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jayybugg · 1 year ago

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locker room activities

Draco Malfoy x Reader

Summary: Draco hates you.....or so you thought.

Warning: Language, Slight Time Skips, Kinda Asshole Draco (?), Smut (18+), No Specific House Mentioned, Use of Y/N.

Word Count: 2.6K

Note: Hi, here I am back again with another fic. It's not song-based this time, just my feral thoughts taking over for Draco. As always, thank you @pizzaapeteer for proofreading and @cafekitsune for the banner! Enjoy!

Draco Malfoy hated you.

You weren’t sure why, but you also didn't care enough to find out. In fact, you found amusement in seeing the blonde make a fool out of himself to prove his superiority. The glares he shot your way only made you giggle to yourself as you just simply ignored them majority of the time. But seeing him get riled up even more by your unbothered state always made your day.

"Another day of being an idiot, Malfoy?" you smiled lazily down at him sprawled out on the ground, his failed potion covering him.

"This is your fault! You charmed my potion to explode!" Draco shot to his two feet, glaring at you. You raised an eyebrow at him, confused at what he was even talking about. "Charmed your potion? I just got here.” you paused for dramatics. “After it exploded." You rolled your eyes at the stupidity of his accusation

"All you do is get under my skin and annoy me, Y/L/N." Draco snapped at you.

"I don't even do anything to you!" You felt your anger boil. This boy practically borderlines harasses you every day, but somehow, he was the victim? Makes sense coming from Draco.

"You do a lot of things to me!" Draco yelled at you. The chuckles from his table of friends was enough to turn him red and send him storming out of the classroom.

"Bloody hell is his problem?" You muttered to yourself, sitting down at the desk to start your potion.

You didn't see Draco for the rest of the day, figured that he probably skipped class and called his father to complain or try to get you kicked out of school. You soaked up the peace as much as you could.

"Madam Pince? Do you know where this book may be? I need it for my ancient runes class." You handed the woman a piece of paper with the title scribbled across it.

"Ah, Mr. Malfoy checked it out." She returned the paper to you. You groaned softly. Of course, that imbecile had the book that you needed. "Granted, it's overdue, so he needs to return it. Why don't you go get it from him?" Madam Pince asked, looking over her glasses.

You knew this was her way of getting you to do her job. It was a known fact to everyone that Madam Prince hated to deal with Draco and the rest of his family.

You sighed, grabbing your stuff to go track down the blonde. You really needed that damn book. "Okay, I got it."

Luna was the first to see you, her smile staying wide. "Hey, Y/N!" she waved at you. Pansy turned at your approach and smiled at you. "Hey, what brings you here?"

"I was looking for you, actually." You leaned against the wall next to the girls. "I hate to interrupt the date, but I need your help, Parkinson."

"With what?" she raised her eyebrow, tilting her head slightly.

"Got any idea where Malfoy is?"

Pansy's eyes widened in surprise. "Why are you looking for Draco?"

"Don't get any ideas, Pans. He has a book that I need and Madam Pince told me to get it from him because it's overdue." You poked the girl's forehead, making Luna laugh and Pansy rolled her eyes.

"I was just surprised, that's all." Pansy defended herself, "He should be at quidditch practice, but by the time you get to the field, it'll probably be over and you'll have to wait till he comes out of the locker room."

"Okay, thanks! Bye, lovebirds." You waved the two girls goodbye, making your way over to the field.

Just like Pansy had said, by the time you got down to the field the practice was over. You stood by the entrance, hoping to catch Draco when he left and prayed that he had the book on him by any chance.

"Waiting for a hot date, y/n?" Mattheo asked, walking out with Theo as they exited the locker room first, surprised to see you waiting there.

"I wish." You rolled your eyes. "Waiting for Malfoy. He has a book that I need and Madam Pince has me doing her dirty work.”

"Ahhhh." Mattheo and Theo said, simultaneously grinning at you.

"What?" you raised an eyebrow at them.

"Oh nothing. This should be the highlight of his day." Theo smiled, patting your head. The two walked off, leaving you confused.

You continued to wait for Malfoy, watching the rest of the Slytherin team clear out of the locker room. After about another 20 minutes of waiting, you grew tired.

"What the fuck is he in there doing? His everything shower?" you muttered. You looked around at the empty hallway before sighing and pushing open the locker room door.

The locker area was completely empty, making you intensely bitter that Draco was probably in the shower. You walked up to his ajar locker to see all the quidditch equipment and no sign of your book.

"Of course, the asshole doesn't have it on him." You rolled your eyes. You looked around for any sign of him, but you didn't see him.

You walked closer to the showers, hearing water running. "Malfoy??" you called out, receiving a dead answer.

He had to be in here. He was the only one who didn't leave the locker room. You moved closer to the entrance of the shower seeing Draco lean against the wall of the shower with water dripping down him.

You eyed his physique slowly. Sure, the boy was annoying but Merlin, he was fine.

You couldn't pay too much attention to his physique because your eyes and mind finally registered what he was doing and saying.

"Fuck, Y/N. Fuck, Fuck, Fuck." Draco cussed, throwing his head back as he jerked himself off. Your eyes widened as you heard your name spill out his mouth. Was Draco getting himself off to the thought of you?

You cleared your throat loudly. Draco's eyes shot open to see you standing at the entrance and taking in his naked form.

"Shit! Y/N, what the fuck are you doing in here?" Draco scrambled to turn the shower off and grab his towel.

"Well, I've been looking for you for probably the past hour or so." You said, your eyes staying trained on him.

"Looking for me? Why?" Draco asked. He glanced around the showers and out to the locker room, "Is nobody in here?"

"No, they all left 20 minutes ago. Getting ready for dinner, I assume." You walked closer to Draco, who was unconsciously backing away from you.

You had never seen Draco look scared, almost as if he wasn't sure what to do.

He looked like prey and you were the predator.

"W-why were you looking for me?" Draco asked again, as you continued to close the distance between you both.

You ignored his question, using this advantage to tease him. "How many times have you gotten off to the thought of me?"

Draco gripped his towel tighter, "Don't be foolish, Y/N. I don't get off to you. Never have and never will."

"I just saw you, Malfoy." You rolled your eyes, looking down at his dick, "And judging by how hard you are, I can guess that maybe this isn't the first time."

"Shit, you can see it through the towel?!" Draco clutched the towel closer to him to cover up the print, "Y/L/N, I'm begging you to just go and never speak about this again."

"Begging? That's new for you." A devilish smirk took over your features as you took a step closer to him. Draco felt his heart start to pound in his chest. You looked ready to devour him.

"Is this why you said I do a lot of things to you?" You dragged your finger down his bicep, pushing him against the wall.

A part of Draco was embarrassed that he got caught like this but the other part of Draco was getting so turned on that if he was given the chance to have his way, then he was going to take it.

"All this time, you've been so aggravated with me," Your hand fondled with the fabric of the towel that wrapped around his waist, "And it was all because of your dirty little fantasies."

"Y/N, please...." Draco's voice was soft and desperate. It was music to your ears.

"Please what?" You leaned in to lick softly at his neck, "Come on, use your words. Where's that big voice of yours from earlier?"

Draco didn't even know what he wanted to say. He couldn't decide if he wanted you to free him or to just have your way with him.

"Tell me what you want me to do, Malfoy." You whispered into his ear as you continued to tug at his towel.

"Fuck." He was done. Any shred of self-respect or restraint that he had was gone. Demolished. Non-existent.

"I'm waiting." you said in a sing-song voice. You were enjoying this.

"Suck me off. Please." Draco said.

You grinned, tugging his towel down and going to your knees. You licked your lips as you eyed his dick that was harder than you thought it was.

You coated your hand in spit, pumping him before you licked the length of him slowly. You swirl your tongue around his tip, listening to Draco groaned deeply, his hands finding their way into your hair.

"Stop teasing." Draco muttered, looking down at you.

"But it's fun." You batted your eyes up at him.

That look alone almost made him cum. Draco gave you a grunt in response. You smiled, taking him in your mouth, and quickly got to work.

The lewd and slobbery sounds you were making with Draco's cock filling your mouth mixed with his moans and grunts caused your pussy to drench your panties. You reached around to the front of your school skirt and played with yourself as you continued to suck him off.

"Fuck, this is better than any dream. Your mouth is amazing. I just want to fuck your face," Draco said, looking down into your eyes that were already on him, "Can I?”

You nodded, pulling away to catch your breath as Draco gathered your hair into a makeshift ponytail and shoving his dick further down your throat. Draco wasted no time using your mouth to his pleasure, taking joy in the little gagging that you were doing. The sounds of your gags turning him on even more than he already was.

"Do you like that? Being treated like my fuck toy?" Draco groaned out, watching your eyes gleam with unknown emotion. You hummed in agreement, keeping your eyes on him.

"Fuck, I'm about to cum," Draco moaned. His dick was hitting the back of your throat, repeatedly and unforgivingly. The closer Draco was getting to his climax, the sloppier his thrusts got. He let out a groan, releasing his cum deep down your throat. You swallowed it quickly, pulling away and wiping the spit that had drooled down your chin to your chest.

"I've never cummed from head before." Draco admitted, running a hand through his hair. You smiled, feeling your ego boost from his compliment.

"Well, there's a first time for everything." You stood up, gripping his dick that was still hard, "but I don't think it's fair that you get to cum and I don't."

Draco's eyes gleamed with excitement and lust. He leaned forward to nip at your ear. "Want to know what another one of my fantasies was?"

You raised an eyebrow at him, curiosity covering your face. Draco smirked as he turned you around to face the wall.

"It was to fuck you from behind against this wall."

He didn't waste time lifting your skirt up and sliding your panties to the side. He dragged his tip up and down your folds, making you whimper.

"Don't be a tease." You groaned.

"It's fun, remember?" He grinned, feeling his own cocky self return, "But I want to feel you, so I'm going to cut the fun short."

Draco slid into you, the action creating loud moans from both of you. He started thrusting fast and hard into you. The sound of your skins slapping together and the sounds of your moans filled the room. Any concern you had about someone walking in or hearing you was quickly thrown out the window.

“Fuck." You moaned.

"You feel so good. So tight and wet. Just for me, huh?" Draco whispered in your ear.

"Just for you." You whispered back. Draco continued his thrusts, slapping your ass as he went. His name spilling out of your mouth with a string of curse words.

You clenched around Draco, making him snake his hand around your neck to pull you up against him. "About to cum, baby? Cum on my dick like the good girl you are."

His words made your orgasm better than you ever thought it would be.

Draco spun you around and lifted you up, putting your legs over his shoulders and supporting you against the wall as he slid into you once again.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck. Yes, right there." You moaned as Draco drilled into you, leaving you no choice but to take all of him.

"You take me so well. So wet and so pretty." Draco covered your neck in kisses and marks before crashing his lips onto yours.

Your tongues explored each other's mouth as Draco continued to thrust into you roughly. It didn't take long for you and Draco to get close to your climax again.

“I’m going to fill you up. Have you walking out of this room full of me, and me only.” Draco grunted in your ear.

“Yes, please.” You whimpered, “Please do it.”

Draco groaned, releasing again inside of you. He pulled out of you and dropped you down to the ground softly. You gripped his arm and the wall for balance as your legs were shaking and you couldn't walk properly.

"If someone would've told me this morning that by the end of the day I would've fucked Draco Malfoy, I would've called them insane." You said, regaining your normal breathing patterns.

"I could say the same." Draco chuckled. He quickly wrapped a towel around him, looking down at you. "Your shirt is wet from the shower and the spit. Here, let me get my hoodie for you to wear."

You blushed as Draco pulled you to the locker area, grabbing his hoodie and pulling it over your head.

"Thank you." You adjusted the hoodie. "So, you never answered my question."

Draco raised an eyebrow at you, pulling on his clothes quickly. "What question?"

"How long have you been having dreams about me?"

Draco paused, redness creeping up his neck, "I was hoping I would fuck you hard enough to make you forget."

"Oh, I'll never forget this."

Draco rolled his eyes, grabbing his bag, "I don't remember when they started or even when I felt an attraction to you. I just know that every night, upon recently, it's always just been you."

You nodded, gathering your stuff, "Well, hope it was better than you could've ever imagined."

"Oh, it was," Draco said, "You never answered my question either. Why were you in here in the first place?" A smile took over your face as you looked up at Draco with a mischievous expression.

"You checked out the book for the Ancient Runes homework. Madam Pince said it was overdue and since I need it, she sent me to get it from you."

"I don't have it on me," Draco said.

You smiled, walking to the door, "Oh, I know. I'll come around your dorm later and get it from you."

You pushed the door open and threw a wink his way. Draco let out a deep sigh as he leaned against his locker.

You were going to be the death of him.

#slytherin boys #enzo berkshire #theodore nott #draco malfoy #blaise zabini #draco malfoy x reader #smut #slytherin x reader #mattheo riddle #jayybugg fics

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calisources · 9 months ago

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𝐀𝐆𝐄 𝐃𝐈𝐅𝐅𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐏𝐒, 𝐀𝐆𝐄 𝐆𝐀𝐏𝐒 𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐐𝐔𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒.

All sentences were taken from difference media about age gap and age difference relationships, all acceptable relationships within consenting adults with age differences. Please do not use for teenagers or taboo relationships. These have some foul language or suggestive undertones so please beware. You can change names, pronouns, locations as you see fit.

I bet it doesn’t feel like this with that boy of yours, does it?

You’ll never know when I’m going to drag you into the darkness, pumping my cock into one of your tight holes. And you’ll take every inch like a good little girl.

What a tiny life we’d live if we fashioned ourselves to the comforts of others.

I think I'm a little old for that, love.

No, not old. But you're, you know, a man.

Tell me that you've never had anyone else. I want you to pretend.

You show me things I've forgotten.

Sometimes I think you must have seen it all before. That I can't show you anything new.

I like you as you are, he said. Even if you're going to wear me out.

I’m rough with your body sometimes, but I’ll always be gentle with your soul. She bruises far more easily.

This prince is a few years younger than you, and does not have much experience.

I must have forgotten how young you would be, Princess. Has there ever been a sovereign of such tender age?

Who is to say what love is or what it wants to be, the shape it takes, or how quickly it comes on? Love has always made a fool of time.

I don’t feel old. As a matter of fact, sitting here with you makes me feel older, not younger. Nothing is rubbing off.

Mr. Rochester was about forty, and this governess not twenty; and you see, when gentlemen of his age fall in love with girls, they are often like as if they were bewitched.

He's old enough to be your father.

Tonks deserves somebody young and whole.

But she wants you. And after all, Remus, young and whole men do not necessarily remain so.

Age is no barrier. It's a limitation you put on your mind.

Age considers; youth ventures.

Age, like distance lends a double charm.

I'm a strong believer that a good relationship can work, whatever the situation.

Love knows no boundaries, not even the ones defined by age.

Don’t let society’s judgment define your love. Follow your heart, despite the age difference.

Most people would be upset they get an old man as their husband.

Do not worry about your age, Ser. The lady pays attention not to age but prowess.

I will not let time choose my lovers for me. I trust my own judgement.

You should look to more prosperous gardens, Your Grace.

I was sixteen years old when you were born.

No doubt you were much my superior in judgement at that period of our lives; but does not the lapse of one-and-twenty years bring our understandings a good deal nearer?

Come, my dear Emma, let us be friends, and say no more about it.

I have seldom seen a face or figure more pleasing to me than hers. But I am a partial old friend.

If I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more.

We spend more time discussing this matter than being together as a couple. And I believe you are doing it on purpose.

You think my attention is as fickle that I would look elsewhere.

Perhaps it would be you who looks elsewhere. A handsome older man must have youthful maidens at his disposal.

If we were closer in age, it would've been fine.

I have loved you since the moment I helped you with your zipper.

Would it make you feel better if I call you Daddy while you fuck me?

You’ll be a silver fox before 40 at this rate.

Well, it’s definitely your fault. You stress me out. You’re making my hair turn white.

It’s easy to cast opinions when your heart isn’t the one invested.

I hope you love me, because I love you like crazy, and I'm going to want you the rest of my life.

You already know the truth. And I will be by your side, but I am not good for you.

I am tired of others getting to choose who is good for me. You do that quite often, frequently.

You'll keep your name. You'll keep your will. You'll have your own servants to attend you— you will have everything you ask for.

Don't ask me to let you do. Do you understand? Do not ask me.

It might be best for us, for myself, if I found myself useful elsewhere.

I wish you could just slow down so I could catch up to you.

Stamina is not an issue. But rather what others will whisper.

When are you going to get over this? All I did was touch your leg.

Why would it matter if someone saw you saying hello to me?

But it’s nice to be around you. Like I haven’t lost a decade of my life.

I been in love with you since I was six, fool.

I will always belong to you, but I’m afraid there will be others after me. I’m not a young man/woman.

A kiss ... a muse. It is a question, an unlocked door. It is ... elation ... and anguish.

You have treated me better than any young man my age. Why should I go for either of them?

Young men are eager lovers. I prefer my lovers to take their time. I’m sure with men is the same.

You make me feel really safe. i’m not used to that.

You gave an old man purpose again. And that is more than I can ask of you.

I was a child then, with a crush and a dream. As I grew, dreams changed but you remain the one in my dreams.

I have thought about kissing you a lot. What would that make me?

I have more in common with you than men my age.

Do not pretend to think what I think.

More recently, there are rumors she prefers her lovers to be younger. Truth to be told, I don’t blame her.

I will teach you in time, but for now restrain me and have your way with me. I don’t want to think, I just want to feel.

We have never done anything to be ashamed of. You’ve never done anything to be ashamed of.

Personally, I think the difference keeps us interesting in another another.

You can teach me all you wish, and I can learn. I know I can.

There is always a wild side to an innocent face.

You are being too forward right now, my lady. Be careful.

There would be other loves. Even great loves. But she was right, only one remained perfect.

Maybe there are some people you marry and people you love.

Just so you know, you're a natural lover. Your body expresses beautifully what's in your heart.

I have never felt so alive... as when I am in your arms.

A 5 to 7 relationship is a relationship outside of marriage.

You're older than I am, you're wiser I'm sure and you've seen much more of the world.

#roleplay memes #sentence meme #( cali meme. )#rp memes #rp prompt #rp musings #roleplay prompt #age gap meme #age difference meme

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cheralith · 10 months ago

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to a heart's content — 「 single father!miguel o'hara x reader (part iii) 」

content warnings ; fem!reader, implied fem bodied!reader, use of she/her pronouns, reader wears dresses and makeup, mild violence mention

contains ; single father!miguel o'hara, boss!miguel o'hara, assistant!reader, angst, angst with some comfort, unedited/not beta read as of 2/24

word count ; 8.5k

notes ; we're so back. am i severely late to posting this? very. did i at least get it done after too many months? also yes. i also apologize in advance to those i tagged that are no longer interested in the series, as i merely tagged people that had commented regardless of time. lmk if you no longer want to be tagged in the last part, i promise i won't take offense at all!

parts ; one two three four (tba)

THREE YEARS AGO

“My name is (Y/N) (L/N), it’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. O’Hara. Please let me assist you at any need possible.”

