#many possible laws she’s breaking

[isthedogawolfdog]

Can we start a petition or something that vouches to shut SAF down.

[princesssarisa]

In the past I've shared other people's musings about the different interpretations of the myth of Orpheus and Eurydice. Namely, why Orpheus looks back at Eurydice, even though he knows it means he'll lose her forever. So many people seem to think they've found the one true explanation of the myth. But to me, the beauty of myths is that they have many possible meanings.

So I thought I would share a list of every interpretation I know, from every serious adaptation of the story and every analysis I've ever heard or read, of why Orpheus looks back.

One interpretation – advocated by Monteverdi's opera, for example – is that the backward glance represents excessive passion and a fatal lack of self-control. Orpheus loves Eurydice to such excess that he tries to defy the laws of nature by bringing her back from the dead, yet that very same passion dooms his quest fo fail, because he can't resist the temptation to look back at her.

He can also be seen as succumbing to that classic "tragic flaw" of hubris, excessive pride. Because his music and his love conquer the Underworld, it might be that he makes the mistake of thinking he's entirely above divine law, and fatally allows himself to break the one rule that Hades and Persephone set for him.

Then there are the versions where his flaw is his lack of faith, because he looks back out of doubt that Eurydice is really there. I think there are three possible interpretations of this scenario, which can each work alone or else co-exist with each other. From what I've read about Hadestown, it sounds as if it combines all three.

In one interpretation, he doubts Hades and Persephone's promise. Will they really give Eurydice back to him, or is it all a cruel trick? In this case, the message seems to be a warning to trust in the gods; if you doubt their blessings, you might lose them.

Another perspective is that he doubts Eurydice. Does she love him enough to follow him? In this case, the warning is that romantic love can't survive unless the lovers trust each other. I'm thinking of Moulin Rouge!, which is ostensibly based on the Orpheus myth, and which uses Christian's jealousy as its equivalent of Orpheus's fatal doubt and explicitly states "Where there is no trust, there is no love."

The third variation is that he doubts himself. Could his music really have the power to sway the Underworld? The message in this version would be that self-doubt can sabotage all our best efforts.

But all of the above interpretations revolve around the concept that Orpheus looks back because of a tragic flaw, which wasn't necessarily the view of Virgil, the earliest known recorder of the myth. Virgil wrote that Orpheus's backward glance was "A pardonable offense, if the spirits knew how to pardon."

In some versions, when the upper world comes into Orpheus's view, he thinks his journey is over. In this moment, he's so ecstatic and so eager to finally see Eurydice that he unthinkingly turns around an instant too soon, either just before he reaches the threshold or when he's already crossed it but Eurydice is still a few steps behind him. In this scenario, it isn't a personal flaw that makes him look back, but just a moment of passion-fueled carelessness, and the fact that it costs him Eurydice shows the pitilessness of the Underworld.

In other versions, concern for Eurydice makes him look back. Sometimes he looks back because the upward path is steep and rocky, and Eurydice is still limping from her snakebite, so he knows she must be struggling, in some versions he even hears her stumble, and he finally can't resist turning around to help her. Or more cruelly, in other versions – for example, in Gluck's opera – Eurydice doesn't know that Orpheus is forbidden to look back at her, and Orpheus is also forbidden to tell her. So she's distraught that her husband seems to be coldly ignoring her and begs him to look at her until he can't bear her anguish anymore.

These versions highlight the harshness of the Underworld's law, and Orpheus's failure to comply with it seems natural and even inevitable. The message here seems to be that death is pitiless and irreversible: a demigod hero might come close to conquering it, but through little or no fault of his own, he's bound to fail in the end.

Another interpretation I've read is that Orpheus's backward glance represents the nature of grief. We can't help but look back on our memories of our dead loved ones, even though it means feeling the pain of loss all over again.

Then there's the interpretation that Orpheus chooses his memory of Eurydice, represented by the backward glance, rather than a future with a living Eurydice. "The poet's choice," as Portrait of a Lady on Fire puts it. In this reading, Orpheus looks back because he realizes he would rather preserve his memory of their youthful, blissful love, just as it was when she died, than face a future of growing older, the difficulties of married life, and the possibility that their love will fade. That's the slightly more sympathetic version. In the version that makes Orpheus more egotistical, he prefers the idealized memory to the real woman because the memory is entirely his possession, in a way that a living wife with her own will could never be, and will never distract him from his music, but can only inspire it.

Then there are the modern feminist interpretations, also alluded to in Portrait of a Lady on Fire but seen in several female-authored adaptations of the myth too, where Eurydice provokes Orpheus into looking back because she wants to stay in the Underworld. The viewpoint kinder to Orpheus is that Eurydice also wants to preserve their love just as it was, youthful, passionate, and blissful, rather than subject it to the ravages of time and the hardships of life. The variation less sympathetic to Orpheus is that Euyridice was at peace in death, in some versions she drank from the river Lethe and doesn't even remember Orpheus, his attempt to take her back is selfish, and she prefers to be her own free woman than be bound to him forever and literally only live for his sake.

With that interpretation in mind, I'm surprised I've never read yet another variation. I can imagine a version where, as Orpheus walks up the path toward the living world, he realizes he's being selfish: Eurydice was happy and at peace in the Elysian Fields, she doesn't even remember him because she drank from Lethe, and she's only following him now because Hades and Persephone have forced her to do so. So he finally looks back out of selfless love, to let her go. Maybe I should write this retelling myself.

Are any of these interpretations – or any others – the "true" or "definitive" reason why Orpheus looks back? I don't think so at all. The fact that they all exist and can all ring true says something valuable about the nature of mythology.

[mountainsandmayhem]

BDSMaid - Chapter 5 Part Two

Series Summary: After recently graduating you take what is supposed to be a job to save money before you go back to university to get your law degree. Your best friend offers you a job cleaning luxury homes for clients you’ll never know. Easy. Simple. Mundane. Until one of your clients is home and everything you felt was missing in your life starts to fall into place. This goes against the NDA you signed and you could get fired. Or worse, you could fall in love.

Chapter Summary: You and Joel go to a Shibari class together; an innocent date, or is it?

TW: age gap (Joel 45/reader 22), reader does have some descriptors so more of an OC. Reader has longer hair and Joel can lift her. Mutual pining, kissing. Spoiler triggers below the cut in red.

WC: 8.2k

AN: Ok fiiiiiinnnneeeeee I couldn't wait any longer and I left you all on kind of a cliffhanger. As always, thank you to my lovely @lotusbxtch for reading and encouraging and helping me grow. Thanks @mermaidgirl30 , @littlevenicebitch69 and @joelmillerisapunk for being my lil cheerleaders. @for-a-longlongtime thanks for stoping me from working on that bull rider series LOL. Ok, enjoy this slowly because I haven't even STARTED chapter 6 yet, so I doubt it will be out until late October. Dividers and banners by the oh so talented @saradika-graphics

Masterlist || Series Masterlist

TW: complete sensory deprivation (tied down, blind folded and has hearing blocked), multiple orgasms, denial

Joel

Joel has tried to keep his distance since referring to tonight as a date. He left another large tip for your clean this week and then made sure he was as busy as possible to stop himself from going home to see you. As he coaxed you into drinking the orange juice and the water he kept hearing “it’s a date” over and over again in his mind, and he’d cringe internally. He wouldn’t have blamed you if you had leaped out of that bed and ran home. The thought of you wanting him in that way is ridiculous. Not only because he’s over twice your age, but you came to him for help with building self confidence and for an escape, and then he went and said something so fucking stupid. 

He shakes his head and pulls up his emails, trying to distract himself for what feels like the one hundredth time. Of course he wants to date you, he’d be crazy not to, but he can’t blur those lines. Furthermore, even if there was the slightest chance that you felt the same way he can’t risk breaking your heart the way he’s broken so many others.

She’s going to break yours, old man. Not the other way around.

Wednesday has been absolutely crawling. Time almost mocking him with how slow it’s ticking by. As he goes over the list of tonight's guests, Tess knocks on his small office door at the club.

“Hey,” she says, plopping down in the arm chair across from the desk. “You coming tonight?”

“Of course. Looks like a good turn out. Did the instructor make it in ok?”

“Cap picked her up from the airport yesterday and got her all settled at the hotel. Do you think you’re going to need me tonight?”

Joel cocks an eyebrow at her. He’s known Tess since she was ten. Her and Tommy are the same age, Joel being two years their senior. Aside from a few months when Tess and Tommy were sixteen, the three of them have been inseparable ever since. Tess was usually the undeclared leader of the group due to her bossy nature, but she kept the Miller brothers out of trouble most of the time. 

“What’s wrong, Tess?”

“Nothin’,” she crosses her arms across her chest. “I am the planner, you and Tommy are the personality. I’m fine to stay behind the scenes for this one.”

“You’ve been acting strange since the poker night.”

She rolls her eyes at him. She’s probably the only person ballsy enough to do that to Joel besides Tommy, but Joel’s almost convinced his little brother is more dumb than ballsy. “I’m fine, Joel. The staff is all in good morale, and that’s my department. Remember?”

Joel just stares as she continues, lowering her voice to mock his. “I need you to be the people person. Hire them, train them. I’m not patient enough because I’m a big scary dom who will just want to spank them for not listening. I also can’t plan anything because I have a man brain.”

“Hilarious,” Joel deadpans as Tess laughs at her own jokes. “I’m being serious though, are you sure you're ok?”

“Yes, you don’t need to be concerned about me. I’m actually a little gutted I’m gonna miss it. Tommy told me there’s been a very pretty young lady hanging around you lately.”

Joel puts his reading glasses on with one hand and pointing to his door with the other. “Out.”

You

Joel referring to tonight as a date has been on loop for the last few days. He has this amazing way of shutting off your brain and then leaving you with so many new questions. Either way, when a few more college letters came over the last few days you convinced yourself that right before leaving for the shibari-demonstration-slash-date was the best time to open them. 

Odette and Jamie sit on the couch across from you as you slide open the first letter. The thick eggshell parchment stamped with the Yale logo pops open easily. You close your eyes as you open the paper, the only sound in the room is the thundering of your heart behind your ribs. 

You peel your eyes open and read out loud. “We regret to inform you that you have not…” your voice falls off, fingers shaking as you put it back in the envelope.

“Hey, we expected a few no’s,” Jamie says gently, always the optimist.

Odette takes the other approach, “Their fucking loss, bunch of stuffy old cunts! Next!”

You laugh at the juxtaposition of your friends' responses and reach for the Harvard letter. “We regret to inform you…”

“Keep going babe,” Jamie says softly.

You pick up the bright white Columbia letter. “We regret to inform you…fuck.” You feel the defeat start to creep in, like thick morning fog. It’s suffocating, choking all the happiness and excitement you had for tonight. 

“What the fuck is wrong with these schools!” Odette says, snatching the letters up so she can check for herself. “Do the Toronto one, Canadians are supposed to be nice.”

“I can’t open anymore,” you say as your head falls back into the sofa. The fog starts to spread through your body, shutting you down inch by inch. You know you have to open the rest. You’ll spend the rest of the night wondering what they say if you don’t finish them. “You do it, Jamie.”

She shuffles in her seat uncomfortably. She’s not the kind of girl who likes to disappoint others; she's bright and happy but at this moment she’s the only person that you can take bad news from. As if she can read your thoughts, she grabs the University of Toronto letter. The sound of the envelope popping open slices through you. She clears her throat as she opens the paper and then reads aloud the same sentence you did. The letters from Duke and Notre Dame follow the same painful routine. With each rejection your stomach swirls, nausea building on top of self doubt and anxiety. 

Six out of the eight universities you applied to have turned you down; Berkeley and the University of Austin are your only chances left at reaching your dreams. The silence in the small rental unit has you on edge, so much so that when your phone vibrates beside you you jump. A sunset beach photo from your last trip to California is the background from a text from Cap telling you he’ll be at your doorstep in about twenty minutes. 

“I gotta finish getting ready,” you say, dragging yourself to the bathroom to touch up any makeup and brush your teeth.

“Babe?” Jamie says, following you down the hall. “You wanna stay here instead of going to that mixer?”

The reminder of the lie sends a new wave of nausea through you. Tonight you became a law school reject and an even bigger liar. Don’t forget that you’re also falling in love with an unattainable man, says the glittery pink box. You mentally lift a single finger in its direction, it usually doesn’t turn on you like that. 

“I need the distraction.” You say, deciding that that’s not really a lie.

Your friends look at you with sadness in their eyes and even though you’re sad too, you wish you could tell them about Mister Miller and the club. You know they’d be excited about whatever this thing is and it would really help to have someone to decipher all the moments that live in your mind.

“It’s a date”.

When you walk through the large door from the lobby and into the club, you’re welcomed by a completely different atmosphere. It’s not all dim lights and sexy music like it normally is; instead the overhead lights are on and all the people are dressed in regular clothing or athletic wear and not the sexy outfits they’d normally pick to come here. Joel is no exception, dressed in dark wash jeans and a fitted black t-shirt. You catch the glint of his gold ring while he’s engrossed in deep conversation with a blue and purple haired woman along the edge of the dance floor. As if you’re his due north or the other side of his magnet, after just seconds of being in the same room as him, his eyes collide with yours. He mouths an ‘excuse me’ at the woman without looking away from and his long legs eat up the distance between the two of you. He meets you just before the bar and immediately wraps his arms around you, one hand coming to the nape of your neck, silently guiding your forehead to his strong chest.

“What’s wrong, sweet girl?” You love how easily he can read you, but you hate that this is the second time this week that he’s seeing you like this. You know you have moments of weakness, but you don’t let anyone see that and you DEFINITELY don’t inconvenience others with your weakness. 

“Hasn’t been my best day, but I really don’t want to talk about it.” You don’t want to dump all of this on him now, not when he looked so excited when you said you’d attend tonight. 

“Ok, I’m here for you if you want to talk about it though. You don’t have to deal with this on your own.” His lips come to the crown of your head and you breathe him in letting his ash and leather scent break down your walls. 

“I didn’t get in,” you mumble and he holds you tighter for a brief second before his hand moves to your chin and tilts up to meet your gaze.

“All of them?” he asks gently but something akin to anger flares in eyes for just a second. 

“Six of them. I haven’t heard from two.” His thumb feels like heaven as it runs along your jaw.

From across the club the blue and purple haired woman, who is now on the stage, claps her hands. “Good evening, everyone! I’m Starr. If you and your brave partners could start making your way to the floor, we can get started right away!”

“Do you want to leave?” Joel says, his warm coffee and chocolate eyes dancing around yours. No one looks at you like that; no one ever asks what you want. This is one of those looks that you wish you could talk to your friends about.

“No,” you say truthfully. “I want to be here with you.”

“I wasn’t going to let you leave without me. Do you want to go somewhere else together?”

You step back and grab his hand, his fingers thread through yours as if you do this everyday, as if this is normal, and you pull him towards the floor. He stands behind you, an arm wrapped protectively around your middle, similar to how he did the first time you went through the voyeur room. Starr introduces herself and her wife and then begins explaining rope safety and terminology like rigger and rope bunny, before launching into a step by step on tying a beautiful star harness across her wifes clothed chest. The two women hand ropes to the person who will be doing the rigging and as the rope lands in Joel’s hand your pussy flutters at the realization that you’re about to become Mister Miller’s rope bunny. You knew that coming here tonight, even if it did include lying to your friends, would help you feel better. The disappointment of being rejected is slowly replaced with an excited anticipation of learning something new with a man who has done nothing but choose you since laid your eyes on each other.

Starr projects step by step instructions up on the back wall of the stage and Joel clears his throat behind you as he begins. The sound of the rope running through his hands as he folds it in half sends a shiver up your spine. You try to distract yourself by clipping your hair up and out of the way. 

“Arms up,” he rasps, and places a light kiss on the soft curve of your neck as he wraps the rope around your ribcage, just below your breasts. You purposely wore a tight t-shirt and leggings tonight. If anyone asks, you’ll say you just assumed it would be easier to be in something form fitting rather than loose, but the truth is that you did some research on Shibari classes and it was recommended to wear clothing that was tight to the body. As he walks around you to make the first diagonal cross of your chest he says, “Are you sure you don’t want to talk about it?”

You lock your eyes with his as he loops back up, crossing the rope over your other shoulder and walks behind you. “Yes, at least not yet.” 

“Alright,” he says softly, pulling the rope back through the first band he made. “What do you want to talk about then?”

Your daughter. Your wife. The guitars and books of lyrics. Where do you see yourself in 5 years? Do you like me or do you like like me? How do you feel about an age gap romance? Your brain races with a million things you could ask, and maybe would ask on a date. However, this is anything but a date, right? A dom and sub don’t date, there are strict rules. He tells you what to do, you do it. You don’t date.

The silence between you two feels like it’s lasted forever, you flinch as you ask the first thing you can think of. “How old are you?”

“Almost forty five. It says that on my profile, sweet girl. For someone who likes research…” His voice trails off. Is he flirting?

“I refuse to look at it in case you try to pawn me off to Tommy again,” you tease. You bite your cheek to hold in all the questions you want to ask as he chuckles behind you. You lift your arms as per the next slide and he brings the rope up towards your armpit as you settle on a neutral topic. “Baseball,” you say flatly.

Joel laughs silently as he walks around your body, the rope coming across to your other armpit and he’s behind you again. “Baseball?”

“Ya, it’s America’s favourite pastime.” Joel's fingers feel warm through the fabric of your shirt as he continues to work the ropes. 

“Ok, so what do you want to discuss about baseball?” He wanders in front of you again, following the instructions perfectly.

You shrug a little, lifting your arms again as you follow along with the slides. “Did you ever play?”

Starr circles around the two of you, “Great job, Joel. You ok, honey? Not too tight anywhere?”

You shake your head no and then you and Joel get lost in each other again. “Yes, I played for most of my childhood. I was pretty good too.”

You chuckle, “Why am I not surprised.”

“What?” he says, half laughing.

“Seems like Joel Miller is good at everything,” you say lightly, almost in admiration. He’s behind you again, feeding the ropes through themselves. The back looks beautifully intricate, and you can see other couples getting frustrated before either Starr or her wife comes and helps them. You continue, “Let me guess, you were like a big all-star pitcher or something?”

“No,” he answers.

“What position did you play then?” You glance down at your chest at the star shape across your chest, the rope scrapes gently on the exposed skin of your neck with the movement. It’s stunning, exactly as the demonstration and the picture. Yep, Joel Miller is good at everything. 

A new voice joins your conversation, “Best first baseman the school has ever seen.”

You crane your neck over your right shoulder towards the source; Tommy. You clench your molars when you see him with Jade; the beautiful icy blonde woman that Joel had tied to his desk the first time you met him. Joel shifts uncomfortably as she flutters her lashes at him. “As I was saying,” Joel huffs in his brother's direction before turning his attention back to you. “I played first base and Tommy was the back catcher. Our mom pretty much put us in any sport she could afford to keep us out of trouble.” 

“That’s kind of fascinating,” you say, looking back towards the stage and trying to get back into the safe little bubble you and Joel have created. 

“I dunno about that, sweet girl.”

The combination of him using that nickname and the feeling of his fingers on your body cause another shiver to roll up your spine, and suddenly it’s just the two of you again. It’s so easy to get lost with Joel, every ounce of that fog from earlier has dissipated. He’s like the warm morning sun, chasing away all the thick haze that coated you in the darkness. “I think this is a safe nickname space only, Sweet Cheeks.”

He swats your bum gently eliciting a giggle to pass your lips before getting back to weaving the rope in and out along your spine. “Careful. Now why is it kind of fascinating?”

“I mean, Tommy played at home plate, you played at first base.”

“I don’t know where you’re going here, Freckles.”

You smile over your shoulder at Joel. “Well, don’t you see the connection? You don’t have sex with your subs, Tommy does. He goes to home plate, you stay at first base.”

Joel arches an eyebrow at you as you flash him a cheeky smile and then he lets out a laugh. A real laugh that sounds like it’s coming straight from his stomach. His big beautiful smile draws up his cheeks causing the skin around his eyes to crinkle. The sound is almost enough to make you weak at the knees. “I swear to god, Freckles, I love the way your brain works.”

The rest of the group finishes off their harnesses and Starr begins the next part, explaining now how to tie the arms around the biceps and secure them to the harness. They hand out the ropes again and you reach behind yourself to criss cross your arms and grasp your opposite elbows. Just as Joel begins folding the rope over in his hands, Jade speaks.

“She sort of hit the nail on the head with that one, Mister Miller.” Envy flares in your eyes as she steps towards Joel, leaning into him. “I can’t wait for tomorrow. I’ve missed you.”

You glance towards Joel, expecting to see him looking angry but his soft eyes meet you with guilt written all over his face. You watch his throat as he swallows hard and the happy, sparkly bubble you built bursts and the fog returns. Your heart drops to your feet, it was too good to be true, you knew it was too good to be true and he almost had you fooled. You don’t think, you just act, you need to get away from this space and all these people as bile rises in your throat.

Your feet feel heavy as you walk quickly toward the voyeur room, slipping past the closed sign that's propped up outside the curtain that conceals it. Darkness surrounds you, the rope harness feels like it’s smothering you as you try to take deep calming breaths. A flash of light from the otherside of the curtain fills the room as someone follows.

“Go away, Joel.” You say quietly, trying to force air past the lump growing in your throat. 

“It’s Tommy.” He says, flicking on a dim light and noting the way you’re pulling at the rope closest to your throat. “Let me untie you so you don’t hurt yourself.”

You step back, a wall slamming down around you. Tommy raises his hands, “Please, just let me untie you so you can breathe.”

You spin slowly, giving your back to him and he approaches. His fingers pulling and working the ropes and the irony of him removing knots as you start to mentally tie yourself up in them is enough to make you nauseous. You retreat into your mind, looking for that stupid box. I fucking told you! You practically scream at the shadow you know it’s hiding in.

“Try to slow your breathing for me,” Tommy says softly as the rope begins to loosen and fall away from your body. Tonight felt too normal, too comfortable. You started to feel like maybe Joel was feeling the same way you do, but now you feel like you’ve been slapped across the face with yet another reminder that you are not enough. Six out eight universities and the man you completely misread. 

“I’m so fucking stupid.” It doesn’t come out self deprecating or angrily. Just as if you’re stating a fact, similar to how you’d say you like the colour green. 

“No, this is on me.” The rope falls away from your body and you step away, spinning to face Tommy. “I shouldn’t have said yes when she asked me to bring her here tonight. I assumed Joel had ended it before they were in Europe.”

“What?” You breathe out in disbelief. Even though you can see the rope in Tommy’s hands, it still feels like it’s around your throat.

You wander towards the nearest couch. All those pictures, all those flirty texts and she was there the entire time? You hear your mothers voice again, ‘You might be the smartest one in this town but the real world is going to eat you up and spit you out.’ Nothing has felt more true, especially today. Six schools rejected you, selecting smarter shinier applicants and now the same thing is happening with Joel. You knew you didn’t hold a candle to her, he wanted you to go with Tommy so he could keep her, didn’t he?

‘It’s only you.’ His desperate voice from the day in his office comes out of the shadows of your mind. But it’s not only you. If he didn’t end it with her then it’s her too. You’re constantly in competitions that you have no business being in. 

“No, not ‘they’. Not like that. They were there for different things, not together,” Tommy’s voice has a hint of panic. “...I’m really fucking this night up, aren’t I?”

Just then, Joel and Jade come through the curtain. “Sweet girl….”

“No,” you say, cutting him off with a wave of your hand. You want to yell and scream and ask him what was with all that “it’s only you” bullshit.

“Baby, please, just listen to me.” Joel kneels in front of you and you stand up. His hands come to either side of the couch, keeping you there. “Please?”

You can feel his eyes on you but you keep staring straight ahead, the curtains of all the rental rooms are drawn shut. “Please just go, Joel.”

Jade steps into your line of vision and you can feel the jealousy twisting at your stomach. She’s fucking beautiful. Long icy blonde hair that looks silky to touch, slender limbs and a perfectly symmetrical face. Her make up is done to perfection, and to top it all off she was kissed by an angel in the breast department. 

“I’m sorry. I left the country a few days after I saw you for your birthday celebration. I went to Germany to get married and I wasn’t coming back.” Her eyes go soft for a second as she looks down at her bare left ring finger and then back to you. “Clearly I didn’t do either of those things. I haven’t spoken to Joel and I just assumed our regular time slots still stood.”

Even without looking down, you know Joel hasn’t looked away. From the moment you met him, you’ve been able to feel his gaze on you. It’s one of the things you like so much about him, the way he looks at you. You feel warm and seen, and most importantly, safe in his gaze.

Tommy clears his throat gently and you glance his way. “Ending things with a sub is tricky. It has to be done in person. I know Joel better than anyone else, he ended things with everyone else. He’s gonna beat the shit out of me for this, but he’s crazy about you and he’s only ever looked at one other person the way he looks at you.”

“Tommy,” Jade's voice cracks as she says his name. “I think you should untie me so I can leave. I really am sorry, to all of you.”

You watch the two of them disappear back into the main area of the club before you finally allow yourself to look down at Joel. His eyes are big and soft, he looks so vulnerable. Is this real though? When you think about how easily he can slide on his dominant mask you aren’t sure what you can and can’t trust, and that’s really fucking horrible considering trust is the most important thing between a sub and dom. He could be lying, he gains blow jobs and doing whatever else he wants to your body by keeping this up. 

But what does Tommy gain from telling you what he just did? Tommy has no skin in the game here.

Joel  

His heart is flying wildly behind his chest, blood coursing through his ears. He never thought he was going to see Jade again. Neither of them talked about it really, but after that session that you walked in on she canceled the next one and told him she was moving to be with her fiance in Germany and was getting married. He continues to look up at you; the ever growing pinch in his neck be damned, he’s not looking away. Even at this angle you manage to take his breath away. It feels like hours have gone by when you finally speak.

“I thought it was only me,” it comes out as a whisper and immediately shatters the little bits that were left of his composure. 

“It is, sweet girl. I promise you it is.”

“I want to believe you,” your voice is so calm. He doesn’t deserve you being calm right now. Or does he? You came into this very methodical. Maybe these are just sub-dom transactions to you.

“What can I do?” He says hopefully. “I’ll do anything you need, sweet girl.”

You let out a shaky breath and he can see the wall building behind your eyes, that fun goofy girl who isn’t afraid to crack a joke is slowly locking herself away. He prepares himself for you to tell him this is over, or that you need time. He reminds himself that this was always going to end in heartbreak for him, so may as well get it over with now instead of when he’s fully in love with you, before he’s learned how those warm walls of your pussy feel against his cock. Because there really will be no coming back from that if that happens.

As he tightens the muscles in his core, physically preparing for the metaphorical blow to the gut he watches your long lashes flutter shut and when you open your eyes again the wall is gone. The shimmering pools of the eyes he’s enamored by are back and relief washes over him. 

“Nothing, Mister Miller,” your voice is saccharine sweet. “Trust is the most important thing between a sub and their dom. I can’t let my own anxiety ruin this, but I might just be a bit guarded until I’ve calmed all those thoughts.”

He whispers your name, biting back a groan as your hands meet his hair. “I’m so sorry that happened, baby girl.”

“I know. So am I. I shouldn’t have gotten jealous. It’s just…”

“No, you can be jealous. I told you one thing and -.”

