#my head would be nowhere near as big as it is now and I might even be liable to forget how tasty I am

[somaligovernment]

.

[astermath]

second chance ₓₒ⋆:

pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader

summary: steve decides to ask out the girl who he keeps seeing around hawkins with her nose in a book. he’s a little surprised when he gets brutally rejected, only to find out his “king steve” era is haunting him more than he expected. he attempts to make it up to you and show you he’s changed, even if it takes him a couple of tries.

word count: 4.8K (oops)

warnings: cursing, no use of y/n, bullying, regular size font below!

notes: first time writing for steve YES I HAVE FALLEN IN LOVE WITH HIM! YES IT IS THE FAULT OF ALL THE GOOD FIC WRITERS ON HERE! and thus,, I had to participate,, I hope I got his character down, I might write more for him so let me know if you’d like to be added to the tag list for further steve harrington related content!

tagging some writers who have absolutely inspired me to write this with their own incredible fics, be sure to check them out <3 @hungharrington @sunshinesteviee @ghostlyfleur @lilacletter​ @stevenose​ 

As a teenager, you’d grown to hate Hawkins. It was a mundane, small town with boring people, not much to do, not to mention the weird supernatural rumors you’d hear about every other week. 

But nothing was worse than your high school, Hawkins High. There was a strong social hierarchy, with you firmly placed at the bottom. You were a class A nerd, getting good grades, and always reading to distract yourself from your lack of a social life. So naturally, you got picked on a lot. At first it was just some girls in your class, laughing at your big glasses and the way you dressed. But as you got older, you’d caught the eye of so called “king Steve” and his goons.

You’d heard plenty about him by junior year; how rich his parents were, how he was the best at sports, how every girl practically dropped to their knees when he entered a room. He’d started noticing you when his friend Carol pointed you out, sitting alone on a bench outside school, waiting for your dad to pick you up. His finger had pushed your book down so he could look at your face, and you were soon met with his all too cocky grin. 

“Watcha readin’, four eyes?” The ego was nearly dripping off his words, making your stomach turn.

“None of your business.” you pulled your book away, keeping a finger between the pages you were on. “Doubt it’s near your reading level anyways, Harrington.” You may have been nerdy, but you were no pushover. If they wanted to be condescending, then you’d play their game right back at them.

“That’s no way to treat your king, is it?” Tommy chimed in, like a parrot on his shoulder. You were sure that guy would be nowhere without his friend’s reputation, considering he had the personality of a wet sock.

“My king?” You repeated, raising an eyebrow. “Can’t you just leave me alone?” You tried putting your book away, but Carol had snatched it from your hands just before you could reach your bag.

“Oooh, is this your diary or somethin’?” she flipped it open, shit eating grin plastered over her face as she ran her nail over your name written on the opening page. 

“Do you mind? Give it back!” you’d reached out to grab it from her, but she’d already tossed it back to Steve, who was now holding it high above his head. 

“Come and get it sweetheart,” He smirked. “Might have to get real close for it though.” Tommy laughed like a hyena at his taunting, and you swore you would have punted him if they didn’t outnumber you. 

You scowled, ready to just grab your bag and make a swing for it. “Over my dead body, Steve.” You spat his name, and he grinned at your response. 

“Ahh, shouldn’t have said that.” He dropped the book down into the muddy puddle in front of you, stepping on it to make matters worse. 

You watched, mouth slightly agape as tears welled up in your eyes. Carol cackled while you stood frozen, clutching your bag as you watched the pages soak up the filthy water under his foot. You had every reason not to like Steve, he was like every movie’s description of a high school bully. But he’d destroyed something personal of yours. So now you had every reason to hate Steve.

And the bullying never stopped there. He’d laugh when Carol put her gum in your hair, when Tommy would bump into you extra hard in the hallway, when you’d turn around every time you saw him.

So when graduation came, you couldn’t be happier to get out of there and go to college.

Except your dad got fired from his job. And so, after just a year of college, you’d abandoned your dream of majoring in English literature and returned to the sad, miserable old town you grew up in. 

So you’d taken on a job in your local bookstore, hoping to make enough money to rent an apartment anywhere else soon. You spent the rest of your time reading and writing, usually outside to get some inspiration. You weren’t surprised to see a lot of familiar faces, though you’d never actually spoken to most of them. College was expensive, and a lot of people from Hawkins were just going straight into working than bothering to study. Or maybe some were in the same unfortunate position as you, tragically locked to your hometown.

You were sat outside the backside of the mall, listening to people’s conversations around you. Though you were never much of a socialite, you were very interested in the way people interacted with one another, especially if they were from completely different backgrounds than you.

Two books sat besides you, knees brought up close to your chest as your papers leaned against your legs. You messily wrote down strings of sentences and words of inspiration, a description of what you were seeing too, every now and then. You were an aspiring writer, hoping your literary skills would one day break you out of your current situation, but with the current state of the world, that’s all you could really be. Hopeful.

You were daydreaming about the life you’d build for yourself, finger running over the tip of your pen. You were so involved in your own train of thoughts, you almost hadn’t noticed the sudden new presence besides you. 

“Watcha writin’, pretty girl?” 

The voice sounded familiar. A little too familiar for your liking, actually. You kept your eyes on the page, hoping you conveying your disinterest was working in driving the guy away. You sighed, clicking the pen a few times. “Do you really care, or do you just wanna bother me?”

You could hear a faint chuckle, and you’d be lying if you said it didn’t sound nice. Still, you were working, and you preferred not to be disturbed when you were.

“You got me there,” the guy spoke, and you could tell he’d moved a little closer, because you could now smell a sliver of his cologne. “Was never one for books, but I’ve been wanting to read more. What is this, Pride and Prejudice?” He picked up one of the books, and you turned, about to take it from when your eyes landed on his face, freezing midway when you finally realized why he sounded so familiar.

Steve motherfucking Harrington.

Same cocky smile, same brown eyes, same somehow always perfectly styled hair, and probably same asshole altogether.

You squinted slightly, not sure if you were hallucinating or not. “... Steve Harrington?” You question, and you could tell he doesn’t quite know how to react at first.

Truth be told, Steve had changed. A lot. All the things he’d gone through, the connections he’d made, the ego checks he got, it made him a new man. Or so he definitely liked to believe. But he was also painfully aware of his reputation, his old persona still haunting him sometimes. Still, he’d never seen you before, so he hoped it was a relatively positive image you had of him.

“I guess my reputation precedes me,” he smiled, and you think it’s the first time you’d ever seen him genuinely smile. Not the smile he gave you when his friends were teasing you, no, this one was much softer. “Or maybe... We’ve met before?”

And then it clicked.

Steve had no clue who you were.

Sure, you’d developed a better sense of style over the years. You no longer needed braces, you had grown into your body better, and your glasses fit your face a lot more. But you didn’t think you changed that much. Besides, your personality had remained the same. You were still the sharp tongued, book loving, nerdy girl he’d bullied back then.

It was true, he didn’t recognize you. He was almost certain you were new in town, telling his best friend Robin that if he knew you, he’d definitely recognize a face that pretty. She had no clue who he was talking about, this mysterious girl he’d seen reading and writing all over Hawkins, so she just told him to make a move. So he did.

“So uh,” He leaned his arm over the backside of the bench, facing you. “I was wondering if you’d maybe like to go out sometime. Y’know, catch a movie, go to the arcade, whatever you’d like to do for fun, uh...” he flipped the book open on the first page, reading your name aloud. And then it clicked for him too. You weren’t new here, and you most certainly knew him. He looked back up at you, already getting ready to apologize when you snatched the book from his hands and got up. 

“Go fuck yourself, ‘king Steve’.” You scowled, shoving your stuff in your bag and angrily walking off.

He had to admit, that stung, hearing you use his old nickname like that, and then watching you storm off. He was starting to realize that there were more consequences to his high school endeavors than he’d initially imagined, that he couldn’t just move on and pretend that he was a new person now. He had to make things right. Starting with you, the pretty girl with the glasses. 

“And-- and then, wait for it-- I look into the book, right?” Steve stands behind the counter of Family Video, hands motioning vividly as he tells his friend about what had happened the day before.

Robin nods, mumbling some kind of “uhuh” as she continues to organize the shelves.

“And it’s her! It’s four eyes!” He exclaims, looking expectantly at his colleague, hoping for a big reaction.

“I’m sorry, who?” Robin’s face contorts in confusion, turning to face him with a hand on her hip.

“Shit, uh, she was like always reading and stuff, and she had these-- these glasses, they were way too big for her face, and--”

His sentence was cut short by the jingle of the door opening, and the two of them looked to see you there, who was clearly not expecting a welcome committee. Your gaze crossed Steve’s, and for a moment he felt like you were about to kill him with just your stare. You rolled your eyes, scoffing audibly and started looking through the shelves.

Robin looked at Steve, mouthing a “is that her”, to which he nodded stealthily. She replied by smiling approvingly, as if she now understood exactly why he wanted to make things right. You were really pretty, she could definitely see that.

You damn near slammed down the tape you wanted to rent for the day on the counter, avoiding eye contact as you looked through your bag for your wallet.

“Are you already registered at Family Video or—“

“No.” You cut him off, head snapping up.

“Alright,” Steve nodded, slightly intimidated. “I’ll just need your name and phone number for the registry.”

You stared at him for a few moments, eyebrows knitting together in confusion. Did he really think you were that stupid?

“Are you fucking—“ You looked over at his colleague. “Is he fucking with me?”

Robin shook her head slowly, slightly intimidated. Though she could see why he had to work his way up to talking to you, she had to admit, it was quite funny seeing Steve actually struggle talking to a girl like this.

“We need it in case you don’t return the tape.” He gave you a thin lipped, awkward smile as he got the keyboard out to type it in.

“Fine,” You huffed, “but if I get a personal call from you, I’m changing numbers.” You started to list your phone number and complete your registration. You just wanted to watch the Breakfast Club for christ’s sakes, this was taking ages…

“That’ll be 10 dollars,” he put on a sweet, almost customer service-y smile, “please.”

“Yeah, fine, just—“ You rummaged through your bag, brows furrowing when you still couldn’t manage to find your wallet. You were certain you had it, although you did grab your stuff in a bit of a rush that morning. “I swear it’s here, it’s just under all this other stuff…”

You were about to dump the contents of your bag onto the counter when Steve held up his hand, pulling out his own wallet. “It’s fine, I got it.” He deposited 10 dollars of his own into the cash register, sliding the tape back over to you along with a receipt. “Courtesy of Steve Harrington.”

You looked down at the tape, and something in you wanted to smile. You were still getting used to this, guys doing nice things for you because you were pretty, but it was different from Steve. You were mad at him, and rightfully so. Te, measly dollars wasn’t going to cut it.

You muttered a “thanks”, stuffing the tape in your bag and waving Robin a quick goodbye before speed walking back outside. Your cheeks burned hot, and you hated to admit it, but it was a really cute gesture from Steve.

“She seems nice.” Robin said, watching Steve’s expression falter with a bit of an amused grin.

Steve leaned his face into his hands, watching you leave through the window. “The nicest.” He sighed, lowering his head to rub his hands over his face. “I’m gonna have to give that another try though.”

Robin chuckled, going back to the task at hand. “Good luck with that, casa nova.”

And so he did. He kept trying. It wasn’t just because he wanted to prove something to himself, he was genuinely intrigued by you. Even back in high school, he wondered what was going on in that head of yours when you’d daydream in class, or when you were writing during breaks. But he knew he’d never hear the end of it from Tommy if he talked to you, so he chose the easy way out. Coping by making fun of you. At least that way, he never had to prove to anyone if he liked you or not.

But it wasn’t fair, not towards you, of course. He never should have treated you that way, and this was his chance of making things right. And maybe finally finding out what was always happening in that pretty mind of yours.

You were stacking books on the shelves at your job, humming a tune to yourself. You liked your job, you always got to buy books at discounted prices and read whenever it was quiet. It was a nice step-up to what would hopefully become a real writing job one day, having your own books sold in a place like this.

“Excuse me,” a voice stirred you from your daydreaming, “I’m looking for something new to read.”

You turned, and as soon as you once again caught sight of Steve, your customer service smile faded into a scowl. “You stalking me now, Harrington?”

He put up his hands in a defensive position. “Woah, jump to conclusions much?” He chuckled nervously. “No, I uh... Robin told me you worked here. So I decided to drop by.” He followed closely behind you as you walked to the back to start stacking the shelves there.

“So what are you really doing here, besides bothering me?” You turned, a book clutched to your chest. It reminded him of how you used to walk the halls, always with a book held over your heart. It was almost poetic, now that he thought about it. He knew books were your comfort, so it only made sense you’d always keep one near.

“Like I told you,” he leaned against one of the shelves, hand slipping down just a tad which almost made him lose composure, “I’m looking for somethin’ new to read.”

You raised an eyebrow, and you had to admit, he had your attention. “You?” You scoffed, followed by an almost mocking chuckle. “Shit, I didn’t even know you could read.”

He pretended to be hurt, hand over his heart as he said your name in an offended tone. “I’m wounded! I’m trying to explore more literature and here I am getting judged!” 

You couldn’t help but giggle, blood rushing to your cheeks from embarrassment. You were supposed to be mad, not humor his flirting, no matter how cute he was. “I uh... Well, I read this book not too long ago. It’s about two lovers who travel the world playing the music together, and one of them dies, so the other has to like, find their own sound...” You realized you were rambling a little, wide eyes looking up at him. “Or... Something like that.”

“Yeah! Yeah, that-- that sounds great. Cool. Totally.” He tried his best to brush off how your eyes were making him feel. So pretty, even when behind your glasses, he could tell how much emotion they held.

“Cool, cool,” now you were the one trying to play it cool, fingers fidgeting with the hardcover you were holding. “I’ll, uhm-- go check our stock really quick.” 

He let you do your thing as he looked around the store, flipping through the pages of random books he found. Truth be told, Steve hadn’t read a single book ever since he stopped being forced to because of high school. Not because he hated reading, he just... Wasn’t very good at it. He’d often mouth along with the words, sentence by sentence, sometimes even whispering them to himself.

You returned not long after, strangely enough, with nothing in hand. “So, I think we ran out, but uh...” You adjusted your glasses. “I can lend you my copy.” You caught your bottom lip between your teeth, nibbling nervously. “If you want.”

Steve was quite surprised by your proposal. He knew how precious your books were to you, but giving one to him? The guy who’d stomped on your own personal property not even that long ago? Damn. Maybe you were just that nice. Which made him feel even worse for treating you like shit.

“Totally! Yeah, uhm, I’ll take good care of it. Like, seriously, I’ll protect it with my life.” He grinned, and you hated how infectious his smile was. 

“Good,” you handed him your copy, and he could tell it was well loved. “I better not find any mud on this one.” He nodded at your comment, swallowing down his guilt at the memory. There was a bookmark at the front, and he could tell by the dozens of sticky tabs sticking out that you were serious about your reading. So he decided to be serious about it too.

“You can give it back whenever you’re done.” You smiled awkwardly, subtly letting him know he could read it at his own pace. “Just come drop it off when you’re ready.” He was about to thank you, when you raised a finger to interrupt him. “In the exact same condition, Harrington.” Though your gesture was sweet, he could tell you still weren’t fully on good terms with him. That was fine by him, he was glad he was making any progress at all, really. 

“Yeah-- yeah, for sure, no problem.” He stood there for a few seconds, book held under his arm as his other hand busied itself running through his hair. “I’ll uh... I’ll see you around.”

You smiled at how nervous he seemed. “Yeah, totally, see you around Steve.” You gave him a quick wave and went back to stocking the shelves.

Steve heart swelled with a familiar feeling as he walked out. He knew you were pretty, gorgeous even, but seeing you smile, and say his name like that... Man, he felt like an even bigger idiot for being such a douche to you back in the day. You were being so nice, and you had absolutely no reason to. He stood outside, thinking of your sweet voice and cute glasses, and clutched the book to his chest.

Huh. That did actually feel kinda nice.

And so he walked home like that, the entire way, with a tight hold on the book. He’d rather die than let it get damaged now.

One of the first things he did when he got home was go to his room, sit down on his bed and open the book. On the first page, you had your name written, and it brought him right back to when he first saw you again. Something inside him feels superficial and shallow for only talking to you now that you look different, but all the circumstances were different too. You’d both grown, matured, he just wished you’d give him more of a chance to show it.

But in a way, he supposed this was the first step to earning your trust.

He’d spent almost the entire night reading, smiling and even chuckling at some of your annotations. He was glad there was a key at the start, so he knew which color meant what. He’d even grabbed a dictionary from downstairs because he didn’t understand some words, but was eager to learn more. Reading your comments made it feel like you were right there with him. They were funny, making him crack a grin at how outraged you could be at some of the characters’ decisions.

He imagined your face when one of your comments mentioned you’d cried, and his heart twisted at the thought. Because he knew what you looked like when you cried, thick tears running over soft cheeks, lashes wet. He’d be lying if he said you didn’t still look pretty, but man, he was now more insistent on proving he’d changed than ever. Maybe his budding crush was helping that a little too.

A little more than a week later, he’d returned to the store you worked to return the book. Frankly speaking you weren’t sure if was actually going to bring it back, let alone in the exact same condition you’d given it to him in.

“So, what did you think?” Your face beamed a sort of excitement you’d only see when your interests were being discussed, and this was definitely one of them. Besides your boss, you never really had anyone to talk to about books. Though Steve was more of an unconventional choice, you enjoyed the conversation nonetheless.

What surprised you even more was that he’d actually read it. Like really, really read it, including your annotations and comments. It warmed your heart to know he had put actual time and effort into enjoying the whole thing, and he looked pretty cute talking about it too.

