softonstyles]

Part Nine

Part Eight

A/N: i know i've been teasing this slow burn for a while, but i promise — things are going to start heating up soon! ;D

Word Count: 1.9K

Aurora sat nervously, biting on her lower lip as she awaited her exam results. Professor Prendergast had spent the past five minutes pacing at the front of the lecture hall, his voice heavy with disappointment. The class average on their fourth exam was a sixty-three, and he made it abundantly clear that if they didn’t turn things around before the final in December, many of them wouldn’t pass Gross Human Anatomy.

His words settled like a weight in her chest. Aurora had spent two straight weeks studying — canceling plans, camping out in the library, doing everything possible to make sure this exam didn’t break her streak. She’d done well on the others and couldn’t afford to slip now, not this late in the semester.

For good measure, Aurora even wore her lucky crew neck — the burgundy one Harry gifted her when she saw him last. It hadn’t started as that, her “lucky” crew neck, but Aurora happened to be wearing it the first time she aced an exam, and then again when those results came back. She had plenty of comfortable sweaters to choose from, but it was practically a superstition at this point.

Prendergast hastily moved down each row, setting each exam face down. At the very least, she appreciated his discretion. He was tough on them, sure, but not as bad as Grimshaw, her Histology professor, who had no problem humiliating students in front of their peers.

(Rumor had it that when a student once complained about Grimshaw’s methods, he didn’t even bother denying it. Instead, he doubled down: “Yes, and I’ll do it again. If she has a problem with it, she should reconsider her place in this program.” Things were brutal out here).

Prendergast finally reached her desk. He placed Aurora’s exam on the table in front of her and, in a rare show of praise, leaned in. “Well done, Ms. Rivera.”

Aurora thought she had imagined it until she flipped the paper over.

An A– was circled in red ink at the upper right-hand corner. Her mouth fell open in shock as she scanned the pages, pausing to read his comments on the few questions that had been missed. 

“Oh, don’t look so surprised,” Marilyn drawled from beside her.

Marilyn sat next to Aurora out of alphabetical misfortune rather than choice. With last names both starting with R, Professor Prendergast had assigned them seats beside each other on day one. Marilyn had a dry, sarcastic sense of humor that Aurora didn’t always mesh with but learned to simply tolerate.

She was in Aurora’s physical therapy cohort, and her boyfriend happened to be good friends with Ben — Charlotte’s new beau. That connection meant occasional forced social interactions, which both she and Charlotte endured for the sake of peace. So, instead of rolling her eyes at Marilyn’s unnecessary remark, Aurora settled for a neutral, “What do you mean?”

“You always act so surprised when you get a good grade,” Marilyn continued. “Knowing damn well you have the highest average in this class. Maybe even the entire cohort.”

Aurora shook her head, still riding the small high of her grade. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She slipped the test into a folder and packed it away.

“Sure,” Marilyn sighed. “Good job, anyway.”

“Thanks,” Aurora considered asking Marilyn how she did but thought better of it. Judging by her mood, it wasn’t great.

“Anytime,” Marilyn muttered, gathering her things and following Aurora out the door.

This was what confused her. Marilyn was always curt with Aurora but still gravitated toward her. When Aurora didn’t like someone, she kept her distance from them. Marilyn, however, seemed to operate under a different set of rules.

Aurora made forceful small talk about the weather as they walked toward the parking lot. Charlotte had agreed to pick her up, and for once, she was on time (thank God). Her white convertible was parked at the curb, top down despite the crisp autumn air. 

Aurora sighed when she realized Marilyn was still trailing behind her. She could see Charlotte’s smile falter as they approached.

“Oh, hey, guys,” Charlotte greeted, her usual enthusiasm dimmed by Marilyn’s presence.

Marilyn wrinkled her nose as she peered around the car. “Jesus, Charlotte. When was the last time you brought this through a carwash?”

Aurora tuned them out, tossing her backpack into the backseat. Beside it sat her navy weekender bag, packed to the brim with clothes to last Aurora the next four days. She shook her head, unsure of how Charlotte had convinced her to come over for Thanksgiving break.

“Please?” Charlotte had begged every night for the last week, meandering behind Aurora whenever she got back from the library. “If not for me, then for dad — he’s really looking forward to having you over!”

And really, how was she supposed to say no to that?

Her own family was across the country, and Aurora’s flight home wasn’t until Christmas. Turning down Charlotte’s invitation would have been rude at best, and suspicious at worst. Sliding into the passenger seat, Aurora put on her sunglasses, exchanging an irritated look with Charlotte.

“Right, well, we’ll see you at Cambridge Bar on Friday,” Charlotte said, shifting the car into drive.

“Yup,” Marilyn replied flatly. “See y—” The rest was cut off as Charlotte hit the gas, leaving Marilyn standing in the parking lot.

“Cambridge Bar?” Aurora turned to Charlotte, brow raised. “Do I even want to know?”

“Nope.” Charlotte grinned, shaking her head. “Which is why I wasn’t planning on telling you until right before.”

Aurora rolled her eyes, too drained from the morning’s events and too anxious about what was to come to even bother arguing.

“Anyway,” Charlotte began. “I’m so excited you’re coming home with me this weekend! It’s going to be so much fun. You’ll finally see where I grew up, meet all my childhood friends —” She launched into a monologue about all the exciting things they’d be doing, listing them off with a kind of giddy enthusiasm that made Aurora’s head spin.

To an outsider, Aurora probably came across as annoyed. But it wasn’t that she wasn’t looking forward to spending time in Charlotte’s hometown — quite the opposite, in fact. Aurora had heard nothing but good things over the years and was eager to finally experience it herself. She was just. . . nervous.

About Harry.

School had been a good distraction, but not enough. No matter how busy Aurora was, he still managed to slip into her thoughts — as she zoned out in class, while she mindlessly scrubbed dishes, when she had even a moment of stillness. Her mind always wandered back to him.

And, unfortunately, to her.

Katy.

Even thinking about her name made Aurora’s stomach twist. She kept replaying that Halloween night in her mind — Harry’s drunk text, how unexpectedly adorable it had been. Until, of course, he mentioned her. Since then, Aurora had been desperate to figure out who Katy was. 

Or more specifically, what she meant to him.

She couldn’t exactly ask Charlotte without raising suspicion, but that didn’t stop her from trying subtle tactics. Like the time she’d casually mentioned her younger brother’s imaginary new girlfriend, Katy, just to gauge Charlotte’s reaction. There had been nothing in response — no flicker of recognition, no lead.

A ridiculous part of her hoped it had been a fluke — a one-time mention, a meaningless name. But if it wasn’t. . . well, it wasn’t like it actually concerned her. She had no right to feel jealous, and she knew how bizarre it was that she did. Everything she felt for Harry was one-sided. 

And besides, she shouldn’t be feeling anything for him in the first place.

But it was so, so hard. Especially when he checked in on her from time to time, through text or through Charlotte. Always sweet, always reserved. Never pushing past the surface. She’d give him some generic “Just busy with school, but otherwise good!” and that would be that.

Aurora knew he was just being polite, only looking out for her since she was across the country without family. But a tiny, reckless part of her couldn’t help but wonder: was there even the smallest part of him that felt something for her, too?

The rest of the car ride was filled with music and snacks, Charlotte only lowering the volume when they were fifteen minutes out to give Aurora a historical tour of her town — which mostly consisted of pointing out her elementary school, the outlet mall, and the house of the boy she lost her virginity to.

Still, Aurora soaked it all in, genuinely interested.

To no one’s surprise, Charlotte lived in a gated community. The road leading up to her house was winding, lined with towering trees and bursts of fall foliage. Even in late November, with most of them bare, the view was breathtaking. Reds and yellows still clung to a few stubborn branches, and fallen leaves drifted into the reservoir that stretched alongside the road.

“Charlotte,” Aurora gaped. “This looks like something out of a Hallmark movie.”

Charlotte beamed. “You like it?”

“I think I might just stay here forever.”

“You totally can,” Charlotte said it easily, and Aurora knew she meant it. “Mi casa es su casa! And I’m sure my dad wouldn’t mind, either. He loves you. And even though he swears he doesn’t, I think he gets lonely sometimes.”

Aurora swallowed, forcing a smile. She really didn’t need that thought rattling around in her head, especially not this weekend.

Charlotte pulled into the driveway, opting not to go into the garage. “I might see Ben later,” she explained. “No point in parking it all the way in.”

Aurora took her time getting out, drinking in the view of Charlotte’s house — a stunning, modern yet rustic home that somehow managed to be both grand and inviting.

“We can just leave our bags in the car,” Charlotte said. “My dad’s still at work, but he’ll bring them in when he gets back.”

Aurora shot her a deadpan look. “Absolutely not.” She was already reaching into the backseat. “Come get your things, lazy daisy.”

Inside, Aurora tried not to feel ridiculous about how much she was oohing and ahhing. But how could she not? The house was gorgeous — warm, tastefully decorated, and almost suspiciously well-kept for a space occupied by a supposedly single man.

Charlotte led her down the hall. “Guest bedrooms are on the main floor,” she said, stopping at the last door. “There’s a connecting bathroom, so you can leave your stuff and get ready in here. But you’re more than welcome to sleep with me upstairs.”

Aurora set her bags down, then followed Charlotte through the rest of the house.

Halfway through, Charlotte’s phone buzzed. “Ugh,” she groaned. “It’s my dad. He wants me to pick up some things for Thanksgiving prep. Going to the grocery store the day before Thanksgiving should qualify as a form of torture.”

“It’s all good,” Aurora laughed. “I wanted to pick up some things anyway.”

“Perfect. We’ll finish up here and then head out!”

At the store, they split up. Aurora wandered the aisles, picking up ingredients to make empanadas. It was the least she could do to contribute after being welcomed into their home.

Afterward, back at Charlotte’s, they crashed in her room for a nap. When Ben called to say he was home, Charlotte got ready to leave. “Are you sure you’re okay with being alone?”

“Of course,” Aurora reassured her. “I’ll just start on the empanadas.”

And that was how she found herself alone in Charlotte’s childhood kitchen at 7:00 P.M., rolling dough while nodding along to a Weezer album. Cooking had always been her safe space. She knew her way around a kitchen, and felt comfortable in the rhythm of it.

So comfortable, in fact, that she didn’t even hear the front door open.

Didn’t hear the heavy footsteps approaching.

Didn’t notice anything, actually, until she heard his voice.

“Aurora.”

That deep, unmistakable voice.

She froze, rolling pin hovering mid-air.

“What a pleasant surprise.”

Part Ten

————— ୨୧ —————

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[clerc16]

mamma mia

pairing: charles leclerc x fem!reader

summary: sometimes, in order to live the summer you want, you have to take a chance and risk everything. in your case, going to italy while knowing absolutely nothing about the country. not even the language.

warnings: google translated italian, language. nothing else (for now). this will contain narrated parts and social media parts.

01: THE ARRIVAL

Easier said than done. Your summer in Italy was not off to a good start. Almost midnight and literally no taxis. Wasn’t this an airport? Where are the taxis?!

You sighed as you stood awkwardly outside the airport gates, praying for a car to show up. Much to your dismay, nothing had appeared, and you were beginning to regret this whole trip.

You looked around for a few more minutes before deciding to walk further down the road. Maybe there will be cars around there, yeah?

Well, no. Nothing, absolutely nothing - the only cars in sight were either parked or not taxis. You sighed loudly as you shook your head, the jet lag beginning to creep up on you and the overall exhaustion and stress of the flight.

You felt - and looked - hopeless, as you walked around the streets with your luggage bag, not knowing what to do. At one point, you did come across a few taxi drivers, but they all spoke little to no English. Just your luck.

Eventually, you decided to sit down and text Nat again. The chances of her replying were low, but not low enough to discourage you from actually messaging her.

As you walked, you found an empty bench across the street, and you decided to cross and stay there for a while. There were very little cars around during this moment as the city was beginning to fall asleep, but did you want to risk it? No. So you waited until the lights turned red.

The weather was warm, but there was some slight wind which caused you to momentarily feel peace.

Momentarily.

Just as the lights turned red, you began to cross the street, but a car coming at full speed braked slightly too late, and you swore you saw your life flash before your eyes.

There was a small moment of panic, but when the car stopped merely a few centimeters away from you, the panic slowly dissipated and was replaced by none other than anger. Fury, even.

As the driver hastily jumped out of the car, clearly panicked, you began to yell mindlessly at them.

“Are you insane?! You almost just ran me over because - what the hell were you even doing?!” You screamed, unaware of the driver’s constant apologies.

“I am so sorry - I didn’t see you, I didn’t realise the lights were red, I-” He continues, slowly making his way towards you.

“Fuck’s sake. Just forget it. My night can’t get any worse, anyway.” You sigh as you begin to walk away.

“Wait- no, I’m really sorry, are you hurt?” He asks, still following behind you.

“No.” You say coldly, not turning around. But when you feel him still standing there, you finally turn around. You can see, and sense, that he truly feels sorry, and also somewhat shocked about this occurrence.

“Do you... need any help?” He mumbles after a while, looking at your luggage. You sigh, then proceed to tell him - the opportunity came straight to you, might as well just use it.

“I just arrived in Italy a while ago. There are literally no taxis in sight, I cannot speak Italian and I just want to go to my hotel.”

He pauses for a moment before speaking up again.

“Well, it is pretty late. Would you like me to... maybe give you a ride?”

You considered it for a second: you just met the man, he almost killed you, you don’t even know his name, and now he is offering to drive you to your hotel.

“No pressure.” He says again, softly. You sigh and nod; you truly had no other options. He smiles a little before helping you put your bag in the backseat, allowing you to get into his car.

The car ride was short and quiet, but calm. On multiple occasions, he attempted to start a conversation, but it was shut down quite fast. Possibly due to your visible exhaustion and tiredness.

As you finally reached the hotel, you breathed out a sigh of relief.

“Uh... thanks for... driving me,” you say, looking at him. He smiles back, waving it off.

“It’s nothing, really. I’m Charles, by the way.” He says. You nod, then freeze halfway through.

You knew you recognised him from somewhere, something - it’s fucking Charles Leclerc. Charles Leclerc almost ran you over then drove you back to your hotel. In Italy.

“Oh! I actually- I know you,” you say, trying to seem nonchalant and calm. Deep inside, you were freaking out. He laughs at your response slightly.

“That makes my life a lot easier,” he replies before getting out of the car to grab your luggage.

“I’m Y/N. Y/N L/N ... thanks for driving me, again,” you smile as you take your luggage from him.

“No worries!”

You stand there for a moment, wanting to say something, but not being able to.

“Have a nice night, Y/N - enjoy the rest of your holiday,” he finally says with a wink, as you nod in thanks and begin to walk inside the hotel.

Holy shit, what just happened?

🔔 charles_leclerc just followed you!

mamma mia here i go again!

lmao i hope this was nice and promising, hopefully i will get to work on a next part soon! ❤️

[clockwayswrites]

Like Betta Fish Do Part 20

Chapter 15 when on Ao3, Masterpost WC: 3354 CW: Canon Typical Violence, Blood, Injury, arguing

There was so much blood already. Danny peeled off Jason’s— Red Hood’s— jacket looking for the wound.

If he had been quicker—

No, he couldn’t think that way.

He found the stab wound under Jason’s left arm, shoved right in a point where the armor was less reinforced. Danny pressed the palm of his hand tight to it and took a shuddering breath.

The pull had been so quiet. It had taken a moment to notice what had woken him from sleep and then another to realize what it was— that it was Jason’s core flickering to life and calling out. Not calling out, screaming.

Danny had transformed as he lept out of bed. Before he flew off, the case of ectoshot was hastily grabbed from the back corner of his closet. But Jason hadn’t been at his place. Danny had been forced to fly through the streets and alleyways to find him.

He hadn’t know what to expect as he stepped through the wall of the apartment.

His boyfriend bleeding out on the floor, dressed as Red Hood, wasn’t it.

Danny curled forward, resting his forehead against Jason’s. He was just so glad he got the ectoshot in him— that Nightwing, that Dick who was Nightwing, wasn’t able to stop him.

Even if Dick hated him now.

His fingers still twitched with the feeling of electricity running through him from the blow.

“Do you know how to do stitches?” Dick snapped as he came back with an armful of supplies.

“Yes.” On himself. He didn’t think Dick would want to hear that though (or anything Danny had to say).

Dick tossed the suture kit at Danny and got to work setting up an IV in Jason’s other arm. Silently, Danny cut away enough of Jason’s shirt to start cleaning the wound, keeping pressure on the spot itself as he first cleaned the area around.

“…how bad?” Dick asked, glancing over once he got something hooked up to the IV. Danny thought it might be saline, but he wasn’t sure. They never had that sort of stuff for him.

“It’s… deep, but the bleeding slowed with the pressure,” Danny said, mostly keeping his head down. It was different stitching someone else up. (How did Jazz do this? He owed her such a gift basket.)

Dick nodded and hooked Jason up to some sort of machine.

Danny focused on making all of his stitches neat. He didn’t want Jason to scar too badly. Fuck, he was stitching up his boyfriend. He hoped that Dick would let him stay until Jason woke up at least.

His hand shook. He had to take a moment to breathe to get them steady again.

He had almost lost Jason. Would he have even known? What cover story would Dick had given him, if he even thought to reach out? His boyfriend had been out there, fighting crime, with a developing core and had almost died for it. And this time there would have been no Clockwork to turn back time and let Danny save them. Not unless losing Jason was enough to—

No, nope, not thinking about Dan.

Danny was going to keep that dark spot inside him locked tight away.

It was all fine. Jason was alive. His fledgling core buzzed just on the edges of Danny’s senses. It hadn’t been snuffed out.

Danny tied off the stitches neatly and cut the thread.

-

Dick tucked Jason’s arm onto the couch as he settled him, careful not to jar the IV or the blood pressure monitor. Jason’s numbers were good. Jason’s numbers were better than they should be. That was… Dick was going to be grateful about that.

“Danny,” the other said suddenly.

“What? No, it’s—”

“No, my name, it’s Danny,” the Guy— Fish— Danny rasped from where he was slumped back against the wall. The guy, Danny, looked wrecked. There was a fevered panic to his eyes that Dick was sure he matched. A smear of blood was bright on his tanned cheek and his clothing (were those… pajamas?) were stained with it. “I figure… I figure you should get to know that, considering…”

“I guess… good to officially meet you or something. I’d shake your hand, but,” Dick looked down at his hands covered in his brother’s blood— just like Danny’s were.

“He’ll be alright.”

“You can’t know that,” Dick snapped. Things could always take a turn.

“I can. It’s why I needed to get him to drink that stuff.”

Anger flared in Dick’s gut at the reminder of Danny forcing Lazarus water down Jason’s throat. “Right. About that—”

“You can still punch me if you want to, I said you could,” Danny interrupted. “Just… not with the sticks again, please? I’ve— me and electricity have a bad history.”

He died.

Electrocution.

His heart stopped.

Dick felt sick. If— if Danny wasn’t a LOA plant, if he had told Jason the truth about his past, then Danny had been killed by electricity as a teen.

And Dick had hit him with his escrima while it was electrified.

Dick watched Danny’s fingers on his left arm twitch.

Forget him punching Danny, Jason was going to punch him.

“…go clean up first. You’re staying here? I mean, so you have extra clothing?” he asked, looking at the apparent pajamas (boxers and an old t-shirt) again.

“What?” Danny’s brows furrowed. “No?”

Okay then, another point to blind panic. “You… ran here in your boxers?”

“I, no? It’s… kinda? I didn’t run, but…” Danny trailed off.

Nothing was making sense.

One thing at a time.

“Go shower. There’s a draw labeled RR, the clothes in there should fit.”

With the wobble Danny gave as he stood, Dick was a little worried about him staying on his feet. Shock might be an issue. Dick should think about making tea.

Danny was watching him warily. “You’ll… you’ll let me stay then? At least until he wakes up?”

Dick got that sick feeling again.

“Yep. But go clean.”

Dick could take care of some of the blood on the floor while Danny did that. At least get it where they wouldn’t slip in it. He kept an ear on the sounds of the shower. It was seeming like Danny really cared about Jason, that the adoration he had seen in Danny’s eyes the other day wasn’t a lie, but the guy still had Lazarus water.

He couldn’t trust him completely.

The floors were clean enough by the time that Danny padded out of the bedroom in Tim’s sweats and a hoodie that that could only be Jason’s. He was completely drowning in it. Danny noticed Dick staring and picked nervously at the oversized piece.

“I just…”

“No. I get it. I’ll prob do the same,” Dick admitted, softly. “Can you put water on for tea?”