You tug at the strands of his hair and shush him. “I’m not done,” your voice is stern. Joel isn’t used to hearing your tone like that and he suddenly feels his chest swelling with pride. This sweet bubbly person in front of him is morphing into a confident badass. That’s probably the exact tone you’ll use in boardrooms or courtrooms when other lawyers try to talk over you and he can only hope that one day he’ll get to witness that. “I shouldn’t have gotten jealous, but I really like the way I feel around you. It’s selfish of me, but I’d like to keep feeling like this for the few months I have left here before I leave for law school.”

Selfish. He lets that word wash over him. The most selfless person he’s ever known is worried about being selfish? No, he thinks, she deserves this. Hearing you say that you’re leaving makes him feel like his chest is caving in on itself. He’ll deal with the inevitable heartbreak when you leave him. He knows those rejection letters were hard on you, but he helped you to feel better and he’s going to hold on to that and give you that for as long as he possibly can. 

Your fingers release his hair and he watches you walk the few steps to where the rope Tommy untied for you lays on the floor. He licks his lips as you bend to pick it up, eyes trailing over the delicious curves of your ass. “It would be my pleasure, sweetheart.”

You turn, walking back towards where he’s kneeling and holding the ropes out to him you say, “Is the workshop over?”

He stands up, his fingers grazing yours as he takes the rope. Electricity tingles up his forearms at the feel of your soft skin. Your body is so close to his that he can feel your soft warmth radiating against him. You being at this proximity immediately put him at ease.

“No, there’s a bodysuit tutorial right now,” he says. You nod, stepping around him. Suddenly, Joel grabs your elbow to stop you, lowering his lips to your ear, and lowering his voice to that gravelly tone he knows you love, he rasps, “I should punish you for letting another dom untie what’s mine.”

You smirk up at him, “I’d like to see you try, Sweet Cheeks.”

You

Joel works silently around you and you lose yourself for a bit in the events that unfolded tonight. Joel has knelt in front of you before, but never like that. The sad, helpless look in his eyes, the slight slump of the shoulders. He was submitting to you, and when your fingers met his scalp, he leaned into your touch. The way his body melted at your touch was intoxicating. He wasn’t Mister Miller in that room tonight, he was Joel, and the dichotomy of this man is astounding. 

After about thirty minutes of Joel twisting, turning and pulling he has your upper half tied into a zigzagged bodysuit of rope. Joel steps in front of you and bends slightly to reach between your legs. When he brings the rope between your thighs and as he feeds it through the bottom of the chest piece, the seam of your leggings brushes against your clit. You jolt at the contact, your cheeks flushing crimson as Joel's eyes meet yours in a flash of onyx and honey. He begins shaping the bottom part of the bodysuit, bent in front of you the entire time and locking eyes with yours every time he tugs the ropes into place. 

You glance nervously around the room to see if anyone else is having the same reaction. You expected this night to be fun and silly, the way a date should be. And it was for a while, but now it’s taken a very erotic turn. The blush of your cheeks warms down your chest and neck as you hold off on what could be a very vocal orgasm in front of a room of people who you don’t necessarily want to witness it.

Joel finally finishes the body suit and moves to stand behind you, his patchy facial hair brushes the shell of your ear as he whispers, his voice full of gravel, “Hands behind your back, my sweet girl. We aren’t done.”

A shiver races up your spine and your arms fly back. “So eager,” Joel says softly, grazing his teeth along the lobe of your ear, adding gasoline to the small fire that’s been building between your thighs.  

You’re sure the arm restraints only take about three minutes to complete, but it feels like hours. The three knots that lay around your wrists, forearms, and biceps keep your posture nice and tall, and your breasts pushed up through the body suit. Once he’s finished, Joel spins you to face him, and that rope works its way in between the lips of your now absolutely soaked pussy. You squeeze your thighs together, the soft expression on his face only intensifying the growing ache. He’s such a fucking tease, you think, and now he’s looking at you as if you put the stars in the sky. Finally, his dark brown eyes settle on yours and he gives you a closed lip smile.

“What?” You ask breathlessly.

“I jus’ thought that I’d go all caveman seein’ you like this,” he steps into you, one hand cupping your cheek, the other tugging on the rope near your waist, which jiggles the rope that has you on edge. Joel’s voice lowers, this next part just for you to hear. “But you just look so beautiful.”

He tugs up on the rope and pleasure courses through you as you gasp quietly. He gives you that sexy smirk that makes that dimple carve into his cheek. 

Yep, he’s a fucking tease. The little box says, confirming your thoughts. 

“You like that, sweet girl?”

He tugs again and your forehead falls to his chest. “Please, Mister Miller,” you whisper into his expensive cotton t-shirt. 

Starr interrupts the two of you, but you can’t peel yourself away from Joel right now. The slightest move of that rope might make you explode. “Well, based on that reaction I’d say you tied it just right, Joel.”

“Thank you for coming, Starr. I’m sure we’ll host one of these again soon. Tommy is by the bar, he can help you kick everyone out.”

“Joel,” she says, a slight hint of amusement in her now hushed voice. “Your rope bunny is on the verge of having an orgasm, go.”

With that he hoists you over his shoulder and walks towards the door that leads to the private rooms. “Fuckfuck, I’m gonna -” you whisper into his broad back and squeeze your thighs tighter as Joel walks. 

The second the door shuts, separating you from the others Joel puts you on your feet and jiggles the rope around your waist. “Come, baby.”

You fall into him for support, his other arm wrapping around you to hold you up as stars blur your vision. “That feel good, my little rope bunny?” 

“Yes - oh god, yes.” Your arms pull at the ropes restraining them behind your back and you can’t hold it anymore. Your orgasm practically slams through you as you gasp and moan into Joel's broad chest. “Fuck, Mister Miller.”

 “You’re so beautiful when you let go for me. I’ll never get sick of watching you like this.” He continues to work the rope as your high crests and your legs start to go weak and boneless below you.

“I can’t…p-please Mis - Fuck.” Joel lifts your lax and quivering body over his shoulder again and makes his way to his room, placing you at the foot of the bed, spinning you and pushing between your shoulder blades until your chest meets the mattress.

“Spread your legs,” he commands and you listen, moving your feet to be shoulder width apart. He wraps two cuffs around your ankles, and attaches them to the bottom of the bed posts before doing the same to the ropes around your arms. You’re trapped, stuck bent over the end of the bed and even though you’re fully clothed under all of these ropes, this is easily the hottest thing you’ve ever done. “Fuck me. How are you so goddamn sexy even when you’re fully clothed.”

You hear Joel’s footsteps around the room, gathering whatever he has decided to use on you tonight before you can feel him behind you. “Sweet girl, I do believe I read that you would be interested in sensory deprivation. Is that correct?” 

“Yes, Mister Miller,” you hum.

“Do I have your consent to blindfold you and then have you listen to music in noise canceling headphones?”

Fire erupts in your stomach, your core pulsing at the thought of him doing whatever he wants to you. “Yes, Mister Miller.”

A silky black blind fold slips over your head, Joel's large body covering your back. “What’s your safeword?” he growls, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. 

“Stegosaurus.” Just once you’d like that to not leave your lips in the whiny, desperate tone it does when he asks you that question. 

“Good girl,” he praises before the plush headphones cover your ears. All you see is black, all you hear is soft decorative piano music, and all you feel is the warmth of Joel over your buzzing skin. There’s not a single thought in your mind, everything is silent. This is what you need and you start to worry that you’ll become addicted to the way Joel makes you feel everything while thinking nothing. 

The warmth of his body disappears from you and you whimper at the loss. Your eyes clench closed as if that will help you be able to find him. A thin, pulsing vibrator hits the back of your thigh and you jump. Joel's large hands rubs your opposite hip and every muscle relaxes under his touch. The vibrator pulses softly as he moves it up your thigh, tickling along your hip, and then down the other leg. You can’t hear the sounds that you’re making but you’re sure they’re desperate, needy gasps.

After teasing your arms Joel slips something small and hard between your body and the rope that’s been torturously teasing at your clit before you feel him pull away. You adjust so your forehead is resting on the mattress before it dips with the weight of him sitting beside your head. His warm fingers wrap around your neck and he kneads the muscles.

“Mmmm, thank you Mister Miller,” you hum. 

Whatever Joel slipped against your clit comes to life, a dull vibration that is sure to be your undoing has you attempting to arch your back, but you can’t move. Your breathing quickens, short little puffs of air passing your lips. 

“I’m gonna come,” you murmur quietly, or at least you think it’s quiet since you can’t hear yourself or anything else. Joel’s strong fingers continue the delicious swirling patterns up and down the sides of your neck as you begin to shake. “Oh god - I’m so close!”

Just as you’re about to slam head first into another orgasm the vibrating stops and Joel’s fingers disappear from your skin. “No,” and this time you know it wasn’t a whisper or a whimper.

The mattress jostles and then you feel Joel behind you again. A hand comes to one of yours, coaxing it out of the fist you’ve apparently clenched before doing the same to the other. The vibrating starts stronger this time and both his hands come to yours, his thumbs massaging at your palms. It doesn’t take long this time before you’re right on that edge again.

“Fuck, Mister Miller. Puh-please don’t stop!” Your legs start the familiar shake that happens right when you’re about to tip over the edge and he doesn’t follow your wishes. The hand massage stops, quickly followed by the vibrator being switched off. You groan in frustration and he lays a quick, sharp spank over your legging clad right ass cheek. “Hnnng - sorry.”

You can’t be certain, but based on the warm puffs hitting your core you’re pretty sure he’s knelt down behind you. The vibrator comes to life again, stronger than the last two times and his hands work at massaging the muscles along the back of your thighs. This is torture; wonderful euphoric torture and as much as you want it end, you also don’t ever want him to stop making you feel this way. 

You let your eyes flutter open behind the blindfold, it’s still just as dark but you see that little pink sparkly box. The one that’s overflowing with emotion for Joel. You should push it back into the shadows or light it on fire, but instead you let it come out of the shadows completely. You see your hands reaching for the lid just as the white hot pleasure in your core gets close to the breaking point.

“Please please…Mister Miller - fuck!” You whimper and whine as it begins to burn hotter and then it’s gone and it feels like the air is being sucked forcefully out of your lungs. 

“Nonono, I can’t. Please, I need you..” Joel's large body is across your back in a second. The hard bulge in pants pressing against your ass and the memory of how good he felt and tasted in your mouth the last time has saliva pooling under your tongue. You swallow hard as one of the padded ear pieces is lifted from your ear.

Joel’s voice is deep and gruff as he says, “What do you need, my sweet girl?”

The little box of feelings vibrates at him calling you his and you kick it back into the shadows. “I need to come, Mister Miller.”

“That right? How bad?” He says teasingly before placing a feather light kiss on that sensitive spot right below your ear.

“So bad. Please, it hurts, Mister Miller.” You are pouting into the fluffy sheets, a completely whiny mess, and you realize that you’re always a mess for him. Be it a horny or depraved one, a whiny or a pouty one, he doesn’t care and if anything you think he likes it that way, likes you that way. “I want to hear you. I miss your dirty talk, please, baby!”

“Fuck,” he breathes. “I should spank you until you can’t sit tomorrow for calling me anything but Mister Miller. You know that, right?” 

“I can’t think straight. I’m sorry, just please. Please!”

He whips the headphones off of you and the vibrator hits at an intensity you have never felt before. Your pornographic scream fills the room. His large body above yours intensifies everything that was already killing you.

“That what you need, huh?”

You cry out and try to say yes but you’re sure it’s all just an incoherent mix of sounds at this point. 

“God damn, baby girl. You should see yourself right now. All tied up in knots that I made. The way your leggings hug the curves of your hips and soft, creamy thighs. You’re going to be the death of me one day.”

Tears start to flow behind your blindfold as the pleasure almost becomes too much, you haven’t come yet, and at this point you aren’t sure if you’ll survive it if you do. You have half a mind to ask Joel if an orgasm can physically split you in two because that is how you feel right now. 

“I’m - oh god - I’m…” You try to form the words but you can’t. 

One of Joel’s hands slips between his front and your tied up arms, his hand wrapping tightly around yours. His lips come to your ear as whispers. “I got you, sweet girl, just let go for me.”

“Need to see you,” you say between gasps of air and the pleasure begins to burn in your. 

Joel peels the blind fold off. You blink him into focus, his warm eyes searching your face. “Let go, you’re ok.”

As per usual, it’s his words that seem to be that final push and you let your orgasm consume you. It starts as a cold spark, a shiver up your spine and then heat flushes through every since cell in your body. You moan and writhe beneath Joel who whispers your praises like a prayer. Talking you through the intensity of the feeling. Your pussy clenches around nothing and you’re sure your panties, leggings and the rope are ruined.

“I can’t!” You gasp and Joel slows the vibration to help you ride out the decresendo of your orgasm. As the jolts of your body slow, he follows suit; the vibrator going to a dull blip and eventually nothing. Joel's thumb traces soothing patterns on the hand he’s still holding between your bodies. You take a deep and shaky breath, trying to calm your racing heart. 

“Are you ok, angel?” he asks quietly and goosebumps somehow spread along your too hot body.

“Better than ok,” you say with a small smile.

Joel’s lips meet yours, soft and pliant and so full of passion. Your eyes shut as you part your lips for him and when your tongue strokes gently against his he lets out a small whimper that causes your pulse to leap. Mentally, you grab a bigger box, stuffing it with the realization that you’re falling for this man. But you will deal with that later, right now you just need to let yourself have something that is for, well… yourself.

Joel 

He breaks the kiss, even though he doesn’t want to. Even though he knows that by breaking this kiss it’s only going to mean you going home sooner.  “I need to get you out of these ropes and get some sugar into you.”

The two of you sit in a comfortable silence as his nimble fingers work to undo your restraints, then the intricate knots that bind your arms, and lastly the bodysuit. He really did think you looked stunning all tied up. He didn’t plan for this night to go the way it did, but when he saw the slight flush of your cheeks and the way your eyes glazed over he couldn’t resist giving you what he knew you needed. He stays close, one hand protectively on your hip as you crawl onto the bed. Once he has you seated, he pulls a fuzzy grey blanket out from a basket beside the night stand and then opens the small fridge to grab you an orange juice and water.

He cracks the top of the orange juice. “Drink this for me, please.”

He watches your eyes do a quick half roll but you don’t fight him, fingers just barely grazing his as you take the juice from him. “I had fun tonight,” you say between sips as he walks to grab the coconut oil. 

Joel stands beside you. “So did I, sweetheart. Arm, please.”

You take the orange juice in your left hand and give him your right. Both of you watch as he puts oil on the few pink marks the ropes left behind. “Do you think I should change my safeword?”

He lifts one eyebrow at you and as he tends to your other arm says, “Why do you ask that.”

“I don’t know. It’s just…well, originally that little dinosaur on your coffee maker seemed so out of place. It intrigued me. Your home is beautiful, but the parts you let people see don’t give away any hints about you, except for that little dinosaur. But now that I know the whole story, it just seems too special of an item to be tied to what we do.”

“I don’t think we need to change it. You’re right, that little stegosaurus is special to me.” He sits sideways on the bed, grabbing the empty orange juice container and handing you the water. His jaw flexes once before he continues, “But so are you. I love that you felt a connection to that part of me. Ultimately, it’s your safe word, sweet girl, so you can make it anything you want, but I think it’s perfect for us.”

The soft look in your eyes as he speaks is almost enough to kill him, and when your lips twitch up ever so slightly at his words he knows he’s done for. He shouldn’t fall for you, especially since he’s sure there’s no way you’d ever feel the same way, but he can’t not fall for you.

Your name passes his lips with a nervous tremble, because he knows that what he’s about to say next is going to be his undoing. If you say yes to this next thing, if he continues spending actual time with you, he’s done.

“Ya?” you say before sucking your bottom lip through your teeth.

“Friday night is the five year anniversary party for the club. It’s a black tie event for all the VIP guests. Would you like to accompany me?”

He watches as your eyes land on your lap, your lips pressing together as if to suppress a smile. When your gaze floats back up to his, your eyes give you away. Try as you might to hide your expressions with him; he'll always know when you’re happy based on the glitter of your eyes.

“I’d really like that, Mister Miller.”

His forehead meets yours. “This might be a Sweet Cheeks moment.”

Thank you soooo much for reading! Remember to follow @mountainsandmayhem-updates for future chapters xo.

Next Chapter

[dclovesdanny]

Something I will never get enough of is Danny killing the Joker. However, something I want to see more of, is Danny killing the Joker for Ellie.

Like, Jason and Danny are neighbors and they’ve been friends for a little while. Jason knows Danny has the 20 something year old mechanic with a six-year-old daughter who is an absolute gremlin. He really likes them both, and he might have a little crush on his neighbor.

Then when they are out at the park or something, the Joker attacks. The joker decides to grab a hostage and who does he grab, but this six year old girl who only seems to have one person who knows her, a scrawny 20 something person. She has dark hair and blue eyes and only person who seems to care about her is her older brother/possible father? Perfect bait for Batman.

He wasn’t counting on Danny being able to fight god for his family. He didn’t realize that Danny will do anything to protect his family, that, in his literal core, he is sworn to protect his people, no matter the cost. the joker did not realize that Danny loves Ellie enough to not only die (again) for her, but to kill for her.

The Joker doesn’t die to Batman, or in some big battle. The Joker dies to a man no one knew because the Joker kidnapped his daughter. The joker dies, because he forgot that not everyone has the same hangups about killing that Batman does. The Joker dies because he pushed a parent too far.

Jason is there during all of this. I think he’s either there as red hood, watching through the cameras, or there is Jason. All three of these have many different pros for various forms of angst.

If Jason is there as red hood, he’s probably with some of the batfamily, and they are holding him back from killing the Joker. They’re trying to figure out how to make it so that the joker won’t kill this little girl, and Jason is going feral because that is his kid. That is the little gremlin who lives next-door, who knocks on his door and treats him like a jungle gym. That’s his kid. When he sees Danny jump at the Joker, he’s going to have a straight up panic attack and he’s gonna get the guns ready, but he doesn’t need to.

If he’s there as Jason, I think the joker would also take him hostage. Jason Wayne, the brat who would get him a lot of money. Especially if the Joker knows that this was the second Robin, because this just means he can get two killed in one swoop. And Jason is trying to protect Ellie with everything in him, cursing himself for not bringing a gun with him and praying that this time Bruce isn’t too late. And he can see the pain in Danny’s eyes and he is so scared to lose this family he has. He praised to a God he doesn’t believe in this time, history won’t repeat itself.

I feel like it would be most painful, if he’s watching through cameras. He’s probably injured or in the middle of doing something for his civilian life . Maybe he’s even out of town, but turned the camera on to look out for the joker, and had a heart attack when he saw the little girl next-door being held by the Joker. This man is trying so hard to get there, breaking every traffic law, praying that he won’t be too late that this won’t be the same as his death. His trauma is excruciating, because this feels like when he was waiting for Bruce and Bruce not getting there until it was too late.

No matter which of these scenarios, he needs to see Danny snap and kill the joker. Maybe, in the camera scenario, it’s just this he arrives that he sees it. Either way, he needs to see the moment, the Joker dies at the head of a single father, and the parallel of Bruce and him and Danny and Ellie need to be very apparent. Because this time the dad wasn’t afraid to kill.

This is the moment I feel, Jason would fully acknowledge that he would do anything for these people. That these two neighbors of his have become his family. The moment he sees the two of them holding each other, and the jokers body at their feet, I guarantee you this man is fighting tooth and nail not to go over his red hood exposed them. if he’s Jason, he can run into hug them no problem, but if he’s red hood, he’s not going to be able to do that.

This man will fight with Batman if he even that should get in trouble for killing the Joker. He will threaten to never ever speak to Bruce ever again, will be ready to bribe the police into letting Danny go, we will race every camera footage out there of the event, will do anything for this family.

Later that day, he won’t have nightmares of the Joker for the first time in a while. He will be able to look at his family and rest easy, knowing that there’s no way that Joker can take them from him.

[criibibi]

Synopsis: After losing so much, Spider-woman learns to just keep moving. Only for her to end up somewhere far from home. Her first agenda is figuring out where she is, and how to get back. The only problem is that she ended up somewhere fictional (to her). Playing hero with Batman was not in her bingo cards this year. Hopefully she will be able to make it back home before she catches unwanted attention.

Masterlist: Prev; Next;

Chapter 2 - Spider Luck

Morning came quickly despite the shitty sleep you received that night. The constant tossing and turning, the constant fear and anxiety of getting caught or broken into, really you couldn’t catch a break. 

Despite that, you did get some sleep, even if the sum total was like three hours. Still, it’s not like the nightmares would have let you sleep regardless. All your failures would consume your thoughts and drown you, reminding you of your losses. 

Sure you moved on, but it’s not like you had forgotten. Uncle Ben’s wisdom, Aunt May’s lessons, and Peter Parker’s kindness. You vowed to honor and cherish those memories, but here you are, in another fucking world, with a high possibility of you breaking some laws just to get out.

Desperate people do crazy shit, and you aren’t that sane to begin with.

Luckily this motel has a shower and you plan to use it. Making sure to clean yourself with what you have (unfortunate) and pick up the necessities that you desperately need. 

Taking your time (since you paid for it) you get yourself ready, making sure your mask, gloves and (stolen) wallet are secured inside the hoodie’s pockets. Suite nice and tucked underneath the turtleneck and leggings. First order of business is shoes. Maybe that should have been your first mission yesterday- oops. 

You definitely should have followed the young spiderlings example and fight crime with shoes. Well if you ever meet them again, you will…

When you meet them again. You will. You have to. No matter the cost.

And then your stomach rumbled. “Great! Time for cheap food. Wonder if that knockoff Wack-Donld place is open. 

Oh that’s a nice plan. But you forgot one thing, genius. Where is it? How would you know where it is? You can’t even map it since you also don’t have a phone. 

About to unlock the door, you realized something. It already was unlocked… “Hmm…” Well, it was good that you webbed the door then.

“Fuck.” Leaving the motel keys at the front, you skedaddled your way back into the streets, looking for either a bodega or a shoe store. In order to keep yourself somewhat sane, you start softly humming music you recall Miles shared with you.

After some time of walking around aimlessly (you avoided asking others for directions, gods know gothamites unwritten rule is to mind your fucking business), you found a thrift store.

Guess what you realized while browsing for shoes. If you buy and fight crime with shoes, and (as of right now) are your only pair, you will get found out. So crocs it is!

Black ones, because white gets dirty too damn easily.

Finding your size and other clothing necessities, face-mask, a backpack and a portable sewing kit, you were good to go and all for a cheap price! God you love thrift stores. You used to go to as many and as often as you could with Peter. Ya had a bad spending habit and Peter certainly never discouraged you. He was your terrible financial buddy.

Not now! You can’t reminisce right now, not until you found a way home. Asking the cashier for directions while also subtly declining their phone number (your excuse is that your phone got stolen) you made it to a corner store. Hurray!

Making sure to stock up on snacks, since- let’s be real, this will be your food source for a while, (no income, remember, silly) you stand in line to pay before your spider sense goes off.

Behind you. There’s a man, hoodie on, looking down, covering their face, hands buried inside their pockets. You’re betting it’s either a gun or a knife. 

“Don’t move or I’ll shoot.” Oh, it’s a gun. How original.

The cashier seemed to clock in to what is occurring and subtly reaches under his counter. Not subtle enough because the man behind you yelled, pulling out his gun and pointing at the back of your head.

What the fuck spider luck.

You quickly assess your surroundings, making note that there is only one exit, two normal people not including you but including the gunman, and the room feels tight and too small to do anything.

Conclusion? You’re fucked. 

“I said don’t move, hands up! Give me the money, all of it!” From the corner of your eyes you can see just how fidgety this man was. Probably trigger happy if you do something stupid.

“He-hey man, I don’t got much in here.” The cashier had his hands in the air, trembling and freaking out. 

“I don’t care, give me the money! Yours too, bitch. Now!”

How rude. “Alright, I’m going to get my wallet. Don’t shoot.” You made slow movements of reaching into your pocket for the wallet.

“Hurry up! Both of you!” The thug yelled impatiently. You could practically feel how sweaty and anxious this guy is.

You watched the employee open up the cashier and take the money out. The assailant motioned for you to place your wallet on the counter, which you do and step to the side, getting out of his way. Just as he goes to grab the money you quickly grab the wrist with the gun and twist it, making sure he dropped it before smashing his head onto said counter, money flying everywhere. 

Both you and the cashier watched the assailant fall to the ground, nose bleeding and out cold. “Um,” The cashier looked at you, spooked. “I panicked.”

Hey look at that, no shots fired baby! Ya still got it! You are a pro-fess-io-nal~!

“Hey man, no-um no sweat. You saved me.” He replies with a tremble in his voice.

“Cool, cool, I also didn’t want to get shot. How much for my stuff?” You asked, picking up the money on the floor, handing it back while placing your snacks on the counter..

“What stuff? I see nothing. Just go. I already called the cops.” Oh, so he wasn’t reaching for a gun (corner stores usually have one under the counters) but a buzzer or something? Nice, cool, great.

“Thanks buddy!” Hey man, free food is a blessing. Picking up your wallet and bag of snacks, you step over the knocked out guy, (pick pocketing any cash he had on him,) picking up the gun with your sweater sleeve and placing it at the counter. “Here, for the cops.”

“Thanks so much, again for everything. Hey, can I get a name? For the next time you come and…buy stuff.” He shot his shot.

“I appreciate it man, but I don’t give out my name like that. You know?”

And he missed.

“Ye-yeah…” He looked like a kicked puppy.

Just as you stepped out you heard the sound of a motorcycle nearby and your senses went off again.

“Stop right there, not another step.” A third party voice joins the fray.

What the fuck, spider luck?!

Instantly you recognize the vigilante in front of you but regardless you are not taking any chances today. 

Taking a step back inside the store, making sure to close the door on the guy. “Um, hey not to alarm you or anything but there is a guy with a mask standing outside.” Bringing your hands up (again) you back away from the entrance, snack bag swinging around with your movements. 

The employee nods pulled out the pistol from the counter (what the fuck, why would you grab that with your fingers my dude?) and aimed.

Well at least he doesn’t hold grudges for being rejected.

The door swung open and there stood a masked vigilante, but a familiar bat symbol on his chest caught the employee’s attention.

“Oh thank god it’s not another one.” Putting the pistol again he sighed in relief.

“Ah!” The yellow vigilante turned his focus onto you, (who backed up so much you tripped over the k.o.ed dude, fucking embarrassing) hands still in the air and snacks littering the floor.

Some professional you are. Fuck you spider luck.

“I didn’t steal anything, I swear.” God, you're embarrassed and stressed.

The vigilante ponders for a few seconds, taking in the scenario, glancing at the employee who nods and turns his attention back. “Sorry about that. Here.” He extends a hand out towards you and to not be suspicious you hesitantly take it, your body tenses on instinct, pulling away immediately.

“Thank you.” you mumbled silently cringing at your embarrassment over spilled snacks.

“What happened?” He still faced you but you knew that question was for the other party member. And even if it was for you, you’re silent.

“That dude tried to rob us and they knocked him out. Oh,” The cashier looked at his hands. “This is his.” And placed the pistol on the counter.

This looks like the perfect time to poof away so you do. Right after you pick up your snacks. Signal sees this and silently aids you. “You both aren’t hurt, right? Need medical assistance?”

No you fucking don’t.

Holding out the bag as Signal placed the last snack in you as you shook your head. “I’m a-okay. Thank you though.” And you walk out for the second time. You could still feel his eyes on you until the door closes.

