#no one suspects him of this though because he acts like a bit of a ditz

[aizawashuichi]

Near isn’t shown to have any resentment towards Linda and Roger during or after them giving his and Mello’s facial composites to Light, and Roger even becomes Watari after the Kira case. So, I feel like it’s safe to assume that what they did wasn’t as bad as it’s presented, and the only reason in my opinion is because Near instructed them to do that. Just the fact that he then lets Roger to become his right hand tells me that he does trust him, otherwise it would be out of character to get someone that betrayed him (and Mello) to work so closely to him, able to compromise L’s identity.

But even if Near didn’t tell them anything, let’s look it from Roger’s perspective. He watched this genius child grow and become this undefeated beast, a synonym of stability (sort of). As long as L was alive, nobody could take over the world. After he died, that was possible, and it was scary to think that this person with this incredible power to kill people at distance was now free to act as they pleased.

The only contact we know he and L had was through the periodic press of a button to signal that he was still alive. I don’t think they (Watari included) had any regular calls, because otherwise, they wouldn’t need this system set in place (which makes me wonder why they didn’t talk anymore. In my Roger x Watari headcanon, it’s because their relationship grew cold after Watari chose L over him, which made him also hate children more than before, but canonically, we aren’t given any reason as to why Roger is no longer – or has never been – part of L’s actual work).

So, Roger didn’t know anything about the case, other than what was reported on the news, he knew very little about Kira, and had no clue who L thought Kira could be. He could only imagine it was someone who was physically close to him, as to know what L looked like (not because of the Death Note, since he didn’t know about it, but just to pinpoint who the detective was and target him), so I think he guessed they had to be someone in the NPA/Japanese Task Force (those that are working to “catch” Kira and/or have access to his computer in order to emulate him) that took over his role. He knows L enough to understand that he wouldn’t go out of his way to let a lot of people know his identity, only a handful, in strictly extraordinary circumstances, as this one. And this is something I don’t understand on Light’s part.

When learning from Aizawa and Matsuda that Roger knows that L is dead, why didn’t he find him a threat? It seems a bit odd that he wouldn’t question how he knows that and if L told him other stuff about the case, including his main suspect, but that’s irrelevant here.

In any case, I believe (correct me if I’m wrong) that when Aizawa and Matsuda showed up to Wammy’s, they presented themselves as people connected to the Kira case in some way or another, as to be credible and justify their sudden appearance, but even if they didn’t, they are still Japanese. Roger didn’t know L’s whereabouts directly from him, but surely the news reported what L did in Kanto after it happened, and that’s why he knows he was killed by Kira. That, or L would actually report where he is, when moving for a case.

Without any instruction from Near, I think his actions are somewhat justifiable: his position was extremely risky, because he could be in front of a possible Kira, that could kill him or the kids (to threaten him or whatever). As much as he hated kids, I don’t think he was insensitive to the possibility of a mass murder. A mass murder which nobody would find out about unless either Near failed to get in contact with him or someone passed by that place.

In his eyes, in this scenario, putting up any kind of resistance meant only the worst, so he did what he could to ensure his and the kids’ safety, which I think Near could see as understandable.

In my opinion, though, they were in constant contact or, at least, Near asked Roger to be updated in case Mello came back there or if someone showed up, asking him information about them, and he gave him some instructions or warnings just in case.

Near, at this point in the timeline, didn’t know Light directly nor he knew what he looked like, so he could only relate to him what he knew regarding the method of killing and instruct him on how to act, if someone went there.

I seriously think that whatever happened at the Wammy’s House that day was orchestrated in advance to go in a certain way, because it was Near who decided to tell Light about the Wammy’s House, which he wouldn’t do if he knew that there was ACTUAL information that could get Kira to kill them.

It’s hard for me to believe that Roger didn’t know the kids’ names, because surely, he should have the documents that assess their existence into this world. They didn’t spawn out of the blue in the orphanage and if Watari went to look for them or if someone sent them to the Wammy’s, they had to have a birth certificates, medical record, etc. with them. And when Roger took Wammy’s place as the head, he had access to them. Watari couldn’t be the only one in their possess, because otherwise e.g. they couldn’t even go to the emergency room if they needed to. I don’t know why Matsuda and Aizawa didn’t question this part, but to me Roger hid all these documents somewhere, so if they searched Watari’s (now his) office, they wouldn’t be able to find anything.

In the end, I think Roger gave them what they asked for, but without revealing too much, so that he could convince them he was being truthful and collaborative, when he wasn’t (at least, in part), thanks to Near’s help that told him what information he could give out.

I don’t know how much of a stretch is to say that it was all Near’s plan to get a hold of Mello, but we know that Near wants Kira to approach him in some way and giving him information he has decided prior on if it was detrimental or not is the best way. Maybe he contacted Roger as a preventive measure, but then decided he could use that for his own gain.

About Linda, I think she was at the Wammy’s at this moment, because they didn’t say Roger provided them with her contact, so it wouldn’t be hard to tell her what to do. Not sure about this, but giving them their facial composite wasn’t seen as something dangerous, because he didn’t know about the eyes. It just helped Roger to seem collaborative.

[cheesybadgers]

Ok, bear with me a bit on this one because they're not like-for-likes, but they do both involve dramatic bitches flouncing off and leaving notes:

Meanwhile, in OHDH chapter 4:

By the time Horacio awoke, sunlight was beginning to stream through the windows; a stark contrast to the darkness of his mood as the events of the last few days came flooding back to him.

He rolled over wondering if Javier was still asleep, but found his side of the bed cold and empty and the apartment silent. That was when he noticed it out of the corner of his eye; the light bouncing off a metallic object on the nightstand.

Horacio’s heart shattered before he’d even leaned across to confirm his suspicions. The necklace lay abandoned, with a scrawled note next to it that simply read “I’m sorry.”

He stared down at the note before balling it up tightly in his fist, his vision already blurring and his chest stuttering as everything hit him all at once. Not only had he lost his job and home and any chance of catching Escobar, he had seemingly also lost the man he loved.

Now, obviously, in 9-1-1, Eddie doesn't actually leave and brings Chris and Pepa to visit Buck as a way to cheer him up and apologise for their fight, whereas in OHDH, Javier does temporarily bail but Horacio tracks him down in chapter 5, where they reconcile and it transpires Javier only ran away because he's scared of the depth of his feelings for Horacio:

The evidence was rapidly stacking up and Horacio deduced several things at once. Firstly, it wasn’t that Javier didn’t care; in fact, it was quite the opposite. More than he was apparently comfortable with, but his theatrics didn’t change the facts, nor he suspected would putting an ocean between them. Secondly, Javier clearly thought his disappearing act would be enough for Horacio to give up on him, forgetting that Horacio had no patience for such games and was far too tenacious to walk away now they’d come this far. Thirdly, he looked up at the clock by his bed and realised he still had time to fix this; and fourthly, he had a hunch he knew where Javier might have gone.

******************

“I know you got scared and that’s what these dramatics are all about. I know you expected me to give up on you because that’s what you think you deserve. I know you hated some of the things I did and wanted me to stop, but you also know it wasn’t that simple. And I know you let me give you the necklace in the first place for a reason…before you bolted, obviously.”

THEN, the whole fake-out Eddie does, which leaves Buck thinking he's really gone back to El Paso for some reason totally reminded me of OHDH chapter 9 when Javier runs off again but comes back to Horacio's apartment and Horacio thinks Javier hooked up with someone else but he didn't because he's so in love:

“I’m sorry I ran off too. Again. I should’ve been there for you.”

“You’ve got nothing to be sorry for, I understand. And I understand why you went…where you went tonight.”

“What? How did—?”

“Murphy came to see me after you left,” Horacio cut in before Javier could finish floundering. “You were right; he’s not stupid. He thinks I’ve got some sort of hold over you and seems to know you pretty well, too. Because he guessed where you went after.”

“Shit!” Javier's head dropped into his hand with a defeated exhale. “It’s not what you think.”

“Look, Javier, you don’t need to do this. I wish you wouldn’t push me away, but I get it. I deserved it.”

“No, wait, fuck! You’ve got it all wrong. Nothing happened. We just talked, that’s all.” Javier hesitated, undecided whether he should reveal the whole truth before throwing caution to the wind. “I did think about it on the drive there, though. But I couldn’t do it. And I don’t mean to – I don’t want to push you away.”

The specific whys/hows might not be the same, but the general tropes and the end result of the characters learning to stop running away from their own feelings and learning from their past mistakes because they want to make it work this time with their chosen person are essentially the same.

The way Pepa interacts with Buck is also very reminiscent of the way Javier's and Horacio's older family members interact with their relative's chosen partner, and also all of their conversations with Señora Romero (extra points for the parallel of said conversations taking place whilst washing dishes as well):

OHDH, chapter 18:

“Do you need to have it figured out yet?”

“Well, no, not yet. We’re okay financially for now. But I know it can’t last forever.”

“There’s plenty of time between now and forever, Javier.” Señora Romero lowered her voice as though she was letting him in on a coveted secret. “At your age, anyway. Less so at mine, but I take each day as it comes.”

“What’s that like?”

“There are good days and bad days. And bad weeks, months and years, come to think of it. Days when my body doesn’t do what my mind tells it to do. Days when my mind is frail, and my heart is sore. But on other days, I’ll spend time with the family. Or my piononos will come out better than they did last time. Or I’ll make new friends in unusual circumstances.” She winked in Javier’s direction. “I think the bad days are just part of life’s rich tapestry. Especially where healing wounds are concerned.”

And chapter 19:

Once all the cutlery, cups, and plates were washed, Horacio refilled the sink, a comfortable lull in conversation settling over them.

“It was him, wasn’t it?” Señora Romero asked after she delivered a second load of dishes to be washed. “When I asked if there was someone back home.”

Horacio switched the tap off now the sink was full, concentrating intently on swirling soap suds and a cloth around the serving bowl he had plunged under water. “I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you.”

“Oh, don’t be silly, dear. You didn’t owe me an explanation then, and you don’t owe me one now. I understand when the newspapers have been no better than the days of Franco. And mark my words; those were dark, dark days.”

A righteous anger erupted from the surface in Señora Romero’s tone. It was one that Horacio had rarely heard but recognised and understood instantly.

“Spain’s old wounds,” he stated rather than asked.

“On good days, I like to think of it more as scar tissue.”

Notice how many of these tropes are coming thick and fast in season 8 now as well. Almost like we're building up to something...

Not to make everything about OHDH, but Eddie is not beating the Horacio parallel allegations...

“My Mamá, Elena, was the same after my Papá, Eduardo, died. I heard her crying at night sometimes, but she was always strong for me and Alejandra – my sister. So, I had to be strong for them. I thought I was the man of the house.” He scoffed at the absurdity of that statement, given how he was barely out of his teens at the time. “I took every promotion I could, just like he’d done. But it never seemed enough.”

******************

Horacio entwined their fingers on his leg because if anyone understood his apprehension, it was Javier. “I know. I just hate keeping it from her after everything we’ve been through. She would always make me soup if I was sick. And she looked out for me after Papá was gone. She taught me Mamá’s sudado de pollo recipe because it was one of Papá’s favourites. I liked to think I was the man of the house, but she loved reminding me she was my older sister.”

******************

“We both did. But at least I’d had more time with Papá. Good job I did have those few years to myself ‘cos Horacio followed him around like a shadow. Until he couldn’t. Then he thought he had to be the man of the house. Even when there were two much more qualified women for the job.”

“He thought it was his duty."

[tired-biscuit]

No joy in giving if you’re never pleased

pairing: rengoku kyojuro/fem!reader

premise: When a certain Hashira proposes to marry you for the sake of conforming to social norms, you find yourself in a spot where you’re unable to refuse the offer. Despite your initial agreement on keeping the union strictly professional, however, his accidental exposure to an incredibly potent form of aphrodisiac causes well-hidden feelings to quickly rise to the surface in a single night.

cw: 18+ MDNI, canon divergence - HE LIVES!!!, arranged marriage, s pollen, loss of virginity (he loses his v-card, not you), creampie x2 (double delight, lol), brief mention of domestic violence from reader’s previous marriage.

wc: 7.3k

———

Rengoku Kyojuro had never planned on getting married. It’s not like the thought didn’t cross his mind occasionally, but how could he, with the life he’s chosen to lead? 

Despite the tendency of coming across as a bit daft because of his rather eccentric nature, Kyojuro is far from stupid. He’s well aware that if a marriage were to successfully prosper, it requires a number of things; one of them being stability. Stability that is, for the most part, expected to be constant. 

So with this very important fact taken into account, how on earth is he, the Flame Hashira of the Demon Slayer Corps, expected to provide stability for his partner? Constant stability, at that?

After all, missions often keep him away from home for long periods of time. If it’s not the missions, then it’s certainly the endless training sessions that cause for an incredibly busy schedule. And what about the apprentices that have yet to show up on his doorstep?

At this point, the only time he ever slows down is when he needs to recover and gather his strength back after a particularly nasty fight. And even then, when he’s got nothing else to do but spend his days resting in bed and tending to his injuries, he’s usually completely elsewhere with his thoughts, already strategizing on how to further hone his already sharp skills in order to avoid causing more harm.

However, being the Flame Hashira comes second to being an obedient son. So when his father presses on the matter by the time Kyojuro turns 27 years old, he once again does what is expected of him and dutifully finds himself a wife.

The arranged marriage ends up becoming just that – arranged. It’s a spring wedding: beautiful and sudden just like the season it’s been placed into. You lay eyes on each other only once before the knot is tied, and then you’re whisked away to house Rengoku. 

You’re both in dire need of it, though. Him, because his father demands it, and you, because you’re a widow who’d just recently buried her now-late husband, but who remains to be too young and heirless to be able to safely cling to that title. 

Unlike your first husband, however, Kyojuro treats you exceptionally well. While he may not be present most of the time, leaving you to tend to your shared home more or less on your own terms, he always, always makes sure to treat you with respect. He speaks kindly to you each time your paths do end up crossing, encourages you to spend time with his equally as kind-hearted younger brother Senjuro, and enthusiastically compliments your cooking whenever he gets the chance to eat it.

He’s also never raised his hand against you – a habit your previous husband had often acted upon and that had left you with plenty of scars even long after the ones on your skin had healed and faded away. No, instead, Kyojuro doesn’t touch you at all. 

And by that, it truly means not at all.

You may sleep in the same bed on the nights when he’s around, but it’s like a chasm stretches itself between you and your husband the second you clamber underneath the covers together. It’s not emotional distance, per se – your personalities seem to be getting along just fine, at least from what you’ve gathered so far – so you suspect that it must be a different kind of issue that’s stopping him from consummating the marriage.

When asked, even whilst becoming a bit flustered, he’d openly admitted that he expects nothing from you concerning the matter. That he never really gave much thought about fathering children, since they could easily be seen as a weakness by his enemies and thus potentially used against him, as morbid as that sounds. 

But even with your initial wariness and doubt after the conversation, he’s since made it clear time and time again that he’s perfectly content with keeping your marriage purely platonic, exactly like he’d said. The union keeps both sides of your families happy, while still allowing you the safety and freedom you’ve always desired as a woman. And as for him, the ability to continue his work uninterrupted is seen as only a plus in his eyes.

Some would call his reasonings selfish, but you’ve long since learned that your husband is anything but that. Everything he does, he does for others. Having a wife is already risky enough as a swordsman, and yet he has still chosen to obey orders and take you in, even going as far as to teach you some of the more basic self defense maneuvers for some peace of mind.

Besides, during the first couple of months, the entire thing had sounded like a dream. Having a husband in an arranged marriage who willingly provides, treats you like an equal, and is generally fond of you without the more forceful, unpleasant aspects around it; could you ask for anything more?

Well, yes. You suppose you could. But wait! It’s not that you aren’t appreciative of the things he gives you – in fact, you’ll be forever grateful for them, storing and cherishing them for the rest of your life – it’s more so… about the things he doesn’t.

Because while he may hold lovely conversations with you no matter the time of day, and while he may smile brightly each time you welcome him back home in the courtyard, the crown of his head bathed in sunlight, no matter what kind of ploy you attempt, Kyojuro just doesn’t seem to be picking up on the fact that you don’t see this marriage as strictly transactional anymore.

Over the last year, feelings for the golden-eyed Hashira have blossomed inside your heart. You’ve tried not to succumb to them, heeding his wishes, but have still ended up catching yourself buzzing with pleasant nervousness when in his presence more than a handful of times now. To make matters even worse, you even have trouble falling asleep next to him in bed because of how fast your heartbeat begins to race the moment he enters the room – a treacherous heartbeat which you have no doubt he can hear.

Alas, nothing seems to sway him. The closest you’ve ever gotten is on a couple of occasions when he’d come home bearing wounds that weren’t so severe that they needed to be looked over by Shinobu, but nevertheless required to be tended to. He’d tried to reassure you countless of times that he could handle them on his own just fine when you’d stepped in to help, but you’d stubbornly insisted every single time without fail.

“Of what use am I as a wife if I can’t even patch up my own husband?” you’d said one time, carefully reaching for his arm. The blood had mostly dried up by then, already beginning to flake. “Just let me help you, Kyojuro. I promise it’s no trouble. It’s what life partners are meant for.”

Kyojuro, surprisingly, had kept silent after that, for once allowing you fully to continue your ministrations. Still covered in grime and watching you with visible uncertainty, he’d caught but didn’t vocally acknowledge the small gasp you let out the second your fingertips had made contact with his alarmingly hot skin, and, by the time you’d bandaged him up, had even hesitantly promised you that he’d take it easy for the next couple of days.

You, on the other hand, were incapable of stopping yourself from thinking about the heat his body emanates from that moment onward. It supposedly reaches its peak only during battle, he’s told you this in order to soothe your worries, but even by the time it winds back down, you still find it dangerous. It’s no wonder he’s so quick to warm the bed the second he lies down, the man is practically a walking, breathing furnace!

And just the thought of that heat engulfing you; wrapping you up in its warm, tender embrace, caressing every inch of you, filling you– Well, perhaps it’s enough to drive any spouse just a little bit mad with yearning.

But what can you possibly do? All he ever does is talk to you. Occasionally, he’ll perhaps slip up and ogle at the exposed side of your neck, or the curve of your lips, but it’s often all so fleeting that you don’t even have time to properly reciprocate. Before you can even begin to wonder if he’s actually capable of lusting after you, he’s already back to his friendly, unsuspecting self.

However, that all changes when he comes home one evening after his training session with a certain Love Hashira. Because that night, you come to learn that the sweet, always vehemently respectful Rengoku Kyojuro who you cherish so dearly, is perfectly capable of lusting after his wife. 

He’s just good at concealing it with politeness.

———

“Kyojuro, is that you?”

Looking into the mirror you’re sitting in front of, you briefly pause combing your hair to smile at the reflection of your husband who now stands leaning against the open doorway of your shared bedroom. The lights in the hallway behind him are off, shrouding it in darkness just like the rest of the house for the night, but the soft glow coming from the couple of candles you’ve lit earlier to aid your routine before bed is just enough to define him.

From what you can gather from a single lookover, he seems to be perfectly fine physically-wise. There are no cuts slashing his smooth skin, and no bruises that paint it painfully violet. No sight of blood, chipped teeth or broken bones either. Actually, the only two things that seem to be in a state of disarray are his clothes and hair. 

He’s missing his signature haori and the top three buttons of the black uniform jacket that he wears underneath are undone, revealing his neck and the edges of his collarbones. As for his hair, you’d best describe it as mussed. Like he’d felt the constant need to run his hands through it multiple times, pushing it away from his face over and over again through the course of the day.

For someone who normally looks well put together, these small but otherwise specific changes in his appearance almost strike you as somewhat indecent. Perhaps it might be a bit of an overreaction from your side, however the entire time you’ve known Kyojuro, you’ve never seen him act sloppy or salacious when it comes to his image.

It causes your stomach to sink.

Surely he wouldn’t…?

No. He most certainly would not. A good husband like Kyojuro would surely never stray towards a ghastly thing such as infidelity, right? He’s one of the most loyal and honest people you’ve ever met. You just can’t even begin to imagine him lying and deceiving you about anything of this sort.

Nevertheless, your voice still proceeds to wobble slightly as you pick up the comb again, worrying thoughts rushing through your mind a mile a minute. “How did your training with Miss Kanroji go?”

“Mm, I’m not quite sure to be honest. It was a bit odd,” Kyojuro mutters as he steps into the room. 

You don’t fail to notice how different he sounds. The tone of his voice is uncharacteristically quiet, almost subdued. It only proceeds to worsen the feeling of dread that’s forming in the pit of your stomach now.

“Odd?” you repeat, carefully following his movements in the mirror. He’s aimed straight towards you. “How so?”

“Well, I gained the upper hand on her while sparring and she panicked and threw some kind of powder that Miss Shinobu is helping her perfect right at my face,” he explains, scratching his cheek. “It’s supposedly perfect for her technique. Small doses can stun and disorient enemies, but apparently she threw so much of it at me that she immediately had to send me home.”

You turn your head to the side in one quick movement, concern for your husband causing your eyes to open wide and diminish your earlier worries. It flusters you so much that you abandon all sense of formality, “Shouldn’t you go see Kocho if that's the case, then? If she’s the one who helped develop this powder, surely she can help!”