“But the ending broke my heart, seriously—“

“I know, right? How could she not have forgiven him for not leaving behind the music sheets? It was clearly to help her move on!”

“Ugh, I know! Man, you get it.” He laughed softly, fingers running through his chocolate colored hair.

“Yeah, I guess I do.” You laughed along, the noise in your throat slowly dying out as you got a bit too caught up in the sight of him. Steve Harrington was a handsome young man, that was common knowledge. There was a reason all those girls were always swooning over him, and you hated to admit that you could see where they were coming from. But you didn’t like the overly cocky, flirty side of him you knew in high school. You like this side, the soft, considerate, attentive Steve you’d been getting to know a little better.

Yeah, you were growing fond of him. 

Which is exactly why you’d said yes to hanging out with him at the park the day after. Just “hanging out”, in his own words. He’d been careful not to make the same mistake he did the first time he talked to you, rather easing you into spending time with him one on one. He’d hate to break your trust now that you were finally able to look at him with something other than anger in your eyes.

It was already quite late when the two of you met up. You’d been busy with work, and him with helping out Dustin, so once the two you arrived at the park, it was already dark. You didn’t mind, though. Less chance of other people bothering you. 

You settled on a more secluded area, Steve had even been nice enough to bring a blanket to sit on. You were initially just going to discuss the contents of the latest book he’d borrowed from you, but you had a feeling something else was left to be said.

And he was well aware of this too.

So when you were staring up at the sky, moonlight illuminating your features in a way he’d only seen described in the books he had read, he figured he couldn’t keep talking to you without clearing the air. You deserved that much.

“You know,” he cleared his throat, “I thought about what happened a lot.”

You bring your gaze over to him, tilting your head slightly. “My my, whatever could you mean?” You said, teasingly so. He knew you wanted him to just say it. And who was he to deny you of a justified apology.

He took a deep breath, fingers running through his locks. It had become almost a nervous tic to him.

“I’m really sorry about everything I did.” He said, in the most genuine tone he could muster. “Seriously, I-- I’m just kind of... ashamed, really.” 

You could tell he was struggling to look at you, and you wondered how much thought he’d given this already.

“You never really realize how stupid and insignificant high school shit seems until you get out in the real world, you know? Like-- none of it matters, none of that popularity, shit, and-- and I wish I’d just realized that sooner because now--” He caught sight of your eyes and for a second, completely lost his train of thoughts. He realized he wasn’t getting to the point, suddenly understanding Robin’s need to nervously ramble entirely.

“Point is, I’m really, really sorry for the way I treated you.” His hand inched closer to yours, itching to grab it to emphasize his point. “I’ve changed a lot, and I hope that’s become at least slightly believable.” He smiled nervously, all kinds of possible responses you could give running through his mind.

They all came to a halt when he saw you smile.

That sweet, kind smile he’d seen back in high school and avoided because of how it made him feel.

The same smile that was currently reducing him to a nervous teenage boy with a crush.

“It’s okay, Steve.” You spoke softly, and the words came as a mercy to his overbearing thoughts. Your hand moved over his, and you ran a thumb over his knuckles. His hand was soft, warm, and a little clammy from what you could only assume to be the nerves.

“I’m not gonna make you beg for my forgiveness, don’t worry.” You chuckled, and his heart damn near melted at the sound. He secretly wished they could bottle whatever feeling your laugh gave him, so he could keep it with him in times of need.

“Really?” He tilted his head, brown locks falling in different ways around his face. “Because, like-- I’ll do it. Wait--” He got up on his knees and reached besides the blanket, plucking a stray flower from the grass and kneeling in front of you. He cleared his throat in an exaggerated way, before addressing you with your name. “My dearest, will you please forgive me for being a top shelf douchebag to you before?” 

You couldn’t contain your laugh, feeling your face heat up at the sight of him kneeling in front of you. “Steeeeve!” You exclaimed, hands coming up to cover your face. “Okay, okay, I forgive you!”

He chuckled along with you, reaching out and gently tucking the flower behind your ear. “Alright, well--” he sat down again, now significantly closer than before, turned towards you. “would you perhaps do me the honor of going out with you then?”

You bit your lip, pretending to think about your answer as he looked at you in anticipation. Instead of answering, you leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his plush lips. It was better than you’d imagined, his hand finding its way on your cheek as he melted into it. He made a soft, almost pleading noise, once you pulled away, and you swore he’d never looked prettier. 

“Sure, I’ll go out with you.” You brushed a lock of hair out of his face. “But only because you asked so nicely.”

He grinned. “I’d hope so, after a kiss like that.”

“Shut up.” You muttered, before connecting your lips again.

He would have done so either way. Because you’d officially rendered Steve Harrington speechless. And painfully in love. 

[suuuupernovaaa]

sayrìp 

sayrìp [ˈsaj.ɾɪp̚] adj. handsome, good looking

Anonymous Request: How about Neteyam getting jealous of his best friend calling his dad hot/attractive? friends to lovers ofc.

You jokingly admit that you find Neteyam's father attractive, and he reacts with surprising jealousy.

1,101 words

Today feels like a really good day for a long ride. The sky is clear, it's warm but not too hot, and the wind is mild. Plus, you really don't have a lot going on today; you went hunting early that morning, and that was kind of your only to-do today.

So, a long ride it is.

On your way to the forest, you spot Neteyam Sully, walking by himself. What an unusual sight! Usually the son of Taruk Makto is surrounded by people; family, friends, admirers. Even though you are what you would consider a close friend to him, maybe even his best friend, you rarely get to spend time with just Neteyam.

"Neteyam!" you jog over to him, and he glances over your shoulder. "I'm going for a ride - do you want to join?"

He shrugs. "No, not really."

You stop in your tracks, but he continues walking without another glance back towards you.

His response was cold, almost harsh, and probably the least he's ever spoken to you in one encounter.

You try to think back to your last few interactions, but there's nothing you can pinpoint that might explain such a display towards you.

Neteyam is getting further and further away, and you must decide - follow and demand an explanation, or continue on with his day and hope his tantrum is finished when you return.

But, ah, the weather is so nice - so you decide to take your ride and hope that whatever has upset Neteyam, he's over it by the time your done.

--

Though you left near midday for your ride, the sun is almost set when you return. You feel refreshed, maybe a little wind-burnt, and you know your hair must be a mess, but it was so nice to spend the afternoon doing something you love.

Of course, at the back of your mind the entire time was your interaction with Neteyam earlier. You can't stop wondering, what could possibly be wrong with him?

After you eat with your family, you decide to seek him out and demand an explanation for his attitude.

He isn't hard to find. He's with his family at their home - his parents and youngest sister, Tuk. Lo'ak and Kiri are nowhere to be seen.

"Y/N," Neytiri greets you with a smile. "Have you been riding all day?" She reaches out, grabbing a strand of your hair.

"I have," you reply.

"Tomorrow, I braid this," she says, patting the side of your head. "Come early, it will take a long time. Tuk will help - right, Tuk?"

Eagerly, Tuk agrees, and you're grateful for their help. Neteyam sits by his father, tearing apart his dinner.

"Neteyam, come with me," you say, walking over and extending a hand to him.

He doesn't look up.

"Neteyam Sully! You are going to stand up right now and follow me out of here."

With a nudge from his father and a big huff, Neteyam stands up and walks by you, ignoring your outstretched hand.

Jake raises an eyebrow at you, and you shrug and turn to follow Neteyam. He's already halfway to the forest, and you catch up with him just beyond the tree line.

"Neteyam, stop!" you holler, feeling very frustrated and a little angry yourself, and finally, he listens to something You have to say. Standing in front of him, you throw your hands out to the side. "You are going to tell me why you are so angry with me, right now!"

Neteyam rolls his eyes, looking anywhere but at you.

"This is mean, Neteyam. I don't even know what I did, and you are hurting me."

This seems to finally catch his attention, and he looks down at you. "Maybe you could go and talk to my dad about it."

You furrow your brow and purse your lips in confusion. "Why... would I do that?"

Neteyam crosses his arms, and stares at you silently.

Realization dawns on you, and your cheeks heat up red.

"Did you hear me teasing Kiri about your father being attractive?" you ask. "Oh, no, Neteyam, that's why you're made at me? A joke I made to embarrass Kiri?"

"It didn't sound like a joke," he replies, his tone still cool.

"Of course it didn't, I was trying to embarrass Kiri! You know all the girls her age talk about how handsome and strong Taruk Makto is! I was just teasing her. Do you think I could actually be attracted to your dad?" You throw your arms out in exasperation, but Neteyam remains unmoved. "You are being an idiot! I have grown up near your family, your father is like family to me. You all are."

"Family?"

"Yes!"

"So you don't find any of us attractive?" He uncrosses his arms, and takes a step towards you.

"That's not what I'm saying." You sigh in exasperation. "I have always found you beautiful, Neteyam, and I'm sure you know that."

Though... you're not sure why he would know that. Even though, when you were sure he wasn't paying attention, you would steal glances at Neteyam to admire just how beautiful he was, you'd given him no indication that you'd ever thought of him that way.

"Beautiful?" he asks, raising his brow. His face is softened now, no longer stern, and a hint of a smile plays at his lips.

"Yes, I... well, you are." You wave your hand in front of your face. "Just tell me you are no longer mad at me. And apologize for your behavior earlier."

You hardly have the sentence out of your mouth before Neteyam wraps one arm firmly around your neck, and pulls you to him, stopping when your lips are less than an inch from his.

"I am sorry," he whispers.

You can't help but notice how quickly your heart is beating, and how weak your knees feel - has your best friend always had the ability to make you feel this way?

"I forgive you," you whisper, and close the gap, pressing your lips softly to his in a tentative kiss.

He turns your tentative kiss into something ferocious, and you wrap your arms around his shoulders, pulling him as close to you as he can possibly get - and it still isn't close enough.

Neteyam leans back against the tree behind him, pulling you with him, deepening the kiss, sighing into your mouth.

He pulls away, just for a moment, to smile down at you. You see stars dancing before your eyes.

"You're very beautiful, too," he replies, half-teasing.

"Just kiss me," you reply in a breathy voice.

He happily obliges.

[woso-dreamzzz]

Proud

Hardersson x Teen!Reader

Summary: Your mothers come to support you at your Arsenal debut

It was to both of your mothers' annoyance that you did not, in fact, follow fully in their footsteps. You'd attended the Linköping academy, rising through the ranks on the youth team until, out of nowhere, you got a call from Jonas Eidevall asking if you were interested in playing on the Arsenal first team.

However, it took a bit of convincing on your part to get your mothers to agree to let you take the offer. You were sure that they had been convinced for years you would somehow end up at Chelsea despite not supporting them on the principle of it being the club your mothers played at.

You pulled your socks up one by one, bouncing your leg as you stared at your cleats.

"You'll do fine," Lina said to you, a hand coming up to pat your shoulder," We're facing Bristol City. Keep your head up. Don't trip. You'll do good, kiddo."

"My mums are in the crowd," You said, your voice barely above a whisper," They're here."

"Magda and Pernille aren't going to be annoyed if we don't win," Lina said," They're just here to see you play."

"That's worse." Your voice was trembling now. "They were annoyed when I signed for Arsenal. I...I don't want them to think that it's a waste for me to be here."

Stina, who had been lingering nearby, knelt in front of you. "Your mums would never think that about you. They're very proud of you. Make the most of this kid because, in a few weeks, we're going up against them."

You rolled your eyes. You didn't need to be reminded of the upcoming match against Chelsea. You just needed to focus on the present - though it wasn't exactly something you wanted to do.

"Get your shoes on," Stina said," Let's go get warmed up and have a good game. There's no need to stress."

●～●～●～●～

But, apparently, there was a need to stress because it seemed that the Bristol girls had decided you were somewhat of a threat from your position in the midfield.

You crashed to the ground again, just managing to get your leg out to kick the ball towards Katie, who started her run towards the goal.

You held back a groan of annoyance as you stood, pulling your socks back up and dusting off your shorts. You didn't bother to look up into the crowd, towards where you knew that your mothers would be watching.

You were terrified of disappointing them.

They didn't have to let you join Arsenal. They could have told you that uprooting your life in Sweden was a bad idea and you would have to wait until you were eighteen. They could have easily told you that Arsenal wouldn't be a good fit for you, that if you waited just a bit longer you could join them at Chelsea.

But they didn't.

They let you join Arsenal even though they detested the club with all their might.

They let you wear the red jersey with pride.

You didn't want to let them down.

You lined up for the corner, right by the back post near Leah. You were sandwiched between two much bigger defenders and glanced around nervously, playing with the hem of your jersey as Katie got set up.

It was a decent cross in from Katie and you jumped. You got about a head and a half higher than your defenders. The ball hit your head and soared over the goalkeeper's outstretched hands, landing smoothly into the net.

A grin lit up your face as Leah bounded over to celebrate, almost completely crushing you in her arms.

"Come on!" You vaguely heard Katie yell in celebration as Stina and Lina hugged you close, hands coming up to mess with your hair.

You snuck a look at the big screen, feeling emboldened by your goal, to see your parents screaming in celebration.

Your heart stuttered in your chest.

Your Momma was on her feet, clapping as your Morsa pumped her fist into the air. The camera picked up that she was saying something but not the actual words.

But you weren't focussed on that.

Instead, you were focused on how both of them were wearing an Arsenal jersey - your Arsenal jersey. Your Arsenal jersey with your name and your number.

"Come on, kid," Katie said, throwing an arm over your shoulder as you both walked back to your position," We've got a game to finish."

●～●～●～●～

For your debut for Arsenal, nothing could have gone better than the win that you got.

You were riding high as you scampered over to the tunnel just as your mothers walked through, having been escorted down to see you by security.

"y/n!" Momma said warmly, opening up her arms for you to crash into.

"Did you see?" You asked excitedly," Did you see? I scored!"

"You did score," Morsa said as she approached, kissing the side of your head," I'm so proud of you, baby. You did such a good job."

You grinned up at her, eyes darting between her and Momma. "You must be..." You tugged at the bottom of their shirts. "Because you're wearing an Arsenal jersey. I never thought that I would see the day."

Morsa rolled her eyes. "Well, our love for you supersedes our hatred of Arsenal."

"Did Momma tell you to say that?"

"No comment."

"Magda was very willing to put it on when she found out that I bought some," Momma said, pinching at your cheek like she did when you were younger," How could we not want to support this cute little face?"

She laughed as you tried to squirm away. You didn't get very far before you were wrapped up tight in your Momma's arms again, easily sagging against her.

"No, but seriously, how much did you have to pay her?" You asked," There's no way Morsa wore that willingly."

Magda gasped dramatically, a hand coming up to rest on her chest. "Honestly, I don't know how we've raised such a disrespectful young lady, Pernille," She teased," To think that our own daughter, thought that we wouldn't wear her jersey to support her."

You rolled your eyes. "Just last week you told me that you wouldn't be caught dead in an Arsenal jersey."

Magda scoffed, hand coming up to mess with your hair. "Don't make up lies!" She exclaimed," I believe I said that I would wear an Arsenal shirt over my cold, dead body."

"That's the same thing! Momma, tell her that's the same thing!"

Pernille just laughed though, squishing you between her and Magda. "Stop fighting you two," She said," Let's just be happy, alright? y/n did a very good job today. Keep it up. We're so proud of you."

"Yeah, kiddo," Magda said, pressing another kiss to your head," So proud of you. You debuted and scored and won on all the same day." She pulled you a little closer. "We're so proud."

"Proud enough to wear my jersey?"

"Always."

"Well, well, well," Came a teasing voice from behind you as Momma laughed and Morsa groaned as Stina wandered closer," Is that Magdalena Eriksson I see? Wearing an Arsenal jersey?"

"Shut up."

"Why don't you ever wear my Arsenal jersey, Magda?"

You stuck your tongue out at her. "She's not as proud of you as she is me."

[hannie-dul-set]

HOME FOR THE BITCHLESS [7].

SYNOPSIS. wherein your friend offers a room for you to crash in while your dorm is being renovated, but fails to mention that your new housemates don’t know how to talk to women (oh, and they also have an ongoing bet about you, too).

PAIRINGS. choi soobin, choi beomgyu, lee heeseung, park jongseong, sim jaeyun, park sunghoon x female! reader. GENRE. housemates! au, rom-com, sitcom, reverse harem time baby. WARNINGS. the usual amount of swearing and ruining the lives of men, jay goes through an crisis, mentions of hairballs, mc is extra menacing this chapter. WORD COUNT. 3.8k.

NOTE. here....it is..... this has been long overdue and i'm so sorry AHAHAH but i did say that i'm gonna update this whenever i want. anyhow, this is the jay chapter! and i hope this makes up for the one month long delay! enjoy, please let me know what you think<3

MASTERLIST | NEXT >

CHAPTER 7 — sexy goth jellyfish.

YOU DON’T THINK YOU’LL EVER GET SICK OF WAKING UP AND GETTING LULLED BACK TO SLEEP BY THE MOST COMFORTABLE MATTRESS IN THE WORLD. Seriously. You’re considering hoarding it back to your dorm once you leave at the end of the month. 

It’s the best thing about this house. The second best thing is having your breakfast cereal already laid out for you in the kitchen the moment you step downstairs. This princess treatment is going to get you spoiled. 

The odd thing about today, however, is that your usual bowl of Cheerios is nowhere in sight.

You rub your eyes, proceeding to squint at the counter because maybe you just aren’t awake enough yet. But it’s still not there. You look over to the sink. There is no evidence that someone ate your cereal. What happened? Did your cereal robot sleep in today? Did he die? Are you gonna have to make your own bowl of cereal from now on?

“Good morning.”