And guess who shows up.

The men in blue.

“Hold it right there.” Bro, you just want to be left alone, is that so much to ask? This time instead of bringing your hands up (for a third time), you instead clutch your bag to your chest, mask down and point inside, making sure your voice matches your facial expression.

“In there, he stopped him there.” meek, timid, nervous.

It seems to have worked as the pair of policemen entered the store and you didn’t think twice and booked it (in a non suspicious manner- if you run, they might chase). Passing by a yellow motorcycle you take a glance back and see the vigilante stepping outside the store, looking somewhat bothered in the presence of the authorities. 

Sucks to suck, bud, you know that feeling very well, not your problem anymore.

As if feeling your eyes on him he turns his face towards you, your eyes meeting a mask. Oh fuck! You felt your hair stand up. Holding his gaze for a few seconds before turning away (any other abrupt movement would definitely make you look suspicious) you continue on your way.

Forcing yourself to not tense up and fight the urge to shiver at his cold gaze you round the corner and you feel somewhat safer again. But it’s a false sense of security, because you know you’re slowly losing your mind.

Hopefully you won’t run into him or any of the other bats.

-

Duke Thomas was patrolling his territory, the Narrows, when he got a notification.

“Signal, there’s a robbing occurring five blocks from your location. The corner store Convenience. Know it?” Oracle’s voice spoke through the comms.

“I know my way. I’m checking it out now.”

“Checking the cameras- there are only three people inside. The assailant, a civilian, and an employee.”

“Got it-”

“Oh wait. Huh, well look at that.” Disbelief could be heard through the comms.

“What is it?” Did things escalate too fast?

“The civi knocked the guy out. Basically one move.” Color Oracle impressed.

“I’m here, anything else I should know about?”

“I’m scanning what I can see of their face, but I’m coming up blank. I’ll let you know if anything.”

Duke didn’t reply, instead as he pulled up he saw someone coming out of the store. “Stop right there, not another step.”

He watched the figure (gender unidentifiable with the oversized hoodie) freeze before making eye contact with him-er his visor. Despite the hood being down, he could not see their face completely with their mask, only their eyes and hair. Just a normal civilian, who apparently knocked out a guy with a gun.

Then silence and no movement.

Until the civilian backed away, closing the store door.

Stunned for a moment, Duke could hear Oracles snort through the comms. “Think they’re scared?”

“From what, me? They took down a guy with a guy and I scared them?” 

“Careful, gun pointed straight at you inside.” warned Oracle.

He moves towards the front door, pushing it open to see the civilian from earlier backing away still, hands up before turning his attention to the employee with a gun. “Oh thank god it’s not another one.”

“Ah!” A yelp caught his attention and it seems the civi tripped on the knocked out guy he just noticed. They immediately spoke, catching his eyes,“I didn’t steal anything, I swear.” 

Duke holds in a snort before glancing at the employee who nods in confirmation before he focuses on the fallen person. He calmly walks towards them, taking note of their discomfort and reaches his hand out. “Sorry about that. Here.” 

Despite his covered eyes somewhat obscuring his vision, he couldn’t will them away from this stranger’s visible face. 

Duke watched their hesitation but placed their hands in his, and he swore he felt a spark that sent shivers down his spine. How curious. He pulled them up, noting just how light they felt in his hold.

“Thank you.” Their voice was soft, but audible.

They quickly pulled their hand away, the warmth gone. His hand held its place for a couple of seconds before he let it fall to his side. “What happened?” He still faced the civilian, both unmoving. He already knew what occurred, Oracle told him everything, but he wanted to hear them talk more.

Only the employee replied. He took note of their lack of eye contact. 

“That dude tried to rob us and they knocked him out. Oh,” Duke glanced as the cashier placed the gun on the counter. He’ll leave that for the cops to pick up if they don’t get here before he leaves. “This is his.”

His attention is once again stolen as the civilian in front of him kneels to pick up their half empty bag. Standing above them, he notes the tips of their ears are red, how cute.

“You good there, romeo? You kinda have a staring problem.” Oracle’s voice snapped him out of his trance.

Duke cleared his mind (he hoped he didn’t look weird or creepy, yikes) before leaning down as well and helped pick up the tossed chip bags.

Though he did take his time, just to squeeze a bit more time with this civilian that he has yet to identify. “You both aren’t hurt, right? Need medical assistance?” He mostly directed this question to them than the cashier behind him. He wonders if Oracle figured out this civilian's name. 

Placing the last snack inside the plastic bag he watches them straighten up before shaking their head. “I’m a-okay. Thank you though.” His eyes couldn’t seem to leave their figure as he watched them walk out the door.

“Cops outside, Signal.” Oracle once again breaks his attention. 

“Got it.” Duke turns his attention to the guy on the floor, sitting him up as two officers enter the store. One takes the guy off his hands while the other questions the employee, taking the gun.

A slight restless feeling took over him and he made his way outside, the one carrying the passed out guy following. Duke quickly takes notice of eyes watching him and he turns to see the complete unmasked civilian from earlier. 

This time, he really felt like he had a staring problem. He drinks up their appearance like water. Their nose, lips, face shape, everything. He didn’t know how to explain it, but he really couldn’t look away this time. Everything around him suddenly felt silent. He felt his body shiver.

Such a pretty face, this civilian caught his breath regardless. He’s not one to lose himself by a pretty face but it seems this one was an exception. He felt mesmerized, entranced, and tongue-tied. Something about this person had a strong lock on him, and he couldn’t help but feel somewhat excited then put off. It felt like a very tight leash, and he doesn’t mind one bit.

Three seconds. Ever since he caught their gaze, they made eye-contact (despite him wearing a mask) before she looked away and left, turning the corner. (Their features look pretty feminine so he’s going with her). 

“Anything Oracle?” He mumbled, still a bit lost.

“No dice. How strange…”

Bummer. He mounts his ride and drives off to finish the rest of his patrol. He’s tempted to drive in the direction the civilian went to, but he wills himself to not do that. God it’s like he’s down bad. Really bad.

Hopefully he gets to see you soon, it seems you’re staying in the Narrows which increases his chances to see you. As much as he curses himself internally, he hopes he can save you next time something dangerous happens again.

Something formed in the pit of his stomach, and he doesn’t know if it’s desire or obsession.

Regardless, he embraces this feeling whole heartedly.

Prev; Next;

I struggled really hard, like REALLY hard. Duke is new to me (i only learned of him because of the webtoon) Now I'm reading issues he has been in and I don't know his character well but there is a SEVERE lack of Duke fics and I made it everyone's problem. So now he's down bad.

Updates are random and spars, no update schedule and don't plan to make one. This is my hobby not my obligation.

[the-scarlet-witch-22]

Love & Liabilities: Chapter 5 (Agatha Harkness x Reader)

Summary: While you prided yourself on your ability to always put your work above everything else, what happens when you find yourself haunted by a ghost from the past? (A ghost who brings baked goods, waters plants, and enjoys reminding you of what you’ve been missing)

Word Count: 4.4k

Warning: 18+ Minors Do Not Engage! Mommy Kink, degradation kink, light choking, dirty talk, blow job, strap-on sex

A/N: Lawyer!Agatha is back! Finally returning to this fic and planning on updating as regularly as my schedule will allow. If you'd like to be added to my tag-list, feel free to let me know! (if you changed your handle or aren't on here but were previously please lemme know and I'll add you back) Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy- would love to hear what you think!

Tag-List: @chiar4anna @harknessshi @neverfindmegone @ris-ris-mind @tr333sus @sabstance-blog

Previous Chapter

Present Day

If there was one thing you had learned from practicing law, it was that the world was filled with misconceptions. For many, misconceptions were nothing more than what the word suggests; small errors. However, as a prosecutor you found yourself unable to revel in that life of luxury. 

In your line of work, a misconception could result in something as trivial as having difficulty filling a jury due to anyone with a beating heart finding an excuse to be sent home. Or to the more extreme case of a criminal being able to walk with no consequences.

However, occasionally the opposite would occur, where the details of a case become so warped and misconstrued that someone innocent is found to be guilty. 

But, you weren’t supposed to worry if a defendant was innocent when your entire job revolved around proving why they were guilty. 

That’s what made the past few days so confusing. 

You had looked over the files Agatha accidentally left behind, and found they held more questions than answers. As crazy as it sounded, you couldn’t help but wonder if it was an accident, as any normal person would never compromise such sensitive details to their opponent. 

But then again, most people weren’t Agatha Harkness. 

To your knowledge, one set of the hospital records, Wanda Maximoff’s records, were previously sealed, and you didn’t want to imagine what the attorney had done to acquire them. 

You did wonder if perhaps this was some sort of trap that Agatha was hoping you’d fall into in order to incriminate you, because if there was one thing your former lover prided herself on it was always being ten steps ahead of her opponent before obliterating them in court. 

But that was surely just your paranoia talking.

A few days after Agatha’s impromptu break in you finally finished combing over every last possible piece of information you could gather from the hospital records. The two patients, one of them being Wanda Maximoff, had been involved in a car wreck. Wanda had been eight months pregnant at the time. 

The second patient, Victor Shade, died shortly after being rushed into emergency surgery.

You had scanned and searched the records for more information, perhaps on Wanda’s pregnancy, or even the severity of her injuries. But, and you were nearly certain this wasn’t a coincidence, the majority of the pages were missing.

It didn’t take you long to guess who most likely had a perfectly manicured hand in that.

Agatha Harkness was single-handedly the most pompous, deceitful, domineering individual you had ever encountered, but she was also the most intentional. Every movement she made was calculated, and you knew she had these papers for a reason.

You weren’t Agatha, nor would you wish that particular curse on your worst enemy, but you knew her better than anyone. Or at least you did, for a time. 

Closing your eyes as you rested at your desk, you briefly recollected how intimately acquainted you once were, before remembering how much had changed in the time since.

As you opened your eyes, they landed on the files and a small voice in the back of your head suggested you try calling Agatha. Just to give them back to her. 

You did already get all the useful information that was available, you reasoned. Knowing Agatha, she’d likely question why you had waited so long, but you already had an excuse for that.

You were fairly busy after all, and your paralegal was on vacation, so your normally clear desk now had a mountain-sized pile of papers that made your head spin if you stared at it for too long. If Agatha complained you’d just lie and say they had gotten lost until you sorted through everything.

Besides, you thought bitterly, Agatha lied to you plenty, about things of far greater importance than this. 

Checking the time on your phone, you wondered if nine pm on a Friday night was too late for a phone call, but Agatha had always been nocturnal, often working until the early hours of the morning. You used to find her passed out, slumped over her desk in the home office of the apartment you shared, and you’d drag her back to bed.

Your cheeks grew hot at the reminder of how you’d convinced her to follow you.

Clearing those thoughts from your mind you scrolled through your contact list until you landed on her name. There were a handful of times over the years where you considered deleting it, or blocking her number. But there was this unyielding force within you, prohibiting you from ever following through with it.

Knowing Agatha you wouldn’t be surprised if she somehow cursed you.

Your stomach did sickening flip flops as your index finger trembled, hovering over her name. This is ridiculous, you reasoned, finally pressing down, turning on the speaker setting as you set your phone on the edge of your desk. 

Unfortunately, instead of a familiar ringing noise, you were alarmed to hear an automated message, telling you that the number had been disconnected, before the line went dead.

She changed her number?

Your heart sank as you stared at the bright glow of your phone screen, the contact seeming to mock you. Letting out an agitated sigh, you snatched the device, holding it in your palm. Your hands were unsteady, and you hesitated for a moment, eyes locked on her name. The purple heart that accompanied it had been your idea, her signature color. It felt fitting at the time.

Without another thought, you swiped your finger to the right, permanently deleting the contact before shutting your phone off and tossing it in your bag, leaving your office without another thought. 

She changed her number.

You’d like to say you spent your weekend with your work laptop and phone shut off, enjoying your two days away from the office. But that would be a bold faced lie. You wouldn’t call yourself a workaholic, on the contrary your hours weren’t nearly as intense as when you were still in corporate law. 

Billable hours were a gift from the devil herself, truly.

You weren’t a workaholic, but you were a perfectionist. It was a matter of pride to be detail oriented, to be willing to go the extra mile and find the smallest flaw in a case. It’s what drew you over to the litigation side of things to begin with. Contracts, as thrilling as they could be, didn’t provide the rush of adrenaline being in court granted you.

It was ironic, you swore up and down this side of law could never interest you, but now you couldn’t imagine practicing anything else.

Well, you could, at times, as brief flashes of conversations with the one person you’d felt safe enough to share them with replayed in your brain. But that was a dream you’d given up on a long time ago, among other things.

As it turned out, time could change a lot.

When Monday morning came rolling around, you repeatedly hit snooze on your alarm, not quite feeling rested from your weekend. You took your time for once, even making yourself breakfast. With your paralegal still on vacation you realized how dependent you had become on her for the smallest of things, meals included. 

You should really talk about getting her a raise.

Despite your leisurely start to your morning, you were still out the door before most of the city was awake. You loved the chaos of Manhattan, the crowds of people and thralls of traffic were a warm contrast to the environment you had grown up in. But you’d be lying if you said you didn’t enjoy a morning commute that took under a half hour, as your Lyft zoomed through the relatively light traffic for a Monday morning. 

Since you worked all weekend your email inbox was manageable, and you marked a few messages to reply to later that morning. You were thankful for the lighter workload, as it allowed you to solely concentrate on your case. 

The ticking time bomb of the one month continuance wasn’t something you wanted to worry about just yet. 

Strolling into your building, you were unsurprised to find you were the first person to arrive for the morning. Walking past some of the potted plants near your office door, you frowned, stopping in front of them and examining tiny droplets of water on the leaves.

Did someone water them recently?

Maybe one of the janitorial staff did it, you concluded, shaking the thought from your mind as you fumbled around for your keys. Pulling them out from your pocket, you went to unlock the door, but were alarmed to find the door was already unlocked.

You didn’t have to open the door fully to know she was there, but you did anyway. 

Swinging the door open, you found Agatha already in your office. Only this time she was sitting at your desk, her feet perched up on the edge, her shiny black loafers reflected by the light. She was engrossed in reading something, her thick black rimmed glasses hanging low on her nose. 

“What the fuck are you doing here,” you hissed, slamming the door shut behind you. 

Agatha didn’t look up from whatever she was reading, but you watched her lip curl upwards, forming a cruel smirk. “Good morning to you too, dear. Muffin?”

It was then you noticed the box of baked goods on the edge of your desk. The sweet aroma of pumpkin and chocolate wafted through the room, they were always your favorite. 

No. You knew what she was doing. 

“I already ate, thanks,” you coolly replied, dropping your work bag near the door, before locking it. “You can’t keep breaking into my office. Do you have any idea what my colleagues would say if they saw you coming and going?”

Agatha hummed, dramatically flipping the page, and you felt a wave of anger rush through you. 

“That sounds more like your problem than mine,” Agatha unhelpfully pointed out, finally setting her papers down to look up at you, and removing her glasses. “Although to be fair, it’s almost insulting how easy it is to get in here. You should really talk to someone about investing in more advanced security measures.”

“What are you doing here?” You questioned, folding your arms across your chest. 

“Are you not happy to see me?” Agatha asked, fake pouting as she put her arms behind her head, the bottom of her dress shirt riding up, exposing her toned stomach. 

Agatha gave you a sly grin, and you quickly averted your eyes. She was unbelievable, really. 

You don’t know what you ever saw in her.

Clearing your throat, you took a deep breath. 

“What are you doing here, Agatha?”

“I was just in the neighborhood,” Agatha explained, kicking her feet off your desk, standing up. She pulled what she was reading up from a stack of papers, waving it in front of you. “You had something of mine.”

The file she had left behind. 

You fell quiet, and Agatha took the opportunity to approach you, tilting her head to the side. 

“What a naughty girl, keeping something that doesn’t belong to you.”

Ignoring the embarrassing rush of heat that threatened to pool between your thighs, you glowered at her. 

“Save it, Agatha. You left those here and I had no way of getting in touch with you,” you spat out, quickly losing whatever patience you had attempted to hold onto. “Who the hell changes their number nowadays?”

You froze, and Agatha’s eyes widened for a brief moment, before taking a step closer to you, stroking her chin with her thumb. 

“I should feel flattered you saved my number all these years later,” Agatha teased, voice dripping with sarcasm.

You tensed at her change of tone, her words having too strong of an impact on you. 

“Is everything a joke to you?” 

Agatha paused, thinking over your words, a calculated grin forming as her blue eyes gleamed. “No, actually. The spousal support I owe my ex wife, for example? Not funny at all, although I’m sure she gets quite the kick out of it.”

You found it rather unsurprising that Agatha managed to marry someone even more deranged than she was, but the difference being you actually liked the ex wife more than the attorney in question.

You’d probably have gone mad as well if you had ended up marrying her.

“You have your papers, get the hell out of my office,” you ordered, not in the mood to continue arguing with her.

Frowning, Agatha set the file on your desk, coming closer to you as she brushed a few strands of hair behind your ear before leaning in, breath hot against your skin.

“Do you really want me to leave? If I recall, you used to enjoy our little games.”

Closing your eyes, you tried to ignore the pleasurable sensation of her voice echoing in your ear, as you rubbed your thighs together, wishing she didn’t cause this strong of a reaction anytime she spoke to you. 

“I want nothing to do with you,” you reminded her, stifling a gasp as the attorney blew in your ear.

“Are you sure?” Agatha mocked, her fingers playfully tugging on your blazer. “You’re so stressed, not that I blame you. Imminent doom tends to leave one feeling tightly wound.”

“I hate you,” you breathed out, but your words held no weight as you didn’t move away from her touch.

“Yes, good,” Agatha cooed, pushing you backwards until your back hit the desk, towering over you. “More of that.”

This needed to stop, you knew it needed to stop. Each time you let her back in it did more harm than good. She was parasitic, infecting you with the need to be consumed by her and her alone.

“Agatha,” you protested, shifting your weight around, unintentional brushing against her pelvis, and your eyes widened, shooting her an incredulous look. “You didn’t.”

Agatha feigned innocence, pressing her hips flush against yours, and you moaned at the direct contact, feeling the strap she was packing under her pants. “I didn't do what, dear?”

Your body betrayed you as you craved more friction, and Agatha leered, situating her hands on your hips to help you grind against her. Each roll of your hips made you lose whatever sense of self control you were barely grasping onto. The reminders of why this was dangerous territory slipping away as Agatha’s grip on your hip tightened.

The attorney raised one of her hands to roughly grasp your chin, forcing you to look up at her.

Gasping, you closed your eyes, not wanting to look at her. “You seriously put that thing on to come over here?”

“Bold of you to assume I wore this for you,” Agatha murmured in your ear and your eyes shot open, glowering at her.

Your taste in women was truly questionable.

“I hate you,” you said, choking back a whine as Agatha’s lips latched onto your neck, nipping and sucking on your exposed skin.

“I know you do,” Agatha said mockingly, the hand she had on your hip, moving to the front of your dress slacks, skillfully unbuttoning them. “That’s why I can smell you, isn’t it?”

“You’re insufferable,” you groaned, wriggling out of your pants as they fell around your knees, letting out a pathetic whine as Agatha ran two fingers over your underwear. 

“Soaking through your panties like a whore,” Agatha growled, moving the thin fabric aside to touch your aching cunt, feeling how soaked you were. “Is all of this for me?”

“Fuck,” you moaned, head falling back as you gave in to her once more. “Agatha, please.”

Agatha moved her fingers through your slick, finding your clit with ease as she rubbed, kissing the sensitive spot under your jaw. “Please what?”

Bucking your hips up you tried to indicate what you needed, and Agatha seemed to take the hint, teasing your entrance and you let out a guttural moan, trying to fuck yourself on her fingers. 

Letting out a disapproving hum, Agatha removed her fingers, smirking when you cried out in disappointment. She raised her hand, her fingers dripping as they circled your mouth as you parted your lips.

“Suck,” Agatha whispered, forcing you to take her fingers in your mouth. “Show mommy that you deserve her cock.” 

Your cunt clenched at that, the ache becoming more unbearable every second you were left empty. Greedily taking her fingers you sucked them clean, whining at the taste of yourself on your tongue. Agatha let out a low groan as she forced them deeper down your throat, fucking your mouth.

“Such a good slut,” Agatha praised pulling her fingers out, lightly slapping your cheek. “So obedient when your mouth is full. You just want something to suck on, don’t you honey?”

Breathless, you barely recognized the sound of the whimper that escaped your lips. Agatha released you from her grasp, moving to settle into your high-backed leather office chair, index finger curling in a come hither motion, beckoning you to join her. 

“On your knees,” Agatha ordered, removing her slacks to reveal her strap-on.

The dark purple cock was thick, and bigger than what you had grown accustomed to taking in the past few years, and you felt your cunt clench at the thought of having it inside you, stretching you out. Mouth watering you dropped to your knees, and Agatha leaned back in the chair, wrapping her hands around your hair to position where she wanted to.

“Desperate fucking whore,” Agatha degraded you, each word making you drip more than the last. “Make mommy come and I’ll consider fucking that greedy pussy.”

Wasting no time you eagerly leaned forward, tongue swiping out to lick at the head of the toy. Patience had never been the attorney’s strong suit, and she tugged on your hair, forcing you to take more of the cock down your throat. 

“Fuck, good girl,” Agatha moaned, eyes locked on your own as she watched you struggle to take so much at once. “So pretty for mommy when you struggle.”

Her words served as encouragement for you to put on a show, forcing yourself to take her to the hilt. Choking around the strap you felt tears begin to swell in your eyes as you breathed through your nose, and Agatha groaned louder than before. 

“That’s it baby. Swallow me,” Agatha hissed, fucking your face as her hips thrusted harder than before, getting off on using you as her own personal sex toy.

Swearing, Agatha’s hips stilled, face contorted in pleasure as she came, eyes rolling to the back of her head, fingers intertwined in your hair as she tugged on the strands to the point where you let out a muffled moan. Panting, the older woman released her grip on your hair, signaling you were allowed to remove your mouth.

Her strap was covered in your saliva as you caught your breath, but Agatha didn’t allow you much time to recover, a feral look in her eyes as she rose from her chair, yanking you up by the hair to face her. The attorney’s blue eyes were clouded with lust as she impatiently spun you around, bending you over your desk.

The humiliation of being exposed this way was too much, and came to the conclusion you could get off like this alone. You didn’t have to look at Agatha to know she was smirking, pulling on your hair again to make you arch your back. 

“Tell me you missed this,” Agatha murmured into your ear, hands groping every inch of your body she could reach. “Tell me, and I’ll give you what you want.”

You were almost too far gone to fully think about the implication of what she was saying, but not enough to give in so easily. 

“You wish,” you threw out, moaning louder at Agatha’s responding slap against your ass. 

“Tell me,” Agatha growled, spanking you again, harder than before, cackling at the way your body reacted to it. “So fucking pathetic, no one else can fuck you like this, can they? ”

You remained silent, trying to restrain yourself from climaxing before you felt her inside you again. Agatha spanked you a third time, the slapping sound echoing throughout your office.

“I’ll give you one more chance,” Agatha threatened, and you could tell she was just as far gone as you. “Tell me you missed this.”

“I…I missed this,” you breathed out, the unsaid words hanging heavy in the room, as both you and Agatha knew what you really meant. What she was really asking.

You missed her. 

Agatha rubbed the tip of the strap up and down your cunt, and you whined. She had been torturing you with the teasing, all you wanted was for her to be inside you.

“Mommy, please,” you said, nearly crying.

Without warning Agatha pushed inside your entrance in one thrust, making you take her to the hilt. You nearly screamed, her strap almost painfully deep and your walls fluttered around it. You were so full, the only thought on your mind was how you wanted her to stay inside you forever.

Giving you a moment to adjust to her size, Agatha tugged on your hair again, kissing your neck as her hips rested flush against yours. After a few moments she began to move, thrusting slow but deep, staying buried in your cunt.

“That’s it baby, squeeze my cock,” Agatha moaned, making you feel every inch of her. “Good fucking girl.”

“Mommy,” you whimpered, listening to the obscene sound of your hips thrusting against each other, the noise filling the office. 

“No one else knows what a slut you are, do they?” Agatha mocked, increasing her pace as she fucked you even harder. “You’re just mommy’s little cocksleeve.”

“Fuck yes,” you moaned, feeling a familiar tightening as your cunt pulsed around the attorney’s cock. 

“Say it,” Agatha grunted out, moving at an erratic pace. “Say you’re mommy’s cocksleeve.”

“I’m mommy’s cocksleeve,” you said obediently, relishing in the deep groan that left Agatha’s lips, the sound causing you to clench.

You were so close, you could feel it.

Agatha could tell you were nearing your peak, as she wrapped an arm around your waist, lithe fingers finding your clit and rubbing in time with her unwavering thrusts. Every second teetering you closer to falling off the edge of pleasure. 

“Do you want something?” Agatha teased, as you were left breathless after a particularly hard thrust.

“Please,” you begged, not caring how desperate you sounded. “Please I need to…”

“You need what, slut?” Agatha jeered, removing her fingers from your clit, bringing her hand to wrap around your throat, squeezing lightly. “What do you want?”

“Mommy, please,” you pleaded, gasping as the attorney choked you, the delicious burn nearly causing you to finish.

“Come for mommy, baby,” Agatha said, voice hoarse as she kept her hand wrapped around your throat. “Soak my cock.”

You felt yourself let go, body rippling in pleasure as you came, sporadically moving your hips to meet Agatha’s thrusts as she helped you through your orgasm. The attorney grunted before her hips stilled against yours with one final deep stroke, staying inside you as you came down from your high.

Removing her hand from your throat, Agatha stroked your cheek, a stark contrast to how roughly she just fucked you. You let out a deep sigh, collapsing against your desk. It was unclear how long she stayed inside you before she pulled out, chuckling at your little whimpers from being left empty.

“I never understood why you enjoyed running so much,” Agatha said suddenly, body still pressed against yours as she left kisses on every inch of bare skin she could find. “I’ve always found this to be a much more…pleasurable form of cardio.”

You laughed, the sound echoing throughout the room as you felt your heart rate begin to go back to normal. “Funny, Agatha. Very funny.”

Peeling herself off of you, the attorney gently turned you around before settling back in your chair, allowing you to rest on her lap. 

“That was…” Agatha trailed off, brushing your damp hair out of your face. 

“Yeah,” you said quietly. Agatha didn’t have to finish her thoughts, you knew what she was implying.

You wish this could be easier, this gravitational pull you had towards one another; that things weren’t so majorly twisted between the two of you that you could invite Agatha to dinner and try again. Or to even just have a conversation that didn’t start with an argument and end with both of you naked. 

But that wasn’t the reality of the situation, which finally came back to you as you finally caught your breath. 

This couldn’t keep happening.

“I have a lot of work to catch up on,” you said suddenly, clearing your throat as you got off the attorney’s lap. “Um, thanks for…”

“For the muffins?” Agatha jested, avoiding your eyes as she stood up, helping you find your clothes. “Your sweet tooth is hard to forget.”

You smiled for a moment, a bittersweet feeling overtaking you as you let her words hit you. 

“Yeah, for the muffins.”