His mouth curls into a lazy grin when your gazes connect, a mere shadow of the beaming smile he otherwise tends to give you. He’s positioned himself right behind you now, standing so close that you can feel the heat that his body emanates brushing over your back in steady waves. The thin silken robe you’ve donned can barely be considered a barrier, but despite his warmth, you want to shiver instead.

“I thought the same thing, however Mitsuri had made it abundantly clear that I’d find everything I’d need to get better at home. Multiple times actually,” he says thoughtfully. “Come to think of it, she seemed to be in quite a rush to send me back to you.”

“To me? Really?” you mumble, facing the mirror again. Since he’s standing so close to you now, you can’t see his face in the reflection anymore, but for once that just might be a good thing. The wild infatuation you have with him has turned you incapable of having your thoughts in order if you’re stuck looking at his eyes for too long.

“Oh, yes,” he says, nodding even if you can’t see it. “She kept apologizing profusely, rambling that you’ll help me take care of it. I’m still unsure what she meant by ‘it’ exactly, but either way, I have strong faith that you’ll manage just fine.”

Months ago, the fact that he’s willingly allowing himself to be vulnerable with you, letting you nurse him back to health without any sort of fuss that he can do it himself, would make you soar. Now, however, all you feel is the heavy weight of pressure settling down on your shoulders and chest.

With feelings involved, you’ve begun to greatly fear failure. After all, if you fail, you can’t impress him. And if you can’t impress your husband, then you can’t make him fall in love with you. And if you can’t make him fall in love with you, then–

“Darling,” he drawls all of a sudden, sounding even less like himself now. Less clear. “Do you mind if I comb your hair for you? I’ve always wanted to give it a try.”

“Hm?” You blink, momentarily confused from the way he’s disrupted your train of thought with such an unexpected request. “Oh, I, umm… Well, if you’re feeling well enough, then yes, of course you can. Go ahead.”

You haven’t even noticed how tightly you’ve been gripping the comb until you release your hold on it in order to hand it to him. Your fingers brush against each other with the action, the heat of his skin pouring into yours, making you sit up straighter.

You’re still not used to it. How can you be, when there’s rarely any contact?

“Not to worry, I’ll be gentle,” he says, chuckling quietly as he trails his gaze up and down your stiff posture. The smile is apparent in his voice.

“I know. I’m not worried,” you utter, sheepishly avoiding your own reflection in the mirror. Since your hands are empty now, you clasp them together, settling them on your lap while you wait.

Meanwhile, Kyojuro proceeds to begin combing your hair for you. He’s gentle exactly like he promised you he’d be, taking his time with every knot and tangle that had formed during the day. Silence stretches as he works, but you have trouble noticing it because of how loudly your pulse insists on pounding inside your ears, ringing through your entire head.

He’s touching you. Great heavens above, he’s touching you, and it’s outright nerve-racking. His touch is as light as a feather, but you can still feel him dragging his fingers along the length of your hair. It’s sending tingly sensations all over your scalp, all the way down to your spine.

When he reaches underneath your hair to comb it from the bottom up, his fingers briefly brush the side of your neck. It’s only the merest hint of intimacy, a mere sliver of it, but you can’t help but shiver this time, thighs squeezing together.

He pauses and you stare in the mirror with eyes once again open wide like a fawn’s, only this time it’s yourself that you’re worried about, not him. You can see the reflection of his chest and his shoulders. Both seem to heave with the deep breath he takes now. 

A couple of seconds pass before he sinks the comb into your hair again. Still gentle. “Did you bathe?”

The random question takes you aback a bit. Puzzlement laces your tone because of it as you say, “Yes, I did... A little before you returned home.”

“I see,” he murmurs. His chest expands as he inhales another deep breath. “You smell nice.”

“Ah,” you say, looking down at your lap again. Heat creeps up your face at the compliment, slight relief washing over you. “Thank you.”

“You know,” he says eventually, slowly pushing your hair to one side, making use of having you distracted, “I may not have a sense of smell as keen as the one young Kamado possesses, but I’ve learned that your lovely scent grows stronger if you wear your hair on one side like this.” 

“Really?” Your hands itch with the need to cover your burning face. He’s practically showering you with praise and you haven’t got a single clue on how to respond.

“Really.” He carefully fixes a strand of hair behind the shell of your ear. “It grows so strong, actually, that I just want to… Hm. Want to…”

“Kyojuro!” His name leaves your lips in a shrill squeal when he suddenly leans in and presses his nose into the crook of your neck that he’s exposed. Caught by surprise, you push up from the chair in one hasty movement, spinning to face him.

The sight before you makes your skin pull taut. Your husband stares at you with hooded eyelids and pupils so big and dilated that they’ve nearly swallowed the entirety of his irises. They grow even larger when they fixate on you.

His smile grows, revealing teeth. “Oh, I’m sorry. Did I startle you?”

“A little bit,” you admit, soothing yourself.

He’s sweating profusely. You don’t fail to take notice of the obvious sheen of liquid salt that sits on his forehead now, as well as the feverish blush that has overtaken his entire face, neck, and even the tips of his ears.

You frown, taking a step towards him as worry takes over the initial shock for a second time, but he’s quick to raise his hand to stop you. 

“No, it’s better if you stay back for now. I need to think,” he says, voice suddenly profoundly hoarse. Unlike before, his breaths have turned shallow and concerningly fast-paced now, the furrow of his brow prominent. He pants as he bends over, slamming the flat of his palms onto the nearby dresser. “Just-... Let me figure out a way to solve this.”

“Solve what, Kyojuro? What’s gotten into you? Should we go see Kocho?” You say his name again, but this time it comes out as little less than a cry. When you take another step towards him despite him telling you not to, you see how the muscles in his back strain with effort.

You hesitate, weighing your options, but the urge to help your husband is so strong that it prevails in the end. Much to your dismay, however, even with your new goal set in place, you only manage one more step forward before you suddenly find yourself wrapped in a blazing hot embrace, with your back pressing against the dresser – the same dresser he had just been leaning on merely a second ago.

Your body tenses up, clearly startled. This is what it means to experience the strength and speed of a Hashira. The movement, so inhumanly quick that you couldn’t possibly follow it with untrained eyes, had practically swept you off your feet. Your heart pounds inside your chest. Inside your throat, even.

The reason? Instead of slaying you, he’s got his hand on the small of your back, pushing in and arching you in such a way that your bottom halves are basically pressed flush against one another. The other grips the edge of the dresser so harshly that you can hear the wood creaking in protest.

You open your mouth to say something, but nothing comes out, only a mere hitch of a breath. The prominent outline in his pants that’s now firmly pressing against your thigh has rendered you speechless. 

He’s aroused. You can tell that even with his clothes getting in the way. So aroused, in fact, that it must be hurting him. And sure enough, when you lift your head to look up at him, the expression on his face can only be described as pained.

His fingers twitch when you make eye contact, slipping lower, down your back. He grabs a fistful of your robe, pulling and straining it tight over your front. Since you’re not wearing anything underneath, your nipples pebble against the silk in response to the rubbing of the fabric.

He involuntarily groans deep from the back of his throat as his pupils dilate even further at the sight; a sound you’ve never heard him make before but have fantasized about hearing on some lonely nights nonetheless. The wood of the dresser that’s behind you struggles to not turn into splinters now. Meanwhile, you struggle to keep yourself from not falling apart just the same.

“Aphrodisiac… A strong one. Need to… let you go,” he croaks out between heavy breaths, jaw flexing as he grits his teeth together. He’s completely stiff and continues to sweat, so much so that there's a droplet cascading down his right temple, gliding along the curve of his handsome face.

You see the effort he’s putting in to keep himself from what you suspect is ravaging you, even if every last cell in his body seems to be screaming at him to do the exact opposite. This thing that he’s experiencing right now – the aftermath of Mitsuri’s new weapon, the aphrodisiac – is cranking up his lust levels to a thousand. It’s no wonder that the Love Hashira had rushed to get him home to his wife as soon as possible the second she’d realised the amount she threw at him.

And who else can he turn to but his wife with this sort of issue?

“You can let me go only if you truly want to, dear. It’s fine, I’m fine,” you find yourself saying, hands trembling as you place them onto his chest. His heartbeat is so fast that you’re worried for his wellbeing. The rush of blood that his heart must be pumping throughout his entire body must be unbearable.

He draws in another breath at the soft coo that’s appeared in your voice, closing his eyes and pressing his forehead against your cheek. His exhales fan your skin, creating moisture, sticking you further together. He’s so warm to the touch that you’re beginning to sweat as well.

“Kyojuro.” You reach up to run your fingers through his hair, making him shudder. It’s damp to the touch. “Do you want to let me go? I trust you to be honest with me.”

He stands still for a long moment, just inhaling your scent and keeping you close until he finally makes his decision and slowly shakes his head, rubbing his forehead against your cheek like an affectionate cat would. “No.”

“What do you want, then?” you ask quietly.

“I can’t say,” he whispers. “The things that are running through my head right now… They’re vile. Filthy.”

“I see. Will you let me help? Please,” you utter softly, cautiously reaching down to wrap your fingers around his belt. You tug at the buckle, pulling him forward. He follows obediently, causing your heart to flutter. “Let’s try and find you some release, all right? I’m worried about you.”

“All right,” he says, giving in and hissing lowly through gritted teeth when your fingers delicately trace the protruding bulge in his pants. He’s smart. Deep down, he knows this is the easiest way.

You move your hand away in an instant, but his hips buck forward on their own, pushing further into the already narrow space between you, searching for more friction from your palm. He whines at the foreign way his body reacts now, eyebrows drawing tightly together in embarrassment.

When you look up at him, his face has somehow managed to sear into an even deeper shade of red than before. All he can manage to say to you is a weak, “I’m sorry.”

“Nonsense. I should be the one apologizing,” you say, reaching to untie your robe. You’d ask him to do it, but something tells you that he’d tear it right off of you at this very moment, surely ruining the delicate garment. “You’re in no state to be teased so cruelly right now. It was very foolish of me.”

He parts his lips to say something, but the words fade into nothing from how fast saliva begins to gather inside his mouth as soon as your robe comes undone and reveals the nakedness underneath.

Kyojuro can’t resist ogling openly – it’s his first time seeing a woman completely naked, after all. The curve of your hips, the weight of your breasts, the smooth skin of your stomach, the gentle hairs that gather between your legs... All of it is far too much for him. It’s forcing him to swallow so thickly that it makes his Adam’s apple bob in his throat, and yet the drool just keeps on coming.

He hunches his back as he gets ready to pick you up and slam you on top of the dresser to do god knows what, but he stops himself at the very last second. You watch, lips parted, as his hands tremble around you like you’re wrapped in some kind of invisible shield, muscles painfully spasming with the effort. A second groan escapes him, this one brimming with frustration, allowing saliva to dribble down the corner of his mouth.

He’s not an animal, for crying out loud. He’s a man, a husband – a respectable one at that.

So act like one! 

Clinging to his last shred of sanity, he quickly wipes the drool away with the back of his hand, not caring that it’ll surely get into the sleeve of his uniform that way. Even if he usually wears them with pride, he currently holds so much resentment towards the clothes he’s got on his back that it’s making him see red. They’re incredibly stuffy, so he can barely breathe in them, plus they’re also causing him to overheat when he’s already way past burning.

There’s also a third problem with the clothes, however.

They’re keeping him away from you.

Lacking the patience to undo the rest of the buttons on his jacket, he simply rips them apart even as you frantically reach out to stop him from doing so. The crispy white shirt underneath meets a similar fate, causing even smaller buttons to fly everywhere. Something tells you that you’ll both be stumbling upon them for the next year or so. 

Shrugging the now-ruined garments off of his shoulders, Kyojuro at long last exhales a somewhat relieved breath.

This time it’s your turn to unashamedly leer at him. You drag your eyes across the broad expanse of his chest and shoulders, across the healed, milky-white scars that cover his body from previous battles. The muscles on his arms, the subtle veins running along his biceps and forearms. His stomach is toned, equipped with a golden trail of hair that disappears below his belt, and his skin is tinted slightly pink at the moment, sweat making it appear dewy there as well. 

He’s beautiful. 

And he’s clearly having a rough time, so you’re quick to take his hand.

“Wait. Before I-” He hesitates, searching for the proper word. “Before I bed you, I just wanted to say that I’ve never done this with anyone before. I’m worried I may not know how to, uh… sate you properly because of it.”

You look up into the flames that dance behind his eyes for a long moment. Even whilst barely keeping it together, he’s still worried about you and your pleasure. It makes you so happy that you can’t help but chuckle.

“Always so formal,” you say, still smiling. “But in all seriousness, I appreciate you telling me and thinking about what I want. Don’t worry, I will do my very best to take good care of you and show you the ropes. We’ll learn the rest as we go. But first things first, let’s try and bring down your temperature back to something a little more… Well, passable.”

He nods but doesn’t say anything as he lets you take his hand again and lead him towards the bed. You turn him so that the back of his knees hit the edge and apply pressure to his shoulders to urge him to sit down. Before you know it, you’re climbing onto his lap, straddling him in such a way that already has him breathing hard through his nose.

You wrap your arms around his neck as you place a kiss onto his forehead, tasting the salt there. Then onto the bridge of his nose. As well as his left cheek and the corner of his mouth. His lips part immediately at that, hands desperately bunching up the covers underneath.

You press your forehead against his. Angle your head slightly to one side so that your noses don’t bump. “Close your eyes.”

As he has done so many times in the past, Kyojuro once again does what he’s told, though this time he does it completely willingly. And almost immediately after he does, he feels it.

The softness of your lips lightly pressing against his own. 

The kiss itself is gentle. Loving. A proper form of affection exchanged between a husband and wife. You guide him, mainly paying attention to his bottom lip, making sure to go slow enough to help him adjust despite the fact that you can tell he wants to go faster. Every so often, you poke the merest hint of your tongue out, testing if he’ll open up to you. He does, of course.

So you venture deeper into his hot mouth. You glide your tongue across his teeth, tangle your fingers into the thick, beautiful mane that is his hair, and you tug at the roots until he’s mindlessly pushing his hips up in response, trying to shove himself into you despite his pants getting in the way. 

You’re well aware that he’s in a hurry, but you can’t help but drag the entire thing out just a little bit. Who knows, this may as well be your only chance to have him like this. So you might as well use it.

“Hold me by my hips, dear,” you mumble, eyeing the thin string of saliva that tears when you dip lower to kiss his neck instead. 

You focus on his Adam’s apple, sucking lightly and surely drawing blood close underneath the skin as you feel his large hands wrap around your hips. Your actions will prove apparent by the time morning comes, but you have a faint inkling that he won’t truly mind. The collar of what is left of his uniform jacket is high anyways.

He sure doesn’t seem to have a problem with it now, as he’s moving you back and forth on his lap, using you to try and get himself off on pure instinct. But even if you’re completely on the same page, the grip he has on you has gotten so tenacious that you have no other choice but to grind against the hard length of him.

“Mind your strength, I’m no Hashira,” you say between deep breaths. His blatant need for you is working you up fast, wetness gathering between your legs, and you don’t need to look down to know that you’ve ruined his pants.

He eases his grip and moans into your mouth when you kiss him again, this time a bit more sloppily than last time. Your bodies work together without you having to plan it, twisting and writhing in unison, maximizing the pleasure you’re both experiencing. 

The hair that frames his face is so damp that it clings to his skin. You push it back and whimper when he presses you down harder, causing the zipper to bump against your most sensitive part.

Hearing it brings his blood to a simmer. He’s so out of it by now that he nearly babbles when he speaks, “You know, I can’t count how many times I’ve thought about making you sound like this over these last couple of months. And now that I’m actually hearing it… Ha-ah… It’s so much better than any of the things I imagined in my head.”

“Oh?” Your heart flutters in your chest once more at his forwardness, goosebumps forming over your skin from the thrill. So it wasn’t all in your head; he’s wanted you, too. “But I thought you said you wanted to keep this union purely platonic.”

“What I want… What I wanted for a long time now,” he says, dragging his fingers up and down your spine and looking you directly in the eyes, truly meaning it, “is to be both inside you and inside your heart. If you’ll have me.”

“Of course I’ll have you,” you whisper, unable to fight back the smile that’s forcing itself onto your lips. “I mean, you’re my husband, for crying out loud! There’s no need to be so poetic about it!”

The rest of his clothes are tossed aside soon after, and you waste no time straddling him again, now that you’re finally skin to skin. Sitting on top of him, you use both hands to stroke the whole length of him, squeezing it with your fists gently after you spit on it so as to not overstimulate him too fast.

Even his cock is beautiful just like the rest of him is. Big and curved slightly to the right, with a tip that flushes a deep pink when the velvety foreskin that surrounds it is pulled back and played with. You’re wet enough to take him, but after coming face to face with his size, something tells you that you’ll need all the extra help you can get.

Meanwhile, Kyojuro watches you through such heavy eyelids that you can’t possibly notice the hearts that have formed in his eyes. He’s still panting, biting his tongue to stop himself from pleading and moaning, but the way he clenches his thighs underneath you, unable to stop the pearl of pre-cum from forming at the slit, tells on his desires in an instant.

“We’ll go easy at first,” you utter, unsure if you’re trying to comfort yourself or him.

“Yes, easy,” he repeats, voice rough. He’d never rush you, but it’s evident that he’ll start bursting at the seams if you don’t sit on it soon.

“All right,” you say, drumming your fingers and lifting your hips just enough to align yourself with him, heart beating so fast that it’s making you a bit lightheaded.

His upper lip trembles as his cockhead grazes and catches against your entrance with the movement. He clings onto you, stiff and as expectant as he is desperate, chanting the word please, please, please over and over again inside his head like it’s a broken record.

Luckily for him, his prayers are answered. Slowly, you begin to lower yourself onto him. Even with his size, it’s pretty easy because of how you help guide him inside. You both let out sighs of relief and pleasure when your pussy hugs the tip of him, and moan by the time it begins to take more; squeezing and accepting the rest of him until he finally sinks into you down to the hilt.

At long last, he’s in, nestled in nice and deep. Throbbing and hot, stretching your walls. Pressed firmly against that soft, tender spot inside you that makes you want to wiggle your hips on top of him because it’s far too much to handle otherwise. The pressure the fullness provides awakens the butterflies inside your stomach and draws them into a frenzy.

“Gods, Kyojuro, my love,” you breathe out, letting your robe slide down to your elbows. It only exposes you further, but you don’t mind. You’re comfortable with him. “I can barely fit you inside me.”

“Hah. Makes you an admirable wife,” he says, chuckling even if his pupils are still blown way out of proportion, signalling that he’s still going through it. “I’m–I’m very grateful for it.”

You giggle at his odd choice of praise, pressing the flat of your palms on his stomach so that you can begin to move. However, the second you do, he’s back to holding you by your hips, trying to keep you in place.

Your gazes connect and he blushes even harder, features contorting. “W-wait, don’t-”

“It’s okay,” you say, continuing nonetheless. He’s gotten so warm inside you that you’re positive he’s on the brink of climaxing. “There’s nothing wrong if you come fast. It’s your first time.”

Kyojuro sucks in a sharp breath, fighting tooth and nail to focus. He’s already sensitive enough as it is, but the aphrodisiac he’s inhaled is only making it ten times worse. The sensations you’re making him feel at this point are causing his brain to short-circuit. Unlike during battle, his thoughts have turned into a pathetic jumble.

He wants to please you, that much he’s sure about, however he’s so out of it that he doesn’t even know where to start. So he lets you take charge, grunting out his approval, listening to the wet, sloppy sounds as you ride him, and by the time you slam your hips down for the fifth time, he closes his eyes, clenches his jaw, and spills everything he’s got, unable to stave off the pleasure any longer.

Your movements stutter when you feel his release begin to fill you steadily, overly warm and most definitely plentiful. You pause midway, causing it to trickle down your thighs, allowing a sticky mess to start forming between you.

“Oh, dear,” you whisper, covering your mouth to suppress a quiet laugh. It’s good-natured and you’re sure he knows it. “We’ll make children like this if you aren’t more careful, you know.”

“Crap,” he mutters, sighing. You can feel him twitch inside you at the idea. When he opens his eyes to look at you again, they’re more mellow than they were before, however they’re still brimming with burning want. “Don’t tempt me.” 

Your eyebrow arches in amusement. You’ve never heard him swear before. Not even when he’d been so tired that he wasn’t watching where he was going and had stubbed his toe once. You’re unsure if you approve of it, but perhaps you’ll let it slide in this particular setting.

But onto more important matters: after taking a moment to breathe, you quickly realise that he’s still completely hard even after coming as strongly as he did. Your best guess is that it’s either because of his unfathomable stamina, or Mitsuri’s little present. Perhaps a mixture of both.

So that must mean that this entire thing is far from over. Tracing your fingers over his happy trail, you lift your hips a little and slide them back down just as gingerly. The seed that he’s spilled inside you just now lubes the movement as you test out the playing field. Somehow, it feels even better than it did before.

His eyelashes flutter as he blinks, zeroing in on the creamy circle that’s gathered at his base now. Once again, a wave of heat flashes over his body, hitting him like the train he’d just barely made it alive from all those years ago. 

“You all right?” you ask, a little breathless now. Your hand reaches between you on instinct, a little moan slipping out the moment it strikes contact exactly where you aimed it.