Danny nodded and padded around him with a wide berth. Dick’s stomach roiled again as he moved to the bedroom. Almost all the blood came off with his uniform, so he just quickly changed, washed his face (no point in the domino at this point) and hurried back out.

Danny was still in the tiny kitchen.

Dick took the time to strip Jason of the rest of his clothing but boxers. He had just covered him with a blanket when the kettle whistled. It must have startled Danny because there was a banging and then cursing.

The cursing had kept up as quite muttering that trailed off into a loud sigh just before Danny came out with two mugs of tea.

Dick took his gratefully and tucked himself onto the edge of the couch by Jason’s propped up feet. Danny settled for the armchair. Dick pushed his teabag around with the spoon, grounding himself in the warm metal handle. He wouldn’t drink it— it could be poisoned— but the warmth helped.

“I want answers.”

“I figured.” Danny was cradling his own mug, face twisted in a little frown. “There’s a lot I won’t give you until Jason is awake to agree. They’re his secrets too.”

“If he agrees?”

Danny rubbed at the back of his neck. “Then I’ll tell. I mean, you’re Nightwing and apparently I’m dating Red Hood. I figure you can keep secrets if you need to.”

Oh. “You didn’t know before tonight.”

“Nope. And what a way to find out,” Danny said with a hysterical sounding laugh that he clamped down fast with a hand over his mouth. Dick could see him take a few purposeful breaths through his nose. “Sorry.”

Dick gave a helpless little shrug. What did someone say to any of this? “It’s a lot. I get it.”

“Not really.” Danny gave him a mirthless smile back when Dick shot him an incredulous look. “I thought I would be done with the whole hero bullshit when I moved to Gotham.”

Oh.

“Retired small town hero at your service. I guess hero was dubious title depending on who you asked. Even in the end some of them preferred menace. I wasn’t… expecting to get caught back up in any of it. That wasn’t the plan.”

Dick glanced from Danny, who was practically hunched around himself now (and looking so tiny in Jason’s hoodie), and over to Jason.

“He knows,” Danny confirmed. “Not any details, just the basics, but he knows. And I… I didn’t know. Not about any of this.”

Fucking hell Jason… “He wouldn’t have told you because of us. Learn about one of us…”

“…and it gets to be pretty clear who everyone is?” Danny said with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Who would have thought, Bruce Wayne is Batman, not his sugar daddy.”

Despite the tense air, Dick couldn’t help the snort of laughter. “That’s always one of our favorite ones. I guess this is you saying you’re not with the League of Assassins then?”

“The who?”

“The ones who have the Lazarus water.”

“Fuck no, can you imagine me as an assassin? Like, ignoring the whole killing part, I am… not subtle enough.” Danny finally took a drink of his tea. “And it’s not Lazarus water. They’re connected maybe, I think, but not the same thing at all. The Lazarus water is why my stuff can help Jason though. Which that is some of what I’m only explaining once Jason is awake.”

“Why do you have it?”

Danny shrugged, the movement too stiff to be carefree as Danny might be hoping. The question clearly bothered him. “Because it helps me too. Because I died too. Because I was revived too. Mine just happened pretty instantaneously. I haven’t… pried into the details, but I get the feeling Jason’s wasn’t.”

A shuddering breath ran through Dick and he tamped it down quickly, clearing his throat. “No. No it wasn’t. But same goes for me here, that’s not my story to tell for Jason.”

Danny gave an understanding little nod.

-

Jason’s everything hurt. Fuck why did his everything hurt?

“Hey, don’t try to move.”

“Dickie?” Jason rasped.

Right. Burning sensation, stabbed, called Dick.

“Yep, I’m here Jaybird. I got here in time. And… and so did Danny.”

“What?” Jason jolted up and then immediately regretted it as pain flared through his side.

Danny really was there, sitting in the ratty armchair, legs pulled up this chest, arms wrapped around them, and mug in hand. He looked so small— small and miserable.

“He was here to pour Lazarus water down your throat.”

Jason groaned and let his head fall back against the couch. “It’s not Lazarus water.”

“How do you know that?” Dick snapped.

Damn, Dick was upset. He was hard to deal with when he was upset. Dick was a real act first, smile after sorta guy.

“Because I’ve drank it before and it doesn’t rile up the Pits, Dickie. Does the opposite.”

“…what do you mean?”

“Means it calls them down. Not… it’s not a cure or anything, we don’t know if they’ll go away completely, but they’re less with the ectoshots.”

“And you know that for sure? You’ve done tests? Rounded up a bunch of Pit mad mice and ran tests?”

Jason only didn’t roll his eyes because of how badly his head hurt. “Yeah, sure, that’s exact what I did. What the fuck Dickie, no, I didn’t—”

“So you just took this shit on his,” Dick spit the work venomously, gesturing at Danny; Danny who flinched back, “word on this?”

“Back off, Dick, you don’t get it!”

“No, you don’t get it! You took this ectoshot without running any tests! Jason—”

“Yes, I did!” Jason shouted over Dick’s lecture. “I was tired, Dick. I was tired of being angry. I was tired of being scared of being angry— of what I would do! I was tired of hurting the people I love! I was tired… I was tired of you all flinching away from me when I spoke too loud or moved too quick.”

Jason slumped back down onto the couch, rubbing wearily at his face with his good arm. “I was tired. And you know if I had taken it to Bruce he would’ve wanted to run tests and trials and I wouldn’t have gotten to use it for months or even years and I didn’t— I don’t know if I had years, Dick, not with what’s left of my sanity intact. Not with… not with my family intact.”

“Jay—”

“And it would have made Danny have to expose himself to the Bats. That wasn’t fair, Dick. I couldn’t—”

Dick just sunk down next to the couch and wrapped his brother up in a hug. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t fair of me. I was just scared too. I can’t lose you again. And never, never did I not touch you because I was afraid. I held back because I didn’t know if the touch was welcome. I didn’t want to hurt you and… and in doing that I hurt you.”

Jason dug his fingers into the hoodie Dick was wearing. His hoodie. “You’re a fucking clothing thief.”

“Danny started it,” Dick mumbled into Jason’s shoulder.

“Yeah, well, I think I deserve some comfort. I barged into my boyfriend bleeding out on the floor because, oh, he’s Red Hood,” Danny drawled. “And yeah, we’re talking about that later and how stupid of you it was to go out and fight crime while taking the shots!”

Jason winced. “I’m s—”

“No,” Danny said, cutting him off. “Not now. We are talking about it later. Right now I am pissed off and I hurt—”

“What? Why are you hurt?”

“That’s…” Danny started before he cut himself off with a frown and looked away.

Dick stiffened in Jason’s arms.

That wasn’t a good sign. “Dick… what did you do?”

“I came in and he was trying to poor Lazarus water down your throat!”

“It’s not Lazarus water.” Jason and Danny coursed at the same time.

“But I thought it was! And that he was trying to hurt you!”

“What did you do?” Jason growled, pushing Dick back enough to see his brother’s face.

Dick wouldn’t meet his eyes. “…I hit him with my escrima.”

“Your— were they electrified?”

“Yes.”

“You— And— After I told you that Danny had died from being electrocuted to death?!”

“Wait—” Danny cut in. Why did Danny sound upset— why had he gone ashen? “You told him I died— how I died?”

“I— yes?” Jason wanted to defend himself and he didn’t even know why. “That you were electrocuted in a lab accident and your heart stopped for a bit.”

Danny buried his face in his knees.

“Danny— I…” Jason was missing something. Something like… “Cultural differences?”

“Yeah.” Danny sounded slightly strangled. “Let’s go with that.”

“I thought he was trying to hurt you! I’m sorry!”

“He was just trying to protect his brother, Jason, I get that,” Danny said. He tilted his head up to rest it on his cheek on his knees. “I would kill for my sisters.”

Jason huffed, “I’m still—”

“You’re allowed to be,” Danny said.

“You can hit me if you want,” Dick offered.

“How about…,” Jason trailed off, utterly exhausted again. “How about you just get me some tea?”

“Herbal,” Dick said, standing, “Your blood vessels have been through enough without caffeine.”

Jason waited till his brother was in the kitchen to ask, quietly, “Are you really alright? If you’re not comfortable around Dick...”

“No. I mean, yes, I’ll be fine, just a little… twitchy. And no don’t ask Dick to— we’ll be fine. He had a reason. And I… um… he might be afraid of me too. I may have sunk him into the floor for it.”

“I— okay,” Jason said, having to take a moment with that. “Guess we’re explaining that.”

“Your lead.”

“Fish,” Jason almost pleaded. “You can’t want that. Not when I didn’t tell you—”

“I said later.”

Jason just nodded.

“You both can obviously keep secrets. I’ve… given things away, putting him in the floor. I told him I died and came back too- just not… how.”

“I’m sorry about telling him that— I didn’t think about it. It would have just been like saying I knew someone who drowned and had CRP.”

Danny sighed, just looking so tired. “If I asked you to tell me how you died?”

Jason recoiled at the thought.

“Exactly.” Danny’s smile was sad. “It’s okay. Thank you for saying sorry.”

Not knowing what else to do, but knowing what he needed, Jason held out his good arm, careful of the IV line. Danny uncurled, setting his mug aside, and took the offer. Jason felt something in him settle at having Danny tucked against him.

“What does it feel like?” Danny asked softly.

“Hum?”

Gently, Danny pressed his hand to Jason’s chest. “Your core.”

“Is that—? Burning. It feels like burning. I… that’s not right, exactly. It feels like molten heat.”

Danny hummed and learned over to press a kiss to that spot on Jason’s chest before resettling.

Dick— timing as impeccable as always— came out when Danny was breathing easily again. He handed over the tea in a to-go mug so Jason didn’t have to lean up much to sip at it and settled in the vacated armchair.

“So…,” Jason started eventually. He rubbed his hand up and down Danny’s back. “Like I said and maybe shouldn’t have, Danny died, briefly, in his parents lab. Electrocuted by one of their machines. He came back different because of that machine.”

Dick was quiet for a moment before asking, “Meta?”

“Close enough,” Jason said. “A lot of it the ecto— something his parents were studying as… paranormal scientists.”

“…okay.”

Danny laughed (the sound a little hysterical). “Right? Dead juice does a lot for you if you’ve died.”

“And it must have done a lot for me,” Jason said, before they could get much more into Danny’s situation. “Something in that graveyard brought me back before the Al Ghuls. Whatever the Lazarus water is— and it might be some of the same stuff to start— it’s gone wrong. The ecto Danny’s parents, and now Danny, extracts is pure. It’s basically like a transfusion for me.”

“Okay, right, sure, healthy dead juice,” Dick said, running a hand through his hair. “Are you going to… will you get powers too?”

“Maybe,” Jason said, trying to sound casual. “Or maybe I’m too fucked up from the Pits. But it’s helping Dick, it really is.”

“I do have research on this. I didn’t just give Jason something I knew nothing about,” Danny said. “And I drink it myself if I’m hurt or ill.”

“Like when you were a hero?” Dick asked, following it up with a full body sigh as he just sunk into the armchair.

“You told him?” Jason was surprised.

Danny shrugged in Jason’s arms. “It seemed the only way to explain why I reacted the way I did to the thing we’re not talking about yet.”

“Yeah, okay,” Jason said, kissing the top of Danny’s head. He wouldn’t press tonight. He was in no state for it anyways.

He just hoped that conversation would go well.

He just hoped he wouldn’t lose Danny.

-----

AN: So no one is really happy in this part- but at least they're talking? And they'll have to talk more too. There's also a lot of trying (and failing) not to panic by all the boys. But hopefully this settled a lot for you all!

Sorry if there's more mistakes than normal (don't need them pointed out, they'll be caught in the rewrite and beta) but my hands and my brain have both been really rebelling against me. Proverbial fingers crossed for the new meds I started today to do some good!

(It might be a few weeks before the next part, btw, looking at my progress.)

Due to the new post editor and having been shadow banned, I'm no longer tagging people! You can subscribe here to be notified instead like you would with a tag!

[runnning-outof-time]

For your celebration

Love to know what you could come up with for

1. Tommy

2. My sentence is “get ion your knees and beg”

3. Prompt is “I need you”

Kind of thinking that’s is not what it seems at first and it’s Tommy and reader in what might be a serious scene but actually turns into fluff and caring Tommy. Maybe he has caught/kidnapped the reader - she is an enemy but then something changes…….

Hi there! Thanks for sending this in! I hope this is something along the lines of what you were envisioning and that it makes sense - I wasn’t quite able to get fluffy/caring Tommy in there, but I hope the twist will make up for it. I can’t say I’ve written anything like this before, so it may seem a bit out of my wheelhouse. Enjoy! :)

I’D LOVE TO KNOW WHAT YOU THINK! - YOUR COMMENTS & REBLOGS HELP ME WRITE!

Part of my 3.5k Celebration — find more stories here!

Get On Your Knees

Tommy Shelby x Reader

Warnings: reader’s been kidnapped, smoking, language, slight season 4 spoilers

Word Count: 1037

Summary: The roles quickly flip once (Y/N) finds out what Tommy wants from her.

“We’ve got her in here, Mr. Shelby,” one of the blinders spoke after two sets of footsteps sounded off of the concrete floor. The voice was muffled, but it was quickly followed by the sound of the door opening. The door to the room that (Y/N) was being held in.

Both sets of footsteps approached the chair she was tied to. They came right up to her and stopped, and silence rang in the room for a few moments before the burlap sack was swiftly pulled off of her head.

The first thing (Y/N) did was smirk, and she titled her head to the side slightly as she looked directly at the man she knew was behind all of this. “I knew it was you,” she couldn’t help but say, a snideness present in her voice.

“There’s no need for you to speak,” Tommy Shelby was brash, but he had no intention of hiding the fact that his eyes were dragging over her frame as he spoke.

“Can you at least untie my hands?” she asked with raised eyebrows, showing him by wriggling her hands against the ropes. “You know I won’t run,” a smirk dancing on her lips as she uttered the final half of her statement.

Tommy raised his eyebrows at her, considering her ask for a moment before he locked eyes with one of his men and nodded his head in the woman’s direction. The blinder wordlessly nodded before hastily moving over and going about undoing the restraints. (Y/N) kept her eyes locked with Tommy while this was being done, watching as he lit a cigarette.

Nothing was said until (Y/N)’s hands were freed. She immediately crossed her arms over her chest and set her one knee atop the other, relaxing back into the chair she’d been bound to with a smirk. “Tell me your plan,” she said to him then, her chin raising slightly.

He kept his eyes on her as he took a drag from his cigarette. The smoke slowly billowed out from his lips before he spoke, “I need you.”

“That’s not a surprise,” (Y/N) couldn’t help but interject with a snort, “you didn’t need to kidnap me for that though. A simple call would have sufficed.”

“I need you to help me gather intel,” Tommy continued without commenting on her interjection.

“On who?”

“The person who’s come to kill my family.”

“And that would be?”

Tommy just stared at her. (Y/N) stared back. The silence held for a few moments before it became apparent to her that he wasn’t going to give the answer she was looking for right away.

“Are you aware of how many enemies you’ve made, Tommy Shelby?” she questioned him, her eyebrows raised. The question made him finally break eye contact with her as he shook his head and rolled his eyes.

“Luca Changretta,” he gave the name in a low voice.

“Hmm?” she asked for him to repeat it.

“Luca Changretta’s come to kill my family. He’s issued a black hand…a vendetta,” he gave more information this time.

“Luca Changretta? As in the sweet, old Mrs. Changretta’s son? What have you done to aggravate him, Tommy?” (Y/N) quirked an eyebrow, a dramtic tinge of shock present in her voice as she looked at him with wide eyes.

“It’s a long story,” he brushed her off.

“I’ve got all day for you to tell it to me…” she insisted, tipping her head to the side slightly, “…I mean, it’s the least you can do…since you’ve cancelled my plans. Unless you’ve got other things in mind,” she finished, biting her lip to conceal her grin.

“I need you to help me gather intel on where he and his men are…on what they’re planning,” Tommy once again ignored her comments, preferring to stick with the topic at hand.

“Get on your knees and beg me then,” she demanded, her grin quickly getting replaced by a stoic look. She caught the subtle shift in his expression, and this made her grin return. She caught him off-guard. “Go on…show me how much you need me, Tommy.”

Tommy stared at her for a few moments, blinking several times in disbelief as he waited for her to go back on what she’d just said. But she stayed silent and kept her expectant gaze focused on him.

It wasn’t until his knees started to bend that she erupted with laughter. This response made Tommy freeze, confusion washing over his features.

“You were actually going to fucking do it,” she got out between her laughs, “the all powerful Tommy Shelby was just about to get on his knees and beg for me to help him.”

Tommy said nothing, his jaw now slack as (Y/N) stood from the chair and walked over to stand toe to toe with him. She looked him over, a pleased look present on her face before she spoke once again.

“You must be deep in it now, huh? Asking the woman you swore you’d keep out of business for help,” she spoke in a low voice.

“Will you help me?” he asked, still wanting to steer clear of her games, although his response to her previous request made it apparent that he’d already been sucked in.

“You see, we need each other, Tommy…” she paused before she moved even closer to him, making it so that not much space was between their bodies, “we need each other, but not in the same way.”

A smirk formed on her face as she finished the statement, and she stepped away from him without waiting for a response. Tommy watched as she walked to the door and banged on it twice. The man standing guard opened it, but he didn’t let (Y/N) out right away. Instead, he looked to Tommy, waiting for some sort of command…one that never came.

“The meeting is finished. Let me out,” (Y/N) insisted, quickly becoming impatient.

The man took one last look at his boss before he did as the woman said, opening the door wider so that she could exit the room. And she did, without uttering one more word.

Tagged: @mystcldydrms @the-anxious-youth @cloudofdisney @look-at-the-soul @elenavampire21 @mrsalwayswrite @julkaamazing @evita-shelby @lilyrachelcassidy @notyour-valentine @shelbydelrey @theshelbyslimited @peakyswritings @just-a-blackhole @watercolorskyy @strayrockette @peakyduchesss @alexxavicry @captivatedbycillianmurphy @yummycastiel @dark-academia-slut @tommystargirl @emotionalcadaver @stevie75 @lyarr24 @signorellisantichrist @zablife @anotherblinder @cillmequick @dandelionprints @letal-y-poetica @gypsy-girl-08 @insanitybyanothername @depxiety @raincoffeeandfandoms @dragons-are-my-favorite @acewritesfics @forgottenpeakywriter @cljordan-imperium @brummiereader @areyenotfondofmelobster @everythingelseisextra @little-diable @thomashelbyswife @shaddixlife

MASTERLIST

[robotnik-mun]

What’s in a Name?

You know something? In Pre-Reboot Archie, the implications behind Julian Kintobor changing his name to Ivo Robotnik takes on some very interesting dimensions when you look at the whole picture of things.

One of the things that could make the Pre-Reboot Archie continuity so fascinating was that it was an unplanned hodgepodge of often conflicting personal visions of the writers, intermixed with hastily included details from the games as they came out. It created a weird, chaotic mix of things, but in a lot of ways part of the fun was trying to reconcile these disparate elements... as well as considering the way details could be re-contextualized in the long run.

Me being me, I tend to focus on ol blubber bolts, and in this case? When you step back and take in the full scope of the various details in Preboot Archie, it paints a rather fascinating picture of Julian’s mindset.

So, anyway. As You Know, Dr. Ivo Robotnik began life as Julian Kintobor, and upon conquering Mobotropolis and starting up his empire he re-christened himself “Dr. Ivo Robotnik”. Now, on its own the reason why he’d do this would seem pretty obvious- “Robotnik” better reflects who he is and what he’s about, and the second Sonic Kids special would corroborate this idea with the man himself admitting he finds Ivo Robotnik to be a more imposing name than his given one.

Without directly naming certain Infamous Real Life Individuals, it has pretty good historical precedence in the real world. “Robotnik” on its own makes enough sense, but that begs the question of “Ivo”. Why THAT name?

And this is where things get interesting!

For much of the comic’s early run, details about Robotnik’s life before he became Robotnik would be extremely scarce, and things would only really be fleshed out after he died. However, issue 50 revealed an interesting little detail- Robotnik’s father was ALSO named ‘Ivo’.

This would give some interesting implications behind why Julian calls himself Ivo, given that it was also his father’s name... it is also a surprisingly clever reference to the games given that Ivo was Robotnik’s given name in the games of the time and remains Eggman’s own given name (if rarely brought up).

Later, this would be retconned lightly in the “Director’s Cut” version of issue 50, in which the “Son of Ivo” because “of the House of Ivo”.