Agatha finished redressing, her brown hair splayed messily over her shoulders as she unsuccessfully attempted to tame it. You grabbed a spare hair tie from a drawer in your desk, and held it up to her. Agatha nodded, turning around, allowing you to gather her hair and pull it back. You swore you heard her sigh as your fingers combed through the tousled locks, but you quickly secured it, taking a step back.

The attorney turned back around, an uncertain expression on her face, eyebrows furrowed, her frown line becoming more prominent as she stared at you, deep blue eyes boring into your own. 

“You read the hospital records,” Agatha stated, in a tone so certain you questioned why she chose to say it at all.

“Of course not,” you lied, but Agatha’s piercing gaze saw right through you as she arched an eyebrow. “Okay, fine. Yes, I did.”

“And?” Agatha prompted, looking expectantly at you.

“And what?” You questioned, motioning to where the file lay abandoned on the opposite side of your desk. “The majority of the pages are missing. There’s nothing useful there.”

Agatha’s eyes shifted, looking to the ground for just a second, and when she looked back up her signature smirk had returned. “Of course, right as always, dear. I’ll see you in court.”

She snatched the file in her hands before leaving your office, slamming the door shut, leaving you alone, and wondering what the hell just happened. A sinking feeling in your gut was suggesting this case was far more complicated than you had been led to believe.

[girlgenius1111]

promises

part 2 to behave. sol makes some questionable decisions. mapi comes to her rescue. ingrid comes home. ft. someone special.

Your arm was broken, and you hadn’t gotten drunk in months. Of course, the two main reasons you had for sneaking out could definitely be construed as two reasons not to sneak out as well. But Ingrid was out of town only until the following afternoon, and Mapi slept like the dead. It was a perfect opportunity, the only opportunity you’d have for many more weeks to come. And besides, you were 18. You weren’t breaking any laws. 

You’d been invited to a party, too, which wasn’t an opportunity you wanted to waste. You hadn’t assimilated to school very well. It was a nightmarish hell, honestly, but in the past few weeks you’d made a few casual acquaintances. They weren’t in any of your classes, and you didn't know them very well, but it was a good start.  

You slipped out the front door at around 1, promising Scout you’d be back soon, and began the few blocks’ walk to where the party was. You were excited. 

------

You didn’t like this. It was unclear what was so unsettling, maybe it was the fact that everything had changed so dramatically since the last time you’d been drunk. Maybe it was because, now, you cared very much about disappointing the people in charge of you. There was also the tiny detail that you’d had way too much. Your tolerance had evidently gone down in the past several months, but you hadn’t really thought about that until it was too late. 

Either way, you just really weren’t feeling the party. It reminded you too much of being back in Norway. How you felt then… you hadn’t really realized how bad it was until you were out of there, and doing much better. The taste of tequila on your tongue was a very visceral reminder of that time. 

It tasted like loneliness. It tasted like you hated everyone, yourself most of all. It tasted like you didn’t care much whether you got home safely, or got home at all. Like you were completely meaningless, and you always would be. You were scared, honestly, just wanted to go home. You headed out the back slider, leaving behind the noise of the party, and fell into one of the patio chairs. You couldn’t walk straight, your mind was completely cloudy, and you were having a hard time stringing any coherent thoughts together. You wanted to go home, but there was no way for you to get there; you definitely couldn’t walk. And even as drunk as you were, you knew ubering home in the middle of the night, by yourself, completely wasted, was a horrible idea. 

You were considering your options when your phone ringing interrupted your thoughts. Mapi was calling you. Fuck. You had no choice but the answer. She had your location. The only way you would have gotten away with this in the first place would have been if she hadn’t woken up. Now, though. You were completely screwed. You did your best to sound as sober as possible when you answered the phone.

“Hi Mapi.” You said cautiously. 

“Nena. Are you coming home soon?” Mapi asked calmly. 

“W-what?” You slurred back, blinking hard in an attempt to clear your mind. 

“You snuck out a couple of hours ago, and now it is almost 3am. So. Are you coming home soon, or should I come get you?”

“You knew I snuck out?” You asked dumbly. 

“Yes, nena. Now, where are you? Are you drunk?” 

“No.” 

You could feel Mapi roll her eyes. “Liar. I am coming to get you.”

The wind picked up a bit, and you shivered, suddenly feeling very cold, and very alone out in the dark. “Mapi?”

“Sí?” 

“Can you stay on the phone?”

And just like that, Mapi’s tone switched from annoyed and slightly amused, to full of concern. “Sí, I’m right here. What is going on? Are you safe? Are you with anyone?” 

You looked back through the sliding door, the party still in full swing. You weren’t alone, really, but you weren’t… with anyone. And for some reason, maybe because you were having memory after memory of feeling very similarly in Norway, you didn’t feel quite safe. 

“There’s a party inside. I’m outside. By myself. Can you come fast? I don’t feel good.” 

“I’m on my way, mi sol.” Mapi promised, and you knew without her saying it that she would go as fast as she could. 

------

She should have stepped in sooner. She should have stopped you the minute you’d snuck out the front door, or at the very least, followed you to where you went. 

She’d been awake, scrolling on her phone. Sleeping was always a bit more difficult without Ingrid there with her, so though it was later than usual for her to be up, it wasn’t completely unheard of. You were quiet as you left, but Mapi had accidentally picked up your phone earlier in the evening, and seen a text containing an address in it. The Spaniard was young once, too, and she knew pretty much instantly what was going on. She half hoped that you’d just ask about going, but as she was reminded often, your parents had done their damage. You’d snuck out instead. 

The thing was, Mapi honestly didn’t care very much that you wanted to go out. It was slightly worrying that you’d felt the need to sneak out, but she understood. The rules were different now than when you’d been in Norway, and it was clear to her that you were still getting used to that. 

You didn’t sound good on the phone, though, and she couldn’t help the worry that filled her as she sped towards the house your location was displaying. It wasn’t just that you were hammered. You sounded… far away. You sounded like the Sol she met when you first arrived. Cold, terrified, closed off, and desperately sad. Mapi didn’t like hearing you like that, and now she really wished that she would have stopped you from leaving the house earlier. 

There hadn’t been a peep over the phone for a few minutes as Mapi neared the house. “Hey, nena? You with me?” 

“Mm hmm.” You hummed, your attention fixed on the sky above you. It was funny, how all the stars could be the same in Barcelona as they were in Norway, yet everything else could be so drastically different. 

“I’m in front. Can you walk out to me, or should I come back and get you?” She was thrilled that you’d made friends enough to go to a party, and she didn’t want to embarrass you if she didn’t have to. 

“‘Can walk,” You mumbled, standing up from the chair, taking a step forward, and promptly falling face first to the ground. Mapi heard the racket, and was out of her car and running to you before you could get a word out. “Mapi, I fell,” you whined over the phone, completely oblivious to the fact that the Spaniard was sprinting in your direction. 

“Idiota.” Mapi mumbled, arriving at your side and bending down to inspect your face. 

“Mapiiiiii,” you sang, eyes halfway closed as you grinned up at the other girl.

“Ay dios mio.” Mapi sighed. You were worse off than she’d thought. “Did you hit your head when you fell?” 

“No, but I hurt my knee, look,” you said sadly, pointing down to a very small scrape. 

“Alright, let’s get you home and I’ll take care-”

“Excuse me, who are you?” A girl asked, stepping out onto the patio, looking between you and Mapi. “Sol, do you know that girl?” 

“I am her… Mapi.” Mapi said, internally rolling her eyes at herself. 

“She’s my Mapi!” You said enthusiastically, somehow hopping to your feet with a bit of agility, and leaning heavily against your sister's girlfriend. “She’s my sister Ingrid’s Mapi, her name is girlfriend.” You slurred. 

The girl just blinked, looking confused. “I am her sister’s girlfriend, María. She called me. I’m going to take her home now.” 

The girl’s expression cleared. “Oh, got it. Thanks for coming, Sol, see you monday.” 

“Byeeeeeeeee.”

“Have a good night.” Mapi said kindly. She appreciated that the girl hadn’t let some stranger abduct you from her patio. She began the arduous journey of practically carrying you back to the car. Once you were in the front seat, she turned the light on above you tilted your face towards her. 

“Nena, open your eyes.” She instructed. You did, opening your eyes ridiculously wide, until they began watering. She just wanted to make sure you hadn’t been drugged or anything, given how out of it you were. Your pupils looked normal, and she decided you had just had way too much to drink.“Okay, you can let your eyes be normal now.” 

They fell back into the half lidded state they were in before, and you sagged into the seat. Mapi bit back a smile. Now that you were safe, she was slightly amused at Drunk Sol. You were funny. 

She’d noticed something though, and as she buckled your seatbelt around you, she asked a question she knew you’d probably avoid answering if you’d been sober. 

“Nena, do the kids at school call you Sol?” 

Mapi had been under the impression that you went by your real name at school, as much as you hated it. Ingrid and Mapi almost exclusively called you Solstråle or Sol, now, just out of habit, but she hadn’t realized you’d made the change at school, too. 

“Yup.” You said, head turned towards her, though your eyes remained shut. 

“Why?” She wondered. She was just curious, honestly. Not only had she not known that you’d had friends at school, you hadn’t mentioned talking to anyone enough to come out of your shell, and tell them something different to call you. 

“I like it better.” 

“Oh.” Mapi said. 

“I like Sol. It’s pretty. And you picked it.” You attempted to poke Mapi’s nose, missed, and hit her cheek, though you continued on like nothing had happened. “And my mom never called me that. It’s a happy name.” 

Mapi blinked at you, before she cleared her throat. “Well, I’m glad you like it.” She said softly, before she shut your car door, and walked around to her side. And if she wiped a few tears away as she did so, that was no one’s business. 

-------

“That STINGS!” You shouted, sitting up out of what Mapi thought was a light sleep, yanking your leg away from her. She’d been trying to disinfect your knee, taking advantage of the fact that you’d collapsed onto the sofa the minute you made it into the house. 

“Sorry, Sol, I’m just cleaning it.” Mapi said, stifling a laugh at the absolutely betrayed look on your face. 

“You SCRAPED MY KNEE!” You insisted, a huge frown on your face. 

“Sol, you scraped your knee, when you fell down earlier. Now let me put a bandaid on.” 

“I didn’t fall, you fell.” You grumbled, though you extended your leg back out to her. “Mapi?” 

“Hmm?”

“Why is my arm wearing a blue condom?” You asked, dead serious, holding up your cast and inspecting it thoughtfully. Mapi bit her lip, trying in vain not to laugh at you, knowing you wouldn’t appreciate it in this state. 

“It’s not a condom, Sol, it’s a cast. You broke your arm.” 

“Oh.” You sat for a moment, watching as Mapi very carefully ensured the bandaid was correctly placed on your knee. “Are there condoms for lesbians?”

God save her. Mapi looked up at you, trying to tell if you were being serious. Your face was completely blank. No. No. She wasn’t doing this now. She was quite sure you’d had sex education, and even if you hadn’t, she’d make Ingrid do it when you were sober. “We can talk about condoms tomorrow. You’re going to bed now.” 

“If there are lesbian condoms, I’m in trouble, because I’ve never used one and I’m a lesbian.” You continued, before sitting up with a gasp. “Oh GOD. Am I pregnant?” 

Now, Mapi really wished she had stopped you from sneaking out. She wished she’d locked you in your room for the night, honestly. 

“Sol, you are not pregnant. Lesbians can’t get each other pregnant.” She explained, lifting you off the couch and into her arms. You were silent as she walked up the stairs, you curled up against her, until you sniffled quietly. She looked down, seeing tears in your eyes, and hurriedly placed you on your bed. “Hey, what’s wrong?” She asked gently, wiping away a stray tear. 

“That’s so sad.” You cried. 

“What is?” Mapi asked, bewildered. 

“That lesbians can’t get each other pregnant. It’s not fair.” 

“Sol, did you not know lesbians couldn’t get each other pregnant?” The Spaniard asked exasperatedly, really starting to doubt the sex education program at your school. 

“No. I just didn’t think about it until now and it’s so sad.” You mumbled, flopping back onto your bed. “‘Cause lesbians are the best.” 

Mapi flopped down onto the bed next to you, rolling her eyes when Scout picked his head up to glare at her. Of course. Now the dog woke up. “It is sad.” She agreed, thinking it was the easiest way to end the conversation. You didn’t respond, though and she looked over to find you already asleep. 

Thank god.

-------

When you wandered down the stairs at 10 the next morning, Mapi was glad to see that you looked relatively… fine. Not hungover at all, which was absurd considering the state you’d been in the night before. 

“Good morning, Solstråle.” She said, smirking when you looked at her with a furrowed brow. 

“Morning.” You mumbled back, throwing yourself dramatically onto the couch.

“How are you feeling?” 

“Just tired.” 

“You aren’t hungover?” 

“I don’t really get hungover.” You said absentmindedly, scrolling on your phone, only looking up when Mapi didn’t say anything. “What?” 

She looked surprised and kind of annoyed. “You don’t get hungover?” 

“Nope!” You said cheerfully. “Probably a young person thing.” Turning back to your phone, you jumped when a pillow thwacked you in the face. 

“I am young.” Mapi grumbled. You just laughed. “You will not be laughing when Ingrid finds out you snuck out to get drunk.” 

You sat bolt upright, staring at her with your jaw dropped. “You’re going to tell on me?” 

And though she’d said it mostly as a joke, she’d been serious, and she was surprised you hadn’t known that. She told Ingrid everything. She couldn’t keep this from her. “Sol, you had to have known I’d tell her.” 

“You knew I left and you didn’t say anything! This is your fault!”

“My fault?” Mapi laughed. “I wasn’t going to tell her if you snuck back in, but you were so drunk I had to come get you. So. I’m telling Ingrid.”

You studied her for a minute. “I don’t think you will.” 

“Oh you don’t? And why not?” Mapi said, grinning. 

“Because if you tell Ingrid, I am sure Alexia would love to know that you gave her hermanita a tattoo behind her back.” 

The smile fell from Mapi’s face as she stared at you in horror. “You wouldn’t.” 

You smirked. “I would.” 

“Sol, you promised you would not tell. This is not just about me, this is about Fresa too, and you cannot…”

You began to tune Mapi out at the name. Fresa. The day you’d met her had been… a rough one. You’d argued with Ingrid about Camila, and she’d left the house before you could make up. Camila had been together a week, and Ingrid was far from happy. You were left stressed in your room, worried that Ingrid was going to return and take back every nice thing she’d said over the past week or so. It had been a bad day, yes but you still remembered meeting Alexia’s little sister, very clearly. 

-------

A soft knock on your door had you looking up from the school work you were struggling over. 

“Come in.” 

Mapi popped her head in the door. “Can we talk for a sec?” 

You stiffened, though your face was completely blank. “Okay. Did I do something wrong?” You asked quietly. You were always more withdrawn after an argument with your sister. Mapi didn’t say anything about the fact that your cheeks were tearstained, or how you regarded her a bit frightfully. You did so many things frightfully, even now, even still. 

“No, no, not at all. I just have a favor to ask you.” You nodded for her to continue. “Alexia’s younger sister is coming over today for a tattoo, while Ingrid is gone. And I really, really need you not to tell Ingrid about it. Or Alexia. Or anyone.” 

You were a bit stunned by the fact that Mapi would trust you with a secret like this. No one had trusted you with… anything in a really long time. Things were different, you reminded yourself. “Okay .I won't tell.” 

Mapi looked at you for a minute, maybe surprised at how easily you’d agreed. “I don’t mean to make you keep secrets from Ingrid, it’s just that-”

“It’s fine, Mapi. Ingrid won’t think to ask me about it, so it’s not really lying anyway.”

Mapi was  aware that she was probably crossing a boundary by asking you not to tell Ingrid about this, but Fresa was practically an adult, had a good head on her shoulders, and honestly, she needed someone to show her some love. Mapi knew she wasn’t doing something bad, which is how she justified asking you to keep the secret. Fresa needed her sisters, but they weren’t paying attention, and she was tired of trying to get it. So, if Fresa wanted a tattoo from Mapi, then she’d get one. And honestly? Mapi didn’t feel bad about keeping it a secret from Alexia. She was pretty frustrated with the midfielder at the moment, but she could only fix the relationship between sisters one at a time. 

“Okay. Thanks, kid.” She said, giving you a small smile. You smiled back at her, just a bit, but it was more than Mapi normally got, so she took it. 

------

When Mapi had said Alexia’s sister was coming over today when Ingrid was shopping, you’d been much too focused on Mapi trusting you to really process what she’d said. Though it all came rushing back to you when you wandered down the stairs, responding to a text from Camila. She had just invited herself to the next home match and told you she didn’t want to sit with Mapi. You were trying to figure out what to say, because honestly, you liked sitting with Mapi at Ingrid’s games, even if she talked a lot; it was endearing. You had just decided to agree to Camila’s request when Mapi caught your attention. 

“Oh, Solstråle,” Mapi said excitedly. You looked up at her in surprise, your eyes flicking over to the other girl in your house. She was looking at you with a smile on her face, as if she’d just been joking around with Mapi. She had that Putellas aura, one that completely projected confidence. It intimidated you, and you faltered, unsure what to do, or say to this mysterious, beautiful girl. You didn’t want to lounge in the living room anymore, waiting for Ingrid to get home so you could apologize and see if she was still mad. You wanted to go back to your room where it was safe and there were no strangers. “This is Ingrid’s hermana, Solstråle,” Mapi introduced, giving you an encouraging smile. 

You took a minute step backwards, slightly panicked. You forgot you had social anxiety, sometimes, especially when you went so long without meeting new people, and being expected to talk to anyone other than Ingrid and Mapi. The pretty girl smiled, and your brain fell empty for a second. 

If she was beautiful before she smiled she was… otherworldly when she did. She was warm and happy and so… light. She was overflowing with love, and you could tell from just a few seconds of being in her presence. 

“Solstråle, this is Alexia’s sister, Fresa.” Mapi continued, pretending that you weren’t acting like a complete weirdo. You still couldn’t talk, your mouth suddenly very dry, and Mapi sighed a bit. That sent you reeling because normally, Mapi was so careful not to ever let you think she was disappointed in something you did. 

She really just wanted you both to be friends, and felt like she was blowing the introduction, but you felt like you needed to get out of there before you made even more of a fool of yourself. 

“You can say hi Sol she does not bite! Actually you-” 

You interrupted Mapi, hastily greeting Fresa in what was probably very poor, and very quiet spanish. Then, you made it even worse, somehow, by turning on your heel and making a break for it. Back to your room where it was safe. 

Mapi apologized later for putting you on the spot with a new person, and you’d apologized for acting like you’d never spoken to another human being in your life before. Mapi casually asked if you wanted her to get Fresa’s number from Alexia, so you both could be friends, but you’d declined. 

You didn’t need friends. Definitely not pretty friends that made you nervous, especially when there was absolutely, positively no way she’d like you back. Or even that she liked girls. What were the odds all three Putellas sister’s were lesbians? It seemed unlikely to you, and you tried to push Fresa out of your head as the weeks passed. You focused on Camila, and then you focused on anything but Camila. Fresa always… stayed in the background, though. Always a thought. Always there. 

-------

You blushed at the memory, at how insanely shy and awkward you’d been. You honestly weren’t really looking to share that story with anyone, let alone Alexia, who was one of the coolest people you'd ever encountered. 

“Alright, I won’t tell anyone. I did promise.” You stated, before you grew serious. “But please don’t tell Ingrid, Mapi. It is never ever going to happen again, I felt so weird yesterday, it wasn’t fun at all. It was a one time thing.”

“What, you are never going to drink again?” Mapi asked, distracted and now slightly concerned. 

You decided to be honest, because vulnerability couldn’t be worse than Ingrid yelling at you. It would come close. But it wouldn't be worse. “No, I just…I realized I don’t need to do that anymore, blackout every weekend. When I used to do it before, in Norway, I was trying to forget. I was running away from my problems. I don’t need to do that anymore, I don’t want to.” 

“Oh.” Mapi said carefully, recognizing the weight of what you’d just admitted to her. “Okay. Fine. I won’t tell Ingrid. If you promise to stop taking pictures of me sleeping next to Scout, because they are not representative of our relationship. We do not like each other. We just happen to fall asleep in the same spot sometimes.”

You threw your head back and laughed. “Sure, Mapi. If that’s what you want.”

------

Ingrid hated ubering home from the airport. It took forever, the drivers were never very good, and she much preferred her girlfriend to come to the airport and greet her with a warm hug. However, Ingrid couldn’t miss the opportunity to surprise you both upon her arrival home. It had been a tough couple days for you, she knew. You were an emotional mess after the hospital, though you pretended not to be, and you hated not being able to do your normal activities. So, when Ingrid realized she could catch a flight in the morning as opposed to the afternoon, she jumped at it. She missed her girls, and seeing you both sooner was worth the hassle. 

You and Mapi had ensured the house was spotless. Early on in the break, you’d suggested making slime. Mapi had agreed, and it went about as well as could be expected. The dining room floor was now bare, the rug that normally lived there was nowhere to be found. Other than that, though, the house was clean, and Scout had gotten a bath, courtesy of Mapi due to the cast on your arm. That went about as could be expected, too. 

After cleaning, you’d slumped onto the couch grumpily. Mapi knew you were bummed about your hand. You were such an active person, always moving around, always doing something outside. Now, though, you needed to rest your very broken arm, which meant that you were stuck inside with Mapi. You were grouchy and short tempered, but the Spaniard was doing her best to keep you occupied. 

Both of you were too wrapped up in the intense round of mario kart you were playing to notice the car pull into the drive, or hear your sister approach with her suitcase. You could only play with one hand and the thumb of your broken hand, so Mapi promised to only do the same. As soon as you began to beat her, though, she began to cheat, sneakily using both her hands on the controller, much to your frustration. 

Ingrid felt a pang of worry flash through her when she heard a raised voice as she unlocked the front door. She knew what your mood had been like, and she was worried you were arguing with Mapi. You’d never yelled at her girlfriend before, but you’d definitely yelled at Ingrid. 

“I swear to god María, I am going to throw this at your head,” you shouted. 

Ingrid fumbled with her keys in her haste to get the door open. 

“I am not cheating!” Mapi defended. “You are seeing things, pequeña, I thought it was your arm that was b-”

Her voice cut off as Ingrid swung the door open, a small smile on her face as she’d realized what the argument was about. 

“Ingrid?” You and Mapi said, completely in unison. Scout hopped off the couch, trotting over to his second favorite person, eagerly sniffing at her legs. Ingrid petted him, her attention still on the two of you, frozen on the couch. The rainbow road music still played in the background, and it was truly a comical sight. You had been attempting to kick Mapi’s controller out of her hands, and she was trying to cover your eyes. 

“Ingrid!” Mapi said again, launching off the couch to almost tackle her girlfriend in a hug. 

“Hi my love,” Ingrid murmured, hugging Mapi back rather tightly. 

“I’m so glad you’re home.” Mapi whispered. “She’s scary when she’s grumpy.” 

“I heard that.” You said, frowning at the Spaniard. Ingrid was surprised when you yanked on the back of Mapi’s shirt, pulling her away from your sister, and took her place. The hug you gave your sister was fierce and if Ingrid had been wondering if you’d missed her, she no longer did. 

“Hi sweetheart,” she said, squeezing you tight. 

“Hi.” You mumbled. “Missed you.” 

“I missed you too, Solstråle.” Ingrid said with a smile, taking your cast into her hands as she pulled back. 

“How is your hand? How are you? Are you doing okay?” She asked worriedly, and you nodded, though you really appreciated how much she cared. 

“It’s fine, really. Mapi was… Mapi was really helpful. Couldn’t have done it without her.” You glanced at her, before turning back to your sister, changing the subject. “Blank canvas for you to sign.” You grinned. Ingrid returned that smile and dragged you into the kitchen without further ado. She completely disregarded her duffel bag by the door, and left her backpack on as if she couldn’t be bothered with it before she signed your cast. 

“Can I sign when you’re done?” Mapi asked eagerly. 

“When I’m done, yes,” Ingrid sighed, though she was endlessly entertained by her girlfriend’s impatience. Mapi was like you in that sense. 

Ingrid found a sharpie in the drawer, carefully grabbing your cast in her hands, instructing you to close your eyes. 

‘du er favorittpersonen min selv når du faller love, ingrid’

When she was done, she told you to open your eyes, and you did so eagerly, looking down at what she’d written. You weren’t expecting tears to flood your vision, but they did. ‘You’re my favorite person, even when you fall.’ It felt like it had more than one meaning. Ingrid would always love you. Regardless of your mistakes. 

You smiled at her through your tears, throwing your arms around her again in a tight hug. She caught you easily, enjoying the moment. 

“Ahem. MY TURN.” Mapi said impatiently, causing both you and Ingrid to break into laughter. You let Mapi sign, then, even though she wrote so big it took up half the cast. Ingrid just watched, enjoying the sight of her little family. It was very perfect. 

-----

:)

send! your! sol! thoughts! and let me know what you thought of this one 🙂🙂🙂🙂🙂🙂🙂

[tadpolesonalgae]

Blood-borne

Azriel x reader

synopsis: When reports of attacks from strange beasts increase up in the desolate Illyrian Steppes, both Azriel and Cassian are tasked with clearing out the malicious creatures. But when Azriel is bitten by one and sweats break out, the High Lord realises perhaps he should have put more time into investigating the ancient species. More specifically, why the attacks started after a millennia’s worth of peaceful cohabitation, and what the consequences will be of their venom once again mixing with Illyrian blood.

warnings: blood, illness, eventual vampire! Az, generic healing descriptions

a/n: so this started off with I’ll Sleep When I’m Dead, then switched to Lust For A Vampyr, and finally ended with Sour Switchblade. Who knows where the next one will start 😔

word count: 7,975

It’s the dead of night. Peaceful. 

The moon is high in the sky—a gleaming, crooked, slash of a smile—and the city is dark, revelling in the beloved starlight far above, twinkling like millions of glazed, porcelain teeth, cast into a murky black sea and stitched into the heavens. Your windows are ajar, a cool night breeze circulating your chambers, keeping the air fresh and crisp even while you sleep. 

Azriel and Cassian will return in the early morning, eager to be rid of Illyria as soon as possible. Between the two of them Azriel will likely be the one more insistent on a swift departure, though you can’t imagine him ever voicing his distain. Luckily Cassian will be there to pick up on his non-verbal signals. 

You’ll have to check in with Feyre too, make sure she’s recovering well after her birth. Physically, the damage was extensive—if it wasn’t for the healing blood in her veins and Nesta’s intervention… Your fingers pinch the bridge of your nose, rubbing to soothe the growing headache before your arm slides across your face, elbow hanging crooked over your brow. She’s been on the mend but it’ll be a long while yet before she can even think about shifting again; longer yet before she can fly. As for her son…he’s healthy. Practically brimming with life. Everyone’s seen the twinkle in his round eyes. You’re certain he’ll grown into a menace soon enough. 

As for Elain… 

Guilt is a ball of iron in your chest. With everything that’s been happening as of late there’s been little time for either you or Madja to keep a proper eye on her. You just hope the two of you haven’t been too preoccupied with the more obvious matters to disregard the internal ones. It’s hard to gauge where she’s at, and you often have to rely on Nuala’s reports to hazard a guess at what might be going through the young female’s mind. Externally, she’s doing exceptionally well—keeping herself busy: baking, reading, walking, gardening, knitting, sewing, stitching, studying. She keeps herself fresh and put together, skin healthy and strong, hair lustrous and long, a vivid glow about her. No eye-bags nor sallow complexion, she communicates with the twins fine and only has rare days of reclusion where she retreats to her bedroom. By all means she’s doing well. 