Sunghoon greets you upon walking into the living room, cereal-less and still groggy. Beomgyu is also there, cross legged on the couch and playing something on his phone. “Good—” you greet back, scratching your hand underneath your shirt with a big yawn, “—morning.” For some reason, Sunghoon suddenly looks scandalized. You ignore it and stretch out your arms above your head with another yawn.

“Please— oh my god, please don’t do that. I can see your un—underwear.”

You pause mid-stretch, arms up in the air, shirt hiking up a little. “What color?” you ask. 

“Grey! Why would you ask me that?!”

“Ooh, correct.” You drop your arms down. “I thought you were kidding. Sorry, my bad.”

You grin and shoot them a peace sign. “Sunghoon, go get the PD&J,” Beomgyu announces, eyes not leaving his phone. Your expression quickly moltens into a glare and a grimace. Dammit, you’ve been careful all this time. You blame your lack of early cereal nutrients for this carelessness.

“I’ll pay later,” you grunt. “Anway, where’s Jay? He didn’t make my cereal today so I’m assuming the worst.”

“Is he your slave?” you hear Beomgyu retort. You’ll deal with him later.

Thankfully, Sunghoon is normal(?) and answers your question promptly. “Out on the deck,” he tells you, and you look over to the open glass doors past your dining setup leading up to the sunlit deck outside. You squint, unable to spot a life form of any sort at first, but after a moment of letting your eyes wander, you finally see it.

Jay is laying flat on the wooden floor, shades on, facing directly at the sun. “What’s up with him?” you ask Sunghoon. There are pieces of paper with unidentifiable contents scattered around the motionless man. You fear he might be actually dead.

“He’s photosynthesizing,” he replies. You should’ve known better than to expect a correct answer.

“He’s not a plant,” you scrunch your nose. “It’s past nine. He’s not getting any more vitamin D at this hour.”

Sunghoon simply shrugs and Beomgyu is still busy yelling profanities at his phone. You sigh. Time to take care of things yourself, so saunter over to Jay’s tanning bed and crouch down near his head, arms crossed. Is he asleep? you furrow your brows and peer down a little closer. His pitch black sunglasses are making it impossible to tell.

“Wow. This is the first time I’ve seen you upside down.”

And he’s alive.

“Hey,” you call out. “What are you doing?”

Jay has his hands symmetrically placed on his abdomen, and he remains unmoving when he opens his mouth to reply. “Brooding,” he says, and you are granted more questions than answers. 

“Don’t people usually do that in the dark?”

“I don’t conform to society’s standards.” Jay sits up, so you lean back. You watch him as he adjusts the shades on his nose bridge, ruffles his hair as if there’s a camera pointed at him, then says, “I’m absolutely fucked. I don’t know what to do.”

Woah, there. Looks like Mr. Easygoing is going through some troubled waters.

“Alright.” You shuffle out of your crouching position, dropping to paneled wood to cross your legs for a more comfortable position. “Lay it on me,” you announce, ready to sunbathe and hear a very very long story.

Jay stares at you. There’s a wrinkle between his brows. 

“Go ahead.” You nod decidedly. 

After another pause, Jay shrugs and sets his head down on your crossed legs, laying back down but with you as his new pillow. That’s not what you meant, but you roll with it. This is an opportunity to braid knots his hair. “So I took a summer class, right,” he starts, and you dig your fingers into the dark strands. “Women’s wear design. Thought It’d be useful for androgynous clothing ideas, but anyway.”

Wow, it’s so soft, you think, finishing a single braid. “And then?”

“Well. For our final project, we need to have a live model to wear our design prototypes. To test their functionality and all. A friend of mine already agreed a few weeks ago, but she suddenly canceled yesterday, so I’m pretty sure I’m fucked.”

His hair slips out of your fingers. The gears in your brain start to churn. “When’s the presentation?”

“Tomorrow.”

“Have you asked someone else?”

“Yeah. I’ve already tried calling everyone I know.”

“And?”

“I ran out of people,” he says. “I’m screwed, right?”

“I feel like there’s more to this.”

A third voice suddenly pops up and you flinch. “Holy shit,” you turn to see Heeseung sitting next to you. He looks like he’s been there for a while and you make your surprise very evident by how wide your eyes are staring at him. Jay props up, also looking at him. “When did you get here?”

Heeseung ignores you. “Jay,” he starts. You’re gonna get back at him for that. “What did you tell Eunmi when you asked for her help for the project?” 

Eunmi is a familiar name. You’re pretty sure she’s the one that stormed out of the house the other day. “I told her that I had a problem and asked if she could do me a favor.

Your brows knit together. Wait a minute. “And what else did you say?”

“I also asked if she didn’t mind taking her clothes off,” he says. “Why?”

Silence sets in. It simmers for a while. You and Heeseung share a look. “Jay,” you call out. He gets off of your lap and sits up, turning to face you. You press your lips together. How do you break it to him? 

“Dude, I’m pretty sure she thought you were asking to hook up.”

You double over and nearly let out a gasp. So the mysophobe isn’t hasn’t completely eroded his social awareness. You are both horrified and impressed, and he’s looking at you like he can hear your thoughts, visibly offended. 

“Heeseung’s right. Girlie probably thought you’d be using your measuring tape for something else outside of measuring.” They both give you a look. Maybe you gave Heeseung too much credit. “What? After measuring her tits and ass, imagine her disappointment when you went off to measure her ankles next.” 

“Well, I’m a fashion major, what did she expect?” 

“I don’t know, maybe some dressmaker-themed BDSM shit!” you huff. “Don’t you know you know anyone else that can model for you?”

“I’m pretty sure all the girls in his contacts have him blocked,” Heeseung says. 

You grunt and lean back, the deck warm on your palms. “Okay. I didn’t want to do this, but—” You sigh. Your shoulders slack, and you run your fingers through your scalp with a deep inhale. Jay and Heeseung nudge themselves closer. You give them three more seconds of suspenseful silence— one…two…three. 

“But we don’t have much of a choice.” 

His dumb sunglasses are still keeping his eyes hidden, but you’re pretty sure Jay is looking at you like you’re the second coming of Christ. On the other hand, Heeseung looks suspicious. You assure them that you’ll take care of, telling Jay to go upstairs and prepare his design prototype in case he needs to make any alterations, and Heeseung follows you to the living room, where Sunghoon and Beomgyu are still lounging around.

They turn their heads the moment you enter. Sunghoon and Heeseung’s eyes are trained on you as you approach Beomgyu, who has now settled down his phone to give you a disgruntled expression— impatient and nervous because, “what the fuck are you up to this time?” he voices out. You spare him an extra second of agony and tell him what you came for.

When the words leave your mouth, Beomgyu nearly chokes on the air.

“I’m sorry, what?” 

His eyes are wide, looking up at you. 

“What did you just say?”

“I asked if you can pretend to be a woman for a day,” you repeat. Beomgyu is looking at you like you’re insane. 

“What the fuck?”

“C’mon!” you exclaim, hopping down on the plush sofa cushion next to him and he jumps and flinches away. There’s a reason why you adore fucking with Beomgyu the most. “It’ll only be for a day! Do it for Jay! Whoa. That rhymes.”

“Why me?!” he shrieks. The reason is he fights back. He makes it all the more satisfying when he inevitably admits defeat. 

“Because you’re arguably the prettiest one of the lot!” You bounce closer, trapping his between the armrest and your enthusiasm to see him in a fucking dress. “Have I ever told you that your eyes are like, really, really pretty? And your facial structure is already so nice and elegant, I really don’t need to do anything with makeup, you’re already perfect!” 

With each word you utter and with each centimeter you lean closer, Beomgyu’s face gets increasingly redder and brighter. “Your— your flattery won’t convince me to fucking cross dress in public, you psychos!” 

Before you can get the chance to say ‘so you don’t mind doing it in private?’ Beomgyu tries pushing you off, but he’s too flustered to put any strength in. The opportunity to grab his wrists and pull him closer simply just presents itself. “C’mon!” you tug him in. “Swallow the toxic masculinity, Beomgyu! I believe in you!”

“No!”

He manages to roll off the sofa and retreat to his room. As Beomgyu’s heavy and hasty footsteps fill the air, the sound growing weaker by the second, you turn over to Sunghoon, who is sitting on the individual seat. He meets your eyes. “No,” he says before you could open your mouth. “Absolutely not.”

Sunghoon doesn’t waste a second to get up and follow Beomgyu’s escape pattern. “Sunghoon! Sunghoon, wait!” you yell after him. When he pads up the stairs, you stop at the bottom of the flight and watch as he scurries up the floor. “Are you upset that you’re the second choice? That doesn’t mean anything! You’re pretty too! I love your nose and your pretty face moles and—”

And he is gone. You turn back. “Well, I tried,” you shrug. Heeseung is wearing an expression you can only describe as severe perturbation. “Soobin and Jake aren’t home. That’s a bummer.” Then again, Jake would probably be down for it, which is no fun. And you can’t risk making Soobin cry again. Your list of crimes is already long enough. Beomgyu has the copy. 

“Of all the solutions you could come up with, I didn't think you’d go for the crossdressing route.”

Heeseung is leaning against the sofa, arms resting on top of its plush back. “Actually, I never even considered it,” he adds. “I thought you’d volunteer to model for him yourself.”

You make your way back to the living area with a yawn. Shrugging, you say, “I am.”

His brows scrunch, eyes narrowed. “Then why did you—” Heeseung stops thinking. He gives you a look of distaste. “You’re pretty evil, you know that?”

A laugh escapes your lips, and you hop on the couch Heeseung is leaning again. He visibly flinches when you do, but he doesn’t move away. So you sit up with your legs still on the sofa, knees sinking into the cushions, and you poke your nose forward so that it nearly bumps into his. 

“What are you—”

You inch your face closer. “It’s not my fault that you guys are easy targets.” You can literally hear his breath getting taken away. You flash him a wide grin. 

“Calm down. I’m moving away, moving away. No need to run.” When you flop back to lie on the sofa, Heeseung’s pink-tinted face is in full view, and he’s trying his best to hide it from you all while still trying to shoot you a glare. At some point he’s going to snap at you, for sure. Until that happens, you’re free to mess with him. “Anyway, I’ll be off to Jay’s secret lair. That is unless you man up and take one for the team, and—”

“Bye.”

Like the other two, Heeseung stomps away. You let out a huff of air. “You’re all weak as shit,” you call out. Maybe one day you’ll get the chance to give one of them a makeover. Maybe one day you can paint their nails and do their eyeliner.

Jay can’t express just how grateful he is for you.

No, really. He can’t. He tried telling you that he owes you his life when you told him not to worry about it and just go upstairs and prepare his things, but all that jumped out of his mouth is a measly, “you’re so cool,” before leaving you with Heeseung. 

That won’t do it. He’s gonna say thank you and a million more once you show up in the storage room-turned-office-slash-workspace next to his bedroom, and you’re going to be so impressed by his thanking skills. But the feeling is all muffled and fuzzy inside his chest— like a way too stubborn hairball he can’t cough out. So when you knock on his door and take a peek inside the extension of his room, all he can say is, “I made the carpet. Pretty cool, right?”

“Oh!”

Jay watches as you crouch down almost immediately upon his mention, feeling the mishmas of fabric texture with your palms. Your hands are running through a patch of faux fur, stitched to some leftover corduroy. You’re stepping on denim, and in between you and him is a large swab of linen. “Holy shit. This is pretty cool.”

There’s a thump in his chest. He’s pretty sure you’re the first person to say that after the other dozen people that have been here before you.

Then again, Jay’s pretty sure you’re the first for him on a lot of things.

He fears the hairball lodged in his throat just multiplied.

“So.” You pull yourself up from the ground. “What are we doing?”

“Oh,” he blinks. “Let me show you the clothes first. It’s a dress. It may not look like one, but trust me it is a dress—” he quickly explains, walking over to the mannequin in the corner of the room, pulling it out from the corner with a bit of a struggle because the wheels get caught in the stringy fabric of his carpet. “You can try it on, but it’s made with Eunmi’s measurements. Tell me if anything doesn’t fit right so I can alter it.”

“Holy shit,” you breathe out. “Hey, I may make fun of you guys a lot, but this time I’m being serious— this is so cool! What the hell, Jay?”

Well, that was a surprise. He didn’t think you’d like wearing something so avant garde. After Eunmi’s reaction to seeing it, he was pretty sure you’d be hesitant. “This will swallow my entire figure! I’d look like a jellyfish! You know what, I was already disappointed when you suddenly started jotting down my arm width. I’m going home. Don’t call me,” was what she said before storming off. But you’re all ooh’s and aah’s as you dig your nose into the thin sheets of intricately sewn on sheer, black fabric. 

“I was also serious about the carpet. Hold on let me try this on—”

You struggle taking the dress off of the mannequin. Jay helps you out. “You can change in my room.”

“Gotchu,” you shoot him a thumbs up, running off to the door with the dress flowing in your hands. “Don’t you dare peek. I don’t have any more spare change to throw into that stupid jar.”

“What if I pay for you?”

“Great. Door’s unlocked. Open if you have the balls.” Then you close the door with a still thinly open gap. It’s really is easy to talk to you. You don’t give him a weird look after he says a few words. He can hear your swearing slipping out of the crack in the door. Maybe he should have left you to fend for yourself against his admittedly unconventionally constructed dress.

“Need any help?” he asks, hesitantly inching towards the door.

“I can handle it— fuck, wait, where is my neck supposed to—”

After hearing a thump from inside the room, Jay believes he might have to intervene, else it’ll end up with either a torn ligament or a torn three month long project. He lands a knock on the door. “I think you need my help.”

“Give me a minute! I got this!” A minute. He starts counting down from sixty. And mentally counting down in nothing but silence and the occasional profanities from the other room is giving him some time to think. To think about how even though he’s gone through numerous dates, talked to numerous women, but for some reason they never last long. Well, all except you. You and his mother.

He’s lost count of the times he’s been ghosted (a ghost dress does sound like a pretty good idea), but the times they do communicate— they all communicate with a very familiar script:

“Maybe we should start seeing other people.”

Maybe his bonfire joke wasn’t as funny as he thought.

“Hey, Jay, is it supposed to look like this?” you call out before his sixty second countdown is over. “I think I’m wearing it wrong.”

When he opens the room to his door with a creak, his breath hitches in his throat. 

And it’s not the metaphorical hairball that’s been annoying him. Shit. Something about seeing you in a design he’s crafted with his own hands, conjured up with his own brain, is tying all sorts of knots in his stomach. Even when you put your arm in the wrong hole.

“You’re wearing it wrong.” Jay walks up to you next to the bed. The clothes you’ve shedded on in lieu of the dress he made is scattered on his mattress. He swallows hard before laying a discreet hand on your shoulder, tugging on a loose part of the clothing to reveal the armhole.

“Oh! That explains a lot,” you say, slotting in your arm into the correct gap this time. The dress still looks a little off. “I haven’t zipped it up yet. Can you help me?”

He lets out a cough. “Sure.”

Ah, what is going on with him? He’s been sleeping in this same room for nearly a year now, but for some reason the air right now is arid and stuffy and it’s making his head spin. Jay turns you around, a hand on your hip, and zips up the dress that suddenly feels like fire. That doesn’t make sense. It’s supposed to mimic water. Why the hell are his palms burning? 

The moment the dress is secured, you quickly look into the mirror. “What...what do you think?” he asks hesitantly. Maybe you don’t like it as much anymore now that it’s on you. Maybe the dress is also burning you. Maybe this design is a failure after all— and he feels that fear being confirmed when your back is turned towards him, and you spend a good minute looking at yourself in the mirror in silence. 

Dammit. The damned hairball is back in his lungs.

“I feel…” you start talking. His heart is pounding. Holy shit, he’s never felt this nervous before. “I feel like a sexy goth jellyfish. This is crazy. I love it.”

And just like that, air starts flowing back into his chest.

“Exactly!” 

He grabs you by the arm, spinning you around so he can look at you, and the dress fabric flitters along in the air. “Whoa!” you squeak out. He steadies you by the arms. You look at him, wide eyed.

Jay breath’s are bated. The sunglasses he’s got perched on his nose this entire time got crooked from the rush, falling down to the tip of his nose, revealing a look on his eyes that he didn’t know he was capable of making. “You get me,” he breathes out. “You totally get me.”

Something swirls inside the confines of his room. It’s dark. The only light coming in is from the crack into his office and the warm bedside lamp you turned on.

The both of you stay like this for a moment. Until there’s a knock on his door and a voice rips through all of the tension.

“Okay, fine!” 

It’s Beomgyu’s voice entering the room along with the sound of the door swinging open. 

Creak!

“Fucking fine, I’m going to do it. I’m going to do it as long as—”

It’s not just him. Heeseung and Sunghoon are also there, squeezed between the frame of his now open door. “Oh,” someone says out loud. He’s unsure who. “Oh.”

Somehow, Jay isn’t feeling your arms anymore. He blinks, and you’re not in front of him anymore. He turns his head and sees you in between him and the three other guys outside. “Are you ready to become a sexy jellyfish, Beomgyu?” you taunt, moving further away from him by the second. 

Beomgyu looks at him. Then you. Then keeps his eyes on you. “I never said anything. I’m gonna go—”

“C’mon! Don’t I look great? You’d look just as— no, maybe even prettier than me if you wear— wait!”

And just like that you and his dress project run away from the room. Sunghoon’s head whips back and forth between him and wherever you’ve run off to before going after you and Beomgyu as well. Heeseung stays, albeit out the door. “So, did it go well?” he asks. Jay is still staring at the spot where you’d left.

“It went well,” he replies. “I think I’m gonna get a good grade.”