Kyojuro just nods his head and continues to watch you, studying you carefully and paying attention to the way you rub your fingers and play with yourself. He’s more present in his head now that he’s climaxed, the fog lifting just a bit. It lets him notice that the movement of your hand seems to come naturally to you. 

Is this what you do when he's gone for weeks at a time? Possibly thinking about him and touching yourself between your legs? Arching your back while imagining his hot, calloused hands are pushing you right back down, coaxing you to take more?

The idea excites him, and that excitement urges him to contribute to the pleasure of his spouse. And while he may not be experienced in giving it just yet, he picks up on things impressively fast. Body language, eye contact, he’s able to read what you want. So you’re not even all that surprised when he starts to bend his legs at the knees and then thrusts upward, making you gasp when he suddenly burrows himself even deeper inside of you with the action. 

His cum spurts and dribbles out even more by the time he draws back, but he’s rather quick to push it back in, unable to get enough of how tightly you wrap around him whenever he accidentally hits the spot. So he continues the rhythm, slowly but surely making you start to bounce on his cock; all while trying to rub the same messy little circles over your clit that he’s seen you do. 

He’s able to keep up with you this time.

And he sure as hell keeps up. The heat that he’s unknowingly pouring into the sensitive bundle of nerves is making you tremble. He gently pinches it the exact same way he’s watched you do it, immediately soothing it afterwards with his thumb and by rubbing his other hand up and down your side, sending little jolts of pleasure throughout your entire body.

His gaze is soft. Perhaps even a little expectant. He takes pride in making you feel good. “Like this? Is this how you want it?”

“Yes, oh, yes,” you utter, whimpering. When he smiles, it reminds you of the sun. “You’re perfect.”

Moments flit by, breaths intermingling. You’re unsure how much time has passed, but eventually you begin to squeeze your thighs around him, toes curling, orgasm approaching dangerously close. “D-Don’t stop, okay? I’m close, so don’t change a thing or else it’ll fade away.”

“Wasn’t planning on it,” he says. You throw your head back at this and he feels his heart dance because of it.

With his help, you let yourself go. Fully. Without shame and with zero remorse. And when you finally come for the first time from a man’s touch, no, your husband’s touch, it is so tender and passionate and powerful, that you can’t help but moan his name out in pure bliss and squeeze him so hard that you make him fill you up for a second time, helping him ease his desire even further.

In the end, you spend a small eternity wrapped in each other’s arms. Basking in the afterglow, stealing an occasional kiss, telling each other silly, unimportant things that you’ll think of fondly for years to come.

Only this time, however, your wonderful husband makes sure to touch you everywhere.

[bunni-v1]

Ohhh wait what if in the pv/smc/ oc relationship the beginnings of it form from pv’s existence as truthless recluse? Like curiosity on the partners part or maybe a bit of insecure jealousy because smc has a new toy. One that can understand him better than they ever could. Maybe doubt for the first time enters their heart, not about their own feelings. No no no, but doubting the sincerity of shadow milk cookies. For all his bluster about lies and deceit his actions towards them at this point would paint him as surprisingly sincere. But in the game even candy apple and black sapphire cookie saw how different smc was around pv/truthless recluse. I can see the partner seeking out truthless recluse because what’s so goddamn special about this cookie? (Am I not special enough?) but then meeting him and going oh Oh, he’s just like shadow milk cookie. Not the same, but similar, opposite. They seek them out and try to extend some kindness to him, initially out of pity maybe? Imagining that looking at pv is the same as seeing smc before his fall from grace. And smc probably wouldn’t be happy with this development, I wonder how he’d react. Thoughts?

So I know what I said about waiting for the poly hcs, but I’m a notorious liar when it comes to what I get done when sooooooo… hi pookie 🫶

Anyway there’s a lot to unpack here and I’m typing this on my phone, so please excuse any typos or weird formatting lol.

Starting off with SMC and Truthless Recluse, I can definitely see Shadow Milk unintentionally neglecting you for his new toy. Truthless isn’t a replacement, Shadow Milk wouldn’t dream of replacing his dearly beloved partner, but it certainly comes off that way.

It starts as a little nagging feeling, a biting sensation in the back of your neck that irritates you just a little. You brush it off easily, though, it’s not like you never see Shadow Milk anymore. He still dotes on you and cares for you like he always does, albeit it you see him less than you normally might. He doesn’t want you around Truthless for whatever reason, so whenever he is with the new cookie you are alone with your thoughts.

It’s not until you feel his glee and excitement that you suspect something. That godforsaken bite becomes a constant reminder of just how happy he is to have this special new cookie around. This cookie that is not you. It makes your chest ache, and everyone can see how your mood sours.

The puppets are sweeter to you, Candy Apple a little less disgruntled when she’s with you, and Black Sapphire looks at you with a pity that just makes you sick. Everyone knows, everyone cares, everyone but Shadow Milk it seems.

He seems to act like nothing is different, happy to return to you and have you. Though when he is with you, you see that his mind is elsewhere. And you know he’s aware of it, you know he can feel the way your heart aches, he just doesn’t seem to care.

You rationalize it in your head. It’s his souljam, his other half, of course he’s excited. You can’t be angry at him when this is all he’s been talking about, all he’s been working for this whole time.

The dam finally breaks when you see it with your own two eyes. The way he giggles and floats around the new cookie like an excited child. The poking and prodding and borderline flirting! Witches above, it’s too much for your heart to handle.

You can’t help but feel the burn of jealousy in your gut, the ugliness of betrayal crawling through your mind. What was so special about him? What was so amazing that Shadow Milk felt the need to neglect you for some… some… some wannabe god? The very cookie Shadow Milk claims to loathe is standing there basking in the attention that was meant to be yours! It was so unfair.

You curl up in a quiet part of the spire, one that most of the cookies there didn’t bother to visit. It was secluded and comforting, a place to cry your feelings away until you felt better. For once you couldn’t feel those eyes watching you.

You’re not sure how long you’re curled up there before someone finds you. Your surprised to see Truthless Recluse himself there, but he’s who you find. You wanted to scream and shout and take your anger out on him, but with him in front of you… you couldn’t muster it. His eyes held something in them that made it impossible to stay angry.

He sits next to you, surprising you yet again. He seemed like a loner, but when he casts his eyes on you again there’s a kindness in them. Perhaps… Pure Vanilla was still there… just hidden.

“Is there something you need,” You break the silence between you, “I’m sure Shadow Milk would be more than happy to accommodate you.”

He doesn’t answer you, shifting the conversation elsewhere, “It’s quiet here.”

You uncurl a little, sitting up with your back to the wall now, “It is. I like it, I can think clearly here.”

He hums, closing his eyes as if to take in the feeling himself. You take the time to gaze at him and realize he’s very pretty. His features are soft despite how tired he looks, and there is a wiseness about him that you hadn’t felt from another cookie in such a long time. The quiet contemplation only highlighted the insecurities burning in your dough.

No wonder Shadow Milk Cookie was so enamored with him, he was pleasant. He was warm and inviting, and the sweet scent of vanilla was comforting. He felt… he felt like home. Before you knew it you were crying again, surprising the cookie next to you.

“…Did I upset you…?” He asks almost unsure of himself.

“No,” you sniffle, “No, I’m just… hah… I’m just being silly is all.”

His gaze falls from you to the floor, then to the milky way sky, “Being silly isn’t something to cry over… it’s a good thing to be silly. Better than being nothing at all.”

You laugh, “I suppose you’re right… Say, I don’t think we’ve properly met, what’s your name strange cookie?”

That begins your tentative relationship with the Cookie. You don’t get too much time with him before Shadow Milk starts to get upset, but from what you see you come to understand a few things. Truthless— No, Pure Vanilla is a lot like Shadow Milk. He’s insecure and aching for connection, but greatly powerful and incredibly intelligent. You find yourself liking his company, reminded of your dearest when he lays his eyes on you.

Now, Shadow Milk Cookie watches the development happen from the sides. Initially he’s happy that you’re getting along with Truthless Recluse so well, positively tickled! You love him so much you can get along well with any incarnation of him, how very sweet! Then he notices you look at Truthless Recluse with… longing. Your gaze is too soft, too sweet, something that should only be reserved for him.

Of course he can’t help but get in the way. Regardless of Truthless’ progress toward deceit, he can’t have the cookie thinking you’re something free for the taking. He certainly can’t have you thinking you can just look at any other cookie with so much affection, either.

He gets clingy, worse than before Pure Vanilla showed up. He doesn’t like you leaving his side, and he especially doesn’t like you spending time alone with Truthless Recluse. No, no no no! You are his little dolly, no one else’s! If he has to remind you of that fact, he will! Since he’s just so sweet and considerate~

If you bring up the way he made you feel, he shakes his head and tuts at you. It was part of the plan, of course, your jealousy was made in a controlled environment by him. He needed you to use your silly little head and come to your senses on your own! He loves you, you know that, you just had to remember on your own.

Besides, as exciting as Truthless Recluse is, you’ll always be by his side. So as much as your heart ached (and boy did he feel that, it was difficult to ignore you calling for him through that bite), now you know to trust him.

[cherrysweets-world]

Eyes of the Gods VII

series masterlist - part six

Pairing: Caracalla x fem!Reader x Geta

Summary: You experience the consequences of the previous night.

Warnings: 18+, minors dni, toxic relationships, unhealthy relationships, controlling/possessive behavior, dub-con, forced proximity, sexism, historical inaccuracies

Word Count: 2.5k

You were awake long before the sun peeked over the horizon. It lit up Caracalla's rooms bit by bit until it was impossible to ignore. You attempted to sit up but Caracalla's arm was iron-tight around your waist.

He mumbled something but did not wake. His brother, on the other hand, looked at you with clear eyes. You suspected Geta had also struggled to find sleep. His eyes were red and irritated, his face pale despite the lack of makeup.

"Lie back down," he commanded quietly.

"I have duties to attend to," you reminded him.

"Your duties are what I say they are," he dismissed. He reached up and pressed his hand flat against your sternum, forcing you down until your back hit the pillows.

A tense quiet ensued. Geta did not move his hand. The rings on his fingers glinted in the rising sun. You could see indents in his skin where he had repeatedly twisted them.

In the light of day things seemed so much clearer. You hand found some odd comfort in the presence of the emperors last night - idiotic. Idiotic because it was likely your proximity to them that had driven this strange act against you.

Yet what else could you do? Your friends were out of reach; you had no-one else to confide in. The attack was not really against you. It was against the emperors. Had someone managed to harm you it would have been no different to breaking their favourite toy.

Geta cleared his throat. "You have been very affectionate with my brother."

Your head snapped to face him. "You say that as though I have had a choice. Emperor."

Geta scoffed, tugging on a strand of your hair. "I've watched you with him. You are hardly unwilling."

Shamed, you turned your head to face the man in question. Caracalla slept peacefully despite the tension brewing beside him. Soft gusts of breath ghosted your upper arm as he slumbered on, eyes moving rapidly beneath the lids. What did the Emperor of Rome dream of other than conquering and bloodshed?

Geta's fingers crept up to your chin and he forced you to turn back to him. "Look at me. Not him."

"I - I do not know what you want," you stammered. Your hands hovered uselessly in the air as though you could protect yourself against him.

"I want what you have given my brother," he said, rising until he was on his knees. He straddled you, entrapping you between his knees. "I demand that you look at me the same way you do him."

Trembling, you shook your head. If you had any control over your empathy you would not be in the position you were currently in. You would have walked on that night, focused on your own desires, and whatever was beneath the table would have been a mystery.

Geta's hand encircled your throat. "I thought you might understand now," he whispered, "what it is like to be hated. People have tried to hurt my brother and I before - last night they tried to hurt you. Do you not understand?"

"I understand," you nodded frantically. It was not a lie.

Geta leaned down until his nose dusted yours, until you were sharing the same breath of air. "You do. I can see that you do," he continued, "which is why you must obey us. Give yourself to us. No more questioning looks or quiet contemplation. We are your Emperors."

You wrapped a hand around Geta's wrist but did not try to pull it away. Whatever this was had been brought on by the incident last night. This desperate bid for understanding, for sympathy. Geta had not been as large of a presence in your life as Caracalla. It was clear he'd been using the distance between the pair of you to observe, to figure out how to draw emotions from you like water from a well.

"And what am I?" you asked, voice shaking.

"Ours," he said simply. "Nothing else matters."

He pressed a bruising kiss to your lips. You cried out and he used the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth before pulling away, satisfied.

For the moment.

Others peered at you curiously from your spot beside the emperors. They were sat on their thrones, glistening with gold and intricate details. You stuck out like a sore thumb beside them on a small wooden chair.

It was not possible to rise as you had without being in service of the emperors and most thought that women could only offer one thing. They probably thought you were a whore. Maybe they were right.

A senator cleared his throat, side-eying you. "It has been done, my Emperors."

His words piqued your interest. Was it possible that they had found the one responsible for last night? You glanced over at Geta, gauging his reaction.

He looked bored. "Have them cut them down in two hours."

Alarmed, you waited until the senator had left the room to turn to Geta. "Cut who down, Emperor?"

"The fools responsible for last night," he snarled, "I had them hung for their carelessness."

"Praetorians?" you asked, horrified. "How many?"

"Five or six," he shrugged, "just the ones on duty in that particular corridor."

Somehow, after everything you had seen and experienced, you were stunned. Whilst you had been wrapped up in your own misery last night, six men had been living their last hours.

Geta's lip curled at the expression on your face. "You cannot possibly believe that they should live. It is because of them that we were all in danger and the culprit may feel emboldened enough to come back."

"Though he shall not get away with it again," Caracalla giggled, high pitched and unserious.

You almost wished the person would come back. Geta and Caracalla had increased the amount of Praetorians everywhere they could. Twenty had been pulled from their duties on the outskirts of the city. If the culprit dared to come back they would undoubtedly be killed and you could rest easily.

It was a selfish want. You were beginning to see that sometimes you had to be a little bit selfish in order to survive. You pushed all thoughts of the Praetorians aside. If you did not you were not sure you could cope.

It was at that moment that Lady Lucilla walked into the room. You tilted your head up to observe her approaching. She was beautiful, her clothing elegant and complementing the many braids and curls of her hair. There was a sprig of lavender in her hand; you imagined the smells of the city were quite overwhelming for someone who lived further on the outskirts.

The stench of death, you thought.

She offered you a soft smile and you reciprocated. You had never personally interacted with her but her maids had never said a bad word. That did not mean that they liked her - it is hard to like those who have naturally been given advantages in life - but she was kind in a world where that was not the norm.

"Emperors," she bowed her head. "And you are -?"

Caracalla told her your name and she repeated it, acknowledging you before turning back to the emperors. They offered no explanation for why you were there and she did not ask.

"My husband and I are grateful for the respite you so graciously offered him."

You ears perked up at that. It had been the first you had heard of General Acacius since that day in Geta's rooms. It seemed that, against all odds, the brothers had considered your words.

"We will be attending your games tomorrow," she continued, "we both. . .look forward to it."

You almost laughed. It seemed Lady Lucilla enjoyed violence almost as much as you. This was the first you had heard of the Games being tomorrow. You did not have to ask to know that it was likely you would be forced to attend.

It would not go well for you. Blood was one thing, but gore and the violence against animals truly turned your stomach. The Gladiators only had an illusion of choice - fight for your freedom or die. It took years to earn freedom and those few who did were often shells of themselves by the end.

The emperors behaved differently with Lady Lucilla. It was apparent that they yearned for her approval. Their own parents had passed on quite some time ago. If they had an adult mentor in their lives perhaps things would have been different. For them and for you.

Lady Lucilla left the hall and you were once again alone with the emperors. There were a few slaves on the outskirts of the walls but they were not within earshot. That had been you, once. How you craved for the coolness of the wall against your back, the weight of a jug in your hand and the blessing of invisibility.

"I need to relieve myself," you abruptly said, standing from your chair.

Caracalla waved you away but did not take his eyes off you as you went. How long did you have before they would come looking for you? Five minutes? Ten? If you took any longer they would likely come and drag you back to the hall themselves.

You were in such a rush that you almost bumped into Lady Lucilla as you rounded the corner.

"Oh," you held out your hands, "I am so sorry. Please, forgive me."

"You are forgiven," she laughed, holding the lavender beneath her nose. "I understand why you might be in a hurry."

You swallowed and glanced around before shrugging. It was best if you did not say too much. Whilst you were not sure of the specifics, you were aware that there had been tensions between Lucilla and the emperors in the last few years. She was beloved by the people. Her support meant the support of Rome.

"I do not wish to keep you for long," she said slowly, "but I understand that you have the ear of the emperors."

"No," you gasped, "not at all, I -"

"I am not asking for favors," she assured you, "only offering advice. They lack good guidance and spurn those who offer it. If you find yourself in a position to give it, do so. They do not understand the people of Rome - perhaps you do."

With that, she turned and left. You pondered her words for a moment before heading to relieve yourself, lest the emperors come retrieve you.

It was becoming apparent why you had been targeted last night. Someone viewed you as - what, a threat? It was difficult to wrap your mind around. Your life had been thrown in to chaos and had been that way for almost two weeks now. You hardly had time for plotting and scheming!

It felt as though you existed only for the amusement of Caracalla and Geta. To think you had any real sway over them was laughable. The fact they had given Acacius leave was nothing to do with you.

It was not just the emperors that were dangerous; merely being around them was pushing you into new perilous situations.

When you returned to the hall Caracalla was on his feet, gesturing wildly amongst a group of guards. When he saw you he seemed to calm, shoving past the Praetorians and coming to meet you halfway.

He held your forearms in a bruising grip. "Where did you go?"

"To relieve myself," you squeaked, "as I told you."

His eyes scanned your face, searching for the lie. When he did not find one he smiled, turning round and dragging you back to the thrones.

Instead of letting you sit back on your own chair he settled you in his lap. Humiliation burned hot and true. He set about playing with your hair, twirling strands and occasionally tugging them if he felt your attention strayed from him.

To their credit, the senators that came to talk to the emperors did a good job of ignoring you. There was only confusion, mostly likely at the fact you did not resemble the concubines that typically were strewn about the place.

The entire day had been exhausting in a way you had not experienced before. The senators were frustrating and repetitive. If they disagreed with something they had no better idea to offer. They simpered and scraped, flattered and exaggerated, and after five hours had gone by you were thoroughly irritated.

"And. . .there will be food at these Games?" senator Velius asked.

"That is what I said," Geta raised his chin, looking every bit the proud emperor. "The people will enjoy themselves more if we feed them as well as entertain them. And what is the job of an emperor, if not to serve the people?"

"Of course," senator Velius nodded. He looked as though he was expecting to be told it was a joke. You would have thought so too but Geta had told the last three senators that had come the same thing.

Geta cared less about the people and more about his and his brother's image. It appeared as though he had finally settled on a way to control how they were perceived. You knew pandering to those he saw as below him was painful.

Geta had decided to have stalls outside the coliseum, offering food provided from their most recent conquest. Apparently Acacius had brought back exotic fruits and animals you had not seen before but the most special items were to be saved for the palace.

People were mostly simple beings. As long as they were fed and entertained everything else fell somewhere behind on the list of priorities.

"You'll sit with us during the Games," Caracalla told you, pinching your thighs.

"The Games make me sick," you said bluntly.

"Then you can look at me instead," he said hotly, trying to squeeze his hands between your locked thighs. "Open -"

"Brother," Geta interrupted, as he always did. "Save the excitement for tomorrow."

Caracalla scowled and nipped at your jaw before allowing you to sit back in your seat. The small spot on your jaw stung from his teeth and you absentmindedly rubbed the area.

You had seen how bloodshed excited the emperors. Tomorrow would be intense - for the gladiators and for you.

It was not just the blood. It was the people - the praise, the cheers, the exhilaration of it all. The moment when the gods used them as vessels and decided whether to let a man live or kill him as he knelt in the sand.

You could feel Caracalla's eyes burning a hole in the side of your head. You were not sure why Geta restrained himself and his brother but you got the sense that Caracalla was not going to put up with it for much longer.

Geta scared you. You saw the way he looked at you. You had seen the evidence of his desire in his robes. It felt as though he was waiting for something only you had no idea what that something may be.

Why had they not just taken what they wanted already? You tried not to think of them touching you but it was hard when every day you were wondering why they had not. Their resistance had you obsessing over every moment, wondering if this was finally it, and as a result you were thinking about sex far too often.

It felt like a ridiculous mind game that you had no hope of winning. You were not entirely sure what winning even meant anymore. You felt only loss and a sick sense of anticipation.

Author’s Note - please please leave likes, comments & reblogs if you enjoyed! I also love asks so if you have thoughts please send them♥️

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[revelboo]

I had a question for you! What would your headcannons be if a few IDW autobots walked in on you naked. Let's say you finally were able to get washed up and take off your towel when someone like Rodimus or Swerve walks in. How do you think they'd react?

I feel like Swerve would try flirting while failing, meanwhile Optimus apologies profusely, immediately shielding his eyes.