Miguel peered at you through his reading glasses, averting his attention from his laptop to fully examine the stranger that stood in his office. Dark hazelnut eyes scan the appearance of a young woman dressed in black slacks and an ironed white blouse standing stiffly next to his superiors that eyed him with more eagerness than he liked. He could already tell that you were a shy one, a person that wasn’t too accustomed to the outside world and its people; you stood with stiff posture; it was one that exemplified nerve rather than confidence from the way that you almost seem paralyzed in your place.

Caldworth, one of the superiors that stood by your side, placed a wrinkly and veiny hand on your shoulder and showed you off to him as if you were a painting up for bidding. “We choose a sharp one for you. (Y/N) here is rather attentive, so don’t be shy about letting her get to know you better, Miguel.”

Miguel stayed quiet, still skeptical about this sudden new arrangement for him that was brought up at the last minute. He lacked a certain sort of anticipation that would usually behold anyone else in his position—a new person entering their work life would usually be an exciting, rousing meeting seeing as how it would be a new addition to what the higher-ups would refer to as “family.” A loose term, Miguel often thought… very loose, even. To even have the courage to compare coworkers to something as intimate as family was something that didn’t sit well with Miguel. Blame it on the certain circumstances on his own familial life, but even anyone else that had their brain in the somewhat of the right spot would understand that mere coworkers were nothing compared to family.

At least in his case.

“I’ve greatly admired your work in the past,” you said almost robotically, “so I hope I can be of any help in your future accomplishments—no matter how big or small.”

Miguel cocked his head. He fought the urge to raise an eyebrow at what he began to concur was something scripted via his superiors. Something about your tone of voice seemed… flat; devoid of any actual enthusiasm.

Caldworth and his partner began to see themselves out, leaving him to babysit you. “Well, you two have at it! Maybe go out for a cup of coffee to familiarize yourselves, get to know each other better since you both are essentially going to be around each other all the time,” Caldworth stated, making Miguel twitch from the last part.

Just before they left, Caldworth offered the glint of his eye over his shoulder, the peek of a tight-lipped grin ever so slightly visible.

“And don’t forget, we’re all family here!” he cheered before the slam of a door shut you and Miguel in.

Immediately, Miugel noticed that your shoulders caved inward, indicating that you were finally able to breathe properly without the surveillance of people that were essentially in charge of your life. He eyed you again from the top of his glasses before he took them off and rested them in between his fingers, letting them dangle lazily.

“Did they tell you to say that?”

You jolted in your spot. Nerves seemingly reshocked with the same anxiety from before, you turned yourself to face your new boss again with a much more paled, yet evident expression—wide-eyed, pursed-lipped, gritted jaw—and swallowed thickly. Almost in a shameful manner, you silently nodded your head.

“W-was…” you started, “was it that obvious?”

“Somewhat,” Miguel murmured simply and closed his laptop. “Don’t listen to what they say, just make yourself as comfortable as possible. I’m sure neither of us want to be that comfortable with each other.”

Your lips pressed themselves into a tight line, hitching a sharp breath before it’s replaced with another stiff nod. There was no user’s manual of sorts that was given to you by your superiors. They merely told you to do exactly what Miguel needed, so if this is what he wanted—for you two to maintain distance—then so be it. If anything, it’s easier to breathe this way for both parties.

And it was like that for a rather long time; the both of you never came too close to the other person. It was strictly a professional workplace relationship, one that didn’t issue any room for intimacy because it wasn’t needed. There were no lunch or dinner get-togethers outside work hours, there was barely any small talk between you both, and you and he didn’t even bother getting each others’ personal numbers despite being consistently around the other like air—both parties thought the work phones were more than enough. There was no need for you to learn about his likes, his dislikes, his favorite foods, and Miguel couldn’t certainly be bothered with your own slices of life. To each their own, if you minded your business about him, he’d do the same to you.

It was a fair trade and a sufficient barter that satisfied you and him; there need not be any excess of the unnecessary.

That was, until a certain day that Miguel was held back during his usual hours to continue working on lab reports—work that didn’t allow him freedom from this hell of a company to see his own salvation.

“If it’s an urgent matter, Mr. O’Hara, I don’t mind taking on some of the workload,” you had said softly as you placed the last stack of packets on his desk that needed proper annotation. “I’m your assistant, after all. It’s my job to help you out.”

Miguel rubbed his forehead out of exhaustion and shook his head, “You’re my assistant from 9 to 5 only. I’m not gonna be like those shocking pricks and work you longer than needed,” he muttered and stretched out his neck, joints crackling. “Go clock out, (Y/N). I’m sure there’s someone waiting for you at home that needs attending to.”

Suddenly, the atmosphere had gone awkwardly quiet. The tension was only broken by the scritching of your shuffling feet before you coughed.

“Um, there’s no one in particular like that for me, unfortunately,” you whispered through a forced laugh that quickly dissolved. “So again, I don’t mind staying late…”

Miguel stiffened in his seat and mumbled an apology for his blatant inconsideration. Right… you were still rather young and didn’t seem the type to have a family yet. “No boyfriend? Or girlfriend… I’m not one to judge.”

“No, Mr. O’Hara.”

“No parents?”

“I moved out, so no.”

“Not even pets?”

“None.”

“... perhaps friends of sorts?”

“...”

Another sigh heaves itself from his aching lungs. What he’d do for a cigarette right now to kill this awkward tension. You were a rather shy person that isolated herself from most people, but Miguel didn’t think you’d detach yourself this much from the crowd.

You proposed your assistance once more, as third times always a charm. “Please let me assist you, Mr. O’Hara. I truly do not mind staying overtime if needed.”

Miguel, at first, thought you might be kissing his ass for a possible raise, but the thought quickly disappears when you genuinely appear concerned for his well-being given the fact he looked ultimately much more disgruntled than usual. Despite your timidity, you could be a stubborn one, so Miguel gave in before he tired himself even more with mild arguments that he was sure would drain whatever life he had left in him.

He inhales sharply and fiddles with his bag for a bit before he pulls out an array of keys, gently detaching a pair of them. One of them is his car key. The other—his house key.

“Take these,” he said and gestured them to you. “I’ve trusted you enough to drive my car on multiple occasions, so now I’m entrusting you to my daughter.”

Your eyes widened briefly, brows raising to new heights. Blinking in the alikeness of an owl, you repeated, “Your… your daughter?”

Miguel supposes this is what succumbs to him after not revealing even the most personal, yet basic parts of himself to a coworker. He hasn’t even revealed his birthday to you, let alone his family, so he can’t say he’s too surprised at your reaction.

“Yes, my daughter,” he repeats and starts scribbling on a post-it. “Her name is Gabriella, she just turned five and is in kindergarten. I’m gonna call up the daycare and tell them that you’ll be picking her up from school. After that, drop her off at the house and just… just kind of stay there until I come home. There should be leftovers in the fridge if she gets hungry. I’ll take a cab home… I dunno.”

Miguel sticks out the post-it note containing both the address of the daycare and his apartment number. With caution, you take and examine them closely with a mild surprise still on your face of the new information about your boss that you thought you should’ve learned a while ago. You begin to see yourself out of his office with an evident nervousness in your being before Miguel spontaneously gets up and grabs your wrist tightly, forcing you to look at him.

A chill goes down your spine when you see a menacing and unusual red glint in those pools of mahogany. His once-drained face is suddenly stony and rugged with his teeth bitten back to avoid any unnecessary threats. The physical contact makes your nerves go cold and paralyzes you into place to force you to stare into those eyes that you’re not sure aren’t even human, a sort of malicious crimson tint gleaming over brown hues.

“Do not… let anything happen to her,” he hisses under his breath, his tone jaggedly sharp, “Not a single scratch, yes?”

It takes a while for air to breathe itself back into your lungs, yet only a partial amount of it revives your body because all you can reply is a choked out,

“Yes.”

Miguel lets go of your wrist like it’s a heated iron rod, the burn of it stinging his hand with the aftertaste of your skin still damped on his palm. You quickly leave after that, leaving him to sigh and stare into nothing before clutching the picture frame of his daughter that sits on his desk—praying that you’ll live up to his expectations and arrive home to an unscathed Gabriella.

And throughout the duration of the three years you and Miguel have spent side by side, with each repeated question he’d contritely ask again and again, he did each and every single time you had to take care of her. The hours became longer, more strenuous, and created a blockage between Miguel and Gabriella that only you were able to bridge between. Gabriella—whose particular shyness reminded Miguel of a certain someone—eventually warmed up to you and began to treat you much more familiarly as time passed, growing accustomed to wrapping her body around your legs when she saw you during pick up and always asking what was for dinner that evening as if you’ve been there since her birth.

Gabriella grew very fond of you, Miguel noticed. There was some sort of mimicry in her actions at times that mirrored your own habits like how she’d tilt her head and purse her lips to the left when she was confused like you did or she’d randomly walk briskly in the same fashion you marched. She’d slip in a mention of your name during small discussions here and there, a praise never failing to tail her words.

“Miss. (Y/N) bought this headband for me! Isn’t it pretty?”

“Oh, Miss. (Y/N) taught me how to solve that problem yesterday.”

“Can you make cookies like how Miss. (Y/N) does? Yours taste weird.”

While you weren’t always present around the O’Haras, Gabriella made sure it seemed like you were.

There was a particular time that Miguel was helping her on some homework assigned over the weekend. The assignment had discussed different careers that children might be interested in the future and when Miguel had asked her what she wanted to be when she grew up, Gabriella, who couldn’t have been more than six or seven around the time, replied all too simply,

“I want to be like Miss. (Y/N).”

Miguel was astonished. He had expected an answer like a professional soccer player due to her love of the sport or a scientist like her father, but to aspire to be someone that seemingly was just an occasional companion? To him, it didn’t make sense.

“Like, do you wanna work for Daddy when you’re older?” Miguel asked, attempting to clarify what she meant since she knew enough to understand you were associated with her father.

Gabriella shook her head and mindlessly continued to draw what seemed to be a portrait of you in… a pink dress? “Nuh uh. I wanna be a princess like her.”

Through furrowed brows, Miguel chuckled a little aimlessly. Of course she’d still believe fantasy and magical things—she was just seven after all. Initially, he wanted to merely correct his daughter, but was a little curious as to what sort of silly information you had been feeding her. “Miss. (Y/N) is a princess?”

“Yep, she told me herself!” Gabriella exclaimed, her hand fisting a yellow marker that scribbled on a crown on the drawing. “She said she used to be a princess, but she ran away ‘cause a giant, fire-breathing lizard tried to kidnap her!”

“I think it might’ve been a dragon, mijita,” Miguel corrected gently, trying to go along with the usual trope fairy tales portrayed.

“Nuh uh, it was a big and creepy lizard, she said!” she retaliated stubbornly.

“Well,” he started again, attempting to choose his words a little more carefully this time around. “How come you don’t wanna be like Ariel? Or Tiana? They’re princesses, too, right?”

She shrugged. “I like them. But they’re not Miss. (Y/N).”

Something unnatural began to seep into Miguel’s chest. He knew that Gabriella liked you quite so, but he didn’t expect for her to almost admire you in such a fashion that inspired her to be like you. In his eyes, you were nothing but the assistant that loyally stood by his side and abided by his every word—to him, it seemed like you were more of a butler or servant than a princess.

But in his daughter’s eyes…

“Why? What’s so special about (Y/N)?” Miguel inquired with a growing curiosity to try and see you in the same light as Gabriella.

She shook her head, displeased with the informality given to you by her father. “You gotta say Princess (Y/N). I don’t have to ‘cause she said it’s okay.”

He sighed, “Okay, fine. What’s so special about Princess (Y/N)?”

Gabriella set her marker down carefully and thought for a little while. Her eyes suddenly lit up with delight, an affirmative grin set on her lips.

“Well, she’s really pretty… like reallyyy pretty. I wanna be just as beautiful as her one day,” she praised, making Miguel’s brows rise at the sudden compliment. “She’s really nice, too. She never shouts at me like the teachers or coaches do… and she always lets me have extra dessert when I do a good job on my homework.”

Miguel fell silent. Perhaps it was more than mere admiration, but idolization for Gabriella. She viewed you in a way that Miguel hadn’t even thought of because he only viewed you as his coworker. But in Gabriella’s eyes, you were more than just her babysitter��you were literal royalty to her. He shouldn’t be one to complain though—he’d take his daughter following in your footsteps over some others that might lead her astray. You were… sufficient enough, he supposes, even if Gabriella didn’t think so.

“She’s super smart too—like you, Papá! Maybe even smarter,” she retorts, making Miguel twitch. “And I like her voice a lot. I really like it when she reads me a story because her voice is pretty. Sometimes she sings this song to me to help me sleep.”

“Oh?” Miguel questioned, “¿Y, qué canción es esa?”

“I keep forgetting the name and words of it…” Gabriella pouted after a moment of attempted concentration. “But it went somethin’ like…”

She began humming an off-tune melody that struck a dissonant, yet familiar chord within Miguel, but it was impossible for him to find why it was so eerily familiar to him. Was it perhaps from an old song? Or a film he’d seen before? It was a calming song, one that was perfectly suited for a child’s lullaby, but something about it seemed almost so customary to him.

“Ya gotta marry her,” his daughter said plainly and began to resume her artistry, ignoring the sudden startle she gave her father. “So that way, I can become a princess, too.”

Miguel helped himself to the nearby cup of water to soothe his choked throat after the scare she gave him. “Sweetheart, I’m not a prince, though.”

“Yeah, I know,” his daughter replied without missing a beat. “But you know what you are, though?”

Dare he say that Gabriella had grown akin to you the same way she had with her father. Something about her praise and regard for you seemed to mirror the way that reflected alike to her father, yet Miguel couldn’t tell if she had managed to draw a line between the images of you and him. Hell, he wasn’t even sure if Gabriella could even define a difference in her adulation between you and him besides the fact one was her parent.

But when the thought of Gabriella potentially viewing you as sharing the same title as him—a parent—something seeds inside Miguel. He doesn’t know what it is or what it will grow into, but there’s one thing he knows for sure.

The seed of you in his life and hers is here to stay, whether he likes it or not.

Gabriella’s smile grew wide before she happily announced,

“You’re her knight in shining armor!"

PRESENT

If he squinted properly and took a closer look, perhaps Miguel could make himself hallucinate enough to try and visualize the golden chandelier above your head as your haloing tiara. It was the main light source nearly the entirety of the venue, but something about the way the light glistened around you made you seem almost holy, like you were a divinity gracing your presence on the wretchedness they called Earth.

Blame it on the wine, but Miguel couldn’t help but notice that you looked more celestial tonight; a unique sort of ethereal that he’s only seen in the finest of paintings. The banquet hall is covered in layers of silkened gold, only emphasizing your best features in the spotlights of reflecting amber.

You’re talking idly (per usual, unfortunately) with a coworker from Human Resources that he’s seen you often have mild conversations with on the weekly, a rare familiarity that he only knows he’s been graced with in full; so it’s truly no surprise that there’s a placid stir of envy growing within Miguel as you’ve decided to not give your semi-cold shoulder a break even tonight, even with the rarity of a compliment given by him. At least there’s been somewhat of an improvement—you’re actually holding miniscule conversations with him every now and then as you both chatter with the crowd as long as there’s a third party.

Yet he still hasn’t been granted mercy of having a proper one-on-one with you, yet.

But beggars can’t be choosers, so Miguel must make do with what he’s offered.

The coworker, finally, is called by one of his project managers and politely excuses himself, leaving you to Miguel’s devices at long last. Like a flower’s petals given little to no care, your smiling face wilts into the solemn countenance that Miguel has grown accustomed to seeing for the past week when you turn your gaze back towards the table, a sliver of Miguel caught in the corner of your eye. In time, he just barely catches a glimpse of your eyes flickering toward his figure before they return to stare at the nearly empty plate of food with a slight dismal.

A choice of what words to say jumble in his mouth. They toss and jump about while not giving him full comprehension of what they mean and Miguel grows frustrated at his lack of intelligibleness because it wasn’t every day that his resolve could be so cowardly in front of someone. Usually he was the one that made egos shrink, but upon your grace, his own could only grow so small.

You can tell there’s an awkward silence amongst you both despite the audible chatter throughout the banquet hall and the idle conversations among your tablemates, so you break it first but stiffly shuffling out your phone and dialing Gabriella’s babysitter for tonight—a blue moon occasion since neither you nor Miguel could be present. Gabriel is out of town and because there were only so many people in the world that Miguel could trust with his beloved, the elderly next-door-neighbor was the last resort.

“I should probably check up on how Mrs. Darcie is doing,” you splutter with a dry mouth. “I forgot to teach her how the TV remote works and I’m sure she must be bored out of her—”

Unconsciously, Miguel gently pries the phone out of your shaking hands, the connection between skin and skin electrifying his nerves more than he liked. He takes notice of the size difference between your hand and his own and eyes carefully at how easily your fingers would be able to slip into the gaps of his all too easily; like two connecting puzzle pieces.

He places it face down on the table to avoid further distractions. “I’m sure Mrs. Darcie is alright,” he attempts to soothe as he places his hand over your own, nearly caging it between his fingers. Miguel struggles with fighting the urge to squeeze it delicately—he doesn’t know if he’s earned that privilege, or if he ever did. “Gabi is most likely preparing for bed, we shouldn’t distract her.”

Eyes flickering toward your covered hand, the warmth that envelopes it from Miguel’s makes you swallow thickly.

“Ah,” you murmur and timidly pull back your hand to place back on your lap to Miguel’s disappointment. “Right… Never mind then.”

And suddenly, he’s back to square one. Silence plagues the air again between you and him, only this time, it’s thicker and grimier almost. Perhaps it was the oddity that was the physical contact that added to the musk of it; Miguel prays that you didn’t find it uncomfortable.

A fork is plucked between your fingers and you go to idly poke at your food to fidget with something other than your hands. “I hope she’s okay. Gabi, I mean. I-It feels a little odd leaving her with someone other than you.

Rays of hope and enthrallment embellish Miguel’s being from the fact that finally… finally you’re the one attempting a conversation with him after much too long. And not only that, you’re beginning with something bold, even if you don’t realize it. Despite the fact you’re rather unconscious of what you’re saying, something within Miguel perks up at the fact that you’re worried about Gabriella in the same sense… that he is.

That a parent is.

He fights the urge to physically shake his head to brush the thought off. Miguel hums, a semi-sorry attempt at being suede and casual. “Mrs. Darcie has had eight children in her lifetime, I’m sure that she’s definitely had her experience of taking care of kids,” he says seemingly nonchalantly. “Gabi, if anything, is lightwork to her.”

A soft delight pings in his chest again when you reply almost instantaneously, “She is indeed a good girl, very well-behaved.”