Well that’s not the only conclusion he’s come up with after all that. In spite of the loud noises, the yelling outside, and the threat of his dress getting ripped apart in the crossfire, he’s sure of two things. He is not only sure that he’s gonna ace this final summer project— Jay is sure that he might have just half fallen in love with you, too.

HOME FOR THE BITCHLESS. © hannie-dul-set, 2023.

[sanakiras]

DISTRACTION

PAIRING — xu minghao x reader

WORD COUNT — 1.5k

SYNOPSIS — you can’t help staring at your best friends’s hands. when he pushes you to tell him why, things in your relationship take a turn.

TAGS — minghao in a suit, explicit sexual content, pure self-indulgence, porn with no plot, fem!reader

NOTE — there’s something sooo attractive about a man having long fingers. also i just have a crush on the8. no i will not elaborate. might delete this later bc i don’t like it. oh well. enjoy :o

lately, whenever being around your best friend, you’ve been... distracted.

for some reason, you’ve always liked it when men have long fingers. obviously the best known reason for that is a lewd one, but for you, it’s more than that. long fingers are hypnotizing to you.

of course it was minghao’s face that drew you in first. plump lips, eyes that could both kill and make you melt under their gaze, a strong jaw, dark hair often slicked back with a pair of sunglasses sitting on top.

then you noticed his figure. minghao is tall — long legs, long arms, long torso. what drew you in about him was the control he has over it, alongside his flexibility. his movement is always swift, sharp and coordinated. not one to stumble over his own feet.

he became a close friend to you in no-time. within the first months of meeting him, you developed an admiration towards him, and that continued to grow into a crush you feel nothing if not insecure about.

because despite knowing him well, he’s far from an open book.

he’s not once given you the idea that he likes you the same way you like him, and now that he’s become such a good friend of yours, the last thing you’d want is to lose the friendship you’ve built with him.

so you keep it to yourself.

or, well, you try.

his current outfit makes that ridiculously hard. you’ve never seen him in a suit before.

while you weren’t all that excited for the black-tie event hosted by your faculty, just the sight of him has changed your mood like a whole day’s worth of caffeine.

and when he walks over to you, all you can do is admire him. the fabric suits his body like a glove, with several silver rings adorning his fingers and his frequently worn small hoop earrings to match them. the beautifully subtle black eye pencil brings out the colors of his eyes and styled hair.

“you look like a dream,” is the first thing to come out of his mouth when he steps before you, the tone of his voice as gentle as the smile he gives you.

heat rushes to your cheeks. “so do you. never expected to see you in a suit, but you clean up nice.”

he chuckles at your sarcasm. “thank you.”

as he tells you about — whatever it is, you honestly hardly remember a thing of the conversation — you suddenly come to the deafening conclusion that you’re nowhere near as subtle with your glances as you thought you were, which certainly bursts your bubble a bit.

“you keep doing that.” he muses, tilting his head as he looks at you with curiosity.

“what?”

“staring at my hands.”

“i’m not—i don’t stare.”

“what else would you call it? constant-looking?”

“hilarious. really.”

when you don’t say anything else, he purses his lips, hoping to get a little more out of you. you’ve got to give him credits for his determination. “so, what’s so interesting about my hands?”

with a simple shrug of your shoulders, you pretend to be casual, like he didn’t catch you staring at him. “they’re not interesting, just… nice.”

“nice?”

“can’t we just drop this? and by ‘we’ i mean you.”

he chuckles, shaking his head. “we’re friends. you can tell me, i won’t judge.”

“you? not judging anyone? that’d be almost suspicious.”

the retort makes him smile to the point it hurts his jaw. “i won’t judge you.”

a sigh rolls past your lips. “it’s no big deal, i just… like it when people have nice hands.”

“and why’s that?”

“does everything you like need to have a reason?”

"no, i guess not."

a playfulness that stirs doubt in you flashes behind his eyes, and you’re forced to put a halt to the conversation when one of your fellow faculty members walks up to the two of you with a glass of champagne, which you could not be happier with.

all you can do is hope minghao won’t bring up the topic again, the redness in your cheeks betraying you.

unfortunately, he does eventually bring it up again, once he’s gotten you home.

what his exact words were is difficult to remember, but now that he’s pushed you back onto your bed, you can’t find it in you to give a damn.

your brain feels foggy and a thin layer of sweat begins to form on your neck while he uses his hands to unbutton the white dress shirt, his impatience getting the best of him for once.

even though you’re busy pulling your top off, it’s hard to divert your gaze from his hands and chest, which brings him to tilt his head at you. “you’re staring again.”

“if you don’t want me to stare, don’t give me a reason to.”

“oh, so this whole thing is really just my fault?” he taunts, getting so annoyed with the damn buttons on his shirt not working with him that he leaves the bottom half like it already was, only the upper half of his chest peeking through.

once he lays his eyes on your half-naked form, you spot a growing desperation and impatience in his features, which is rare on him.

much to your surprise, he’s eager and quick, refusing to waste a single second. his hands have already pulled you towards him by your thighs before you can even comprehend it.

the thin silver necklace touches your warm skin when he leans down to kiss you, the last thing you’d imagined you’d be doing tonight — and it’s better than you anticipated.

he pries your legs open with a nudge of his knee, and just when you want to look down to his hand on your skin, he pushes two fingers into you, curling it upwards.

your hands immediately fly to his upper arms in response to the sudden intrusion, but it only makes you crave more.

his lips latch onto your cheeks, jaw and neck, placing wet kisses everywhere he can reach while his long fingers move in and out of you.

“just two and you’re already so tight — you can take another one, though, can’t you?”

how sweet of him to pose it as a question, an offer.

you both know damn well he’s gonna keep going either way.

minghao doesn’t know what it is about you that just utterly sets him off. it might be your constant pessimism, your snarky delivery of sarcastic little comments, the way you needlessly tease him all the time — or maybe it’s that whenever he sees you, he wants nothing more for you to get the fuck on top of him, moaning his name.

who knows.

“why don’t you just try me?” you ask rhetorically, accidentally clenching around his digits when he moves them again.

minghao chuckles, baffled that you’ve still got such an attitude, even when you’re at his mercy. he’d be lying if he said he didn’t like it, though. “right. maybe i should just do that.”

a third finger prodding into your hole makes you whine the loudest you have so far. he smirks a little when noticing the way you’re fighting so hard to maintain your composure, and the noise of your squelching wetness begins to become embarrassingly loud.

but it isn’t enough for him.

usually, it’s not at all like him to be insatiable or greedy. but all he can think of right now is that he wants more — to be closer with you, deeper.

he feels his own lust in every motion, every thrust of his fingers, every twitch of his cock. it makes him wonder if he’s ever wanted something, no, someone this badly.

his next move goes unnoticed by you since you’ve got your eyes closed and head back, but then you feel it, and it’s like you snap awake, an electric jolt making you jerk forward.

when you look down, he eagerly runs his tongue up and down your pussy, fingers remaining buried inside you.

“oh my god—” you stutter out, hand clutching onto the pillow but quickly moving down to grab his hair.

lost in your own pleasure, you push his head down, the lower half of his face coated in your arousal — fuck, he wants to do this for hours.

he proceeds to curl his fingers again, and he must’ve hit a good spot, because your legs are beginning to tremble, moans shorter and higher-pitched. “fuck, hao, it’s too much, i’m too close—”

“are you?” he rhetorically asks, pushing his digits as deep as possible, sucking on your clit, hollowing his cheeks. even when you try to close your legs, he firmly keeps them open.

your hips buck into his face when you cum, knees shaking, and he presses his thumb on your pussy, which makes your eyes roll back.

propping yourself up on your elbows, you suddenly feel his fingers slowly sliding out of you, and just that feeling alone already turns you on again. he sits across from you, still between your legs, and his fingers are completely coated in the sticky wetness that’s still dripping down your cunt.

he pushes them in his mouth, licking them clean, some of your arousal remaining on his lips.

“please say you’ll let me do that again.”

® SANAKIRAS — do not repost, remake or copy my work in any way whatsoever. translations are not allowed.

[muscleloverz69]

Jock Juice

Ned was very anxious about moving into his dorm. Without knowing anyone at the university he had no choice but to go random and as luck would have it the only spots left were in the athletes housing. Ned had no interest in sports and found jocks completely obnoxious. Being a nerdy gay man Ned tried his best to steer clear but now his hands were tied. When Ned walked into his room he was met by a total jock. 

Jack was well over 6 feet tall with a square jaw, biceps that stretched the sleeves of his tee and pants that left little to the imagination. Ned was embarrassed when he felt his dick twinge but he quickly ignored it. “Hey bro you must be the roomie, sup.” Jack extended a fist which Ned awkwardly bumped.

Jack turned out to be not nearly as bad as Ned was anticipating. Actually he was pretty nice. He did come back really late from parties and his football gear was littered around the entire room but Ned enjoyed being able to watch Jack change from the corner of his eye. Ned was being driven crazy, staring at the bulging muscles and broad figure of his roommate.

One day as Jack pulled off his pants after a day of classes, he noticed Ned staring at his big bulge. “Hey dude it's ok to look, I’m actually gay too.”

Ned felt his face go red but his mind was reeling from the revelation. “Oh sorry-.” Jack interrupted, “Seriously dude it's fine honestly I’d be down to have some fun with you but you need to know something first.”

Ned couldn’t believe his ears, “You’d want to fuck me?”

“Yeah but dude the thing is I have a curse.”

Ned looked confused as Jack explained, “I used to be a nerd just like you but one day I fucked a jock and now I look like this.” Jack flexed one of his thick biceps.

“Now whenever someone comes in contact with my fluids they become a jock too, it doesn't matter what they looked like before, nerds, girls, old guys they all become jocks.”

Ned stared at his sexy roommate for a moment, he couldn’t be serious, this had to be some kind of prank but he didn’t care. Ned crossed the room and pulled Jack into a deep kiss. Ned laughed in his head for a minute before he felt a gentle fog fall on his brain. Jack pushed Ned off “Bruh I wasnt fucking with you, are you ok.”

“Bro--I mean Jack, I feel fine I think. Whatever, I'm going to bed.” Ned wanted to die. He thought Jack was a nice guy. Why would he pull such a mean prank, although he had no idea why he called Jack bro.

The next morning Ned woke up earlier than usual. He looked himself down in the mirror, he looked the same. Since he woke up early though Ned decided he might as well do something productive and went over to the campus gym.

Ned got to the gym and quickly remembered he had no idea what he was doing. That’s when Jack came up to him, “Hey bro, sorry about last night I guess you’re into the gym now, need some help?”

“Uh sure that’d be cool dud--Jack thanks.”

The two guys worked out together for the next couple hours, after Jack handed Ned a towel and as he did his sweaty hand brushed into his roommates. Ned hardly took note but did feel very tired from the workout.

Ned and Jack walked to the showers together. Ned started rubbing his body down with soap as he noticed some muscle he didn’t remember having. Nowhere near as much as Jack but his shoulders did seem broader, his chest protruded out just a bit, and his abs were showing. As he continued soaping his body he noticed his dick. It was throbbing hard and not only that it looked larger than he ever remembered it. Ned was hit with an overwhelming burning lust. He furiously started jacking off in the shower before cumming all over the tile floor.

Meanwhile Jack felt worried about Ned. He knew the kiss from the night before would result in some minor changes but as long as he was careful it didn’t have to go further unless he knew that’s what Ned wanted. Jack was torn though cute nerds like Ned were exactly his type and he wanted nothing more than to worship that thin nerdy body. 

Later that night Ned tried to study for his Calc exam but couldn’t remember anything. He was sure the questions must have been written wrong because nothing made sense. On top of that all he could think about was Jack’s body. He was losing his mind.

Ned stood up and faced Jack who was mindlessly scrolling on his phone. “Bro I need you inside me.” Jack met Ned’s start 

“You sure bro?”

Ned jumped on top of Jack quickly ripping off his pants revealing muscular thighs and an almost footlong dick. Jack yelped in surprise but couldn’t stop himself from letting Ned’s tongue slide down his shaft. Jack’s hips bucked as Ned got face fucked. Pre entered Nick’s mouth, causing his biceps to enlarge to 18 inches, his face sharpened into a chiseled look although Jack could hardly notice as Nick deepthroated his monster dick. 

Jack began moaning louder, gripping Nick’s enlarged muscular ass before cumming right down Nick’s throat. Nick swallowed load after load before rolling off to the side. Nick felt an even heavier fog descend on his brain. All he could think about was sports, working out and, bussy.

Nick got up and tried to put on his tee shirt which was now skin tight. “Dude that was fuckin sick!” Jack was still laying in bed disappointed. Jack stared at Nicks new thick cock and massive muscles uninterestedly. Jack was really only attracted to nerds.

Nick laughed “Bro I gotta find some other nerd to blow me.”

[happy-beeeps]

Naïveté

Summary: Astarion begins to reconcile with the fact he might have fallen for you, only to worry you've caught an interest in someone else. Earllllllly act 2, minor spoilers for act 2!

Pairing: Astarion x f!tav

Warnings/tags: fluff, miscommunication if you squint, jealous!astarion, platonic!wyll x tav, slightly ooc Astarion because I'm still learning to write him so be nice PLEASE😭🥺

WC: 2k

a/n: I'm finishing a character sheet for tav so we can have her backstory, but she's who I've been using this playthrough and I've been really enjoying her story. When I post on Ao3 she'll have a name, but I'm going to leave her unnamed here! Also, will have a seperate BG3 spot on my masterlist soon!

It’s late at camp, and by the time you finish indulging in a bottle of wine with Karlach, you figure you’re the only one still up. It’s been a long night, and an even longer few days, spent trudging through the grimy depths of the Shadowcursed lands and just barely making it out of the encounter with Marcus alive. Isobel had given you the ability to travel freely, but all you could do was set up camp near the inn.

The firelight is dim when you make your way back from the secluded spot near Karlach’s tent, and Astarion’s tent is sealed tightly. You contemplate going over, just peaking your head in to see if he’s deep in trance yet, but you change your mind. After your previous night’s conversation, you’re still not sure on speaking terms. It plays out over and over again in your mind. Naive, he’d called you, your heart was too big. 

You tried to be reasonable. You were naive. You were young, and perhaps no one but Wyll new exactly how young. To be ninety as an elf was to be just becoming an adult. No one else had known, no else had asked, including Astarion. You chalked it up to his truly immortal lifespan, he hadn’t cared about aging for 200 years, why start now?

Still, you couldn’t deny the pull you felt to him, or the thrill that shook your bones when he would quietly rush into your tent each morning, murmuring the incantation for lesser restoration. You still thought of the way he looked at Gale when he asked to consume that locket all those days back. “I’m glad you let him suffer for a moment, darling,” he’d murmured into your ear that night, his breath tingly on your neck, “That one’s ours.”

There’d been other nights since your first night together, while you hadn’t slept together in completion since, all passion and teeth and sweat. Sometimes you’d just kiss him, wrapped up in nothing else but this bliss of arms and scent. Lately though, he’d been closed off—distant. His conversation the previous night had come out of nowhere, as if you were standing on the doorstep of Moonrise Towers that very instant. 

You were so lost in your own thoughts, consumed of Astarion, that you nearly missed Wyll’s form standing near the dimming fire, moving around in a dance you actually recognized.

“I hope I’m not interrupting practice,” you smiled, giving the man ample warning before you stumbled into his rehearsal. 

Wyll wheeled on you, a faint blush growing across his cheeks. “It’s one of those old courting dances, it’d be a cold day in the hells before I’d ever forget them.”

“Oh I’m quite familiar,” you murmured, thinking back to your own youth, your own debutante ball, before you lost everything. “Everyone else around here forgets I come from taste.”

Wyll snorts, “Sure don’t smell like it.”

Your friendship with Wyll is a special thing. No one else can understand what it felt like to be from a Noble family, the expectations and the experience it comes with. When your family had been killed and their wealth assumed, you were completely on your own. Learning how to pickpockets and lie had not been a part of your expensive and tasteful education.

Dancing, however, came second nature.

You move to stand in front of him without really thinking, decades of experience guiding your motions. “Go on, let’s see what you can do.”

He’s a fine partner, moving cautiously around you and guiding your hand easily. Even when he brings you closer for a slightly more intimate dance, his hands nor his eyes never stray. 

“I wonder what I’d have done if I ever saw you at one of the balls my father sent me too.” He murmurs.

“I’m certain you did. Though you would’ve been young. I haven’t been in nearly a decade.”

He chuckles, and clucks his tongue for a moment, “Just practically a baby, far to young to approach Fey nobility.” Before bowing in front of you and wishing you goodnight. There’s the smallest beat where he looks at you as if he has something to say. You look at him for the smallest moment. It would be so easy to love him, if you were anyone else. He’s exactly who your father would have picked for you, save his humanity. But, despite it, you can’t. You can’t fake the flutter you get when you Astarion’s cold hands tickle your fingers, or the tickle of his hair on your cheek when he’s pressed against your neck. You’re not naive enough to admit this to Astarion, but from the fleeting glance you send to his tent, you can see that Wyll already knows. He leaves you with a knowing glance and a soft goodnight. You go back to your own tent, happy to have removed the thought of the curse, of Ketheric, and even of your own problems for just a moment.

So full of contentedness in fact, you don’t notice the scarlet eyes peering at you from the slat of their tent, a whirlwind of emotions cascading over them.

* * *

Astarion doesn’t hide his mild disdain for Wyll, or anyone to be fair, to begin with, but the following morning he bears down on the man like an ogre. “I didn’t anticipate you being quite so light on your feet. The Blade stands at the ready, and also ready to pirouette, I suppose?”

Wyll rolls his eyes at Astarion’s quip, used to the sarcasm, but somewhat surprised at the intensity of the rogue’s grip on his arm. “Wasn’t aware I couldn’t have past times.”