This doesn’t necessarily contradict the earlier version, as often belonging to a “House” tends to simply be a fancy way of simply saying you’re a part of your father’s family... but taken in this context, it also hypothetically means that Ivo isn’t simply his father’s name, but the name of his bloodline’s founder. Its not uncommon for prominent/aristocratic families to name their children after esteemed ancestors, after all.

Eventually Robotnik would die in Endgame, while an alternate version of himself, Robo-Robotnik, would take his place and eventually upgrade to the current Eggman design of the Modern Games, to better reflect said games at the time of their debut.

This sequence is one of those things that lives in my head-rent free, because its implied these things were built by the Original Robotnik, and just in general it brings up so, so many questions about the guy and his sense of self given that only one of those bodies looks better than he does while another actually looks even WORSE than how he normally does.

And those implications would become even MORE interesting once a certain game came along, a game that did something no other before had- actually exploring Eggman’s family history!

The Adventure Games in general had the writers scrambling to incorporate elements from said games, and not always gracefully. And the revelations about Eggman’s family in particular would send a pretty huge monkey wrench into the works when it came to the logistic’s of Ivo’s family history in Archie.

While debuting as “Professor Gerald”, his existence created even more questions regarding Robotnik’s back-up “Eggman” body that were never intended by Karl Bollers, chief among them “Why would Robotnik want to look more like his grandfather?”. In Sonic Adventure 2 Eggman would elaborate on how he admired his grandfather and scientific genius, so it might stand to reason that Julian would have felt similar growing up... this would also add a new context to him taking the surname “Robotnik”, indicating he did it purposefully to honor his grandfather. This would mean that both components of Julian’s new name were chosen from his predecessors, and that he found it perfectly acceptable to even physically resemble one of those predecessors.

Eventually Ian Flynn would come on board, and in that way of his he’d take all the odd and sometimes contradictory information about the Robotnik/Kintobor family and create a coherent whole from it.

One of the bigger reveals from this was that Gerald Robotnik was, in fact, Julian’s MATERNAL grandfather and that the Robotnik name was her family name. Likewise, it would confirm that the “Ivo” in the House of Ivo was indeed the name of the bloodline’s founder, while acknowledging that the name originally belonged more recently to Robotnik’s father Ivo.

So still there is the question of “Why?”. One would think, given that Julian took his mother’s maiden name, that he did it out of similar affection and admiration the way he implicitly did for Gerald. But I’m not sure that’s really the case.

While details were fleshed out, Robotnik/Eggman’s life was never given an in-depth look beyond him having a strained relationship with his older brother Colin. Otherwise, details about the relationship with the rest of his family was never elaborated upon... however, I do remember an interesting detail that Flynn revealed during a Q and A session.

Now I’m doing this by memory, but I swear that I speak true, but if I do remember right? Someone asked about Eggman’s parents, and Flynn basically said that it was likely he’d disposed of them in order to get them out of the way. Which, hey, I can see pretty easily in Archie. If that is the case though, then Julian didn’t take his father’s name out affection.

This veers into the realm of headcanon, but I like to think of it as Robotnik not taking his father’s name to honor him, but rather to honor his ANCESTOR Ivo, in essence reclaiming the name from a parent he disliked enough to kill. “Ivo Robotnik” as such comes about as a result of Julian wishing to emulate prominent members of his family he respected and admired, rather than parents he implicitly did not, and this theory is enhanced again by the “Eggman” body that is again implicitly modeled after Gerald Robotnik.

I just find it interesting given that you wouldn’t think Julian/Eggman to be the sort of guy to indulge in this kind of sentimentality... but then, for as much there is sentimentality behind the action, it also kind of speaks to the kind of contempt he might have held for his immediate family and his desire to be more like esteemed individuals of his family’s past rather than what in his view might have been a mediocre, lackluster present.

I dunno, I’m just spitballing and waxing poetic at this point. Still, taken all together? The various reveals of the comic and the way it incorporated stuff into the games paints an odd kind of depth to something that was originally a rather small, un-complicated detail when it came to Robotnik/Eggman/The Walrus.

And I find that Neat.

[backstoriesandbackstabbings]

Everwood

(The writing here is slanted and smudged as the previous entry. It does look hastily written, and there are several water damage spots on the pages.) 

We traveled to Everwood after completing the trials for Aryndra and teaming up briefly with the Iron King and his team: Elder Banwynn & Maple (elder vampire brother to Cedar and Birch). 

The Iron King agreed to meet us here -- a meeting which I proposed to assist Tobias and his studies. I never questioned why he was so interested in the world’s first immortal. Now though, I worry that I am too late to ask. 

When we first arrived to Everwood, we took note of the giant tear in the sky and Cyrus came across a poster for a challenge that both he and Mullus were very interested in. I thought that we had more time, so I saw no harm in competing. We did a bit of shopping, I got my hair done and ran into a familiar face:  Pseudoris. We caught up briefly, and discovered that she ran away from Emerald Harbor....again.

I saw Edan in the crowd that day and my heart felt lighter than it has in the last few weeks! Of course I should have followed the crowd and the gold, the easiest way to track my slippery brother. Booze, beautiful people, and gold. Is that sacrilegious to write now that he is a God? Presumably, Edan made some good coin off of us, and of course I bet through him. As Grandmother would say: Waste not, want not. Betting on my life is a safe enough gamble, if I lose, I will be too dead to mourn the loss of coin.

Of course, considering that I am writing this entry, we survived and won. The affair consisted of three challenges, the last of which was a draconic-hydra beast. After securing our earnings from an Orc named Biscuit, the party split up for a bit, with a plan to meet back here in this tavern; The Hero’s Hearth. 

Cyrus and I went off to the library to finally meet up with Tobias. After speaking with the information desk, the elf informed me that he was sent on a mission with his tutor, Mistral. I scried on Tobias whilst in the Amerenthian Library. A spot I remember him showing me in the Dreams that we shared together. I had hoped to see him again -- in person this time. Or so I thought. I had thought I had more time. I didn’t realize he was in danger. Tobias -- (The writing here is too smudged and the paper is water damaged leaving dark splotches of puddled ink. The writing continues on a new page.)

My vision revealed to me a floating glowing ribcage atop a throne of flesh and bone. The Ribcage, Mul’s alit with an eerie pulsating red glow that cast dark shadows across the dark underground interior.  The Ribcage humming, alive with this insatiable craving, wanting, a deep endless hunger. Behind me was the sound of flesh ripping, tearing from muscle and bone. The greedy mouths of the undead devouring and consuming down to the very marrow. The zombies huddled around the remains, and I was horrified to look. Scared of the face that may stare back at me. They were not Tobias. Thank the Gods and Goddesses. One male figure stood cloaked tall and imposing nearly ten feet away. I did not recognize his side-profile, he was a stranger to me. I will kill him and make him pay if he hurt my friend. I will raise him for the satisfaction of killing him again if I should discover that Tobias came to harm by his hand. I will make him crave the sweet release of a true death. (The letters here press deep into the paper, and the quill bled, ink dripping down slightly and there is a line break between the next paragraph.)

I told Edan what I saw, and even in his stupor I could sense his hesitation and fear. His heart raced under my cheek. Fearful for me, but too protective to allow me to go alone. I hope I don’t lead us all to such grave ends. But I fear -- I think Tobias may still be alive? How else would I be able to scry upon him? Perhaps his essence resides within the Ribcage? Please...forgive me, my friend. I never meant to fail you. If you are alive in there...I’m coming.

[meekmedea]

re: drabble game

maybe a look into how hector and cleopatra’s relationship got started?

Hector & Cleopatra!! ♥️♥️

Hmm... here's a first meet for these 2!

~~~~~

Of all the days to forget his umbrella, it had to be this one. Where was it anyway? Did Magnus have it? 

Hector was tempted to make a run for the Earth Sciences building, to which the event was being relocated, given the abrupt shift in weather. 

Sure, he’d get some odd looks, but at least he wouldn’t be soaked to the bone which he would be if he continued to walk at the agonizingly slow pace that everyone was moving at.  

The idea was looking more tempting when a tap to his shoulder had him turning to see a girl about his age, who, unlike him, had the good sense to pack an umbrella today. “Yes?”

`

“I noticed that you didn’t have an umbrella and it’s a rather long trek back to the building, so I was wondering if you want to–” She gestured to her umbrella. “–share?”

Oh! “Are you sure?”

“It’s no big deal.” 

“Thank you so much.” Given that he was a bit taller than her and that she had a great number of books in her arms, he offered to carry the umbrella for the two of them. 

`

As they followed the rest of the crowd, Hector thought that his saviour looked oddly familiar. Had they met before? Then again, he couldn’t recall seeing her in any of his classes. 

It took a few more discreet glances before it clicked. She was the pretty girl who sat and ate lunch in the same courtyard he usually frequented when he wanted to sketch in relative peace and quiet. 

He’d been meaning to introduce himself, but every time he tried, something had always interrupted them.

`

So when he glanced her way again today, hoping to finally introduce himself to her, the words in his throat died when she glanced his way inquisitively. 

His mind scrambled for something, anything. Eyes landing on the title of one of the books nestled in her arms, he blurted the first thing that came to mind. “Your book – did you know that water hemlock is sometimes mistaken for other wild, edible plants? It’s often fatal, but those who survive usually get amnesia or lasting tremors.”

What was he even saying?

`

She blinked in surprise. “No, I didn’t know that,” she says slowly. 

Hector had never been more embarrassed by himself. She was probably regretting offering to share her umbrella now.  

“Then again, I haven’t read the book yet. I’ve only just borrowed it. Is it any good?” She gestured to the books in hand. “It’s for a writing assignment, I was hoping to do some research before I write about a death. My professor has a thing for accuracy.” 

“Oh. Well, I haven’t read it before,” he confessed awkwardly. But at her dejected expression, he hastily added, “But if you’re looking for poisonous plants, I could probably suggest a few. Did you have any symptoms in mind?”

At that, she instantly perked up. “Well my character needs something that can…”

~~~~

It wasn’t a very long walk, yet they were able to cover a variety of poisonous plants that she might consider writing about in her assignment. 

“White snakeroot is one you could consider,” he mused, given the parameters she’d given. “If livestock graze on it, any animal byproducts would still contain enough toxins to kill anyone who’s unluckily enough to consume them.”

`

 Who’d have thought forgetting his umbrella would lead to such a riveting conversation? 

`

“By the way, I don’t think I managed to catch your name,” she says when they make it to the building. She waits until he’s got her umbrella closed before extending a hand out. “Cleopatra.”

“Hector.” He shakes it. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

[unladielike]

    Of course, while she did have the audacity to insist they were already friends, Vivian still couldn't help getting the sense there was a slight distance between them; after all, it wasn't as if they had shared each other's contact information before or spent more than enough time around each other to have more than a vague, superficial bond. Why, it was only recently she had learned his name was Xander, and even before that fateful night, their encounters together had been terribly brief. Granted, it didn't take much for her to consider Hayate a friend either back when all he did was check out the books she borrowed, but when it came to Hayate at least, their conversations had been much longer and he wasn't exactly what you'd call a ten, so with Xander, she finds herself... unsure.

    Honestly, under ordinary circumstances, she would have purposefully avoided talking to any attractive boy she seemingly didn't have a lot in common with unless she absolutely had to; only, said attractive boy ended up calling out to her on her birthday and even gave her a card, to the point where for better or for worse, she couldn't bring herself to exactly hate him. Despite this being the case, however, Vivian would still stare back at him with uncertainty clouding her gaze as she hugs the books she had been carrying a bit more tightly to her chest.

    "Y-You really think so? Because rather than your friend, I get the impression I'm more, uh... how to put it? An alien watching over you from a distance... or an alien you'd chase after," she then hesitantly divulges. ...In fact, given how people watching had always been a hobby of hers, she would end up absentmindedly gazing at Xander from afar quite often, one could easily mistake her to be his secret admirer. Whether or not he noticed her looking at him, though, was another matter entirely. Either way, she's quick to blink when next he mentioned his birthday.

    "Oh... in other words, your official umbilical cord separation is on January 2nd? Gotcha! I-I'll be sure to jot that down later," Vivian goes on to hastily nod before sheepishly glancing off towards the side. Goodness, did he have to word it like that? Then again, she supposes the fact he was finally becoming a bit sassier around her did make him significantly less dull. "Welp, when you suddenly put me on the spot like that... no, not at the moment." Vivian finally manages a nervous laugh and within seconds, struts ahead to better examine the shelf situated near his table.

    "But yes, I suppose you can ask me whatever you wish to know. Care to share what currently plagues you, Xandy-kins?" By that point, Vivian begins carefully slotting in a book between two thick ones, for if nothing else, she had to make it look like she was being somewhat productive; otherwise, her shift manager might get the impression she was slacking off.

Xander nearly flinched at abrupt question on looks, his eyes darting away momentarily to compose himself. Was that seriously the first thought in her head regarding what kind of person his brother was? Part of him wanted to cringe a little and the other wanted to... somewhat burst out laughing considering that she would assume he had red hair like his. Surely his shade of red hair was deemed unnatural in most scenarios, right? However... with Larisa's hair being naturally that same red, well, he couldn't discredit the assumption Vivian made entirely.

Sheepishly placing his other hand behind his neck, Xander shook his head, ❝ I wouldn't say that, ❞ he casually dismissed—when would any person with a sibling ever say something other than that in regards to judging whether a relative was attractive or not? It worked to his advantage though. Noting down the refusal at his inquiry, he simply nodded in acknowledgement. It was fine if she didn't want to befriend Larisa, after all—that girl wasn't exactly the best choice for an sweet, innocent friendship.

He paused to ponder over Vivian's concern. She was insecure about how much she knew about him? Did this have something to do with recently becoming friends and feeling inadequate for that friendship label? In his eyes, she really shouldn't be so worried about it considering how recent that was. Not to mention, it wasn't like they had a true opportunity to sit down and talk these questions through.

❝ ...Getting to know someone takes time. There's no need to rush on knowing the small details about someone, especially since we just officially decided to be friends. ❞ Relaxing himself by taking a manual breath, Xander lifted his chin and let the arm he was using to prop it up lie flat on the table. He figured that they'd naturally figure things out over time, but he could see why not knowing some things could make her anxious. Xander didn't mind answering small things like the topics Vivian had brought up as examples, and since he did just tell her he did have an older brother, he might as well answer that other pressing concern, ❝ my birthday is the day after New Years. ❞

Since they were here and had the opportunity to, maybe he should open the floor a little bit—give Vivian the space to get questions out and maybe answered. Closing his textbook upon realizing he wouldn't be getting back to it anytime soon, he put his full attention on the girl shelving books, subtly tilting his head, ❝ any other pressing questions circling in your head, or am I free to ask you a couple? ❞

[from-the-clouds]

Kiss Me More (Part IIII) - Zemo/Reader

Masterlist | Part One | Part Two | Part Three | 

Summary: Reader ponders the decision they made after meeting Zemo in Riga. Series now complete!

Words: 5.2k

Warnings: Kissing, marijuana & alcohol abuse, heavy angst & depression, small reference to suicide, implied casual sex, yearning

A/N (also check out A/N at end when finished reading): This is it, everyone! I was going to end this completely differently originally, but after some thinking --  and some light peer pressure from ya’ll, I did something a little different. I did fight with this part the most out of all of them, so I hope it’s still good. Please enjoy. And thank you for all the love on this series, it’s been so fun to write! Also I was listening to this song while writing this.

---

The incessant buzz of her alarm clock jolted her out of her dreamless sleep. Fumbling in the dark, she slapped the top of it, hitting the snooze button and looking at the interface with bleary eyes. 

4:00 A.M. It stared, indifferent, back at her tired face. 

She groaned, squeezing her eyes shut and lamenting, bargaining, half expecting the clock to turn back time when she opened her eyes again. Unfortunately, it did not. With a huff, she threw back the covers and stretched, disturbing the orange cat that slept in the empty spot next to her where her husband used to lay. 

Snorting, the cat lifted its head to look at her as she climbed out of bed before curling back up in a ball where her feet had been. 

“Don’t mind me, just getting ready for work so I can feed us,” she said, grumpily, then in a moment of repentance, affectionately scratching her behind the ears. 

She had always been a night owl, so she didn’t think it would be possible to ever get used to waking this early. No human was meant to function at this time. It was the one part of the job she hated most. The rest of it was manageable, though it was still work. 

Setting about her morning routine, she showered, made coffee, and donned her uniform. Eating a day-old bagel and nursing her coffee on her tiny balcony, she looked out over the darkened horizon. It was far too early to even enjoy a sunrise. 

There was a saying, time heals all wounds. After her husband died, she’d heard it a lot. It was a saying she had come to find true. But it’d been well over a year since she’d left Helmut, alone in that swanky hotel room, and it still hurt like it was yesterday. 

“I understand,” he’d murmured, and she felt the ghost of his kiss on her forehead, arms around her waist, even now. She shivered, not from the chill of the morning air.

She’d left her old life behind, all of it. Sam and Bucky, too, about a month after their time in Riga. She couldn’t look them in the eyes after what she’d done.

But, she was proud of what they’d accomplished. They’d defeated the Flag Smashers. Bucky seemed happier, more at peace. Sam had accepted his role as the new Captain America. John Walker seemed to have faded into irrelevancy. All the loose ends had been tied up in a pretty little bow.

Except for hers.

Which is why she moved, sold all the stuff in her tiny NYC apartment, and packed her car full with what she couldn’t bear to part with, some photos and momentos from a different lifetime. Her car didn’t stop until she hit the Atlantic Ocean, on an island just south of Charleston. All but undiscovered by tourists, the residents in the sleepy beach town kept to themselves, and she could go about her life in peace, undisturbed. 

She couldn’t just run away from her problems, that was why she’d left Zemo. It seemed counterintuitive, but in her mind, it made sense. The problems would catch up to her, like they always had. The dissatisfaction she had with her life, with herself, was always going to return. And she knew she had to be alone to deal to face it head on. Like a wounded animal, crawling into the woods, there were only two ways things could end here; either she’d heal and come out stronger, or eventually she’d die. And so far, the healing part wasn’t going great. 

Each day was a matter of convincing herself that she’d made the right choice. Especially now, as her eyes burned, fighting to stay open against the inviting embrace of sleep. 

Despite it being dark outside, the bakery was bustling already when she walked in the service entrance. It smelled amazing, as always. Sweet and warm, a cacophony of aromas, baking bread, fresh coffee, sugar.

She set about the usual preparations to open up, packaging orders for the regulars, sweeping the floor, wiping down countertops. Once the place was open, she didn’t have to work the register, as she prepared batches of dough in the back for proofing, to be baked the next day. 

Before, she’d been a terrible cook, but she’d grown comfortable in the kitchen after learning to bake. There was something satisfying about working with her hands, at this point she’d memorized all the recipes and the work became second nature to her. Now, she always had fresh bread and pastries in her kitchen, although they were the slightly disformed, ones the shop owners deemed too ugly for the glass display cases. Daylight was cherished, even if she barely saw it inside the shop. Because while she was awake, busy with work, her thoughts remained pleasant.

At night it was the hardest. Things got quiet, lonely. When she got home, she poured herself a drink. Cheap whiskey, the kind that came in a plastic bottle and burned on it’s way down. She had never been much of a drinker before, she was now. Her thoughts were more manageable after a drink. Especially because she was usually thinking of Helmut. 

It was often that she wondered what he may be doing, and those thoughts usually ended with the image of him lying in the sun, poolside, on some island in the Pacific Ocean, drinking expensive champagne with a supermodel. It wasn’t a particularly comforting thought to her, and yet she was plagued by some variation of it every night. 

Sometimes, she’d humor herself, and imagine what they might be doing had she decided to stay with him. Unfortunately, thinking of that was more upsetting. She wanted it, selfishly, though she wasn’t willing to admit it.

When she was younger, it had been so easy to block out the pain, to just press forward, no matter what. Much to her dismay, it didn’t get easier as she got older. Years of watching those she loved in pain, years of being in pain had taken a toll on her resilience. She wasn’t the strong woman she once was, she was weak.

That night, one drink had turned into two, into three. Wallowing in her own self-pity had become second-nature, she felt like Hamlet, lamenting her circumstances, a constant turmoil monologuing in her brain. But this night felt particularly worse, for some reason. 

For the record, she had been doing better. But she was all-too-familiar with how grief worked, pulling her back down the dark side of the mountain, where she was forced to fight her demons over and over again. At some point, they were going to win.

It was a funny thing. Despite the loss of her husband, who she had loved dearly, his death had been easier to accept. Final. She couldn’t bring him back. Helmut on the other hand, was still out there, an open wound that could never fully heal.