“She has her moments,” Miguel snorts, fondly remembering a few of younger Gabriella’s temper tantrums and outbursts of tears.

Something golden, something bright blossoms within him when he hears you let out a soft chuckle at his reply. It’s abrupt, but it’s short and sweet enough that he feels accomplished, enough for him to savor the taste of it. “All children do from time to time. But she’s definitely one of the better apples of the bunch.”

Miguel thinks you’re right; it wasn’t often that parents, new ones especially, were granted with the privilege of having obedient children, so he’s one of the lucky ones. Perhaps Gabriella being a good kid was the universe giving him mercy as a single parent, as society often thinks it takes two to tango when it comes to childcare most of the time.

But that’s why you’re here, isn’t it? Even if Miguel wasn’t aware of it, some of the responsibility was lifted off his shoulders when you entered the picture, as the duties of nurturing a young child were now in your favor the moment you had signed your work contract. For that, he harbors guilt from time to time when he thinks that you never exactly signed up to be a babysitter, let alone a parent figure to his kin that you were still unaware of.

And then it hits him.

It comes all of a sudden—his senses downpouring from the cloud of his daydreams and thoughts.

It’s not a good realization by far. If anything, it’s the very opposite, one that’s one the other end of the spectrum. It’s a deathly epiphany and one that he doesn’t like to acknowledge but is forced to.

Miguel stares blankly at the tablecloth, eyes droning into the satin folds of it as they mimicked the waves of a crashing ocean. A sort of paleness infects his face, the color of it draining slowly and he goes still when he feels his heartbeat thundering in his ears.

You’re quick to take notice of your boss’s current disposition, growing wary of his wide, blank eyes and gritted jaw, along with his knuckles growing white as they fist his slacks. A shallow breath is echoed from him; you furrow your brows.

“Mr. O’Hara?” you murmur, leaning toward his figure.

Miguel’s mind stirs. If Gabriella views you as a parent-figure, what exactly would you think of it? You’re not much younger than Miguel is, only falling behind a mere four or five years, but you’re still significantly young that you’ve got your whole life ahead of you that you’d need to experience by yourself. The remnants of youth are still planted onto you despite being well-adjusted to the adult world, so to put the responsibility of a child on your shoulders? Miguel feels contrition flood into him.

What if you didn’t even want children?

It’s a fact that you care for Gabriella, but do you harbor the same type of love for her that she has for you? Does she even understand what your role is in her life and that there’s a strict boundary between you and Miguel and Gabriella? He knows he can’t just shackle you onto a weighing responsibility, but when Gabriella is a part of this dilemma, the complication increases tenfold.

Your boss seems to be frozen in time, seeing as how not a muscle in his limbs nor his face were moving, but his eyes were wide open, almost glazed with fear. A feathery hand goes to place itself over his tightened fist before you ask again, “Mr. O’Hara, are you okay?”

The worst case scenario infects Miguel’s thoughts—you standing in the same shadow of his ex, exiting through the same door she had walked through just a few days after his daughter’s birth and breaking his entire being into little pathetic pieces.

This time, however? He wouldn’t be the only one with a shattered heart.

A thick swallow goes down your throat. You gently shake his hand with your own to attempt to break him out of his frigid state, a worry beginning to settle itself in your stomach. “Mr. O’Hara? Can you hear me?” you declare a little louder than the first two times.

Your voice makes him blink and he clears his throat, feeling his cheeks warm at the sudden loss of composure. “Yes, I-I’m fine…” he mutters as he tugs at the tight collar of his dress shirt.

You nod with visible skepticism. Miguel turns away from your gaze to avoid further questioning, since he knows you’ve been at his side long enough to know his behaviors. “Are you sure?”

He nods and stifles a sigh, nodding. The flurry of what had just occurred in his mind lingers almost painfully and it takes him a while to remember where he is and why. Right… the annual celebration gala… with you… to make up for the date that never happened.

His mind is a mess. It’s an incoherent tornado of everything and anything, with images of all kinds flashing throughout his mind—young Gabriella’s drawing of you and her as princesses that she insisted on framing, your face of disappointment that you gave him when he ditched out on the date, a flashback of his ex slamming his old apartment door on him as an infant Gabriella screamed and wailed in her crib, you hugging his daughter after her winning goal, Miguel’s frazzled self as he showed up too late to his daughter’s first Parents Day with a teary-eyed Gabriella, him finding you quietly reading a sleepy Gabi a bedtime story after a long shift at work, you making baked goods in the kitchen with her.. you tucking in her into bed… you suddenly with a suitcase in hand, a sobbing Gabriella in the back as Miguel begged you to stay before you slammed the door behind you and leaving them—

Miguel stands up abruptly, making you jump. The collar and tie around his neck suddenly seem too tight and his throat runs dry. The air grows hotter and his vision starts to blur.

“Mr. O’Hara,” you start as you also stand up, “Is everything alr—”

“I need some air,” Miguel barely chokes out before he leaves the banquet hall without another word. He can just barely hear you ask if there’s anything you could do before he turns a sharp right and leaves the entirety of the building altogether, choosing to remain in the back garden to breathe in fresh oxygen, a relieving chill to the air.

A hand goes to loosen his collar and tie and he can feel himself gain consciousness again. The sky is draped with an ink blue all over, speckles of the night stars scattering all around. The floral smell of many garden flowers fills his senses and Miguel grounds himself properly before he settles himself on a stone bench to balance in his mind.

He attempts to reason with himself.

Clearly, you don’t mind being with children, and obviously you don’t mind being with and taking care of Gabriella. She’s not simply a job to you that you’re forced to work with—you’ve said it yourself. Otherwise, you wouldn’t go to her games nor would you remember to bring her small gifts of her liking. You’ve done things for her out of your own initiative many times. Gabriella is your world, Miguel thinks, as much as your hers.

Now there’s the problem of you being with Miguel, if your feelings haven’t changed all too much. In all honesty, Miguel thinks if he’s with the right person, he’s sure to put in effort into stabilizing and nurturing a proper relationship. He hadn’t had the time to go around and look for love because of work and Gabriella, so serving as this sanctuary that came to him was basically a perfect fit into his life—don’t mind it took him three years to notice it. You’re worth putting that effort in.

Finally… there’s the possible chance that you reject Miguel’s proposal of being Gabriella’s secondary caretaker.

…

Miguel attempts to process it in a more… positive light. One that won’t send him spiraling.

But it’s nearly impossible.

How is it possible to settle a middle ground of happiness, or at the very least… satisfaction, between you and him and Gabriella? How do you imagine a happy ending to a dawning of Gabriella’s happiness? How can Miguel ever face you after asking such a thing?

His vision shakes again, another hurricane of impossible questions begins whirling in mind. The bile in his stomach churns uncomfortably and his hands grow clammy again. His feet feel like they’re sinking in the dirt. Somehow, even at a staggering height compared to most of his colleagues, Miguel feels small once more.

Would he be able to cope with such a—

A loud crash and multiple screams suddenly break Miguel out of his state and he whirls his head to see what was happening inside. The peek of something green slithers inside the massive hole in the glass ceiling indented in the building, and it doesn’t take Miguel long to know what’s happening.

He sprints back inside the building and into the banquet hall, the opposite way where everyone is headed and takes a swift peek inside to what was happening.

A horrifically large green lizard crawls on the floor, letting out an agonizing roar of sorts with its tail swishing about and knocking everything and everyone in its path over. Dr. Curtis Connors, the one foe Miguel had fought a few months ago and had just managed to escape his grasp, had come back for revenge in a newer, more improved, more terrifying form of his initial self-experiment. News of his identity had leaked out immediately the moment that he had defeated the mad doctor, and every work that was researched by him that was deemed irrelevant by Alchemax was unpublished and/or destroyed—that included raiding everything in his personal lab—an urgent executive order made by Tyler Stone himself.

Hungry for revenge for the destruction of his work, Miguel was certain he was back for revenge as back when he was still sane, the amount of research that Dr. Connors had put in was extensive and yielded long years in the making, spanning over nearly three decades of research that was wiped away in the matter of a single day thanks to Alchemax.

Miguel quickly turns a corner, hidden from the public eye, and commands his suit on before quickly re-entering the banquet hall. He swings up towards the domed ceiling and carefully analyzes the area.

There’s still a few people scattering from the room, shrieks echoing from the walls. His eyes go to search for where you are in desperation, praying you’re safe somewhere outside, but a flash of light pink catches the corner of his eye. He nearly snaps his neck when he finds you running in the opposite direction of where most people are headed—towards the garden.

“(Y/N)!” Miguel yells out without thinking and slaps a hand over his mouth. Thankfully, you don’t hear him due to the commotion inside the area as you swim against the current of people. You fight the urge to fall down with every person that bumps into you amidst the chaos before you thankfully make it near the exit.

He lunges down from his spot on the ceiling, lassoing a few people that nearly get crushed under Lizard’s humongous tail and bringing them to safety properly on the way, making his way towards your figure. Rubble from the many columns begin to collapse on themselves; clouds of dust and debris fog the first floor of the hall with the wreckage already trapping some people inside.

A large chunk from the wall creaks and begins to teeter over the south exit, where you’re headed. A certain distraction diverts you from noticing the large cement framework around the exit that’s about to topple on you to Miguel’s horror. In the nick of time, he just barely manages to snatch you by the waist from a thrusted sprint just before the framework collapses with a thunderous boom.

You and Miguel cough from the dust it created. It takes a good second for you to process what your fate might’ve become, and it takes just another second for you to regain your consciousness. A good part of the exit is now blocked, but that doesn’t stop you from taking off your heels and attempting to climb over it.

Miguel barks out and grabs your arm that’s now scathed with slight scratches. “The hell are you doing?!” he exclaims worriedly.

You turn back with a teary and troubled look on your face, much to his shock. Abruptly, you turn back towards the exit and attempt to tug back your arm from his firm grasp. “M-my boss… he’s inside the garden,” you croak miserably out as you try to pull yourself over the fallen column. “I need t-to know if he’s safe…”

Lizard lets out another mighty howl and patters toward the stage, his tail once again swinging haughtily and ignoring anything in its path. Miguel shouts at you to duck and pulls you down along with him. You prop back up and without his arm on yours, you use it to your advantage and grunt yourself forward onto the column.

Miguel wraps a large hand over your ankle and weighs you down from moving any further. “Hey, you need to get out, now. You can’t be here, no one should be,” he urges.

The shake of your head concerns him—right, you’re too stubborn for your own good. “I’ll be fine. P-please, just leave me be.”

“Not when you’re about to get killed,” he declares and juts your ankle more towards him. The motion makes you fall into his chest and Miguel uses one hand to properly secure you to himself, the other launching and swinging a web to the north entrance.

You squirm and fight against him, pleading desperately for him to drop you and leave you alone. A frame of tears threatens to fall from your eyes from frustration and despair when you get put down. Miguel has to physically stop you from running back into the banquet hall once again—you put up a fight though. You thrash against him, clawing and weakly punching at his stronger arms, imploring for him to let you back inside.

“You don’t understand—” you gasp as the remnants of the people inside flood out. Looking over his shoulder, you gaze at the exit solemnly. “Please… I need to know if he’s alright—he h-has a young daughter back at home and if anything happens t-to him—just please let me go!” you wail.

He grabs you by the shoulders forcefully and settles you down, the stream of tears falling from your eyes running his throat dry once again. Miguel has never seen you cry, or even come close to crying. Not when Gabriella forced you to watch what she considered “one of the saddest movies in existence”, not when an entire glass beaker had toppled and its shards pierced your skin, not even when Miguel had first scolded you about your many mistakes on the very first document you turned into him.

Glassy eyes meet concerned, masked ones. Your lip trembled violently, the words all jumbled in your mouth about to spill. “Just let me check if he’s alright,” you just barely whisper.

He bores his gaze into yours as his composure does its best to upkeep him as best as possible. Miguel, from the inside of his mask, bites his lip and sighs. “I promise you, I’ll make sure Miguel gets home safely.”

“What if you don’t?” you accuse with furrowed brows.

“I’ll bring him home safe and sound,” he says firmly. “You said he has a daughter, right? I won’t let her become an orphan. I swear on my life I won’t.”

Your gaze doesn’t falter, even when Miguel attempts to soothe you by chafing the chilled skin of your arms up and down in a calming manner. Unbeknownst to you, you and him share an image of Gabriella in your minds; it brings a sting of ache to your chests.

“How can I trust you?” you ask dryly.

“Because,” he goes to weave a string of webbing through the north entrance and takes you out into the safety of the outside. He settles you on the corner of two intersecting streets that sit nearby the building, with your tears still falling and hands trembling. A hand carefully holds your cheek and wipes away descending tears on your chalky face, Miguel ignoring the squeeze of his heart with each one that puddles on the sidewalk.

“... I’m your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man.”

Spider-Man leaves you on the sidewalk idly with the blurry figures of your co-workers and other people in the company whizzing by you with no concern for anyone else other than themselves. It takes a moment for you to understand what just happened and with whom, suddenly hit with the pang of realization that you had just met the Spider-Man: the well-known vigilante protecting Nueva York from all corners, beloved by the public. Excitement can’t seem to conjure itself within you, however, your gaze still lingering on the building that Miguel was possibly in.

A hesitant step takes you forward back to the building, but your phone vibrates abruptly from a notification from Mrs. Darcie. Word must’ve gotten out so quickly that it reached the O'Hara's neighborhood, as her text was asking if you and Miguel were alright. Your thumbs shake as you try and type up a response to let her know that you were at least alive, but you know that Gabriella wanted you both home.

The least you could do is make sure half of that concern was eased. You were counting on Spider-Man to do the rest.

With an arm reaching out for a taxi, you rush into one and tell the driver to step on the gas, promising to tip extra. You’d be willing to give all the money you had with you if it meant that you could be with Gabriella for tonight.

You’ve underestimated the nightly rush hour this Friday night had brought upon, because there’s a sea of cars that are equally as stuck as you are amidst the road. Tangible fingers go to grip your hair frustratingly, and asking the driver to go any further was basically useless. Each minute you wasted on the same road you had been on for what was nearing twenty minutes made you more anxious by the minute.

“I-isn’t there some sort of shortcut?” you ask the driver hoarsely. “I don’t care what roads you have to take, just please get off this one. I’m begging you. I have a child that’s waiting for me.”

His eyes give you a quick glance in the mirror, and empathy embeds itself in his equally tired eyes. He must be a father himself, you think, as he gives you an affirmative nod and swings off the road onto a much more bumpy and gravelly, but visibly less dense one.

It’s nearly an agonizing hour later off the road—it would’ve most likely reached around two or even three if you stayed on the main road—but you thankfully make it to the O’Hara’s residence. Your body moves on its own, flying out the elevator and speeding down the floor of the apartment. You burst open the door, visible sweat misted on your forehead and an ache to your limbs but all that is ignored when Mrs. Darcie greets you with relief, with a sleeping Gabriella settled soundly on the couch as her favorite TV show buzzes in the background.

She grasps you tightly by the arms. “My goodness, thank heavens you’re alright,” she murmurs quietly. “That must’ve been quite a scare… are you alright?”

“I’m okay,” you gasp out tiredly. “But how is she? Gabi, I mean… d-does she—”

Mrs. Darcie shakes her head. “She fell asleep a while ago, she doesn’t know. I just managed to get informed thanks to my son who works near the building. But where is Miguel?”

Dread floods your face once more, remembering why you left the banquet in the first place. Somehow, however, your phone vibrates and receives a text from the one and only. A loud sigh escapes your lips and you crumple to the floor as the feeling returns to your numb legs as Miguel’s texts ease your worries.

Hey I’m alive and alright. I saw you leave earlier, hope you’re safe. I’m omw home.

You fight the urge to burst into tears from the relief as Mrs. Darcie helps you back up. “I’m assuming that’s him,” she says gently as she encourages you to take off your heels. “What a waste of night and beautiful dress. Shame that blasted giant iguana or something had to ruin it.”

A broken laugh leaves you from her gentle humor. You glance down at the dress that the mysterious Lyla had given you tonight and sigh sadly at the many tears of the tulle and fabric. The dress looked expensive and you planned on wearing it again for formal events, but alas, fate has decided to toy with you.

“That’s alright,” you mutter as you help Mrs. Darcie gather her stuff back up so she can finally leave. “I have plenty of others to use in the meantime.”

The elderly woman leaves you inside their apartment after bidding you a goodnight to tend to Gabriella, who’s still sound asleep and oblivious to what was happening to the world and people around her. That’s a good thing, at least, you think to yourself as you tidy up the living room around her quietly. Ignorance is bliss, sometimes.

She’s still small enough that you’re able to carry her to her room even at her age and it reminds you a lot of when she was younger, when she’d pretend to be asleep so you could carry her yourself to go back to her room. Nowadays, she knows her bedtime and does it by herself, but assuming she had been waiting for you or Miguel to come home, sleep had snuck onto her as she waited and waited.

You put her down gently, hoping not to get any of the leftover debris on your soiled clothes onto her freshly-washed body. The action just barely stirs her awake, her eyes slitting open at the slightest bit. Your blurry figure just barely makes it to her senses and she grins sleepily.

A titter escapes her lips. “You look like a…” Gabriella starts, her words faltering due to a fading consciousness.

“Like a…?” you whisper softly, a hand stroking her hair gently.

“Like a…” you can tell she’s trying to find the words in her very limited vocabulary currently, her brain threatening to shut off at any second now. “Like a princess, I think?”

You raise your brows at her description as Gabriella immediately falls back asleep. You suppose you do look much more dressed up from usual, but your cheeks tingle a hint of warmth at the comparison of literal royalty. You blame it on the drowsiness.

Your own tiredness begins to crawl up your spine as you stay by Gabriella’s side in her darkened bedroom, her quiet breaths soothing you like a lullaby. With heavy eyelids threatening to shut close at any minute, you fight the urge to give into the Sandman, insistent on Miguel’s return.

Miguel…

His name rings aloud in your mind for a moment.

Miguel…

“I promise you, I’ll make sure Miguel gets home safely.”

Spider-Man’s familiar voice suddenly jolts you awake. Your brows crunch together. How on earth did Spider-Man know Miguel’s name when you merely referred to him as your boss? Perhaps he saw Miguel in the garden beforehand? Maybe Miguel had an earlier oncoming with him from before and Spider-Man just knew him from that one incident? Or… he just happens to know the names of all the citizens of Nueva York because… that’s just how Spider-Man is?

Or, was Miguel actually Spid—you shake your head in the same second you think of such a stupid reasoning. That’s impossible…

… you know in your heart that it just is.

Any reason that you attempt to give, you think of it as either obnoxious or just simply impossible. Maybe you did let it slip that your boss’s name was Miguel… that just seems like the most plausible reason. After all, your adrenaline was at an all-time high and you could barely remember what had happened before the takeover, let alone the conversations you had.

Whatever it was, it was going to bring Miguel back home, and that’s what ultimately had mattered in the end. It probably wasn’t even your business to prod around.