“By all means feel free to entertain us with a ballet in between slaughters,” his voice hushes as you walk by, looking at the two men skeptically, “I’d just prefer if your duets didn’t happen whilst I’m trying to read.”

Wyll follows Astarion’s slightly fleeting to his retreating gaze. You’re standing behind him, out of earshot, leaning against Lae’zel’s tent while she sharpens your sword. Astarion’s stare is enough to allow him to piece everything together. “Can I give you a word of advice?”

“Only if you accept that I may ignore it entirely.”

“She’s wonderful. And she’s made her choice without giving anyone else a chance. If I were you, I wouldn’t waste it, wouldn’t kill you to get to know her.”

Wyll walks away, and Astarion is left alone again with his thoughts. Contrary to Wyll’s belief, he thinks it might actually kill him to get to know you. He’s been balancing precariously on his fight to not let himself be fully consumed by you and your grace, your goodness. You were a spoilt little thing, he was sure of that, and he had meant what he said that night by the water. It didn’t mean it hurt his chest more when your face fell. “Naive?” there was a crack in your cool, crafted facade. Genuine hurt had settled there for a moment, and something akin to disappointment. He hadn’t known how to face you since, hadn’t known how to say “I’m sorry! I’m falling for you and can’t help it and I’m terrified!”

So instead he said nothing at all, and resolved to say something later.

* * *

You had just gotten back to camp for the night, Karlach nearly giggling at the amount of gold she had stuffed in her pockets from the tollhouse. You had noticed Astarion’s eyes on you, heavy and pensive, when you had dealt with the Master of Coin, how easily you’d convinced her to simply cease to be. That was perhaps the easiest transition from nobility to rogue you had, the gift of a silver tongue and wide, batting eyes.

You changed into your camp clothes and watched Karlach throw gold pieces at an increasingly irritated Lae’zel, Gale standing nearby doing his best to keep spirits high in this eerie camp, working with whatever cured meats and cheeses you still had to attempt to make a dinner. You had changed into camp clothes and grabbed one of the books you had found in the tollmaster’s office, a shockingly smutty romance novel that had to be even older than you. It was quiet in the corner you found, somewhere even Halsin’s booming laugh had faded into quiet background noise. You tried to not think about your surroundings, about your increasing frustration with Astarion, or the odd way his gaze had hung on you all day. 

“I’m always impressed by that tongue of yours, petal.” The vampire’s voice pulled you from your thoughts, and he settled beside you on the ground, arms behind him as he reclined easily next to you.

You rolled your eyes at the innuendo, and the pet name. “Yet you’ve been leaving me and my tongue to our thoughts the past few days.” You huffed, flipping the book to the next page, though not really reading any of it 

If Astarion could blush, he looked as if he would. “We’ve been a bit busy darling. I’ve been…strategizing.”

“Strategizing?”

“Precisely.”

The quiet overtook the two of you. After being so distant, if he didn’t want to come to you, then so be it. You could not—would not–crack first. He could not even begin to know the bubbling furnace of your feelings, or you’d be positively done for.

“How old are you?”

His question strikes you, strikes you enough that you set the book off to the side and face him. “At what point did you start to ask me questions?”

“When I realized I had done something to anger my favorite companion,” his fingers reach out and trace small patterns on your skin. “How old are you?”

“Ninety.” Your voice moves to a whisper at the end of the word, and his eyebrows quirk.

“Only ninety and yet alone. And Balduran?”

“Yes, but I haven’t lived there since I was seventy five.”

“Something happened,” he rocks upward, now sitting nearer to you. “You weren’t supposed to be like this.”

“Perhaps that’s why I’m so naive.” It comes out more bitter than you meant, but oh well. He deserved it.

“Naive wasn’t the right word,” he looks like he’s fighting himself to turn out the next sentence. “I didn’t mean to offend.”

You smile softly, laying a hand on top of his. “I don’t know if I believe that, but I appreciate the apology.”

He grins, his deep set smile lines settling in your favorite way. “Tell me about your childhood.”

You shrug, “There’s not much to say. I was an only child, an only daughter. I used to play the lyre, learn languages, paint–”

“You come from nobility.”

“I sort of thought it was obvious,” you shrug and tap your knee against his, “I wasn’t supposed to be out in the middle of a campground, much less learning the ways of a rogue.”

“What were you supposed to be?”

“A wife, I guess.”

“And while I’m sure suitors everywhere are devastated, I much prefer my rogue.”

My. You don’t say anything and neither does he. You let the word hang there, testing to see if he reaches back to grab it, but he doesn’t. It gets quiet for a moment after that, and you can see him spinning the illusion in his head. You, swathed in organza, spinning around a marble ballroom, entertaining suitors. 

“Is that why you danced with Wyll?”

“Ah,” you smile and rest your head on his shoulder. You love these fleeting moments of intimacy, where you can both pretend to be nothing more than lovers on an adventure. “So this was spurred by jealousy?”

“As if I have anything to be jealous over Wyll. He wishes he looked half as good as me.” His words lack their normal bite, and he turns his head softly, so he’s speaking quietly, just to you. “But perhaps in the future you’d let me take you for a spin.”

You press your hand against his on the ground. “You need only ask.”

“I’ll… keep that in mind.”

There’s so much more you both want to say, confessions on the precipice of both your minds, but you say nothing. You idle together a touch longer, hands resting against each other, pretending neither of you can get hurt, envisioning a world where it’s him spinning you across the dance floor in a world where you could have each other.

[void-authority]

Please help us feed ourselves and move to a better, cheaper house so we can pay our debt and get healthy. Please read the entire post.

Help us here (p4yp4l) and here (K0f1). I know I just recently made a donations post, but this time my mom and I really need your help more than ever. We need 1000 euros total. A place near where my mom works is going under renovations and up for sale, at 400 euros per month, 200 euros less than this house's current rent price (600). My mom has to drive 30 minutes to work and then back home 5 days a week, it uses a lot of gas which is really expensive, making those travels not needed and saving up 200 euros for essentials and to pay my mom's debt would be life changing, and this house is slowly making us sick.

We're sinking deeper and deeper into debt as more days pass, and my mom has already been threatened to be taken into court if she doesn't start paying it soon. We don't have the means to pay it at all, people refuse to hire me and my mom earns just barely enough to pay rent, and we're starting to not be able to feed ourselves.

The stress of the situation and the poor conditions of the house is also harming Cookie, our cat, who we've raised since she was 2 days old, and it's stressing us out further.

I also have a rotten wisdom tooth that can't come all the way and has decayed enough where the nerve is exposed, even if I can't show it well. It has been like this for almost half a year now, and I fear it'll get to the point where it'll get infected and become a big health issue for me if I don't go to a dentist soon. If we manage to get this cheaper place and move to it, we can actively work on getting our life back together, and hopefully not have to ask for help like this ever again. If we don't, eventually we'll have to make the choice of having a roof over our heads and starve completely, or go homeless, if my mom doesn't get taken to court and likely arrested first. It's starting to get colder and we have nowhere else we can go and no people to support us, we might not survive in the long run if we don't take this chance.

Please, please help us, I'm so tired of having to ask for money to survive, but doing so is our only hope.

[notbecauseofvictories]

Hi Sarah, I'm going to visit Chicago in a couple of weeks and when I think of Chicago I think of you. What would you recommend I visit/do?

Unfortunately, Chicago is not its best self for a couple months---while I maintain that the city is for all seasons, summer is undoubtedly when it's most alive. However, there are a couple things I will definitely recommend for the unseasonably warm spring traveler:

(1) Eat some food

A friendly word of warning: do not be tricked into eating Giordano's or Lou Malnotti's. Perhaps your companions might try to win you over with promises of Chicago-style hotdogs---do not be swayed! You must manfully resist! (Harold's Chicken is that good though, and if you're close to the one in Hyde Park, feel free to devour the three piece dinner of your choice. Cheap bottle of the too-sweet wine I preferred as an undergrad optional.)

A much better option is to find a place that serves whatever food you love, but does it really really well.

Do you like sophisticated twists on a brewpub menu? Try Moody Tongue in the South Loop

Or are you really more of a tapas person? Highly recommend mfk in Lincoln Park

Would you prefer something a little....meatier? My favorite steakhouse in Chicago is Tango Sur (though I would argue their empanadas are really the showstopper)

There's nowhere in the city that does Hong Kong-style barbecue like Sun Wah in Uptown---I just stopped by after the parade for the Lunar New Year, the duck is to die for.

Are you on the West Side? First of all, do not go to Big Star. I mean, it's fine, but....come on. I'd pick Forbidden Root instead, or head over to Pilsen for Rubi's if you can't survive without tacos.

There are so, so many different bars I would recommend. Chicago was the home of bootleggers for a reason, goddamn it. Still, if you can't get to Wang's (look, I like Violet Hour too, but sometimes you don't want to drink in near-darkness), Koval (the rare distillery in Chicago), or any of the many, many craft breweries we have in the city right now, you probably can stop by one of the many, many, many bars we have in Chicago, and get a drink anyway.

There are more---of course there are more!---but we don't have all day. So instead I will leave you with this bit of wisdom: don't eat at Navy Pier or anywhere too close to Lincoln Park Zoo. If you are at a bar, don't settle for a burger when sometimes, the chicken tenders are actually better. And if you absolutely must go somewhere for pizza, choose Pequod's.

(2) See a thing

Chicago has many things in it! So many things! A hundred thousand things! Unfortunately, I don't know what you're into, so I will just talk about them in general.

MUSEUMS: I am a devoted museum-goer, and Chicago has blessed me with an endless feast. There are the big ones, of course---the Field Museum of Natural History, the Adler Planetarium, the Shedd Aquarium, the Museum of Science and Industry, the Art Institute of Chicago. However, my favorites are smaller, more unique: the International Museum of Surgical Sciences, Intuit (though it's temporarily closed, more's the pity), the Institute for the Study of Ancient Cultures at UChicago, the Lincoln Park Conservatory. That's not even all the museums in Chicago! That's not even all the museums that I've been to. It's amazing.

EVENTS: I once joked that I was a person who needed to schedule her enrichment like a blue-haired senior, but the joke was on me---I am that person! Fortunately, Chicago supports me in this endeavor by publishing many, many different calendars of "what to do this week or weekend". Do you want to see something onstage? Well, here you go. How about some classical music? I have a trusty guide. What about non-classical music? Always go to the Chicago Reader for that. Are you thinking of catching a game? Well, we're still in spring training for the Cubs and Sox, but the Bulls are doing okay even if the Blackhawks aren't, and we've got soccer (male and female) now too!

(Unfortunately, the Chicago Sky aren't playing right now, they're my favorites.)

OTHER: Unless you are extremely efficient, coming here and eating good food, doing one other thing, is more than enough. I promise it is! However, if you have more time, I definitely recommend just---wandering around. The Loop in particular is great for this, because it's reasonably small and everyone there is busy doing things. Going places, talking on phones, getting into or out of ubers, protesting outside of the Daley center, etc. etc. It's amazing to watch, and the buildings are pretty neat too.

Or you could wait a couple months, and take the Chicago Architecture Boat Tour, which I think should be a requirement for all Chicagoans. Maybe even everyone alive in the world. Just saying.

(3) Walk along the lakeshore

Chicago offers many delights, but I really do believe that Lake Michigan and its vast expanse of water, sky and space, is a unique gift to the city. It is beautiful in winter, in spring, in storms, in sun. It is free. You can sit in the grass or the sand or amble along its broad paths for miles, looking at unexpected art installations and waving grasses and the way the beaches slope to the water; you can talk to a friend or watch bikers and joggers pass you by. In the summer, there are a dozen different stands offering warm elote or cold soda, and cheerful men on jingling bike carts that will sell you neon orange push pops. In the winter, there are still bikers and joggers but also Canada geese, and you can stare mournfully at the slate grey water and ponder existence.

It is the heart of Chicago. Nelson Algren called us an "October city, even in summer"; Carl Sandburg described us as a shirtless dude who gives great oral. Personally, I think of Montrose Beach in the setting sun of winter, the sand almost too cold to touch---and beautiful, beautiful, beautiful.

[weird-is-life]

My saviour

Pairing: tasm!Peter Parker x fem!reader

Summary: Peter saves you from guy, that keeps bothering you at a party

Warnings: use of y/n, mentions of alcohol, creep not taking a no for an answer, harassment...., mentions of partying, swear words

Words: 1k

You thought, that going to your first university party to a local club with your roommates would be a good idea. But being here now, shows you, that it really wasn't.

Your roommates have disappeared out of your sight and you can't seem to find them, no matter how hard you try.

And believe me, you try hard. Because there's this drunk guy following you around and no matter how you hard you try to get rid of him, he seems to not understand that you're not interested.

You start panicking. The creep is still a few steps behind you and you don't know what to do. You stop for a second, contemplating on whether you should just start screaming or just run away.

Your train of panicking thoughts gets interrupted, when a hand wraps around your wrist. It's a soft, a little calloused hand that holds your wrist gently. Still, you flinch hard and panic even more, thinking the creep is the one holding you.

You're wrong, fortunately.

"Hey, hey, hey, it's okay, it's okay, yeah? Just play along, okay?" The guy, or more like a boy your age holding your hand, whispers quickly to your ear.

You don't even have the time to respond or to get a better look at the boy, you just nod and swallow the lump in your throat, as the creep nears you.

The boy pulls you closer to him, putting his body in front of you.

"Can I help you?" the boy sternly snarls at the creep.

"No, I just want to talk to the chick behind you, so fuck off," the creep says back, words slurring from the alcohol.

"Oh, you mean my girlfriend?" the boy says, squeezing your hand in reassurance and you almost choke as he says it, you weren't expecting it.

"Your girlfriend? You're kidding right?" the creep chuckles dryly, clearly not believing a word the boy says.

"No, not kidding," even if you can't see the boy's face, you are 100 percent sure, that his glare must be deadly, " so you should fuck off, got it?"

When the creep doesn't immediately run away, the boy adds," get lost or I'll make you." Finally the creep gets some sense into his stupid head, when he understands, that he wouldn't stand a chance against the boy towering over him.

"Whatever," the creep mutters, turning around he starts to leave, swaying from one leg to another, drunkenly.

"Fucking dickhead," you hear the boy mutter under his breath angrily.

But as soon as he turns to look at you, there are no traces of anger on his face as he smiles softly at you.

"Sorry," he tells you," are you okay?"

You finally can get a better look at him and god, to say he's very good-looking would be an understatement. You think, he might be the cutest guy you've ever seen.

"I-I-I....I'm okay, " you let out a big sigh of relief, " thank you so so much. I didn't know what to do."

"Don't thank me, everybody would do the same," definitely not everybody, but you don't tell him that. You just give him a shy smile, you're still trying to calm your racing heart.

He kindly smiles back at you," are you sure, you're okay?"

"Yeah, I'm sure. Just a little shaken up, I guess, " you confess, fiddling with the sleeve of your t-shirt.

"Do you want me to call you somebody?" You shake your head as a no.

"Really?" he asks, trying to make sure, you're really okay.

"Yes, really. My roommates are here somewhere," you look around nervously, obviously they are still nowhere to be found and you don't feel like staying here alone again.

He can see your nervousness, he would be kind of bad at his job, if he didn't notice little things like this.

So he ask you sheepishly and too nicely, "would like to get a drink with me?" He blurts it out, but when he realises how it sounds. Like he's trying to take an advantage of the fact, that you should thank him for saving you in some way, which you definitely shouldn't. He would never, ever want you to be thankful for something like this.

"I'm sorry, I mean, just like to get a soda or something, just until we find your friends." Oh. He's definitely too nice, he's willing to stay with you however long you need, even if you've never seen each other before, just because you're anxious and worried.

"Y-you don't need too...." you mumble, you don't want to bother him any more. Even if you'd really like him to stay with you.

"I don't mind, like at all," he gives you another one of his soft, kind smiles, that has you nodding bashfully with a smile of your own.

"Okay, great. C'mon, I'll find us something, that hasn't been spiked with an alcohol yet," he chuckles, " Oh and I'm Peter by the way."

"I'm y/n, it's nice to meet you, Peter," you tell him. And Peter's sure, he's fucked, the minute his name leaves your mouth.

When you eventually find your roommates, you are sad to say goodbye to Peter. You exchange numbers, with Peter's promise of texting you.

Which he keeps, he texts straight away. The minute you get into the taxi to head home, your phone vibrates with a new notification. You smile stupidly at it for the rest of the ride home.

Peter, totally on accident (not really), bumps into the creep as he swings home, fully dressed in him Spiderman suit.

And he maybe, but only maybe, threatens the guy, saying, if he ever again bothered any girl or anybody else at all, the Spiderman would find him and he would make sure, that the guy would rot in a prison cell for a long, long time.

And Peter did it with a pleased, menacing smile, even if he knew, that the guy wouldn't even remember it in the morning......

[hp-hcs]

(Fine, I’ll do it my damn self: part 5 of my silly lil mlm stories <3)

tmr is just babygirl i don’t make the rules

Watercolors (Chapter One) — tom riddle x male! artistic! hufflepuff! reader

he could manipulate and possess me thus irreversibly changing my trust in people despite it never being mentioned again and i would thank him

yk, i absolutely love chamber of secrets, but who starts a new diary (obtained under questionable circumstances) with ‘my name is’?

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Tom Marvolo Riddle had been stuck inside of his diary since he was sixteen years old.

The diary itself, inside, was a perfect replica of Hogwarts, the boundaries stretching out well into the Forbidden Forest. Perfect, except for the fact that it was made solely of parchment and ink, and was completely devoid of color or life.

Tom hated the color of parchment.