Before she knew it, she was four drinks in, at her bedside table, fumbling through the bottom drawer, until she found what she was looking for.

Back on her couch, she stared at the card in her hand, the hastily written phone number on it, an international line. Helmut had given it to her, the day she left, stuck it in her purse while she wasn’t looking. She didn’t discover it until she had returned home.

It had been months since she last did this, pulled the card out of its hidden place in her drawer, placed it on the coffee table in front of her next to her phone, and considered dialing it. It had been a frequent occurrence when she first moved here, when she couldn’t find a job and spent most of her mornings either hungover, or stumbling home from rendezvous with men whose names she wouldn’t remember, and she wouldn’t care to, because there was only one man she really wanted. She could only hope he’d be as close as one call away. But she never called. 

I mean really, he’d probably moved on by this point. If she was going to call, she should have done it months ago, when there was more of a chance that he’d give a fuck. 

She considered this a setback. But she’d made her way halfway through the cheap bottle of whiskey, it was the drunkest she’d been in ages and she was curious. She didn’t know whose number it was, who’d be on the other end of the line, and never knew why Helmut would want her to have it to begin with.  

At this point, she wasn’t capable of good decision making. In general, it hadn’t always been her strong suit. So why did doing the right thing matter now? It didn’t, she decided. 

Taking a swig of whiskey straight from the bottle, she ensured she wouldn’t remember what happened next, at least not clearly. 

The phone rang twice before someone picked up. “Hello?” she didn’t recognize the sound of the man on the other end of the line immediately, so she didn’t answer. All she had wanted to do was maybe hear Helmut’s voice, he didn’t even need to know it was her that was calling. 

“Hello?” the man repeated, and she realized it wasn’t completely unfamiliar. The grandfatherly, comforting tone wasn’t her former lover, but someone close to him. And she supposed that wasn’t terrible.

“Is this Oeznik?” she asked. 

“It is,” he said after some hesitation. “May I ask who’s speaking?”

Truthfully, she was shocked she’d allowed herself to go this far. This was a bad idea. If she stopped now she could get off without doing any real damage. But just as she was about to hang up, she heard her name, muffled, on the other end of the line. 

“H-How do you know it’s me?” She raised the phone back to her ear. 

“I thought you sounded familiar,” Oeznik chuckled, low and soft. “Helmut told me you might call.”

“He did?” she squeaked. “Yes, although it was awhile ago. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I uh….I….well….” she managed. “I guess I just….I guess I wanted to see how he was doing.”  Her words flowed together like the liquor she was drinking, she knew she sounded drunk.

“Good, since we last spoke,” he said. “I don’t hear from him much these days...maybe every couple months. As you might imagine, he’s trying to keep a low profile for the time being.”

She nodded. Perhaps Zemo was as lonely as she was, hidden away in some cabin in the middle of nowhere. Though she had to imagine it looked much nicer than her current place, and maybe he had better company than a portly orange cat that begrudgingly liked him. “I understand.”

“How have you been?” he asked.

It sounded stupid, but she realized it was the first time someone had asked her that. Sincerely. Checked up on her. Even if she was the one who had dialed the number in the first place.

“I’m good,” her voice cracked. “Just keeping busy.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” he said. “Helmut always had such nice things to say about you.”

“Really?” she couldn’t stop herself. 

“Of course, would you like me to let him know you called?” 

“No, no...I wouldn’t want to bother him,” she choked on her words, something catching in her throat.

“Are you sure you’re alright, dear?”

“I’m okay, I just….” she felt tears prick at the back of her eyes, lowering her voice, since she didn’t think her normal register would come out as anything other than a whine. “I think I made a horrible mistake.”

“What’s the matter? What did you do?”

She shook her head, shaking the tears loose and now they were lining her lashes, threatening to spill over. However, she managed to make the next words she spoke come out clearly. “Nothing, I just...it’s really stupid, I really shouldn’t have called.”

He sighed on the other end of the line, and she felt like, despite her attempt at staying calm, he could still see that she wasn’t somehow. “It seemed Helmut was awfully sweet on you,” Oeznik’s words next came hesitantly, calculated. “I shouldn’t be telling you this, but he told me if you ever called, to help you with whatever you might need, no matter the ask.”

Oh God, what had she done? A sob left her, one she couldn’t control, and she clapped her hand over her mouth to stifle any more. Her tears were flowing freely now, tracking down her cheeks and along her chin. She wiped at them clumsily, clearing her throat. 

“That’s very kind of him, but you can’t help me. I’m so sorry to bother you, please just forget I even called,” she forced a smile on her face so that hopefully he could hear it. “Goodbye.”

She hung up, horrified, and within seconds had deleted the call log from her phone. She’d been thoughtful enough not to memorize the number, and the lighter she used whenever she smoked sat in front of her. Without a second though, she burned the card, watching the paper blacken and disintegrate, until it was all but a pile of soot on her Wal-Mart coffee table. It was a fair punishment, and ensured she’d never get the chance to embarrass herself like that again. 

And then she cried, sobbed into a pillow next to her, until her tears ran dry and she wore herself out, falling asleep on the couch alone. When she’d wake the next morning, the only evidence of her actions would be a throbbing headache and a dead phone. 

She wouldn’t remember the call.

----

Life went on, as it always did. It had been about a month, and since that night she grew more indifferent, remembered how to ignore heartbreak. For now, she was stuck in her purgatory, waking up before the sun and falling asleep before it set, smoking joints, drinking cheap liquor, and going on the occasional date with people who she didn’t really like, tourists who would leave after a week and wanted temporary company. 

Despite everything, she partly believed things were getting better. Maybe they weren’t, but the possibility that someday they would seemed feasible. And that was enough, for now. 

On her days off, she’d walk to the beach and lay on a blanket, reading a book until the sun dipped below the horizon and lit up the sky in hues of pinks and purples. She found a record player at an antique store and began collecting vinyls, listening to obscure artists whose albums she found in the $1 bin. It wasn’t so bad. Life wasn’t so bad. 

She took a shower after work. Tomorrow was her off day, and she wasn’t sure what she had planned besides maybe watching a movie and getting stoned. Maybe she’d try going to the beach. The weather was getting warmer, and she could even go swimming if the water wasn’t too cold. 

Exhausted from her day of work, she laid down in her bed, still in her robe, her hair wrapped in a towel around her head. The sun was setting outside, the windchimes she’d hung outside slowly clanging together, birds singing in the warm spring air. Her cat hopped on the bed, offered an affectionate trill and curled up at her side, purring, in a rare display of affection. A cool breeze drifted through the open window. And for the first time in over a year, she felt content. Closing her eyes, she savored the moment, committed it to memory, so she could recall it the next time she was drunk-crying in front of her TV. 

She fell asleep slowly, so slowly that when she woke, startled by something in her kitchen clattering to the floor, it felt like she hadn’t even been sleeping at all. The clock next to her red 11:31 p.m. and it was pitch dark outside, the cool breeze from before had grown stronger and her bedroom curtains were billowing, wind whistling loudly through the apartment. Her cat had left her side, and she frowned, shivering in the sudden cold.

Pulling the towel off her head, she made her way over to the window with the intention to close it, sleepily, lazily, until she heard something else. A creak in the floorboard. A heavy footstep in her kitchen. That wasn’t just her cat. 

Some kind of muscle memory was ignited then, an ancient instinct that called to her from a different lifetime. Darting across the room, the gun she kept was in her hand, stealthily pulled from its hiding spot beneath her mattress. Truth be told, she never thought she would’ve needed it. Anyone looking for her would be smart enough to kill her in her sleep, not be so foolish as to wake her first with their heavy footsteps. 

A dark silhouette stalked through her kitchen, moving slowly. It was a man, she assumed, based on his broader figure, and lack of coordination. In her experience, women were often stealthier without trying. He took another step, the floor creaking below him, shuffling on bargain linoleum. 

Staying low, she crept forward, ducking stealthily behind furniture, avoiding the spots on the floor she knew made noise. It didn’t appear the intruder had a weapon, in fact, it seemed he was bumbling about, searching for something. A burglar, and a bad one at that. An island full of vacation homes owned by rich doctors and they thought they’d find valuables in her shitty apartment?

It wasn’t until she was standing directly behind him, gun aimed at his head, that she finally spoke up. 

“I believe you’ve come to the wrong place,” she said flatly. “Whatever you’re looking for, it’d be in your best interest to leave empty-handed.”

Her eyes were still adjusting to the dark, but the intruder froze, arms slowly raising in defeat, empty-handed, as he turned around to face her. In the dingy room, she couldn’t make out any of his features, could only see that he was clad in all black.

“Unfortunately, liebling, that wasn’t my intention.” 

She would’ve recognized that voice anywhere, though the endearment he’d used was enough to clue her in. Hitting the lightswitch with her free hand, she was face to face with the man she’d spent the past year trying to purge from her memory, Helmut Zemo. 

Her gut twisted, her mind raced, but the only thing currently bubbling up, over the surface of every other emotion was the pure, seething rage left behind in the wake of fearing for her life.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” she stepped towards him, gun still raised, fuming. 

“Hey, hey!” he staggered backwards, hands raised, eyes averted. 

“I thought you were a fucking robber!” she hissed. “I thought you were here to kill me!”

“Lower your voice,” he scolded. “You’re going to wake your neighbors.”

Taking a deep breath, she realized she still had her gun trained on him and she lowered it, clicking the safety and discarding the weapon on the countertop. “What the fuck?” she asked. “What the hell is wrong with you? What the fuck are you doing here?”

“I didn’t know you had such a mouth on you,” he smirked, but she wasn’t finished, and she glowered at him. 

“You broke into my apartment!” she growled.

“I had to be sure I was in the right place.”

“Yeah? You couldn’t have knocked first?”

He nodded, eyes trailing down to her hands, which were trembling, she hadn’t even realized. He seemed to understand what he’d done then, and she flexed her fingers, eyes locking with his. “I suppose...you may be right,” he said, surrendering.

She felt the rage subsiding as she took in his appearance. He looked not so different from the last time she’d seen him, except a fair amount of stubble covered his jawline in a short beard. He was still devastatingly handsome. Zemo’s dark eyes, filled with longing, drank her in, tilting his head as his gaze shifted to her lips. It was like she could read his mind, she knew what he wanted, what he was thinking. And her body was going to betray her if he kept it up.

Despite everything, she was still upset. Upset and embarrassed, as the light was doing an unflattering expose of her tiny, cluttered apartment, full of mismatched furniture and water-damaged wallpaper that her landlord refused to replace. It probably gave the prison cells that Helmut had spent years in a run for their money, and was in stark contrast to every other aspect of his life.

“What’s this?” he asked, gesturing to the empty liquor bottles on her countertop, stowed in her trash can. “Have you been drinking?”

“Not tonight,” she quipped, on guard. Had to be. As much as some old instinct told her to throw herself into his arms, press her lips to the underside of his jaw, and let him envelope her in the comfort of his embrace, she knew she couldn’t.

“Hmm,” he brushed past her, frowning, looking disappointed, as he made his way to her living room. 

“How did you find me?” she asked, eyeing him wearily.

“I’m a wanted man, I trace every call that comes into my estate,” he said over his shoulder. 

Helmut was taking inventory of the cramped space, staring at the photos she’d hung in a collage on the wall behind her couch, with a few watercolors painted by her late husband. One in particular, that he was focused on now, was from her wedding. Of all the memories she chose to hang, this one was her fondest, her former partner was all dark curly hair falling into deep blue eyes, and she was the portrait of a blushing bride, wearing a dopey love-drunk smile, gazing at him, ignoring the camera. 

“You looked so beautiful on your wedding day,” he said, turning over his shoulder to look at her. He was so out of place here, standing in her living room, for a moment she thought he might be a hallucination, some physical manifestation of the heartbreak she’d experienced. “Although that doesn’t surprise me.”

She flushed, suddenly self-conscious in her thin black robe and still-damp hair. It occurred to her that she wasn’t looking her best, which made this whole situation that much more disconcerting. However, the compliment disarmed her slightly, and the anger she felt began to dissipate, slowly. She was going to offer him something to drink until her cat, who had been absent through the chaos, suddenly jumped up on the back of the couch and promptly hissed at him in an attempt to defend her territory.

“Pumpkin, be nice,” she said, although it was mostly to placate Helmut. Pumpkin never listened to her. 

Helmut let her sniff his hand, and she was stunned when the cat rubbed her face against it. Of course, Pumpkin would like him of all people. That made sense. Then again, she supposed it made them not so different. He turned away to look at the rest of the room. “I see you haven’t kicked that bad habit you told me about,” he gestured at the ashtray full of roaches on the coffee table. 

“Did you just come to my place to insult me?” she asked, putting her hands on her lips and feigning confidence. She could’ve rolled over and cried and told him how much she missed him, how many nights she’d spent crying over him, and while all of it was true, she felt indignation was the better option for her self-preservation.

“That’s a good question,” Helmut turned to face her now, hands in the pockets of the leather jacket he was wearing. Completely inappropriate for the weather here, but he didn’t seem to notice, or care. “Why do you think I’m here?” he asked.

She shrugged, feigning indifference. “I don’t know, but you shouldn’t be.”

He snorted, his frustration evident, and she saw a glimpse of the man that so many feared, the side that had earned him his dangerous reputation, that had him locked away in a high-security prison for nearly a decade. “I didn’t come all this way for nothing, draga, we’re going to have it out.”

“Fine,” she said, lacing as much venom as she could into her words to prepare herself. “Then get on with it.”

He stared her down, and the expression her wore startled her, something sparkled in his eyes, mischief, relief maybe? It was insulting. Like he didn’t take her seriously. But there was something else there, too, something she couldn’t quite put her finger on, but it was wiped from his visage before it registered.

The tension in the room dissipated slightly when Zemo sat on the arm of the worn couch she’d bought from a yard sale, and she winced. “I spoke to Oeznik the other day,” he said flatly, snorting, eyes focused on a stain on one of the rugs she owned. “He told me he had the pleasure of speaking to a friend of mine about a month ago.”

Frowning, she tilted her head, her eyes meeting Helmut’s. Something in her brain sparked a memory she’d once dismissed as a dream after a particularly bad night of drinking.

“He was concerned, you see, because this friend didn’t seem to be in the best state of mind,” Helmut rose from the arm of the couch, stalking forward slowly, and she couldn’t move backwards, not even if she wanted to, as he could pin her easily against the front door. His voice grew louder, faster as he went on. “He said she was crying, slurring her words, he told me he thought maybe she might be-” Helmut cut himself off abruptly and closed his eyes, clenching one of his fists, a look of distress on his face as he took in a terse breath. “I won’t finish that thought, but you’re a smart girl, you can imagine what I’m getting at.”

Swallowing hard, the phone call came back to her in pieces, the tears, sobbing on the phone to a man she hardly knew. It was the night she finally admitted to herself she’d made a mistake, even though she’d already known it, deep down when she left him in the hotel room. 

“Please forgive me for breaking in tonight,” Helmut said. “But I couldn’t bear the thought of you not answering the door, I needed to see with my own eyes that you were okay.”

Exhaling through her nose, she looked at the floor. “It’s not like that. I had too much to drink.” she said, keeping her voice as steady as possible. “It was just a bad night.”

“Then tell me, what was the horrible mistake you made?” he asked, stepping closer. He was close to her, now. So close. And his proximity made everything more difficult.

God, if only she could remember exactly what she’d said, the only thing that came to her were the emotions, desperation, sadness, grief. It was all too much, and he was threatening to bring them all back to destroy her again. 

“I shouldn’t have called,” she said, shaking her head. “And I’m sorry. What do you want me to say? What do you want from me?”

“What do I want from you?” He asked, tilting his head, his eyebrows pulling together. “Do you have any idea how worried I was? How hard it was to sit on a plane when all I wanted to do was be here? With you?” His hand rose to cup her cheek, stopping just short of her face when she flinched away from his touch.

“Please stop,” she managed, the burn of tears behind her eyes almost menacing. The last thing she needed was to cry in front of him. “You’re undoing everything.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” he asked. 

“You’re….you’re here,” she murmured weakly, wetness seeping, glossing over her pupils. “I only have so much capacity for pain right now, if you touch me now, you’ll ruin everything.”

No one ever had this kind of hold on her, she’d never bent her rules to appease anyone else, and she’d gone toe to toe with super soldiers. He was just a man, and yet, he terrified her. 

“You really want me to leave?”

She couldn’t answer, but one tear escaped, sliding down her cheekbone, and she sniffled. 

“I’m not the one who did this to you,” his thumb, swiped along her face gently, wiping it away. He’d touched her, just barely, and she was reeling. 

“I know,” she stuttered, gasping. “I know it was me, but I thought I was doing the right thing.”

“You are so stubborn.” His expression softened as he looked upon her, his thumb tracing underneath her jaw, tilting her head upwards to look at him. Malleable, she obliged. “I’ve thought about you everyday since the night we spent together. You’ve plagued me. That can’t be a coincidence. Are you really happier this way? You must be honest with me.”

She shook her head, blinking out fresh tears. “No, I’m not. I just thought...by the time I realized I made the wrong choice, you’d have moved on. People like us don’t get to be happy.”

“Says who?”

How could she refuse him anymore? This would continue to go on until she gave in. And from the beginning, she wanted to give in. There was no use in fighting the inevitable. The small point of contact -- his hand on her chin -- radiated impressive warmth, and she could feel every part of herself being attracted to him, quelling some ache deep within her. 

Reaching up, she clutched at Helmut’s palm, which didn’t last long, because he pulled her into his arms, nestling her head underneath his chin. She melted into his embrace, finding solace in the warmth of his solid frame. 

“Come home with me,” he coaxed softly. 

“I will,” she murmured, surrendering to the comfort of his presence. “But you have to let me bring Pumpkin.”

He chuckled, warm and amiable, the vibration of his chest echoing in her own. “Of course, you’ll bring Pumpkin,” he murmured into her hair. Oh, how she had missed hearing him laugh. They could’ve stayed that way for hours, and she would’ve been content, but he pulled away, hands on either side of her face as he studied her.

Unable to hold back any longer, she leaned in to kiss him. It was chaste at first, all the memories of her last night with him came flooding back quickly when he parted his lips to deepen the kiss, but she didn’t want that quite yet, just needed a moment to process this. The simple comfort of being held by him, kissed by him, was more than enough for now. He’d been waiting for this, she could assume in the way that he responded, pulling her impossibly close so she was engulfed in him.

Her stomach flipped, a warmth blossoming in her chest as he pulled away, their foreheads touching. “Oh, I missed you,” she sighed, shivering as his beard tickled her neck, his mouth on her sensitive skin.

“And I, you,” he murmured. His eyes studied her, carefully, up close, and for the first time since meeting him, she really let him see her, teary-eyed and vulnerable.

She would never let him go again. 

---

A/N: So here we are! I know it’s been a ride, but I’m really excited for these two. However, I don’t feel like I’m done writing for Zemo yet. If ya’ll have any headcanons, thoughts, questions, requests, etc, feel free to drop them in my ask box or shoot me a DM. I’d love to talk more about him. I also would be down to write more oneshots based around this series, because I am sort of like….okay, they obviously have a connection, but they don’t know that much about each other, and I may or may not have a light future already mapped out for them. I might do an epilogue at some point even. But if you have anything you’d like to add, let me know!

Taglist: @juice-1981  @sapphiredreamer26  @tatooineisdry  @marvelsvision @spookycereal-s @trelaney @fireghost-x @booksarekindaneat  @thunderingbats  @felicityofbakerstreet @takacsgram @mischiefmanaged71 @fanfictionedagain @merelyhooper @gyllord @mundaytuesday @friday18eo  @lovegood7553  @adara-wolfhart @a-djarin @farawaywasteland @sky-writes-stuff @fuckinglittlekitten @katyasrussianaccent @agent-jbarnes  @neoarchipelago @pattispunk @kpopnena @purebloodwitch @spookyconsultingcriminal @msmarvelwrites @professorrw @lazyradeecal @captainrexstan @notyourfuckingbusinesss @felicityofbakerstreet @unlikekiana @maeday-18 @friendly-letters @fandom-lover-4 @meefal @queenfairyfangirl @gogomonbebelf @scullys-alienpussy @the-multiverse-approach @sky-writes-stuff @safiakillspop @eggofhumiliation @originalcollectorsaladsstuff @archangelproperty @friday18eo @jayden-rose-leon @actuallyanita @mayhemmachine @kermuddgen @zadiewrites @pach-inks @theokatz @reichelhache @autumnsoidier @mischief-siriusly-managed @danaaeaa @joey-motorola @singlemomslayer @stevesbestgirl @dinna-fashh @popriskra @xaanyhs @adorable-punk-superheroes​

[gumnut-logic]

Number Four (Part 7)

Supermen!AU - Intro | One Thing | Superman Number Four - Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7

Sorry this took forever. Writing it was actually quite hard. Lots of warnings for angst in this one. Poor Gords.