At Gabriella’s visible sleeping state, you stand up and start to head towards the bathroom to fix yourself up, but the sound of the master bedroom’s window suddenly shuffling open makes your nerves electrify. Miguel’s bedroom sat just right next to Gabriella’s, and it was also the bedroom that was nearest to the complex’s fire escape, so a break-in at this time of night was highly plausible.

Grabbing one of the displayed metal baseball bats on the wall, you turn off Gabriella’s lights and lock the door behind, ensuring her safety first before yours. You’re careful to tiptoe around the more creaky parts of the floorboards, desperate to make yourself not seen by the intruder as you step closer and closer to Miguel’s bedroom. The door is just barely ajar, and the lights are on. A distinct shuffling, bed springs, and a masculine groan echo from the crack of the doorway and when all is silent from the other side of the door, you make your move and burst in, ready to swing at whoever threatens the O’Hara residence.

The bat is suddenly grabbed from your hands from a familiar neon orange webbing and thrusted to the side of the room, where it thunks against the wall and falls limply. You gasp aloud and with nothing to defend yourself with, you look up with fear in your eyes that suddenly turn to shock from the sight in front of you.

There, standing in the same blue and red vinyl suit you had crossed paths with earlier, without its mask completing the look… and thus, exposing the face of the man you had been waiting for to come back home to you.

a/n ; second to last part to this mini-series and once again, i apologize for this nearly six-month delay, last semester was rough for uni. almost made this into two parts, but i felt like they just belonged together and i quite like the blend of them together.

thanks for the patience for those who stuck around and have waited far too long for this, you deserve this! i'm glad to see you all again <3 thank you endlessly for reading and likes/comments/reblogs are always noticed and appreciated (づ ᴗ _ᴗ)づ♡

taglist ; @secretlyrexlapis @urbimom @p1nkliquor @julesclues @averagefloydlover @apurpletrashcan @raeisthebae @mvchmp @um-well @nintendh-e @eddieslooneymoonie @deputy-videogamer @xochyw @honeybeeznuts @aspens-cove @btszn @scaleniusrm @goldenpoison @the-pan-liquid (if you'd like to be either added or removed from the taglist, please lmk! i know it's been awhile, so hi again haha)

#spider man: across the spider verse #across the spider verse #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara fluff #miguel o'hara smut #miguel x reader #miguel o'hara imagine #atsv miguel #across the spider verse x reader #miguel ohara x reader #miguel o'hara x fem!reader #fem!reader #fem!y/n

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littlefireball · 2 months ago

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ᴊʜ|ᴛʜᴇ ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ ɢᴀᴍᴇ (ᴍ)

ᴍᴀꜰɪᴀ ʙᴏꜱꜱ ᴊᴏɴɢʜᴏ x ᴍᴀꜰɪᴀ ᴘʀɪɴᴄᴇꜱꜱ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 3ᴋ

Summary: As your gang was suppressed by your enemies, you decided to seek help from Choi Jongho, one of the strongest mafia bosses. It’s just a little gamble at first. But you didn’t expect it to turn out to be a bet. And you were the reward.

"You're not belong here, bunny." The man before you wore a sneer that twisted his lips into a mocking smile, a façade of charm laced with contempt. He reclined in his chair, fingers dancing over the cards as if they were mere toys, feigning an air of superiority. His gaze swept over you, lingering from your head to your toes, as if he were cataloging every detail. Deep down, he couldn't deny your stunning looks, a stark contrast to the casino's usual crowd, igniting a flicker of desire within him.

You brushed aside his taunts and the jeers of those around you, confidently striding to the seat across from him. With a deliberate motion, you crossed your arms, pushing your chest forward to draw his attention, challenging him to look away.

"What makes you think I don't belong here, Mr Choi?" You propped yourself against the table, holding your chin. "Sometimes a bunny can kill a bear. Don't you know?"

"Is it? Are you that bunny?" "You guess?" Jongho's sneer twisted further as he leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. "You're not one of us, girl. You're a rabbit trying to play in the big leagues. Just go back to your father, doll."

His words made everyone laugh but you remained unfazed, your eyes meeting him with a steady gaze. "Then let's see if you can prove me wrong, Mr.Choi." You tossed your hair back and a smug smile curled on your lips. "How about we play a little game? If you end up losing, you'll have to sign the contract and join my crew."

"Sounds good to me," Jongho replied with a nod. "But what happens if you lose? That doesn't seem fair since you're the only one with something to gain."

"What do you want then?"

"I'm not a fan of leaving everything to just one game; I prefer a few rounds." Jongho leaned back in his chair, a hint of amusement in his eyes. "How about this: if you lose once, you take off an item of clothing. Lose ten times, and you're down to nothing. Of course, if you win ten times, I will sign the contract."

The crowd awed and your heart skipped a beat as his words lingered in the air. You didn't expect he would have such advice. But you had no choice. Yet, you found yourself with no alternatives. Your father was unwell, leaving you to manage nearly all the mafia stuff. It wasn't the worst, but rival gangs were seizing the opportunity, launching relentless attacks on your crew—economic blockades, suppressing your allies—everything aimed at your downfall. The only path to rescue your gang lay in securing the backing of Jongho, one of the strongest mafia bosses in the city, a man no one dared to bother.

"Deal." you replied, making the crowd shock again. But you didn't care. Jongho studied you for a moment, he never expected you would say yes instead of running away, but then he chuckled. "Alright, bunny, let's see what you're made of." He signaled to the dealer to shuffle and deal the cards.

The game began, and the tension in the air grew thicker with each pass of the cards. The crowd watched in anticipation, their breaths held as they waited for the outcome.

You focused on the game, using all the skills and knowledge you had garnered to fight against him. You knew that every move you made would determine the fate of your crew and your father's legacy.

You had no way but to win.

Jongho, however, was much more difficult to defeat than you can imagine. He was a seasoned gambler, with a keen eye for strategy and a cool head under pressure. It was clear that he was enjoying the challenge of facing off against you.

The first few rounds were evenly matched, with neither of you gaining a significant advantage. But as the game progressed, you began to notice a pattern in Jongho's play. He seemed to have a sixth sense for predicting your moves, and he always seemed to have the right card at the right time.

It was clear that he was playing to win, and you were beginning to feel the pressure. You took a deep breath, trying to calm your racing thoughts and focus on the game at hand.

But it was just your hope. Despite your best efforts, Jongho always seemed to have the upper hand. By the fifth round, you had lost four times and you had taken off your earrings and shoes.

As the rounds went on, you managed to turn the tide of the game, using a move that caught Jongho off guard. He realized that he could no longer afford to relax his vigilance and focused intently. It was astonishing to recognize that you possess a greater intelligence than he ever imagined, and you were far more resilient than the delicate blooms sheltered within a greenhouse. Despite the immense pressure, you managed to triumph in several games.

Yet, Choi Jongho is Choi Jongho. He was adept at reading the subtle cues of your abilities. It didn't take long for him to pinpoint your weaknesses, dismantling them piece by piece, as he removed your adornments one by one. First came the necklaces, then the bracelets, followed by the rings, and even the hairpins that adorned your hair… Now, you stand completely bereft of jewelry.

Sometimes you really hate why you didn't wear more jewelry.

"You're not as good as you think, bunny." Jongho taunted, his smirk grew wider as he watched you struggle. "Give up now and save yourself the embarrassment."

"It's not over, sir." You refused to back down. "Let's continue. Don't you want to play a few more rounds?"

"But you have no jewels left."

"Maybe I'll win in several rounds."

"Is it? Then let's see, bunny."

Perhaps the divine wishes to witness your journey from hope to despair. Just when you won in one round, another slipped through your fingers. Now, Jongho stood on the brink of victory, needing just one more win, and soon you'll find yourself naked before him, not even securing a contract.

"Willing to admit defeat, doll." Jongho's voice resonated with a sultry undertone, sending a thrill through the air. "Remove one more piece," he commanded, his deep timbre igniting a spark of anticipation within you. A shiver danced along your spine, and your hand trembled slightly, but you masked it with determination.

With a swift motion, you reached for the slit of your dress, grasping the waistband of your panties and pulling it down in a single, decisive action. Jongho's eyes widened in surprise as he caught sight of your black lace panties dangling from your finger, his heart pounding as vivid images of your bare form flooded his mind.

It must be beautiful.

"One more round, and you'll be completely bare, my dear," Jongho murmured, leaning closer, a playful smirk gracing his lips. "It's perfectly fine to feel regret now. I won't hold it against you."

"No," you replied, forcing a smile even as your heart raced with anxiety. "I won't stop until I get what I want."

"Up to you, lady." Jongho waved his hand, taking a sip from his drink. "Just don't cry if you lose."

To be honest, you have to face the truth: victory seems out of reach. Yet, you haven't squandered every opportunity to push back. Imagine if you managed to win in the final moments! Of course, the thought of surrendering crossed your mind, and you considered alternative solutions. But were there any real paths? No. The answer is clear.

The game had reached its climax, and the tension in the air was palpable. You could feel the weight of the moment pressing down on you as Jongho revealed his final card.

"Any last words?" You raised your eyebrow, then your heart sank as you realized what he meant. "You lose, bunny." Jongho's cold voice sent shivers down your spine, making you freeze as he showed his card in front of the crowd─its number is higher than yours. You couldn't help but feel a sense of disappointment and regret. You had come so far, and now it seemed like all your efforts had been for naught.

"Remember the promise?" He inquired, tilting his head slightly while gesturing for the others to exit. Rising from his chair, he approached you with deliberate steps, each one making your heart race as the sound echoed in your mind. "Or do you want me to help you?" he murmured, leaning closer until his warm breath brushed against your ear.

"No." You said, your voice firm despite your nervousness. "I-I'll do it myself." As your hand reached the top of your zipper, he stopped you. His fingers brushed against your bare back, the mix of cold and itchy sensation stirring a fire within you.

"But I love you wearing this dress." He shifted away from your spine, rummaging through your bag until he unearthed a contract.

"Here's the contract?" He opened the file, settling into a chair as he began to peruse its contents. Your eyes were glued to him as he crossed his legs, flipping through the pages and nodding occasionally.

"Ye-Yes. That's the contract."

"You drafted this?"

"Yes, sir."

"It looks fine."

"Th…Thanks." You two fell in silence as you had no idea what to do but only clenching your fist, waiting for his response.

"What about we make another bet?" He suddenly broke the stillness, pulling you back from your thoughts.

"Huh?"

"Give me the pen." You immediately found a pen and handed it to him, not considering what he was going to say.

"If I sign…" He said while signing the paper. "You do whatever I say." He made a dot on the paper once he finished his words, raising up to meet your widened eyes.

"Understand what I said?I already signed it."

"But I…"

"You hand me the pen." Wrapping his arm around your waist, he suddenly pulled you into his embrace, making you staddle on him. "Do you want to cheat?" Before you could utter any words, his fingers found their way to your lower core, slipping inside to caress your sensitive clit.

"Oh fuck…!" You found yourself instinctively pressing your face into his neck, overwhelmed by the intensity of his every movement. He palmed your fold, brushing along its curve with his fingertips. With a firm grip on his shoulder, you clenched your fist into the fabric, sensing him accelerate, oblivious to the tremors beginning to ripple through your legs. A small whimper left your lips, as if a beautiful melody rings in Jongho's ears. He let out a playful smirk, making his way to your soaked cunt.

"Try to relax, dear." His long fingers inserted smoothly after aiming at your entrance. With a graceful arch of your back, you pressed your thighs firmly against Jongho's waist. Your walls clenched around his finger, drawing a gasp from him as he reveled in the heat and tightness you offered. The thought of him being deep within you must be a good sensation. His move was gentle and slow at first, finding your sweet spot as he exploded inside. He pushed deeper each time he withdrew a bit and slid back, curling the tip when he reached the deepest. You encircled his shoulders with your arms, eyes closed, surrendering to the waves of pleasure he brought you, allowing desire to engulf you completely. Perhaps the promise you never made had slipped your mind, but the thought of stopping never crossed your mind either. Everything felt just right; a perfect balance of intensity and tenderness.

You just fell for this.

Suddenly, he found your whole body trembling when he touched one spot. "Oh, here?" Hit it, again. "Ahh…shit…" You murmured softly, barley above a whisper, feeling a rush of pleasure flood your mind. A playful grin wore on Jongho's lips as he looked at your expression, colliding with the same place at a great force.

"Jong…jongho…" "It's not my name, dear. It's sir." He tucked your hair at your nape, whispering against your ear as he battered the sweet spot over and over again. A long throaty moan and curse flew from your mouth, your thighs and wall squeezed harder against him, pulling him deeper to give you a harsh push. His face landed on your neck, inhaling your lovely scent while licking and leaving a broken kiss on that, as if tasting you like a dessert. "Smell so good, darling." His dirty words made you somehow excited, a knot forming in your stomach that urged release. He knew you were at the edge and he finger-fucked you faster and harder until you saw stars. "Cum, honey. I know you want to come so badly." "Fuck!" His words were just like triggers, making you break through all the barriers that stop you climax. You released it all with a curse, catching your breath as you collapsed on him.

"Already tired?" Jongho pulled back his fingers, sucking them and producing a pop sound when he left. "So sweet, dear." The way he licked away your juices turned you on harder, you subconsciously swayed your hips against him, hoping he would fill you full once more.

"Good girl." He pressed his lips gently against your cheek, then lowered his hands to unfasten his belt and slide down the zipper of his pants. The sight of his arched crotch sent your heart into a frenzy, warmth flooding your cheeks. Watching your lustful eyes, he couldn't help but chuckle. You were not as innocent as he thought. Maybe he needed to spend more time to understand you. But that's okay as he will have a long, long time.

"Want more?" Jongho held your chin, squeezing your cheeks so that you could look at him. "Words, bunny."

"Yes, sir. Please."

"Now," His strong arm wrapped around your waist, drawing you close to his chest. "We need to get the work finished." With ease, he lifted you, causing a surprised gasp to escape your lips as he set you down on the table. "You'll enjoy it, trust me, sweetheart." He clasped your wrists together, tying it with his belt, tightening it as he pulled it. Gripping the middle, he pushed your wrist above your head, pressing them down to the table. "Don't put them without my permission. Understand?" "Yes, sir." A smile played on his lips as he pulled out his fat cock from his panties, pulling away the hem of your dress before tapping your clit. "Want it?" You raised your head a little to look at his cock, then gazed back to his lustful eyes. "Ye…yes, please sir." Before you finished your words, he made his way to push his cock inside your warmth. Your mouth formed an 'O' shape as you arched your back, feeling literally full.

That was totally different between his cock and fingers; the former was much bigger and thicker. His hands settled on your waist firmly, withdrawing a bit before shoving your sweet spot at a quick motion. "Fuckk!!" The legs you wrapped around his waist tightened, drawing his cock meet your spot fully. "Sucking me in, huh? What a slut?" He then repeated the hard thrusting without feeling tired. There was nothing left but only your moan and skin slapping sound bounced off the wall, making your head spin in pleasure. He clutched the belt, hovering you as he kept rolling his hips into you. His cock rubbed against your wet, tight wall deliciously, hitting your sweet spot dead on. "You feel too good, bunny. I should claim you as mine earlier. Oh fuck~" His cock twitched so bad each time you sucked him in, your juices made him easy to reach your depth. Listening to your moan was his favourite, he loved how you naturally losing control when he fucked you hard.

Everything about you drove him crazy. You were so stunning, so beautiful and different from the girls he met before─clever and bold. Oh, maybe you were made for him, his own perfect paradise.

Your toes curled tightly, and every muscle in your body felt like a coiled spring. Each time he pressed in deeper, you found yourself instinctively holding your breath. Your thoughts spiraled into a chaotic frenzy, caught in a tempest of desire. Getting laid with a mafia boss? Well, it's not like you haven't thought about it, just didn't expect that it would be Choi Jongho.

Thrusting after thrusting, you both lost count on time. Climaxes were approaching; his trusting lost its rhythm and pace, became more sloppy and harder. "Oh babe, I'm cumming. Cum with me, show me what you've got." He ripped off the fabric on your collarbone, the sudden cold sensation made you gasp as your hardened nipples exposed in the air. His head divided into your chest, sucking hard while his tongue licked along the curve of your nipple.

"Gosh, fuck!! Sir, too…too much…!" "Good for me, bunny. Cumming mess on my cock!" "Ah!Fuck!" Your back arched, both your chest pressing together as he pulled you up, fucking you at a new angle. A sudden change made you reach the limit, creaming his cock with your hot juices. As the warmth wrapped around his cock, he shoved into the deepest, releasing all to fill you fully. You collapsed on him, not wanting to leave his embrace as you held him tight. He caressed your bare back, soothing you with a gentle pat.

"I haven't promised you…"

"What?I signed the contract and do you want to cancel it?"

"No!I…fine. Just forget it."

"Bunny," He said gently as he nudged you back, meeting your gaze. "You'd get what you want. That's my promise" He left a peck on your lips before you could utter a word. Gazing into his eyes revealed a mix of desire and, more significantly, a perilous ambition that sent chills down your spine. His smile was disarming, yet it stirred an unsettling feeling within you, making you question if you’ve crossed a line. You mustered a smile and said, "I'm glad to hear that, Mr. Choi."

This is how the game of pulling starts between you two.

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nekrosdolly · 1 year ago

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father's friend (18+)

you are just what he doesn't need.

cw; afab reader, reader in a skirt, dad's friend wesker, major age gap (14-17 years), fingering, degradation, implied multiple orgasms, reader is a little naive and wesker eats that up, predatory almost???, inappropriate use of mirrors, daddy kink if you squint (get a microscope)

terms of endearment; dear (reader receives)

a/n; i don't know how this became what it did bc this was supposed to be fluff. if you'd like the fluff version, i'm more than happy to provide that, just let me know!

when albert wesker pictured his life, he saw greatness. he'd dreamt of sanitizing the world with uroboros, his pet project of years would finally come to fruition. the world would be the perfect place, full of the superior and cleansed of the lesser. his dreams realized.

what he didn't anticipate, however, was you.

you, who came into his life when he was 38 years old, fresh off the high of the mansion incident. mostly human, partially not. he'd changed his clothes- only black attire from that point forward- and kept a low profile because he should be dead, but he's not. with no body to find, they gave up on the search only months later. he'd slid under the radar with a new identity and relocated across the country to some small town on the east coast.

at the time, you were in your early twenties. maybe 24, 21 at the youngest. you were youthful and so sweet, painfully naive and lacking experience of life's true cruelties. without scars that held stories to be told, or nightmares that took hold of you in the night.

unmarked. untainted. flawless. you.

and you hadn't meant to draw his attention. you, the child of his best friend. oh, you were tempting. how whenever he was over, you'd greet him with a little "hi mr. wesker" despite him telling you over and over to call him albert.

he hung around your father because he was an operative of umbrella as well, and albert needed connections. you were quick to teach about certain things, your doe eyes drawn to him whenever he merely breathed. like you were waiting for something.

naturally, you'd maintained a healthy distance for a long time. the routine you two had whenever he'd stop by- almost daily- the greeting, the glances, the lingering, subtle touches on each other's arms, shoulders, backs, wherever you had access to that wouldn't draw immediate attention.

your father never noticed. not as he fell asleep on the couch one night. not when albert ensured the roofie he'd given your father had settled, then snuck up into your room after.

not now, as he has you on his lap, your legs spread wide, your skirt lifted up so he can rub your clit. he forces you to watch in the mirror, your back pressed against his chest, as he pushes your panties aside and sinks two long fingers inside of you. forces you to watch, his other hand gripping your jaw to keep your head still.