Oh, poor Optimus. Still embarassed even though he’s been intimate with his human

Accidentally Flashing Bots Headcanons

Optimus

• Head thrown back into the warm spray, you’re half tempted to go give Wheeljack a kiss on those blinky vocal indicators of his for rigging up showers for all of you humans. Suspect his human might not appreciate that, though. Poor thing is so lovesick and it’s their luck that their bot is oblivious. You’d told them they should just strip naked, order him to mass shift, and ride him into the sunset. That comment had only gotten you shocked looks from all of the other humans. Except the one stuck with Prowl. They’d gone red faced and refused to meet anyone else’s eyes. Well, at least you’re not the only alien fucker of the group. Shutting off the water when you hear the door open, you push aside the sheet of plastic meant to give you some privacy and step out.

• Turning at the soft rustle, he startles and immediately averts his optics. Because you’re naked and wet. And laughing at him. “I think we’re past modesty, big guy,” you say, grabbing a towel and bending over to dry your hair. There’s no not staring at you now. Especially when you glance back at him with a little snort and pointedly slide your thigh a little so you’re more on display in invitation and his spike throbs. “You know, I can always take another shower.”

Swerve

• Coming in to his habsuite, he rubs a hand against the back of his neck as he stretches. Where are you? You’re usually waiting to greet him, smiling up at him. Being quiet in case you’re sleeping in your nest, he leans to look and vents sharply. Well, you’re in your nest of blankets, head thrown back and naked. A hand between your thighs, little fingers pumping into yourself and he groans. And your little head snaps toward him, eyes wide as you claw to drag a blanket over yourself and he covers his optics with a hand. “I wasn’t spying on you, I swear. I mean, I can leave so you can finish if you want?” Even though he wants to watch you. Wants to touch you. And you groan, completely hidden under your blanket when he peeks.

• Why is he back early? Mortified, you hide under your blankets. And you can hear him awkwardly shuffling around. Probably as horrified at catching you as you are about being caught. Does he even know what you’re doing? He acted like he did. He’d asked if you needed him to leave so you could finish. You’re not going to be able to look him in the optics after this.

Rodimus

• Face turned up toward the spray, you let the warmth relax tired muscles. And nearly jump out of your skin when something brushes against you. Hip and shoulder banging against the little shower Brainstorm had rigged for you, you try to shove a mass displaced Rodimus out while covering important bits. “What are you doing?” And he stares at you before awkwardly turning his back to you. Still not leaving.

• “The wash racks were full,” he mutters, plating heating as you swear at him and try to shove him out. And maybe he’d wanted to see what a human looked like under all those coverings. What you looked like. Flustered, he stands under the spray with his back to you. How angry would you be if he touched you, because you look so soft and wet. Had gotten a glimpse before you’d covered yourself. Enough to realize you’re made to take a spike. That maybe mass shifted, you could take him. Shouldn’t be wondering about that as his plating pops and becomes uncomfortably warm. Becoming dangerous.

[cherrixpie]

NEMESIS

part three of five

↬ you were supposed to steer clear of mattheo riddle. Shame that he was just so irrestible.

↬ sfw; wc: 7.0k; cw: blood, mentions of violence, mattheo needs therapy asap; tags: gryffindor!reader, muggleborn!reader, enemies to lovers, my favorite part so far ngl

( masterlist )

previously on nemesis…

Mattheo Riddle stood in the doorway, his chest rising and falling in uneven, ragged breaths, knuckles still stained with the dark red of drying blood. His brown hair was a chaotic mess, wild curls fell into his stormy eyes, which burned with some unspoken rage- or perhaps mere adrenaline. The candlelight of the room flickered across him, illuminating the sharp contrast of the crimson streaks marring his jawline and collar. His shirt was rumpled and torn at the hem, blood smudged along the fabric as though he'd wiped his hands there in a haste. He looked slightly feral, yet oddly composed, the ghost of a smirk tugging at his lips when his eyes landed on you.

“Well, well,” he drawled, his voice low and edged with amusement as he stepped into the room, boots heavy on the flagstone floor. His gaze roamed over your sitting figure, taking in your startled expression, the nightdress you'd thrown on prematurely and now regretted even owning as it made you feel utterly exposed and vulnerable under his heated stare.

“Didn't think I'd have company tonight.” He swiped a hand through his hair, smearing the blood further, the act almost calculated in its casualness. His lips quirked into a crooked grin, the kind that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “What’s wrong, princess? Can't see blood?” There was a teasing lilt to his words, but his eyes lingered on you a moment too long, as though he were trying to decide what to make of you- or what you might make of him. Your alarm rang, but neither of you averted your eyes from one another. Finally, you raised your voice, but it was but a timid mumbling. The strange sense of security of the forest had left you.

“Would you like a muffin?”

He didn't react at first, instead letting his eyes rake over your figure. Without a word, he slumped down on the bench opposite you with the table ensuring a distance between you. He leaned back casually and placed a finger on his lips as if lost in thought, but his eyes were as awake as those of a hawk, registering every little squirm, every raise and fall of your chest.

To escape his stare, you rose from your seat in a haste and walked over to the oven. The muffins had turned out well and you left them on the table to cool off. Then, you worked up the courage to turn around and meet his dark eyes. They hadn't retracted from your figure and you couldn't suppress a shiver. In a way, he reminded you of a predator, siting to attack, cowering for the jump, ready to go off at any second now.

“How did you find someone to beat up at three in the morning?” you asked, thankful that your voice didn't shake. He blinked, for the first time, as if he was pulled out of a haze. It was a paradox, how you found yourself reassured when he quirked a smirk, however dangerous and sinister it may be, because he looked like himself again. When did that begin to be a calming thing? Something had to be seriously wrong with you.

Mattheo waited with an answer, fishing another pack of cigarettes from his trousers' pockets and igniting one. The smell lingered uncomfortably in the air, but you pretended you could neither smell nor see it, knowing by his heavy stare, he was burning to elicit a reaction from you. “Terry Boot. That ravenclaw prefect.” You knew Terry, you sat with him in Arithmancy. Though he was a bit of a know-it-all and a little arrogant, you got along just fine. Terry wasn't one to pick fights, but you wouldn't have suspected him of being the culprit anyway.

With a deliberate movement, you sat back down across from him. You hid your shaking hands under the table and managed to return his gaze steadily. “Why did you beat him up?” His lip curled as Riddle shifted slightly in his seat. You struggled to remain still when he straightened up, rested his elbows on the table and leaned forward subtly. His magnetic eyes fixed you in place, you wouldn't have been able to move even if you wanted to. Riddle crooked his head slightly when you didn't retreat and his smile widened.

Finally, he averted his eyes to take a drag out of his cigarette before turning back to you, a prosaic expression on his face. “You want to know the reason I beat him up, princess?”

Mattheo felt drunk. The adrenaline of the fight still cursed through him, the thrill of inciting violence, make someone pay for his fucking life had him ride high. And now, here you were, in your little white nightdress, the embodiment of everything he couldn't have. Something good and pure. And Mattheo couldn't think straight, or rather, as all inebriation did, his filter had been discarded in favor how uncontrolled raging of thoughts. At the same time, he felt detached from himself and trapped in a too-intense dream. Mattheo was both wrecked and lifted. Too bad you had to stumble upon him when he was riding high with anxiety and elation.

“Yes,” you said, bringing him back to the present. A present in which you sat across from him, slightly shivering but looking him steadily in the eye nonetheless. Mattheo could have used legilimency on you to dig into your thoughts and see himself through your eyes, but he didn't. It felt more exciting to watch you, to try and pry you open until you exposed a part of yourself. “He was just there,” Mattheo answered honestly and observed your reaction. There barely was any. You showed neither repulsion nor intrigue, only a light frown adorned your face.

“That's all there is to it,” you said, but it was not a question, more of an assessment. An ironic chuckle left his lips. “That's the kind of guy I am, princess.”

Mattheo felt wild with something indiscernible when you leaned forward as well. Then, you did something so utterly strange and unpredictable it stole his breath away. Your hands came up to lay themselves upon the smooth surface of the table, you stabilized them against the wood, but still, they shook. Visibly. What in earth were you attempting to do here by showing him your weakness, putting your fear on full display? It was something Mattheo wouldn't have done even in his wildest dreams and his gaze lingered on your trembling hands. With an aimless motion, you turned them so the back of your hands lay upon the woods and your palms were exposed, as if you were awaiting a gift, or praying.

“Does that bother you?”

Through your strange action and direct tone, you had momentarily distracted him. Not a hard task, seeing as emotions and trains of thought flickered through him in uncontrolled speed. Almost feverish. Looking back at you, he contemplating your question. Only so long it wasn't to hasty, not long enough to be considered actual doubt. “No,” he lied and took another drag of his cigarette.

As Riddle blew out the smoke at you, you tried not to blink it away. Instead, you raised a skeptical eyebrow. Your eyes still locked on him, as if he'd pound on you if you broke contact, you pulled the tray of cooling muffins closer and took one out from among them. Over the table, you pushed it towards him as if you were offering him a peace treaty- or throwing him a rope in deep waters. “Take a muffin.”

He scoffed, flicking the burnt-out cigarette away. It glinted in the dark for a few seconds before molding into the background. “I don't want to eat muffins and talk about my feelings. I have no ambitions to be little miss perfect’s newest little social project.” The words were meant to rile you up, but you showed no reaction. “You can't do a lot of talking if you're eating,” you said bravely, “Can you?”

To your utter surprise, Riddle reached across the table and took the muffin. You watched as he discarded the cup and bit into the soft dough, somewhat anxious about whether he'd like it. But you didn't let any of that anxiety show on your face, putting on a mask of indifference. Now unoccupied once more, your hands started shaking again and you suppressed the urge to conceal them under the table. For a few seconds, you sat in silence as he ate. It was a strange sight to behold and you'd have liked to take a picture of it: Mattheo Riddle, covered in blood, eating one of your muffins.

Only when he's finished, Riddle spoke up again. “They're good.” Not expecting the compliment, your eyes widened and a traitorous little blush creeped onto your cheeks. To your fortune, the few floating candles weren't enough to illuminate your face properly. “Thank you,” you said, hoping that it didn't sound too timid.

Mattheo felt daring in his adrenaline induced state. As he watched you avert your eyes and your lips twitch, his irritation at your strangely endearing behavior surged within him. For a second, he wished nothing more than to fuck the good girl attitude out of you. Approach you here in the kitchen, get you talking, get you all soft and pliant for him to ruin your and your perfect little nightdress. Alas, he discarded the thought. So, Mattheo thought bitterly to himself, he at least seemed to possess a certain level of self-control. Even though you were testing it.

“Why are you here?” you asked him once you'd found your voice again and looked back at him. It was as if the tension in the air had subsided slightly, or rather, been resolved by another kind of suspense. He was no longer so dangerous. Instead of calculating fear, you felt yourself overcome with curiosity. Riddle raised his brows at you and you clarified. “In the kitchens at three in the morning, I mean. I reckon that's not a habit of yours.”

If only you knew how the kitchens were his place of retreat when nightmares chased after him even in his waking hours, when sleep would loom over him like a threat.

Riddle didn't answer, and it didn't surprise you. What you said next, however, did. Maybe it was the bruises and cuts on him, seeping with blood that collected in sat puddles on the table and stained his white, torn shirt. Maybe you did because you were tired, maybe the words had slipped past your lips out of exhaustion and a lack of concentration. Or maybe, it was the dim light, or, that you just wanted to tell somebody. Somebody who wouldn't fuss over you, someone who wouldn't worry. “I bake to relieve stress,” you shared hesitantly and your tone seemed to catch his attention. He was frowning, but you continued, watching your hands intently. They had stopped shaking.

“I don't usually come down here at night, today was an exception. I was just so stressed out over the extra coursework for McGonnagall. It's like I feel the need to make it up to her. You know, because I disappointed her. It's important to me that she likes me, or else I can't stand to sit before her and be the passive receiver of anything she may inflict upon me.”

A long silence followed this confession. No sound from outside managed to penetrate this level of the castle, so the only sound was yours and his breathing, that seemed to get louder with every second he showed no reaction. In order to do something, anything, you reached for a muffin to nibble on it. It was a good patch, your assessment had been correct. Almost shyly, you looked back at him, then quickly back to your muffin. Regret washed over you. What in God’s name had you been thinking? This would come to bite you in the ass later, you were sure of it. Until-

“Sometimes,” Riddle said slowly, weighing every word. “I need a solitary space to confide the monster that I am.” His raised chin indicated that he was waiting for you to recoil or advert your eyes, but you did neither.

“You think you're a monster?” you asked quietly, curiously. It was almost too natural, the way you leaned towards him over the table, your muffin long forgotten. It was as if the world had shrunken down to an empty kitchen and two people sitting across one another at a polished table. His dark eyes seemed to hide a whole world and intrigue pulled you towards it like moths to the light, like Icarus to the sun. Or maybe, you were just getting sappy.

Riddle chuckled dryly. “You don't?” The question sounded trivial, utterly meaningless, but you wouldn't be deterred by his indifference.

“What does it matter what I think?” Somehow, you found yourself whispering, as if the silence itself had ears.

His answer caught you off guard, simply because you'd never have expected these words to fall from Mattheo Riddle’s lips. “I don't know.” For a second, he almost seemed vulnerable, bathed in the warm, soft glow of the candles. Without you realizing it, they had hovered closer, and now, you could fully admire the bleeding cuts and bruises all over his face. You knew he didn't get them because he wasn't the superior fighter, he always was, you'd seen him fight countless times. It was because he didn't shield himself, he didn't bother with protecting himself, he only strived to inflict as much damage as possible. You couldn't imagine that Terry would have been able to lay a finger on him if Riddle hadn't aimed for it. In a way, whether he did or didn't know, he was punishing both his opponent and himself.

“Is that why you fight people?” you asked quietly. “Because you're a monster?” Riddle only shrugged, but you thought he'd grasped what you really wanted to ask by the way he looked upon your white-clad figure.

“Why are you talking to me?” he asked, but it was more curiosity than apprehension. You, little miss perfect, not fleeing from him as usual. No, you seemed to be rooted to your spot, and your eyes on him made it impossible for him to leave, to move. What if you were caught? What if, tomorrow, the whole school would know you'd spend the night with him in the kitchens. Oh, how ashamed you would be, how abashed, how humiliated. You'd turn from him in class, where your friends were watching, but in the forest, and now, here, you exposed yourself for him in a way that felt more intimate than if you'd taken off that little nightdress of yours. Your eyes were open, like welcoming gates, and it was unexpectedly disarming to look into them.

Mattheo had asked why you were talking to him, but in reality, he had wanted to ask a different question. Why were you kind? You seemed to handle your kindness as you did your muffins, handing it out without a thought to anyone. Why had you shown him your hands? Why had you told him about your stress? How could you be so unlike what he'd come to expect of people? Though it wasn't as if you didn't think about how you handed out your kindness, and it only made you more intriguing. You were smart, reflected, realistic and honest. And, you were dealing with weapons Mattheo had never learned how to fend off.

“Why not?” you asked after rolling his question around in your head. You kept a close eye on him as his brows shot up and sighed. “Why am I talking to you? Well, I suppose because I am in a room with you.”

Your bluntness took him off guard. It was a perfectly simple answer that would have sufficed with anyone. But he wasn't just anyone. Or was he? When had the rules applied to others ever applied to him in the same way? He looked into your eyes and saw no lie. You might have been afraid, or cautious, but he knew that, in this moment, you saw him as human. Just as human as any student who might have stumbled upon you and your muffins.

For the first time this night, you glanced at the large grandfather clock in one corner of them room. As if you'd overcome the fear that he'd jump you unexpectedly if you didn't keep your eyes on him. A small, almost apologetic smile tugged at your lips as you rise from your seat. “I better get going, it's a long way up to Gryffindor tower.”

Right. Mattheo had almost forgotten the rest of the world, and he hadn't missed it. But for the first time, he felt like solitude in this kitchen would feel empty and meaningless, without you. So he rose from the bench as well and watched as you wrapped the muffins in a large handkerchief and placed them on one of the tables. Suddenly, you halted your movement and glanced up at him, as if you'd remembered something important. You pulled another handkerchief from one of the drawers, picked out a handful of muffins and wrapped them into a smaller bundle. Mattheo didn't realize you intended it for him until you extended your hand towards him.

“You can just tell your friends you stole them from me,” you said easily and gave him a hesitant smile. “I'll make sure to glare extra hard at you tomorrow.”

Without a word, he took the bundle. It was weird. Now, it felt like the two of you shared a secret. The unspoken agreement to tell nobody of this meeting hovered in the air between you, and you gave him a small nod he felt tempted to return. But then, you turned away, and the words stumbled from his lips like outstretched claws trying to keep you inside this already special memory for another few seconds. Mattheo hated how desperate he felt for this one moment, but he couldn't deny it. “Bold of you to think I'd share these with my friends.”

You laughed, and it stirred something inside him. The sound sobered him up, to the reality that you were supposed to hate him, and he was supposed to hate you for it, for being as unforgiving as the rest of the world. But you didn't seem to hate him. When you laughed, Mattheo found himself questioning whether you could hate at all. You seemed like someone who'd been loved all her life.

“Are you not taking these with you?” he asked finally, indicating the larger bundle of muffins on one of the tables. Shaking your head, you opened the portrait to leave, but kept your eyes on him. “They're for the house elves.” Then, you were gone.

Over the next week, Mattheo found himself looking for you in crowds, on the Gryffindor table at mealtimes and started noticing things about you in class. The way you'd absorb all that the teachers said, the way the ink would spill over your fingers as you scribbled down notes, the way you laughed with your friends, but never too loud. How you'd sometimes be so deep in thought you didn't even register the end of class. Mattheo noticed the way you seemed exhausted and burned out at dinner but still found it in you to laugh with your friends.

At the same time, excitement in the castle was rising approaching the weekend when the first quidditch game of the season, Gryffindor vs Slytherin, would take place. The usual brawls and hexing between students of the two houses caused smaller uproars every other day, but, for the first time in his time at Hogwarts, Mattheo found himself preoccupied. You drew him in like a magnet, making him suddenly show up to classes on time to watch you, get the chance to finally understand what it was that had him so distracted with you. He hated the way he couldn't seem to get away from you, but he couldn't resist it.

You, too, found yourself strangely preoccupied with looking for Mattheo Riddle in crowds or in class. You hadn't mentioned the late night encounter to your friends, and part of you was starting to believe it might have been a product of your imagination, your exhausted, sleep-deprived mind playing tricks on you, a confusion of dream and reality. But just when you had almost convinced yourself, you were proven wrong on the Thursday before the big match, sitting in the library and hovering over a book as you absentmindedly chewed on your quill. Just when you thought your eyelids would simply drop, his voice pulled you out of your haze.

“Careful there, princess, you'll run out of quills before you can finish all these notes.”

Startled, your head shot up, and there he was. Riddle leaned casually against the table you occupied, hands in the pockets of his trousers and a subtle smirk on his lips as he looked down on you. For once, his shirt was unstained, which took you off guard more than anything. Until you realized the situation you were in. Quickly, you pulled the quill away and sat up a little straighter. “I wasn't-” you hesitated. “Wait, what are you even doing here?”

Riddle raised his brows until they almost disappeared behind his dark curly hair that fell into his face. “The library’s public. Though I didn't expect to be this entertained while I was here." He was grinning again and pulled out the chair opposite you for himself. You watched him sit down before you and lean back in his chair, gaze fixed upon you. “Well, princess,” he indicated the books with a nod, “Planning your next adventure breaking curfew, or is this one strictly academic?”

Now, it was your turn to raise your brows, though you couldn't suppress the smallest smile. It had been real, you now knew it had been real all along. “Unlike you, I actually like to study.”

Riddle leaned forwards a bit, propping his elbows up on his legs and resting his chin on his fist. Though the movement was casual, his gaze was anything but. It was still magnetizing, but it no longer held the explosive, uncontrollable heat as it had the night you'd offered him a muffin in the kitchens. “Who says I don't like to study?” He asked and his pleasant smile almost fooled you into buying into his nonchalance. “I'm learning a lot at the moment.”

Over your book, you threw him a quick glance. “About what?”

“You,” he said simply, still with that casual smirk on his face. For a few seconds, you were simply irritated. Then, it dawned on you that Mattheo Riddle had just flirted with you. Blinking perplexedly, you stuttered out an incoherent response and cursed yourself for being so quick to fall into his traps. Clearly, he was using his charm to get one over on you, establish himself as the one in control. But you would no longer be his little plaything- not after you'd seen a small glimpse of the real him that night in the kitchens. No, you were determined not to let him push you around.

But before you could shoot back, someone tapped your shoulder shakily and you turned in your seat, momentarily distracted from Mattheo. It was Neville, who cast nervous glances at Riddle before quickly looking away, afraid he might meet his eye. When you cleared your throat and smiled at him, his eyes snapped back to you and he seemed to find his voice. “Hey, uhm… thanks again for your work on that potions assignment, I just received an E and I could’ve never done it without you.” He seemed a bit breathless and stepped from one foot to the other nervously.

“An E?” you repeated, momentarily forgetting all about Riddle. “Wow, Neville, that's amazing!” He thanked you brightly before scurrying off with one last, terrified look at Riddle. When you turned back to him, you smiled a little abashedly. To your surprise, he returned your small smile, eyes glinting. “You're really wasting your talents in Gryffindor, you know that?”

You wanted to glare at him, but you couldn't suppress a light grin at his words. “And what would I do, say, in Slytherin, Riddle? Hex people just for fun?”

“Mattheo.”