As always, I couldn’t have done this alone - @katblu42​ @the-original-sineater​ @gaviiadastra​ and @janetm74​ all put up with my whining at some point over the last few days and there was muchly reading through of the bits I was whinging about :D So thank you all.

Have some very upset Scotty. I hope you enjoy it anyway.

-o-o-o-

When John reported Gordon’s accident, Scott wanted to be nowhere else but beside his little brother. But he had his hands full of two rescuees he and Virgil had just hauled out of a mine.

Of Virgil and himself, Virgil would be the most use on site, so the decision was made and Virgil snuck away to launch himself across the Pacific Ocean without his Thunderbird.

But Scott the professional emergency responder had to fight the big brother and the Kryptonian in himself the entire way. If the rescuees were dispatched a fraction faster than was polite, his excuse was another rescue.

The fact his heart broke at the thought was irrelevant.

Eos lifted Two off the ground to follow her sister home at the pace she needed to take considering her bulk. Thunderbird One had none of those issues and was little more than a streak of light in the sky.

Scott had lowered her into her hangar barely within safety protocols and was moving the moment he could free himself from her confines.

Dad stopped him outside the infirmary door. “Son…”

The pain in his father’s grey eyes said more than he wanted to know.

“Dad?” It was a question with an answer that terrified him.

Jeff Tracy was Scott’s world. A man he couldn’t help but admire. A man who despite his human fallibilities still strived to make their world a better place. If there was a Superman, Scott felt the name should belong to his Dad.

Not his father.

But his Dad.

The human who meant so much to him, drew him close and dipped his forehead until it came in contact with Scott’s. “Son, your grandmother and Virgil have done everything they can-“ His voice broke. “It doesn’t look like it is enough.”

“No…” The word was ripped out from the depths of his gut and only the ingrained discipline of existing among humans and the mandatory need to hold himself back kept him from pulling away, tearing into that room and defying fate itself to protect his little brother.

Fingers wrapped around the back of Scott’s head, catching in the short hairs there. A single tear ran down his Dad’s face and that simple drop of fluid slapped Scott bare. “He’s hanging in there. There is still hope.” But the roughness of his voice spoke volumes.

“Where…?” But his senses had already told him. Grandma was with Alan, there were tears in the distance. John was in his room on the other side of the villa…snarling at Eos. The pain in that voice, desperate for information the AI didn’t have…

Virgil…

Scott drew in a breath as he reached beyond the shut door and sensed his two brothers, one deathly ill, the other…

Scott sucked it up, pulled it all inside and crammed it into a box alongside his father, his mother, his past and…straightened… enough to envelope his dad in a full-blown hug before slowly pulling away. He gripped his arm briefly, squeezed ever so gently, and stepped over to the door to open it.

Gordon lay quiet, as expected, his breathing even, if shallow. The shaft of light through what appeared to be a hastily made skylight was bright, but the atmosphere was funereal, dropping both brothers into shadows that didn’t need to exist.

Virgil sat beside Gordon, slumped over the edge of the bed, his head in his hands. His crying was almost silent, the tremor of his shoulders ever so subtle.

“Virgil?”

His brother’s head shot up to reveal bloodshot eyes and a wet face. The moment his eyes landed on Scott, they widened and his breathing quickened. His mouth opened as if to say something, but then closed as he turned to again look at Gordon.

And then Scott watched his little brother attempt to do exactly what Scott had done just moments before – shove all the emotion into a box in order to function on a basic level.

“Umm…” Virgil’s voice shook as he straightened in the chair beside Gordon’s bed. “We’ve set his arm, and…ummm…”He cleared his throat and shook himself a little. “Grandma and I operated on his back and managed to remove the p-pressure on his spinal nerve.” A swallow. “He…” Virgil stopped talking.

Scott stepped forward and placed a hand on Virgil’s back.

“He’s still with us.”

The strangled sob next to him did not speak of hope at all.

Turning, he drew his brother into a hug.

Virgil dragged a breath in. “This shouldn’t be happening. It shouldn’t!” There was a spark of anger there and it gave Scott the barest amount of hope. “We’ve done everything, including many things we shouldn’t even be able to do. His tissue resistance is now lower than a human. He’s fragile.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “I’m almost afraid to touch him.”

Scott stared down at Gordon, the light from the skylight lit him in shades of quiet gold. Sparkles of dust floated in the air above him, slowly drifting as he breathed.

But the medical equipment around him took away any of the magic in the lighting, sucking it dry with reality. With one exception. On the bedside table sat a fish bowl. A big one, complete with filter and two familiar inhabitants, Spog and Bog. They were a pair of decorator crabs Gordon had rescued from a fishnet washed up in the lagoon earlier in the year. His little brother had nursed them back to health.

Right at this moment they appeared agitated, dancing around a glittering rock in the middle of the bowl. Their frantic movements echoed Scott’s heartbeat.

Virgil shifted and followed his gaze. “Allie is devastated. He blames himself.”

“Grandma has him.”

“I know.” A dragged in breath. “Grandma had to drag him away. He didn’t want to go.”

Scott didn’t comment on that.

He could hear Dad’s desperate whispers of comfort down in the lounge as both he and Grandma attempted to console the youngest of them all, Alan’s sobs tearing at Scott’s heart from a distance.

The villa was full of the sounds of grief and denial.

He shut them out before he lost it all himself.

One brother at a time.

Virgil looked like Scott felt, wrecked to the bone. He was almost limp, as if the strength the big man was known for had been sucked out of him. Where Gordon was pale and still under the bedsheets, Virgil was the wake of the storm, spent and torn.

“Vir, take a moment.”

The wide eyes that shot in his direction proved that Alan wasn’t the only one who would need to be dragged from this room.

“I’ll take Gordon for a bit. I think John might need a calming hand.” The words leaking through the walls were beyond desperate.

It worked. It was probably the only way to divert the rock of the family – point him in the direction of another family member needing help.

Those dark eyes narrowed and he knew Virgil knew exactly what Scott was doing.

But there was another side to the coin. Scott needed time with Gordon and if he was honest with himself, he needed that time alone.

He was barely holding it all together as it was.

And Virgil didn’t need to witness that at all.

His brother’s lips pressed together and his brow wrinkled in pain. But he nodded. He caught Scott’s eyes ever so briefly before bowing his head and turning towards the door.

His hand caught the doorjamb, the wood creaking and cracking under his grip. “Call me, if anything…”

“You have my word.” A breath. “Look after Jon for me, Vir.”

The wood splintered and flaked away as Virgil removed his hand and left without another word. He pulled the door shut behind him and Scott followed the sounds of his footsteps as he made his way through the villa.

And Scott wilted on the spot. The gravity of the planet bore him down and into the chair Virgil had vacated. The white sheets were stiff and rough under his fingertips.

Gordon hadn’t moved at all.

So still, so wrong.

Scott curled his fingers amongst those of his brother and brought his hand up to touch his forehead. A hand so much bigger than Scott’s memory of the little hands that clutched at him the day they boarded their capsule. Frightened and scared, voice struggling to be heard amongst the chaos of a planet’s self-destruction.

Kal had thought he had saved his brothers, that here they were safe.

“Gor, please. Please stay.”

No bright and sunny comeback.

Just stillness and dustmotes in the air.

Kal bowed his head and closed his eyes.

And clung.

-o-o-o-

It was Grandma who found Scott unconscious an hour later. His hand still curled in Gordon’s.

-o-o-o-

Next

[that-foul-legacy-lover]

sir, ma’am, person, or other pronouns, you cannot just post good writing ideas right before I sleep /j

I’d like to see that golden house prompt as a short story,,, possibly????😳

-💃

spoiler! i ain't good at choreographing fights but uh i THINK i was poetic enough so it still sounds cool??? hope that's ok!! this is also inspired by some of the brainrot i've been having and getting in the past few days so i can definitely make a part two!! also normal Childe’s there for a bit original prompt was of FL Childe injuring you during the golden house fight!! read Part Two here!!: The Sky’s Tears ~ * ~ Golden House is Falling Down Foul Legacy Childe x Reader Gender Neutral (no pronouns mentioned) Angst Warnings: Worrying, descriptions of anger, fighting (battles), a corpse, allusions to blood, pain, potential death, lightning, electrocution

~ * ~

Sometimes Childe worried you. It came with his job, you supposed. You were well aware of his status as a Fatui Harbinger, although you’ve never personally seen him at work- it had been a casual accident when you walked into him discussing plans with his subordinates. The two of you hadn’t been close back then, only acquaintances, and he made you swear to secrecy. Well, technically he had threatened you, but you didn’t particularly mind. You weren’t as in love with Liyue as some of your friends were, and you, unlike many people, understood the importance of a well-paying job. Having his position exposed to the public could very well get him fired. Those had been your concerns, so long ago. But now, as you hurried after the Traveler in all their glory, those pitiful worries seemed so far away, replaced instead by anxious thoughts flurrying by about life and death. You weren’t anyone of particular importance in the harbor, but you always made sure to pay careful attention to any rumors and gossip you heard. You always took them with a grain of salt, of course, but you had long ago learned that it was good to keep things you heard in your mind as potential possibilities. Liyue had a habit of having “impossible” events happen anyways. It really got on your nerves sometimes. Last week’s whispers had been full of a Fatui plan about meddling with the panicking government, after Rex Lapis had allegedly fallen from the sky, his status as the oldest living archon gone. Seeing that the Fatui’s reputation wasn’t particularly good, you had filed the thought away to consider later. A few days later, it came true. And Childe seemed to vanish into thin air, shifting your worries instantaneously over to him. It was funny, how close the two of you had gotten in the weeks he’d been in Liyue. At least, you were close to him. The Traveler was kind enough to let you accompany them to the famed Golden House, just to cover all possible leads. Their steps are light and quick as you approach the elegant building, all lined with gold and jade, and you can almost hear the tinkling sound of mora within. The Traveler stares up at the enormous door, clutching their sword. They seem prepared for a fight. You gulp, hoping that their stance is just how they stand as a default. The doors to the Golden House swing open, and the Traveler gestures for you to follow them, a determined look in their eyes. You enter together, and momentarily you’re distracted by the piles of mora scattered around the floor- probably more mora than you’d see in your entire life. Your eyes scan the room as the glimmer of coins snatches your attention, a tendency that friends and family had always teased you lightheartedly about- they’d call you a crow or a magpie. You didn’t mind being a bird. It sounded fun, to fly away from all your problems. Finally your gaze lands on the corpse of Rex Lapis, floating in the center-back of the room like a morbid decoration put on display. Despite it being very, very dead, it emanates an aura of power, and you involuntarily shiver, the temperature seeming to drop by a few degrees. Suddenly you hear the great doors of the Golden House slam shut, and someone’s voice questions why they, the Traveler, still lingered. The three of you, little Paimon included, turn in surprise. It’s Childe, the very person you were fretting over and looking for. You sigh quietly in relief, but your fleeting moment of calm is quickly dashed as the Traveler silently challenges him to a duel. Hastily you scramble to get out of the way, and just barely find yourself “out-of-bounds” when the arena for their fight flares to life as they both ready their weapons. Childe retrieves his bow with a twisted smile, a counterpart to the Traveler’s iron stoicness. But it seems his gaze lingers on you, and softens for a brief moment, something you tell yourself is just your imagination, because you doubt he was ever your friend to begin with. As someone whose work isn’t associated with adventuring, your knowledge of combat is limited, but even you can see the

skill of both the Traveler and Childe as their blades clash. Several times a burst of elemental energy strikes the burning walls of the arena, and you’re thankful for the barrier between you and them, because you have very little chance of surviving the power of their abilities. When Childe’s clothes darken and the mask falls over his face, you remember hearing something about a far more powerful and dangerous version of Visions- Delusions, items the Tsaritsa, Cryo Archon and ruler of Snezhnaya, rewards to her most loyal and deserving followers. Childe’s is Electro, and the crackle of static energy he slashes towards the Traveler makes your hair stand on end. You shield your eyes from the bright lights dancing around the arena, and when you reopen them, Childe has disappeared. And he reappears next to Rex Lapis’ corpse. Several things happen at once. The Geo Archon’s Gnosis is gone, taken by neither the Harbinger or the Traveler. Paimon looks worried, the Traveler looks shocked, and Childe enraged- You blink and he’s changed. Suddenly several feet taller, he now floats, some sort of terrible creature you’ve never seen before. Everything is loud, too loud, and you clap your hands over your ears, as the floor breaks away beneath you. And you fall with the Traveler and Paimon into the chamber below. You feel something catch you- an enormous clawed hand- and set you down more or less gently into a single large room. The room is the arena, an arena you stand in with no escape. The Gnosis is gone, and Childe is a monster, one of both Hydro and Electro and a foreign, starry magic that makes your skin crawl. And the battle only continues. Luckily the Traveler is adamant on staying away from you, drawing Childe’s attacks to the other side of the arena entirely, and for a majority of the fight the most you have to do is dodge falling arrows and water amalgamations. Childe’s furious questions about the Gnosis soon fade into hisses and growls as he loses himself more and more into the horrible joy of battle. You lean over, coughing slightly from the water that splashed you as a consequence of his attacks and the exertion from dodging and keeping your balance in the Hydro-soaked room. The Traveler screams, and you look up too late as a burst of electro slashes across your chest. Then everything goes white and high pitched, your senses bursting alongside the elemental energy as it runs up your damp skin and clothes. The pain from the combination of Hydro and Electro in your veins brings tears to your eyes, and it’s only amplified around your torso as you vaguely feel something warm and sticky dripping down. Someone shakes you, panicking, calling your name, but everything is white, cold noise. The sounds around you are muffled as the battle slows to a halt, and all you hear is ringing. Another hand, sharp and clawed, brushes against your arm, but it retreats when someone starts shouting. A blade is brandished as someone yells at a monster to stay away, he’s done enough damage, how dare he, and you hear a mournful, desperate chitter through the haze of static. Ah, that curious sound, it makes your heart ache. But what, or who, is it? The sword slices through the air as the monster is pushed away by a blonde-haired Traveler’s rage, and it soon joins into the pitching, ringing note in your ears before it tapers into silence and sorrow, leaving only the inky abyss of darkness crawling up to your eyes as the pain fades into weightlessness. This time, you let yourself fall. In the harbor, the Fair Lady is informed that the Golden House is falling down, falling down.

[yanderecrazysie]

Candid

Did I put this off because I know nothing about Suna’s personality? Yes. Possibly.

I think this is badly rushed but only because I had writer’s block for so long EEK! I’m so sorry! And to the Tumblr requesters, don’t worry, I’m getting to you all now!

Title: Candid

Pairings: Suna x Reader

WARNINGS: Yandere themes, stalking, non-consensual photography (?), mild gore, death

Summary: Everywhere you go, you can feel the hairs on the back of your neck stand up when you hear the click of a picture being taken and that overwhelming feeling that you’re being watched. You really wish it was just you being paranoid.

Notes: Requested by someone on Wattpad.

candid

/noun/

(of a photograph of a person) taken informally, especially without the subject's knowledge.

The first time you heard the click of a phone camera taking your picture without your permission was when you were walking back to your dorm alone. It was quickly followed by a shattering sound and pounding footsteps. All that was left behind was a shattered screen protector, a product of your photographer’s panic.

You were freaked out, to say the least. But thankfully, the sound of their own phone frightened them away. You almost laughed, picturing some unknown creep’s embarrassed face when they realized they were caught and went back to the safety of your dorm.

But that wasn’t the last time you’d hear that sound. It was the start of a nightmare you could never wake up from.

Click, click, click.

Your photographer had grown bolder, to say the least.

That clicking sound had become far too familiar over the next two weeks. Every single time you left your dorm, you heard it, following you around campus unless others were near you. It got to the point that you no longer wanted your quiet alone time, you just wanted someone, anyone near you. Just so you wouldn’t feel those eyes on the back of your head and see that little flash in the corner of your eye.

Anything to stop feeling like your picture is being taken every moment of the day.

Your roommate couldn’t be there for you every time, and you felt like you were coming across as clingy by asking her to escort you everywhere. She had her own classes to worry about, on top of a job. As kind as she was, you didn’t want to add onto her already-heavy workload.

So when a boy from your Chemistry course offered to walk you back to your dorm, you found yourself agreeing. It was the middle of the day, so he couldn’t try anything without people noticing, and your photographer would back down too.

He wasn’t very talkative, which made the walk a little awkward. His eyes seemed to be glued to you, even if it was just out of the corner of his eye. The intensity of his stare unnerved you.

When you stopped at the door of your room, you felt a confusing mixture of two types of relief. Relief that your photographer never showed up once and relief that your uncomfortable walk with him was finally over.

“I never actually learned your name.” You admitted to the boy, the polite part of you wanting to thank him for walking you to your dorm.

“Suna.” You waited for him to continue, but he didn’t. A man of few words, you supposed.

“I’m Y/n, it’s nice-”

“I know.”

Unnerved, you swallowed back your concern and decided to end this “conversation”.

“Thank you for walking me back, I appreciate it.”

Suna simply smiled. A small, yet genuine, sweet little twitch of the lips. You had to admit, it was kind of cute.

“Any time, (Y/n).”

Walks back to your dorm with Suna became a normal part of your weekdays. The couple days you didn’t walk with him, the snaps of a camera haunted your way home, almost worse than ever before.

But, like all good things, it had to come to an awkward end.

“Will you go on a date with me?”

It made you inwardly wince, how rehearsed those words sounded. You wondered if he’d practiced before the two of you met up.

“I’m sorry, Suna, but I barely know you.” You left out the fact that he unnerved you with his intensely calculating stare and the way he walked just-too-close to you.

“Oh.”

And… that was it. You weren’t sure what you were expecting, but this wasn’t it. Suna’s expression didn’t even change, that impassive face blankly blinking back at you.

He stood and watched, unnaturally calm, as you walked away.

Why couldn’t you shake the feeling that this was just the calm before a storm?

Your mysterious photographer was silent, despite the fact that you no longer walked with Suna. In fact, you didn’t hear the camera sounds at any point of the day. Finally, you wondered if the creep gave up or lost interest. Or maybe you were making it up in your head all along.

You really wish that was the case.

“Damn it- where’s my room key?” Your backpack, purse, and surroundings gave no clue as to where your student card was. Without that, you couldn’t get into your dorm room- which was a big problem, considering the sky was darkening by the minute. You just wanted to watch some Netflix and snack on some chips, was that too much for the universe to allow?

Hastily typing out a message on your phone to your roommate, you continued to pack up your scattered belongings. A ding signaled her reply.

You: Hey, u at the room? Lost my key, gotta get a new one tmrw or something

Roomie: Yeah

It was a strangely short reply for the roommate you knew. Usually, she’d write half a paragraph or at least chew you out (in a light-hearted way) about how stupid you were to lose your card.

Maybe she was doing homework. Either way, all you needed to know was that she was there to let you into your safe haven.

The first drops of rain were hitting your head when you arrived at your dorm. You were beyond grateful that your roommate was there to save the day. To be honest, she was more like a sister to you than anything else. The random roommate pairing system didn’t fail you, like it did most unlucky on-campus students.

Your knuckles barely touched the door when it opened and slender fingers wrapped around your wrist, tugging you inside. But it wasn’t your roommate you came face-to-face with.

No, it was your worst nightmare.

Photographs pasted on the walls and desks, all featuring you, you, you. Photos of every size, with any person other than you cut out of it.

Every click of the camera was now laid out for you to see. But that was no longer your biggest concern.

Dead.

Your roommate… oh god… she laid on her bed, throat slit and blood everywhere- splattered on the walls and soaking the sheets. She was probably napping, you realized, and you prayed that she died peacefully. That she didn’t wake up when her killer loomed over her with your borrowed key card.

Because that’s how the killer got in. How he got in.

The man now blocking your only exit, that small, "sweet" smile gracing his lips again.

Suna Rintarou.

You felt dizzy- your world was spinning. Was that crying and screaming coming from you? It felt so far away… so detached…

Your vision swam with darkness, the shock numbing your senses. As you succumbed to unconsciousness, you heard Suna talking to you… a voice that sounded a mile away, yet right in your ear. With the arms wrapping gently around your form, it was most likely the latter.