It’s worrying. 

There’s so much to keep an eye on within this family, so many minor tensions to understand—more so than any other setting you’ve been placed in. Each day has its own set events to overcome, a new detail to examine, whether that’s a shift in expression as another family member enters the room or as blatant as the simmering hatred that so nastily permeates any room the High Lord and his eldest sister-in-law, Nesta, are placed in. 

Inhaling a dragging breath, your focus slips to the raindrops glittering over the window pane, the piercing light of the moon shimmering like tiny stars, the inky darkness of the city itself reflected upward from below like tight, vicious pupils, hundreds of tiny eyes pressed up to the glass. 

A thunderous crash comes from the floor below, the thump pulsing once through your chest, jerking you awake. 

At once your feet find the cool wooden floorboards, a nightgown strung over bare shoulders, not a second of movement wasted before the glowing faelight is cupped in your palm and the cold iron of the door handle is twisted, opening up into the yawning darkness of the corridor. A gust of rain-soaked wind funnels down the hallway, whipping hair from your face and the faelight flickers, shuddering once before pushing back against the looming shadows crowding the space. 

You hug your thin nightgown tighter, hurrying barefooted down the hall to the staircase, skin tightening to gooseflesh as a second gust of icy wind flushes through the house, howling from the front door that is cast wide. The rug is soaking beneath your feet as you press it closed, following the low light at the far end of the corridor to the kitchen, tiles colder than ice and soaked in puddles of water. 

Blood roars through your ears, pausing only for a second of analysis as you take in the rain-soaked scene. Shards of ceramics scatter the floor, a body splayed across the dining room table, two figures stood either side. It’s all you have time for before rushing forward, only now catching the sickening tang of iron in the air, the wind having previously blown the scent away and you tap the fae light twice in your palm before releasing it high above the slumped figure on the table. It’ll have to do for now. 

Sour, pale-yellow light fills the dining room and blood gurgles from Azriel’s mouth, wet gasps bubbling up from his chest. Rhysand is stood at one head of the table, hand clutched tight around Azriel’s, the High Lord’s towering figure curved crookedly over his brother’s, close enough their brows are touching and it’s clear enough Rhysand is doing what he can mentally, relieving pain, sorting through panic and adrenaline to find his shadowsinger some order to cling to. 

“What happened?” You ask Cassian, darting forward to closer examine Azriel’s state. As far as you can see there are two main wounds, one on the thigh of his left leg and a second having broken into his ribcage on the opposite side. By now the blood flow has already begun to wane, a countdown to his life force bleeding dry. If the wound had been gushing you would have felt more reassured. There’s far too little blood coming from wounds as deep as his. 

“There were more than we anticipated,” Cassian grits out. “Their nest was supposed to be on the far side of the mountain. Most of them got cleared out but two we’d already cut down must have been playing dead and bit on our retreat.” 

“The chimeras?” You ask, noting the splay of teeth marks that are puncturing the right side of Azriel’s torso, the fleshy grey of broken bone visible through one of the upper gouges. 

Cassian nods grimly and you seal your mouth shut to prevent from cursing. It’s bad luck to hear a healer curse—your job is to know what’s going on and get things better, not worse. Adrenalised panic only helps in temporarily keeping pain away. For now you have to do what you can, sealing the wounds, and hope that there’s no fractured enamel trapped inside. 

“Has he begun healing yet?” You ask, pressing the second and third fingers on both your hands either side what you guess must be the puncture mark of the beasts’ canine, two significantly larger than the others. 

“No. I think he’s lost too much blood to manage anything like that. He wouldn’t stop bleeding the entire flight down,” Cassian replied, voice raw. You wonder how long he was shouting to Azriel over the screaming storm outside in order to keep him conscious. Cassian’s dark eyes shift to his brother’s face, thick brows growing heavy as they stitch together, chest still heaving as adrenaline doubtlessly begins to seep away, leaving stagnant fear to lean on. “I thought he was going to die,” Cassian murmurs, so low you doubt either other male can hear. 

“He’s not going to die,” you assure, pushing growth into the surrounding tissue, guiding his open flesh back together like shaping clay. “Hold the wound on his leg until I can let these ones breathe.” 

A pulse of rejection seizes Azriel’s chest, blood flecking his sour-toned skin, Rhysand’s own knuckles turning bone white as he grips tighter to his brother. You’re lucky he’s here, or else things would be much worse. You don’t linger on the thought, your own breath beginning to labour as you move to the second puncture gouge in his chest, bone protruding from deeper in the flesh. 

A twinge of fear pieces your mind. 

Azriel groans on the table, wings deathly still where they’re splayed off the sides, the joints at their ends beginning to curl inward like a spider’s legs on the verge of death. Breath whistles in his lungs, blood no longer gurgling from his chest—barely moving at all. 

“Rhys!” You shout, pulling him from that mental bridge he’d been tending Azriel upon, gripping his shoulder roughly. “Pull away! Pull away!” 

The High Lord’s chest heaves as he forces himself back, releasing the soothing hold he’d had on Azriel’s mind, hands still clutched together. 

The Shadowsinger jolts on the table, body writhing as fresh pain blazes through flesh, senses no longer muted. It’s probably going to be the last thing he can hold onto. 

He’s fading. 

You look at Cassian, bloody fingers still pressing down on the wound, the miniature, magical stitches sewing tissue back together slowly making their way back to the surface, flesh returning to its healed state. “Fetch Madja,” you instruct, “We’ll have a better chance with both of us. Quick. And Rhys, I want you to find-”

A gasp comes from the doorway and the High Lord’s expression drains. It’s far from ideal to have her within such a high stress environment but it’s really a last resort. 

“Feyre, your blood,” you request urgently, feeling the weight as violet eyes cut into your side, but it’s necessary. It’s the boost that will save Azriel’s life, or at least sustain him until Madja arrives. “Only a small amount,” you say calmly, “he just needs enough to keep him alive until I have Madja to help.” 

Feyre swallows only once before she’s hurrying forward, blue-grey eyes rushing over the male on the table, tension in her jaw. “How much?” She asks, taking the blade Cassian hands her before he heads out into the night. “A slice across your palm. If you feel faint stop immediately.” 

She doesn’t hesitate, an excess of blood swelling in her hand before spilling into Azriel’s open mouth, pale lips soaked red. His throat works and you rush round to his other side, now pressing one palm to each gash. 

There’s no time to pace yourself in this encounter. 

It’s a one-time brawl, not a long-spanned battle.

————

Come morning your hands are aching, lungs tired and stretched, throat parched. You haven’t had such a long night since the end of the war. 

At least now you have free access to water, which you’d taken full advantage of when returning to your room. 

By the time Madja had arrived you’d had all the immediate injuries patched but there had still been little colour to Azriel’s complexion. Pallid save for the blood staining his open mouth. If Cassian hadn’t flown so swiftly; if Feyre hadn’t been there; if Azriel hadn’t the strength to hang on… It’s a small miracle he’s still alive and breathing. 

As soon as the sun touches the horizon you get yourself up, preparing to take over Madja’s shift after she’d seen him through the night. There’s still a drained pit where your magic should be, the small amount of sleep you’d managed to grab doing little to aid its replenishment, but it should be enough for today. 

It’s only upon seeing the bloodstained bandages wrapping Azriel’s body and leg that you realise all the rainwater from the night before must have been blood, soaking the rugs, the tiled floors, the bare skin of your feet. It’s a good thing those clothes had been stripped down and tossed into a pile before falling into sleep the night just past. 

“How is he?” You ask, stepping into Azriel’s room. The thick curtains are drawn, but even so it’s too light. 

“Asleep, for now,” Madja replies, raising from her chosen seat at the bedside. “Once I administered the pain reliever he settled down and hasn’t stirred since.” Worried eyes flicker over the male’s body, dark hands tucking her pencil away. You step forward, hand cupping her elbow carefully, “You deserve some rest, too.” Brown eyes don’t leave Azriel for a few moments, but eventually she nods, meeting your gaze, returning the touch on your arm. “You’re a competent healer, you know. You did well last night.” Madja smiles, nodding. “Good work.” 

The words remain in your mind all morning while you’re overseeing Azriel, routinely checking his temperature, keeping an eye on his breathing patterns, and pulse, but it’s not until well past midday that he stirs. 

You sit silently at his side. It’s his breathing that changes first, a deeper breath than the ones before bringing air deep into his lungs, lips peeling themselves apart. Then it’s a twitch in his brows, lifting once then furrowing over his eyes which screw themselves shut. A low groan rumbles in his throat and you allow yourself a subtle sigh of relief. His eyes are next, blinking open by less than a hair’s breadth, pupils gradually contracting to filter the light away until he can look around freely. It takes him longer than usual to get his bearings, but that’s to be expected. 

You wait until he’s ready to speak. 

“How bad is it?” Azriel rasps, his vocal cords chewed up. A smile curves your eyes, “You aren’t dead.” Air rattles in his lungs, a wheezing cough stuttering once from his chest and you offer the glass of water from his bedside. Azriel tilts his head to the side, and you retract the glass. 

“I’m going to ask you a few questions,” you tell him, turning to the notebook Madja had left for you. “First of all, what’s your name?” Azriel is silent and you look over to him, concern welling in your chest, but instead his mouth is pursed, expression flat. You sigh, fondness pushing up into your voice, “Come on. It’s routine.” 

“Azriel,” Azriel answers, giving you a deadpan look. You nod. “Do you remember where you were going yesterday?” 

A pause, then, “Illyria. Cassian and I were returning.” 

“Good, but you’re jumping ahead,” you warn, making hazel eyes brighten within the shadowy room. “Can you tell me the names of your two brothers?” 

“Cassian and Rhysand.” 

“Do you know where you are?” 

This time Azriel pauses, eyes darting around the room, his brow furrowing. “The River House?” 

You nod, “You’re in a guest bedroom since it was closer. I’m afraid it’ll probably be some time before we can move you to your own room.” But Azriel tips his head to the side again, “It’s fine.” 

“Alright,” you reply quietly, keeping your smile to yourself. “Next question. Just a few more,” you add when Azriel exhales heavily. “Do you remember what happened to you?” 

“Cassian and I were supposed to be investigating the recent attacks up in Illyria. There was supposed to be no contact.” 

You nod, smile faded. “Do you remember how you got your injuries?” 

“We thought we’d cleared out the ones that had found us, but we hit their nest by chance and there were too many. On the way out one that had been dead bit me.” You wait for him to continue but he stops, looking back to you. 

“Is that all?”

Azriel nods. 

You note down his story, along with the point his memory cuts out. “You don’t remember the second bite?” You inquire. Azriel tilts his head, no. “Do you remember getting here?” Azriel tilts his head again, no. 

You nod, sitting straighter. Pushing a reassuring expression to your features. “Well, the good news is you aren’t dead, as you’re aware.” Azriel rolls his eyes, then hisses, groaning as something hurts. “Your wings are also unscathed, which I’m sure you’ll be pleased to hear.” The Shadowsinger grumbles something you don’t hear. Of course you’re glad he’s okay. 

“Right,” you announce, pushing the glass of water to him again which he drinks from reluctantly, “Are you feeling right enough to answer a few more questions for me, or would you like to rest?” 

“What time is it?” He asks. 

You glance at the clock on the wall, “It’s coming up for four in the afternoon.” 

“I can answer a few more questions,” he decides, allowing you to take the glass from his hand once he’s done. 

“Firstly, how are you feeling? Any pain or numbness? Changes in temperature? Aches?” You prompt, pencil at the ready. “My head is pounding,” he answers, eyes remaining only half open though you doubt it’s entirely from fatigue. “My lower body is numb, but my left foot feels cold. A dead cold.” You nod, pencil scratching. “My throat is sore, but my eyes and teeth are the most piercing.” 

Your brow furrows, “Eyes and teeth, huh… Are your eyes hurting as a part of your headache, or do you feel it’s different?” 

“It’s like I haven’t slept in two weeks, and something’s trying to suck them from my skull,” Azriel rasps. Scritch scratch. “And…you mentioned your teeth are hurting… Toothache? I’ll ask Cassian whether your jaw might have had a collision.” You glance over to Azriel who’s still pale. But alive. “What does it feel like? Bruising? Broken?” You’d know if it was broken, though. 

Azriel tilts his head. “More piercing. Here.” Azriel guides his tongue to his left canine. “And here.” He touches the right one. Your brows furrow then you remember to keep your face neutral. Azriel wheezes a sound that might have been a chuckle. “Anything else?” You ask, moving quickly past your error. Azriel tilts his head again, no.

“Alright then. It would be best for you to try and rest for a few more hours—think you can fall back asleep?” You ask, closing the leather-bound notebook and setting it upon the side table. The Spymaster sighs, tilting his head. You aren’t surprised. “You should try. Your body needs the rest.” You pause, considering. Then, “Do you feel well enough to try eating something? It would be good for you.” 

Azriel’s eyes slide shut, lips curling miserably and you have to muffle your laugh. “I don’t want to be eating plain chicken for the next few days,” he mumbles. 

“We need to be careful of your stomach, and your body needs nutrition. Protein.” You reason, “Be happy you aren’t having to drink your meals after mentioning that toothache.” Hazel eyes crack open just enough to send you a piercing glare, but it only results in an upward twitch of your lips. “Would you like me to fetch you anything in the mean time?” You add, knowing it’s not nice to be resting when there’s work that one could be doing. 

“My notebook should be on my desk—can you bring me the stack of reports that will be in the uppermost drawer on the right hand side? There’ll be the first thing you see when you look inside.” You raise a brow, mouth pursing. “Already trying to get back to work?” 

His lips twitch. “I have a lot of work to do.” 

“Well it’s going to have to wait,” you sigh, standing from your chair. “I can fetch your notebook and a book of your choosing—so long as you promise it won’t be work related.” 

“All my books are work related.” 

Your eyes narrow on the bedridden male, waiting for his mask to slip but it remains firmly in place. “Seriously? Not one?” 

Azriel shrugs. Or tries to. It’s more a light twitch of his wings. 

You sigh, nodding to yourself. “Alright. I’ll find something.” 

You turn to leave but a small shadow stirs in your periphery, dragging your attention back to him. Hazel eyes twinkle as the darkness lifts the silky dark hair from his brow, damp enough to appear like ink even in the shadowed room. You roll your eyes, pacing back over to his side, gently laying the back of your fingers across his brow. A beat passes, then Azriel’s eyes slide shut the rest of the way. Your touch lingers on his forehead, taking longer than necessary to gauge his temperature. 

“Your fingers are cool,” Azriel murmurs. Eyes only opening once you pull away again, silky hair flopping back into place. 

“You’re still a little feverish,” you tell him quietly, wary for his aching senses. “Hopefully it’ll pass swiftly enough, but if not your recovery will only take a few extra days.” A pause passes through the room, and you should really be writing that temperature down as your hourly mark. 

As if on cue, a warmed plate appears on the bedside table, and a look of sorrow dims Azriel’s already dismal features when he spots the plain, boiled chicken.

You offer a pitying smile which earns you a grunt of displeasure before you’re turning for the door, pausing on the threshold. “I’ll make sure it’s a good book,” you offer. 

Azriel’s expression turns dour, brow pinched, mouth thinning, and you can practically see his shadows beginning to brood. 

‘It had better be,’ he mouths, voice too worn out to reach you across the room. 

————

The next morning is the same routine, waking up as soon as the sun bleeds over the horizon, trickling pale gold into your bedroom on the first floor. It’s a swift execution of movements, washing, combing, and dressing before you’re out into the house and heading down the hall to Azriel’s temporary room. 

The handle twists before you have a chance to lay your hand on it, Cassian stepping out from the interior. Hazel eyes shift to you, worn and fatigued—usually it’s Azriel who accessorises with the hints of mauve beneath his eyes. “Did you get to speak with him?” You ask, voice kept low in case Azriel’s resting inside. The General nods, leathers stretching as he pushes the dark hair back from his brow, not yet tied back for the day and curling around his shoulders. “Thank you for keeping him alive,” Cassian says, equally quiet. 

“It’s my job,” you smile. “Besides, it wasn’t just me. If you three hadn’t been there it could just as easily have turned bad.” You nod to the door, the room where Azriel’s staying, “You helped more than you think, Cassian.” 

Cassian offers a stiff nod, then he’s straightening, about to leave. 

“I wanted to ask you something about that night,” you say, catching his attention. “Azriel mentioned his teeth hurting, specifically his canines—do you know if he might have collided with the floor after the first bite?”

“Not that I remember,” Cassian contemplates. “He stayed upright and ambulatory until we reached the tunnel exit.” 

You nod, thinking. “Alright… Well, we’ll be keeping an eye on him anyway. Hopefully it’s just a side effect of sinus pressure or headaches.”

Cassian nods his head once, then you’re going your separate ways. 

The curtains are still drawn, and Azriel still appears pale despite the shadows dimming colours. He’s asleep however, which is good, at least. 

After a brief exchange with Madja over how the night went you’re all ready and seated at his side. The plate from yesterday had been removed but the book is still on the side table, no sign that he started it that you can see. 

Like the previous day, Azriel doesn’t wake until long past midday, only rising to consciousness around sundown. 

His eyes are thick and heavy as they blink open, a darkened tinge to the whites that you can’t quite make out the colour of in shadow. The skin of his lips is cracked, peeling at the bow of his mouth, pulling back from his teeth. Despite the long bouts of sleep the dark smudges beneath his eyes don’t seem to be going anywhere, only further deepening, contrasted against the waning colour of his skin—the once rich brown now turning grey and ashen. The fever will be surfacing, regardless of suppression and attempted appeasement. 

His temperature had begun rising overnight, just tipping into the twenties as the moon slipped away.  A sure sign the burning flesh is on its way.

Azriel’s chest lifts and lowers shallowly, breath rasping from desiccated lips. A sheen runs across his pale features, brows appearing closer to oil than ink. Heavy lids slide shut as you guide the slick hair over his forehead to the side, the backs of your fingers laying tenderly down—it’s nowhere yet even near the breaking point.

“Azriel?” You whisper, “Can you hear me?” 

The restless flutter of his lashes alerts you to his awareness, eyes stirring beneath near translucent lids, mauve capillaries webbing through the thin flesh. He creeks himself apart—he’s gotten abruptly worse. Bloodshot hazel tries to shift about the room but he groans, eyes choosing to remain stagnant in his skull instead.

“How are you feeling?” You murmur, fingers retracting, splaying the notebook across your lap, pencil in hand. “My head…” Azriel rasps, voice more ragged than when you last heard it, like something’s come along and ripped it to shreds, “…it’s splitting.” Your brow furrows—Cassian reported he hadn’t received a blow to the head. He seemed appropriately injured yesterday, but for some reason he’s so much worse. Could the meat have been off? Surely not. 

“Madja told me she administered a balm to your skin before dawn, is the rest of your body aching?” You inquire, considering applying a fresh layer to ease the pain that’s begun to bubble back up. 

“My stomach’s starving…” Beneath the cream cotton covers his arm passes over his abdomen, resting. “It’s like someone’s grinding me up between stones.” 

“Okay hold still, the balm might feel cold but I’ll apply some more.” Already you’re pulling back his covers, preparing to begin warming the cream between your palms to encourage its goodness to act swiftly but something catches your attention. While there’s no need for bandages over his torso, his thigh has been wrapped and sanitised, now mottled with something dark and not-quite blood coloured. More concerning is the black tissue stitching together the sections where his stomach had been gauged open, thin threads of necrotic flesh lacing his surface. 

Your jaw bites itself together, cold overtaking your spine. Whatever’s happening to him is different from general infection. 

Lips part as a soft curse slips out—venom? Impossible. The beasts have never been reported to posses glands like that. But it’s the only explanation. 

Considering explanations though…was the reason for their seemingly random switch in nature ever understood? Before now the chimeras never bothered the Illyrians, cohabiting up in the steppes peacefully, as far as you’re aware. What catalysed this sudden shift in nature? 

Another noise of deep-rooted pain groans through his chest, oil-black brows condensing to a point in the middle of his forehead, skin shining with the movement as feverish sweat breaks across his features. Your own brows furrow, heart beating frenetically, “Azriel…?” 

His teeth grit, jaw grinding as if in pain, and his breathing becomes ragged; irregular and torn at the seams. Again you lay your fingers across his brow, and he’s noticeably hotter than before, almost burning in comparison. 

Water. He needs water. 

“Azriel,” you try but his eyes are shut tight, the fabric of his sheets darkening in a close perimeter around his body, sweat staining the cloth. “Azriel I need you to drink some water,” you urge softly, taking the glass and sliding your palm beneath his head, inclining him from the pillow and bringing the chilled glass to parched lips. He drinks deeply, polishing off the water swiftly and you stand to go in search of a rag to lay across his brow. It brings only a temporary reprieve before he’s panting once again. Teeth worry your lower lip. 

Whatever’s happening, it isn’t normal. 

“Azriel, I’m going to speak with Rhysand briefly. I’ll be back in three minutes,” you tell him gently, pressing the glass back into his palm. “Drop this on the floor if you need me sooner; I’ll hear it.” 

Then you’re off into the hallway. Either male will do, but something was wrong with those creatures, and your instincts are telling you it needs to be gotten to the bottom of, and swiftly. 

A life might depend on it. 

————

It must be the goodwill of the Mother than allows both Cassian and Rhysand to be at that moment in the latter’s office, heads turning when the door is thrown wide. 

Apology passes briefly through your eyes but as soon as you step foot in the room it vanishes, door clicking shut as you hurry into the room. “Cassian, I need to you get me one of those chimeras. Dead or alive, but preferably dead. Something’s wrong with Azriel and I think it’s to do with the change in behaviour we’ve been seeing from those animals.” 

Violet eyes flicker, “What’s wrong with Azriel?” 

“I don’t know,” you inform, expression hard. “His flesh is turning necrotic in places around the wounds and his fever isn’t breaking. Madja reported his temperature increasing around two o’clock this morning and the way he is now makes it seem as if he’s on the third day and untreated.” You turn to Cassian. “I need one of those Chimeras to examine, as quick as possible. They aren’t supposed to carry venom but it seems a mutation is the only reasonable explanation, in which case we need to figure out what that means and fast, or else we won’t have enough time to figure out what that means for your brother and to cure it.” 

The General glances once to the High Lord, sharing a nod before Cassian’s making a swift departure, urgency underlying his movements in a way you hope won’t get him wounded. It makes you call after him. “Whatever you do, don’t be reckless. If you get hurt up there or bitten then both of you will be at risk. This isn’t a time to be cutting corners.” 

A muscle in his jaw feathers. “I know.” 

Then he’s gone. 

Sweat glides down your spine, if he’s as swift as he was the night they returned then the journey there and back should take under an hour. Add on the time to locate and kill a chimera…a few hours, tops. With the rate Azriel’s fever is developing, it’s all you can spare. 

Violet eyes are strained when you next meet them, but you’ve little time for further apology as you ask, “How is Feyre doing?” 

“Resting,” Rhysand replies, the stern grit of his voice telling you he already knows why you’re asking. Your jaw tightens, shoulders tensing at that tone, something inherent wanting to turn away from that fiercely protective look in his face, warning you not to suggest what you know you have to. 

“If worst comes to worst,” you say, quietly. 

Rhysand’s expression doesn’t give for a long while, and you fight to keep firm. Until tension flickers through his violet eyes. “It’s her choice,” he relents, tension taut, the whites of his knuckles disagreeing with his words. “But if she tries to give too much, if you don’t stop her then I will.” 

You nod grimly, understanding the order well enough. 

If Feyre tries to give Azriel more blood than she can afford, you’re to pull her back.

Even if it costs his brother’s life.  

————

The sun is down, and Cassian still isn’t back. 

The rain lashing at the windows and snarling round the house feels like an omen, shadows dancing like snakes across the floor every time a bolt of lightening fractures the sky. Deadened leaves whip through the howling winds, a deluge crashing down on Velaris. 

On the bed, shivering and drenched, is Azriel, pallid skin glistening with a deathly pallor. His surrounding sheets have been doused in sweat, a sour, sick smell filling the room, the stagnant odour of the ill. The black threads of flesh have begun spreading further, thickening into sluggish stumps, streams of necrosis reaching across his stomach; snaring his far leg. 

If Cassian isn’t back soon, you’re going to have to try and cut it out from the roots. 

Madja lays her hand over the slope of your shoulder and you exchange glances; she’s come to the same conclusion you have, her normally warm features for once showing a grim set. You turn your body from Azriel, dipping your head so he won’t be able to hear, though you doubt he’s in any state to eavesdrop. 

“How much longer?” You whisper lowly, eyes glued to the dark floorboards, unable to lift them any further. Madja glances once over her shoulder, a heavy silence filling the air. “Minutes,” she answers. “He has minutes to get back here.” You swallow—those are near impossible chances. The odds were steep enough without the crashing storm outside hindering visibility. 

“You’ll take his stomach?” You whisper, pushing past the lump in your throat. Madja nods, “Fetch two bowls of water. I’m going to speak with Feyre; see how she’s holding up.” She’s probably quickly becoming the last gleam of hope to give Azriel a fighting chance of surviving until Cassian arrives. 

Or until he bleeds out from the incisions you’ll be forced to make to cut away the rot. 

Azriel stirs in the bed once you return from the washroom, setting the second bowl down and approaching his side. Once more, you lay the backs of your fingers across his dampened forehead, sticky sweat smearing your skin but it’s nothing compared to the fierce heat radiating from his skull. His temperature has been teetering into the forties for a while now. 

Something like a groan strains through his chest, the tendons in his throat flexing as he swallows, and you lift his head from the pillow, bringing the chilled glass to his peeling lips. He’s too weak to push the drink away, hardly strong enough to swallow, and a cool trickle slips from the side of his mouth, streaming over his jaw and into the cushion. Azriel tilts his head when he’s done, and you pull away, setting the glass down upon the cramped side table. 

Hazel eyes crack themselves open, except now they’re a mix of yellow and black—pupils blown so wide they’re practically swallowing his irises, the whites of his eyes souring to a sickening yellow, like the congealed scum of rotten milk, red rimmed and watery. 

‘Hot,’ he mouthes. Barely. It’s the near silent touch of his tongue to the roof of his mouth that gives the word away. 

You don’t know what to do anymore. There’s nothing else you can do, besides offering water. 

“Azriel, can you hear me still?” You ask, crouching down to be by his side, mixing your hand with his. He groans, fingers weakly flexing around your own. It’s a small piece of hope,  that he isn’t yet completely gone. You lean closer. “Just a little longer, Az,” you whisper, thumb swiping back and forth gently over his burning skin, “You need to keep going. You can’t leave them behind.” 

His hand is silent in your own.

Where is Cassian? 

A shadow careens past the window and a flashing red thud slams into the front garden, the doors being blown open a few moments later as fresh rain and howling wind whips inside, sparing not a second in removing mud-caked boots or blood-slicked leathers before he’s marching into the house. From the floor below you hear his name called out, but there’s no cause for relief. 

Voices murmur and footsteps hurry, boots clumping about on the lower floors and you hurry to the bedroom door, looking just in time to see Rhysand near the top of the staircase. “Does he have it?” You call, the pound of your heart making your voice breathless. Rhys nods but his eyes are dark and unusually shadowed, “He has it.”