"you're a whore," he murmurs in your ear, "such a filthy fucking whore. you think you can tease me and get away with it, hm?"

"n-no, i'm sorry." you whimper, his fingers curling inside your weeping entrance. you're making a mess of yourself and his hand.

"mm, i don't think you are, dear. you're so wet, i bet you've been thinking about this for a while now, right? imagining daddy's friend splitting you open, ruining your perfect cunt." you should be embarrassed that he's got you down to a science, but his words make you squeeze around his fingers. you nod, much to his satisfaction, and he chuckles quietly. it reverberates in his chest and you relish the way it feels, wondering if you'll ever get to be more than just his secret.

"you're never going to get this from anyone else, you know that, don't you? nobody else will ever make you feel the way i feel." you're dumb from just his fingers, but you can't help that they're just what you wanted. the pads of his index and middle finger brush the spongy spot on your walls, making you cry out and writhe in his arms. your thighs try to squeeze shut but he lets go of your face to force them back open.

"t-too much-"

"shut up and take it. this is what you wanted, so why the hell are you complaining you ungrateful brat?" he hisses, focusing on that spot. with the way the heel of his hand is palming your clit, his fingers buried so deep inside you, you're cumming within moments. you're loud even if you don't mean to be, especially as he continues finger-fucking you after your orgasm.

"please- no more, i-i can't-" you whine, trying your hardest to move away from him, but he's got you tight in his grasp.

"you can, and you will. you don't have a choice. you'll cum as much as i want you to." he kisses your temple, the first sign of mercy he's shown you all night, and then slips a third finger in. you're weak to him, the same way he's weak to you.

#bunnystalker ૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა ♡#bunny's fics ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚#resident evil #albert wesker #albert wesker x reader #resident evil fanfiction #writing #albert wesker i love youuuu #albert wesker smut #albert wesker fanfic #resident evil x reader #resident evil smut

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my-castles-crumbling · 1 year ago

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Warmth- Jegulus holiday fluff!

Hi guys! You voted on a holiday present and this is what you chose! It's hogwarts-age jegulus, AU-no Voldemort, background wolfstar holiday fluff! Enjoy!

Regulus always associated the holidays with the cold.

A cold house. A cold bed. The coldness of his family.

And he was so used to the way his family did things.

It started with planning. So much planning. Making sure everything, every minute detail, was perfect. That the menu was impeccable. The decor, superb. The outfits, tailored and luxurious.

Regulus and Sirius were expected to be flawless representations of their House and ‘Superior Bloodline.’ Put-together and polite; seen, not heard.

The pressure was more than intense.

And the actual party?

So many people. So many high standards.

The chit-chat was suffocating, and Regulus always dreaded it.

There was nothing personal about the holidays. No time for family. Only networking. Putting on a show. Making sure their family was constantly on top.

It was cold.

Regulus spent the entire day feeling lonely.

So, when Regulus first agreed to spend the holidays at the Potters’ he wasn’t sure how to feel. He knew, of course, that the Potters were pureblood. Well-off. They probably had fancy parties, too.

“What shall I pack?” he asked his boyfriend one day while they were studying, close to break, realizing his old dress robes might not fit any more. Did the Potters expect him to wear his custom-made twelve-piece robes, or would some of his more comfortable three-piece outfits suffice?

“Pack?” James asked, looking a bit distracted. He was currently trying to figure out what looked like a botched Potions essay, and Regulus knew he would have to take pity on him and help soon. “I mean, it’s a bit cold. Make sure to pack some extra jumpers.”

Regulus rolled his eyes, endeared by the taller boy’s oliviousness. “I meant for the party.”

“Party?” James asked, looking quite shocked. “We’re going to a party?”

Now his patience was wearing a bit thin. “On Christmas, James. Won’t your family have a party?”

James laughed out loud at that. “I mean, it’ll be my mum, dad, Sirius, Remus, and both of us. Is that what you mean?”

Regulus thought about that. “So…no party?”

“No,” James answered, looking a bit concerned. “Is that alright? I know your family-”

“It’s perfect,” Regulus nodded, quickly pulling James’s mess of an essay toward himself. “This is not.”

As soon as the boys arrived in the bright, warm kitchen of the Potter Manor, a woman swept Regulus into a hug so quickly he almost yelped with surprise.

“Regulus. It’s wonderful to meet you,” the woman hugging him said warmly.

“Don’t suffocate him, mum,” James admonished, throwing Regulus a grin as he hugged what could only be his father.

But Regulus, who normally hated being touched, especially by those he didn’t know, found himself melting into the embrace. He realized almost instantly where James got it from- his safe, kind, accepting persona. His warmth.

“It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. and Mr. Potter,” Regulus stammered as Euphemia released him. “Thank you for inviting me to your home.”

“Effie and Monty,” Monty replied easily. “And how could we not? James talks so much about you, you’re practically family already."

James turned bright red at this, and Regulus smirked a bit. Sirius made a gagging noise from behind them.

“As if you don’t talk just as much about Remus,” Effie chided him, pulling him into a hug as well.

“Mum! I’m supposed to be the favorite!” Sirius pouted, making Effie grin.

“I have no favorites. Though if we’re going by number of times I’ve gotten letters of complaint from Minerva McGonagall, then Regulus is currently the favorite,” Effie retorted, making Regulus turn pink.

Even though both Sirius and James protested more about that, it was clear that all the comments were in good fun. They were laughing. Smiling. Enjoying each other’s company.

He’d never experienced family like this before. It was strange. The warmth.

Regulus quickly figured out that he liked Potter Manor almost as much as he liked Hogwarts.

He, James, Sirius, and Remus (when he arrived a few days later) spent their days flying, lazing around, going into the Muggle town nearby and exploring. He knew that Monty was a Potioneer, but he was thrilled to find that once he tentatively asked the older man about his work, Monty was eager to show him everything he was working on. He even let Regulus help.

He also found a piano, tucked away in a lonely room on the fourth floor, and spent hours at a time just playing, reveling in being able to just be, while James, Sirius, and Remus caused chaos Merlin-knew-where.

He felt safe. Wanted. This, he realized, was how family was supposed to feel.

He’d believed James, of course, when he’d said there wouldn’t be a party. But he was still unsurprised, somehow, when on Christmas morning, he was awoken at dawn by someone shaking him awake. Good thing he packed something presentable.

“Happy Christmas, Reg!” James whispered into his ear.

“Mmmpfh,” Regulus mumbled into his pillow. “Thought you said there wasn’t a party?”

“What? No, I…I have something to show you. Will you come with me?” James asked, looking a bit nervous.

“Alright.”

It was early, and cold. And Regulus was thankful, really, that he’d listened to James and packed multiple jumpers because he pulled two over his head, blearily following the taller boy out of his room.

“Sorry it’s so early. It’s just…I’ve been trying to get you alone for days and I figured if I try before Sirius is awake, I’d have more of a chance,” James grinned a bit sheepishly.

Regulus snorted. Sirius had been quite the nuisance over the past few days. Every time James and Regulus had had two minutes alone, he just appeared. “He’s your best friend, Potter.”

James chuckled, leading Regulus to the front door.

“Outside?” Regulus blanched. He might have two jumpers on, but he wasn’t dressed for the snowstorm currently raging outside.

“Trust me?” James asked, levelling a challenging look at Regulus.

And fuck James Potter, because he knew that the answer to that question was yes.

“Alright,” Regulus murmured, shivering as James rapped his wand sharply on Regulus’s head. A feeling of warmth slowly seeped through Regulus’s very veins, like he’d stepped into a hot shower.

“C’mon,” James said, grabbing his hand and guiding him into the storm.

They walked for a few minutes, hand-in-hand, through the raging snow. Even as the storm persisted, however, Regulus could only feel warmth. No wind, no cold. Just the comfortable heat of James’s spell and their intertwined hands.

It was loud, however. And it was hard to see. “James, where the hell-?” Regulus yelled, feeling a bit nervous.

“Not much farther now! It’s just here!” James called to him, dragging him a few more feet before stopping.

Then, James pulled out his wand again and tapped it on seemingly nothing, before pulling Regulus a few more feet forward.

Regulus was thoroughly confused for a moment, until-

Quiet.

They seemed to be in a bubble. Almost a reverse-snow globe. Their little space on the ground, about ten feet in diameter, was quiet. Warm. Free of snow. But outside, the snow still fell and the wind whipped it around.

It was strangely beautiful. Haunting but safe.

“Just here,” James said softly, guiding him to a blanket on the ground.

Shocked, Regulus lay on the blanket, allowing James to pull him close, as they looked up and watched the snowstorm surrounding them.

“James, this is-”

“We used to do this all the time when I was a kid,” James explained, circling his thumb on Regulus's back soothingly. “On Christmas, especially. If it snowed, my dad would come out and set this up. And we’d just sit out here and watch. Be together.”

Regulus moved a bit closer to James, feeling so incredibly content. “This is what your family does on Christmas?”

He felt James shrug next to him. “It’s nice to just…escape sometimes, you know? And I just wanted to be with you.”

Regulus felt tears prickle his eyes as he took that in. It was somehow precious, to be shown this tradition. To be allowed this window into James’s life. To be included and wanted and loved.

And it was so warm, here.

Here, in the snow. Here, in James’s arms.

“I love you,” he whispered, kissing James softly.

And he lost himself in the warmth of the kiss.

Hope you guys liked it! Please leave comments and kudos, I need them more than I need a nap (a lot!)

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yuwuta · 5 months ago

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PETITION!!!!!! FOR THE ATLA X JJK STUFF!!!! OMG NOW I HAVE A BRAINROT love this idea sm.....

i have SOOOO many ideas you have no idea how near and dead atla is to me… i could rant about this day and night…. reader’s bending or non-bending abilities always change in the au for me, but i feel very strongly about everyone’s bending abilities teehee…. except satoru… i can pickle many aus for satoru bc that’s pookie <3

firebender reader that captures airbender yuuta to take him back to the fire nation as a reward and honestly he should fight back, he could fight back, and he probably shouldn’t blush when you’re rough with him, but you’re really pretty and stubborn and sure the ropes you put around his hands and ankles are really tight but it could have been worse. and you haven’t burned or scarred him, and you even give him some of fish you capture and cook along the way, so maybe you don’t really hate him that much. it’s so much of yuuta nervously rambling as you two travel and you not responding, but that doesn’t stop yuuta, nor does it deter him from thinking that you’re not all bad. clearly you’re strong and determined and you believe capturing him with worth something so he kinda…. let’s it be (also he thinks he’d lose a fight to you) and somewhere along the way he gets the courage to point blank as you why you’re taking him and i’d love to say he talk no jutsus you into not turning him in but also love the idea of someone else attacking you and yuuta turning on the airbending to choke them out which is insane bc you’ve done nothing but capture him but who’s to say that’s not a form of love too xoxo

or we can consider you and megumi growing up in the south pole together, it’s a small town so it’s not a coincidence that you two become friends, even if megumi is a little gruff at first. you two do everything together, even though your water bending abilities start to differ as you get older—you become much more mischievous, while megumi becomes focused on precision and healing. it’s why, despite the tradition being father and son to go out hunting, toji takes you out to sea to go ice fishing and you always run back home to megumi with your capture in hand, damn near tackling him every time and happily proclaiming you caught his favorite; and every time he tells you to calm down and not cause a scene, but you don’t, and toji and his mom chuckle as you tackle him and megumi tries to blush and wrangles you into a seat inside while he helps his mom with dinner. and really, all is well until some snobby prince from another town claims that your family is indebted to his and that you’re betrothed as collateral and everyone finds out very quickly that even though megumi spent all his time focusing on healing, that he’s still toji’s son and can make one hell of a tsunami if it calls for it. (and when the storm, literally, passes, megumi huffs as he digs through his belonging and stuffs a necklace in your hand and all you can do is blink and wonder what’s going on while his mom snickers in the background and winks at you “i think that’s a proposal, dear.”)

orrrrrr even though i firmly believe in airbender satoru superiority, i do make an exception for stealing yue’s plot line and making satoru a waterbender and prince who’s hair is only white because he blessed and saved by the moon spirit when he was very young. ofc, that’s not enough to make him nearly as humble as he should be, and satoru spends all his days ignoring his princely duties and bothering you and a nanami instead, ditching his masters and servants in favor of pouting at you to teach him your skills instead because satoru wholly believes his duty is not to serve as the bridge between his people and the moon, but instead to annoy you and hopefully make you mrs half-moon someday

#anonymous #i have so much more i could say but this was getting long LOLLLL #avatar yuuji…. and it surprises nobody when he’s the avatar but it does bum his out a little bit bc that means he has to leave home to #travel the world and learn the elements but not it be brings you along with him! problem solved!#and it’s kind of hard to not fall in love with the person you’ve survived numerous life and death situations with and camped in the same te #tent with many times so…….#OOO also choso…. :(((#lives in a little house in the middle of nowhere and either you stumble upon him or he stumbles upon you #and you end up staying with him for a bit while you recover and u can tell he’s not talkative but he’s doing his best for you #you ask why he lives alone and he just gives a very vague response and says it’s for safety reasons #which makes you think maybe it’s bc he’s wanted or something or it’s dangerous around here #but in the end you learn it’s bc he’s a blood bender and he doesn’t trust himself not to hurt other people :(((#and ur the one to help him trust himself and teach him he’s not bad for having this talent :(#jjk x reader #atla au

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deleteddewewted · 25 days ago

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Supermarket Romance P3

Modern! Titus x Reader

S: His first conversation has inspired him to try and build greater connections with the people he already speaks to. His therapist is overjoyed with this development advising him that in due time he will see his anxiety dwindle as exposure is the best type of therapy. Titus is motivated and encouraged even, to pursue further socializing with you. Hopefully, this could be the start of a new connection.

W: PTSD episodes, Depression, Anxiety Disorders, Reader is a broke Artist, Titus works as an Analyst for a company, Ableist comments (From Titus and to Titus)

Previous / Next

He didn’t know why he continued to do this to himself. Guilliman had told him to buy a notepad or set reminders on his phone but Titus refused to do so. It got to the point that Guilliman bought him his very own notepad with differently formatted pages so that he could use it for whatever he needed. He once again forgot to take the notepad or write anything down in it as he was browsing the grocery store shelves searching for something he knew he needed but forgot.

His forgetfulness only grew worse with the more he remembered the conversation he had with you a few days back. He couldn’t stop himself from reliving it as it was a weird source of comfort. You didn’t frown at him or make a displeased face. You looked at im, really looked at him, and didn’t think any different about his appearance. Even his doctor at times made faces when talking about his injuries. It made it hard to live in his body at times. But you made it tolerable, at least for the moment.

He mindlessly grabbed whatever was in front of him, not even bothering to read the label or check the price as he continued to relish in the memory before being snapped out of it by his phone buzzing. He pulled it out of his pocket, hoping to see a call from his doctor or Chairon but he was instead met with his boss's name. He frowned at the still-ringing phone but still answered the call reluctantly.

“Hello, Mr. Guilliman.” Titus greeted.

“For the love of everything, Demetrian. Stop calling me 'Mr. Guilliman'. I’m not just your boss, I’m your friend. Reframe from such a habit.” The younger man shouted. It never ceased to surprise Titus just how odd Guilliman was. Their age difference made this even more odd considering that Guilliman was also his superior at the office. It felt awkward to have his boss be younger than him but he guessed he couldn't complain too much as he himself was once a young Lieutenant and Captain who led men and women off all ages. Age didn't matter too much in the military if you had the ability to prove yourself capable of the work being assigned to you.

He assumed this is why Guilliman didn't stay longer in the military and didn't resign his contract. His might and his brain weren't worth being wasted in combat when it could be used for more analytical and important tasks such as leadership in the bureaucratic system they lived in. In a way, Titus was glad the younger man had left. Guilliman looked more relaxed working in an office than working in a tent in the middle of nowhere.

“I will do my best to refrain from addressing you in that way.” Titus complied.

“Good. Now, I have a question for you if you aren’t too busy.” Titus could practically hear the grin that was spreading across his boss's face.

“I’m not.” Titus began to walk down the aisle and into a new one as he spoke on the phone. He readjusted his phone so he could hold it with his other hand instead of the same hand that carried his basket full of groceries.

“I have an event that I want you to attend. I’m having some of my best employees come with me to help push and talk numbers with some big players in the industry that Father is interested in doing business with. This will be over the span of a week but won't be until a few months from now.” Guilliman explained.

“Ok?”

“I wanted to ask if you had anyone or any responsibilities that might interfere with this event.”

“No.”

“Are you sure?” Guilliman teased.

“I’m positive.”

“That’s a shame, I was hoping you’d say yes so I could get you an extra ticket for a potential plus one.” Guilliman added. Titus stopped in his tracks, processing what his superior had just said. Plus one? The only person he could think of that Guilliman might be insinuating is you and it made him feel unease.

Titus had mentioned you in passing during their lunch break. They had been speaking on the phone and decided to have lunch together to catch up on what the other was doing outside of work. He had been talking about how he had met someone at the supermarket who had caught his attention because of how they shopped. He didn’t know how to explain to Guilliman that you reminded him of his mother and how she would take great care in reading and observing costs and food contents when buying food. He didn’t know how to explain that he liked that you dressed the way you did, uncaring if some may criticize you for looking poorly in the middle of the day. He thought it was unique and quirky that you gave such a lacking amount of care to what those around you thought of you. It almost helped him feel less judged when he shopped.

Since then, Guilliman had tried getting him to talk more about you or about any of his few friends outside of himself. Guilliman found it interesting to see just how much Titus needed routines and positive reassurances to know he was doing good. This was in stark contrast to the Captain he had known who didn't seek praise and would scream his lungs out at privates and soldiers during drills and combat. A larger-than-life man who lived to serve was now reduced to an anxious mess who needed reinforcement. It was a fall from grace that Guilliman dared not talk about since he knew that his comments would do more damage than good.

All that Guiliman knew was that predictability and transparency helped Titus and that had remained the same even now. Guilliman wasn't complaining, Titus had been more talkative, more communicative, more present. He had found some strength to come into the office for small project events or meetings that could have been done remotely or even on an email debrief. He was seeing great developments in work and he wanted to nurture these new habits since it slowly brought out the man Titus once was.

"I dont know them well enough for that, Roboute." Titus explained.