The diary passed hands many times over the five subsequent decades. First there was the pathetic, sniveling man—the Malfoy sycophant—who all but groveled at Tom’s feet (metaphorically, of course).

Next was the littlest Weasley, the redheaded girl who bored Tom to (again, metaphorical) death. He could only pretend to be interested in how Dean Thomas held the door open for her so many times before he wanted to bash his head into one of the walls.

(He tried, once. The parchment just ripped and left him with a nasty paper-cut on his forehead. Tom missed the red of blood. Now, he bled only black, dripping ink.)

Then, Harry Potter, the boy fated to defeat him, (or whatever) who turned out to be really quite sweet. As a last fuck you to whom he became in the future, Tom aided Harry in coming out to the littlest Weasley’s mother.

That’ll show Lord Voldemort, the dipshit, Tom thought gleefully.

Eventually though, even lovely Harry became more distant, his newly rediscovered godfather being the rightful center of his attention. Tom supposed he might have been jealous of the acquitted Black in another life, but after fifty years of loneliness he understood the yearning for living, breathing friends rather than just paper that writes back, as Little Weasley once called him.

Then, out of nowhere, came the Hufflepuff boy with a tin of watercolors and an eye for the overlooked.

The first thing this wondrous creature made for Tom was a little stone cottage, complete with a warm hearth, a garden of pumpkins and berries, and an idyllic curl of smoke from the chimney. The cottage sat near the edge of the forest, wonderfully secluded and alive.

Tom had watched as gentle sweeps of a brush, suspended in midair, created a home. One that existed in both the physical diary and the hellish paper prison Tom resided in.

Everything existed.

The warm, brown thatched roof, the colorfully patterned bedspread, and even a fireplace.

When the masterpiece was complete, Tom, although he would never admit it, gorged himself on the garden’s sweet huckleberries and sour raspberries. Afterward, he explored his new house, even going so far as to stick his hand into the flames of the fire.

(They weren’t real. They felt like nothing more than a faint warmth against his skin. Disappointing, Tom supposed. But probably a safety hazard.)

Then he curled up in the big bed, under the vibrant bedspread, and closed his eyes.

For the first time in fifty years, Tom slept.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Chapter Two

i need you all to know that the original title for this was “Tom Riddle is a man-whore(crux)??? (NOT CLICKBAIT)” so-

[tortillamastersblog]

𖣂 Not My Commander - Prologue | Lexa kom Trikru 𖣂

Pairing: Lexa kom Trukru x reader

Warnings: Blood, violence, injuries, cursing and some steamy scenes

Summary: Sending a hundred underaged prisoners down to Earth to find out if it’s inhabitable again is undoubtedly immoral, so The Council decides to send you down first, rather than float you for your crimes.

If you survive for more than a couple of hours, they can —in good conscience— send down the 100. If you don’t, well, then good riddance.

Next Part | Masterlist

________________________________________________

How the hell did I get here? I think, as I’m being dragged through the woods half-conscious.

A moment ago I was still in my pod, hurtling through space and now I’m here with a giant gash on my temple from when my head slammed against the control panel upon impact on the ground.

I thought I could take a moment and gather my thoughts once the pod had turned off, but no. The door had been yanked open a couple hours later and I was pulled out by the people who are now dragging me to who knows where.

They’re covered in thick furs and menacing-looking war paint and apart from the short-lived surprise I felt at seeing humans somehow inhabiting Earth, I’m shaking like a leaf now, not knowing what they’re going to do to me.

For all I know they could eat me? I mean, have you seen them?

I scoff internally, watching the forest floor pass by beneath me.

I knew as soon as I was arrested on the Ark that I’d die for my crime of finding out something I shouldn’t have, but I never imagined it would happen like this.

Now that I think about it, this isn’t “mercy”, as Jaha put it. Not at all. . . It’s cruel and I honestly would have rather been floated than be grilled and eaten like a shish kebab.

I don’t know how much time has passed when we finally stop near a stream, but I’m tired beyond belief and my legs are covered in scratches and bruises from being dragged around all day. The sun is about to set, bathing the forest in orange light and if it weren’t for my current situation I would have marveled at the sight.

The Grounders, as I’ve decided to call them, tie up my hands and feet and shove me against the bottom of a tree before setting up a fire and some sleep furs.

I watch longingly as they begin passing around some bread and dry meat, but they don’t even think of sharing with me as they settle down, talking in a foreign language around the fire.

My lips are chapped and my mouth is dry and even though I know they won’t share their food, I’m hoping they’ll share some of their water.

“Excuse me?” I speak up, my voice cracking. “Hello!”

They don’t acknowledge me. They don’t even spare me a glance.

Assholes.

I let myself fall sideways and wiggle toward the stream as best as I can with my hands and feet bound.

My clothes get all dirty and a couple of branches scratch up my face, but I keep pushing until I finally reach the water.

I take a big gulp, shivering at how cold it is before taking another sip, and another, and another.

I drink until I almost feel sick, not having had anything all day. Then, out of nowhere I’m yanked backward.

I look over my shoulder at the Grounder who’s got ahold of my sweatshirt and glare at him. “Hey! What’s your problem? It’s not like I was going to escape! How could I. . .” I whisper that last part dejectedly, but the grounder only grunts and throws me back against the tree.

It makes my back sting and I bite the inside of my cheek to prevent a curse from slipping off my tongue as the grounder gets another rope, wrapping it around my middle and around the tree to keep me kn place.

“What do you even want from me?” I ask, tugging against on restraints.

No reply.

“Where are you taking me?”

Again, nothing.

The Grounder makes sure all my bindings are secure before rejoining the others around the fire.

As frustrating as it is not to get any answers, I’m starting to think that they might not understand what I’m saying. After all, they haven’t spoken anything other than their own language and whenever I ask them something, they just ignore me.

I lean my head back against the tree and close my eyes, trying my best to ignore my aching body.

It’s been a very long day and I feel myself falling asleep to the sound of the Grounders’ chatter and the crackling of the fire.

What is this place? I look around with wide eyes taking in my surroundings.

We’re in a bustling city which has a huge tower right in the middle of it.

The tower looks like a remnant of the old world, falling apart but still intact, while the buildings around it seem to be fairly new. They’re small and look primitive being made out of wood and metal scraps, but they’re sturdy nonetheless and function as a multitude of things. I’m pretty sure we’ve already passed a forgery, a food stand, a butcher shop and a couple of stalls that sell clothes.

Impressive. . .

After a restless night of sleep, the Grounder that tied me to the tree cut me loose at dawn and pulled me to my feet. Then, they wordlessly dragged me through the woods again until we got here.

We’re pushing through the crowd of people gathered in the streets who eye us curiously, and if the direction we’re going in is anything to go by, I’m guessing we’re headed for the tower.

Why? I don’t know, but it seems like they don’t want to kill me just yet. Otherwise they would have done it the moment they found me.

Unlike yesterday, the sky today is covered by low, dark clouds. The wind has also picked up, carrying a metallic smell with it which I’m thinking might be the smell I’ve read about in books that’s associated with rain.

I’ve always wanted to know what rain is like, what it looks and sounds like, and what it feels like on the skin, but now I’ll probably be dead before any of that happens.

What if they throw me off the tower in some sort of ritualistic sacrifice?

My heart drops at the thought, but I’m too hungry and weak to dig my heels into the ground to stop our advancing.

I haven’t had anything to eat since being hauled out of my cell on the Ark, and the only thing I’ve had to drink was the water I managed to sip from the stream last night before being so rudely interrupted.

We enter the tower, the Grounders holding me nodding at the guards stationed next to the doors, and my eyes widen at the sight of the seemingly working elevator we get on.

We descended, the elevator creaking as it moves slowly before the doors open once again, revealing a dimly lit hallway.

Metal cell doors line each side and before I can protest I’m shoved into one of the cells.

The dirt-covered ground is cold and unrelenting as my knees collide with it and I wince in pain, curling up in one of the corners as the door gets slammed shut.

Great, from one cell to the next.

The Grounders leave, chatting animatedly and I drop my eyes to the metal bracelet on my wrist.

It transmits my vital signs to the Ark and because I’ve been down here for more than a day now I’m sure it has already proven that the Earth is survivable which means the 100 will be prepared to be sent down here as well.

I don’t know how long it will take for them to get here though. A day maybe? Or a week? A month? Several months?

I just don’t know, all I know is that I’m on my own and no one is coming to help me.

There’s no window in the cell, the only light streaming in through the spaces between the metal bars of the door is from the flickering torch in the hallway.

I sigh, shivering slightly, and close my eyes. My legs are pulled up to my chest and I protectively wrap my arms around them, pulling them even closer to my body.

No one is coming to help. . . I’m going to die here.

I must have fallen asleep because I wake up an unknown amount of time later with a start when I’m roughly pulled to my feet by the same Grounder who dragged me through the forest.

“Get up,” he growls and the fact that he speaks English after all stuns me so much that he has to shove me to get us moving.

“Where are we going?” I ask weakly. I’m lightheaded from not eating in so long and my tongue feels like sandpaper.

The Grounder grunts and wraps his hand around my upper arm, his grip so harsh I’m sure it will leave a bruise.

“Hey! I asked you some—“

I cringe when the back of his monstrous hand harshly collides with my cheek, sending a sting through the entire right side of my face.

“The Commander is ready to see you now,” he snarls. He pulls me into the elevator with him and I raise my hand to my throbbing cheek, closing my eyes to will the tears that are threatening to spill away.

Who the hell is The Commander?! And why does he want to see me? Why didn’t they just kill me when they found me. . .

________________________________________________

This is just the beginning of the story, people!!

[cas-backwards-tie]

Chapter Five: Threatened to Reset

Heiress of Gotham

Bruce Wayne x Daughter!Reader

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Summary: With the family's help everything is planned for the big move. A trip to Bludhaven to organize, pack, and move all your belongings leaves the past to be drug up. How will they react to your home? Will any secrets be found? Will emotions rise? Will your past be disclosed? It's all up to you... and maybe a crime boss and his goons.

Words: 4.3k

Warnings: The usual Banter and Bickering, Cursing, Knives, Threatening, Anxiety, Panic Attacks, Arguing, Fighting, Shame, Guilt, Fight or Flight.

Mentions of: Sex Trafficking, Criminal Activities, Police, Drug Busts, Prostitution, Assassins.

A/N: There's a lot of information to digest in the chapter, and really what was meant to be one chapters I actually am going to have to split up in order to make them manageable. It's been awhile, and while I'm still trying to figure out how to manage my life in the sense of hobbies, work, my health, a possible second job, and extracurriculars, I request you all be patient with me. I definitely do have more in store, yet for now this chapter isn't proofread (at least the beginning and end) I just need to get this one out.

Having discussed tomorrow’s events as a group at dinner, your Father let you lead the charge in what would happen with your apartment’s belongings. Decided on packing everything up and either donating the things you don’t need, storing the important things, and transporting the things you do need, it was simple enough. Nothing a little packing tape and rounds of boxes won’t fix.

Starting the day with a hearty breakfast from Alfred, you all packed into a minivan you didn't know or think the Bruce Wayne would ever own, let alone have anything to do with. Nevertheless, the ride was fairly timely to get to your old apartment building. Saying hello to the few neighbors coming in and out who you recognized and knew, you led the gang up the seven flights and begrudgingly let them inside. You knew sooner or later they'd find out where and how you lived. It certainly isn't as nice as Wayne Manor, but of course, what else would you expect?

Assigning everyone to different spots and or groups of items in the apartment, you really feel like they went for overkill. A welcoming and slightly overwhelming sense of love blossoms in your chest as they really didn't all need to help, but everyone insisted on coming anyway. Even Tim's girlfriend, Stephanie. How nice, you think, for someone to actually care that much to go out of their way. Family almost congesting the apartment, you focus on your room and belongings. The fact that Damian hasn't even made any rude remarks (that you know of) is surprising in itself.

After almost everything is packed away, it's a few hours past noon, and Alfred is tired. Damian insists he's spent enough time in this 'hellhole' and almost demands that Alfred take him home. With the time having gotten away from you and some of the others, it seems to no one's surprise that Tim and Stephanie also apologetically explain their need to leave. They have homework they need to get done; and with that, Alfred agrees that it might be best to head back to the Manor with everyone who needs to leave. Dick lives in Bludhaven, so there's no surprise he'd stay. And while Jason has his motorcycle, coming from his own apartment, he says he doesn't mind staying until it's all finished. Bruce also having come separately after checking in at work, explains that the two of you can drive back together once everything's done. It'd been lucky enough that he'd brought his car, and not one of the nicer ones, either.

Searching all the nearby boxes, you don’t find it. It’s nowhere to be seen, and if it’s not here then that can only mean one thing: They took it. Opening up the box near the kitchen you retrieve a butcher’s knife. Hand gripping the handle tightly you storm to the front door and lock it.

“Woah, woah- what’s going on?” Jason asks, hands raising in concern as he stops boxing the books that’d been on the nearby shelf.

With a tense look in his eyes, you adjust the knife in your palm, getting a better and more sturdy grip on it. Other hand rising to your mouth you place your pointer finger before your lips. A tacit command of ‘silence’. Jason’s fear had drawn the attention of the other two, though you ignore them as you quickly storm through the living room and down the hall.

Eyes flitting back and forth out the window, up and down the fire escape you quickly return with the same fervor you’d previously held. “Why do you have a knife?” Dick questions.

Back at the front door, you press your ear to it and listen to the hallway, hoping that if anyone were to come, you’d hear them and be ready. In the attempt of a raid via bursting through the door, at least you’ll be the first one in the line of fire, able to protect everyone. No sound so far; backing from the door slowly, you turn toward the men. While the worst case scenario always pops into your mind first, you’re not oblivious to the measly chance this could simply chalk up to coincidence. Holding out the knife, you point to each man in the room as your gaze shifts between them.

“Look. There was a gun in there last time we were here. It’s always there. If none of you have seen it, let alone packed it away… then we have a big problem,” you reveal. Knife pointed in the direction of the safe that's now open within a drawer of the tv stand, it's clear that everything else has been packed away.

Between the couch and television diagonally to your left stands Dick. Hands raised, he holds a stoic expression as he stands closest to the safe. His blue eyes flit to Jason. Knife shifting toward him, he too stands with his hands by his waist, palms facing you. Eyes filled with confusion and concern, he shifts his weight as he stands across the room in the corner between the kitchen's counter and the opening to the hallway. His green eyes shift to Bruce.

Before you can even turn the knife on the man closest to you, diagonally standing in the kitchen opening to your right, someone speaks up. “I took it,” Jason announces. All eyes dart to him and you watch as he slowly starts to reach around his back towards his waistband. Out of the corner of your eye you spot Bruce move.

“Don’t!” You warn, stepping back and pointing the knife at him. He’s not going to disarm you. Eyes back on Jason, you motion with the knife for him to place the produced gun onto the table between you two. Gun dangling from his fingers, he doesn’t move, so you gesture again with more of a ferocity this time. “Put it on the table.” It’s a command, not a request.

He slides it across the table. Three steps close the distance between you and the item. Though Bruce could easily do something behind your back, just out of your peripheral vision now, you focus on the task at hand. One look at the gun has you skeptical; face tense, you use the knife to turn the gun around. The examination is short. One flip of the gun onto its other side and a quick lift into your hands to make sure the safety is on, you release the bullet cartridge to find that one bullet is missing. With a click of the cartridge locking back into place, you toss it back onto the table.

Storming back to the door where you're at a far enough distance from all of them, your forearms rest against the splintering wood, face buried within them for a moment to gather yourself. Slowly turning back toward the men, but more specifically Jason, you glare daggers at him. “Why didn’t you just tell me you had the gun when I first mentioned it missing,” not waiting for an answer, your head tilts a bit as you don’t play his game. “Nevertheless, did you really think I’d be stupid enough to not recognize that that’s an entirely different gun? So what’s your game?”

Silence lingers. Jason knows he’s fucked, and they all know it too. Why did he think she’d fall for that? Better yet, why wouldn’t she?!It was worth a shot, sure, but the real gun is still back at the Batcave. However, she can’t know that. “There’s no game,” Bruce says your name, a sincere look in his eyes.

“I wasn’t asking you,” you bark, knife turning on him as he tries again to take a step closer. His hands are still raised in an attempt to de-escalate the situation.

The silence is expected, however, the smile that creepily inches across your lips is not. A shift of the knife in your palm has you gripping the handle in an underhanded approach, ready to stab, rather than slice. “Ha,” you scoff, “I knew it… too good to be true. I can respect the lengths he’ll go to play his little games, but this is just beyond fucked. A ploy to what? Fuck with me, pretend to be my family, and now what? Kill me? I knew it. After yesterday, I just knew it was coming.”

“What are you talking about?” Jason asks incredulously, a hint of anger and fear within his tone.

“Who?” Dick asks coldly, taking a step closer.

“Antonio Marin?” Bruce asks. Eyes darting to meet his, you shift the knife in your palm again to get a better grip on it.

“Oh, you wanna play it this way? Act all fucking coy and innocent now?” Gears shifting, you eye the other two men. “Unless he’s just another victim to his plan, I don’t buy it. Richest man in the world and he’s a good guy? Yeah? No.”

“Should’ve known,” you sigh, shaking your head. “BPD? Too obvious.” With a sad smile and tears beginning to threaten your eyes, you chuckle. “Well if he wants me, then go ahead. I’ve got nothing left. If I’m the last piece to the puzzle then do it. Kill me. It’s three to one, I know you’ve got a gun and more than enough bullets to take me.” You thump your chest with your free hand, open, ready to accept your fate. “Do it! Shoot me, Jason. Right now! Kill me.”