 It’s only when he descends the case that you spot the thick book he had clutched beneath one arm on his far side, as if anxious to keep it as hidden as possible. You want to follow, to see the chimera for yourself, lend Madja a hand in trying to understand what’s mutated within the beast to cause such a drastic shift but that’s not your job at the moment. Your job is to look after Azriel. Even if all you can do is sit by his side and watch as he dies. 

Tension stitches your jaws together, but you force yourself to turn away, shutting the door once more to return only for a scream to claw and rip from your throat. 

Blunt teeth are digging into the flesh of his forearm, biting and gnawing as blood paints his lower jaw, spilling down onto his chest, trickling along his arm. You run forward, trembling fingers searching for that point that will spasm the muscle enough for his jaw to unlock. 

“Azriel!” You scream, “Azriel stop! You need to stop it!” 

Thick blood oils your fingers, his teeth releasing the bitten flesh only to clamp down a fraction of a second later, locking themselves in place as muscle flexes in his jaw, straining beneath the pressure he’s clamping down with. You fumble, hands shaking as he tries to rip himself apart. You search again, fingers digging into his jaw but he writhes on the bed, wings flaring wide enough to send everything on the side table smashing to the floor, throwing you to the ground in a mess of fractured glass and gushing, freshly bloodied water. 

The leather-bound notebook is soaked, ink bleeding across the pages but that’s not what you currently care about. Instead you grip the book from the floor, flying to your feet as you surge forward, nails screaming out in pain as you try to forcibly pry his teeth apart, pushing the spine of the book forward. 

“Azriel…!” You hiss, straining against his sudden display of strength. “Bite! Bite down on this…!” 

For a few dreadful seconds it looks like he’s going to bleed himself to death, but then his teeth release just long enough for you to shove the hard leather of the thick notebook into his mouth, vicious canines stabbing through the outer layer in one swift bite. Clamping down firmly. 

There’s no time for relief, no time for fixing the jagged mess on the floor, nor for celebration, as you take in the fresh blood staining his lower face. Azriel’s wounded arm tries to lift from the bed but more blood gushes out and you have to pin it down until the message reaches his pain-twisted mind and he uses the other to change the positioning of the book in his mouth, angling and biting, slowly chewing the leather to pieces, digging his canines into the notebook repeatedly as if he’s teething.

Footsteps pound along the corridor just as you finish forcing Azriel’s flesh back together, door flying wide as Madja bustles through, a glass vial of pure black liquid grasped in her weathered hand, Rhysand just a step behind. Neither ask what’s happened, why there’s so much blood staining sheets and flooring and sallow skin. 

Dark brown eyes flash once over the Shadowsinger before Madja’s figuring her order—one both you and Rhys know before it even leaves her mouth—“Hold him down.” Rhysand takes the side the Azriel’s leg wound is on while you stick where you’ve remained, but even with you leveraging all your weight over his bloody, shredded arm it’s near impossible to keep him down. 

The book comes away in tatters when Madja manages to pry it from his mouth, jaws snapping, black ruby teeth glittering wildly as he searches for something to bite, all the while the storm roars on outside, thunder rumbling through miserable grey skies, so deep it’s in the floorboards. 

“Rhys,” you hiss out, “can you do anything?” If he can slip inside and provide even a temporary moment so Madja can get the remedy down the Shadowsinger’s throat. The High Lord’s jaw tightens with the effort it’s taking to keep his brother down, teeth gritting as he shakes his head, “there’s nothing to go into. It’s just wind and shadow in his mind.” 

“We have to do something,” you force out, looking between them. “He’s not going to drink it like this-”

“And we can’t waste this vial,” Madja finishes grimly. 

Rhys’ head lowers, hair falling over his brow like dozens of spider legs, tension gripping his shoulders, then he’s bellowing Cassian’s name, the roar so loud you’re surprised the room doesn’t collapse in on itself, heart pounding in your chest like a war drum. A few moments later heavy boots are lopsidedly clumping up the stairs, the General swaying as he hauls himself through the door. “Take her place. Keep him down,” Rhysand orders through gritted teeth. It seems Cassian’s barely keeping himself conscious, but still he manages, no time to pause. 

As soon as Cassian’s hands have taken over you retreat, darting around Azriel’s thrashing wing to be at Madja’s side. His blackened eyes are wild, back arching from the bed as pain lances through his body, teeth still flashing with furious hunger. 

“Azriel,” you yell, crusted palms laying either side his mouth, cupping his jaw as you attempt to still the wild thrashing of his body without losing any fingers. “Azriel, look at me. Look at me.” Blown out pupils stare up at you, yellowed eyes sore and so, so wrong. “That’s it,” you manage, forcing your voice to calm, “You know us. You remember us.”

His upper lips curls in a snarl and blood seeps from the broken skin, so dried out and desiccated that it splits at the slightest stretch. 

“You remember us,” you repeat, thumbs stroking back and forth, swiping the edges of his mouth tenderly, “Don’t you? Remember Cass and Rhys? They’re your brothers.” Oil-black brows narrow, but the two other males are having better luck holding him down than before, so you push forward. 

Your hold tightens and you lean closer, almost sharing breath. “Do you remember your name?” You ask softly, soothingly stroking his cheeks, ignoring the blood soaking your hands. “It’s Azriel,” you whisper, “You’re Azriel.” 

His eyes shutter, struggling again but you hold firm. “You just need to hold on a little longer, Azriel. We have a remedy, but you need to drink it first.” Sharp, black eyes scan your features, cutting back and forth across your expression, his face still twisted in partial fury, shadow and wind roaring outside but his struggling has lessened enough for the antidote to be administered. 

Yet as soon as you pull away his wings flare outward, the bed creaking as the powerful limbs thrash, a vicious snarl ripping from his throat and both Cassian and Rhysand are nearly knocked back from the force of his retaliation. 

“Azriel…” You plead, nails digging into his cheeks, dragging his attention back. “Azriel, please,” you beg, “hold still.” Icy breath repeatedly hits your chin, his panting becoming shallower and shallower by the second, yet he shows no signs of giving in. Pure panic drips down your spine, hands shaking as you hold onto him for dear life. 

“We have to try,” Madja whispers, not directed at you. In your periphery, Rhysand nods in agreement, but it won’t work. He’ll send the vial flying, just like the glass and the bowl, shattering on the floor, destroying the precious cure with it. 

A hot tear splashes down onto Azriel’s bloody cheek, a second droplet falling soon after, soundless compared to the raging storm outside. Thunder and lightening zeroing to silence as you look at him.

Thumbs swipe back and forth across his skin. He can’t die. 

You swallow, sparing a moment to look at Madja. “Give it to me,” you whisper. 

Madja hesitates. 

“Let me give it to him,” you plead, able to feel Azriel’s sluggish pulse beneath your hands. 

Silence hangs in the air, then Rhysand nods. “Try.” 

Beneath all of you, Azriel begins to stir again, the soothed state you’d gotten him into already so quickly slipping away. Slipping through your fingers. 

Madja offers you the vial, and in one movement you’ve poured the contents into your own mouth. 

The liquid is thick and congealed across your tongue, vile and putrid but then you’re pressing your mouth to Azriel’s, his bloody lips freezing beneath your own, peeling and ripped in places but they part for you, your thumbs still stroking as you tilt yourself over him. 

Your mouth opens for his, and the remedy flows into him, spilling down his throat. 

This time both Illyrians are ready and braced as Azriel writhes and thrashes on the bed, lip curling in revulsion as the foul tasting liquid is swallowed down his throat, wings flaring and flapping, knocking back and forth so violently the bed groans like it might finally give way. Fury twists through Azriel’s features and you recoil as his fangs sting at your lips, hot, fresh blood bubbling into his mouth before you can even realise he’s bitten you. 

You pull away, forcing your hands over his chest, Madja now beside Rhys as you all try to keep him down. Heaven knows what he’s mad enough to do with the pain carving his mind apart. 

By the time he settles, you’re all breathless. But it’s done. He took the remedy. 

Slowly, you stand, each of you bracing as if he might start back up at any second and you need to be ready to jump back into place. But he remains still. Dead still, but you can pick out the small pulse in his throat. You cling onto that pulse, desperately.

At last you all pull away, and Rhysand drags a hand down his face, you and Madja glancing to one another with a mix of emotion. To your left, Cassian sways, then his legs give out, body thudding  as his knees his the floor, the rest of him giving out now the task is complete. You’ve each done everything you can; pushed to the limit, and possibly beyond.

“Mother’s grace,” Madja whispers in thanks, and you do the same, sending a prayer to the sky, hoping it will be enough. She nods to herself once, twice, three times. Easing in a few steadying breaths before straightening, swallowing. “Cassian,” she names, addressing the body on the floor and you don’t fault her for her breathlessness, “we need to find him a bed.”

You nod, panting. “Rhys and I can manage,” you breathe, exhausted. “Can you take cleanup in here?” You ask, moving with Rhysand to grip Cassian beneath his arms, only now spotting the blood on his leathers, though it’s too much of a mess in here to judge who it belongs to. 

Madja nods solemnly, and between you and the High Lord, you manage to lift the fearsome General from the ground, hefting him out into the hallway, taking the room immediately next door and laying Cassian on the bed there. 

You slump against the wall, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand when you realise the foul taste is still there, having been obscured by the metallic flavour of your own blood. 

Rhysand remains stood over Cassian, looking down at his brother with an expression you can’t read. It’s none of your business, either way. 

Your nose wrinkles, pulling your sleeve over your hand and spitting into the fabric, wanting to rid yourself of the vile taste. “Fuck. What was in that?” You gag, looking forward to a glass of water to clean your mouth out and a wash. 

The hairs at the nape of your neck prickle, and you lift your head to find dark violet watching you from across the room. You’d apologise for cursing, but that doesn’t seem to be the reason for his look. 

Tentatively, you straighten. “Do you know?” 

Silence hangs in the air. Then he relents.

“Blood.” Rhysand murmurs. “Chimera blood.”

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[mapiforpresident]

Please Don’t Leave Me Part 2

Part 1

~~~

Alexia couldn’t hear anything besides ringing as she fell to the floor on her knees. 

“Ma���am, Mrs. Putellas, can you hear me? Y/n needs to be rushed into emergency surgery. I need your verbal consent as her wife to operate on her.” The doctor stood there trying to get Alexia coherent enough to listen to watch what she was saying.

Finally Alexia replied, “yes, yes do anything possible to save her please. I can’t live without her. Please help her.”

Hearing the commotion from the hallway, Mapi stepped out of Ingrid’s room just as the doctor rushed back into the room to take you to the operating room.

“Ale what happened? Is y/n ok, they said she was stable.” Mapi said becoming more frantic at why Alexia was balling her eyes out on the floor in the hallway instead of by your bedside. 

“She… she… her heart… they have… to operate… now. Her heart … it was beating so fast. I was just holding her hand … talking to her. I… I told her that I’m pregnant.” Mapi let out a gasp at this, handing going to cover her mouth as the other pulled her best friend closer. “I found out this morning, I was planning… to tell her tonight. I had it all planned out. I bought a little Barca jersey with her number and everything. We’re going to be parents. We’re supposed to be parents together. I can’t do this without her. I can’t lose her. I can’t do this alone.” 

Mapi sat there in shock for a minute taking in what her best friend told her as she gave her as much comfort as was possible for the situation. Mapi knew that the two of you had been trying for a baby for over a year now. Alexia had confided in Mapi many times throughout the rough journey. There had already been many failed IVF attempts and this was going to be your final one. You and Alexia agreed to take a break if it didn’t work. She knew how excited Alexia must have been just that morning when she saw the test was positive. She also realized she and Ingrid were going to be aunts. She couldn’t imagine what her best friend was feeling now. Sure her wife was also in the crash, but Ingrid was for the most part ok and would just need a couple of months to heal. You were in much worse condition. Neither Mapi nor Alexia filling knew what the emergency surgery you were just rushed to even entailed. 

Mapi decided that sitting on the floor would not make either of them feel better, so she stood up. She then lifted her best friend up who gave little protest before leading her into Ingrid’s room. As soon as she entered the room with a sobbing Alexia, Ingrid’s face dropped.

“What happened, where’s Y/n. You told me she was stable. Oh my god,” she said, fearing the worst. She had never seen Alexia looking like this, she knew something terrible happened to you. She had actually been planning to get in a wheelchair and come visit you in a couple minutes. 

“Something happened and her heart started beating really rapidly. She is still alive, they just decided to operate on her now instead of waiting until tomorrow.” Mapi said as she led Alexia to sit in the chair in the corner of the room.

“I’m so sorry Ingrid, I’m so sorry,” Alexia said as a fresh wave of sobs fell over her.

“It’s not your fault, Alexia. Y/n is strong, she will pull through. I know she will.” Ingrid said to both Alexia and herself. Her older sister is the strongest person that she knows. 

“It is my fault I was talking to her when it happened. I told her that she has to get better and that she can’t leave me b…because I’m…. I’m pregnant.” At this Alexia looked up at Ingrid for the first time. Ingrid was laying in the bed looking bruised and banged up, but overall ok, and Alexia was relieved to see her sister-in-law ok. She knew her and Ingrid would both need to lean on each other and Mapi no matter what happens. 

~~~

Alexia sat in the chair in the corner of Ingrid’s room for seven long hours, only moving once to silently go to the bathroom. Nurses came in and out of the room to check on Ingrid and Mapi tried to check on her a couple times, but Alexia couldn’t move or talk or think.

Finally a doctor slowly entered the room. She walked over to your wife and kneeled down in front of her.

“Mrs. Putellas, I’m so sorry. We did everything we possibly could. Y/n’s heart stopped twice during surgery, but the second time we were unable to get it restarted. She passed at 2:54 am. You can see her one final time if you would like, along with her sister and sister-in-law. Then we will have someone come and talk to you ok. Would you like to see her?”

Alexia sat there in complete shock. She knew that there was a chance you wouldn’t make it through the surgery, but to actually hear your time of death was a completely different thing. You were gone. The love of her life and the other mother of her child were actually gone. Just this morning you had woken up to Alexia placing kisses all over your face and you had gotten up to make the two of you breakfast. You had driven to practice together singing to a song on the radio that you had no idea what the words were and then telling her about a prank you wanted to pull on Mapi and Patri later that day. Now she would never look into your eyes again, hear your laugh again, kiss you again, sleep curled in your arms again, be in your presence again. 

She slowly nodded to the doctor. She wanted to say goodbye to you. She got up robotically following the doctor heading to see your now lifeless body one final time.

~~~

Alexia kept pictures of you all around the house. Your daughter Gracie loved looking at all the pictures of her other mom all around the house. She would always ask Alexia about you and Alexia was always happy to tell your daughter all about her brave, beautiful, athletic, intelligent mother. 

Gracie was currently sitting on the living room floor, in a toddler Barça jersey with your name and number on the back, playing with some magnetic blocks Pina had given her for christmas. Right as the tower fell over, the doorbell rang. “Mamí… someone’s at the door,” Gracie yelled to Alexia who was currently making dinner in the kitchen.

“I’m coming, I’m coming bebita, I think it might be someone here to visit you. Do you want to come help me open it?” You got up and ran over into your mamí’s awaiting arms. Alexia walked over to the door and swung it open revealing two of your favorite people.

“Tía Mapi, tía Ingrid, you made it,” Gracie said, practically launching herself into Ingrid’s arms. “Look at the jersey mamí gave me. I am five today. Mamí says I need a new big girl jersey because I’m a big girl now.”

“You are such a big girl, your mummy would be so proud of you Gracie. She would love this jersey,” Ingrid says as she peppers Gracie’s face with kisses as she carries her back into the living room. Just then Patri and Pina also walked into the house with a couple other Barça girls. Ingrid set her down so she could run to show off her new jersey to anyone that would listen.

Ingrid then walked into the kitchen to help Alexia finish preparing all the food as Mapi brought the way too many cupcakes she bought and set them on the counter. “She is getting so big, she looks and acts  more and more like y/n every day. I’m so happy how proud she is to wear her jersey,” Ingrid said as she worked alongside Alexia.

“I know, I can’t believe she is five already. I can’t believe y/n has been gone so long. I miss her so much everyday. I keep thinking it will be easier to live without her, but it never is. I don’t think I could have done this without Gracie.” Alexia looks over to see Patri throwing your daughter up in the air and catching her. She beams and all Alexia can see is your smile on her daughter's face. She lets out a few tears as Ingrid pulls her into a hug. 

“Y/n would be so proud of both of you. You have done an amazing job raising Gracie. She is watching over both of you and will continue to be proud of everything you both do. She loved you so much.”

“I know I just wish that she had the chance to be a mom. I want so bad to watch her be a mom. And I know Gracie loves me and our little family, but I know it hurts her sometimes to not know her other mother, especially when she comes home and talks about how all her friends have two parents. It’s not fair.”

“It’s not fair, to you or to Gracie, but you are both doing an amazing job and I know Y/n is here with us right now making fun of us for getting so emotional instead of eating the cupcakes.” Alexia lets out a teary smile at this. Just then Gracie appears in between them asking her mamí to pick her up.

“Mamí, why are you sad?” Gracie asks in her innocent little voice trying to help wipe Alexia’s tears away as Mapi pulls Ingrid into a comforting hug knowing that Ingrid missed her sister just as much as Alexia missed the love of her life. “I just miss your mummy, she would be so proud of how big you are bebita.”

“I miss mummy too. I want to be a goalie like her when I grow up.” 

“You will be the best goalkeeper Barcelona has ever seen bebita. Do you want to help me take drink orders for all your tía’s” Alexia asked, knowing you loved to go around with your little notepad and pretend to be a waitress. 

At this you wiggled out of your mamí’s grasp and ran back to the living room. Alexia watched as her daughter ran out of the room with your name on her back ready to watch Gracie continue to grow.

~~~ The happy ending will be out later today to make up for this!!!

[mapis-putellas]

Trust in me

Pairings: Natasha x you

Words: 2418

Warnings: none that i know of

Summary: Natasha gets injured on a mission, and as a result, allows you to carry her for the first time.

It had been a complete accident. Something she knew could have been avoided had she only been paying attention. One second, her widow bite had attached itself to the metal grating, and she was falling with the knowledge she'd land safely on her feet. The next, she'd hit the concrete with a thump, and a cry of pain she didn't even know she was capable of emitting had slipped from her lips without permission as her hands clutched the gravel below.

It hurt. Oh god did it hurt. But she had no time to really take it in before she found herself being hauled to her feet by non other than Clint. He'd all but dragged her back to the quinjet, and Natasha had collapsed onto one of the seats doing everything possible to swallow back the sobs she knew were desperately trying to escape.

She didn't know what happened. She doesn't know what went wrong, even now after making it back to the Avengers compound. She'd fallen from further heights before. More times than she could even count and every single one of them she'd come out completely unscathed. Not a single bruise on her.

She stares down at the bruised and swollen appendage with a look of distaste on her face, eyes stinging with tears she refuses to let fall. How could she have been so stupid?

You rush into the compound slightly winded, skin clammy with sweat as you head straight towards the medbay. You'd been in the middle of dinner when a phone call from Clint had halted you mid task. It was Natasha. She'd fallen and had hurt herself in the process. She wouldn't let anyone near her, not even the doctor on call.

You hadn't waited for further details before you were grabbing your things and scrambling out of the house. Natasha was hurt. She was alone and you had to get to her. You were pretty sure you break several laws doing so in fact.

You hadn't been dating for long. A little over six months perhaps so the honeymoon phase was still very much in progress. You spent practically every waking moment together with the exception of missions and such, and you knew full well you'd never loved anyone as much as you'd loved her.

That very L word had yet to be spoken aloud however, because despite how much you clearly adored one another, she was still Natasha, and Natasha's walls were built so high you sometimes feared you'd never be able to tear them down. There were moments though. Moments when you see that soft gaze and hoped that one day, she'd let you have her completely.

When the medbay door comes into view, you hasten your pace slightly until your hand was pushing on the handle and you were stepping inside. The sight that greets you all but breaks your heart. There Natasha was, sat on the large medical bed clad in only her tactical suit that was half off and tied around her waist. Her leg was elevated in front of her, bruised and swollen beyond recognition and your stomach all but clenches at the sight.

What breaks you further was the look on her face. She looked small, so scared, and when those green irises meet your own, they immediately become shiny with tears. Instinct alone seemingly has her reaching for you, and you don't hesitate to comply with her silent plead. You cup her cheeks first, thumbs tenderly grazing over the soft skin. That seems to be permission enough alone for the dam to break, the first hot tear of what you suspect would be many streams down her cheek leaving a wet trail in its wake.

"Oh baby, it's okay." You murmur as you bring her into your arms, her hands immediately scrambling for purchase and clutching the material of your shirt at the small of your back. You cup the back of her head, pressing your lips against the slightly tangled and sweaty tresses. "You need to let them look at you okay?" You find yourself somewhat pleading as you run your hand up and down her back, but Natasha simply let's out a choked sob as she shakes her head.

Her hands tighten around you, almost as though she was terrified you were going to push her away. In a desperate attempt to sooth her fears, you tighten your arms around her trembling frame and take a small step closer to the bed. It was a few minutes later before you dare to speak again.

"Baby, you're hurt. Please." But Natasha's almost silent cries seem to grow slightly in volume, and you decide it would probably be best to give her a few moments. You continue with the gentle ministrations against her back, your lips pressing continues tender kisses against the top of her head and to any part of her body you could reach from your current position. Her body soon becomes still, and you crane your neck slightly to peek down at her.

Her eyes were red and bloodshot, nose tinged red and cheeks soaked with tears. Feeling your own throat constrict at the sight of seeing your girlfriend so upset, you give her hip a gentle pat to get her attention. In response, you get an almost timid hum of acknowledgment.

"Would you let them fix you up if I held you?" This wouldn't be the first time Natasha had allowed you to hold her. In fact, behind closed doors, she was quiet the snuggle bug contrary to popular belief. It had taken a while for her to get to the point though. When you first started dating, simply resting a hand on her arm without warning appeared to be too much, and she'd often flinch away without really meaning to.

She'd always apologise though, eyes shy as she'd cautiously reach for your hand to encourage it back to her body, and you'd comply with her silent implication, using the pad of your thumb to trace gentle circles on her skin making sure your hand remained within her line of sight at all times.

It took many months if trial and error, mainly on your side, to get her to the point of being comfortable enough with affection, and now, a part of her body always has to be touching your own, and she was always the little spoon when it came to cuddling.

Her favourite position, however, was laying completely on top of you with her head nestled just beneath your chin. Her legs would curl up on either side of your hips, and she'd spend hours in your arms if you let her, hands clinging to your shirt whilst your own would slip beneath her sweater and simply rest on the bare skin at the small of her back.

Outside closed doors however, she couldn't be more different. The most she accepted was hand holding and the occasional kiss on the cheek or forehead, and even then it wasn't often. It was why you were so wary of asking despite the fact you knew it was the only thing that would sooth her.

Natasha remains silent for a while, so long in fact you feared you may have said the wrong thing. But then you feel it. A timid nod against your chest, and you knew then she must be in some pretty horrific pain.

"Okay, hang on tight angel." You murmur after pressing another kiss to the top of her head, coaxing her arms to wrap around your neck as opposed to your waist. Once you were sure she was hanging on, you slip an arm beneath her legs and situate the other around her waist. You then, for the first time in your six month relationship, lift your girlfriends body up into your arms.

It was no secret that Natasha was petite, and it was also no secret that should she allow it, you could lift her with absolutely no issues. But Natasha wasn't the kind of person who lets herself be coddled to that extent, even behind closed doors, so you take a few moments to relish in the feeling of holding her like this knowing you may never get the chance to again.

She was lighter than you anticipated she'd be, and the way she clings to you has you falling all the more in love with her. A few quiet moments pass before you turn and gently ease yourself down onto the spot she'd just vacated, the red head sat comfortably on your lap with her legs sprawled out on the bed next to you. Her upper body twists slightly as her arms curl up in between both your chest, and she hides her face in the juncture of your neck before you could really get a good look at the current emotion on her face.

With the knowledge of how hard this must be for her, you allow her to remain hidden in her little safe space as you murmur gentle words of encouragement into her ear, one arm holding her close to you whilst the other rubs gentle circles across the length of her back.

It was only after her nod of consent a few minutes later do you finally allow the doctor into the room, and just like you had suspected, her ankle was well and truly broken. Natasha doesn't utter a single word as her ankle was casted, nor when asked about her pain on a scale of one to ten so you take it upon yourself to answer for her and listen to whatever instructions the doctor throws your way.

An hour later, it was all over, and it was just you and Natasha again. Your lips quirk up into a gentle smile when she finally peaks her head out of your neck, letting out a quiet huff at the sight of the massive, bulky cast on her leg. It went from her toes all the way up to just below her knee. She turns to you, a pout on her lips, and you tenderly lean up to kiss it away earning yourself a shy, yet genuine smile.

You secure both hands against her hip and give her a gentle squeeze before speaking.

"Are you ready to head home?" The pad of your thumb slips beneath her tank top, grazing gently against the bare skin of her hipbone.

Natasha doesn't hesitate to nod her head, a soft exhale slipping from her lips and hitting the skin of your neck leaving a pleasant sensation in its wake. You give her another soft squeeze before beginning to rise to your feet with her in your arms with the intention of grabbing a wheelchair.

"Me too. Let me to grab-"

Before you could even begin to lift your butt from the bed, a small no slips from Natasha's lips prompting you to look up at her up at her with your eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

"Baby, you can't walk." You regretfully inform, but Natasha shakes her head again. Her lips part, and you wait for her to tell you the problem but not a single syllable seems to want to escape her lips. She lets out a deep, slightly frustrated sigh before trying again, clutching the material of your shirt in her hands in what you knew was her attempt at keeping you sat. You comply, knowing that whatever she was trying to tell you must be important if it was so hard for her to say,

"I.." she trails off, letting out another sigh before shaking her head, "No wheelchair." She mumbles, her voice holding an air of finality despite its quiet tone.

"Nat," you try, but she cuts you off with another shake of the head.

"No. No wheelchair. I want...will you..."

"Will I what baby?" You soften your tone slightly, giving the side of her thigh an encouraging squeeze.

Natasha looks down at her lap, her quiet, almost bashful voice filling the room just moments later.

"Carry me."

It was said so unsurely, so hesitantly you feel your throat constrict with the onslaught of tears. Pushing them back, you reach up and cup both her cheeks before pressing a gentle kiss to the spot just between her eyebrows.

"Of course I'll carry you, angel." You reassure, and Natasha flushes a light shade of red when your lips move down to meet her own in a tender kiss. That doesn't stop her from reciprocating however, and she does so without hesitation, her hands rising to cling to the shirt situated either side of your waist.

After a few moments, you force yourself to pull away knowing you'd never make it back home if this were to continue. Natasha pouts, and you can't help but playfully nip at her bottom lip as you rise to your feet with her cradled in your arms. That earns you a quiet giggle, and your stomach flutters at the sound as you somehow find it within you to temporarily set her down so you could pack up her things.

Once everything was stored away in her ops bag, you temporarily set it aside before heading back over to Natasha. You bend with the intention of lifting her up again the same way you had before, but before you could so do, she leans forward and wraps her arms around your neck.

Your hands rest on her sides for only a moment before her intentions become clear, and with a soft kiss to her neck in acknowledgment, you slip a hand beneath each of her thighs and lift her slight frame up into your arms. You bounce her up slightly before bringing both arms down to rest underneath her behind, easily supporting her weight in your arms as you bend to grab the discarded ops bag and throw it over your shoulder.