"The event is 4 months away, ok. Im just saying that if by any chance there is someone in your life that you wish to bring along I'm more than happy to have them come. The more the merrier." Guilliman added. Guilliman said his goodbyes before hanging up without giving Titus time to respond back. Titus, annoyed, put his phone back into his pocket, not paying attention to the path ahead of him as he did.

"Ouch!" Titus snapped his head towards the noise in front of him. He looked down where he felt something crash into him only to find you sitting on the floor, rubbing your forehead.

"Sorry." He apologized. He put his basket down on the floor before grabbing you by the arm and helping you to your feet.

"No, it's ok. It's on me. I wasn't paying attention." You apologized back. You patted your clothes hoping to clean them from any dirt you might have picked up in your fall.

"Thanks for picking me up, Titus." You smiled up at him, hoping that he didn't misinterpret your apology for sarcasm. Titus looked nervous as he watched you. He looked like he was inspecting you for injuries, not that you would have any, but just to make sure.

"No problem, Y/n."

"So what brings you back to the store, Titus? Anything new you're trying?" You asked wanting to be polite.

"I was told by my dietician to try adding more sugars into my diet. I'm... trying to see what is tolerable enough for me to eat." For someone of his stature, you would have assumed he would be louder but he was soft spoken. Clear and precise, calm but soft. It reminded you of the older gentleman living next door to you who would ask you to help him bring his case of water up if you had the time.

"Do you not like sweet?" You asked.

"I've developed a dislike for overly sweet things so I tend to avoid sugar in general." He explained. In reality, his anxiety made sugar act almost like a trigger. Either he could taste it and it was overwhelming or he'd consume it and it made his anxiety spike. He avoided sugary drinks, sweet treats, and even basic foods that have sweetner in it. The ice cream he had bought was the only thing he could tolerate as it wasn't too sweet and the cold numbed the taste.

"Fruit tends to be the easiest way to get sugar into a diet. It's hard not to enjoy them since there's variety." You explained. This seemed to ease Titus a little. His once furrowed brows eased just a little at the suggestion.

"I will try that." The conversation died from there. While you thought there was nothing more to say, Titus was buzzing with questions of his own. Another conversation with you meant more exposure which meant that his therapist would be proud of his progress and he himself will be proud of his progress.

"What about you?" He asked. He looked at your empty basket before returning his gaze to you.

"Me? Oh, I was seeing what I could get for $20. I don't really have the budget right now to experiment with food."

"What can you possibly get with $20?" He questioned. You thought his question was brash but you chalked it up to shock.

"You'd be surprised. It mainly works if you bargain or use coupons. For the most part, I get the ramen packets or rice." You shrugged.

"So you mainly eat...."

"Poorly? Yeah. When your broke you have to eat whatever, so might as well eat something that's not gross."

"Doesn't it leave you in a nutritional deficit?" Titus was trying to wrap his head around how anyone could possibly live off of this diet. Even the MRE's he would get in his service was better than the food you planned on buying. It sounded horrible and his face must have shown it because you laughed before explaining yourself.

"It does, but again, I dont have the money to buy anything other than the things I really need." You smiled up at him again, the corner of your eyes pinching against your cheeks.

"It was nice talking to you, Titus. Hopefully, next time we see each other you can tell me what fruits you liked." You winked at him teasingly.

"Of course. I will make sure to do so." He nodded. You couldn't help it, but you chuckled at him. He was amusing, to say the least. There was no way he was an actual person. He was too formal, too forward, too honest. You kinda felt bad for being able to know so much about this man when you haven't said enough about yourself.

As you walked away Titus sighed. This had been the longest conversation he had with you. This was good! He wondered if he had said too much or not enough. Maybe it was invasive to ask the questions had asked. It was all said and done but he couldn’t help but worry. He shook his head, he wasn’t going to allow doubt to consume him. Not now, not when he had just gained such a positive thing.

When he made it back home he made sure to go about his usual routine with as much urgency as he could. He double checked his locks, took a shower, put away his groceries, and grabbed his laptop from his desk to bring it over to his bed. He laid there, silently waiting for a call to come in. The ticking of his clock unnerved him as he waited. No matter how many times he had done this it still never stopped being stressful. The waiting, the anticipation ate at him as he counted down the seconds.

*bzzzz* *bzzzzzzz*

Titus clicked on the green answer button that appeared on his laptops screen before readjusting the camera and himself.

“Demetrian, what a pleasure it is to see you once more.” An older man with glasses that looked almost comically round, greeted Titus. He smiled, teeth showing as he waved at the man.

“Dr Galeo, it is good to speak with you again.” Titus greeted back.

“You’re looking well. I hope you’ve been following instructions given to you by your physician?”

“I have. There’s no need to be concern.”

“Good, good. I’m that case, let’s talk about your progress shall we? What have your most recent interactions with other people have been?” Galeo ask.

“Positive. I’ve been meaning to tell you abott it my interactions either Y/n, actually.”

“Do tell, Titus.” Proded Galeo.

It was as if the flood gates had open. Titus talked and talked and talked about you and the conversation you had had with each toner. Every moment, every word, every movement you had made was described in detail as he spoke to his therapist. Be couldn’t stop even if he wanted to, he just needed to talk to someone about his new friend. Galeo didn’t mind his team kings, if anything, this was the whole reason why he enjoyed his weekly check in with Titus.

When Titus had first started therapy he was closed up. He refused to speak or even write down his thoughts or feelings. It was frustrating as it didn’t seem that the man would open up any time soon and Galeo would have to fire him as a client. So when Galeo proposed Titus begin making small interactions with people in his gym, this seemed to spark a reaction. Titus didn’t take recommendations but orders and a life of service made this even more important for how Galeo was going to treat him. So he began giving Titus orders. Do this, do that, you must complete this. This worked even if it felt like it was degrading to do but it gave Galeo space to work with. Titus began reporting back that he would speak to the kind woman in the front desk at his gym if only to say “hello” and “goodbye”. This began to slowly evolve into him speaking to the new security guard at the gym that had approached Titus asking what his workout routine was. Story after story of the security guard became frequent but what threw Galeo off guard was the story about the person Titus had met at the supermarket.

“They spoke to me, again.” Titus said. His voice was in awe, almost as if he couldn’t believe that a basic human interaction could possibly be directed at him. Galeo knew Titus was deeply insecure but to see him genuinely surprised that something so small such as a greeting or acknowledgment would be directed at him made something in Galeo mourn for his patient.

“And they said that they wanted to hear if I liked anything new that I tried.” Titus finished. Galeo smiled and nodded his head in acknowledgment.

“That’s wonderful Titus. You and your friend seem to be making progress."

"They even gave me their name. Y/n."

"See, and here you were worried about rejection. You're making good progress. This is something to celebrate." Galeo encouraged.

"It feels childish to celebrate something so normal but I truly feel like I've progressed in my treatment, Galeo."

"And I see that progress, Titus. In due time, you will see all of these efforts pay off." Galeo comforted him, hoping that his words held some value to the man.

They spent the rest of their session making idle conversation on things Titus could improve on. Galeo hoped that more social interaction could help Titus see that the world wasn't against him. They ended their session with Galeo tasking Titus with trying to extend this connection with you outside of the supermarket. friendship is good for his health and Titus, unfortunately, has lacked those platonic relationships ever since he left the military. Titus agreed with him and even stated that there had been a few people who had reached out to him but he hasn't had the courage to reach back out of discomfort. Galeo reassures him that all in due time, there's no need to rush but there needs to be an attempt to try. With that, Titus ended the call and began preparing an early dinner for himself. He ate his meal in silence as he thought about the events of today. Would you want to be friends with him? Would you feel comfortable spending time with him outside of the occasional bumping into each other in the supermarket? He made sure to clean his dishes and then take a shower before heading to bed. He lay in his bed contemplating the plans for the next day. He had it off, there was nothing for him to do. Maybe he would be kind to himself and explore the city he lived in.

#titus x reader #demetrian titus x reader #demetrian titus #w40k #wh40k #warhammer 40k #warhammer 40000 #ultramarines #demetrian titus warhammer #demetrian titus w40k #titus wh40k #titus w40k #Supermarket Romance W40k

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cdragons · 9 months ago

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Hey! I miss interacting with u, hope you are doing well :)

What is the song that will most describe farleighs and y/ns friendship?

Hey! This is really sweet, anon! THank you! I'm doing great, I have a ton of exams and projects with school that are kind of kicking my butt rn, but today's my birthday so I am excited to share that with my family!

This is a really tough one, mostly because I never expected this friendship to be so popular with everyone. Although I shouldn't be surprised because Farleigh Start was actually so superior in the movie.

Personally, I think these songs really fit them

Gimme More by Brittany Spears

Bad Girls by M.I.A

That's My Girl by Fifth Harmony (also works for Annabel and Y/N)

So What by P!nk

Is You or Is You Ain't My Baby by Louis Jordan and His Tympany Five (look up Marvelous Mrs. Maisel with this song and TELL me that this won't be the most amazing duet with the pair)

Let me know in the comments of your opnions!

I feel like this is a good opportunity to give off some headcanons to describe the vibes I get from Fareligh and Y/n! There are also just my personal headcanons of Farleigh and his story in my AU! I made up these with the help of my internet soulmate @ethereal-athalia!

Here are some headcanons of my personal take of Farleigh's backstory in my AU and in general:

Is it weird if I can see Fareligh coming from New Orleans, Louisiana? Because I can absolutely see him giving off those vibes. He would fit PERFECTLY as a New Yorker, but I can't help but feel he would thrive in the Crescent City.

Farleigh really misses the States, and a big part of the reason he parties so much is to forget how homesick he is. I find it very odd that we are given this extremely intelligent character who would no doubt thrive in an Ivy League like Yale, Harvard, or Brown, but he's stuck in England. James definitely could have just paid for his education there, so why send him to England? Furthermore, why does James cover him up so much? Is it really just because he's family?

Remember when Felix told Oliver that Farleigh got kicked out of every school in England bc he "sucked the teachers off"? First off, ew. Secondly, sure, Farleigh is a bit of a hedonist, but all of his behavior just kind of screams to me that he's really and genuinely unhappy in England and wants to go back. That might be a reason why he was so reluctant for Felix to get close to Y/N since Chapter 1 of 'Fuck Everything.'

Furthermore, it really bothers me how nonchalant Felix is about telling Oliver that piece of information. Even if he knows that Farleigh wouldn't really care, that is still very private information about a young boy who was taken advantage of by teachers who were in a position that allowed them to abuse their power.

Also, for a film that exposes so much about its characters, we really don't know a lot about Farleigh Start and his story, specifically his family in the States.

The part where Farleigh's mom is terrible with money and constantly needs handouts from her brother, James, is very realistic - that part, I believe. But I feel like there is a lot missing with his dad.

Was his dad actually as brutish and abusive as Felix said to Oliver? Personally, I don't really see it. Even at first glance, the way Farleigh carries himself is leagues different from the rest of the Cattons. He's observant and takes in details. He uses all this information as a weapon for any opponent he goes up against.

In my opinion, I could absolutely see Farleigh's dad being a completely normal and decent person with a job as a librarian or English professor. This idea is mostly stemmed from when Fareligh made the 'thus' argument against Oliver's essay at the beginning of the movie, and this seems like something Farleigh knows as if being explained about it from a very early age.

The reason I think his father is ill-portrayed is because I feel like Farleigh's mother met him while she was in America and was intrigued by his unassuming self and married him. But then she got bored because she wasn't living the high and expensive life she was living in England with her family.

Eventually, she got bored and decided to use Farleigh as an excuse to get money from James. Farleigh's dad might have wanted custody of his son but was threatened by his ex-wife that he would never see his son again.

Farleigh is aware of his mother's toxic tendencies, but she's his mother and he loves her anyway. He know she's leeching off of him to get to her brother. But what are his other options? Let her fend for herself?

This is probably so far-fetched and a huge reach, but the Cattons are portrayed as people who love to feed off their own sense of entitlement over others by showing of 'generous' and 'charitable' they are to take of other people. When anything bad happens to them, they wear it like a trophy. Maybe that's what happened with Farleigh?

NOW! Onto Farleigh and Reader (also ft. Michael Gavey bc he's bb):

Being around Y/N is like being at home for the first time in forever (cue Frozen song) for Farleigh. When they start talking, Y/N is extremely skeptical of his intentions because she thinks that he's just trying to help out Felix. But nope! He just wants a genuine friend.

Y/N makes it clear to Farleigh from the beginning that if he wants to be friends with her, he needs to be friends with Michael. Michael Gavey and Y/N L/N are a package deal. You want one? You get the other.

Farleigh keeps his friendship with Reader a secret from Felix and is helped by Annabel (our girl got a taste of true kindness, sees Felix Catton for the leech he is, and is now part of the Y/N protection club)

With Y/N, he doesn't feel the need to party or drink until he gets alcohol poisoning to have a good time. He learns to have quiet nights doing homework or playing stupid board games with made-up rules.

Michael and Y/N introduce him to DnD, and he's the classic Bard player who rolls for charisma and ends up f*cking his party out of danger every time. Michael is a paladin, and Y/N is a monk, in case you were wondering.

Y/N sometimes uses Farleigh to model for some of her portraits. She learns to appreciate him because she and Michael do need to be reminded sometimes that it's okay to cut loose at times and that spreading their wings won't kill them.

Y/N and Farleigh definitely geek out over art history and literature (symbolism, plot holes, motifs, etc.) and are BIG soul and blues fans. When they all hang out in Y/N's dorm, they will be listening to James Brown, Ella Fitzgerald, and Ray Charles till dawn.

Y/N is someone whom Farleigh can have actual mind-stimulating conversations with in a manner that's respectful but also wildly entertaining. They will discuss everything from rousing debates about politics and current events to philosophical queries about the omegaverse and mpreg.

Michael pretended he wasn't a fan until they caught him singing along to 'Hit the Road Jack' and they never let him forget it.

Also, Farleigh is a MAJOR Michael Gavey x Y/N fan. He wants them to get together SO BADLY! But he won't do this in a productive/uncomplicated way. Nonononono, he plans to make the most convoluted, dramatic, and needlessly complicated schemes to get these two nerds together for his own amusement. *Nudge* *Nudge* *Wink* *Wink*

Real talk though, Fareligh genuinely loves Y/N and her presence as a friend. He has all these expectations placed on him and fake friends who only want to be around him for his cousins. To be around someone who not only misses home like him but also truly appreciates him as an individual and not as a commodity for networking means the world to him.

If Y/N ever does go to Saltburn for the summer (*foreshadowing*), Farleigh will do everything in his power to make sure she won't get sucked into his relatives' fake and shallow schemes.

Also, as a bonus, he loves ranting and trash-talking Oliver with Y/N and Michael. It's like free therapy with better snacks because Michael always brings candy.

These are all the ones I can think of for now, but let me more in the comments or in my ask box if you want more! It really means so much that you guys love this AU so much!

Let me know if you want to be tagged in the comments for future Saltburn AU stuff!

"Fuck Everything, But Mostly Fuck You" Masterlist

Tagging: @ethereal-athalia, @arcielee, @valeskafics, @asa-do-your-thing, @aphroditesmoon, @axelsagewrites, @the1999kid, @poolnoodlerescuer, @aemondsbabe, @@winterblu2, @abaker74, @whereismymindnow, @agustdeeyaa, @iamavailablesstuff, @bonnieblue0606, @st-eve-barnes, @@nyxthoughtss, @immyowndefender, @@ilovemydinoboi, @ahristata, @cxp1d, @jinsoulorbitzen12, @temptation-waits, @bollzinurmouth, @jcngw0ns, @seababehh, @destinydestnation, @lankyboi4, @mindless-rock, @cassavacake, @paradisepoison, @@pansexualpamandabear, @erikasurfer, @@lissamans, @cookielovesbook-akie, @thesmutconnoisseur, @izzyisstuff, @lariisouz, @mioshasworld, @themorriganisamonster, @bre99, @babypinkditto

#saltburn x reader #saltburn #saltburn crack #saltburn au #michael gavey x reader #felix catton x reader #farleigh catton #farleigh start #venetia catton #oliver quick #michael gavey #saltburn 2023 #saltburn movie #farleigh start x reader #saltburn thoughts #saltburn spoilers #my ramblings

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zhongscara · 10 months ago

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in MY opinion... i think that aside from being a diversion tactic (to make sure the fatui dont find out about the primordial sea), wrio threatening lyney could have also been him subtly checking on the dynamic between arlecchino and the house of the hearth orphans.

like wrio knows manipulative adults Pretty Well, and the fact that he knows the fatui sent orphaned "children" undercover instead of grown agents already tripped alarms in his head.

Wriothesley: Mr. Lyney, the cards are stacked against you right now. Miss Lynette is in my hands, and Mr. Freminet is still slowly being pickled out there in the brine. You know just as well as I that he cannot last out there forever. Wriothesley: You need do but one thing to guarantee their safety. I would like you to contact your superior, and ideally invite her over for a cup of tea with me. Lyney: You want to see "Father"? Ha, but why should she bother giving you an audience? Wriothesley: Well, if she cares for the well-being of her dearest children, she should have plenty of motivation to join me for a parents' evening. Wriothesley: I've heard that the bonds between the members of the House of the Hearth are like the bonds of family. I don't see why she would refuse.

(emphasis mine)

"call your parental figure or your siblings will be in danger" would be a relatively easy decision to make if your parental figure... yknow... cared about you. but lyney insists that arlecchino shouldn't be involved in this and breaks from the stress of possibly losing his siblings. which makes ME think like... how much value does arlecchino place in the orphans if lyney refuses to "trouble" her with possible imminent torture or DEATH.

Lyney: …Was this the extent of your master plan to get to "Father"? No matter how much pressure you may put on me, I won't allow you to use us to blackmail her. Lyney: I… I shouldn't ask "Father" to do anything because of us…

(emphasis mine)

like... lyney... if she really cared about you she would willingly help you... you know...

and yes later on arlecchino is like Well he shouldve called me :/ but its way easier to say that after the fact.

The Knave: [...] It's unfortunate that Lyney's so eager to prove himself that he can't learn to rely on others... including me.

i mean lyney came to rely on the traveler pretty easily..? i think deep down he doesn't trust arlecchino.

so wrio noticed that something wasn't right pretty quickly, and could have also set this up as a sort of test - both for him, and for lyney - in a way - to take a better look at the dynamic between arlecchino and the siblings.

basically i think that specific part of the archon quest shows us that the house of hearth isn't a Found Family Despite All Odds situation and definitely has something much darker (aside from, you know. the orphans basically being FATUI AGENTS). i keep saying this but i think the fact that the previous head of the orphanage was "even worse" means that traumatized children/teens/young adults can easily justify a different kind of abuse as "well at least it isn't (x) which is even worse!" and based on the siblings' profile stories, it seems arlecchino leans more towards emotional manipulation/neglect, which, again, if compared to the physical abuse from the previous head, can be pretty easy to justify in the eyes of already traumatized and vulnerable people.