“I know you don’t know me well, but I know you very, very well. You have time, Y/n, you have time…”

Why was it that you felt like your time was up?

Like every click of a camera was just the ticking of a clock, counting down to your inevitable doom.

[221bshrlocked]

Show Me Your True Colors

Pairing: Marcus Pike x Fem!Reader

Words: 14092 (I swear this was supposed to be a short oneshot but it got out of hand. I'm so so sorry.)

Warnings: 28% smut, 72% plot. Penetrative, unprotected sex (wrap the shlong before you king kong my dudes). Oral (male and female receiving). Fingering and Squirting due to overstimulation. Some dom/sub elements but not full-on. Creampie. Rough handling (e.g. hair-pulling, spanking, hand-binding, some more hair-pulling). I think that's all?!

Inspired by these posts [x] [x] and by this lovely artist. Thanks @danniburgh for humoring me with my thots.

A/N: I came back from my temporary hiatus to post this because I couldn't wait. And now I shall return to my little corner again. Sorry guys these school/administrative issues are taking longer to deal with so I'm for the most part still away. This is not beta'd. Let me know how I'm doing in the comments please and reblogs are always appreciated. Enjoy. And you can add yourself to the taglist here.

It’s such a different atmosphere, from what he remembers at least. It’s been so long since he stepped foot on a university campus, and he can’t help but smile at the spectrum of personalities all around him. While some students lounge underneath the trees and on the grass, others ran hastily to their courses. Those were probably freshmen.

As he makes his way through the campus, he has to look at his phone numerous times to figure out where exactly he was going. That’s definitely one thing he didn’t miss about being in school, the fact that he was shit in directions and how he almost always got lost during the beginning of each semester.

When he does finally find the art history department, he silences his phone and heads to the first office he can find.

“Good afternoon, my name is Nicola. How can I help you?”

“Hi Nicola, I’m here to see Dr. Y/N Y/L/N. I was wondering if you could direct me to her office please?” Marcus smiles as he unbuttons his suit jacket, not realizing that his FBI tag was now visible to the world.

“She’s currently in one of her lectures, you could-” Marcus follows Nicola’s line of sight when she grows quiet and groans when he sees that she noticed his FBI tag.

“Please, she’s not in trouble. I am part of the FBI Art Crime Team, and I’m actually coming to ask if we could get her professional opinion on an artifact. Just need her to consult on something.” He smiles at Nicola and waits for her expression to relax before he continues.

“Do you mind telling me which lecture hall she’s in?”

“Y-yes, she’s in H140. Make a right at the door and it’s the hall all the way at the end.”

“Thank you Nicola, have a good day.” Marcus nods at her before he buttons his jacket again to avoid any suspicious, terrified looks as he makes his way to the lecture hall. He walks quietly, avoiding the students walking past him as they exit the rooms. When he reaches the door, he turns the knob slowly to not make any noise, hoping that he wasn’t being too disruptive once he walks in. As he shuts it behind him and looks around, his eyes almost fall out of their sockets.

There are at least 250, maybe 300 students filling the seats of the room. He awkwardly smiles when some students look to the side and see him standing at the foot of the door. He quickly takes a seat and says nothing as the students return their attention to the large projected screen. Marcus hears what he assumes is your voice through the large speakers but he can’t place your position. As he looks at the projected images, he finally catches you through his peripheral vision as you step off the railing near the exit doors at the front of the room.

“Because of this association with the gods, many amulets used to ward off the evil eye include depictions of mythological figures and deities who are almost, if not always, female. To the Greeks and Romans, the most common fascinations with an evil eye were women in any shape or form. They were thought to have the most powerful and harmful gaze that might kill if eye contact was established. That’s basically me telling you to never look me in the eye or else I will curse the cow of your second cousin twice removed.” Laughter reverberates off the walls at your joke and only grows louder when you whisper, “just kidding...or am I?” Marcus can’t help but smile at your jokes, watching with fascination as you move up and down the stairs of one side of the lecture hall once you continue to speak.

“Now, I know what some of you are thinking...isn’t that a bit sexist? Well, to the ancients, no. And to us, it’s kind of a meh thing. I know that doesn’t sound very feminist of me but it all comes down to the culture and the ancient practices that carried over. Just remember that it wasn’t because they were women, it was because they were thought to be powerful...a glass half-full kinda thing.” Marcus watches you closely as you maintain your focus on the students before you switch the slide and stand in the middle of the stairway with your back towards the projector.

“So, we find goddesses such as Erinnyes or the Furies associated with the evil eye because of their avenging nature. Their heads were covered in serpents and their eyes were always bloodshot and one of the Furies by the name of Megaera was considered in late antiquity as the personification of envy and whose eyes were the most envious and deadly of all the Furies. She was described by poets as baskanon omma pherousa...bearing the evil eye. Naturally, many children in late antiquity constantly wore amulets of stone galactite to protect them from the eyes of Megaera, and sometimes even wore necklaces with her face on it to counteract the evil eye of someone else and have her curse the ones who tried to harm them. Basically, the ancients were playing a game of tag with the evil eye.” You descend the stairs and walk to the other side of the hall, and Marcus feels his chest tighten with how much confidence you exude, not just through your words but with how you carry yourself as well.

“Perhaps the most famous of these dangerous women is Medusa who was one of the Gorgones in Greek mythology. The Gorgones were one of many female beings such as the Harpies, the Erinnyes, the Graiae, and the Keres, who were said to be grim-faced, and who held horrible looks. Briefly, the story tells of how she was one of the most beautiful women to ever walk the earth and later became hateful-looking by Athena as punishment for being raped by Poseidon in the middle of the huntress’ temple. Her hair became serpents and she was so furious that anyone who would look at her would turn into stone...at least that is the version you will hear from the “all-knowing” male scholars within this field. But, and I know I’m going on a rant here, if you’re like me, you’re more likely to argue that Athena pretended to hate Medusa. The serpents were no punishment! The goddess looked at the poor woman and gave her a weapon to use against men because unfortunately, she couldn’t do anything to avenge her...not only because she didn’t get along with Poseidon but also because he was a god as well. Anyway, back to Medusa’s amazing power which I would love to have so I could use it whenever I’m talking to some professors in this department...don’t quote me on that.” Again, Marcus chuckles at your side commentary and notices how calm and enjoyable the atmosphere of the lecture is. If only he had professors like you when he was in university.

“Even after she was decapitated by Perseus, her powers were very much alive and it is said that Athena placed Medusa’s image on her shield, once Perseus returned it, in order to use it when she hunted. This suggests that depictions of her severed head held apotropaic power and like earlier, one could use a creature who held the power of the evil eye against another being who is said to use the evil eye. Following this principle of similia similibus, it is not surprising that most of the amulets found in Greece and Rome contained illustrations of Medusa’s decapitated head on them. What was once the possessor of the evil eye became a protective symbol against the very same thing.” Just as you are about to continue with the next image, an alarm goes off and Marcus frowns in shock at how inconsiderate it was that phones weren’t silenced. But his surprise only heightens when he sees you running down the steps to your desk and picking up the phone sitting in the middle of the table.

“Ahhhh man, we were just about to get to the cavalier. That’s okay. Remember, the second response is due first thing on Friday. If you can’t turn it in during class, shoot me an email and we can work something out with my TAs. Go forth my clever spawns!” Marcus stands up and glues himself to the wall when he sees students emptying the lecture hall, his eyes on your form at the front of the class. He hopes you don’t leave out of the front exit and begins to make his way to you through the multitude of undergrads leaving. When he reaches your desk, he stands to the side until you finish chatting with one of the students and begins to collect your work.

“Dr. Y/L/N?”

“Please, it’s just Y/N. Who are you and how can I help you today?” You almost do a double take when you look up from your bag and see the man standing in front of you. To say that you were starstruck by the man in front of you would have been the understatement of the century.

“I’m Special Agent Marcus Pike,” he holds out his FBI tag for you and watches as you raise an eyebrow at him before you swing your bag across your shoulders and motion for him to follow you out of the hall.

“I would like to put it on record that I do not, in fact, wish to turn any of my colleagues to stone.” You joke, and Marcus senses that you are perhaps nervous at seeing his tag.

“Believe me, I would like to do that to some of mine as well...but no, not why I’m here.” Marcus clips the tag below his jacket as he walks with you.

“May I ask what I have done that caught the FBI’s attention?” You walk ahead of him, and ask him if it was okay for him to head over to your office with you.

“I’m with the FBI Art Crime Team and I’m here on a request. We would like to consult you on an open investigation and I came here to ask what your availability is.” Marcus follows you up the stairs, barely forcing his eyes to remain on your feet instead of elsewhere.

“Oh, me? That’s...wow. Of all the things I thought I would accomplish in my life, that’s definitely not one of them. May I ask what it is you need my opinion on?” You push open the doorway of the staircase and point at your office across the quiet hall.

“Unfortunately, there is a lot of paperwork you need to fill out before we get to work so I can’t disclose anything about the case until you sign in.” Marcus steps into the office behind you and watches as you set your things down before you move to your desk. He can’t help but feel his muscles loosen at the sight of the bookshelves across your room.

“This is probably the most exciting thing to happen to me all year long so yes, hundred percent. I’m available for the rest of the day today as well as tomorrow and Friday after lecture which ends at the same time as today’s.” You beam up at him as you take two books out of your bag and replace them with a folder that was sitting in the middle of your desk. Marcus looks at you quizzically, marveling at how much easier this was going. He genuinely thought he was going to meet with someone who was probably a bit proud and perhaps as much of an asshole as his previous professors but you were so much different than anyone he’s ever met within this field.

“Are you sure? I understand if you need to take a week or two-”

“No please, you’ll be saving me from faculty lunches and two seminars by colleagues that I genuinely cannot fucking stand- oh, sorry. Sorry, didn’t mean to-” You swing your leather bag around your shoulder again and shut the blinds of the windows before you walk to the door.

“Please, you don’t have to worry about that with me.” Marcus chuckles at the excitement rolling off of you and bites his lower lip when he watches you quickly fix your hair.

“I might need to have lunch on the way to your office though if that’s okay?” You take a plastic container out of your bag and smile sheepishly at him as you lock your door.

“Wow...is your bag bigger on the inside or something? And, yeah fine by me.” He pushes his hands into his pockets again and walks next to you, a little corner in his heart gradually filling with hope letting him know that he should be cautious. He didn’t want a repeat of last time.

You both chat briefly on your way to headquarters and Marcus apologizes every time he looks over and sees you struggling with your food. By the time you make it to the building, Marcus can tell you are a bit nervous and he assures you once more that this was merely a consultation.

“Wait how did you even find me?” You take your jacket off along with everything in your pockets, laying them down near your bag as they go through the scanner. Marcus passes through with his badge and waits for you on the other side, picking up your things as you put your jacket back on.

“I made some calls and a friend suggested to get in touch with you because of your expertise.”

“Oh now we’re getting somewhere. You have a Greek artifact don’t you?” Marcus halts in his steps and looks over to you as he shuts his eyes in irritation. He should have watched what he said.

“S-sorry I couldn’t help it. I’ll stop until I fill out whatever paperwork you have for me.” You take your things from him and walk quietly as he leads you to the elevators.

“I didn’t mean to be rude. It’s not personal, it’s just-”

“Business I know. I know. I’m so used to watching this kind of stuff in movies that I tend to forget it’s all fake and you’re...the real deal.” You hope he doesn’t see the way your eyes trail over his taller form, silently cursing yourself when you meet his eyes and notice how he’s already staring at you with a smile.

“Sorry.” You apologize again and look straight ahead, hands tightening around the leather strap when you realize that he’s still looking at you.

Marcus fists the hands in his pockets to prevent himself from saying anything else that might make you uncomfortable, and he looks at the increasing numbers as they reach his floor. A loud ring signals your arrival and Marcus stretches out his hand so you could walk ahead of him. You wait until he tells you where to go and say nothing when he stops for a second and whispers something to another agent.

When you arrive at his office, you stand to the side and wait for him to tell you what to do.

“What’re you doing all the way over there? Come here.” Marcus calls you over to his desk and smiles, hoping to put you a little at ease. You step towards him and set your stuff on the floor as you sit opposite him on one of the two chairs. He pulls out a couple of files and sets them in front of you in four different piles.

“That’s a lot of paperwork.” You chuckle nervously as you take out a pen from your bag.

“I know, I’m sorry. But that’s why I’m here. These are the building rules and your signature is basically you telling us you’ll abide by all of them.”

“I don’t know any of them.” You respond immediately, and rub harshly at the pen between your fingers.

“I’ll be with you at all times so you don’t have to worry about that.” His smile throws you off guard and you nod before you sign the highlighted areas.

“And these are you swearing that you will tell no one of whatever you see, hear, do, etc. within the building.” You nod and sign through the stapled paperwork before sliding them his way.

“We’re almost done. These two are like the second pile but they have to do with this case specifically. And they extend to outside the premises, meaning that if I or another agent on the case tells you anything that has to do with your work here today while we’re grabbing coffee from across the street, you can’t say it to a living soul.” Marcus points at the four highlighted boxes and tells you to sign the date next to them as well.

“So I can say it to my dead cousin?” You ask as you sign the two papers and hand them to him, unable to hold your laughter when he shakes his head as he pushes the last pile towards you.

“I had a feeling you were going to say that.”

“Can’t help it.”

“And finally, these are you swearing that whatever you tell us today, be it an opinion, a fact, or anything else, is the absolute truth. Basically, you’re not fucking with us.” You raise an eyebrow at his choice in words and he shrugs his shoulders as he motions for the empty spaces again. When you’re done, Marcus collects all the files and places them in a folder before he unlocks his desk and pushes them inside.

“I don’t ever want to see my signature again.” You whisper as he leads you out of the office towards a conference room. He holds the door for you and nods ahead, waiting for you to step in before he shuts the door behind him and turns around. You try to ignore the hand pushing on your lower back as you walk in and spot three gentlemen and one woman standing towards the end of the long table.

“Wow, that was quick.” The female agent is first to speak and you say nothing as Marcus introduces you to them.

“Thank you for coming on such a short notice.”

“Of course. This is very exciting for me so I’m happy to help in any way.” You shake her hand and stand to the side as Marcus motions for you to sit down.

“This is Lydia, Ethan, Henry, and Noah.” Marcus points to each member of his team as he pulls out a chair next to you and sits down.

“It’s nice to meet you.” You nod towards them and look at the folder that Lydia hands to you. Marcus says something as you flip open the folder but you can’t respond, eyes almost falling out of their sockets as you take in the large image on the page. You look up at Marcus and everyone else before you return your attention to the picture.

“You recognize what this is then?” Ethan breaks the silence and watches as you move through the pages quickly.

“Umm, that seems like an oversimplification but yes.” You continue to study the images in front of you for another few minutes before you set them down and look up at Marcus.

“Some explanation would really help me out right now.” You tap softly on the papers, and your mind conjures up the wildest possible stories behind the images currently displayed in front of you.

“Oh right yes. We received a tip from the Smithsonian’s acquisitions department about a man trying to sell them this artifact for three million dollars,” Marcus notices your eyes widen but he continues, “but they’re not sure if it’s stolen or not. And he refuses to cooperate.”

“Which is where you come in. Have you seen anything like this before and if so, where?” Lydia stares at you as you return your attention to the pictures again.

“And the Smithsonian can’t confirm this?”

“Far from it. Marcus here is just afraid they’ll eventually get greedy and do anything to get their hands on it.” You look next to you and watch a faint blush take over the agent’s handsome features.

“I mean I don’t blame you. There are a bunch of real assholes in this field.” You laugh when he gives Lydia a ‘told you’ look.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t think I’ll be able to help you if I don’t see the actual pendant.” You shut the folder and push it away from you.

“That might be a problem.” Henry takes his glasses off and proceeds to clean them as he looks at his co-workers.

“Why? Do you not have it anymore?” Your heart skips a beat at the prospect of the FBI losing such an object.

“Oh no we have it. Our guy is afraid we’ll switch it out with a fake so he refuses to hand it to us unless he’s in the same room.”

“That’s funny. Is there a rule that says I can’t look at it while this man is in the room?” You ask Marcus and he can’t help but notice how giddy you’re being all of a sudden. Your excitement is almost palpable and he wills himself to focus on the question and not how you bite your lower lip as you wait for him.

“I mean…”

“You’re all going to be in the room aren’t you?” You cut him off before he says anything and when they all nod, you turn to Marcus once more and wait for his response.

“I guess it’s fine.” Marcus reluctantly answers before he asks Ethan and Noah to bring the man from the interrogation room he’s been in for the past couple of hours. Lydia and Henry let you in on more details and Marcus watches as you furrow your eyebrows in focus, occasionally cutting them off to ask them a question.

Fifteen minutes later and a knock on the door breaks you out of your haze. You look up just as Ethan and Noah walk in with a man in front of them. You say nothing as they bring him to your side of the room and set him down across from you.

“How many times do I have to tell you, I didn’t steal it. I found it!” Your ears perk at his comment but you say nothing as he crosses his arms and narrows his eyes at you.

“May I see it?” You ask before anyone else says anything and the man continues to stare at you before he ignores your question.

“Please, I’m just here to confirm your story. I know for a fact there isn’t a museum out there that has this.” You notice the hardened expression on Henry’s face but he says nothing. A few long moments pass by and the man shifts to take something out of the inside his jacket. You inhale deeply and watch as he unwraps the cloth before he places the small pendant on the table in front of you.

“May I?” You ask again and if Marcus didn’t know any better, he’d think that you’re just trying to put the man at ease. If you were nervous around five FBI agents and you did nothing wrong, then his little thief must have been scared shitless.

When the man nods, you bring out a pair of gloves from your handbag and put them on, forcing yourself to remain calm as you pick up the pendant.

“What a beautiful work of art you are baby. Red jasper, my favorite!” Your excited words break the silence and you look up at the man in front of you with a smile, feeling your hands sweat when he slowly returns the expression.

Got you.

“Greek is marvelous...crystal clear, grammatically correct, unique placement.” It’s as silent as a cemetery and Marcus watches you closely as you narrow your eyes and adjust the stone under the light. If he wasn’t dealing with a criminal and a potentially stolen artifact, he would have told you how beautiful you looked when you were deep in the middle of a task.

“Hmm, what is this 6th century-ish spell? Oh my bad, no no no, I tend to mix them up sometimes. It’s definitely a 7th century formula.” You make an awkward face and watch as Lydia shakes her head at your little mix up.

“Now, let’s see what you got on the other side sweetheart.” You carefully turn the amulet around in the palm of your hand and barely hold back from gasping dramatically.

“My god...what a goddamn sight...oh oops sorry, that was probably blasphemous. A perfectly etched crucifixion...cross with 4 sides, with a plaque at the top...and of course, can’t forget the clothed Christ. The detail on this is truly unlike anything I’ve ever seen, down to the ‘Iesous Xristos Theou Yios Sotare’ around the figure. Where did you say you found it again?” You casually ask as you continue to inspect the stone, almost laughing when the man responds immediately to your question.

“Mount Athos.” Marcus turns to his team in shock. You’d managed to get the information out of him so easily while they spent an entire day trying to get him to say anything. It was a little funny how at ease the man seemed now, leaning forward towards you as you flipped the stone around.

“Ohh the hub of Eastern monasteries. Boy is this the most valuable artifact I’ve ever had the pleasure of looking at then.” You set it down on the cloth and wrap it up before taking your gloves off and leaning back on the chair.

“See, told you its one of a kind. No one’s ever found anything like it before.” The man beams at you before he takes the object and puts it back in his jacket.

“Oh yeah it’s one of a kind alright...because it’s the most fake amulet I’ve ever had the misfortune of examining. I honestly don’t think I’ve ever been this disappointed in my life. And here I thought another one of these was out there. Did you even bother to do any research on this?” You frown at him and cross your arms in irritation, completely missing Marcus’ reaction and how he turns to Lydia to confirm that yes, you just said that it was a fake artifact.

“W-what?”

“I’d love to know where you got the red jasper because you could have fooled me with that. Let’s break this down shall we? The Greek is perfect, too perfect if I’m being honest. You never have grammatically correct syntax etched on a magical amulet, let alone proper diction. Oh and you should have probably used Classical Greek instead of modern Greek, like were you even trying? Really bad move to use a 7th century formula with a non-altered 6th century spell. The formula didn’t even exist yet!” You tilt your head to the side and watch as the man in front of you begins to fidget. His smile is replaced with a shocked expression and you watch as it slowly becomes angry.

Marcus was speechless. He never saw this coming and was looking at you with a mixture of awe and surprise at the turn of events. He could only stare at you as he took in your energy, the same confidence and intelligence he saw earlier in the day when he walked into your lecture.