Taken aback, you blinked at him and his lip curled into a grin. “Call me Mattheo.” You hesitated for a second. The silly thought that you might not be able to say his name popped into your head, the irrational fear that you'd pronounce it wrong. So you only nodded and began packing your books to get them back to their shelves. It was already dark outside and the library was deserted as the time on the clock was approaching curfew.

When you rose from your seat, Riddle did, too, watching as you heaved the stack of books into your arms. For a few seconds, he watched you struggle to stabilize the weight, then, the weight was suddenly lifted from your arms as he got hold of the books. Your perplexion was met with a wink. “So, where are these going, princess?”

You motioned for him to follow you and, in silence, you moved through the rows of shelves, the stack of books growing smaller by the minute. When only one of them was left, you finally broke the silence. You turned to him, and your breath hitched at his proximity. Behind you the bookshelves, you refused the retreat or avert your eyes. Instead, you held out your hand while steadily looking into his eyes. “That one’s mine, I'll be taking that.”

But he didn't give it to you. You were faintly reminded of your days in primary school when the boys would hold your books over your head to tease you. Mattheo didn't hold it over your head, but reaching out and taking it from him seemed just as impossible as jumping iowards to grab your books back when you were younger had been. Instead of following your request, he made the smallest step forward. Placing the book on a nearby table, his arms came up to cage you against the bookshelves as his eyes glimmered in the dark like the embers of his cigarettes. The clock struck, it was officially past curfew now.

“What the hell is it about you?” Mattheo murmured through clenched teeth, his eyes raking over your features. He seemed to be talking to himself more than you. Only now did you realize how much taller than you he was. His figure loomed over you, but as he placed his elbows on the shelf, he dipped his head down, until it was only inches away from you. Still, you made no attempt to step back. Lifting your chin, you met his gaze and a nervous coil tightened in your stomach.

“What's it about?” he whispered, not taking his eyes off of you. “Your book.” His voice may have been hushed, but it rumbled softly in a way that made heat rush into your cheeks.

“It's an old mythological story,” you breathed, as if you were telling him a secret. “About a ten year long war. One of the parties kidnapped the most beautiful woman alive, Helen, from the other, and they fought a decade over her. The book tells the last days of said war.”

“A decade,” he murmured, and as he spoke, you could feel the exhale of his breath fanning over your face. Was he trying to intimidate you? If yes, he was doing a bad job. You were more excited than anything. Whispering with the enemy between bookshelves after curfew- the list of forbidden things you were doing sent an unknown thrill through your insides. “What the hell was the deal about fucking Helen?”

“Don't know,” you answered, feeling the books against the back of your head when you angled it up to get a better look at him in the dark. “But in some myths, she's described to be the daughter of nemesis, the Greek goddess of retribution for the sin of hubris. Funny, huh?”

You didn't even know what you were saying anymore, and Mattheo smiled lightly as if he knew exactly what was going on inside your head. Which you didn't doubt for a second, given his rumored legilimency skills. “Hm,” he hummed, looking down on you with an indiscernible glint in his dark brown eyes. “This here is quite hubristic, isn't it? Someone like me talking to someone like you.”

You frowned, head quite dizzy from his proximity. “What’s that supposed to mean?” His heavy gaze on you made you feel as if you were standing under a stage light instead of a dark library. For a quick, crazy moment, you thought he was going to kiss you, but he only dipped down further to bring his hand to your neck. It felt rough and calloused, undoubtedly from being smashed into someone’s jaw every other week. Mattheo watched it against your bare neck with an odd expression, not unlike awe. When your brearth hitched in your throat, his eyes snapped back up at you.

“IT IS PAST CURFEW!”

The both of you broke apart so hastily you stumbled against the opposite bookshelve. The cutting voice of Madame Prince had rung through the library, and now, you spotted her figure a few shelves away, approaching you quickly with a lantern in her hand. Frozen in place, terror washed over you, when suddenly, you're were yanked backwards. You had to stumble along as Mattheo started to run, dashing past bookshelves and pulling you with him. To your utter incomprehension, he was laughing madly as he ushered you out of the library and down the next corridor.

“We can't run from a teacher, Mattheo!” you cried in a panicked voice as you rounded a corner and dashed up a staircase. But Riddle only looked over his shoulder with a teasing grin and winked at you. “I love the way you say my name, princess!”

Past the windows and classroom doors, up the stairs and along corridors you flew, your hand tightly clasped in his. Only his relentless pull still kept you going as you gasped for breath, but Mattheo seemed completely unbothered, still giggling like a maniac. It suddenly dawned on you that this might be the happiest you had ever seen Mattheo Riddle, and the thought elicited a small giggle even from you. The situation was just so absurd. Never once would you have pictured being dragged through the Hogwarts corridors by Mattheo Riddle on the run from a teacher, all the while giggling like school children. This had to be one of those crazy dreams you forgot five seconds after waking up. But you didn't want to forget, and, in all honesty, you didn't want to wake up either.

Finally, when your legs felt like they were about to collapse and your lungs screamed for air, Mattheo slowed down and you slumped against a wall, sliding down against it until you were sitting on the ground and heaving for breath. He seemed almost giddy with adrenaline as he rocked on the balls of his feet in front of you, letting out a breathless chuckle. “Now, this is what I call a Thursday night!”

“If you say so,” you replied breathlessly and held your side. Only now did you spare a second glance at your surroundings and your eyes widened. “We’re at Gryffindor tower?” This was the corridor before the one with the portrait of the fat lady that marked the entrance to your common room, you recognized it even in the dark.

“Didn't quite trust you to find your way back in your state, princess,” he grinned teasingly, but he didn't sound malicious at all. His teasing had lost its sharp edge somewhat.

When you finally managed to establish a stable breathing pattern, you got to your feet and dusted off your robes to have something to do with your hands. “Good night,” you said softly and he flashed you a grin.

“Sweet dreams, princess.”

The Friday was buzzing with electricity as it was the day before Saturday's quidditch game. But you only had half a mind for the general excitement, occasional brawls and Harry and Ron’s quidditch talk, because you were still dwelling in the memories of last night. Even hours later, you could still feel his hand on your neck like that of a ghost, could recall the sound of his hushed baritone and the look in his eyes. Maybe he transformed into another creature at night, one of allure and intrigue. But, who were you kidding. It had been him, and now, in the daylight, you struggled to reconcile your friends' and your previous perception of him with the man you'd come to know after curfew.

“Hello? Earth to y/n!” Ron waved his hand in front of your eyes and you snapped out of your daze. It was the last lesson before lunch, potions with Professor Slughorn, and the chatter and clatter of students enabled you to talk in class when you usually couldn't. But it also meant you didn't have an excuse for staring into space. “Being distracted in class is my job,” Ron grinned, “You can't just steal my job, or Slughorn will notice how bad I am at potions!”

With a little laugh, you looked after the potion and stirred it around. It had the desirable color already, but you pretended to be busying yourself with the fire to throw a quick glance around the classroom. Mattheo sat in one of the corners next to Nott, they seemed to be engaged in conversation. Their potion had the described color as well. You watched them from behind the cauldron. Nott was frowning deeply and seemed to be attacking his friend with a string of questions. Mattheo looked annoyed, but then, he caught your eye and his lips twitched. Quickly, you got to your feet again and avoided to look in his direction, therefore missing Nott’s suspicious look.

“Hey, I think we're finished,” Ron spoke up, flipping through the pages of your potions book. “It's got the right color and everything!”

“Yeah, I think you're right,” you smiled absentmindedly and Ron frowned. With a thud, he closed the book and leaned over the table towards you. “Are you… okay?” Taken aback, you focused your attention on him and missed the way Mattheo’s eyes narrowed as your ginger friend. “What do you mean?”

“You've been… I don't know, a little distracted lately,” said Ron uncomfortably. “Ever since that dada lesson, you know?”

“Right,” you mumbled under your breath and gave him what you hoped was a reassuring smile. “I'm fine, really, I just need to get more sleep.” That was not a lie. Your nights worth of curfew breaking only added to the exhaustion you felt from the nights you spent studying in the common room when everyone else had already left.

Ron glanced towards the corner of the room you had found your attention drawn to as well and leaned in even closer, lowering his voice to a murmur. “He's not threatening you or anythin’, is he?” he asked, “Riddle, I mean.”

His question surprised you so much you were stunned to silence, and when you opened your mouth to reply, a large shadow fell upon the two of you. “Ah, quite lovely,” smiled Slughorn fatherly as he inspected your potion. “Very well indeed, but I wouldn't expect anything else from you, Miss y/n.” He didn't acknowledge Ron in the slightest, but gave you ten points for Gryffindor and moved on to the next table.

You noticed that he avoided Mattheo’s table, even though they were finished already. You remembered the rumors about your professor and Voldemort, that he'd been part of his Slugclub, and how Slughorn had been hiding from him ever since he was resurrected. You wondered what it had to be like, to be treated like an undesirable addition to his father’s horrors not only by the student body but also by his teacher. By you also. You had to recognize it. Though it was not as if you didn't have any reason to. Who would Mattheo have turned into if students and teachers alike hadn't already shaped a path for him that was so self-destructive?

Ten minutes later, Slughorn dismissed the class. Ron grabbed his bag with the words “I'm so hungry I'm gonna die” and lunged himself at the door before anyone else could. That left you to swipe the table clean and bottle up the potion for Slughorn. Hermoine had already taken off after Ron, but Harry waited for you by the door as you packed up your things and turned around, only to run into a solid obstacle. Stumbling back a few feet, you looked up to see Mattheo grinning at you. “Oops.” Behind him, Nott rolled his eyes.

Before Harry could come over and start a brawl, you brushed past Mattheo with a “no worries”, but he got a hold of your wrist and turned you around. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Harry shuffling closer. “Will you be at the game tomorrow, princess?”

“Of course,” you answered, unable to hide your smile. “Cheering for Gryffindor.”

“Naturally,” he said and his thumb brushed over your wrist where your pulse was. “I'll se you there, then.” And with a wink, he pushed past Harry and followed Nott out of the classroom. Once he'd departed, you met Harry’s eyes, and saw his raised brows.

“So, what was that about?” Harry asked as you climbed the steps up to the Great Hall. As you were quite late for lunch, no one crossed your path who might have listened to your conversation, so he didn't bother to hush his voice. There was a subtle frown on his face and you felt his eyes on you from beside you.

“What do you mean?” you asked, playing dumb, and he gave you a you’re-perfectly-aware kind of look. With a shrug, you picked at your shirt. You weren't prepared for this conversation.

“I've heard… rumors,” said Harry carefully and you whipped your head around. “Nothing like that!” he clarified hastily and raised his hands in mock surrender. “Just… some portraits said they'd seen you leave the library together yesterday after curfew. And, I don't know if you've noticed, but Riddle has been staring at you all the time for the last week. Ever since you had detention with him.”

“What?” you said, taken aback, because you hadn't really noticed any change in his demeanor outside of your nightly encounters. Harry shrugged. “At the start I thought he was staring at me, you know? But he's been looking at you in class, also. And, like, constantly.” He looked worried. “Is there anything…?”

“I'm not- we're not- I’d never-”, you spluttered out, but Harry gave you a reassuring smile. “I get it, just wanted to make sure.”

“I'm sorry,” you said, biting your lips and staring at your feet. “I've been talking to him a few times since the detention and… well…,” you were grappling with accurate words to describe how you felt about Mattheo Riddle. Because you would lie if you said you planned to stay away from him. “We're not friends,” you told him quickly, “I still hate his guts, and I know you and him have this enmity-”

“Really, y/n, you don't have to defend yourself or anything,” Harry assured you. “You're not betraying our friendship or Gryffindor or whatever by talking to Riddle.” His lip twitched slightly. “No matter what Ron might tell you.”

“Oh God,” you groaned as you reached the foyer and emerged from the dungeon staircase. “Does everyone know?”

“No,” Harry said quickly and gave you a reassuring smile. “We're just all worried. He's bad news. You know that. And, especially given your parents, he’s also dangerous.” Ah, yes. Your parents. But the news of your muggle heritage hadn't seemed to deter Mattheo, nor had he showed any aggression towards you. But, you thought to yourself determinedly as you walked through the doors over to the bustling Gryffindor table, if these meetings were to continue, you'd have to bring it up eventually, test his reaction.

“Hey,” Harry stopped you before you could reach the others and you turned to him. “I'm sorry if we're being too pushy with this,” he said seriously, “but you really should stay away from him. Come on.” With a little smile, he opened his arms and you hugged him tightly, wondering what he would say if he knew that you were already on first name basis with Mattheo.

Mattheo's hand tightened around his goblet as he watched you over at the Gryffindor table, your arms wrapped around Potter in a tight hug. His jaw ticked involuntarily, the sharp annoyance flaring up before he even had the chance to smother it. He told himself it was ridiculous, you and him weren't exactly anything, just a handful of late night talks that shouldn't have happened in the first place. But something about seeing you with him, with fucking Potter of all people, seeing you smile at him, made his stomach twist in ways he didn't want to think about. Potters hand rested comfortably on your back, and Mattheo's scowl deepened, his gaze darting away as if that would somehow help.

He attempted to focus on the conversation at his own table, nodding absently as Blaise said something that earned a round of chuckles from his friends, but the sound barely reached him. His mind was stubborn, circling back to the sight of you with Potter. He didn't have the right to be annoyed- he knew that- but the irritation was there all the same, coiling in his chest like a restless serpent. A part of him wanted to march over there, grab Potter and smash his face into the fucking wall for touching what was his- but you weren't. You weren't his, and your reaction if he attacked Potter right on front of you was enough for him to bury the idea. Instead, he forced forced his gaze back to his plate, his appetite gone, and told himself he didn’t care. But deep down, the jealousy burned, leaving a bitter taste that even the sweetest wine couldn’t wash away. Only you could, but you were unreachable. In more ways than one.

taglist: @aespaslut @kricketwritesstories @catching-fire-in-the-wind @a-little-funny @thejediprincess56 @polireader @voidangxls @artsyle @nkvgt @ashrocker123 @chimchoom @onlytenkos @yvonne-dump @alwayslatetothefandoms

[moonstruckme]

Okay I’ve been thinking of request ideas for Thawing Out all day while I was at work 😂 What about if something happened with her on the way to practice (nothing serious but maybe it shook her up a bit) and she was late and clearly acting off? Obviously her boys are going to notice…

Love you as always, hope you’re doing amazing! 💖💖💖

Thank you Amber my love!!! Hope you like it <3

collab with @ellecdc

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6 | part 7 | part 8 | part 9 | part 10 | part 11 | part 12 | part 13 | part 14 | part 15 | part 16

cw: modern au, chronic pain, mention of harassment

poly!wolfstar x fem!reader ♡ 1.6k words

You come into the rink with quick, determined steps, blitzing past every door in your path until you get to the bleachers. Sirius is already on the ice, Remus leaned against the boards while he watches. Both boys turn when you sit down. 

“Hello,” Sirius calls, clearly chuffed to have you here as a buffer between him and your bristly coach. “Where’s my latte?”

“No time today,” you say back. You jam your foot into a skate. 

Remus gives you a scrutinous look. “You alright?”

“Fine. Sorry I’m late.” 

You get your skates on in record time, laced up tight enough to hurt. Sirius is ready for you in your starting position, his hands firm on your shoulders. He gives a little squeeze, meant to coax a smile out of you, but you’re in no mood. 

“I was just fucking with you about the latte,” he says lowly. “I don’t need it to get through practice, though he has been especially insufferable this morning.” 

You glance at Remus. He looks the same as always, half relaxed and half watchful. He and Sirius have fallen into a routine of petty spats that you suspect don’t exactly make him look forward to practice every morning, and yet he seems to be getting used to the both of you. He’s less curt than he had been during your first few days together. 

“You only say that because you were here alone with him,” you say. 

“It didn’t help. Without you here he’s in his most unfiltered, fogey form.” 

Your skating is as near to flawless as it’s been in weeks. You throw yourself into each jump with everything you have, using the hot emotions simmering beneath your skin to your advantage. And it works. Remus looks caught offguard but directs several nods of approval your way, whereas Sirius is all untempered joy. His grin widens with each flawless landing, and when you finish your most difficult move in the routine he actually whoops. You think you see Remus’ lips twitch at that. 

“There she is!” Sirius grips your hand, squeezing tight as you go into a synchronized arabesque. His hair is pulled back into a bun, but a couple of loose pieces flutter around his face as he skates backwards. He looks so happy for you, and some of that tight feeling you’ve been carrying around all morning dissipates. You smile back at him. 

You both go into a lutz. It’s a jump you’ve done half a million times. It should be a given, perfect every time. And yet you catch your mistake in midair. 

You land on your hands and knees. 

You pant a couple of times, and your next breath scrapes on the way in. Tears press at your eyes horrifyingly fast, like they’ve only been waiting for their chance. You press your nose to the ice. 

Skates hiss until they’re next to you, Sirius’ hand on your back. 

“What’s wrong? What happened?” 

You shake your head, humiliated by your fall and even more so by this fracturing, how easily it came on. You feel pathetic. 

“Where is it?” Sirius’ voice climbs, growing shrill with panic. “Let me see. How bad is it?” 

He’s trying to sit you up, hands cold and gentle and frantic, but his touch stills when a warmer one meets your shoulder. 

“Are you hurt?” Remus asks. 

“No.” You finally find your voice, but it’s pitchy and awful. “I’m sorry.” 

“Fuck. Fucking hell.” In the next second you’re smushed against Sirius, who hugs you tight as soon as he knows he doesn’t have to be delicate with you. “You scared the shit out of me.” 

“I’m sorry.” Your face feels hotter than hot in the cold rink. You push into your eyes with your fingertips. “God, what the fuck! I thought I fixed it. I don’t understand why this is still happening.” 

You’re sobbing now, tiny explosions that start in your chest and ricochet all the way through you, but fuming all the same. 

“You were both right, I’m holding myself back. I thought I could stop, but it just keeps happening, and I can’t do this. I’m so incompetent I can’t even do a fucking lutz. We need to find Sirius a new partner. I can’t hold us back anymore, I—” 

“Hey.” 

Remus’ voice is harsh, but not as harsh as Sirius’ grip on you turns at the sound of it. Your partner’s face goes sharp and cruel in an instant, an animal bearing its teeth. 

Remus pays him no mind. He keeps his eyes on yours, firm and unrelenting. “Don’t speak about yourself that way,” he says. 

You feel Sirius’ hold slacken in surprise. 

Another tear trudges down your face, and Remus’ expression gentles. “Everyone falls,” he tells you. “You have been improving, faster than I thought was possible, but you can’t expect it to happen all at once. You’re still going to fall sometimes. It’s alright. We’re working on it, yeah?” 

You sniff, wiping underneath your eyes. “Yeah,” you squeak out. “Sorry.” 

“You don’t need to be sorry. Just give yourself some grace, yeah?” His lips press together in a little grimace that’s likely meant to be a smile. “It’s my job to be hard on you, not yours. You’re allowed to fuck up. It doesn’t make you incompetent, or unworthy of competing with Sirius. You are the best person to be his partner. If you weren’t, you wouldn’t be here, understand?” 

“Yeah.” You take a deep breath in. “Thank you.” It stutters a bit on the way out, catching on another tiny sob you can’t help. This one comes from a place of relief, but Sirius’ cold fingers dig into your arm anyway and Remus’ brows twitch slightly as though it hurts him, too. 

“No problem,” he says softly. “Are you sure you haven’t hurt yourself?” 

You nod, closing your eyes to will yourself calmer. 

“Good. Do you want to leave off early today?” 

You swallow and start to stand. “No. I’m okay.” 

“No.” Sirius’ voice is bemused enough to sound like a question. He rises beside you, looking at you like he’s trying to puzzle you out. “No, something’s up with you today. We should stop.” 

Remus seems to go along with him, starting back towards the opening in the boards, and you think wryly that if one good thing comes from all this it might be those two finally starting to get along. You also realize for the first time that Remus is out here with you on the ice. It’s the first time you’ve seen him so much as think about coming off of the bleachers, even if he is only in regular shoes and leaning heavily on his good hip as he makes his way back towards them. 

“I’m okay,” you repeat to Sirius. 

He shakes his head. “You’ve been weird since you got here. What happened?”

“Nothing happened.” 

“Something did.” 

You push out a frustrated breath. “Nothing relevant.” 

“But something did happen.” 

He’s steering you towards the exit now. It feels petulant to rip away and stay on the ice even if no one else will, though that’s what you’d really like to do. 

“Are you actively trying to piss me off?” you ask him. 

Sirius shrugs, stepping onto the floor. “If that’s what’s going to work. I only want to know what got you so upset.” 

“Nothing.” 

“Here we are again. Back to ‘nothing.’” 

Remus is watching you both like you’re a show his TV has randomly flipped to. Tentative of where he stands, but definitely entertained. 

You hate that this has become such a big thing. “It’s really nothing,” you say, planting yourself on the bench with a force that perhaps belies your claim. “It was just some git on the way here this morning.” 

Sirius’ eyebrows go up while Remus’ come down. 

“And what did this git have to say to you?” Sirius asks. 

You sigh, starting to unlace your skates since apparently practice is over. “It’s not what he said. He only asked me out, which is fine, but then he wouldn’t take no for an answer. He, like, grabbed onto my arm and wouldn’t let go for a bit.” 