#mine.txt #genshin meta

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howlingday · 1 year ago

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Codename: Red Dawn

This is a man with an ambition.

=============================

Jaune: (Opens the door) Hello? Can I help you?

Adam: My name is Adam Tauren. I'm a co-worker of Mrs. Belladina. She left this magnifying glass in her office.

Jaune: Oh, well, I'm sorry to tell you this, but Blake stepped out for a moment.

Adam: (Thinking) I already know. This was just an attempt to get close to you, since you're the reason she's so distracted from her mission.

Jaune: Would you like to come inside for coffee?

Adam: I suppose if you're offering, then I have no reason to deny it.

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

Adam: You have a lovely home.

Adam: Jaune Arc. If I find out that you're a detriment to our mission, then I will see you eliminated!.

Jaune: Thank you, but it was my wife who mostly did the decorations.

Adam: This man is very skilled. Finding a weak-point may prove difficult.

Jaune: (Thinking) He's so intimidating! Aside from Sun and Saph, I've never had a guest on my own before! Just remember; you are Blake's husband. You are Blake's husband!.

Adam: Removing him directly would prove too risky. It's better to convince him to leave on his own.

Adam: Your daughter... Penny, right? She seems to be quite the active child.

Jaune: Huh? Oh, yeah! She's always got so much energy!

Adam: That must be difficult. It must be hard to keep up with her sometimes, doesn't it?

Adam: She's only your step-child. Why bother putting in so much effort? Let me take over.

Jaune: Hard? Not really. I have a lot of energy myself, too, y'know! Now, if she was moody and down in the dumps all the time, I don't know what I'd do! Besides, we have a ton of fun together!

Adam: Spare me the affection. You're not her father.

Jaune: But the one who really struggles is Blake. She's spread so thin as it is, I can't help but feel like I could be doing more...

Adam: Bingo. You're not meant for this operation. You need to realize your own inadequacy.

Adam: Yes, I have heard Mrs. Belladina complain on multiple occasions about your inability to-

Penny: Penny has returned home~!

Blake: Adam? What are you doing here?

Adam: Greetings, Mrs. Belladina.

Jaune: Mr. Tauren was returning this magnifying glass.

Penny: Oh! That's where it was!

Blake: Ah, I see. Thank you.

Blake: (Thinking) If he's here, then it must mean there's urgent business.

Jaune: I'm surprised to see you three back already.

Blake: It looked like rain, so I made sure Juniper was quick with her business.

Blake: (Speaking normally, Code-talking) Why are you really here, Red Dawn?

Adam: (Speaking normally, Code-talking) I'm here to assess the progress of your mission.

Penny: (Mind-reading, Thinking) This scary guy is a spy, too?!.

Blake: The mission is going fine.

Adam: Is walking your daughter's pet vital to the mission? Why not make this man do all of your errands. Is he refusing to cooperate?

Blake: (Narrows eyes) What are you trying to say?

Adam: You're spending less time focused on the mission and more on this household fantasy. I suggest we reevaluate your operational tactics.

Blake: You're in no position to suggest anything.

Penny: Mama and this scary guy are fighting! Is he a bad guy?!.

Adam: Agent Nightshade...

Adam: I LOVE YOU.

Penny: (Blinks, Shakes head)

Adam: I LOVE...

Adam: YOOOOOOOU~!.

Penny: ...

Adam: How can she not see how perfect I would be as her husband? I can offer superior domestic support! Exquisite five-star meals, five-digit financial support, laundry complete in no time, lifesaving first aid, and even reconnaissance assistance on all your enemies you'll ever face, including names, weapons, allergies, and how many white hairs they have on their heads!.

Jaune: I'll make some more coffee. Penny, would you like some cocoa?

Adam: We'll honeymoon in Vale.

Blake: What is he thinking? I can never tell.

Penny: ...

#rwby #spy x family #jaune arc #adam taurus #penny polendina #blake belladonna #knightshade #rwby au

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wellthebardsdead · 1 month ago

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Falûne: *a little boy around his 7th year, sniffling back his tears as he tries to do his chores and ignore the pain he’s in from his last beating having had no recollection of ever receiving it*

“HELP! PLEASE HELP ME HELP ME PLEASE!!”

Falûne: *drops the bucket of chicken feed as a dark haired boy, a little older than him barrels through the cloisters gate and right into keldrans legs* h-huh?

Keldran: *kneels down and gently dries the boys face* shhh, breath child, what’s the matter? What’s your name?

Gortash: E-Enver, Enver G-Gortash- please h-help me m-my parents are trying to sell me to a devil you have to help me Mr!

Keldran: *ears pricked up in shock, hearing the truth in his voice. And the sound of his parents in the distance* alright alright, I’ll help you. Come inside now, Lû! *glares at him before looking at the spilled feed* …Clean up your mess, boy…

Gortash: *peers past Keldran and locks eyes with the frail and bruised tiefling* …

*that evening*

Falûne: *waited alone in the kitchen for hours for the acolytes to finish eating, now quietly crying from hunger as he tries to make a meal out of the leftovers, all the while hitting himself out of pure distress and constant mental torment from Keldran* s-stupid- stupid ungrateful b-brat, stupid ungrateful-d-devil- bad, bad, bad- *looks at the small bowl he’d come up with and it’s himself harder for daring to feel disappointed* baAA- *flails as a hand covers his mouth, silencing his frightened scream* Mm??

Gortash: hey, I saw you through the door, *frowns seeing his suspicions confirmed, this was all he’d been eating for a while now* you hungry? *lets him go and offers him half of his own plate he’d saved*

Falûne: *silently staring at it, then at him before sheepishly taking it* I-I’ll get in so much trouble- *winces as the curse activates*

Gortash: for eating?

Falûne: talking to you- eating your food…

Gortash: why?…

Falûne: *eyes glowing purple from the curse as he stares up at him* I’m forbidden from talking to anyone except father superior… *winces as the curse releases his mind* nghh- I… what was I?… I- *hands Gortash bask his food and runs away back to his room, covering his own mouth the whole way*

Gortash: *eyes wide with intrigue, wondering what sort of magics could alter someone’s very memory, then anger and a strange mix of jealousy, seeing a boy just like him abused by the adults around him, and wanting to be the one abusing Keldran and the other adults right back* … *follows after him and whispers outside his bedroom door as he leaves the food for him* I’ll get you out of here one day, and we’ll take this city by storm together. I promise…

*many years later*

Falûne: *around his 20th year, hair shaven and dried blood clinging to his chin from the spike through his tongue, the scolds bridle locked firmly in place around his head as tears continue to pour down his face while he goes about his chores, his hands trembling as he pushes the tea cart to Keldrans study, knocking with his tail and waiting for confirmation*

“Come in, Lû.”

Falûne: *pushes open the door and brings the cart in, setting Keldrans food and tea down before kneeling before him, visibly trembling and holding in his sobs*

Keldran: enough with your crocodile tears this is what you get for lying Falûne. You made a spectacle of myself and this cloister, whoever you lied to that lead the flaming fists to our door to ‘rescue you’ will no doubt be spreading your lies even further. Now clean yourself up and go finish your chores. You’ll get water when you’re done.

Falûne: *nods and hurries to his feet, his boots so crammed with his overgrown hooves he sways a little as he finds his footing, his head falling in a deep bow before leaving and closing the door quietly, heading out to do the laundry hoping his hat will hide his shame*

*a few hours later*

Falûne: *mouth dry despite the constant the taste of blood and cold iron burning hot through his tongue, desperately trying to finish the wash before anyone can see him, quietly pushing the lever around and around the wash well himself after Keldran forbade him from using the donkey as part of his punishment* mmnn… *starts pulling the clean laundry out of the barrel to pull it into his basket*

“That’s him my lo- helm almighty!”

Falûne: *mortified at being noticed, looks over to see two flaming fists approaching and a familiar face, now older but with the same unmistakably scheming eyes* mmph?!

Gortash: oh Falûne, my old friend-

Falûne: *already got in trouble once for talking to someone even if he couldn’t remember doing so, quickly ditches the basket getting the laundry filthy in the dirt before running inside and immediately headbutting into Keldrans chest* Mmnn!! *whimpers as he’s grabbed by his bridle and pulled outside like a misbehaving horse, tears immediately pouring all over again as Keldran presents him before the fists, the moon elf not even noticing Gortash*

Keldran: Right, I don’t know what lies this fiend has told you but I will not have my name tarnished! He is not a tiefling he’s- *grabs lûnes robes and rips them open revealing the infernal seal all across his skin* a devil Selûne herself charged me with keeping contained!

Falûne: *eyes and horns glowing purple as the curse activates, already wiping the memory of all this from his like but leaving the shame and humiliation*

Fist 1: *observing the seal on lûnes body, unfamiliar with such magics but understanding enough to see it’s a seal*

Fist 2: *more concerned with Lûnes over all appearance but understanding their hands are tied if this is a matter of godly will* are such measures necessary?

Keldran: to contain the grandson of Mephistopheles? Yes.

Fist 1: *visibly pales* r-right, well um. My lord I’m afraid there’s not much we can do.

Keldran: *finally notices Gortash* ah, councillor-

Gortash: It’s lord now actually. *stares at lûne, eyes filled with intrigue and a want for the power contained behind that seal* and he told no lies. I was the one who sent for a welfare check. *saunters over and grasps the lock of Lûnes bridle, his implant glowing before turning his entire hand black as he crushes it in his palm* seeing how poorly you treat them disgusted me beyond words. *hooks his finger under the iron bars and removes it carefully, lifting the spike from Lûnes tongue and tossing the horrid thing to the ground before crushing it beneath his boot* So, a word of warning. Treat him better, because while I may not be able to have him removed from your ‘care’ just yet… I will be able to, very, soon… *looks to lûne to see him looking up at him, the curse no longer active, somehow being overridden by the act of kindness*

Falûne: *blood pouring from his mouth again, staring up at him with wide moon like eyes, shock that he can’t understand or comprehend, shock that someone stood up for him for a crime he couldn’t even remember*

Gortash: *pats his cheek* I’ll come back. I promise… there’s no way I’m leaving such a precious and powerful thing as yourself to be left imprisoned by this, self righteous bastard… *glares up at Keldran before nodding to the fists and leaving*

Falûne: *left standing there in only his trousers held up by a length of rope, looking so pitiful but feeling a mix of gratitude and confusion* …

Keldran: *watches Gortash leave before looking down at his ward* …

Falûne: *looks up at him, tongue already swelling from the sheer level of pain it’s in* I’m- th-sss-thorry father I ruined the laundry…

Keldran: *looks over to see the mess Lûne made* … *looks back at him* go have a bath.

Falûne: *nods sheepishly and stumbles off back inside, tail between his legs as he hugs his torn robes to himself*

*present*

Falûne: *eyes glassy as he completely disassociates, standing outside Wyrms rock as hellfire engulfs the fortress after Keldrans final betrayal finally made him snap. Quietly staring at Gortash’s decapitated head in his hands* … If only I’d first believed karlach when she warned me of you… Maybe then I wouldn’t be hurting so badly now… maybe I’d of learned that… I can’t trust anyone… not even kind people… maybe then… my heart wouldn’t be broken… *grabs him by his hair and picks up his decapitated hand with the stone, quietly walking off back to the elf song, oblivious to the moon elf stumbling out of the flames narrowly escaping death*

Keldran: *faceplants into the mud, bloodied, bruised and burnt after he finally witnessed the vile anger he’d fostered in lûne all these years in some feeble attempt to keep him controlled* gods… what have I created?…

#Falûne Tav #Gortash bg3 #filthy greasy man only wanted his power #lûne just wanted to be loved #Keldran Oc #father keldran oc

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nikkilotte · 11 months ago

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New Year's Evil: Scarecrow.

⸻ Jonathan Crane: curiosities & theories.

The story is one of the few told through Jonathan's eyes, explaining that he can spend weeks digging into people's minds. Analyzing them. NYE describes how he acts during this progress of "sowing the seed of horror." He follows his prey, perusing them, and waits until a specific moment to "attack." Scarecrow even went one step further to keep Batman distracted from saving Becky by spraying his fear toxin on the people in the subway.

These panels reminded me of his interactions with Mr. Saint in Fear State. Obviously, he acts a little more "quirky" in this comic, but these traits are present ( are constant ). You can even catch him watching from the roof how his plans are going. Please, isn't the first time he has done that! It seems he likes to watch from above.

Now, when you think about a comic that made a fantastic work bringing back his design from BTAS, the first name that will get into your mind is Fear State ( with Jonathan Crane ). But New Year's Evil seemed to draw inspiration from his BTAS version too. The shape of his face and hairstyle are similar ( Except for his chin ), including his pointed ears and nose. The colorist kept his red hair trait, being redder in this version. And the costume design also shares some similarities to his BTAS costume. Namely, the mask and color scheme.

Another detail related to BTAS that caught my attention ( More like a personal interpretation ) is how Jonathan referred to Becky.

I'm sure you have seen this scene where he greets Harley with a "Good evening, child." Well, he referred to Becky in a similar way ( detractingly ). However, I would love to point out that it seems he calls other people "child" as a way of superiority. Considering that Harley is in her late 20s in BTAS ( Pamela is 28, according to "Pretty Poison" ), and Becky is a university student ( not a child or teenager. I will talk about this in my next post ), it could prove my point here.

Fun fact. Masters of Fear introduced his childhood backstory in 1995. This comic mentions part of the said backstory, showing an akin panel. If NYE shares a similar timeline, it could mean that Jonathan is 23 ( Read this post with some math ).

Not to excuse his villainous acts, but I will dare to say this. It fascinates me how Jonathan's heart was touched by two girls who shared his pain from his past. Plucky Becky thanked Scarecrow for showing her fears, expressing how he helped her realize how wrong her way of coping and thinking was, making Jonathan tear up a little. Let's remember that Scarecrow saw himself in Becky's fear and pain. Listening to her talk about her past could drag him to act so erratically, thinking that he had the right way of coping, excusing himself, "I'm not helping, but breaking her."

Obviously, Becky's situation was completely unintended. He wasn't looking to help her in any way at the beginning. But, curiously, this situation repeated itself in Cycle of Violence. Scarecrow kidnapped a girl to experiment with his fear toxin. This little girl, though, started to be kind to him, understanding his stutter and gifting him a drawing, trying to persuade him to let her go. Her words touched him deeply, seeing himself in this little girl's fear, remembering the torture that his own father made him go through. So then, he almost died protecting this kid from an explosion.

It could be me, but I see a clear pattern. It's interesting how Jonathan can be contradictory with his actions, and his heart can be sincerely touched when someone genuinely understands him. But he has a trauma and refuses to let it go, convinced that his way of coping ( lashing out ) is the right one. This is why I loved Becky's introduction, for being a mirror for Jonathan Crane.

#nikki talk.#new year's evil scarecrow #jonathan crane #becky albright #batman

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leahnardo-da-veggie · 10 months ago

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Heroes

It was a sweltering afternoon when I decided to kill my friends.

I was waiting for them at the back gate to our school, idly flipping through the news as I lounged against the wall.

It was the same as usual. The 'Vile Villain', Lord Subjugator, had begun causing chaos in the city, and our resident superhero trio, the Rangers, had to step in and save the day. Lame.

Call me odd, but I'd never liked supers. They were always so self-righteous, pretending to be so morally superior and perfect. They acted as though their vigilante justice was a gift rather than a pain in the ass, and that we all ought to kiss their feet.

Jeannine popped up in the corner of my vision, and I greeted her with a smile. But her normally sunny face was set in a frown. I turned to quiet Cel and broad, athletic Vic, who were equally solemn. "Guys? What's going on?"

Jean sighed. "Perhaps it's best to tell you at your place. I think you're going to need a seat for this," she admitted.

What had happened? Had they been expelled? Had Mrs Leo found out about the chalk incident? Had someone's parents died? "Okay," I said, patting her on the arm reassuringly.

The walk home passed in disturbing silence. Vic twitched at every little move, Cel sulked and Jean strode on with grim determination.

I had known these guys since we were in diapers. We kept no secrets between ourselves. I knew them like the back of my hand, and I knew of nothing that could have them so spooked.

I led my best friends into the house, only to find my parents staring at me sternly. "Alright, what the hell's going on?"

My mother, still beautiful in her fifth decade, shook her head sadly. "There's something important you need to know, Mara," she said.

"We're the Rangers!" Cel blurted the words out, and I stared at her in blank shock.

"Is this a joke? You're kidding me, right?" I gave her an incredulous smile and turned back to my mother. "What's the actual news?"

My mother's lips quirked downwards. "We're the Rangers. Well, to be precise, they're the Rangers and your father and I are their auxiliaries."

Misunderstanding my expression, she added, "That means we help out when they need extra manpower."

I didn't move, but I could feel anger bubbling in my chest, thick as molasses. They had to be pulling my leg. My parents, my best friends, were all supers? I waited for them to stop joking.

"Mara," my father said patronisingly, "it was for your own good. If you knew when you were younger, you'd only feel jealous that they had things you didn't. And it would make you a target! We were just trying to keep you safe."

For my own good, I thought. Like I didn't know well enough to decide for myself. Like I was some sort of child or pet, to be coddled and lied to. I could see it now, how my parents always deferred to them, how my friends were always babying me. Had they only befriended me because of my parents? Were they the children my parents always wanted?

I met Jean's gaze and forced a smile. "So, you must be Yellow Ranger, then?" The words practically choked me with their false friendliness. I wanted to scream at them, to curse them out. How long had they known? Had I been nothing but a pet to them this whole time? Was my whole life a lie?

Still I forced a sickeningly sweet smile when Jean nodded enthusiastically. "Cos I'm sunny and cheerful, you know? And Cel's blue cos she's the calm one. And of course that makes Vic the Red, cos he's passionate." She heaved a sigh of relief.

"I'm so glad you're taking this well," Vic told me. He had the softest heart; how could he have betrayed me like this? Where had his empathy gone? "Your father was afraid you wouldn't be sensible. But we know you. You're so understanding."

Understanding? Yes, I understood. I understood they had lied to me. Sensible? The only sensible response was to scream my lungs out. But I held my ground. They saw me as a fool, a pet they kept around out of… What, pity? Amusement? To affirm their egos?

And now I supposed they expected me to fawn over them. Even as the rage in my chest built to a steaming, broiling cauldron, I smiled. "So," I said, feigning awe, "Why'd you decide to tell me now?"

Cel grasped my forearms. Her fingers burned with falsehoods, but I matched her expression like the pet they thought I was. "Because we found the Subjugator's hideout, and we're going to stop him tomorrow. And you know, we were kinda hoping you'd celebrate with us. Bake us a cake, since your food's so good. I just want you to be a part of our festivities, even though you're not a super like us."

A super like them. There it was again, the damn supers thinking themselves superior to me.

Did they think I was a good dog, to run about at their feet, adore them, play fetch and roll over? Well, they were about to find out that this dog was all bite and no bark.