“As for the back, you never get 4-sided crosses with these, only three, and the head of Christ makes up the fourth which you don’t actually see because of his head. No plaque, too detailed and non-existent in protection spells. Christ is always nude on magical amulets by the way...yes it’s weird, but it’s a fucking amulet and he was just some extra deity. And finally, never, ever, write out ‘Iesous Xristos Theou Yios Sotare.’ You write the acronym IXOYE.” You flip open the folder that was in front of you and grab a sharpie from Marcus’ file, circling the first letter of each Greek word and holding it up as if he was one of your students and you were trying to lecture him.

“Don’t even get me started on your provenance. Mount Athos? I mean for fuck’s sake, Constanza would have been a better option. At least we actually found amulets out there. How much was he asking for this?” You turn to Marcus and completely miss the starstruck eyes he’s giving you. When you raise an eyebrow at him, he finally realizes that you asked him a question.

“Uhhh 3 mil.”

“Oh boy...yeah, this is worth jack shit. Wouldn’t even do it’s intended job if you actually wore it as a protection pendant.” You watch as the man’s expression changes from anger to outrage and you barely have any time to push away your chair and hide behind Marcus before the man tries to jump on top of the table towards you. It takes Ethan and Noah approximately five seconds to tackle him down before they take him out of the room. You watch as they reach for the amulet in his pocket and give it to Henry just as they push him out.

You’re still coming down from the adrenaline rush when Marcus turns around and asks you if you are alright. As soon as you see the gun in his hands, your hold on his jacket tightens and you gulp nervously when you meet his eyes. He apologizes quickly once he sees where you’re looking and quickly puts the gun back in its holster.

“You okay?” Marcus holds your wrist and rubs his thumb over your pulse point until you begin to relax. You fix your jacket and take a deep breath before you meet his eyes, almost gasping when you see how dark and oddly calming they are.

“Didn’t think a consultation would get this exciting but uhh, yeah I’m good. I think.” You try to laugh it off but looking at the object in Henry’s hand makes you realize that the last five minutes did really happen and you actually managed to piss off someone to the point where he tried to attack you.

“And we were worried it was stolen…” Lydia shakes her head when she takes the amulet and swirls it around in her hand.

“I might be wrong but I think you should try to find out who made it, especially because of the red jasper. This came real close to a fake. And you should also try to date it as well...there might be more of these out there.” You smile when Lydia agrees and collects the folders on the table, thanking you on her way out.

“My pleasure...apart from that last bit.” You laugh it off and watch as she exits the conference room with Henry.

“So…” You turn to Marcus and whisper a quick thank you when he hands you your bag.

“So, this definitely wasn’t what I had in mind when I asked you to consult on this case. I- I can’t begin to tell you how sorry I am that this happened. It’s not always like this, I promise. The exciting stuff usually happens when we find guys like him in abandoned warehouses.” Marcus continues to word vomit as he leads you back to his office.

“It’s okay really. My advisor always warned me about this.”

“About working with the FBI?”

“No no, about rambling so much that I piss off someone to the point where they try to kill me.” You’re taken aback by Marcus’ laugh and can’t help but giggle along with him as he leans back in his chair and continues to laugh.

“I hope that doesn’t mean you won’t work with us again?” There’s something in his voice that doesn’t ease the butterflies in your stomach and you place your hand on your chest dramatically as you bat your eyes at him.

“Why Agent Pike, are you trying to recruit me to the FBI?” You ask sarcastically and watch as he shrugs his shoulders before shutting off his computer and standing up.

“Just a consult here and there, should we meet another Greco-Roman artifact? Or...a fake one I guess.” You swallow the lump in your throat when you see the way he’s looking at you and hope that you’re not misreading any signs.

“Can I take you out to dinner? As a thank you and an apology for putting your life in danger?” Marcus is reluctant to ask but he takes the leap of faith and hopes that you wouldn’t reject him.

“I- actually...in all honesty, I don’t think I’ll do well in public after that whole thing.” You gesture towards the outside offices, and Marcus nods in disappointment and contemplates on whether he should ask you to dinner some other time. You never give him a chance to follow-up though.

“How about take-out at my place?” You stand up and smile when you see his eyes beam with excitement as he fixes his tie and motions towards the door.

“Lead the way doctor.” You flush under the title and walk ahead so he doesn’t notice the obvious effect he’s having on you. You glance at Marcus every now and then as you make your way out of the building and towards his car.

You chat about random things as he drives through the busy streets, and you feel your heart skip a beat when he says something scandalous about your favorite Impressionist artwork, not because of the comment but because of the way he winks at you as he slides his hand to your thighs and nudges them to let you know he was just joking. You hope that Marcus asks for your number by the end of the night, maybe even invite you to dinner again, because if you’re being honest, it’s been a while since you met a decent guy and he’s been checking all of your boxes all day long.

Kind. Intelligent. Hard-working. Funny. And of course, attractive. There was something about the way he smiles and you kept on replaying the moment he hid you behind him and continued to ask if you were alright.

“What do you mean you don’t like Bal du moulin de la Galette? It’s one of the most magnificent paintings out there. Best of Renoir’s if you ask me.” You unlock the door and switch on the lights, throwing your coat and bag on the wall before telling Marcus to make himself at him. He takes his jacket off and hangs it as well, turning around to continue his argument.

“Listen, I’m just not a crowd kind of guy. I’m more of a Paris Street, Rainy Day man okay so-”

“Why am I not surprised by that?” You laugh as you bring him a cup of water, hoping you were being subtle as you continued to check out the gun resting in his holster. Shaking your head, you take your phone out again and tell him that it’ll take you a few minutes to order pizza since neither of you can make up your mind.

Marcus looks around when you walk away to place the order, his eyes taking in the three bookshelves behind your couch. It’s almost as if the office space wasn’t enough so you had to make more room for all of your textbooks and novels. Maybe it was the other way around…

He takes a sip of water and glances to the side, instantly choking on the liquid when his eyes zero in on the three watercolor paintings hanging above your television. Marcus blinks rapidly and rubs his eyes to make sure that he wasn’t seeing things. He approaches the wall and looks between the three artworks, unable to tear his gaze away. He notices new details every time he focuses on a different corner of each painting, and his pants suddenly feel uncomfortable when he shifts closer.

“Pizza will be here in thirty-ish minutes and-” You almost drop the phone when Marcus jumps back and almost trips over his own feet. “Sorry I didn’t mean to scare you.” When you walk closer and see the blush creeping down his neck, you can’t help but giggle and glance at your paintings, almost as if you were taunting him into commenting on your choice in decoration.

“These are...interesting.” Marcus avoids looking at them when you stand next to him, merely pointing to the side as he looks at you.

“Oh no...here we go. I know what that means. You don’t like them?” You tilt your head to the side and hold back from smiling when he takes a long sip of water before he sets down the glass.

“N-no no, that’s not...I didn’t mean- I just...it’s a bold choice.” His stutter makes you laugh even harder and you apologize when his blush deepens. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to laugh. It’s always really funny when people come over because I get all kinds of reactions but you’re definitely the first guy that doesn’t call me a slut because I have pornographic paintings hanging in my living room.”

“Why not? The Dutch lords and the Italian merchants did it, why can’t you?” Marcus is almost offended by the remark and he forgets all about the awkwardness of the paintings when he sees you nod aggressively in agreement.

“Exactly!? Why is a guy allowed to hang an Odalisque in his home but I can’t hang some BDSM scenes?” You take the glass from the table and ask him if he wants more. Marcus shakes his head and quickly attempts to fix himself through his pants before you return.

“So you like them then?” You lounge on one chair and wait for Marcus to sit on the couch before you ask him.

“It’s a different aesthetic I think, and it somehow goes well with your bookshelves. Something about textbooks and nude paintings depicting sex just goes together...can’t explain how. And kudos to the artist too! The brushstrokes, the layering, the complementary colors...the scenes and positions are so natural. They’re perfect combinations. Did you pick them or did you commission them?”

“Oh I commissioned two of them. The third was just too good to not order. I’ll ask you this then, which ones do you think I commissioned?” Marcus glances to the canvases again and grows quiet for a few moments, his eyes switching from one painting to another before he meets your gaze.

“I think you commissioned the two on the left.”

“Why?” You try to hide how impressed you are by how he correctly figured you out, almost cringing when the question leaves your mouth before you could stop yourself. As much as you enjoy where this conversation was going, you really hope this wouldn’t lead to some misogynistic response on his part. Just as Marcus is about to respond, the doorbell rings and you tell him you’ll be right back.

Marcus thanks the heavens that the pizza arrives because he isn’t sure how he could respond to that question without accidentally giving his train of thoughts away. When you come back with plates and napkins, Marcus thanks you and proceeds to separate the pizza slices.

“It was the closest I could get to owning something that resembled the area I study.” You say through chewing and Marcus furrows his eyebrows, silently asking you to elaborate on your comment.

“Nudity I mean. I can’t afford sculptures so I settled with these.”

“They are beautiful. And the positions are-” Marcus stops abruptly when he realizes that his inner monologue just rolled off of his tongue.

“Go on, what were you going to say?”

“I- uh, I just think that the positions are intimate. And they become more intimate the longer you look at them.” He chews faster when you nod and take another slice of pizza.

“You have a favorite?” You ask and pretend you aren’t paying attention to every single word he says. You get the sense that he has a lot to say about the paintings but is choosing to hold back so you don’t get the wrong idea about why he is having dinner with you in your apartment after only knowing you for a few hours.

“Definitely the middle one.” His answer surprises you, especially because the one on the right has handcuffs and you genuinely thought he’d be into that because of his line of work.

“Really? Why?”

“Oh...I- this might sound weird but I think the scene is intense and- and close? Private? I’m not sure what it is I’m trying to say but the fact that she’s completely nude except for the panties around her thighs while he’s fully clothed and is focusing on her pleasure is- it’s intimate. And the hand on her back is a mixture of dominance and care, like he’s letting her know that she has his undivided attention but she has to behave for him.” You’re not sure when exactly you stopped eating and you clear your throat when you realize that Marcus was looking at you to gauge your reaction.

“Y-yeah that...ahuh.” Something about the way he says the word ‘behave’ twists your insides and you immediately stand up and head to the kitchen, whispering something about needing to wash down the food with something. Marcus eats quietly and hopes he hasn’t just made things even more awkward. When you come back and hand him a glass of red wine, Marcus relaxes and continues to eat.

“Have you ever drawn something like this?” You shake your head as you take a sip of the wine, laying against the back of the couch and crossing your legs.

“I wish. Human anatomy is so fascinating I think. I sometimes get this adrenaline rush when I look at the far right one and I tell myself that I’ll sketch all the risque and open positions I can think of but then I remember how long it would take me to finish one piece and I- I don’t have time for that sadly.”

“You can always start out with simpler ones? Maybe solo pieces, and move up from there.” Marcus mirrors you and sits back with the wine glass in his hand.

“Yeah, but I just love this kind of genre so much. It needs to be passionate, and sexy and out there you know.” Marcus smiles at the energetic response, feeling much more relaxed now that he’s had a cup of wine and found chatting about your choice in decoration less awkward.

“I get you. It’s why that lifestyle is interesting to so many people. The whole dynamic, whether we’re talking about the figures in the scene or actual partners, is based on that trust. You- you have to create that sense of trust and comfort for the scene to be enjoyable...pleasurable. It’s not as easy as some think it to be. As a Dom, you have to be aware of your partner at all times and the effect you have on them. And the same goes for a Sub too. You need to ensure that your Dom knows how much trust you put in them and the level of dedication that’s going into the scene. Both parties are depending on each other and it’s- it’s amazing.” Marcus smiles when he notices the intensity swimming in your eyes and he gives you a few seconds to collect your bearings before he asks his next question.

“Would you draw something as intimate as that?” He breaks the silence and watches your train of thought come and go.

“Would you?” You throw the question right back at him, holding in a breath when you see him lean forward with a dangerous glint in his eyes.

“I would...but only if I have the right model.” Marcus doesn’t know where all of this is coming from but he can’t find it in himself to break whatever bubble the two of you found yourselves in. You’re silent for a few moments, long enough for Marcus to think that maybe, just maybe, he’s crossed the line.

But then you’re smiling at him mischievously, chugging down the rest of the wine before standing up and heading towards the hallway.

“I have an easel and some 16x20 papers lying around...I hope you don’t mind working with chalk.” You throw back at him before you walk down the hallway and Marcus has to give himself a quick pep talk before he follows you. He slowly makes his way into your bedroom and stands at the doorstep until you allow him to come in.

“I think the lighting is best in this corner but you’ll be the one working so sit wherever you prefer.” You bring over a chair and set it in front of the easel before you grab the large box of supplies and pull out all the chalk sticks that you have. Marcus nods in silence as he pushes the easel closer to your bed and begins to choose which of the chalk sticks he wants. There is a variety of shapes and sizes, and he’s not sure if he should start out bold or if he should ease himself into this. It’s been a while since he’s drawn a model and he really doesn’t want to screw up, especially because it is you.

Marcus is so busy preparing his workstation that he doesn’t notice you stripping off your clothes. You keep your eyes on him and find the little scrunch he does with his eyebrows when he focuses on something endearing. Taking a deep breath, you take off your bra and panties before laying on the bed and getting in a comfortable position. Your movements are minimal, and you stretch out your legs in wait for him. You fight the part of you that’s yelling at you to cover yourself and keep your focus on him to gauge his reaction.

“Pose however you want and we can work on the postures once we-” The words die in his throat as soon as he looks up from the easel and sees your state of dress, or lack thereof. The thick chalk stick he’s holding between his fingers snaps in half and breaks the blanket of silence that fell on the room. He visibly gulps and doesn’t try to hide the way his eyes trail down your form slowly before they return to look into your dilated ones. Marcus knows for a fact that the image of your heaving chest and hardened nipples will forever be etched in his mind.

“I- uhh, are you...c-comfortable?” He hates how much he’s stuttering and you smile at him when you notice how he is focusing on the wall behind you and not you.

You look around for a few moments, grabbing a couple of pillows and placing them behind your back before you stretch out one leg and bend the other one to your chest. Marcus almost chokes on his breath when he sees how open you are being with him but he says nothing and turns his attention to the blank piece of paper underneath his hand.

“I’m ready.” Your voice brings him out of his stupor and he nods briefly as he tries to reason with himself. He cannot draw you unless he looks at you. But he is well aware of the hardening predicament he’s currently suffering from and he’s sure you probably noticed by now the effect you were having on him.

“I won’t tell you how to do your job Agent, but artists usually have to look at the models they’re drawing to...you know, draw them.” Marcus rolls his eyes at the teasing remark, briefly glancing at you with a raised eyebrow before he begins to softly outline the shape of your shoulders. His cock twitches in his pants and he tries his hardest to not squirm too much in his seat. But every time his eyes move towards your nude form laying not five feet away from him, he silently curses himself and pretends he’s fine and that he isn’t imagining pushing you down and shoving his tongue deep into your wet cunt.

“Are you usually this quiet when you’re sketching, Agent Pike?” Something about the way you’re addressing him makes him clench his jaw tightly and he unintentionally whispers a little louder than he intends in response.

“Jesus fucking Christ.”

Your giggles let him know that you heard his remark and he is sure his face is growing a deeper shade of red but he shrugs his shoulders and ignores your obvious amusement. Marcus swallows the lump in his throat as he shifts his focus below your neck, parting his lips when he notices the tilt of your head from his peripheral vision as he ceases all movement and continues to stare at your chest.

“Oh sorry, is my arm in the way,” you lower your arms and move them behind you to support your weight, never breaking eye contact with him as you rock your bent leg back and forth and give him a full view of your most intimate parts.

Marcus is almost shaking in his seat at the sight of your breasts, unaware that he’s harshly rubbing the chalk stick with his thumb the more your leg sways to the side and reveals the outer folds of your pussy.

“P-perfect, thank you.” He whispers and returns to the sheet in front of him, biting into his lower lip as he rolls the chalk across and sketches the curves of your breasts. For a moment, he forgets what he is doing and narrows his eyes at the shapes in front of him before he smudges the black material across to shade in the skin. He looks back and forth for a couple of minutes until he’s happy with the shading of your body.

You marvel at how he’s managing to keep it together for this long when all you can think about is begging for him to fuck you into the mattress. You thought it would be easy for him to break but ever the gentleman, he takes the task seriously and tries his hardest to not dwell on your skin for longer than necessary.

A thought comes through your mind and you smile to yourself as you shift your bent leg to the side and move the other one until it falls from the side of the bed. You stare at him and hope this is what finally does the trick. And you don’t have to wait for too long because the next time Marcus looks at you, he takes a double-take and doesn’t bother to hide how he’s only focusing on the skin between your thighs.

“I thought it would be easier for you, you know. Easier access and everything.” You’re not sure what you’re going on about but you can tell that it’s taking every ounce of control in his body to not pounce on you. You hold your breath when Marcus stands up and meets your eyes, and you think this is it. This is the moment you’ve been waiting for.

But then he’s freeing the paper from the easel and moving towards you, his expression never once giving his plan away. You gulp when he kneels at the foot of your bed and sets the paper between your thighs.

“You’re right, easier access,” Marcus says as he brings the chalk down on the paper and sketches your thighs, not bothering for propriety as his eyes zero in on your slit. You know you’re wet and you can feel slick easing down your folds but you don’t move a muscle, watching him as he expertly outlines your skin before he rubs the chalk with his thumb to shade the area again.

“It’s not quite how I want it…” His remark makes you shiver and you’re about to beg him to forgo the sketch when he leans forward and nudges your legs apart, perhaps a little carelessly, before he collects your arousal with his middle finger and swipes it across your folds. You’re shocked by the turn of events and barely hold back from moaning as he dips the clean finger into your pussy and rubs your walls for a few more seconds, his soft brown eyes turning dangerous as pushes his finger a little deeper and bites his lower lip when he feels you clenching around him. Marcus turns his attention back to you, his jaw tensing when he sees sheer bliss etched on your expression. Your little gasps are music to his ears and just as he feels your hips moving against him, he pulls his hand away.

You watch him like a hawk as he inspects his finger, gasping when he smudges at the chalk on the sketch to create darker shades around your center.

“Hmm, that’s more like it.” Marcus turns to you and smirks when he sees your parted lips turn into a frown.

“Do you not like it?” He feigns ignorance and raises an eyebrow when your frown deepens as you move back into your pillows. You lean back but continue to hold his gaze as you part your thighs and lazily stroke your cunt. Marcus slowly puts down the paper and chalk onto the floor and stands up just as you begin to pinch your nipples.

“Please…” Your whispered plea shoots straight to his cock and he laughs when it turns into a whine once he makes his way to the bathroom in your room. He says nothing as he quickly washes his hands and dries them before moving back and standing next to your bed.

You don’t stop touching yourself, hoping the needy sight of you is all the push he needs to take what he wants.

“What’s your safeword doctor?” Marcus keeps his hands in his pockets as he trails his eyes down your shivering body. He’s itching to touch you but he remains still and waits for confirmation that you do, in fact, want this as much as him. A part of him knows that the two of you should probably slow down and perhaps discuss whatever this is before you go any further. But it feels right being here with you. And he doesn’t want to give it up just yet.

“J-Jasper.” Your voice breaks when you see the hunger swimming in his eyes and you shift to the center of your bed as Marcus kicks off his shoes before taking off his socks.

“Hmm.” Marcus hums as he takes off the holster from his belt and quietly places the gun on your nightstand. When he turns back and sees you watching the gun and increasing your movements, he groans down at you before walking around the bed.

“Maybe another time baby...when you and I are a little more acquainted with each other.” You flush at the implications behind his words and nod at him. You watch as he begins to roll up his sleeves and your anticipation grows with each inch of skin he reveals.

“You look so pretty sweetheart, all needy and desperate for my touch. Do you want to cum baby?” Marcus asks teasingly and you nod frantically as you begin to push two fingers into your cunt.

“Nuh uh, use your words. I’ll let it go this time but from now on, you use your words if you want something from me.” His tone is less gentle and your inner walls spasm at the thought of hearing that same commanding voice telling you to get on your knees for him.

“S-sorry yes...yes please. I- I want to cum, please.” Marcus smiles in amusement as he steps closer to the bed until his knees touch the mattress.

“Good girl. Now, if you really want to cum, then you better come here and suck me off. Be a good girl for me and show me what that sweet fucking mouth of yours can do.” His chest puffs out proudly when he sees how quickly you’re moving to please him. You lay on your stomach and palm him through his pants, moaning along with him when you find him hard and ready for you.