As if the reality of the situation suddenly dawns on you, fear readily replaces the confidence you’d just boasted. Backing up against the door you shift the knife in your hand to a stabbing position again, as you continue to shift it, unsure which approach will be best in your defense. Suddenly you're terrified of what’s to come. “No… no. Three big men on one teenage girl?” The way Jason had hesitated, it’s apparent. “I knew he was expanding the business, but like this? NO.” Chest heaving with rapid breaths, you’re suddenly running on pure adrenaline. Panic sets in as you know what the man's got planned for you. “If you want me then I’m not going down alone. I’ll kill myself before I let that happen to me- and if that doesn’t work then I’ll mangle myself SO badly that nobody will buy me,” you threaten, voice deepening in a terrifyingly chilling way.

Placing the knife against your neck, you’re more than ready to take yourself off the table. You won’t let that happen to yourself. You won’t let anyone take advantage of you that way. A punishment worse than death is something you're not willing to participate in, nor offer.

Dick calls your name in a calm tone, one far too calm for this situation. “This isn’t any ploy, or game. We don’t work for anyone. If you think someone’s after you, you need to tell us. We can’t help you if we don’t know what’s going on.”

“Oh,” you relinquish too easily, knife falling back to your side. Turning to face the door your eyes settle against it for a moment before spinning back to face the man. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize that Officer Grayson from the BPD was here! I’ll just tell you everything so you can either arrest me or take me out on his behalf!” With a step toward him, you raise the knife by your side again. “Do you really think I’m that stupid, Grayson? That I wouldn’t realize you’d try to get a confession out of me, record this- have them take a voice memo? This isn’t my first rodeo.”

"It's not like that. We're just trying to help! You can't seriously believe this is all some conspiracy against you," Dick argues. His voice is still calm, and while the raised brow elicits a begrudging irk and prick of paranoia in your mind, his words do nothing but continue to cause the gears to mentally turn. "If someone wanted to take you out there would've been easier methods. You would've been dead weeks ago."

A wry chuckle leaves your lips, a knowing smile still set on your features as you two stand off with one another. "Sure... if it was anyone else. Yet that's not how he plays his game and you know it."

"You still think I'm corrupt?" Dick asks, shifting his weight to lean into his hip on one side.

"How could you not be?! Look at me and tell me that you're not! That you don't know about Perdy Chapman, or any of the sabotage the BPD plays," you demand.

"I know about the sabotage. I don't know about Perdy Chapman, but if you know something," he recites your name, "you have to tell us. I can't do anything or help anyone if everyone's keeping secrets."

"What? So this is all a loyalty test? An attempt to get me to come back? There's no way he's that desperate."

"Come back? You worked for Antonio Marin?" Bruce pipes up, concerned blue eyes turning on you as he shifts his gaze between you and Dick. Hands still up in surrender, he takes a step towards you.

"Quit fucking with me! If this is because he thinks I'll rat, I won't! I'm not a fucking rat. We got out, we left! We don't owe him anything!"

"If you know where he is you need to tell us," Jason voices his concern, also taking a step closer. "No one is taking you back, no one is gonna hurt you. I'll be damned before that happens." Jason whispers your name, garnering your attention as he gives you a serious look, "If you think he's after you, we need to know. We can't help you if we don't know what's going on."

With a stomp and a slash of the knife by your side as you realize they're right, you won't do this without a stipulation. "Fine! But... I can't go to the cops. I can't... file a report. I can't do anything. Promise me-" you respond, voice starting off confident until his falls short of a whisper. Jason nods, starting to close the space as he pulls out the last chair remaining at the dinner table.

"No cops, you got it. Just... tell us what happened, what's going on," Jason concedes, hand settled on the back of the chair.

As you shake your head in decline toward the chair, Jason easily swivels it around and sits on it backwards, attention on you. As you place the knife on the side table by the front door, you start to pace. "I... don't know where to start," you voice your thoughts.

"From the beginning," Dick encourages, voice gentle as he realizes Jason has made progress by building a rapport. Something he hadn't realized he could be making more of an effort towards, he supposes. Even if he already feels like he's done more than he can for the girl.

As the Detective sits on the back of the couch and Bruce leans against the wall, your eyes can't help but find his... your Father's. "I... I can't-" you realize. Steps coming to a halt, you find yourself face to face with the last person in your life who you feel like you can't lose. The only person you need to impress, to suck up to.

"This is important," Bruce says your name, head tilting further downward as he offers a more straight-on look with your height differences, not to mention the sympathetic look that crosses his features.

Eyes falling to the floor, you shake your head. "I can't. I don't want you to look at me differently, and I know you will. There's no way you can't." It's a warning, a vague divulgence on the subject matter. There's no way this conversation can happen without someone's impression being changed or shifted. It's just not possible.

"That won't happen," Bruce reassures.

"There's no way it can't happen. You don't know!" You argue, hands gesticulating the emphasis of your seriousness.

"This is your safety we're talking about," Jason reminds.

"We all have pasts," Dick reiterates your name, "we've all done things. It won't change anything."

"I promise," Bruce adds on, following up with Dick's words. Bending to be on your level, he holds out his pinky, and while part of you hesitates, the seriousness in his eyes begs for a piece of trust. An inkling of hope, sincerity, vulnerability, trust. Wrapping your much smaller pinky around his, you shake on it.

As he lets go and returns to leaning against the wall, they all sit in anticipation, waiting for you to speak. "From the beginning?" You question.

"From the beginning," Dick echoes again, trying his hardest to be patient. With a tacit gesture of his hand, he guides you to sit on the couch cushions. Despite his offer, you choose to sit on the floor in front of the couch, back leant up against it as Dick chooses to sit in the armchair to the left of it. Jason comes closer, perching himself on the edge of the tv stand, while Bruce lingers by the back of the couch to your right, still in your periphery.

"It... all started about, I don't know, two years ago?" Jason nods in encouragement, a sign for you to keep going. "I don't- I don't know exactly when, I can't really place a time or say because I didn't know- I didn't- I never thought- I mean," the words tumble from your lips as your thoughts begin to race with the memories. Heart beating faster, there was never a definitive point in time you could place. "He just... started coming over. After-" swallowing the thick lump that forms in your throat, the faint burning sensation of tears threatening to start welling up becomes real. "-Mom got laid off."

"Mhm," Dick hums, hands clasping in his lap as he expresses the fact that he's listening.

"Everyone knew who he was. We all do, but of course, you're nice to people you don't necessarily know. You don't wanna start any problems. I guess Mama met him one night when she was out with my Tia. He said he could get her job back, that he could help her make money again, that we wouldn't have to move, to get evicted. He'd get her job back. So he did. She didn't ask, she didn't even want her job back after everything they said and did to her, firing her just because of her skin- but... he did it anyways. He got her job back at the hospital and even got her a promotion. How? I never asked, but if you know Marin, then I guess you can imagine."

"Then he told her she owed him," Bruce speaks up as you take a breath. His tone is definitive, certain, as if he knows. A shake of your head lets him know he's wrong.

"Of course, she went back to see him at the same bar. She thanked him, we all did... but that wasn't the end of it. He said if she ever wanted anything more, a side job, extra money, anything else, that he could give her that. That all she need do is ask." A sigh escapes your lips and you subtly shake your head again. you know you'll have to tell them. It'll get there eventually, yet there's no way of knowing how they'll react. "They became friends. I always thought he liked her, that's why he was so nice."

"But he showed his true colors, didn't he?" Jason comments, a dangerous and almost vengeful tone in his voice as he leans forward so his elbows rest on his knees. His hands curl in and out of fists as he listens.

"No... he was... just nice." Finally looking up to meet their eyes, you gauge the room. Each man has a different expression on his face, looks of curiosity, intrigue, suspicion, and anger all around. "He'd be at the parties, come over, take us out, have a drink. He became a part of the family, at least... for a while. I think it all changed when Mama said no to him. He asked her out, and she finally understood why he'd been so nice to her. Yet, that didn't change anything. Being friends, he was still coming around. Maybe he was doing more, becoming more distant, but not much changed. He kept offering, and offering, and eventually I think she figured if she had control, and it was something he'd offer, then how could it hurt? It was only after that year and once the gifts died down that, well..."

"What?" Jason raises his eyes again to meet yours as he'd been mulling over his own thoughts for a moment, head in hands. A chuckle shakes his chest subtly as his hands shoot out in gesticulation. "You can't just say 'after that, well...' and not finish the story!"

"Come on, Jase-" Bruce gently reprimands with a look.

"It's clear there's more," Dick interrupts his Father to address you, still in the position he'd been in. Eyes intent on you as he waits for an answer, a scowl on his lips.

"I finally asked him if there was any way I could do something. Something small to make money; like mow someone's lawn, pet-sitting, house-sitting... things like that." Eyes falling to the pilled carpet by your sock-clad feet, you pick at the fluffy brown fabric. "I had school. My mom would hate me if she knew I asked him, but everyone else was getting money, and I figured if he was like my Uncle or Dad it's normal to ask for those things... I think." Hair falling over your shoulders, it masks your face as you rush to get the rest of the story out.

"He... had me do jobs for him. It was easy. Deliver presents, bouquets, envelopes, packages, things like that. No problem, lots of people do that, right? But I was making at least a hundred every week, if not more, and, and I didn't think about it. It was easy money! I could buy whatever I wanted, I could save, I could spoil my friends, my mom... I never thought about it until I... got curious." Words trailing off, you risk a glance up at Dick. Tucking your bangs behind your ear, his expression is immovable. He's stoic; a pickup of heartrate leaves you anxious as you haven't been able to easily read him like many of the others.

The movement of Jason's lips slowly opening garners your attention, and as his eyes widen you quickly duck your head back down again. "You were..." he tests the waters.

"So one day I decided to stay. They never opened their packages in my vicinity. Never opened the presents, envelopes, packages, or undid the bouquet. It didn't feel right. I haven't gotten many presents in my life, but I'd think if I got a big one like those, I'd open it right away... see what it is." Continuing with your story, you didn't give Jason even half a fraction of time to finish his thoughts. "So I delivered the package like normal, watched them count out the money and hand it over before I was on my way. Around the corner, I was halfway down the block when I realized I could probably wait it out, hide somewhere across the street and watch them from one of the store windows. They wouldn't notice. I could just put on my hood, if anything, and... well, then it-" eyes shifting back up to Dick, you don't look away this time, "-it happened."

"I hadn't realized it but parked on the opposite side of the road and right by me out of sight from where I'd come there were cop cars parked. Cops lined up with their guns pulled, batons and riot shields ready. I froze..." At this moment it seems like the gears in Dick's mind are finally starting to turn and place things together. "I thought I was caught, for something I only suspected, but... within seconds the cops were ushering me out of the area while the second team were busting the gang of boys I'd come from for having drugs."

"They were using you," Bruce states, an air of sympathy encased in his word choice.

"You were a mule f-" Jason affirms.

"-But that wasn't the end of it," Dick says confidently, his dark blue eyes still set on you, unmoving, a quirked brow joining his visage. "You said you're out. So if that's true then how'd that happen?" He asks, finally shifting in his seat as his head slightly tilts. It's almost as if he's testing you. "Exactly," he clarifies.

"Once I realized what was happening I ran home. I-" jaw clenching, your eyebrows furrow as you don't want to have to admit this. Especially not when Dick looks so confident and arrogant. You know he'd seen you that day, just like you knew you'd seen him. A silent staring match follows,a few seconds, before your resolve crumbles upon the memories. "I told my mom. I was crying, and she was shocked and surprised and angry and mad and I didn't know what to do! I didn't know where to go or who to tell, and I knew she'd be mad but she said she wasn't mad at me, but at him and that it was okay because she was gonna get us out of it. We met up with Anto- with- with Marin," you correct yourself. "We demanded out, and... he let us go. He said we were free to go as long as we didn't say or do anything that went against him. My mom didn't want us involved with him anymore."

"He just 'let you go'?" Dick reiterates.