No, this dog wasn't going to give them a warning bark at all. This dog would play nice until it sunk its teeth into their traitorous super flesh. "Of course! But I'm curious: Where's his hideout? Surely it must have been really well hidden?"

My mother laughed. "Can you believe it was hidden in plain sight all along? Right in the skyscraper over there. He's listed under Evil Inc. It was like he was waving himself right under our noses." She shook her head. "Honestly, I'm embarrassed that we didn't see it sooner. Even a normie would have been able to catch him."

Normie. The word sent a paroxysm of pure lividity through my veins, like a shot of adrenaline. Of course supers had a degrading nickname for the people they supposedly protected. I let out a hollow laugh, bile rising at the back of my throat. I'll kill you all, I promised myself. I'll make you pay for your lies.

But I went into the kitchen like a good little girl and began taking out the ingredients for a cake. "Why don't you guys go and plan your big event? I'll just be here baking. I'm sure it was a pain to keep everything from me all those years ago," I said casually, even as my hands itched for the knife lying tantalisingly within reach.

"Oh, it's not all that hard for us supers to hide things, what with our x-ray vision and invisibility powers," my mother said cheerily. "Maybe someday your father can take you flying! Now, wouldn't that be fun?"

Her words hit me like a metal slug to the chest. Of course I couldn't kill a super, let alone five of them. They had super-speed, super-strength, super-whatever. Anything I could do, they could do better. If I wanted to take them down (and gods I did, I wanted them to know they weren't the all powerful nigh-gods they thought they were), I had to be smart.

I took out my sieve and placed it on a metal bowl. In went two hundred grams of flour and a teaspoon of baking powder, a recipe repeated into muscle memory. Preheated the oven to a hundred eighty. Quietly, bitterly, I tapped the sieve. It thwacked satisfyingly but failed to drown out the excited voices just outside my door.

I knew what they thought. I was just a normie, what could I contribute? No, better to simply give me a minor chore to look cute on the news when they discovered me. That was the truth. I was just one little toy dog to trot out for the press to coo over, one more example of the stellar kindness of the supers. I slapped the sieve with renewed fury.

So the press wouldn't help me. They were too busy kissing the ass of my lying traitors. The police? No, they were worse than useless. They were grateful that the supers were doing their job for them. I couldn't do it on my own, of course. So that left just one thing.

Lord Subjugator. He would help me. And I didn't care if he was a genocidal psychopath with a fetish for mass enslavement, so long as he brought those bastards down. They thought I was harmless, that lying to me didn't matter? They thought I was a toy to take out of my box and put back in as they pleased, a little diversion from their 'true' lives. They would be proven wrong.

I pulled two eggs out of the fridge. I knew where he was. I could look for him. I smashed their shells against another bowl, picturing my parents' heads shattering, their selfish super brains leaking out.

I didn't bother bringing out the electric whisk. I had too much pent up resentment, poured into the whirring of my whisk like it was another ingredient.

No, I didn't care about good or evil, law or chaos. I just hated them for lying to me. I added in the milk, and the butter. The mixture turned a frothy yellow. Melted Yellow Ranger, I thought vindictively, and folded in the flour.

It was done, and all too fast. I poured the batter into an oiled pan. That went into the oven. 17 minutes.

Outside, I heard them discussing their responses to the press. The idea of introducing me to them. Discussing me within earshot, as though I weren't intelligent enough to understand. I dumped the bowls, whisk and spatula into the basin and began scrubbing them.

"Smells wonderful," my father said, ruffling my hair. I resisted the urge to snap at him. "We ordered some pizza, come eat with us when you're done." He began to walk out of the room, then turned around. "You know, most kids dream of being friends with the Rangers. I know it's a big shock, but you should be more grateful, Mara sweetie. We're doing a great service to the city."

I didn't want to be friends with the Rangers. I wanted to be friends with Vic, Cel and Jean. I didn't want to be in their shadow, pattering after them and offering up baked treats. I wanted to be their equal. But I didn't say that either, only continued scrubbing the bowl.

There was a veiled warning there, however. I had to be more convincing. I plastered on a grin. As the final bowl was doused in water, I heard the doorbell ring. It was the pizza, of course. The very idea of eating with those traitors made me want to hurl, but I forced myself out of my little kitchen-sanctum.

Settling down in a corner of my dining room, I had never felt so much like a stranger in my own home. The pizza tasted empty, like soggy cardboard. The buzz of my traitor-friends' voices scratched at my ears.

Barely forcing down two pieces of pizza, I dashed for the cake when it was done, grateful to be free from the inane lies of those bastards, who persisted in pretending they had not betrayed me. It hurt, a hollow gnawing anger-sorrow that made me feel cold, alone and helpless.

I wanted to grab the cake with my bare hands, to feel the burn, to imagine the pain was theirs and not mine. But I put on my gloves and emptied the tin onto a cooling rack.

"Mum, Dad, guys," I said, the words sour and rotten on my tongue, "I'm gonna take a walk while the cake rests. See y'all later."

And then I was out the door. The evening gust of wind was cooling on my face. It whipped my clothes, tossed my hair about, and blew away my sorrows.

I wanted to be picked up and carried away by it, to leave these liars who wore my beloved family's faces and ate at my table. I didn't know what they got out of lying to me my whole life. Now that they were out of sight, the rage in my veins had congealed to loss.

Nonetheless, my grief changed nothing. They, those bastards who thought themselves the arbiters of my life, had to go. I pulled out my bike, a reminder of all the great moments my friends-who-were-never-my-friends had with me.

Tears welled up in my eyes as I rode down the street, headed for the building where the Subjugator resided. I wanted to run back into the arms of my parents, to confide in my friends. But they were dead to me. "Dead, and six feet under," I told myself, and nearly believed it.

I mean, what was I supposed to do? Roll over like a good dog and spend the rest of my days at their heels, forever lesser than them? No, I wasn't that sort. I was the star student, the winner of competitions, the perfect kid. I was better than them. I was the best, and if I wasn't, I would be. The idea of everyone around me being supers; the idea of them being better than I could ever be; I couldn't deal with it. I just could not.

So I pedalled faster, pumping my legs, swerving around curbs, ignoring red lights and cars with reckless abandon. A part of me wondered if I could just die here, flying down the streets to betray those who betrayed me. I couldn't close my eyes and pretend nothing had changed, but perhaps I could close my eyes permanently.

I didn't, in case you were wondering. I made it all the way to the home of Evil Inc. and parked my bike with a sense of resignation.

The skyscraper hung ominously above me as I walked into the lobby. A bored receptionist raised an eyebrow as I went by, but said nothing. Apparently she wasn't paid enough to stop suspicious teenagers in their school uniforms.

I stared at the directory, scrolling until I found Evil Inc on the list. #66-6. Of course it was, I thought, stifling a laugh.

The lifts were arranged neatly, and opened with sleek smoothness. Their innards were lined with mirrors, creating a dozen clones of me still in a greying school uniform. We stood together in silent solidarity as the lift glid up, arms crossed, ever so slightly hunched in anxiety.

When the doors opened, I reluctantly left my mirror images behind. It had been comforting to see them by my side, the friends I never had, the ones who wouldn't leave me. But they did, as all friends were wont to do.

As I stood in the lobby of Evil Inc., looking at the glossy signs, I realised my mother was right on one account: How the hell had anyone missed this?

It screamed evil genius with an temerity that almost amounted to insanity. The jet black linoleum floor, with its streaks of blood red, was by far the worst offender, though the metal inventions, often spiky and threatening, gave it a run for its money. I would have been scared, or at least intimidated, but the overall effect was too frivolous.

"Hello? Anybody in here? I've got some information that-"

"Shut!" The Subjugator walked out, waving a long finger at me. He looked exactly like a stereotypical villain, with slicked back dark hair and a monocle. The overall effect was surprisingly handsome, in a lanky, well dressed way. "I know what you're here for, Mara, daughter of the Ranger Auxiliaries. You understand, don't you?"

I paused, thinking through all that I knew of him. Then it occurred to me. "Yes," I said, "I think I understand. This- This whole evil thing, it's just a facade. You're like me. You hate the supers." The curling smile on his lips told me all I needed. "Was it the press who made up all the crap about you, or the supers?"

He shrugged. "Whoever made it up, they made sure to make me as vile as possible. They'll make one out of you too, when they find out you've defected." He gestured. "Come in, child of the supers. Come in and leave your sadness behind. This is a place of revenge, not regret."

I followed right on his heels. The inner rooms of Evil Inc abandoned all pretence at villainy, adopting a bland, beige palette. "What made you do this?" I meant: Who betrayed you?

"Your father did, of course," the Subjugator said. "I was trying to analyse the genetics of the supers, work out what made them different. So I took his samples, us being the best of friends, and mine, as controls." He snorted. "Some controls they were. It took a while to realise that my machine was working just fine, and your father had ruined my experiment with his faulty super genes! Of course, he and his precious hero friends silenced me and threw my life's work away in the name of 'the greater good', to protect their identities. Truth is, they think a super's life is worth more than a normal person's."

Thinking back to their treatment of me, I nodded. "We're just dogs to them. Roll over, sit and beg for them. That's all they think us capable of doing."

The Subjugator smiled again. "You truly are a kindred spirit. Let me show you around. Perhaps I shall find myself in need of an assistant."

I gave him a hopeful grin in return. "I was wondering something. If you knew who the Rangers were all along, why haven't you stopped them yet?"

He paused just before the door, turning around with a confused expression. "I don't know who the Rangers truly are. Why would you say that- Unless?" He raised an eyebrow at me.

I nodded. "My closest friends, believe it or not. Celia Naretza, Jeannine Vera, and Victor Lee. Blue, Yellow and Red respectively."

The look of sympathy that came over his face told me that I had chosen the right confidante. "So those closest to your heart are supers, then? I can only imagine how much it must sting, to be trapped in their shadow." He rested a hand on my shoulder. "I bet they told you because they thought you insignificant. We'll prove them wrong. Completely, utterly wrong."

The sudden ferocity in his gaze startled me, but it kindled a kindred fury within my chest, rewarming the sluggish loathing that had settled on my ride out. "Bet," I said, and grabbed his other hand to shake it.

The Subjugator nodded. "In that case, call me Dale," he told me. "That's my true name."

"You already know who I am, Dale," I said, mostly just to try the name out. Its plainess sounded odd on such an audacious man. "So are we going in there?" I put my hand on the door handle that led even deeper into Evil Inc.

"Of course," he said, opening the door to reveal yet another bland hallway. "I'll bring you straight to my invention room. You can tell me about the Rangers there."

The invention room turned out to be dominated by a laser, with various tools scattered about. It was huge, practically the size of my school gym, but possessed only a single chair. I perched on it while Dale made us tea with a small, well used boiler in the corner of the room. "I know coffee is more typical, but I've never gotten accustomed to the bitterness," he confided, sliding a chipped cup over to me. "So, tell me, little Mara, who are the Rangers?"

"They're my classmates," I began, not willing to call those traitors friends, "and are all in the 10th Grade of Bleugarde Secondary. Victor is on the basketball team, Celia plays the flute in the school band, and Jeannine is a member of the theatre club. They do decently in school, but I've always gotten higher than them. We met when I was 4 years old. My family had just moved into the house in between Jeannine's and Vic's, with Celia's just across the street. We all started 1st grade together." I caught myself abbreviating Victor's name and swallowed. I had been closest to him, after all. His betrayal stung the most.

"Their parents? Pets? Anything we could use against them?" Dale scribbled a few notes on a scrap of paper and looked up. "Personal information is good and all, but I'm going to need their weaknesses."

I paused, thinking. "Victor's dad lost his job recently, and Celia's mother cheated on her husband a couple years back, so they're divorced. Apart from that? Nothing. They're a pretty normal bunch, if you don't know about their powers. In any case, I doubt you've got enough time to stop them before they attack tomorrow."

He froze. "They're attacking tomorrow? And you didn't see fit to tell me earlier?" His voice cracked, though with horror or rage, I was not sure.

"I- I thought you already knew," I said, instantly defensive. "You said you knew why I came, so I thought you knew about it all." Was I already going to lose him, so soon?

He sighed. "I suppose that was my mistake. At least we found out now, rather than tomorrow morning. As it stands, our timeline has just been shortened significantly. I hope you're as smart as you claim, because this stuff isn't for fools." He didn't sound particularly angry with me, only resigned. "If they're attacking first thing tomorrow, there's no time to recall my staff, not without alerting them. Which leaves just you and me. Never thought I'd be leading an attack on the Rangers alongside a fifteen year old."

I coughed awkwardly. "I'm only 13. I skipped two years, took the placement test early. My mother always said it was good of the others to look after me. I had thought it was because they were older, but I suppose it was truly because they were supers and I wasn't." I hated them for that too. I would have rather been mercilessly picked on than be sheltered by those who thought less of me.

Dale shook his head ruefully. "This is a disaster. An absolute disaster, but we shall make the best of it." He put his cup down and walked over to the laser. "This is honestly all you'll need to know about. It's my second best work— The first, of course, being the one I was never allowed to publish." We shared a moment of bitter silence in the name of everything the supers had destroyed. "I call her Athena. She's quite simple, honestly. An honest-to-badness disintegration ray. Voice activated. Just say 'execute', wait a minute for it to power up, then say b-e-g-i-n. Works best if you yell, of course."

I watched, fascinated, as the laser slowly whirred to life. It was so subtle, I would hardly have realised it was activated had he not told me of it. "That's one quiet machine," I told him. "It's amazing."

Dale grinned at me, the expression handsome enough to make me blush. "I know," he said, sighing in delight. "I thought about flashiness, but there's just style in having it this way. It autotargets supers, too!"

He regarded his inventions with the pride of a father. "In my earlier prototypes, it heated up a great deal. A little liquid cooling, piped to the air conditioning vents outside, fixed that. My secretary always said she knew when I power it up, because we end up paying a fortune in electrical fees."

"Wait, how did you get the money to fund all this?" It did not appear as though a poor inventor could possibly finance such hefty equipment and an office in the central business district. "Are you rich?"

"Rich? Heavens, no. I'm afraid the truth is rather more dreary. I sell my inventions to munitions companies. This darling is one of the few I kept for myself. It would have made a fortune, but I cannot bear to part with it. Perhaps, when I invent something greater, I will find it within me to sell my precious away." He rested his hand on my shoulder. "So, Mara, what do you make of this? Of the scourge of Metropolis?"

I shrugged. "You're cool. Cooler than I thought some crusty old dude holed up in his office making lasers would be." I giggled at his feigned outrage. "And it's nice to have a friend who I know isn't a super."

"It is, isn't it? I can't stand how well they blend in with us proper folk. That's why I kept my genetics test around. All of my employees take it, so I can root out all the supers," he told me.

I nodded my approval. "Thank goodness for that. I can't imagine-" My words were cut off as the door slammed open, revealing my traitor family and friends, accompanied by a horde of armed police. Dale thrust me behind him, as though he wanted to protect me from them.

"Ladies. Gentlemen. Supers," Dale said, reverting to his facade of the over-the-top villain. "How can I help you?"

"You can start by returning my daughter, you bastard. Don't drag her into our feud," my father snarled.

"I came here of my own will! I'm not some dog for you to control, and I won't spend the rest of my life waiting on you and the Rangers!" The words escaped my mouth in a yell, far more whiny than I would have liked. "You'll have to drag my cold, dead corpse home."

"Why?" Victor still looked bewildered. "What did we do wrong?"

"Wrong?" I practically shrieked the words. "You're supers! You lied to me, this whole time. Was any of it ever real? Was I just some fucking pet to you? Did you even care about me?"

Celia wept. "No, Mars, we never meant to hurt you. Mum told me I had to keep everything under wraps, and your parents said not to tell you. Please, come back to us."

For a moment, I almost believed them. "Don't ever call me Mars again. You aren't my friends. You aren't anything except a bunch of traitorous supers. Dale's my friend now." I grabbed his hand and stepped shoulder to shoulder with him. Well, it was more shoulder to chest, but the thought was what counted.

"Are you insane? Kid, get back! What if they shoot?" Dale pulled me in closer, trying to get me behind him.

"Then we die, together. I'm done being their pet. I am my own person, and I will not cow to them," I told him. "Kill me or leave me be!"

The police deferred to my parents, who looked increasingly distraught. Of course they did. The PR fallout from this would be terrible. My father shook his head sadly. "Mara, did we not pay you enough attention? Is that what this is? A cry for help? We've tolerated enough selfishness from you. Come home, now." The force put into his voice made me flinch, but I stood my ground.

"No. You heard me. I'd rather die." I lifted my chin. "Kill me or leave me be."

"This is all your fault, Dale. You corrupted her," my mother snarled, her mascara streaking down her face. "You let me daughter go, this instant."

Dale, bless his heart, shook his head. "She's not some toy. She's a person, and people belong together, not surrounded by your kind."

My mother's eyes went wide, as though she had been shot. I could see the murder in her eyes, and threw myself in front of Dale as she grabbed the nearest gun. But I had forgotten: Supers had super speed and super aim.

He never stood a chance, toppling to the floor like a ragdoll, with me clutching him in my arms. "You killed him," I whispered, staring at the hole in his forehead in disbelief. "You killed him. He was my friend!" All friends left me, I had thought earlier, and Dale was no different. We had a million futures together, as friends, as student and mentor, as partners, and it was all gone in the blink of an eyes.

"You." I stumbled to my feet, the last pieces of my plan falling into place. "This is all your fault. You supers are a blight on humanity. All of you." My lips quirked into a smile. "Begin."

"What?" Jeannine shook her head. "You've gone bonkers, Mara. We're people just like yo-" Athena's laser sliced through her, swift, silent and deadly. Her severed head fell like a stone, and the laser instantly moved on the Victor. He had no time to register his death either, the only mercy I was willing to give him.

It came as a pleasant shock to watch Athena decimate the bastards who had turned my life upside down. One by one, they fell, with only my mother seeing her death come at her. She died looking as betrayed as I felt. I took two steps forward, until I stared at the police. "Scram, before I decide to point my laser at your lot."

They didn't wait a second, fleeing like the cowards they were. "Good," I murmured, once they had left. "I didn't know how to train it on them anyways." I turned to Dale and smoothed back a stray hair. "I'm sorry, my friend. You don't deserve to die alongside super scum. I'll make it up to you, I promise."

I took a deep breath. "The world will come to rue the day it angered The Bitterness, and the supers will quake in their lycra suits. For I will exact my revenge, and it shall be long and agonizing."

I strode out to the glass window. It had a wonderful view of Metropolis, the sprawling city of the supers. I opened the window, letting the wind run through my messy, bloodsoaked hair. I inhaled the breeze. Then I screamed.

"Down with the supers!"

#my writing #writing #anti hero #unreliable narrators #This is my first narrative based piece pls be kind #Writeblr #creative writing #writers of tumblr #Heroes #Idk what genre this is #superheroes

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