“May I undress you?”

“Go on sweetheart, take what you want.” Marcus caresses your cheek as you excitedly unbuckle his belt and unzip his pants. He doesn’t dare look away as you shove his pants down his thighs before leaning forward and nuzzling your nose into the bulge of his boxer briefs.

“Fuck baby, are you trying to kill me?” You giggle and shake your head in response, purposely rubbing his length with your nose just before you feel his fingers combing through your hair and tugging on it.

“Remember sweetheart...bad girls don’t get to cum. Stop your teasing before I shove my cock down your throat.” Marcus pulls on your hair harshly and groans when he sees you smiling up at him.

“Is that a promise Agent Pike?” You know you’re pushing his buttons and don’t hold back from gasping his name as he rolls you onto your back and aggressively pushes his boxer briefs down far enough to free his cock. He’s not really a vain man but seeing you lick your lips and inch closer to him as you stare at his hard dick makes him just a little cocky.

“Go on baby, open your mouth. Part those pretty fucking lips for me.” Marcus pats your lips softly and shivers when you respond to him right before you shut your eyes and wait for him to give you his cock.

“Yes sir.”

His knees buckle for a second the moment you take his tip into your mouth and suck on it. Marcus is torn between throwing his head back to enjoy the softness of your mouth and keeping his eyes on you as you suck on his cock. He leans forward and bites his cheek when you relax your throat and take more of his cock down your throat.

“P-part your legs for me baby please. Let me- oh fuck, your mouth is made of magic sweetheart. Let me- let me see how wet that pretty cunt is.” Marcus is already breathing heavily and he furrows his eyebrows in focus, not wanting to end this night early. You swallow around him a few times and hum when you feel his hand cupping your breasts while the other rests around your throat.

Taking a deep breath through your nose, you try to take him down as deep as possible just as you part your thighs and begin to play with your pussy. Marcus groans and swears above you as you work him expertly and he can’t hold back from pushing the palm of his hand a little harder on your throat. He can feel his cock passing across your pharynx and moans your name over and over again when he looks down and sees drool rolling down your cheeks.

“Ahh fuck oh god, s-sweetheart you’re a fucking dream. W-where have you been all my life?” Marcus continues to kneed at your tits, but when he gets a little irritated when he sees your fingers rubbing your clit. Without warning, he leans forward as far as he can and slaps your hand away, replacing it with his own and biting his cheek when he finds you soaking.

“Shit baby, you’re so wet. Is this all for me?” You hum around him and twitch in surprise when you feel two of his thick fingers pushing past your wet folds and into your cunt. You’re already so close to coming from his teasing and you whimper when he nudges your thighs apart aggressively.

“Keep those legs open for me baby. Shit, the smell of you is fucking intoxicating. Fuck, that it’s, get on your hands and knees for me.” Marcus moves away and silences you with one look when you start to whine and reach for his cock.

“Unless you want to call it a night, you’ll get on your fucking hands and knees for me. Shit baby I’ve wanted to shove my tongue in that pussy as soon as you stripped for me.” He never breaks eye contact as he kicks away his pants and briefs before he makes quick work of his shirt. You quickly turn around and bite into your wrist as you get on all fours and try to look at him through your elbow. You reach down and ease two fingers into your cunt as you take in his broad shoulders and lean form. You swear his muscles flex the longer you stare at him and when you finally look at him, you’re a little embarrassed at being caught openly ogling him.

“Look at you, like a bitch in heat.” Regret rolls off of him as soon as he registers what he just said. An apology is on the tip of his tongue but then you’re arching your back and shifting closer to him, giving him a show as you curve your knuckles to try and hit that sweet spot inside of you.

“Oh aren’t you the prettiest sweetheart in the world.” You moan his name when he caresses your back and kneels behind you, laying soft kisses across your back as he palms and lightly smacks your ass. Marcus removes your hand away slowly but not before licking your fingers and humming around them as the taste of you fills his mouth.

“Marcus please...I- I need you inside me.”

“What do you need from me? You want my tongue and fingers? Or do you think this cunt is ready to take my cock?” Marcus nips at your skin and pushes a hand on your lower back when you try and move away from him.

“W-whatever you want...just- need to feel you inside me. I don’t care, please. Oh fuck...please.” You squeal when Marcus spreads your cheeks apart and spits on your slit right before licking across your cunt. You fist your hands into the sheets and bite down on your wrist when you feel his nose nudge at your entrance as his tongue flicks your engorged clit.

“Good answer sweetheart,” you hear him whisper just as he kisses across your folds and dips his tongue into your core. You’re already shaking with need and rock back against him, hoping he’d end your agony and give you his fingers as well. Marcus is losing his mind and he tries his hardest to focus on pleasuring you. But it’s so hard to hold back when you’re whimpering at his touch and shoving your pussy in his face to get more friction.

“Stop moving,” Marcus growls against you, and you cry out his name when his palms land on your ass cheeks three consecutive times before he rubs the reddening skin.

“Oh god, your tongue feels so good Marcus. D-don’t stop, please. I want to cum, l-let me cum. You’re so fucking- ahh s-shit.” You think you feel him smile against you as he pushes two fingers into your pussy but you can’t be sure because you suddenly feel full. Fuck, and it’s only his fingers.

“Jesus Christ sweetheart, you’re so fucking tight. Can’t wait to feel you around my cock.” He slowly parts you with his fingers and groans when he feels you squeezing his fingers. When you try to move against him again, Marcus slithers his hand across your back and grabs your neck, pushing your face into the bed as he leans over to whisper in your ears.

“You’re being such a bad girl tonight. I won’t give you another warning baby. Move again and I won’t fuck you.” You shiver when you hear his hoarse voice on your ears, grasping the pillows as hard as you can when he pushes his fingers as deep as possible and curls his knuckles.

“N-no please...I’m s-sorry- ahh gahd I’ll stop. I’ll stop.” Marcus is pleased with the effect he’s clearly having on you and almost gives in. But he wants you to cum before he takes you. From the looks of it, you aren’t looking for anything gentle, and with how hard he is, has been for the entire day, he doesn’t have the self-control to be anything but rough.

“Good girl...sweet fucking girl.” You force yourself to remain immobile as you feel him reaching deeper and applying more pressure on your spongy walls. The hand on your neck moves to your back and massages your heated skin. It takes you a while to realize that he’s reenacting the paintings in your living room and the thought shakes you to your core. Before you can even warn him, you feel a familiar pressure growing in the depths of your stomach and your heart hammers in your chest as you lose yourself to the sudden swelling sensation. You gasp his name over and over again as you cum around his fingers, and Marcus fists his hand in your hair when he feels you shuddering beneath him.

He’s shocked at how quickly you unravel at his ministrations and he doesn’t look away as he brushes his thumb against your clit and watches your body fight to not move away from him.

“M-Marcus wait- I...too much.” You can barely form a coherent sentence, let alone a thought, and you bite into the sheets when you feel his scruff scratch your skin deliciously as he licks off your juices.

“Use your safeword sweetheart and I’ll stop. But you came without asking so now I have to punish you...fuck, you taste as good as you smell baby, shit, maybe even better.” Marcus slows down but continues to move his digits across your tightening walls and when you say nothing, he sits up and twists his hand, waiting for your breathing to slow down before he begins to fuck you with his fingers.

“Oh oh f-fuck I- Marcus M-Marcus oh god...yes please fuck ahh I- I’m…” You try to warn him but he doesn’t slow down once, continuing his assault on your abused cunt until he feels you tightening around him again.

“Beg!”

“Can I- oh god, can I cum? Please fuck, I- I can’t s-stah ahh fuck.” You reach around and dig your nails into the hand fisting in your hair. You try to warn him again of what’s about to happen but he doesn’t give you a chance, picking up the pace just as he curves his digits and rubs at your sensitive spot.

“Drench me baby.” It’s all you need to fall over the edge again and your vision whites out as you convulse around him. Marcus smiles proudly when you listen to his command but his expression changes to one of awe when he feels you gush around his hand and wet his arm and thighs. He doesn’t stop once, completely captivated by the sight of your juices flowing around him so easily. When you try to move up the bed, Marcus lets go of your neck and pushes down on your lower back to keep you still. The damp spot beneath you is growing and something primal takes over Marcus. He wants nothing more than to soak the entire bed.

But he snaps out of his haze when you cry out his name and beg him to slow down. He looks at you as he gradually comes to a halt but keeps his fingers in your pussy. Marcus massages your muscles as he eases his wet fingers out of you and carefully maneuvers you until you’re laying on your back. You hiss at the sudden feeling of emptiness and almost jump away when you feel his tongue passing across the skin of your thighs. When you finally have enough mind to look at him, you’re taken aback by the sheer bliss written on his face as he closes his eyes and cleans you up. Your eyes widen in horror and embarrassment when you look at his glistening skin and you call for him shyly to grab his attention.

“I-I’m so sorry...I- I’ve never-”

“Don’t you dare apologize. That was the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen and the fact that I’m the first to make you squirt...best feedback I’ve ever gotten.” Marcus cuts you off as he licks at his forearm and fingers before he sits up behind you. You find his gaze much more intense than before and you hide behind your arm to avoid it.

“Marcus, stop.” He laughs at your sudden shyness and leans over to pull your arms away from your face.

“Please baby, don’t hide from me. Please.” You feel exposed underneath him and it’s a stupid thought considering what the two of you have been doing so far. But something about the way he’s staring at you with those deep, brown, soulful eyes makes you want to hide under the sheets. But instead, you take his hand and pull him close until he’s flush against you.

“K-kiss me.” You watch as his expression intensifies just as he leans forward and molds his lips with yours. You expected him to be rough but the way he parts his lips and allows you access to his mouth leaves you breathless. His scruff and mustache heighten the sensation and you instantly shove your tongue in his mouth when he melts against you. You hum when you finally taste yourself on his tongue and Marcus growls as the kiss grows more desperate. Just as you run out of breath, Marcus pulls away and holds back from smiling when you chase after him.

“Sweetheart, c-can I have you?” You’re amazed by how he’s still asking you if you want to do this even after the events of the past hour or so.

“Yes, please.” You respond as you push him off to resume your previous position again. Marcus feels his cock harden at the sight of you on your knees for him. But the moment shatters into a million pieces when he looks down and realizes that he doesn’t have any condoms.

“Fuck.” He hisses and begins to move away when he feels your hands reach for his thighs to stop him.

“What? What is it?”

“I- I didn’t think this would...I don’t have any condoms baby.” You stare at him for a few seconds before you break the silence and hope he doesn’t think any less of you. “I was tested after the last time and I’m clear. A-are you?” Marcus pins you with his eyes as he nods along. “I’m clean too...and, it’s been a while.” He hates to admit that last bit but he wants you to know that this, whatever it is, is serious.

“Same.” Your answer surprises him and he’s about to ask how that’s possible but forgets the question when you shift closer to him and dig your nails into his thighs to grab his attention.

“Fuck me.” The vulgar request sounds so pure rolling off of your tongue and Marcus pushes your knees wide open and settles between them. You continue to stare at him with hunger in your eyes as he strokes his cock a few times before he slides it across your wet slit. You’re already so sensitive from earlier but you can’t care less because you’ve only wanted to feel him inside you for the better half of the day. Marcus bites his lower lip and grasps your hips with one hand as he positions himself against your entrance and slowly pushes past your wet folds. He feels your walls already clenching around him and he hesitates for a moment as he moves his hands across your back to try and get you to loosen up.

“F-fuck...relax sweetheart. Relax for me please. I- I don’t- oh god, h-how are you this tight?” Your walls flutter around him when his hoarse, almost pained voice sounds through the room. “You’re doing so good baby, taking my cock in that pretty little cunt. Fuck, that’s it. Let me in sweetheart...could make you feel so good. Shit, that’s it.” Marcus cooes above you as he feels you slowly sucking him in. You sigh heavily when he finally sheathes himself completely inside you and it’s not until a few moments later that you realize he hasn’t moved a muscle.

“Marcus, m-move. Fuck, just- move.” Your impatient groans make him twitch inside you and the two of you hiss when his hips jut forward at your gasped requests. His hands hold onto you a little harshly, squeezing the skin of your hips and making you giddy at the thought of seeing those bruises the following day.

“Just wait...please baby I- I don’t want to hurt you. You feel so fucking good around me and- and I...oh fuck, f-fuck...squeezing the shit out of me. Please I-”

“Fuck. Me.” You turn your head around enough to look at him and find the sight of his sweaty forehead and furrowed eyebrows intoxicating. He can sense your eyes on him and reluctantly looks down at you when you pronounce those two words, watching as you pierce him with a harsh gaze as you roll your hips against him.

“I- are you…”

“Fucking please...take what you want.” The desperate tone of your voice breaks him and he pulls away until the tip of his cock is nudged in between your folds before he snaps his hips forward aggressively.

You shut your eyes and cry into your pillows as Marcus lets go and pounds into you. He’s no longer trying to hold back and you feel proud of the effect you have on him. Thinking back to the past hour, you realize that Marcus was going out of his way to control himself and not hurt you. But with every brush of his cock against your inner walls, with every groaned swear word and whispered affirmation, you can’t help but beg for him to fuck you harder. To take you like a crazed man. Because now that you’ve had a taste of what he’s capable of, you don’t want him to ease up on you.

“Shit baby, you’re perfect. Fucking perfect. Your cunt is begging for my cock sweetheart. Can you feel how deep I am? How deep this tight pussy is sucking me in?” Marcus nudges your knees a little farther apart as he plunges into you over and over again. You’re a moaning mess beneath him and as you try to reach back to hold onto his hands, Marcus lets go of your hips and grabs your wrists, using them as leverage to fuck you deeper.

You scream his name as his thrusts become relentless, the resonating sound of skin against skin reminding you of how sore you were going to feel for the rest of the week. You can’t really pay attention to what he’s saying anymore, choosing to focus on the way his dick fills you up completely and hits your special spot with precision. The thought of knowing that you’re at this man’s mercy and that he’s using you like he owns you makes you shudder and Marcus doesn’t realize you’re coming around him until he feels a pressure push out of you. He looks down and watches your cunt gushes on his cock and thighs again, the sight somehow even prettier the second time than the first.

He waits until you’re no longer convulsing in his arms before he thrusts his cock back into your pussy. Marcus leans down and wraps his arms around your front to bring you flush against his chest. Marcus brushes your hair aside and nuzzles into your neck as he begins to roll his hips against your ass, trying to drive his cock into you even further without hurting you. You reach around and pull on his hair when he bites on the juncture of your neck.

“You’re amazing, sweetheart.” The confession feels more intimate than anything he’s said to you thus far and you throw your head back and smile when his hands roam your front and settle on your navel.

“Marcus...please.”

“What do you need, baby? I’ll give you anything. Tell me...oh god, I- I’m so close.” Marcus kisses across your shoulder as one hand cups your breasts while the other descends to your clit. He feels you convulse around him but he doesn’t move his hand away, wanting to feel you cum one last time around his cock.

“I- I need you to cum for me...cum inside me. Fill me up baby...wanna feel you so deep inside me. Make a mess of my cunt. Please.”

“C-can you give me another?” He’s breathless, his pace faltering when he feels your walls squeeze around him tightly with every pass of his cock against your heated core.

‘I- I don’t think I can...too much baby.”

“Please, for me. Cum for me o-one last time...oh god, I’m close sweetheart. B-but I wanna cum with you. Please oh fuck- oh god, I- I’m fucking coming.” He growls into the crook of your neck as he rubs at your clit harshly, crying your name like a prayer as he feels you milk him dry. His thrusts are desperate and you pull on his hair harder than you intend when you feel his cum fill you up. Marcus can barely breathe as he shoots his seed deep in your pussy and feels you pulse around him. He continues to buck against you, the caveman mindset telling him to breed you and fill you up until you can’t take it anymore.

He stays motionless for a few minutes before he finally registers that you probably need to rest. As carefully as possible, Marcus pulls out and cradles your body against him as he lays you on your back. He looks down at you and smiles when he sees the mess he’s made between your thighs. He tries to get off the bed to bring you a cup of water and grab a wet towel when you reach out and pull him by his wrist.

“I need to clean you up sweetheart.” He tries to reason with you but you shake your head and pull harder on his hand so he could sit next to you.

“No just- come here. I need you. Please.” Marcus doesn’t have to be told twice. He lays down next to you and kisses your forehead when you cuddle into his arms. He draws circles on your shoulder and back when he feels your fingers play with his chest hair.

“Are you alright baby?” Marcus asks and pulls his head back when you hum a soft ‘yes.’ He searches your expression for any sign of discomfort, and when he finds none, he rests his head back again and lets you explore his skin.

“Hmm...did you know that hair was used in some ancient spells to ensure that the desired outcome occurred?” You break the silence after a while and Marcus furrows his eyebrows at you when you look up from his chest and meet his face.

“Uhh should I be worried Y/N?” He asks almost immediately and laughs when you panic and try to retract what you just said.

“Oh god sorry that- I didn’t mean...Jesus, I still need to work on my bedside manner.”

“I was kidding sweetheart. I actually enjoy listening to people talking about their interests, it’s a little calming. And no, I didn’t know that. What kind of spells are we talking about here?” You’re surprised by his response but say nothing and continue to follow the soft trail of hairs down his chest.

“Well, there are lots of curses that didn’t need hair but it was better if they were added...for efficacy and such. But the most common spells that required little curls like these were love spells, which technically are also curses but it sounds better when you say that it’s just a spell.”

“Are you trying to tell me something doctor?” Marcus can’t help but tease you again and he snorts when you sit up on your elbow and try to justify what you just said. He pulls you back into his arms and brushes your hair aside to take a better look at you.

“Oh no no, I just- I tend to think about this stuff at random times. Sorry. I swear I’m too much of a wimp to actually try anything. You never know if the desired outcome has any side effects...”

“No need to apologize baby. Besides, I don’t think you’ll ever need love magic with me.” The admission is out before he can stop himself and he cringes at himself, hoping that you don’t misunderstand him.

“Oh yeah, and why is that Agent Pike?” The hint of amusement in your tone lets him know that you didn’t mind teasing him back and he blinks a few times at the ceiling before he turns to gaze into your eyes.

“Well, you’re doing fine on your own being this amazing human being. You’re mesmerizing when you’re lecturing, you’re confident in your skills and knowledge, your intelligence is- I’m sure I’ve only scratched the surface with the case today. And you’re the prettiest little thing I’ve ever seen...we could work a bit on your art choices but-”

“Hey!” You slap his shoulder and try to slither away from him but he’s too quick and wraps his arms around you before you can get off the bed.

“I’m kidding, I'm kidding...your art choices are the cherry on top.” Marcus nudges your nose with his and leans down to kiss you. He smiles when you moan beneath him. But the kiss is cut short when you push him away suddenly and narrow your eyes at him.

“You never told me how you knew which ones I commissioned.”

“Ugh no please, you’re going to think I’m a pervert.” Marcus falls back on the bed and tries to hide behind his arms.

“Oh yeah?” You slowly trail your hand down his stomach and wrap it around his cock. It’s all Marcus needs to lower his arm and look down to where you’re touching him. He shuts his eyes and lets his head fall back when you lean forward and nip at his jaw.

“B-baby fuck...oh god, please. I- I need a few more minutes and-”

“Tell me, please.” You cut him off with a bite to the shoulder, giggling when he thrusts up into your loose hold to get more friction.

“I- I was picturing the two of us...fuck, re-reenacting those scenes and those two jumped out more...more than the third.” He can barely speak through the haze you’ve put him in, and moans your name when you reach down and fondle his balls just as you whisper in his ears.

“How scandalous of you Agent Pike!”

“Sweetheart, please.” Marcus whines for you, the arm around your back pulling you flush to him and giving him perfect access to your breasts. He wraps his lips around one nipple and softly sucks on it as you continue to stroke his cock.

“Hmm, I like the sound of you begging...baby. Tell me, do you by any chance have your handcuffs on you?” The question catches him off guard, and he pulls away to look at you, finding a different kind of fire dancing behind your eyes.

“Fuck…I- uhh, they’re in the car. W-wait where are you going?” Marcus regrets his answer as soon as you let go of him and jump off of the bed. He watches as you run to the bathroom without answering him, only to return a few seconds later with bright red handcuffs clanking between your fingers.

“To get my own set Agent. Like you said, you and I need to get acquainted.” You unlock them as you walk back to the bed and straddle his thighs. Marcus looks at you with adoration and softly nods at you when you silently ask him if you could cuff him to the headboard of your bed.

“I’m yours sweetheart, take what you want.”

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