"Yes. That's it," you reveal, a shrug following as you don't bother to make eye contact. "Now you know!" The revelation leaves you upset and unaware of anyone else's responses. You just know that this changes everything, now that they know... they know that you're a bad person. You dealt drugs. You worked for a mobster. A gangster, a criminal; you stocked up drug money, saving it, keeping it. Blood money, one could even claim in earnest... and you couldn't argue with them.

~~~~~~~~

forever taglist: @ohdamnadam , @safarigirlsp , @jynzandtonic , @moonlightsolo

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[fanficsformyfaves]

Safe

Loki Laufeyson x Fem Witch!Reader

WARNING: SMUT 18+, ANGST, Oral Sex ( R Receiving) P in V Sex, No Protection (This is fiction, you are not, WRAP IT UP), Praise Kink, Mentions of Torture, Hurt to Comfort

PREFACE: Nearly a month after being rescued by Loki, Reader begins to warm up to him and even starts developing a crush on the all powerful god. One night, she has a particularly frightening nightmare about being kidnapped by Thanos and goes to find Loki for comfort

A/N: Flashbacks in Italics!

Dream Sequence in Bold, Italics and Colored!

Loki never faked his death in Avengers 1, but just escaped in this A/U

I have such an affinity for big scary villains having soft spots for 'that one person'

"Please", I sobbed quietly,

As the titan walked closer towards me. The gauntlet on his wrist emitting different colored glows from each infinity stone.

"I don't know where the mind stone is", I lied.

I couldn't give Vision away and betray the family I made of the Avengers. They've saved my life on countless occasions and I couldn't let them down.

"Lies do not bode well with me, little witch. It is in your best interest to be complicit", he warns menacingly,

Before calling over his henchmen to pull my bruised aching frame off the floor.

"I will not ask again...where...is...the stone?"

"I don't know!"

He sighs heavily and points the golden fist right at me.

"Fine. Have it your way"

The gauntlet begins to radiate light and I felt it drawing my powers out of my body. The screams of agony I let out echoing around the room and down every hall.

To say it was excruciating would've been an understatement. I could physically feel the life in me being quickly drained and the remaining strength I had left leaving with it.

Just as I was on the verge of completely losing consciousness, I wake up screaming into the darkness of my bedroom.

This was not the first nightmare I've had since escaping Thanos and I was sure it wouldn't be the last, but this one felt all too real. Like, I truly was still on that spaceship, enduring even more of the torture.

It had been nearly a month since Loki found and rescued me. No one knew that either of us survived Thanos' attempt on our lives, so, we were left to hide out somewhere in Europe.

At first, I wanted to leave and find the rest of the Avengers, but Loki refused to let me go and enchanted the house we were staying in. It wouldn't have been a problem...had I not just lost most of my powers.

He was a god after all and I was nowhere near strong enough to break through his magic, especially running on an almost empty tank.

"It's not safe-"

"They're my family, Loki-"

"Then they should be able to understand that you are in no condition to fight!"

"I at least need to let them know I'm alive!"

"And risk exposing yourself to Thanos?! Are you really that stupid?!"

The tension between us was all you could feel. That and the deafening silence that followed his harsh words.

"Don't call me that-"

"Stop acting like it and I will"

I walk away and take a seat by the bay window. He sighs and bows his head.

"I saved your life. You might hate me for this now, but I do hope...eventually, you'll understand", he says,

Before making his way back to his room.

I couldn't really blame him for being the way that he was. He had lost so much already and I was the only person, besides his brother, to give him another chance at life.

Loki and I met long before the kidnapping, while he was in S.H.I.EL.D.S' custody. No one was getting through to him and Thor thought I would be the right person for the job, given my past.

"You sure about this, kid?", Nat questioned,

"I know enough about dealing with people like him"

She furrows her eyebrows curiously.

"What does that mean?"

"I was like him", I emphasized,

Before walking towards the chamber they locked him up in.

"Well...you must be the witch I've been hearing so many murmurs about"

I sigh through my nose, as he scanned me up and down.

"A lot shorter than I imagined"

"And a hell of a lot tougher than your futile attempts to get under my skin, so", I smiled sarcastically,

"Oooh, sharp tongue", he says,

Using his elbow to lean against the glass, as his deep voice causes my stomach to stir.

"You might just be the most interesting person I've met today. Well, that's not saying much, given your competition. My dull brother, the broody spy, metal man and captain wonder boy"

I scoff, folding my arms.

"I hear you use to be a villain of sorts. Why the change? I can tell you had potential"

"I found a family"

It was now his turn to scoff and turn away.

"The avengers?", he mocked,

Turning back to watch me step closer to the glass.

"You truly think they actually care about you?"

I take a moment to myself, before returning my attention to the god before me.

"I used to be just like you. Untrusting, malicious, a conniving little backstabber that was convinced that everyone was out to get me. I would hurt people before they could even think of hurting me first, sound familiar?"

He rolls his eyes and shakes his head at me.

"If you're such an expert on my character, then why not just kill me and get it over with?", he questioned,

"Because you still have a chance. I did and I know you do too"

"How incredibly naive. This little mind game of yours might work on the weak, but not on me"

"Its not a mind game, Loki. It's the truth"

He glares at me in an attempt to scare me off, but that wasn't going to work.

I knew back then if the team had just walked out on me, I would still be in the same exact position as him, maybe even worse off. So I wasn't going to back down without a fight.

"Was it easy for me to let my guard down? No, it was terrifying. I thought they would turn on me at any chance they got, but when they came back and saved me from Hydra...I knew I could trust them"

"How touching. Should I bring out the violins?"

I roll my eyes at his sarcasm.

"The point of all of this is that I'm not giving up on helping you"

"You're wasting your time", he said dismissively,

"Maybe, but that's not gonna stop me"

Unbeknownst to me, what I said actually got to him that night and for the first time in centuries, he truly felt seen as something other than a monster.

After his escape, I didn't see him again till Ragnarok, when we had to battle against his sister, Hela.

I was preoccupied with fighting off one of the undead that I didn't notice another one closing in on me. Just as the Draugr was about to swing his sword, his head was cut clean off his neck and the moment his body hit the ground, Loki was revealed standing right behind him.

"Hi", I greeted surprised,

"Hi", he nodded.

I look behind Loki and see Hela's wolf charging at us, when I use my powers to suspend the creature in the air and send it flying over Asgard's edge.

"I see you've gotten stronger", he says,

Causing me to shrug.

Once Thor put an end to Hela's reign of terror and got the remaining of Asgard's people safely onto the ship, we thought we were in the clear.

We couldn't have been more wrong. The refugees were mercilessly slaughtered by Thanos' guards and we were all imprisoned for days. All of us, except for Loki, who still pretended to be on the titan's side.

Eventually, when Thor was ejected out of the ship, Loki somehow managed to sneak the tesseract out and plan his escape, but when he realized I was still trapped there, he couldn't leave me behind.

I was laying in my cell, after freshly being drained of my magic, when a flash of green catches my eye. I tiredly turn to see who it was and in my half-conscious state, I could still recognize the man rushing to my side.

"Loki?", I called out weakly,

"Shhh, I've got you", he whispered,

Scooping me up into his arms, before using the tesseract to teleport us away.

I couldn't make out where we were, but he immediately lays me down on the bed and started checking me for injuries. Thankfully, only my hands had aged years from my powers being taken and they would eventually return to normal with time.

"Get some rest. I need to make some arrangements"

It didn't take long for me to fall asleep after that.

Back to present day, I find myself leaving my room and making my way to his. Hesitantly, I knocked on his door and awaited a response. The door eventually opens and I was met with Loki rubbing his tired eyes.

"(Y/N)?"

I could no longer keep my composure. I run into his arms, throwing my own around him and sobbing into his chest.

"I had a nightmare", I wept.

He sighs in relief, before holding me.

"I still see him when I close my eyes"

"Shhh, you're alright"

I pull away, sniffling and he wipes my tears away.

"Come in", he urged,

Gesturing to the inside of his room. I nod and walk in, taking a seat on the foot of his bed, as he followed suit.

"He can't get you. I won't let him", he reassured,

Taking my hand into his.

"You can't promise me that"

"That won't inhibit me from trying"

I take a deep breath, as he uses his hand to gently cup my cheek and turn me to face him.

"It won't"

"Could I um...stay here? Just for tonight", I sniffled,

"Of course", he reassures.

We get into bed and buried ourselves beneath the blanket. A few moments of silence goes by, till Loki spoke up.

"Was this the first nightmare?"

I was too embarrassed to reply, so I simply shook my head.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I was ashamed. I didn't wanna worry you either"

"Ashamed? You've gone through the worst of it and here you were, worried about how I would see you? (Y/N), you don't have to pretend with me. You're allowed to express your pain"

Hearing him be so sincere and gentle was more than enough to calm my nerves. I scoot closer towards him and he welcomes me in with a warm embrace.

"You are here with me and as long as there is still life in my veins, I promise you, you are safe"

I crane my head up and he meets my gaze.

Maybe it was just the exhaustion that was getting to me, but in that moment, I felt something and I was sure he felt it too.

"Loki", I whispered,

Carefully bringing my hand to his cheek.

"Yes?"

Without wasting another precious second, I press my lips onto his. If you had told me months ago that Loki and I would be here, in this moment, I would've laughed in your face, but right now...all I could think about was how good he felt against me. How effortlessly his skilled hands would caress the expanse of my back.

For a while, he reciprocated the kiss with the same fervour that I had, but then suddenly, he pulled away from me with a gasp.

"We can't"

"Loki-"

"If you're doing this because you feel as though you owe me...don't"

I couldn't help but feel my heart ache at his words. He really thought this was just a pity kiss, when it was nothing of the sort.

With my hands still cupping his face, I spoke.

"Loki. You saved my life, yes...but this isn't just some act of me saying thank you. Don't get me wrong, I will forever be grateful, but this is not what tonight is about"

He watched me intently, anticipating what I had to say.

"Life could end at any given moment and I won't spend what could be my last days being afraid. I know should've said this sooner...but I've fallen for you", I confessed.

His shoulders relaxed at my words.

"You truly mean that?"

"With every fiber of my being", I reassured,

Rubbing my thumbs back and forth on the apples of his cheeks. He lets out a breath he didn't realize he was holding, before continuing.

"You have no idea how long I've been waiting to hear you say that"

All the weight that had been burdening me for weeks had finally been taken off my shoulders. He brushes a hair away from my forehead, before continuing to speak.

"You saved me from the moment you met me. You gave me another chance at redemption...and I will never"

He presses a kiss to my forehead.

"Ever"

He pressed one more to my cheek.

"Be able to thank you enough"

He presses a final one to my lips.

"If you'll have me, darling, I would love to show you the depths of my devotion"

I couldn't help, but blush at his request.

"I'd love nothing more" I exhaled.

That was all the god of mischief needed to hear, before grinning like a wild cat and pouncing onto me.

Our lips meet in a heated exchange, as his hands used my hips to pull me in closer. Every inch of my skin was burning for more. All the secret pining and anticipation has lead us to this very moment and I knew there was no going back from here. Not that I had any plans of doing so.

At some point, he flips us over so that I was on top, straddling the expanse of his thighs. I pull away for a moment to grasp at the bottom off my sweater and pull it off over my head. I was now left completely topless.

A coy smile tugs at his lips and his hands make their way up my waist, till they gently settled on my breasts.

"Had I known this was what awaited me beneath your clothes, I would've invaded New York much sooner", he joked,

Making me chuckle, whilst biting back a smile and shamelessly rolling my hips against his erection.

"Glorious, every inch of you", he exhaled.

Every word he spoke had me losing my breath. Though, it should come as no surprise to me, as he was always so effortless with them. He didn't have to say or do much to make me melt and he knew it.

Growing impatient with me teasingly grinding on him, he flips us over once more, causing a surprised gasp to escape me.

"You will be the death of me", he murmured under his breath,

Kissing me again. His lips eventually trail down my neck, the valley between my breasts, till he wrapped them around one of my eager buds, using the tip of his tongue to draw firm circles. The sinful noises spewing out of me only encouraging him further.

Once he was done showering both my hardened nips with attention, he journeyed down farther, before yanking my shorts and underwear off and pulling my thighs apart. I couldn't help but feel a chill run up my spine, seeing him stare at me with now darkened eyes.

"At long last"

He drags a finger up my drenched slit.

"A feast worth dying for", he whispered,

Finally lowering his head. I gasp at the contact, feeling his tongue clean up the mess he caused. My hands flying up at his hair, grasping at the roots.

"Loki", I whimpered,

As my legs tighten around his head. I was only met with approving hums and his hands keeping my legs apart, allowing him to continue savoring the taste of me.

"Even the sweetest fruits fall bitter at your presence", he mumbled against my bundle of nerves,

Sucking it in like the last thing he'd ever have.

I already found myself trying to fight of the nearing climax that was threatening to overtake me.

It would've been less of a struggle, had he not decided to slip two of his digits into my needy cavern, repeatedly pressing into my sweet spot. He was oh so precise with his ministrations.

"You're close, I can feel it. Do not deny me of that. Come undone for me, darling. Show me how good I make you feel"

That was the final push I needed for the knot in my stomach to snap apart and unravel. My vision fading for a moment, as my body tensed to welcome in the euphoric high.

Eventually, I grow limp coming down from my orgasm and he slowly made his way back up to my lips.

"Do you taste yourself? So exquisite, so rich. I must have you"

"Then take me", I demanded,

Holding the back of his neck.

"I was only ever yours to take"

I could tell that unlocked something within him. Like I had just awoken a beast that was already trying to claw its way out. Giving me one last mischievous smirk, he sits up, pulling his own boxers off, revealing his painfully hard cock that was begging to be soothed.

"Do you see what you do to me? Driving me up the walls by simply just being? I will ravish you to no end"

"Stop talking and just do it"

He chuckles deeply and reunites our lips once again, before tossing my legs around his waist. He takes his member into his hand, pressing the red aching tip against my sensitive clit. My back arching off the mattress as a result.

"So responsive to my touch. Will you be good for me?"

"Yes", I whispered,

And before I knew it, he plunges himself into me, resulting in another gasp to escape my parted lips.

"You are just as I'd dreamt", he groaned into my ear.

After giving me a moment to adjust, he slowly pulled his hips back, before thrusting back inside of me.

"You feel so good around me"

It didn't take long for his pace to pick up momentum. Within what felt like seconds, he began pounding mercilessly into my heat. His arms bound tightly around me waist preventing me from slipping away, as if I had any plans to.

That same familiar feeling that overwhelmed me not too long ago already building up.

Loki wasn't that far behind either. I could tell by the tempo of his movements faltering with each passing second.

"I cannot hold back any longer. Come with me, darling. Now", he struggled,

As we both fall into it together. I claw down at the alabaster skin of his back, whilst he gripped onto me for dear life, emptying himself into my pulsing walls. He then collapses on top of me and we take a moment to catch our breaths.

By the end, the room smelled of sex, sweat and the apple cinnamon candle illuminating the darkness.

He then musters the remaining of his strengths to carefully pull out of me and place me atop his sweaty chest.

"Nothing and no one will ever hurt you again. Not while I can help it", he promised,

Kissing the top of my head.

[ailithnight]

A few notes:

I originally planned to have this one have a couple of povs like the first, but then u got carried away writing feral Danny so, just Tim today.

I hope to get the next one out sometime this weekend cause it's harder to write when I have work.

Also, everyone thank @cursedzucchini for writing the comment that gave me the executive function to take these words out of my brain and put them in my phone. Reading that there was someone out there checking the tag for updates every day really motivated me.

Now, without further ado

Chapter 1

A King in Arkham

Chapter 2

Tim sighs, rubbing his temples and attempting to will away the sleep deprivation headache currently pounding on the inside of his skull. Pushing 80 hours awake, the last 38 of which have been spent combing backwards through any and all Arkham documents pertaining to one Daniel James Fenton.

He moved his hands away from his head, placing them on the fresh cup of coffee that had materialized while he was massaging, giving a cursory "Thanks" the retreating body. Normally, Alfred would have cut Tim off from caffeine yesterday. But it seems even the old butler was keen on something being found to justify pulling the kid out of Arkham.

Or maybe that was Jason fueling Tim's addiction. Man had been hovering since Batman called him back at the last break out. At least Dick had been able to reason better with the most volatile of the Wayne siblings.

"Picking him up and running won't do either of you any favors, Little Wing. It'll just put him and Hood on wanted posters. If you want him to have any shot at a life out here, you gotta let Bruce take it through the proper channels."

That had at least prevented Jason from snapping on anyone immediately, though he had seen fit to warn everyone that of they didn't have something by the next break out, he'd be doing it his way.

Which is why Tim had spent the last day and a half poring over every medical record, therapy session, schedule, action report, and discipline slip Arkham had on file that even mentioned Patient 26B.

Meanwhile, Oracle had her hands full trying to find any background information on the young ward. A task which itself was proving challenging because the place the kid came from seemed to have no digital presence at all. None. Not a Facebook or Twitter or MySpace pinging from the area. Not an email address or YouTube account. Not a single god damned website. Not even a .gov! Hell, the only reason they knew the city's name is because it was listed in the CPS paperwork from Chicago.

In other places, small towns and communities in the middle of nowhere, this wouldn't really raise any red flags. But Amity Park was not actually a nowhere town. It certainly wasn't a Gotham or Metropolis. But it was big enough to have formed a conurbation with the nearby city of Elmerton. Which had a perfectly normal digital presence. So Amity Park's lack of digital presence screamed Communications Blackout. A frighteningly strong one to still be giving Oracle the run around almost 2 days later.

Once Tim was finished reviewing Arkham reports, then the 3 weeks of documents from Daniel's stay in Chicago, he'd probably offer to help her. Though she might tell him to go the fuck to sleep instead.

For now. Tim was nearing the beginning of the kid's Arkham stay and; on top of not yet finding any clues as to why the kid was in Arkham, nor anything that could possibly exonerate him; the kid just made no damn sense!

His therapy sessions were all the same dead end.

The therapist would ask he he was feeling. The kid would apparently shrug, or sometimes mumble something the therapists could never quite catch.

They'd ask the standard suicide questions. "Any thoughts of wishing you could go to sleep and not wake up?"

A shrug.

"Any thoughts of wanting to take your own life or wishing someone would take it for you?"

Vehenement refusal bordering on a panic attack.

Move on to the hurting people questions.

"Any thoughts of wanting to harm other people?"

"No." According to the doctors, his tone here is immediate, calm, confident. Truthful. If the Arkham psyches are to be believed.

"Any thoughts of wanting to harm yourself?"

"No." Slower, quieter, meeker. Noted as a clear lie, citing the injuries as evidence.

"Then why do you, Danny?"

"I don't."

"Then where did your injuries come from."

"The ghosts," said with a sigh

At this point, it seems Daniel shuts down. He says nothing else for the rest of the session. Shows no outward response as the therapist tries to convince him there are no ghosts and Daniel must be giving himself those injuries.

2 and a half months. Daily therapy sessions. And every single one is the exact same script. The only differences are some minor notes as Daniel is passed around between therapists as they all inevitably get frustrated talking to the emotionless block of ice.

Outside of the therapy sessions and medical reports documenting the frankly horrifying amount of injuries Danny accumulates, there's not much in his file. He follows all instructions to the letter; never causes trouble for guards or other inmates; and every single locks malfunction, he has afterward been found lying on his bed in his cell staring at the ceiling. If he was somewhere else when the malfunction happened, security footage catches him walking there himself. If he was already in his cell, footage keeps him there the whole time.

Tim sighs again, clicking out of the medical report detailing the nasty bruise that had appeared on the kid's lower left back, then opens up the next file up without reading the name fully expecting it to be another tedious therapy session report.

Instead, he finds a discipline slip with the relevant security clip embedded at the top. The first frame is of the cafeteria. Daniel is sitting alone at a table in the top right. Tim's breath catches in his throat as he recognizes the demented clown in the center of the frame. Hastily, he plays the clip.

There is no sound but Joker appears to say something to the room. Daniel is suddenly standing, whipped around to face the clown. The Joker turns towards him. Daniel tenses. The Joker tenses.

In the next second, Daniel is on the Joker. He's kicking, scratching, biting. Absolutely feral as he just reigns fury upon the most feared and hated rogue in all of Gotham. Surrounding inmates are fleeing to the sides of the room as the Joker seemingly tries to get away from the kid, only succeeding in moving the "fight" around the room. It's hardly a fight. More like a vicious, brutal assault. Inmates cheer as blood appears on the floor. Guards move in, pulling the feral 15 year old off of the Joker; who stays down, potentially unconscious. 2 guards go to help the one currently attempting to restrain Daniel. 6 more converge on the Joker, blocking him from view. As soon as he can no longer see the Joker, Daniel seems to go limp in the guards hands. Then he tenses again, though not struggling. Tim just catches the beginning stages of what seems to be a panic attack before the clip ends.

Tim stares dumbfounded at the screen for several moments. When he snaps out of it enough to actually read the incident report, it is a basic transcription of what Tim just witnessed with confirmation that Daniel had a panic attack immediately after. The report also notes that other than the panic attack, Daniel seemed to sustain no harm. He was disciplined with 3 days without cafeteria privileges, so his meals were brought to his cell, and 3 days without Crafts room privileges.

A note at the bottom of the report reads "To prevent further incidents, Patient 26B and the Joker are no longer permitted to be in the same room or yard."

This makes Tim click out of the discipline slip -without closing it, just moving it to a different section of the batcomputer's massive screen- and scan the rest of the files. There are 2 more. One from a week prior and one from Daniel's first dat at Arkham. He opens both, placing them at points on the screen so that all 3 are visible.

The one from the week prior shows the Crafts Room. Danny is again in an upper corner. Time plays it. The door opens. Joker walks in. Seems to look at Daniel, then rushes him. Daniel looks up before the Joker makes it half way across the room, then in the next second meets him there. Another feral fight only broken up by the guards when the Joker stops moving. Again, Danny goes limp as soon as the Joker is out of sight. The rest of the report confirming a panic attack but no injuries. 2 days lost privileges.

The report from Daniel's first day again shows the cafeteria. This time, Daniel is center frame. Joker comes up behind him. Daniel tenses but doesn't turn yet. Joker seems to be saying g something, then laughs. Daniel hunches in on himself, seeming to mumble a response. Whatever he said makes the Joker laugh harder. Then he leans down over Daniel's shoulder, talking. Daniel seems frozen for not even half a second before he suddenly pushes himself out of his seat, straight in to the Joker, twisting as he goes to begin the attack. Since it's obviously the first time, the rest of the cafeteria freezes. No one reacts for a solid 6 seconds. Then guards are moving in, hauling the teenager away. The Joker stands unsteadily then takes a knee. He has to be led limping out of the room. Guards struggle to restrain Daniel until the Joker is gone, whereafter Daniel goes boneless, then begins panicking. Report confirms panic attack and no injuries. 1 day lost privileges.

Tim stares at the batcomputer for several minutes, trying very hard to process what he has just learned. His brain feels like soup. He rubs his eyes, looks at his coffee, grabs a comm to put in his ear. His voice is strained as he speaks.

Anyone nearby who can come to the cave for a minute?

Jason responds instantly.

Upstairs. Find something?

I don't... know. I just. Someone come confirm I didn't just hallucinate what I just watched and read.

Red Robin? What did you find?

Not saying until someone else can confirm it.

Red Robin

On my way down.

.

"What the actual fuck?"