Sirius’ expression goes stormy. It’s almost as bad as the look he’d given Remus earlier, only without a target to be directed at. “Are you fucking joking?” 

“It was fine,” you say. “I made it here, didn’t I? It just freaked me out a little. And pissed me off.” 

“Yeah, you should be pissed!” Sirius starts pacing, mindless of the indents his blades are putting into the rubber flooring. “Who does that? Did he think—what, you were just going to have to go out with him if he took you captive?” 

“I don’t know.” You give him a dead-eyed stare. “I didn’t ask him.” 

“God, you should be able to walk to fucking practice in the morning without being accosted by—by some—”

“Do you need someone to walk with you in the mornings?” Remus seems uninterested in waiting to hear what creative insult Sirius comes up with for the git. He looks at you steadily, his jaw tight but ready to accept whatever answer you give him. 

“No,” you say. “Like I said, it was really nothing.” 

“It upset you,” he says matter-of-factly. “That’s not nothing.” 

“I can walk you.” Sirius plonks down beside you on the bench, seeming to have come to a decision. “Just wait for me inside tomorrow morning, and I’ll come pick you up.” 

You can’t help but smile at that. “If I leave it to you, we’ll never get here. There’ll never be another morning practice again.” Remus’ tongue pokes into his cheek like he’s repressing a grin. 

“Wha—so little faith!” Sirius sputters, straightening before he’s so much as touched his laces. “I’ll be there, okay? We will be needing to pick up my coffee on the way here, though.” 

You give him a skeptical look. “You realize I wake up a half hour earlier to have time to get those?” 

“Fucking hell! Do you really?”

[benz12313]

🥺👉👈 ridoc who falls head over heels in love with violets twin who is autistic and he's an absolute sweetheart to her, and helps her when she needs something and protects her.

Also their dragons are mated and aotrom is very over protective of her.

I had so much fun writing this. I hope this was written well. As a parent of an autistic child (diagnosed) and as someone who suspects herself and her other child are AuDHD but in the process of getting diagnosed, I really tried to represent this well. I also think in the Fourth Wing universe, at least in Basgaith, many mental differences are shunned or looked down upon, so I went that angle with this fic. Please give me feedback on how I did with this request. I also have some ideas for a part two so let me know if you'd like that! Thank you for your request though! I had a lot of fun working on it. :)

Own Worst Enemy - Ridoc x Sorrengail!Reader

Warnings: violence, death, dragon mate possessive behaviour

Word Count: 4,274

I sat quietly next to Violet, as she interacted with her- our friends. As much as they assured me that I was just as included as her, I’d never really felt that way. I wasn’t like her. I didn’t know what to say, what to do? Always feeling a little bit lost when the group was together, like I was one step behind, too busy analyzing everyone to add my own input into conversations. Sometimes it felt like they only put up with me because I was Violet’s twin, and not nearly as breakable as her. 

I was good with schoolwork and okay with challenges, at least good enough to hold my own and take minimal injuries; and my joints are stronger than hers, not popping and breaking under pressure. Perks of being a fraternal twin I guess. Our DNA isn’t identical. No, something else in me feels broken. Something deeper. More substantial. Something I never talked about with anyone, ever. 

Violet has asked before, in my moments of weakness, when everything is too much and I can’t hide. But I always am able to reign it back in then, hide it all behind a smile and recite lines I know will appease her worry. After all, the mask I wear protects me, especially growing up in a family where weakness isn’t tolerated. Even Dad, who saw straight through me. He expected me to reign it in too. Taught me in his own ways how to know what to say, how to make people look away, how to breathe when it was too much. Yet he still expected me to conform, to act like everything was okay. Like I wasn’t broken and weak minded. 

I was a good actress at least. Everyone just thought I was quiet and reserved. And they never looked too hard at me, letting me fall into the background. I preferred it that way, it was much easier.

Everyone, except Ridoc Gamlyn, of course. He was always right there. In my space, but somehow, I never minded it. Maybe because with Ridoc, it didn’t matter what I said, he just accepted it. When I missed an unwritten social rule, he just smiled and responded, somehow getting what I was trying to say instead of harping on how I said it. He was annoying at times, always a bit loud, but he could say or do whatever he felt like with no reservations, easily breaking through my walls like no other could. Not even my own sister. I was honestly a bit jealous. 

Ridoc wouldn’t let me fade either, prodding me to talk with him while the others were occupied in their own conversations. His voice usually quieter in those moments when he was trying to get me to reconnect, asking the oddest questions about whatever I was working on. It worked though, making my mind settle as I answered whatever he’d asked me, the casual back and forth grounding me, easing my anxiety over messing up. 

He could see me. Really see me, like nobody ever had. It didn’t take me long to understand though, as I quickly became interested in trying to figure him out. Nobody really saw him either. Seeing what he wanted them to see. The loud, boisterous, sexually overconfident man he let everyone see wasn’t all of him. He didn’t let them see his worry over schoolwork, or over whatever current obstacle we were being thrown as new riders (currently the gauntlet) or his disappointment when a night of fun never became anything more, even if his conquest came back, it was never more than for another round. It was such a carefully crafted act that nobody thought to ask questions, nobody seeing that there was even an act to catch. 

Nobody could see. But I could. And he knew I could, giving me a knowing smile in his moments of weakness, but I never knew what to say to make it better. I don’t really think he wanted any sympathy, hence the mask that mirrored my own. He interested me though, so completely different than the others. Even though that’s what he wanted, I could never truly look away. Not when he’d become my biggest source of safety in this death college. 

Always pushing me on the mat, giving me pointers on how to improve. Walking with me when I needed a moment, my body feeling restless. Talk about my books, even the smutty ones, maybe especially the smutty ones. He’d grin and let me talk for hours, sitting on his bed in the men’s dormitory as we talked quietly. He’d glare at any of the other men who looked at us too long, daring them to say something. To make one move towards me. None ever did. And he always listened, asking questions that actually made me think, or that would lead me to another tangent.

Ridoc Gamlyn was an enigma I could barely understand, so I too hung around. Maybe it was the same for him. Maybe we were both just trying to figure the other out, never quite getting there. Never quite understanding. But accepting. Always accepting. 

“I think, maybe you could bounce back and forth up the chimney. Your joints aren’t as weak as Violet’s so if you get enough speed and momentum…” He trailed off, as he watched me nudge my sausage across my plate. “Y/N?”

I met his warm brown eyes for a moment before my eyes quickly returned to my plate, torturing my sausage again. “I get what you’re saying. It’s worth a try.” It was presentation day, and this was my last try after all. Violet had told me her plan, but it wouldn’t work for me. If both of us pushed the rules like that, then one of us would definitely be disqualified. It was her plan, so I told her I’d already found another way. Lied through my teeth, but she’d let it go so it must’ve been convincing enough. 

“C’mon, you’ll make it.” He assured, like there was no possibility I wouldn’t. “After all, my best friend isn’t a weakling.”

The twisting in my gut wasn’t unfamiliar, it happened every time he mentioned us as being friends. Why? I wasn’t quite sure, and it was one of the few things I refused to ruminate on. I refused any negative emotion when it came to Ridoc, too afraid to let anything take hold and then let the emotions push away my only solace in this place. 

“Yeah.” I sighed. Then forced a smile as I met his gaze again, holding it this time. “Just want it to be over with.” 

He smiled, moving some hair out of my face, the annoying strand of hair that always refused to stay in my crown of braids. “I know you do. And you’re gonna kick ass, and then in two days, we’re gonna get dragons and be certified badasses.” He sent me a big grin and I sighed, looking away to hide the smile blooming on my lips. I speared the sausage on my fork and plopped it in my mouth, finishing my breakfast. 

“Yeah, yeah. Can’t get rid of me that easy.” I joked and with a quick glance from the corner of my gaze I saw his smile widen. 

“Exactly Sorrengail. You’re stuck with me. Forever.” I laughed, before standing, Ridoc quickly following me. “Besides, I haven’t heard about the end of that dark romance you’ve been reading. It’s just started getting good. And I won’t have the patience to read it myself if you go and die on me.”

“Glad to see I have some use.” I snorted at him, my body relaxing the moment we’d gotten to the hall. The noise of the cafeteria fading the further we got from it. Finally, I could actually hear myself think now. 

“Oh don’t be like that! You’re smarter than Violet, and that’s saying something.” He said and I rolled my eyes. 

“No, I just watch more than she does. It’s easier to put things together when I don’t have to worry about holding a conversation at the same time.” I countered and he chuckled, pinching my side and making me squirm away. I still giggled against my will though. “Plus the photographic memory helps.” I snorted out another laugh when he poked me again. “Stop that!” 

“Okay. Okay.” He relented, giving me a goofy grin and shoving his hands in his pockets. I knew that was the only way he’d be able to not touch me as he tried to honor my wishes. Ridoc never really could seem to keep his hands to himself when he was near me. Especially when he was nervous. “Don’t discount yourself though. You’re brilliant. Own it.”

“Shut it Gamlyn. I’ve got enough to worry about.” I sighed, taking in his expression before bumping his shoulder with my own. “Don’t need to worry about me okay? I won’t die today.” 

The anxiety in his eyes faded, replaced with all consuming warmth as I was stuck in his gaze. He opened the door ahead of us, not saying a thing. 

Ridoc’s POV

I held the door for her, warmth pulling at me as her gaze never faltered. I believed her, after all, it wasn’t often that she lied to me. In fact, she was usually unabashedly honest with me. A fact I was grateful for. She hid herself from the rest of our friends, her sister, but couldn’t hide from me. 

Her brilliant mind fascinated me, she was amazing in her own unique ways. How the others couldn’t see it was beyond me. She was definitely the strongest, and smartest of us. I just wish they could see that, that she could see that, just once. She finally rolled her eyes, moving through the door as her cheeks went pink and my chest swelled with pride. 

She was beautiful, in every way, and I'd been hopelessly pining after her since that first night when we’d been assigned to the same squad. When she’d finally met my gaze with those pretty y/e/c eyes of hers, catching me in a trance as she looked through me. Past my confident facade, straight to my core, past all the bullshit I wore like armor. But then she didn’t call me out like most would have, just cocked an eyebrow at me, and looked away. Like it was some secret that she was electing to keep for me. 

I’d been practically begging for her attention since, especially after I’d figured out that she was pretending too. That she hid herself, afraid of the inevitable rejection too. But she didn’t play pranks, pretend to be stupid and refuse any feelings too painful to address. No she refused everyone, never letting anybody too close to be able to hurt her. Only letting the rest of our friends close enough to see what she deemed the useful parts of herself, but never close enough for them to really see her. But she let me. And I knew it was because she saw our similarities. 

I was broken from my thoughts when we made it to the gauntlet, and fear seized my heart. As quickly as it’d taken over, it was gone because Y/N shoved my shoulder with hers again, sending me a bright smile. 

“We’ve got this Ridoc.” It was simple, yet wholly convincing. 

“We’ve got this.” I repeated, squeezing my hands into fists in my pockets to keep them still. To keep them from pulling her into my arms, and never letting go. 

Y/N’s POV

I made it. I fucking made it! Shock seized me as Ridoc’s bellows rang in my ears, not quite hearing it even though his words echoed through me. His arms were wrapped tightly around me, spinning me around as he held me in a bone crushing grip. He set me back on the ground but didn’t let go, burying his head in my shoulder. 

“You made it.” He whispered, and I nodded, tears pricking in the corner of my eyes as emotion flooded through me. Everything was suddenly too much as I hid my face in his chest. Breathe in. Out. In. Out. In. Out.

“I made it.” I whispered back, squeezing him from where my arms were wrapped around his neck. 

We made it through presentation as well. Though several of the less savory of our squad couldn’t say the same for themselves. None of the dragons really stood out to me, a hollow feeling in my chest as I walked off the flight field. I won’t be chosen. I knew none of those dragons would choose me, deep in my soul. I didn’t say anything though, not until I was sitting criss-cross with my back leaning on his pillows and headboard as I watched him sharpening his sword, talking about needing to be ready for threshing. 

“Did you-“ I paused when he quieted and glanced up at me, “Did you feel any of their approval?” I asked, voice barely above a whisper. 

“The dragons?” He asked, putting down the stone in his hand and setting the sword to the side. Damn him, he must’ve noticed my shift in mood, deciding to focus on me completely now. I nodded. He thought a moment, his face shifting into contemplation, a look I couldn’t help but find so handsome. “Not really. There was those greens that crowded your sister. But I was terrified of them. Maybe that brown one, towards the end, that was annoying the others? Rolling all around them. He was funny. But I don’t know, none of them really jumped out at me.”

He hadn’t been able to take his eyes off that brown. I remember following behind him, watching him as he had softly chuckled at the dragons antics. For him to have brought it up again…maybe he was just lying to me, or himself, but he’d definitely had a connection to that dragon. My heart dropped. 

He must’ve seen it too because he sighed, before crawling over and wrapping his arms around me as he pulled me into his side, and I leaned my head on his chest. “You are gonna get a dragon tomorrow. I just know it. Maybe your dragon just isn’t sure about you yet.”

“Comforting.” I snorted, voice devoid of emotion.

“Look, I know I haven’t convinced you, and you’ll be thinking some awful things about yourself now.” He paused, sighing and looking unsure of himself as he tried to find the right words to soothe me. Failing, but he’s cute, trying like that. “Just trust that I know, more than I’ve known anything that you will get a dragon tomorrow. If any of us deserves one, it’s you.”

The raw honesty in his voice made my heart race, and despite myself, his words gave me an inkling of hope. Hope that he was right. That there really was a dragon out there who could accept me, despite my shortcomings. Hope that a dragon would find me worthy. 

“Thanks Ridoc.” I mumbled, and hoped that he’d hold me just a little longer as I worked to pull myself back together. 

He did. 

Ridoc’s POV

I wandered the woods, my mind occupied with Y/N and her show of weakness last night. She never let the facade fall that completely before, she was scared. More scared than she’d been for the gauntlet. Afraid a dragon wouldn’t want her. I frowned as I hid behind a tree as a red passed by. I knew that one wasn’t mine, but luckily it either hadn’t noticed me or decided to spare me instead. 

I’d felt a tug all afternoon as I wandered the forest, coaxing me further and further inwards, where I knew that brown was waiting. I’d meant what I said last night, it’d only been once I’d left my friends that I felt the tug. But Y/N had caught what I hadn’t last night, in that way that only she does, already knowing the brown had intended on choosing me. 

I finally started moving again, lost thinking about Y/N. Too lost to notice the forest shifting in front of me, until a deep male voice rang through my head, ‘Oh come on! You didn’t even notice me!” 

I jumped back two feet, suddenly seeing two large golden eyes staring at me from a large brown swordtail that was hanging from a particularly large tree. A tree that still looked like it was about to buckle under the weight of him. 

“S-sorry.” I stuttered out. 

The brown jumped from the tree, landing on the ground and sending me staggering from the shockwaves. ‘I suppose I’ll forgive you. Only cause you’re so worried about her. Call me Aotrom, I’ll give you my full name later. You’re mine now.’ He sniffed at me as he circled me, before settling in front of me again, looking proud of himself. 

“You mean Sorrengail? Y/N?” I specified, remembering Violet was out here too. 

The dragon made a sound, that sounded suspiciously like a snort. ‘Who else? Your mate of course.’ 

My body froze as my mouth fell open in shock. “She’s not! We’re not-“ I shook my head. “She’s my friend.”

He tilted his head, looking confused. ‘Oh? I thought…’ He sounded confused too, thinking, before his face lit up again, tail wagging back and forth. ‘I see! Eve did say she thought you two hadn’t acted on it yet when I shared my memories with her. I guess she’s right!’

My mind was swimming. This-my dragon, Aotrom, was unlike any other dragon we’d learned about. That was for sure. And he thought me and Y/N were mates??? “Who’s Eve?” I finally let the words out and the dragon puffed his chest out as he straightened with obvious pride. 

‘My mate of course.’

Y/N POV

I kept a hand over my mouth as an orange slinked by, sniffing the air. I willed my traitorous heart to slow, afraid that the nasty looking dragon would hear my heartbeats and try to eat me. Eventually he slinked out of view, and I let out a small breath as I continued on my way.

I still felt that hollowness. No pull anywhere as I wandered around aimlessly. I’d run into a dozen different dragons now, and felt nothing from any of them. 

I silently wondered if Ridoc had found that brown swordtail. I wondered if Rhi and Violet had found theirs too. If Sawyer would finally get his own. If I would be forced to repeat the year as well, and start over next year. 

I paused when I heard a rustling in the bushes, but before I could hide, one of the other cadets strode out. It was one that hung by Barlow, not in his inner circle but itching to move his way in and appease the cruel man. He was tall and fit, definitely a foot taller than me. I palmed my daggers as he stared at me, cruel grin forming as he looked me up and down. 

“The quiet Sorrengail twin.” He hissed and I glared. 

“Won’t earn you any points with Barlow killing me.” By sheer will my voice was strong. 

“Oh, but it will weaken her, and Barlow will approve of that if he hasn’t killed her by the end of the day.” My heart raced at his words as I steeled myself for the fight ahead of me. He wasn’t backing down now. 

He ran four steps raising his sword and was about to swing when air rushed around me, and then suddenly he was lifted off the ground, a giant scorpion tail sticking out his back and through his chest. With a flick of the tail his body flew behind me. 

But I was frozen in fear. Standing in front of me was a dragon, with navy blue scales and bright green eyes narrowed on me, assessing. Waiting for what my response would be. It’s tail moved slowly now, curling around its body, which gave me some hope that this dragon didn’t plan on killing me. Yet at least. 

“Thank you.” I whispered, lowering my gaze as my thoughts went wild. There weren’t supposed to be any blues out here today. 

‘I came because my mate wished to take a rider, that’s all.’ Her voice was majestic, beautiful and commanding, filling my head and making my eyes snap back to hers. She was talking to me…but that meant… ‘Yes, Strategist, I agree with my mate’s assessment. You are worthy of being mine, despite your worries. He may have been selfish, having chosen his own already, but he had assured me that you would do me proud young warrior. Now, climb on, before I change my mind.’

She chuffed out a puff of air in my face and I chose not to argue and climb atop the small blue dragon. She wasn’t the smallest of the ones we’d seen during presentation, but she definitely wasn’t the largest, I noted as I climbed on top of her. 

She grumbled. ‘I am only 21!’ She hissed out the words irritated with my…thoughts. Great she can read my mind. ‘I will grow with time! I’ll be bigger than Aunt Sgaeyl even! Just you watch!’

So don’t mention her size. Noted. Wait, Sgaeyl? Riorson’s dragon??? 

‘My name is Eventhasil, but you may refer to me as Eve.” Then she was launching into the air not a second after I had thoroughly settled into the seat, ignoring my mental question of her lineage. I gripped her tightly with my thighs, hanging on for dear life. Once she leveled out, not jostling me at all anymore, I was able to actually enjoy the wind flowing through my hair. Joy flooded me and tears welled up again. I was actually chosen. 

‘That is a habit we will have to kill with prejudice. Your doubt in yourself is sickening.’ Though her words were harsh, I think that was supposed to be encouraging. 

‘What about your mate?’ I asked, changing the subject. ‘What’s he like? Who has he chosen?’ It would be nice to know exactly which cadet I’m now tied to for the rest of my life.

‘He approaches.’ She says simply, her voice going quiet as she speeds up, forcing me to hold tighter as a brown tried to catch up. Were they…racing? ‘Yes, and if Aotrom wins he’ll be insufferable. Hold tight.’ Determination laced her tone as she tightened her movements racing towards the flight field at top speed, easily outflying the brown as she flung her wings out at the last minute, landing quickly. I was nearly flung from my seat with the maneuver, but with luck and my muscles locking, I was able to hold on. The brown landed thirty seconds later, towering over Eve as he snapped at her face playfully. She snapped back at him, narrowly missing his neck as her tail swung behind us. 

But then another dragon landed on her other side and the brown lurched forward, growling low in his throat as he eyed the other male, his swordtail curling around Eve protectively.

She, however, sat calmly amidst his display of possessiveness. Almost…bored? 

‘Overpossessive male.’ She explained, irritation lacing her tone. ‘Male dragons are known to be volatile towards any potential threats in the first few years of establishing a mate bond. And Aotrom is very…determined to keep me as his.’ An obvious affection was laced in her last words. The other male backed away, submitting to Aotrom’s dominance and claim, eyes and head down as he moved out of range. Only when the male had moved a sufficient distance away and Aotrom relaxed, turning to his mate again did I see his rider. Ridoc. Holy shit! Ridoc!

Happiness bubbled within me. There was no one better to be tied to! Holy shit. And he looked unharmed, thank the gods. 

‘Go speak with him.’ Eve somehow sounded…teasing? ‘He’s relieved that Aotrom had told the truth when he told him that you were safe. As if I’d ever let harm come to what’s mine.’ She snorted at the last sentence and I laughed. 

‘I’m glad he’s okay too.’ I sent her way as I climbed down. 

The moment my feet hit the ground they lifted again, as Ridoc’s arms wrapped around me and swung me around. “We both got dragons! We’re both riders!” His voice was full of joy as he put me on my feet again. “We made it Y/N! We made it!” His hands moved to my cheeks, and I was frozen as euphoria took over his gaze, and then in a split second, his mouth was on mine. 