As silly as it sounded, she fit absolutely perfectly in your arms, and you knew for a fact  holding her like this was going to be your new favourite thing. Her chest was flush against your own, arms secure around your shoulders as she buries her face into your neck. You smile at the feeling of the tip of her nose grazing against your skin.

"Ready baby?" You give her behind a few soft pats, and all Natasha was able to give you was a sleepy hum of content.

Your heart melts at the sound.

"Okay, angel. Let's go home."

**

It took a little more time than intended but I finally got this finished. I’d love to hear your thoughts!!

[yolli-es]

Please, I'm really sorry

Tags: NO spoilers for season 2, sadness, rude treatment, mentions of death

I doubt this is in character, so treat it as a silly sketch. Writing text is harder than headcanons..

MY ENGLISH IS BAD AND THERE MAY BE MEANING ERRORS

You adore Jinx; you love and tolerate her. Your acquaintance was unexpected, and your subsequent friendship was spontaneous. You were choking with tears after losing your mother when she found you. This girl saved you so easily, as if it were so easy. Jinx never told you about the past, but when the voices in her head became too loud, you didn't need an explanation. You saw how bad she becomes and what consequences it can bring. Afterwards, you promise yourself to always be there so that you can prevent the irreparable. This was not always successful.

After Silco died, things got really bad. Jinx tried to continue his work, to be strong and collected. But this is Jinx. Your Jinx. And she never was and never will be like this. Maybe that's why she's been so rude to you, taking it out on you because she's under so much stress. Sooner or later it will all end, and she will be able to look at you again without irritation.

You forgive Jinx for everything: the harsh words, the insults, the hits. Because she always apologizes after. And you don't care that it's not sincere at all. You love her; she is the only thing you have.

The day started out quite normally. You and Jinx were sitting in Silko's office, which is still called that way to this day, on the initiative of Jinx herself. It was all quite nice: she decided to share with you many thoughts about the future, which happened quite rarely. But then Sevika came in. And with her came terrible news. Shimmer production had been disrupted again. The enforcers blew up the plant, dealing with the guards there without any particular problems. And she just walked out after saying that. Just one look from Jinx made it clear how bad she was feeling right now,

"It's not your fault, and..." — you're interrupted by a rude "shut up." Jinx, who had been sitting on the table quite relaxed, now clutched her head, her eyes closed, and her breathing quickened. Just a few moments ago she was vulnerable, and now she's rude to you again. "You don't understand me at all," Jinx said in a breaking voice, hiding her face in her knees. It was painful to hear. We have been through a lot together. But she's worse off, and you step over yourself again: "I love you, Jinx. What do you want me to do?". You tell her this so often, so sincerely and naively. Her reaction to your words is always different; you can never guess, and now she again hits you: "I want you to stop being so useless and just help me." Jinx whispered, still struggling with her emotions. She hadn't let herself get angry, panicked, or sad that easily since Silco died. No tears. She kept herself under control. And is that what she thought all along? It's your fault; you're just doing a shitty job. Obviously, sitting here with her is not what she wanted. It looks so painful for you. The girl you love is suffering so much; why don't you just make it easier? That day you stayed, having endured many insults and a couple of blows.

Usually you stayed by Jinx's side, always supporting her and helping her with many tasks. For example, maintaining her authority in the city, keeping an eye out for possible rats nearby, and always saving your love from nervous breakdowns. But now you're by Sevika's side, at a shimmer production plant. You didn't tell Jinx anything; you didn't even think she would ask and worry. You need to act more decisively, as she wanted it. The task was simple: wait until the enforcers come here and destroy them. You were never a good fighter, just a decent shot. Your skills were enough to protect yourself on the streets of Zaun, but they were nothing against well-trained law enforcement officers. That's why you stayed on the sidelines, watching from above and covering Sevika.

You realized how much you screwed up with this shit when you found yourself in the middle of a shootout. Things didn't go according to plan when Sevika was shot, and now you had to save her. Letting the woman lean on you, you ran upstairs. The sounds of gunshots, explosions, and screams confirmed your fears: this plant is finished. Neither the shimmer nor the people were saved. Adrenaline was pumping through you, and you didn't notice anything except the cherished goal.

You reached a safe place and fell. The rest was like a dream. Sevika sat next to you, trying to close the open wound. She tied it with a rag, shouting something about the presence of shimmer nearby. The wound seems to be on your legs, chest, and head. It was painful and cold. Severe weakness. How the hell did enforcers get you? You couldn't think, let alone remember. This woman was shaking you, trying to make you think, but you had already given up. You had lost, and you had screwed up so badly, Jinx would never forgive you. Sevika shouted something, and you didn't really listen; you just couldn't. And then your gaze focused on a blue spot... Jinx? You wanted to look at her one last time. She may be disappointed in you, angry, or simply empty towards you, but all this will not matter as long as she is here. Your eyes closed for just a moment.

" ...orr..."—You can't see, only distantly hear. Such a nice sound; you've heard it before. The noise makes you open your eyes again. A flash of light disorientated you. Straining your eyes, you managed to make out a silhouette in front of you. It was Jinx, and... she was crying. She was in complete disarray, desperately holding your face. She bit her lips every time she wanted to swallow the lump in her throat and continue talking. She was talking to you. What was she saying? Your damn body is so weak. "Hold on, just breathe. Please, I'm really sorry. I love you, I love you, I love you...",-She repeated it over and over while you felt the shimmer being injected into your body. You wanted to calm her down, to say "I love you" back. And all you did was watch silently. Your eyelids were so heavy, and your body suddenly seemed too weightless. You were being yelled at, shaken, and pricked with a shimmer stabbed over and over. And you were too weak to respond to it, closing your eyes one last time.

Jinx sincerely apologizes this time. It's a pity that your mind was too weak to realize this.

it was short, unclear and stupid 🥴 Wrote this in a hurry while I'm taking a break from studying and writing other things.

[toomanythoughts2]

Here's some miscellaneous Metalocalypse headcanons. I'm gonna put them here just to get them down.

Skwisgaar has flat feet, which will result in leg problems later in his life.

Toki has nerve damage to his back and he can't feel it in places. He has to go to massage therapy for it every week so it doesn't get too bad.

Murderface has long hair, his fro is just so dense. It's as long as Skiwsgaar's hair.

Stella Murderface is William Murderface's paternal grandmother, so his mother is Stella's Daughter-In-Law and his father is their biological son. Murderface's looks skipped his father, so his father and his mother were average looking individuals. The idea that Murderface's looks were the catalysis for his father's mental break were probably intensified because of the paternal skip.

Murderface's mom was very excited for William's birth. She spent a long time getting ready for his arrival. William was a wanted, planned child, whose mother was fully encapsulated in being a good mom. She took so many photos of her pregnancy and had a baby book prepared. Mama Murderface was fully ready to be a mom. When William was born, she fell in love with him. William is probably less than a year when they died, but more than 4 months. Up until their death, his mom obsessed over him, loved him, cared for him. There are so many baby photos of him up until their death, and his baby book ends at the same age of when they died.

Murderface has multiple photos of his mother tucked safely in his room. He looks at them when he's feeling particularly sad and lost. He'll look back over the home movies she took, listen to her voice, listen to how much she loved him and how she was waiting for him. He blocks out his father in the video as much as he can. He hates him more than he hates himself.

Toki has a hobby grave yard. However, he is not afraid of any hobby and will at least become competent in them.

Pickles still doesn't really understand the internet. He's got the concept but it alludes him for the most part.

Toki's family is actually the black sheep of the majority of the family and Toki is the black sheep within the black sheep.

Toki was on his way to becoming the next Reverend after Aslaug, but the family at large was very wary of this possible development. They avoided Toki at all cost due to his presence with death and his possible future position in the family.

Everyone has neck pain from head banging and windmilling, so they have physical therapy on their necks to keep them strong and to stop any further deterioration.

Nathan has back pain. Like really bad back pain. Him and his father, since they are larger men, have consistent back issues that make it hard to stand for long hours.

Rose is Nathan's biggest supporter. She co-signed on the apartment, she helped get him his first van, she helped pick out stage clothes, she painted his nails. He would read his lyrics out to her (and his dad) at the dinner table and she would help him with lyrics and support his direction. Rose knew that Nathan's life was not leading him to college, but to something else, and she fully believed that he could do anything he set his mind to.

Skwisgaar is double jointed and can pop and crack his knuckles. Murderface and Pickles DESPISE it.

While there are many "Deaddy Bears", there is only one true, original Deaddy Bear. It's the one that got burnt up in "Dethkids" but it came back afterwards. Why? BECAUSE IT'S POSSESSED! ITS A POSSESSED DEADDY BEAR KINDA LIKE THE VELVETEEN RABBIT! TOKI MADE IT BE ALIVE WITH HIS LOVE AND THE TRUAMA! TOKI NEVER QUESTIONS IT AND THE BAND IS VERY WORRIED ABOUT IT!

Murderface has gotten himself stuck in the Iron Maiden before.

There's a lot more wholesome/domestic moments within the band dynamic than their fans or even the label knows about. It's regular shit, like a routine they have worked out with themselves about how to live with each other without going crazy.

They do the "Do you want my broccoli?" "I can take your rice." "Here, take the pepper, I dont want it." kind of switch with their food when they go out. It's just a choirs of plate scraps from one plate to another.

[maespri]

let's talk about the many crimes of the phantom thieves

hello and welcome to me detailing the many crimes of the persona 5 royal teenagers... my dearest friend and i got bored and decided to make a list of every crime they could potentially be charged with, and i thought i'd post it to get other people's thoughts (in case i missed any) + laugh about the insane shit they've pulled off.

lets go!!!

before we get into this: we did not count crimes that were committed within the metaverse, as it wouldn't be possible to really charge the phantom thieves. the only exception to this is goro. we counted his metaverse crimes because it made his laundry list of crimes funnier. that's all.

p.s.: i love studying criminology, but i know i'm not an expert by any means. if i mess something up, miss a crime, etc.- let me know!

now, let's get into it, in order from least to most crimes!

sumi yoshizawa commits zero crimes.

good for her... good for her...

ann takamaki commits one crime: battery.

aside from ryuji and haru (who also only commit one crime), ann has the shortest list of crimes with just one: battery. it's a stretch for sure, but technically, she does slap ryuji after shido's palace, and that does qualify as battery. good on her otherwise.

ryuji sakamoto commits one crime: assault.

side note for anyone who doesn't know: assault and battery are two different things. assault is the threat, battery is the action. for example: if i tell someone i'm going to punch them, that is assault. if i actually do punch them, that is battery. that's often why the two go hand-in-hand.

ryuji threatens people quite a bit, but we actually couldn't think of any instances where he goes through with said threats, excluding him punching kamoshida. because that happened pre-canon, however, and because kamoshida clearly didn't charge ryuji, we didn't count it.

haru okumura commits one crime: perjury.

haru lies to sae when being questioned about her father's death. and yes, lying to a prosecutor during a criminal investigation does count as lying to law enforcement in general.

makoto niijima commits three crimes: blackmail, hacking, and theft.

blackmail: makoto approaches the phantom thieves and blackmails them with a video of them stating their identities, threatening to leak it if they do not meet her demands.

hacking: makoto intentionally manipulates sae's laptop in order to steal documents from it.

theft: makoto steals confidential documents from sae's laptop.

ren amamiya/akira kurusu/the protagonist/joker commits three crimes: improperly bringing an animal onto public transportation, resisting arrest, and breaking and entering.

improperly bringing an animal onto public transportation: animals are allowed on most subways in japan if they are documented, in a proper carrier, and, at times, have been paid for with a proper fee. joker brings morgana onto the train every day without doing anything of the sort.

resisting arrest: joker runs from the police and attempts to escape when surrounded outside of sae's palace.

breaking and entering: in one of yusuke's later confidant events, joker picks the lock to madarame's house and enters.

yusuke kitagawa commits four crimes: plagiarism (charges would likely be dropped, however!), stalking, solicitation, and trespassing.

plagiarism: this one was really interesting to discuss with my buddy. yusuke does commit plagiarism by willingly handing over his artwork to madarame and allowing him to claim it as his own. however, it can be argued that he did so because he was being manipulated, abused, and was under duress* (madarame essentially claimed he would end up on the streets if he did not hand over his art). it can also be argued that because yusuke did not place any copyright infringement on his paintings, it wasn't really plagiarism. therefore, this charge would likely be dropped, either on the basis of insufficient evidence and/or his being under duress.

stalking: yusuke does stalk ann for a few days before speaking to her. because this action causes distress to ann (shown by her mentioning yusuke following her around a few days prior, as well as her initial reaction to meeting him), it falls under the category of stalking.

solicitation: yusuke solicits joker to commit the crime of breaking into madarame's house in one of his confidant events.

trespassing: when joker does break into madarame's house for him, yusuke enters.

*under duress: constraint illegally exercised to force someone to perform an act (AKA, forcing somebody to do something illegal via threats, blackmail, manipulation, guilt-tripping, etc.)

futaba sakura commits eight crimes: wiretapping, non-consensual surveillance, espionage, truancy, hacking, tampering, theft, and blackmail.

wiretapping: futaba hacks into phone lines (most notably, ren and akechi's) and listens in on conversations.

non-consensual surveillance: futaba tracks the GPS on a few people's phones.

espionage: futaba spies on people.

truancy: we don't know the full extent, but it is implied that futaba has missed a lot of school, which is a crime.

hacking: i hope i don't have to explain this one HAHA.

tampering: to send shido's calling card, futaba tampers with all the big screens around japan, which is tampering with property.

theft: futaba has stolen plenty of information, classified or not classified, from a loooot of different people.

blackmail: when she first asks the phantom thieves to change her heart, she does so through blackmailing them, threatening to reveal their identities if they don't do it.

goro akechi commits twelve crimes: attempted first-degree murder, mass first-degree murder, unlawful possession of a firearm, conspiracy, fraud, aiding and abetting, terrorism, assault, battery, perjury, blackmail, and obstruction of justice.

attempted first-degree murder: whilst akechi technically doesn't kill joker, he does try to, which means he can be charged with this.

mass first-degree murder: akechi murders. a LOT of people. which falls under this category.

unlawful possession of a firearm: in order to kill joker, akechi steals a gun from a police officer.

conspiracy: akechi states his plans to murder joker and plots it out in advance for a long, long, time.

fraud: faking joker's death certificate is a form of fraud.

aiding and abetting: helping shido kill people is aiding and abetting.

terrorism: terrorism is defined as "the unlawful use of violence and intimidation, especially against civilians, in the pursuit of political aims." akechi's actions fall under this category.

assault: akechi throws plenty of threats people's ways!

battery: and follows through on many of them.

perjury: akechi lies to all sorts of law enforcement around him, most notably sae and the guard outside of joker's interrogation room.

blackmail: akechi threatens to leak the identities of the phantom thieves if they don't infiltrate sae's palace.

obstruction of justice: by lying about what he knew about the phantom thieves, withholding information from law enforcement, and overall just completely messing with the case, akechi commits obstruction of justice.

that's it!

thank you for reading thank you for joining us joy to the world... shoutout again to my wonderful friend for being these guys' defense attorney's

BYE!!

[beefrobeefcal]

KEPT feat. Javi Gutierrez x f!reader

Summary: You might just have bitten off more than you can chew by possibly becoming Javi G's sugar baby.

Pairing: Javi G x F!Reader | Rating: Explicit 18+ (MDNI) | Word Count: 5,369

PLEASE READ BEFORE CONTINUING Content Warnings: smut (p in the v intercourse), imbalanced power dynamics, birth of a toxic relationship, alluded sugar baby/sugar daddy relationship (not officially called it in this fic), slight dub-con (Javi is the aggressor, but reader is consenting), talk of weight gain, ambiguous ending, Javi jerking off, clothes tearing, pet names and a few sentences in Spanish manipulation, swearing, this is not your regular Javi G - he is overweight and a complex man with many facets [might have some BigFish energy here]

Author's Notes: This was written for my beloved @noxturnalpascal, who requested this way back when we were celebrating 900 friendos and I have finally delivered! I don't know if I nailed the request all the way but Javi is fat in this so I got one thing right!

Thank you to @noxturnalpascal, @neverwheremoonchild, @strang3lov3 & @bitchesuntitled for their wonderful eyes, minds and grammatical skills. Also tagging @xdaddysprincessxx bc this is right up her alley.

No more tag lists - follow @beefnotes + turn on notifications for fic updates!

“You hear who’s coming to the office today?”, Loretta, one of the legal support staff members whispered as you used the photocopier by her desk.  

You smiled as you correlated your documents and fed them through the copier. “Who?” 

Her grin widened. “Javi Gutierrez.” 

It had been a long time since you’d seen Javier Gutierrez - not since before his big Hollywood break, courtesy of Nic Cage. You’d gotten the low down on his current events from people in the law office you worked in, given your boss, Craig, was one of the partners at the firm representing him as his entertainment lawyer and had done most of Javi’s legal work remotely. Your last interaction with him had been nothing short of unforgettable as he was congratulating you on your promotion to becoming your boss’s executive assistant – a role you resented given your education. He’d curled his tongue around your name as he took your hand into his larger one, then let his eyes wander over your frame. You’d returned the intensity of his gaze in kind and put his broad shoulders and soft-yet-sturdy frame, his pouty lips, gorgeous nose, and deep brown eyes to memory. If it had been the first and only time you’d met, you would’ve sworn it was love – or lust – at first sight. But you’d met with him many times over several months and each time, he seemed ever so slightly bolder.  

That was almost three years ago.  

You looked at Loretta and she grinned wildly. She was there when Javi had asked about you once you’d moved up in the company and no longer handled his affairs, and noted the disappointment that flickered in his eyes when her boss would tell him again that you wouldn’t be joining the meeting. She’d bothered you and teased you about this, but you’d tried to act aloof. Oddly, she’d only let up when she saw him again about six months ago, randomly telling you about the encounter. Her bringing him up again now seemed oddly suspicious. 

“Loretta…”, you sighed. “What gives?” 

“Just thought you’d like to know. He’s coming here. To the office. Today.”, she grinned incredulously. 

You gave her an irritated scoff as you collected your documents, copied and printed. “Not sure what you’re playing at.” 

You turned and walked from her desk as she called out to you. “Might not recognize him anymore. Figured I’d give you a heads up!” 

You shook your head and walked back to your office.  

***** 

A few hours later, you were buried in case law regarding a dispute over the ownership of vintage hand-blown glass dildos when there was a knock at your door.  

Not looking up from the file folder, you called out, “Come in!” 

The door opened and you heard his honey toned voice. “Hola hermosa.” 

Your head shot up and the person who you’d assumed that voice would be coming from was not standing in your office. This man had the same eyes and nose and lips, but his frame was larger and softer. The pale blue dress shirt he wore was tucked into his tailored sand-coloured chinos and his belly stretched both to their limit. Your eyes roved over his body as your brain screamed at you to say something. 

“M-Mr. Gutierrez!”, you finally spat out with a smile. “Oh… wow, you’re here!” 

He gave you a slightly nervous smile, seeming to be just as flustered as you felt but was better at hiding it than you were.  

“Sí, yes, here I am.” 

You awkwardly exchanged pleasantries standing either side of your desk before your office phone rang, pulling you both out of the trance of your meeting.  

He motioned to your phone with a nervous smile and asked, “Do…. Do you need to get that?” 

The smile dropped from your face, and you clumsily reached for the phone, pulling it off the cradle and up to your ear. Before you could even start the first utterings of ‘Hello’, Craig began a f-bomb laden tirade, ripping into you about that Miller vs. Miller case that he had bungled and was in turn getting heat from his partners about. Momentarily forgetting that you had someone else in the room with you, you rolled your eyes and silently sighed, then caught Javi out of the corner of your eye and straightened up, mouthing ‘sorry!’ to him. But he no longer looked nervous or bashful. Gone was his sweet smile and big, brown baby cow eyes; in their places was a tight-lipped scowl and dark, storm filled eyes, glowering at your phone. You furrowed your brows in confusion at him and watched as he reached forward, pressed down on the receiver, and ended the call. You stood motionless and gob smacked, staring at him wide-eyed. 

He kept staring back at you, his eyes like dark, burning embers, seconds away from causing a flash fire, when you heard the heavy and quick footsteps of Craig.  

He threw your door open and stormed into your office. “What the fuck is wrong with y- Mr. Gutierrez!” 

Craig’s eyes almost bulged out of his head as Javi turned and looked at him, narrowing his eyes.  

“What are you – I thought you’d left!” Craig tried to hide his nerves behind a chuckle and moved to shake his hand. 

Javi didn’t move. His arms stayed firmly at his sides, both fists clenched.  

“I had business to attend to with your assistant.” His voice was cold as he spoke through clenched teeth. “And you are interrupting.” 

“B-business? With her?”, Craig prattled, pointing at you. 

“Yeah.”, Javi nodded with a vicious smile. “Business. With her.” 

You swallowed hard as you watched Javi control the room with a quiet fury. Craig was not a small man, but Javi seemed to grow larger and more intimidating with each movement he made, no matter how small or minute.  

Craig took a step back, recognizing that Javi was mad, and he was more than likely the reason for it. You needed to diffuse the situation, knowing if you didn’t and Craig lost Javi as a client, you’d be in the doghouse, and hot-tempered words would be the least of your problems. 

“I’m sure that any business you have to discuss, Mr. Guiterrez, Craig is the more capable out of the two of us.” You kept your voice bright and feminine and forcing a sweet smile on your face.  

Javi’s head snapped to you, his look giving you a silent warning, then slipped into a wry grin.  

“Of course! How silly of me!”, he chuckled a little too keenly, smiling at Craig, setting him a little more at ease. “Of course, I should discuss with you that I’m poaching your employee and firing you as my legal representation.” 

 ***** 

You weren’t really sure how you ended up sitting across from Javi on his private yacht in the Mediterranean. It had been less than 48 hours since you were escorted out of the law office with a small box of your personal effects and slid into Javi’s limo. It was a whirlwind of packing a few things, grabbing your passport, and being told that you’d never have to worry again as long as you agreed. Agreed to what? You weren’t sure and Javi insisted that business would be discussed once you were settled. 

You nodded, not realizing that ‘settled’ meant being on a yacht in the middle of the Mediterranean.  

“Hermosa, I  -“ 

“Mr. Gutierrez, I think th-“ 

“Javi.” 

“What?” 

“Call me Javi.” 

You took a breath and nodded. “Javi. I think tha-“ 

“I love hearing you say my name.” 

You smiled, slightly confused and a little nervous at the way he smiled at you. He picked up his champagne flute and clinked it against yours, then downed the contents and waved the glass at one of the staff who then quickly filled it again. 

“Uh… Javi. I think that we should talk business n-“ 

“You’re more beautiful than I remembered.” 

You sat stunned. You were jet lagged, unemployed, and completely disoriented. You didn’t feel beautiful and, gauging by the warped reflection of yourself in the grapefruit spoon at your place setting, you didn’t look it either. 

“I… uh… oh. Thank you?” 

He chuckled and flashed his smile at you. “I was so excited when I knew I’d be in your office and get to see you again.” 

You gave him a tight smile as you started to lose patience. You fidgeted with your napkin and tried to hold back your temper.

“Javi. I think we really need t-”

“You looked even more perfect than I remembered.”, he cooed with a dopey grin on his face. “But I have to say, hermosa, you look a little-uh… stressed.”

“Well, Javi, that is because I would like to talk with you about whatever business you managed to have me quit my job and fly all the way to the Mediterranean and sit here jet lagged with you for!”

You blurted out quickly before he could interrupt in a sharp tone that became harsher and snappier as you spoke. When you were done, both you and Javi sat staring at one another in a stalemate.

Your shoulders rose and fell, and you cocked your head and raised your eyebrows, daring him to provide an answer.

A few seconds passed before a huge smile erupted on Javi’s face. His eyes were wide and his pupils were nearing the size of his irises, leaving the deep brown engulfed in them. His own breathing was a bit labored, almost panting, and he licked his lips, and growled. “Yes… yes, mi amada [my darling]. You are perfect.”

“Perfect for what?!”, you demanded, standing up and slamming your fists on the table. 

Javi looked as though he may either pass out or orgasm, nodding dumbly as he looked up at you. 

“Perfect for me. Perfecto para mí y mis millones [Perfect for me and my millions]. I need someone like you, mi amada. Someone like you on my arm at events and next to me during business meetings. Someone who not only has the beauty but also the brains!”, he declared dramatically. He then stood up to face you, banging his own fists on the table. “And the passion!”

You stared at him, your own frustration temporarily paused as your confusion took over. “What?”

“You shall be with me, guiding me, helping me throughout my business ventures. And in return, all I ask is that you let me take care of you.” His voice was calmer but there was an undertone of dominance. He paused, then said with a darker, slightly sinister tone, “And we are going to make sure you look lovely doing it all.”

+++++

You sat in your private room on the yacht, staring at yourself in the mirror. It had been just shy of 11 months since you’d arrived and your whole life felt surreal. You’d been to parties with people you’d only ever seen in magazines as you waited to buy your milk, you’d been handed a credit card made of metal - apparently having no limit - and told to shop for a whole new wardrobe. You’d been gifted with jewelry that seemed too ornate to be real, but came with certification papers proving otherwise. Even your slippers were worth more than a month of your previous salary.

Because of all this, you didn’t feel you could say no to Javi’s requests. It started out with him asking. He would ask you to join him for a meeting, you would go. He would ask you to wear a specific shade of azure for a party, and you agreed. Then his asking turned to requesting, and then turned to him just telling you. He would tell you when to go to bed and when to wake up, when to eat, when to work out, when to shop, when to relax… He was always kind and gentlemanly when he did dictate what your next move would be, but there was an undercurrent of “or else” with each order.

There was one thing he still only asked of you - and didn’t demand - to call him Javi. He said once that he felt like you were othering and demeaning yourself when you called him Mr. Gutierrez. That, and he remarked that he loved the sound of his name on your lips.

The only thing he hadn’t demanded of you - or mentioned at all - was sex. Some nights, he would retire to his room, and there was never an inkling of him waiting for you to follow, nor did he ever express any interest in entering your private quarters, regardless if you were on the yacht or one of his villas. You never shared a room; in fact, any bookings were made to have as much space as possible between your quarters. 

It wasn’t like you didn’t catch him looking you over. There is one dress you figured out that he really liked you in. You’d bought it in a soft pink colour, and after wearing it once, 16 of the same dress in various colours appeared in your closet soon after. When you walked into parties and events, he would hold you close to his body, his hand on the small of your waist and he would keep you there all evening. Without giving you the strict instructions verbally, his body language alone told you that you were there for him and him alone -  no one else. During fancy dinners, if anyone spoke directly to you, his hand would migrate slowly to your knee and halfway up your thigh. It wasn’t a warning, it was more of a reminder. 

You were lonely every night. Yes, you had any and everything money could buy, but there was no emotional connection. You’d never brought it up to him but in the contract you’d signed, there was a clause that forbade you from having intimate relationships with anyone while you were ‘employed’ by him. Javi was denying you the chance to find love so he could have you by his side - untouched and unloved.

The idea that he had essentially bought you should have made you recoil in horror. Instead, it left you most nights, whimpering his name into your fist as you came on your vibrator, imagining his weight slamming into you or him under you, gripping your hips as you rode him. But they were only fantasies; fantasies that were becoming harder to ignore.

The way his fingers would gently graze your collar bone to brush the hair away as he adorned your neck with a new necklace. How he would straighten out your shoulder straps. The way he would look you in the eye for just a brief moment before asking if you were ready as the car came to a stop in front of the venue. All of it said he wanted something more; so why did he not just tell you what to do?

You’d decided as you ate breakfast that that evening, post dinner, you were going to broach the topic. He had said that you could speak freely about anything, as long as it was never in front of anyone else -  you had to be alone.

The day had been uneventful, filled with meetings and business calls. By the time you were back in your quarters on the yacht, getting ready for dinner, the mundanity of the day had almost erased the reminder to ask for a moment alone with him. You quickly fixed your makeup then changed into one of the dresses you know he enjoyed. 

Javi smiled up at you as you walked into the dining room. He stood up, as did the other two men who sat at the table, and moved to take your hand and pull out your chair. His eyes trailed up and down your body and a satisfied smirk adorned his mouth.

He moved in to kiss your cheek as he took your hand, softly breathing out, “You look beautiful tonight.” His words smelled of whiskey. 

You leaned in quickly after he softly kissed you, and responded.“I’d like to sp-.”

He interrupted you with a quiet yet firm, “No.”, then winked and gave you his characteristic half grin as he pulled back. His fingers gently nipped your chin so demeaningly, then motioned for you to take your seat.

You felt deflated, never having been denied anything like that by him before.

+++++

Dinner, while delicious, was nothing of note. The men were talking amongst themselves, occasionally including you, while they got even more drunk and ate their food. You just sat there pushing your fork through your food, keeping a sweet smile on your face as you internally panicked about what you had done to upset him or if Javi knew what you were going to talk about and that’s why he cut you off.

It seemed that being lost in your own thoughts made time pass quickly; before you realized it, your barely-touched plate was being removed from in front of you and Javi was standing with a slight waver to see his dinner guests off. You looked up at him, noting how apparent his enjoyment of dinner was by the stretching of his buttons across his belly and glazed look in his eyes.

You stood up as you were abruptly brought out of your thoughts and Javi gave you a predatory smile, a slight chill in the way his lips curved insincerely.

“Mi amada, if you please. I think it’s time for you to retire.”

You fought the lump in your throat and forced a small, polite smile onto your face. 

“Oh… of course, Mr. Gutierrez.” 

You held eye contact with him for a beat and he looked back at you with his jaw tightened, then turned to leave the room. You could feel his gaze burning into the back of your head, and you hoped that using formalities when he had almost begged you to not would give him a taste of how disappointed and hurt you were. 

+++++

You were back to sitting at your vanity, post shower and in your silk night robe, removing the last remnants of your makeup. You’d cried once you got back to your room, and again in the shower, feeling so humiliated that you’d let yourself fall for a man who clearly wanted you around for keeping up appearances and nothing more.

You replayed every interaction you’d had with him, trying to see where you’d misinterpreted his actions, his touches, his gaze, making yourself feel even more humiliated and foolish for convincing yourself you were just seeing what made your ego take less of a beating over being this man’s paid arm candy. You had an excellent education and were on track to doing great things and now you were whoring yourself out for a hollow lifestyle that was never meant for you. 

After the last smudge of mascara was removed and your night cream was absorbed into your skin, you heard Javi down the hallway. You paused and listened, hoping he might stop at your door, but he continued past it and towards his room. Sitting on the chair, your mind whirled. You could just wait until morning to confront him, to demand that he release you from this humiliation and torment. You’d had enough. If he was unwilling to give you what you wanted then you wanted out. 

It took you some time to get riled up enough and have the courage to rip open your door, stomp down the hallway and bang on his door. At first, there was no answer, then you heard what could have been a ‘come in’, but you couldn’t be sure. You waited a moment, then heard another sound, and decided that was all the permission you needed to enter.

The door was unlocked, and you pushed it open and stepped into the entryway of his suite. You heard a grunt and a few heavy breaths. Your brows furrowed and you stepped around the corner to see Javi seated on his couch, pants around his calves, his shirt buttons open over his belly, one hand pumping his erect cock furiously and his other bunching a pair of panties that were unmistakably yours under his nose.

You covered your mouth as you gasped and he looked up, wide eyed, his hand stopping and squeezing his cock. 

“Oh god! Jav-Mr. Gutierrez! I am - I am so sorry!”

He stood up clumsily, pulling his pants up and stepped towards you, helplessly panting your name. You turned and tried to bolt, but as you opened the door, Javi’s arm shot out and shoved it closed with a loud slam. His body was behind you and his heavy, whiskey-laden breaths were painting the back of your neck. Your hand was still on the door knob and the hand he held up on the door came down over it. His other softly came to your hip, gently holding you in place.

“Mi amada.”, he breathed as his lips tentatively ghosted over your skin. “Por favor quédate [please stay].”

You almost choked on how dry your mouth had gotten, and you trembled slightly in his hold. You knew he was drunk and that this wasn’t supposed to be how it happened, but you wanted more than it made you uncomfortable. The hand on your hip moved, his palm now splayed below your belly button and he pulled you back against him, his stomach forcing you to arch your back. 

“Please. Just…” His voice sounded desperate and he pressed his still-hard cock against your backside. “Don’t run…”

“M-Mr. Guti-”

“Please, for the fucking love of god!”, he snarled through rough breaths,angrily squeezing you harder against him. His large hand grabbed your wrists, holding them firmly against your chest and the other came down and began bunching your night robe up in the front, exposing your thighs and black lace panties. He forced his hand between your legs and cupped your mound. “How many fucking time do I have to ask you? Beg you??”

You struggled against his hold and let out shallow breaths as his fingers pushed against the scrap of fabric and felt them becoming damper with your arousal. He roughly pushed your panties aside and the pad of his fat finger found your clit, circling it roughly. You whined out, gasping and dropped your head forward, watching his hand be engulfed at the crux of your thighs.

“Try it again… what’s my name?”

You were slipping under his spell until he spoke, being brought back to reality when his tone was less pleading and more commanding. Then you were reminded of why you were coming to confront him in the first place and you felt the determination to at least make this harder for him ignite.

“Mr. Gutier-”

His hand came up quickly, and his fingers slick with you gripped your chin, turning it to face him. 

“Don’t you dare do this.”

You stared at him, your breath hitching with the tension in your body. The haze of alcohol was in his eyes and you couldn’t help but continue to tremble in his hold, given the way you were restrained against him.

“Mr. Gu-”

As soon as the first syllable left your mouth, his eyes burned and anger erupted over his face. He yanked you back away from the entryway, cursing under his breath in growls and tossed you onto his bed. You tried pushing yourself up, adrenaline and arousal screaming through your body, but his large frame stood over you and he gripped your ankles, hauling your backside to the edge of the mattress and the force of his pull made you fall back again.

“So fucking difficult. I give you everything you could ever want and you can’t be decent enough to even use my name.”, he snarled as he got onto his knees on the floor. “You walk through my halls, adorned in my gifts to you, but you won’t even use my name!”

His fingers dug into your thighs harshly, and you squirmed. It didn’t deter him, and each time you moved, his grip tightened. 

“And then tonight, you show up for dinner looking so fucking beautiful and you sit at my table and you woo my guests. You’re testing me, mi amada.” Javi’s words come out in a low snarl. You felt one of his hands grip your panties’ waistband and rip the flimsy fabric off you. You yelped out at the sudden snap! followed by him pulling your thighs further apart and he grunted as he moved his face closer to your core.

He sighed and his voice was softer. “Teasing me. I can’t have you like I want, hermosa.” He pressed his face into your cunt and inhaled, forcing a choked gasp from you. “Te quiero tan mala, mi amada [I love you so much, my darling]. You can’t have it both ways.”

You let your hand move down to his hair and you gently let the tips of your fingers feel how soft it was. The caramel streaks mixed with the deep mahogany curls felt like heaven, and the way his head moved with each breath caused the soft light to catch the odd grey woven into the beautiful waves of his hair. He closed his eyes and laid his cheek on your inner thigh, and for a brief moment, he allowed himself this comfort.

“Javi…”

His eyes shot open and he looked up at you through his brows menacingly. “Oh, now you want to behave?”

You pushed yourself up on your elbows, shaking your head. What had he done to you? He was reducing you to a needy mess, with no hope of having a backbone with him again.  “Javi…”

“You’re so fucking sweet when you want something, huh?”

He pulled his heavy body up from the floor, his normally fluid movements slightly awkward from the whiskey, and stood at his full height. Pulling off his jacket, his eyes stared daggers at you.

“Take that off, mi amada. Or you want me to buy you a new one of those, too?” He spat out at you as his mouth pinched in a bitter scowl as he stared at you, and you knew that was an order, not a real question.

You sat up and began removing the robe, but you weren’t moving fast enough. He reaches forward and ripped it off your body, tossing it onto the floor. You were shaking at this point from pure adrenaline, arousal and fear. Your arms quickly covered your chest but his hands yanked them away. “Don’t you fucking dare! I want to see what my money has gotten me.”

He released you and stood up, licking his lips and smirking as his eyes stared at your tits. He shoved his already open pants and briefs down, and his thick, hard cock bobbed heavily, slapping against his full belly.

“J-Javi…” Your voice came out in a meek whimper.

He pumped his cock. He smiled darkly back at you, and sneered,  “That’s right, hermosa. Fucking Javi.”

The smile and his movement towards you egged you on. “H-how do you want me?”

A deep chuckle rumbled from his chest as he kneeled between your parted legs on the bed and shoved you back down. He lifted your knees, then gripped his cock and lined it up with your entrance, and loomed over you menacingly.

“I want you to take it like you take everything else I give you. With a thank you and a fucking smile.”

Javi pushed in, the pressure and stretch forcing the breath from your lungs. You clung to him and as he buried himself as deeply as he could, Javi grabbed your leg, securing your ankle on his shoulder, and began pounding into you. Any memories you had of his soft touch and gentleness were turned to ash in that moment with how hard he was fucking you, but you were reveling in it. Even if this isn’t what you thought you wanted, you took solace in the truth of it all - you were right. He did want you; you didn’t misread the signs. Closing your eyes, you lost yourself in the feeling of him and the thought of how right you were and smiled as he pounded into you, groaning praises about your pussy. 

He pulled out and shoved you down onto your side and flopped down onto the bed behind you. Engulfing you in his arms, he slipped back in and pounded into you from behind. He held you firmly and your hands gripped his thick wrists. His sweaty body was sticking to yours, and he pushed his bulk halfway on top of you, crushing you sideways into the mattress and his mouth was sucking sloppy kisses onto your shoulder, face and neck. It was overwhelming; the heat and the friction and the stretch and the way he was coating you in his alcohol-infused sweat and spit - you could feel your climax building. You wanted him to stop but you needed him to keep going.

“Feel so fucking good, mi amada… m’close…”…”

Crying out, you came and he groaned and bit down hard on your shoulder. You writhed and squirmed, screaming into the mattress, as his thrusts fell into disarray. Your core was spasming as he fucked into you a few more times, grunting and panting through the clenched teeth in your flesh, then he went rigid and stilled. 

Both of your breathing was rapid and staggered as your bodies relaxed. His bite lifted and he kissed the angry skin softly, then he sighed.

“I can’t, mi amada.”

Javi disengaged from you and pulled away. He stumbled as he got up, pulled on his night robe and left his room. You laid in silence alone, waiting to see if he would return. Eventually, you got up and went back to your suite, no Javi in sight.

+++++

The days that followed bore nothing that would have hinted at your encounter other than the invites in your e-calendar for upcoming meetings had been wiped clean, your schedule was now open and both your night robe and black lace pantied had been replaced silently without your knowledge. 

Javi was distant, but still kind. The odd hand on your leg still happened, but the gentle looks and soft edges of his words were missing. 

One evening after you had been dismissed from the dinner table, signaling that he didn’t need you in a meeting you had organized, he knocked at your door. 

You opened your door and he pushed his way in without a ‘hello’, and crowded you against the wall, pushing his mouth to yours. His hands were trying to make quick work in getting your clothes off. 

Shoving him back, you yelled angrily, “Javi! What the fuck?”

The same fury you knew was written all over your face was staring back at you in his. He stepped towards you again.

“What? This not what you wanted?”, he sneered, grabbing your waist and pulling you towards him. 

“No! Not like this! I wanted - “

“No!”, he barked. “No! You cannot have it like that!”

“Javi - why? I though you want- -”

“Thought i wanted what? Wanted you as my partner? My fucking equal?”

You stared up at him, feeling your heart sink and your eyes start to sting with unshed tears, and the realization of what he was saying washed over you. You really couldn’t have it both ways.

Sensing that you were finally understanding him, he leaned in, mouth ghosting over yours and said softly, “You think just because you finally got what you wanted that I'll let you have a say?”

He nudged his nose against yours and shook his head slightly, keeping his tone soft. “If you wanted me to respect you and your opinions on my business, then you should have kept your fucking legs closed.”

You sucked a breath in and your chin quivered. The tears that had threatened to fall finally did. He nodded and kissed you and you didn’t push him off you again. He may have won this round but you were smart and we’re ready to demand that seat back at his table in due time.

You weren't going down without a fight.

No more tag lists - follow @beefnotes + turn on notifications for fic updates!

[kooldewd123]

The scene of the Animorphs voting whether or not to make David one of them might be one of the best character moments in the entire series. You can read into everyone's actions in this scene so well.

Marco sees "the bright, clear line." David hasn't seen any of them yet. He doesn't know anything. Just giving him up to the Yeerks is incredibly cruel, but it's the safest option. At the same time, how much of this is just his personal feelings? He's the only one who dissents on the basis of personality. He doesn't really like the way David acts, but is that enough reason for concern or is he just writing him off because he can't stand being around him?

Cassie is eager to go for it. She had just taken a massively risky leap of faith with Aftran, and it had actually paid off. And if trusting a Yeerk could lead to good things, surely trusting a human would turn out even better. She's already seeing the big picture: maybe David is the first of many. Maybe they could extend their force even more and give themselves the opportunity to make a bigger difference.

Rachel starts out against it. Despite their frequent disagreements, she and Marco both share that ruthless streak and often end up on the same side of heavy decisions as a result. She's the first to agree with Marco about giving David up, and the first to voice against making him an Animorph. But Cassie's argument sways her over. Cassie is probably just thinking that more people equals more power, but Rachel frames it by saying that more people means they can afford to take bigger risks (something that Marco can't help but agree with). Cassie is thinking optimistically, but Rachel sees it from a warrior's perspective.

Tobias is for it, and of course he is. David is just like Tobias was back then: no real family, no real home, and effectively a stranger to the rest of the group. He can't give up on David. He needs to have faith that things will work out, the same way they did for him (in a way). There's literally no other choice, as far as he sees it. He says Jake should make the ultimate call but clearly doesn't actually believe that, seeing as how when Jake replies that they need to put it up to a vote, Tobias immediately votes in favor of making him an Animorph.

Ax in particular is fascinating to me here because he's the one who actually suggests making David an Animorph in the first place. At the start of the series, breaking the law of Seerow's Kindness and sharing Andalite technology with humans, let alone a complete stranger, would have been completely unthinkable to him. But now he's seen just how fallible Andalites can be. He's begun to doubt the pillars of his society, and has thrown his lot in with the humans instead. He makes a very human suggestion here. It's something you'd expect Cassie or Tobias to come up with, not Ax. When the vote actually comes around, however, he votes against it. Like Rachel, he views it from a military perspective, but comes to the opposite conclusion. More Animorphs would be good to add to their ranks, but he's been in an army before and this ain't exactly one of those. A seventh member isn't enough of an added benefit, and putting a stranger in the role is too much of a wild card when they're about to undertake such an important mission.

We don't know what Jake is thinking. He never provides an opinion, only stating the facts of the situation and prodding the others for their votes. He's presumably freaking out inside, but trying to keep a calm demeanor in the face of the biggest decision they've had to make up to this point. Any weakness at this pivotal moment could skew everything, so he has to remain as neutral as possible until he can properly collect his thoughts. He's the last of the group to make his vote, and he really doesn't end up making one in the end. David wakes up, sees them, and Jake decides to bring him into the group. If David hadn't woken up there, what would Jake have chosen: Safe but cruel, or risky but optimistic? We never get to find out what was going through his mind at that exact moment, only in the aftermath.

And of course, this is all underscored by the dramatic irony of what this will eventually lead to. The group decides against inaction, but by their actions, they will commit a horror upon David arguably just as bad as the Yeerks would have. Would it have been better to leave him behind and be haunted by what they didn't do, or to have tried to save him and be haunted by what they did do?

[vettelsvee]

YOU WROTE A SONG ABOUT ME? | Oscar Piastri

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oscar piastri x singer!reader

requested by anon: x singer!reader, maybe Oscar and his family going to her show and she sings a song about him

word count: 2402

warnings: none of them! use of y/n and y/l/n

posible part 2 if you like it and ask for it!

you can send your one shots requests here!

Oscar was nervous. Very, in fact.

It wasn't the first time he attended a concert of Y/N, his girlfriend, but every time he did he ended up getting more nervous than he should.

Perhaps the fact that today was his twenty-third birthday and he hadn't received any kind of congratulations from her had a lot to do with it.

The Australian took a deep breath and continued on, trying to catch up with his sisters and parents as quickly as possible, who had barely noticed that the boy had fallen behind, immersed in his thoughts.

Nicole quickly turned around, going to where her son was as calmly as she could, and above all making sure not to do or say anything she would regret, especially not something that would ruin the surprise her daughter-in-law had been keeping so well.

"What's wrong, honey?"

Oscar slightly startled as he felt his mother's hand on his shoulder, even letting out a small scream that startled the woman.

"Yes, of course!" the boy hurried to say, trying to calm down. "Just... I'm a little nervous, but that's all, really."

Despite the Australian's efforts to sound as calm as possible, it was in vain. Nicole could see his anxiety in his gaze and, above all, in his gestures. His hands were barely still, and every time she tried to walk beside him, he ended up putting a little more distance between them.

"I'm your mother, Oscar, you know I can catch any lie like I've done so many times before. Why are you so nervous?"

He sighed. He didn't want to share his concern, especially when they were heading to see the main reason of it.

"Well..." he tried to find the right words, finding it quite difficult. "It's just that I haven't received any message from Y/N today. Today, of all days, you know? On my birthday."

"Oh, what a shame..." the woman replied, feigning surprise. "She must have forgotten or had some problem. Have you talked to her?"

Was she really asking him that? He just told her he hadn't received any message from the brunette...

"Yes, but she hasn't replied."

"Don't worry! I'm sure there's a reason for it," assured the Piastri matriarch. "Don't let this ruin your day. If that girl doesn't call you as soon as it strikes twelve, I promise she'll have to deal with me."

"Mom..."

"No mom, Oscar," she scolded him in an ironic tone, making him laugh. "Now try to enjoy her concert and have a good time with us, okay?"

The brown-haired young man nodded, grateful for his mother's support, and continued on his way to the Rod Laver Arena, now a bit happier than before.

After passing through security checks and receiving the VIP accreditations reserved for the Piastri family, and the occasional stops for the pilot to take some photos and sign autographs with fans who recognized him, which were quite a few, they made their way to their reserved spot, located in the lower side stands just a few meters from the main stage.

"Wow, I didn't know you were so famous to have so many people following you," joked his father, making his sisters laugh.

"You should take a break!" shouted his mother, hugging him and making his cheeks turn red. "You're at your girlfriend's concert, not at one of your stupid races."

"They're the ones who make me who I am, Mom. Besides, I'm a public figure," added the brown-eyed one. "I can't ignore them and act like nothing, you know? It's not that easy."

Oscar said that, but he still felt uneasy. As he looked at his family, already occupying their seats as there was still about half an hour before the concert started, the need to see his girlfriend or at least hear some news about her was taking over him more and more.

"Mom, I'm going to see if I can find out anything about Y/N," he said impulsively, interrupting himself with his own words. "I'll be right back."

Nicole looked at him with surprise, telling him no, to wait there, and they would see what to do after the concert. But the young man had already gained some momentum and was navigating through everyone in his way around the stands, seats, stairs, and multiple corridors until he reached the place where, supposedly, his girl was.

Once he reached the supposed dressing room, a perfectly uniformed black security guard, with a completely serious expression and crossed arms, stood in front of the door.

"Um... I'm Oscar," he greeted with a wave, trying to curve his lips without trembling. "I'm Y/N’s boyfriend," he timidly pointed to the door behind him with his hand. "Do you mind if I come in?"

"I'm sorry, Mr. Piastri, but Y/N has agreed that there are no visitors before the concert today," the man responded firmly, still looking at Oscar seriously and shaking his head.

"It's just a moment. I want to wish her good luck before she goes on stage," he insisted, hoping the guard might make an exception.

"I'm sorry, sir. Rules are rules, and if the young lady said no, then it's no. I can't make any exceptions, even for you."

The Australian thanked the unfriendly man with a slight nod and, feeling defeated, made his way back to where his family was. As soon as he arrived, he had his sisters pestering him:

"Did you see Y/N? Did she say anything to you? Did she leave you wanting something, and that's why you look so depressed now?"

The eldest sister's insistence was making him feel even worse than he already did; having the other two join in the sudden conversation with curious faces and even more unsettling questions made him want to leave the place.

The young man simply remained silent. He sat in his seat and kept his gaze fixed on the stage, waiting for the lights to go out and the concert to begin.

It was a matter of the singer stepping onto the stage for the crowd to rise to their feet, applauding and chanting her name, shouting compliments and praises of all kinds.

"Good evening, Melbourne!" exclaimed Y/N, who was on a platform that had risen from the bottom of the stage. "I hope you all have a great time with me tonight because I assure you that today will be full of surprises!"

Nicole Piastri got up from her seat, as did the rest of the family, and told Oscar to do the same. He refused, remaining seated with his arms crossed, but unable to stop a smile from appearing on his lips.

He might be upset with his girlfriend's behavior for who knows what reason, but it was impossible for him not to look away from her while she danced, sang, and interacted with the audience.

It was too difficult for him not to feel proud of her and everything she had achieved.

The show continued as Oscar knew it would, having memorized it from the numerous times he had not only attended various concerts of his girlfriend's tour around the world but also from the countless rehearsals he had accompanied her to.

However, Piastri did not expect that suddenly the lights would go out and an orange glow would begin to emerge everywhere, especially illuminating the stage.

Y/N appeared again, now wearing an orange bodysuit with perfectly placed blue tones that accentuated her figure.

"Do you know what day’s today?" asked the brunette, looking with wide eyes at the audience.

"April 6th!"

She nodded, a playful smile forming on her lips more and more as she was about to reveal, and trying not to turn her head towards where her boyfriend was, whom she had deliberately avoided all day and who, possibly, would tell her to screw off after all the ghosting she had done to him on his birthday.

"And, by any chance... do you know what happens today?"

There were a variety of responses. A large part of them answered that it was Oscar's birthday, her partner's. Others were somewhat wild, as if she was about to reveal that the couple was expecting a baby, or that the young woman was going to announce her retirement from the stage after her very short musical career.

"No, it's none of that," the Australian ended up saying. "I am pleased to announce that today, here, right now, I am going to debut my new single, 'Throttle Hearts'!"

The stadium erupted in cheers and applause once again. No one, not even Oscar, expected this revelation from the girl, so it was completely normal for people to ask her to sing the song already.

Y/N, however, asked them for a moment with her hand.

Quickly, she ran to her cell phone and, secluded in a small corner of the stage, tried to make sure that the camera recording to broadcast her image on the large screens captured nothing.

At that very moment, Oscar's phone vibrated in his pocket with a notification from the same girl who was on stage:

"Happy birthday, my love! I'm so sorry for ghosting you all day, but I hope it was worth it. If you understand any references in the song, it's normal bc it's based on our story. I hope this is the best gift you can receive, at least for now, in your life. I can't wait to get off stage and give you the biggest hug in the world <3"

And there was Y/N, making eye contact with him, having a minimal interaction with her boyfriend for the first time all day. The girl had her arm raised, waving enthusiastically and making heart gestures with both hands that ended sooner than expected as she went to the piano to play the first chords of the song.

Oscar found himself trying to hide some tears, which were forming in his eyes not only as Y/N’s voice adjusted to the melody but throughout the rest of the concert.

The only thing the boy could reply to that message was whether she had really written a song about him, receiving as a response during a break between songs a large number of heart shaped emojis.

When the show came to an end and the singer disappeared beneath the stage, the Piastri family quickly grabbed their belongings to leave the venue and go to where the boy's girlfriend was. The same security guard who had previously denied him access to see the singer to the Formula 1 driver was now standing next to them, telling them to follow him.

Obviously, they didn't hesitate to say yes and followed his steps to the young woman's dressing room, who allowed her boyfriend's family to enter, welcoming them with a radiant smile and hugs that had been delayed all day.

The only thing the young couple did as words were exchanged was to look at each other, shy to show their love in front of others, as it had always been with them.

"I think we should leave the lovebirds alone for a while," Nicole began as she headed towards the exit of the room. "Don't take too long, the reservation for dinner at Oscar's favorite restaurant is at ten fifteen, and you know we take quite a while to get there."

Both of them thanked her shyly, unsure of what to do or say beyond being unable to stop smiling.

When they were alone, facing each other, they didn't know what they should say to each other. Oscar Piastri didn't know if he should reproach his girlfriend for not speaking to him all day despite preparing a surprise for him. Y/N Y/L/N was aware that perhaps she should apologize for not having done things quite right and for keeping the brown-haired boy on edge by maintaining some sort of no-contact for the past 24 hours.

Finally, it was the McLaren driver who broke the not-so-uncomfortable silence:

"Y/N, that song..." He was at a loss for words. He didn't know what else to say other than that he had loved it.

The girl smiled shyly, grateful not only that he had liked the composition she had kept to herself for the past seven months, but also for seeming to have understood.

"I've been wanting to sing it to you for a long time, but I didn't know if you’d like it," the young woman admitted. "It has had a couple of important modifications since the first draft, and since the record label wasn't cooperating much when I wanted to release it initially, I thought it would be a good birthday gift for you," she explained. "Hey, and I'm sorry if this whole game of ignoring you all day has offended you. I feel really bad, and the last thing I want is..."

"Shut up, silly!" Oscar interrupted her, approaching her to wrap her in his arm and give her a tender kiss on the forehead. "At first, I thought you wanted to break up with me, but then seeing how my mom was acting, that gorilla you have as a bodyguard denying me access, and above all you ignoring me all day..."

"I'm good at keeping secrets, and I'm absolutely in love with you, Oscar Piastri," Y/N declared, mock-offended. "Do you really think I would ignore you all day?"

"Not a chance. I know there's a good intention behind everything you do," agreed the Australian, earning himself a hug and a kiss on the lips from his girlfriend. "Did you know that I'm also good at keeping secrets?"

"Oh, really? And are you absolutely in love with me like I am with you, Piastri?"

Oscar grinned mischievously, an idea starting to appear in his mind like a flash that was making more and more sense.

Obviously, the driver was a tad resentful, and the girl wasn't going to get away with it no matter how good the intention was behind Throttle Hearts and its surprise presentation.

Now, Oscar had to prepare a surprise for the girl's twenty-second birthday that would match, or even surpass, the one she had prepared for him.

"I don't know," he shrugged, laughing more and more emphatically and perhaps frustrating his girlfriend, "I guess now you'll have to wait for your birthday to find out."