Moving, kissing, me. I slowly moved back holding onto the moment as my heart burst. My crush was kissing me. Tongue slipping into my mouth as he pulled me to him, pine and male and Ridoc taking over my senses completely as I lost myself in him. 

This moment was perfection. 

And then it was ruined, by Sawyer calling our names, obviously not able to really see us yet. Ridoc jumped back, looking panicked and my heart lurched. Did he not mean to do that? His eyes scanned mine as he backed up. 

“Talk later?” He asked, and I froze. He froze too, hands hovering over my waist. “Y/N? Talk later yeah?” 

I nodded, words catching in my throat as Eve growled in my mind. But she said nothing. 

“Yeah.” I whispered, putting on a smile as our friend greeted us. 

~ I'm taking requests as well, just submit them to my inbox and I'll get to them when I have time.

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@xadenswhore @littlemissmelodie @jobroho @worldsanna @uneducatedraccoon @nicksolemnlyswears @binksbrewcrew

[literaryavenger]

A concept that breaks my heart: imagine Bucky that eats like he doesn’t know where his next meal will be coming from because, for the longest time, he didn’t. 

But nobody on the team knows because he never eats with them.

All it took was some absentminded comment from Sam the first time Bucky ate with him and Steve about how Bucky ate his hamburger in like 5 seconds. Sam didn’t really mean anything by it, he was just joking around, but Bucky got incredibly self-conscious about the way he eats and stopped eating in front of everybody, Steve included.

Every time the team was eating together, he’d say he wasn’t hungry or make up some excuse to get out of it but even if he couldn’t, he’d eat the bare minimum only to then sneak into the kitchen later when it was empty, make more food and then eat it in his room. 

You yourself only joined the Avengers recently, so you’ve never seen Bucky during meals with the whole team. 

But you don’t think too much of it, he always says he doesn’t need to eat as much which is a little weird because Steve is also a supersoldier and eats three times as much food as everybody else because of his faster metabolism, but Bucky’s serum was made by Hydra so, like everybody else, you just assume it allows him to operate with less need for sustenance which would make him a more efficient soldier. 

But, being a person that likes to observe more than you like to talk, you start noticing small things about Bucky that no one else seems to.

It all started when he let a compliment slip about some cookies that you made for the team, which was weird because after the lunch where you all ate them as dessert, which Bucky was once again absent from, the rest of them disappeared from the kitchen less than an hour later. You assumed it was Sam, Steve, Clint and Thor since all of them always finish the things you bake, but clearly it was Bucky.

So, he does eat. You start noticing more and more Bucky sneaking around the Compound here and there and one day you can’t help but give into the curiosity and follow him to the kitchen where you see him making himself food and then sneak back to his room. 

You don’t tell anybody though, or even bring it up with the man himself, instead you start saving food from meals so Bucky won’t have to make it himself and leave it out for him with notes so he’ll know they’re for him and nobody else will eat them. 

It takes Bucky a little bit to figure out who’s doing it, but when he finds out it’s not Steve like he suspected but you, the pretty newbie that he’s barely even talked to since you joined, to say he’s surprised is an understatement. 

But he can’t bring himself to confront you about it because he knows it’ll open up a whole can of worms about his eating habits and he’s too self-conscious about that to bring it up, so instead he starts leaving notes back every time he takes the food, addressed to you.

Now imagine this goes on for weeks, maybe months even, until one day Bucky builds up the courage to show up at one of the team meals and acts as casually as he can manage as he sits down and starts to eat. Nobody says anything or even acknowledges his unusual presence because, unbeknownst to Bucky, you’ve scolded everybody that tried to bring up Bucky’s eating habits over the last few months. 

When you join the table after Bucky, as soon as you notice him all you do is grin and sit down before you start eating your own food. This is the first time Bucky’s ever actually seen you eat and his eyes widen when he sees you eat like a prisoner sentenced to death, but nobody else seems surprised or even that bothered. The entire team is used to it by now and they couldn’t care less, much to Bucky’s surprise.

“You… Always eat like that?” Bucky asks quietly before he can stop himself, worried about offending you the second the words leave his mouth.

But, once again, much to his surprise, you look up at him with a smile and nod unapologetically. “Yeah, my dad always used to say ‘Whatever you do, do it a hundred percent.’ That means when you work, work. When you laugh, laugh. And when you eat… Eat like it’s your last meal.”

Bucky looks at you with a blank expression for all of five seconds before his face breaks into a goofy grin. Not only did he already find you pretty and adorable, but after hearing you say that he thinks you’re the most attractive woman he’s ever known, even if you’re currently stuffing your face like there’s no tomorrow.

Imagine little by little Bucky starts feeling more and more comfortable eating around others, until eventually he joins every meal the team has together. And, when they’re all doing their own thing, he still asks you to have lunch or dinner with him and the two of you crackle at the other eating like a pig, not one hint of shame in either of you.

Anyway, just a thought.

[wonderjanga]

Marvel Physically Can’t not Smile

This is related to my Barely Human Marvel post from a while ago. In that post, Marvel is basically a being that looks human, acts like a human, but isn’t a human. (Of course, Billy is human, but his Captain Marvel form is basically a doll with flesh. I don’t think I even made him able to bleed) But, in this one, Marvel’s face is literally curved into a smile all the time because Billy’s last memories of his dad all consist of him smiling.

Imagine, Black Adam is beating his face in. He’s hitting the Champion as hard as he can, and they’re literally inside of a crater that was made from Teth hitting him so hard. He’s on top of Marvel and just hitting and hitting him over and over again, and during it all, he’s still smiling. The champions nose is bleeding, and one of his eyes is bloodshot. And yet, during all the punches he’s enduring he’s still smiling. He would be lying if he said it didn’t irritate him.

Then, there was Marvel’s first run in with the Joker. The clown had come after him after Billy met him while in Gotham.

//flashback//

Marvel: “Thanks, Batman. I don’t know how bad it would’ve been if that Joker guy got his hands on the Dream Stone.”

Batman: “Hn.” (Translation: Believe me when I say I know. Now shoo.)

Marvel: “Okay, okay. I’ll get out of your hair.” *hovers off the ground and is about to leave when he does a double take* “Is that a mecha?”

Joker: *inside of giant robot Joker, looking down at them*

Batman: *sighs* “Yes. It’s a mecha.” *pulls out grappling hook and makes his way up there*

Marvel: “Huh.” *watches him go before flying away to the rock*

//flashback end//

The Joker now has a bunch of people held hostage in a little cage that’ll be filled with Joker Venom. As of yet, the Clown Prince of Crime is having a bit of a hard time deciding whether he likes or hates the fact that Marvel is still smiling in the face of many people screaming and begging for help. He decides he likes it though when Marvel tells him that he’s simply smiling because his face was made that way. Now, the reason he likes it is because he finds that hilarious because of his random ahh Joker reasons. He even burst out into laughter when Marvel told him that. He laughed harder when he found out Marvel took care of the problem by inhaling all the gas from their canisters so it couldn’t be expelled anywhere. Though, he was a little bummed to find out the gas doesn’t affect Marvel.

Speaking of the Joker, we gotta talk about Batman. At first, he thought that the whole smiling thing was just apart of his character as Captain Marvel. Then, when he met Marvel he realized it wasn’t like a role he was playing, no, he actually smiles and is positive all the time. Then, he realized, oh wait, never mind, his face is just like that. His personality on the other hand was actually sunshine and rainbows though. After about half a year of knowing the Captain though, Bruce thinks he has a pretty good read on him.

Normal big smile (normally showing teeth) = happy go lucky normal Marvel.

Normal small smile (sometimes not showing not as many teeth) = only comes out when he’s tired but seeing as Marvel, and Bruce quotes, “can’t get tired” it’s extremely rare.

Small closed smile = could be still happy, could be upset, could be annoyed. Bruce has seen it’s more associated with negative emotions though.

Wobblyish smile = definitely upset in some sort of way. It looks like he’s trying to frown but he can’t. Bruce suspects that he could frown at some point but can’t anymore for whatever reasons.

Then, there’s the time Mary nearly died and he pulled her aside to scold her. The JL decided to spy just in case anything got physical. They were then greeted to Marvel yelling. Like actually yelling. They’d never seen Cap yell. And not only that, but he was crying. While smiling. And he has one of those little wobbly smiles too. So everyone knows he’s actually really upset at this. Mary yelled back saying how he wasn’t her father and how he shouldn’t act like it. He told her he wasn’t trying to be her father. In response, he was told to stop acting like it. This caused the man to sigh and soon after the two left.

The other JL members with kids were sympathetic, but the next day Marvel was back to being himself. (Mary and him made up afterwords)

[reiderwriter]

♡ Girls Just Wanna Have Fun ♡

Week 5 of my Playlist Series ♡

Summary: Spencer isn't used to clubs, but when duty calls, he's made to feel a little bit more welcome by a girl who seems to know him better than a stranger should.

Warnings: Smut 18+ Minors DNI!! Hotchner!Reader (Reader is Hotch's sister), semi-public sex (x2 oops), oral sex (m receiving), fingering, dry humping, hand job, cum play, dirty talk, degradation and name calling (slut only), use of daddy/sir even though this is like solidly season 1 Spencer lmao, corruption kink, loss of virginity (surprisingly the readers)

A/N: Every single intrusive thought I've ever had about s1 Reid tied up in a nice little bow masquerading as a song fic. It is finished, and now I feel flushed. Please expect only fluff from me until my next intrusive thought (maybe half an hour, probably no longer).

Masterlist || Spotify Playlist

Flashing lights and the scent of dried up alcohol stains weren't usually signs of Spencer Reid's presence. He'd managed to get through college - two degrees and three PhDs - without stepping foot into a nightclub. But now that he'd joined the BAU, it seemed to be an unavoidable occurrence. 

“The unsub hunts at this nightclub, I get that, I do. But why am I the one going in? He's targeting women,” he panicked as his older team member helped adjust his clothes to conceal the weapon he carried. 

“Because, pretty boy, it's student night, and you're the only one here who can pass for a 21 year old. I guess late puberty has some benefits.” Derek smacked his arm playfully, leaving the younger man wincing slightly. 

“But I'm not a woman.” 

“Yes, but you'll be able to walk around and note any suspicious behaviour, and then we can tail suspects you flag,” Hotch explained to him again. 

“Just act natural, kid, it's not like it's your first time in a club.” 

“It is.” His warnings fell on deaf ears though, as they pushed him out of the van and into the crowd of students queueing to enter. 

It didn't take you long to notice him after you arrived at the club.

The sweater vest was enough to make him stand apart slightly, as much as he was trying his best to blend in. A slight tingle of familiarity raced up your spine as his eyes awkwardly met yours, his scan of the room stopping short as he flushed and turned his eyes down. 

Pushing slightly to the crowd, you leaned over the counter next to him and tried to get the bartenders attention. It was loud and busy, but catching attention and keeping it was a skill you'd mastered early, a skill that you were thankful for as you realised the man's eyes were guiltily flicking between your ass and the crowd once again. 

“Are you going to stare, or are you going to introduce yourself,” you giggled, sliding closer to his perch at the bar, as he panicked, standing straighter. 

“I wasn't, um… your dress, there's a rip at the edge of your skirt, I was trying to figure out if it was part of the design because I know some clothes these days have damage built into the design, or if it was in need of some emergency… sewing.” His hands gesticulating awkwardly throughout his explanation, as if anxious to show you the jumble in his brain was entirely pure and innocent, even as the flush on his face said otherwise. 

“And your name is?” 

“I-.... Spencer. My name is Spencer.” 

You stood a little straighter hearing the name, that familiarity warming you more. Spencer. Spencer. Spencer. You turned the name over in your head but took another step closer as the crowd shifted in a wave, feeling the heat coming off his body. 

“Well, Spencer,” your tongue made the decision to act for your brain, the words coming out before you could stop them. “What conclusion did you draw? Do you think the rip was intentional or not?” 

Gently, you grabbed his hand and led it to the fabric. The skirt wasn't scandalously short, but short enough to suit the dark heated atmosphere of the club at least, but as his fingers grazed the back of your thighs, still hesitant in his actions, you found yourself wishing it were just that bit higher, so his hands would have to reach further up. 

With a gaze over your shoulder at the crowd, Spencer found himself at an impass. He'd already noted a few people of interest, loiterers, men getting a bit rough and aggressive in the club, people on the outskirts (like him, he supposed) that could possibly be their unsub. 

He'd been given the all clear to disengage and leave the club as effortlessly as he could  bit something in your initial gaze had pinned him to place at the bar, and refused still to let him see reason. 

“I think it's a design feature. To draw attention to…” he swallowed hard, but you weren't sure if he was just being delicate about his words or if he was reacting to the hand that was now on him, dragging nails up from his abdomen to his chest. 

“Good observation, Spencer.” 

“Your name. You didn't tell me what your name was.” He said, grabbing your hand to stop its progress and breathing deeply as if to clear his head. 

“Y/N. We should dance.” Without giving him time to react, you abandoned your drink on the counter and pulled his arm around your waist, dragging him out to the crush of people in the middle of the dance floor. 

His protests were lost in the pulse of the music, as you kept your back to him and began grinding and swaying against him. His hands tightened on your hips as he gently started moving with you, and you threw your head back to catch his eye again. 

Spencer didn't know what he'd gotten himself into. He knew that very little actually dancing actually went on at a club, that this was just a more polite socially acceptable form of foreplay, but he didn't know that it would have such an effect on him. 

A mess of sweaty, intoxicated people spilling drinks and other fluids, and he thought he'd stay there forever if it kept your hips torturing his cock like that. 

When you glanced up at him, he was a man lost to his senses, lust clouding his eyes, mouth slightly open in a pant, you reached up to his neck and pulled his lips down to meet yours. 

You were surprised when it was his to guess to reach out first, his hand that trailed under your shirt without tours guiding it. You'd picked up a fairly innocent man at the bar and turned him into a pervert in the space of one dance. It felt like the club was watching you, how his hands grazed the skin under your breasts and caused the shiver up your spine, how your back arched to press deeper against his election. 

You may have tempted him into taking this risk, but he was the one gleefully nosediving into his fall from grace. 

“Spencer,” you whispered as he came up for air, lips resting at your ear. “I think we should get some fresh air.” 

Something in that seemed logical. It was colder outside. Maybe it would cool off whatever had lit him up like a pyre on the dance floor. Maybe the fresh air would clear his head. Or maybe just the open space would help him detangle his hands from you, would lead his thoughts away from burying himself deep in you. 

He would gladly take you outside, bid you farewell, and return to his job and his life. It was a solid exit for his first cover - who was going to question the young lovers leaving together. 

You had a feeling that the idea of outside would have Spencer pulling away from you, but you hadn't had your fill of fun just yet. 

So just as you led him onto the dancefloor, you kept a hand over his, around your waist, and you guided him out of the club, down the street a few paces, and into a darkened alleyway. 

“Y/N, we shouldn't be-” he tried to stutter out as you pulled him in for another kiss. His brain was trying to protest, but his hands were already back on your ass, pulling you up and closer to him. 

“What was that?” You said between kisses, his mouth launching an assault against each inch of your skin. 

He gasped for breath and pulled back, realising that he'd lifted and pinned you to the cold brick wall of the alley in his haste to feel you pressed against him. 

“Y/N… I don't want to take advantage of you, I'm not-” 

“I'm taking advantage of you, Spencer,” you said, nipping at his neck slowly raking your hands into his shoulders. “Am I allowed to do that? Can I take all of you, Spencer?” 

His eyes rolled back in his head as he let put a groan of pleasure, your lips sucking at the tender flesh of his nape. 

“I-I'm not a student, and-” 

“I know, but you are such a pretty boy that I decided I wanted to have some fun with you.” 

His resolve broke in half as you uttered your compliments, and his lips met yours in a moan as his hands pushed your skirt up around your waist. 

His finger trailed between your hips and his, using the wall to balance you as he pushed aside your panties and began slowly stroking your sex. 

Your hips pitched forward to press more of his slender fingers against you,  desperate to feel him stretch your cunt open first with one, then two, then however many he decided was good enough for you. 

Leaving one hand on his shoulder, you let one trail down his pants, stepping one foot down to allow you access to his zipper. 

He pauses Again for a second as you manage to get his pants open, your hand pulling his cock free from the constraint of his clothing. Spitting on your hand, you wrap around it firmly and slowly pump up and down, looking him directly in the eye as you watch the pleasure pour over him. 

His forehead rests against yours as he melts into your touch, so desperate, needing to cum so badly that he's willing to let it happen in this dark dirty alley. 

“Spencer, I want to have a lot of fun with you. Will you let me?” 

“Yes, fuck Y/N.” He nods, his hips rocking into your hand with each slow stroke you give him. 

“Spencer,” you say, rocking your hips forward and pushing your panties further to the side once again. “Spencer, please fuck me. Take my virginity, Spencer, please.” 

His mind whirled at the sentence, the pleas dropping from your lips. Virginity. You were a virgin. 

You'd had him cock stiff after three minutes of conversation  had pulled him into an alleyway and lost him in a fog of pleasure, and you were still innocent. Untouched. 

You wanted to have your fun with him. You'd chosen him. 

He couldn't articulate the lust that coated his tongue, so he simply pushed it into your mouth  grabbed his cock from your hands, lined himself up with your drippy cunt and pushed in with a single thrust. 

You gasped and let out a moan, not quite fully pleasurable. Your hands again found his shouldend, his back, but your nails were sharper this time, digging in further, almost piercing skin. 

“Fuck, Spencer, yes,” you said, breathing shakily as you slowly started moving around his cock. 

“Did it hurt?” 

“It doesn't hurt anymore. Now, please Spencer, fuck me and don't hold back. It's more fun that way.” 

He pulled your hips closer, moaning as you tightened around him. Pressing one hand against the wall and keeping another hand gripped so hard around your hip you knew it'd bruise, he began moving. 

He began slow, trying not to lose himself in the feel of your unused, tight hole. But with each small moan, each scratch against his back, he lost a little bit more of that control he was begging for. 

With his hands engaged, his brows furrowed I'm frustration that he couldn't stroke your bundle of nerves, he couldn't force you to cum on his cock as quickly as he wanted to. 

“Y/N, look at me.” You opened your eyes at the words, unaware that they'd closed tight as you emptied all other senses to just feel him. 

“Touch yourself. Right there, that's it,” he watched your fingers rub delicately against your skin, spoke little words of encouragement, and told you to increase your speed and pleasure. 

“That's it. That's it, now it's time for you to cum, Y/N. Cum on my cock, rub your little clit for me and cum around my big cock, Y/N.” 

“Shit… shit, shit, shit, Spencer, oh my god.” Your hands shook, and your hips twitched, and with a cry, you reached that high you'd been craving since you met his eyes earlier. 

He pulled out of you, slowly pulling you off the wall, as he held you up, letting your legs regain their strength. His cock was still hard, still coated in your arousal as he took care of you. 

You caught your breath fast, regained tour strength quicker as you noticed he didn't plan on getting himself off anymore. He let you have your fun with him and was happy to end it all there. 

You weren't. 

“Spencer,” you sang again, wrapping a hand once again around his erection as he tried to straighten out your now slightly more ripped skirt. “Spencer, it's more fun of we both cum. I want you to make a mess of my hand, can you do that for me?” 

You stroked his cock with a firmer grip than before, your arousal lubricating each stroke, his pre-cum mingling with it to aid you further. You suddenly wondered what he would taste like, but knew your legs would be too weak to do everything your heart desired today. 

There was always tomorrow. 

He leaned his weight back on the wall behind you, forcing you back as well as you pumped him quickly so desperate to hear him moan your name as he spilt his seed. 

“Y/N,” he moaned, and you were triumphant. His hips jerked once, then twice, then a third time, and he stilled, heaving breaths as he buried his head in your shoulder. 

He swallowed and regained his breath, and as he pulled away, you pulled your fingers to your lips and lapped up the final drops of cum that he left there. 

Most of it had his the wall, dripped to the floor, but you enjoyed these few drops and smiled brightly at him, pulling a handkerchief that you knew would be in his pocket out and cleaning the two of you up. 

He flushed again as he came back to his senses, especially as you attempted to put his clothed to rights, stepping back to replace his softening cock in his pants.

“Well,” you said after setting yourself to rights, “Thank you for the fun night, Spencer. See you tomorrow.” 

You skipped off quickly before he had a second to even process your words. 

The next day at the local precinct was a blur for Spencer as he tried to drag himself from the drug induced haze of meeting you. He'd stroked himself to completion two more times in bed after he returned to his motel room, reliving the sound of you begging him to take you, the words ‘pretty boy’ on your lips as you spread your legs. 

It'd taken his entire brain, or what was left of it, to not jump out of his skin every time Morgan had teased him with the words that morning.

“Now how did you like your first club experience, pretty boy? Did any college cuties throw themselves at you?” 

He spat up his coffee, choosing that moment to choke, and begging god for this to just be the end of Spencer Reid entirely. 

Because there was no way Morgan would actually believe that that was exactly what had happened. 

“Morgan, Gideon wants you in the interrogation room, and- wow, Spencer, you should change your shirt. What are you, 5? You can't drink coffee properly?” Elle said, chuckling slightly.

“I choked,” he frowned, but it fell on deaf ears as his teammates walked away quickly to get back to their jobs. 

He wished he could recover so quickly, even now the image of you having your fun with him the night before playing like a movie in his head. 

Looking down, he realised Elle was right, and he really did need to change his shirt. Hotch always had a few spare on hand, even for cases out of the office. He grabbed some tissues, dabbing against the mess of coffee on his shirt, suddenly thankful for lukewarm police precinct coffee, and started making his way towards Hotch. 

“Hey, Hotch-” he made it three steps before your voice cried out. 

“Ronnie!!” You shouted, throwing your hands around your elder brother as he caught you in a hug. 

“Y/N, we're at a police station. If you're going to come see me, you have to at least call me Aaron.” 

“And not take the chance to embarrass you in front of your peers and coworkers? Not a chance, Ronnie. Not a chance.” He chuckled fondly, brushing away his complaints quickly as he turned to introduce you to JJ first, then Elle and then the frozen statue that had replaced Spencer. 

“And, Y/N, this is Dr. Spencer Reid. Spencer, this is my sister, Y/N. She's a student at the university.” 

You held out your hand with a triumphant grin as Spencer stared in wide-eyed horror at the apparition in front of him. 

“Hello, Spencer. It's very nice to finally meet you. My brother has told me a lot about you, and I'm very excited to pick your brains.” 

The air seemed to explode around Spencer as each breath became deliriously hot, filling his lungs with fire. It was moments before he realised that he wasn't actually breathing at all, and the air was actually quite normal. 

Your hand remained out, ready to greet him, and to the surprise of his coworkers, he took it in his for a short shake. 

“Y/N. Hotch's sister, Y/N. Nice to meet you, Y/N Hotchner, Hotch's sister.” 

He could practically hear the audible sound of Elle and JJ smacking a hand against their faces in horror at his stupidly obvious reaction to the woman in front of him. If he wasn't careful, he'd be spouting confessions of desire soon, and knowing that Aaron Hotchner carried two guns on his person even now did nothing to calm his thoughts. 

“Okay, well, Y/N, I'm busy with some interrogations now, but I can drive you back to your apartment in half an hour if you're okay to wait with JJ?” 

“Are you busy, Spencer?” You asked instead, keeping her eyes locked on the man who still weakly shook her hand, unaware of when the right time to stop would be. 

“I was serious when I said I wanted to pick your brain, my brother said you had a PhD in Engineering and I'm struggling through a class right now that I need some guidance in if you can spare five minutes?” 

Spencer stared between Hotch and you, looking for the right answer to please present itself before he imploded right there. 

“Yes. PhD, I have a PhD. Three actually, but whose counting? Me. I just counted them. One of them is in mathematics, actually, so I guess I'm always counting.” He finally dropped your hand, and you gave him a wider smile that dropped his heart to his stomach. “I am free, unless you needed me for something else, Hotch?” 

His gaze was pleading, though he wasn't sure if he was begging for his life, five more minutes alone with you or the power to extricate himself from this situation entirely, but Hotch nodded his acceptance quickly and let you lead Spencer off to the small, empty visitors room at the opposite side of the precinct. 

You shut the door behind you when you walked in, leaning over to close the blinds as well before you turned back to Spencer. 

“Your shirt is wet. You should probably take it off,” you giggled as you trailed a hand up his arm once again. 

His hand grabbed yours before you could do any more damage to his tender nerves than you'd already managed that morning. 

“You knew the entire time? Who I was?” 

“I walked over because you seemed familiar, but I only figured it out when you said your name. My brother does talk about you a lot.”

“Hotch is going to kill me,” he said, slumping down into the chair behind him. “Y/N, your brother was outside the club. He could've seen us leave.” 

You climbed into his lap, and his eyes finally met yours again, his tongue stopping its hopeless tirade as you relaxed into his chest. 

“I have two older brothers, Spencer. Do you know how often they've been able to tell me what to do?” Your hands started down his shirt, making quick work of the buttons as he stared up, enthralled. 

“Not once have they been able to stop me from doing something I wanted.” 

He scoffed quickly, unable to help himself. Your hands gripped either side of his face and lifted his head to meet your gaze again. 

“And right now, Spencer, I really want you.” A roll of your hips was enough to have him hissing and grabbing your hips. You started steadily rocking into him, eyes still locked with his. 

“Y/N, please let's be sensible.” 

“I don't want to be sensible, I want to have fun. I want to suck your dick right here, and let you cum in my mouth. I want to scream your name and let everyone know who is giving me pleasure. Can't I do that, Spencer?” 

“No,” he groaned, his eyes screwed shut as you dry humped him, trying to get yourself off on his lap, his.cock rising with each of your quiet moans. 

“Spencer, please. I want your big, hard cock back inside me. Please, please, please. I'll be a good girl, I promise.” 

His eyes shot open in incredulity as he watched you use his body as you saw fit. 

“Good girls don't lose their virginities in alleyways, Y/N. Good girls don't throw themselves at their brothers' coworkers. Good girls listen when they're told no, and don't try to suck cock in public, like little sluts.” He spat each word at you, bit you enjoyed each insult he hurled your way, enjoyed the way his body recoiled as he finally called you a slut. 

He seemed slightly shocked by his anger himself, but you didn't seem to care. It took you only seconds after to push your lips against his again and have your hands on his cock once again, pulling him out of his pants as his hands explored you just as eagerly. 

“Yeah, Spencer, your little slut. I'm such a little slut for you, please fuck me.” 

He buried a hand in your hair, tipping your head back so his tongue could probe deeper, his other hand already under your shirt and teasing one nipple. You lifted your hips and sunk down onto his cock, neither of you stopping to think again about your actions as you began to rode him. 

“30 minutes, Y/N, by now we have 24 minutes and 17 seconds. Can you manage that, Y/N?” 

“Yes, sir.” You said, feeling his dick twitch as you rode him. “Oh did you like that? You liked me calling you, sir?” His hips pressed up again, his body answering more honestly than his tongue. 

“What else can I call you? Spencer… sir….daddy?” 

He broke away from his place buried in your neck to push the two of you down to the floor, the new angle had you gasping as a hand covered your mouth stifling any screams you could make before you made them. 

“Be quiet and cum on my cock, Y/N,” he whispered and picked up his pace, one hand gagging you while the other pulled painfully at your nipple, pinching it between two hands and using it to lift your entire chest so your body was arched toward him, letting him go deeper. 

“Yes, Daddy,” you whispered again, against his fingers, tempted to wrap your lips around one and suck it into your mouth. 

“Fuck, just call me Spencer, Y/N.” 

But you couldn't respond, suddenly overcome with the numbness of you orgasm washing over you as you bit back a choked cry. 

“That's it, good job, Y/N. You listen so well, good job.” He rubbed soothing circles into your chest as his hips slowed, working you through your orgasm as he withdrew once again. 

This time though, he didn't try to pull away and leave himself hard, but sat himself up, and lifted you once again too, putting slight pressure at the back of your head until you were on your knees and letting your head fall down, down, down as your lips wrapped around his wet cock. 

You took him in your mouth, and tasted the bitter, salty flavor of your illicit activities, lapping every last bit of your joint pleasure up as he pushed your hair up and down his cock. 

It didn't take long for his hips to press up into your mouth slightly harder than before, his hands holding you steady as he came down your throat. He held your head there for a minute two, as you tried your best to breathe and stay there, taking as much of his cum down your throat as you could. He pulled your head off him and you swallowed the rest, smiling brightly at him as you did so. 

“Thank you for the fun, Spencer,” You said again, grabbing your phone and checking the time. 

Standing up, you pulled your clothes back in place, pulling your skirt down and your panties up, smoothing out the tangles in your hair. 

“Let me go get you that spare shirt, Doctor Reid,” you said, opening the door. “I'm very grateful for your help with my class load, sir.” 

His head fell back into his hands as you closed the door, leaving him to wonder just what the hell he'd got himself in for. 

[miumura]

CALLS OF CONVENIENCE⌇P. SUNGHOON ✶

( 📞 ) NOW RINGING » Park Sunghoon, an office worker with an odd knack for finding problems, has been calling you for assistance non-stop to address various issues in his office. Naturally, since it’s your job, you always stop by, but you’ve noticed that his problems are often simple to fix and don’t really require any help. So, it’s hard not to suspect that he’s just making excuses to see you.

Whether it’s a computer “glitch” or a “misplaced” file, Sunghoon’s requests for you seem more like opportunities for a chat than genuine emergencies.

PAIRING ✶ office-worker!sunghoon x assistant-fem!reader GENRE ✶ fluff, co-workers 2 lovers FEATURING ✶ jay from enhypen WARNINGS ✶ reader questions / teases sunghoon quite a bit, super obvious hoon 🫡 WORD COUNT ✶ 2.4K+

PICK UP? » this was inspired by something i had seen on tiktok … bits of it never left my mind since … all credits to it because that fueled me to write !! and i thought it suited him so … no thoughts just office worker sunghoon 🫠

"Hello, it's me again," his voice crackled over the line as you pressed the phone to your ear. You let out a small sigh, recognizing this as the third time he'd called just this week.

"Why, hello, Park Sunghoon."

“Huh—oh! You know it’s me," he said, sounding surprised, though you could hear the smile in his voice.

"You've been the only one calling my work number lately, Sunghoon," you replied. "And considering how many times you've called, it's normal to recognize your voice by now, don't you think?"

"I guess so…" he chuckled nervously. "Well, do you have time to come to my office? I need help."

"Help with what?"

"My computer is acting up—I don’t think it’s working properly. Can you help me, please?"

"Sunghoon," you sighed, glancing at the mounting work on your desk. "This is the third time this week. Are you sure it's not something simple?"

"Yes! I really do need your help," he insisted, a hint of sheepishness in his tone.

"Fine," you relented. "I’ll be on my way."

"Really?" His voice went up a notch, brimming with excitement before he cleared his throat. "Thank you so much, Y/N!"

Shaking your head, you stood up and headed down the hall to his office. As you walked, you couldn't shake the thought that there was no way he could be this unlucky.

When you finally arrived at his office, you knocked on the door and heard Sunghoon's voice from the other side inviting you in. As you entered, you saw him sitting at his desk, pretending to look frustrated with his computer.

“What is it?”

“Well, what a way to say, ‘hello’. Good morning to you too, YN,” Sunghoon replied, a playful smile tugging at his lips.

“Considering how many times I see you in a day, I don’t have to say that all the time when I do.”

Closing the door behind you, you couldn't help but also comment, “You know, you really should call the IT department for tech problems.”

Sunghoon looked up, still smiling. “Why call them when you've been so great at solving my previous issues?”

"Issues, you say?” you replied, raising an eyebrow skeptically.

“Of course,” he said with feigned innocence. “I would never call you to my office if I wasn’t genuinely struggling.”

"Like how your computer screen froze? When all you could’ve done was just restart your computer?" you asked, giving him a pointed look.

“I didn’t want to mess up more things, so I had to call you,” Sunghoon replied, his face turning a shade of pink as he fumbled for an excuse. It was just so easy for a confident smile of his to dissolve into embarrassment, as if he didn’t set himself up in the first place.

“Okay then, how about the problem with your printer? When all you had to do was refill the ink?”

“I swear I had it refilled last week,” he protested, glancing away. “I wouldn’t have called if I knew that was really the cause of it.”

“And how about the time—the same day as your printer issue—you said you deleted a really important file?”

“Okay, that was a real problem!” Sunghoon said quickly, recalling the incident. “I really panicked when I couldn’t find it on my screen. And you were all I thought about—well, asking for help, that is! Don’t get it twisted!”

“I never said anything,” you teased, unable to hide your amusement. “And all you had to do was check your ‘Recently Deleted’ folder. There was also another copy of it in your downloads.”

“Okay, none of that matters anymore, it’s all in the past!” he brushed off, trying to direct your attention elsewhere. “What matters is that I wouldn’t have known if it weren’t for your great assistance.”

“You could’ve fixed it easily by yoursel—”

“Why don’t we turn our attention back to my computer, please?” he interrupted, eager to change the subject, his voice carrying a note of pleading.

You walked over to his desk, noticing how he seemed to tense slightly as you came closer. Ignoring that, you leaned over to check the computer, both of you staring at the black screen.

“Well, if you see this,” Sunghoon said, pressing the button multiple times to try to turn on his computer. “It doesn’t work.”

“Can you be more gentle?” you suggested, watching as he awkwardly backed away.

“Right, sorry,” he mumbled. “Can you fix this?”

“Sure, get out of your seat, please.” He quickly complied, moving to stand against the wall near his desk. You tried holding down the button, but the computer still wouldn’t turn on. Feeling a bit puzzled, you started looking around the desk. When nothing seemed amiss, you decided to check under the desk and soon noticed a cable...not plugged in.

Grabbing the wire, you held it out and looked at Sunghoon, who was nervously chuckling. “Oh…it was unplugged the whole time…”

You raised an eyebrow, struggling to keep a straight face. “Well, I suppose that explains it.” You plugged it back in, pressed the button once more, and the screen finally lit.

“Wow, who would’ve thought…” he said, rubbing the back of his neck, clearly burning up.

“Sunghoon,” you said, shaking your head with a teasing smile, “you know you could’ve checked this yourself.”

“Who would go ahead and unplug their own computer?” he mumbled, glancing away from your gaze. “I wouldn’t have done that on purpose or anything…”

“You’re really running out of excuses, aren’t you?”

“What…what do you mean?”

“You just want to see me more, don’t you?”

“I do not! I mean, as much as I do enjoy your company, I wouldn’t play tricks just to see you,” he said, rambling nervously. “You’ve just been a reliable person I can trust with these office issues.”

Not fully convinced, you said, “Well then, now that your ‘issue’ is fixed, I will take my leave.” You started to get up from his chair, about to walk away, when Sunghoon abruptly jolted.

“Wait!”

His sudden outburst startled you, and you watched as he frantically rummaged through his desk drawers, pulling out two overstuffed folders. “Can…can you help me sort these out? I mean, since you’re here, and you’re so good at handling things, it wouldn’t be out of the ordinary for you to help me with my work…right?”

He looked at you with hopeful eyes, his usual composure replaced with a hint of desperation. His attempt to maintain a professional demeanor faltered as he fiddled with the papers, clearly trying to cover up his real intentions. You could see through his act, but the genuine earnestness in his voice made it hard to resist.

“Fine, but only because I’m already here,” you said, with a small smile. As you took the folders from him, you couldn’t help but wonder if this was more about the company than the paperwork.

Sunghoon’s eyes lit up slightly as he grinned and quickly got a chair for you. As you both began organizing the chaotic stack of papers, a comforting silence settled in.

“You know, Sunghoon, I’ve always thought of you as an organized person,” you remarked, glancing at the disarray before you.

“Well, I am,” he chuckled, taking your comment as a compliment. “It’s just that I’ve been swamped with meetings lately, so I haven’t had a chance to sort everything out.”

“I don’t know if I believe that,” you hummed, flipping through the papers. “You still would’ve made sure everything was in the right place.”

“Oh…really?” Sunghoon’s voice held a hint of nervousness. “So, you’ve noticed, huh?”

“Am I not supposed to?” you asked with a playful smile. “Aren’t I the assistant you always call for to fix all your issues?”

“Okay, if you think I made this mess on purpose just to keep you around, you’ve got it all wrong!” Sunghoon quickly defended himself, though his flushed face betrayed his words. “And you know me, I wouldn’t torture myself with a mess just to see you.”

“Relax, I was just teasing. Why don’t you work a bit faster then, hm?”

“You don’t have to remind me about my work, YN,” he pouted slightly, eliciting a soft chuckle from you.

He couldn’t help but sneak a few glances at you every now and then, marveling at the way you carried yourself, the subtle expressions you made as you worked—all of it made it difficult for him to concentrate.

To him, you were the prettiest person he’d ever laid eyes on. His eyes would linger on your features—just looking at your focused expression alone was always enough for him to get lost in the moment, or rather, admiring you. And every single time—without a fail—each look would send a flutter of excitement through his chest.

Sunghoon would catch himself in a daze, realizing he’d been staring a little too long again. He'd quickly snap out of it, giving himself a mini pep talk in his mind.

Get it together, Sunghoon. Focus.

He shifted in his chair, trying to redirect his attention to the task at hand, but it was no use. Every time he glanced up, Sunghoon mentally kicked himself for being so easily flustered. It was ridiculous how just being near you turned him into a nervous wreck. His usual confidence seemed to vanish whenever you were around, replaced by a nervous energy that made it hard to concentrate on anything else.

He tried to distract himself by focusing on his work, but his mind kept wandering back to you—how you laughed, the way you rolled your eyes when he said something silly, and the way you seemed to understand him without needing to say much.

Sunghoon knew he was obvious, but he never failed to deny it. Despite the countless times he’d told himself to just say it, he was afraid he’d only continue to humiliate himself even more. Every time he opened his mouth, the words got tangled in his throat, and he’d end up making some excuse instead.

He couldn’t shake the feeling that you might already see through his intentions and were just waiting to reject him once he finally confessed. The thought made his heart race with fear, and it was enough to keep him from doing anything.

But he pushed his many thoughts aside, trying to focus on the task at hand. He shuffled through the papers on his desk, pretending to concentrate. His nervousness lingered in the air, a constant reminder of the tension he felt whenever you were near.

After another moment of silence, he broke it with a hesitant question. “So, YN, what’s your… go-to coffee order?”

“Hm?” you looked up, slightly puzzled.

“Just… curious! Yeah, that’s all,” he said quickly, his voice a bit too casual.

“I don’t see how my coffee order is relevant to your office problems or work,” you replied, raising an eyebrow.

“Well, yes, but I thought it might be nice to know,” Sunghoon stammered. “After all, if I’m going to be a bother, I might as well get you something you like. The least I could do is make up for, you know, troubling you.”

“And what if I don’t drink coffee?”

“Huh? I saw you drinking coffee with Jay the other day—”

“Watching me now, are we? That’s a bit unprofessional for a work setting, don’t you think?”

“No, wait! I wasn’t—I just happened to notice you while I was on my break,” Sunghoon rushed to explain. “And asking Jay would’ve been awkward. So—ugh, nevermind. Forget I said anything.”

“Are you sure?” you asked, noticing his flush deepening. He truly couldn’t hide it well.

“Yes, ignore me and continue helping me, please,” Sunghoon replied, the pink blush on his face becoming way more evident than before. Was he that painfully obvious with his tactics?

Either way, he wanted to get out of there—this was becoming too much for him, and his usual ways of calming down weren’t working. You couldn’t help but slip a small giggle at his discomfort.

“Well, I’m actually done now,” you said with a playful smile.

“Wait—already?!” His astonishment was clear as he glanced at his side of the desk compared to yours. His papers were still scattered in disarray, while yours were neatly organized and back in their folder.

“Yep. While you were busy being a nervous wreck with your, well, overwhelming thoughts, I managed to focus and finish up,” you explained, sliding the organized folder back to him.

“Oh, right,” he mumbled, still taken aback by how efficiently you handled the task. He should have anticipated it, considering your ability to get things done swiftly—one of the many reasons he admired you. “Thank you, YN.”

“Do you have anything else you need help with?” you asked, your tone friendly.

“Uh, no, thank you,” Sunghoon replied, his cheeks still burning. He was mortified by the series of blunders he’d made in such a short time, and the embarrassment made him wish he could just disappear. He couldn’t believe he’d made such a mess of things.

“Listen, YN,” he started, sounding unusually earnest, “I’m really sorry for all the trouble I’ve caused. I didn’t mean to overstep any boundaries with my questions or requests. And for all the office issues—silly as they might seem—I genuinely appreciate your help. So, um, you can leave now. Thank you again.”

“You don’t need to apologize, Sunghoon. I promise you’re fine,” you reassured him. His expression softened at your words, though he seemed still lost in thought about his mistakes earlier. “You haven’t done anything to make me uncomfortable, and if you had, I would’ve told you.”

As you stood up from the chair and walked toward the door, you glanced back at him. His gaze darted away from the door, though it was clear he was trying to sneak a look as you left.

“Caramel macchiato,” you said.

“Huh?”

“My coffee order,” you clarified. “That’s what you wanted, right?”

“Wait—” Sunghoon’s surprise was palpable. “Oh, oh—! Noted! I’ll make sure to remember!” he stammered.

“See you tomorrow, Sunghoon.” You flashed him a final, warm smile. Despite knowing he’d probably call you again, and he knew you knew, you still left him a bit flustered but smiling. He shyly nodded, silently whispering a thanks to you again.

As you closed the door behind you, you heard him mutter to himself, struggling to regain his composure. You could hear the muffled noises of his excitement and embarrassment as you walked away, and it made you chuckle.

You left his office with your heart lighter and your mind buzzing with the possibility that maybe these calls meant something more. Finally getting the answers to the questions you’d always had in mind, it became clear to you that Park Sunghoon was undeniably charming.

💬 : do we love the flustered!enha agenda or is that js me

ENHYPEN PERM TAGLIST (1) — @flwoie @ixomiyu @haruavrse @shinsou-rii @bearseulgs @ilovewonyo @yenqa @dimplewonie @bubblytaetae @wtfhyuck @ineedaherosavemeenow @ml8dy @starikizs @wonioml @chirokookie @xiaoderrrr @neozon3nha @en-chantedtomeetyou @millksea @enhaz1 @eundiarys @hyeosi @ja4hyvn @judeduartewannabe @j-wyoung @thia-aep @vampcharxter @softpia @officiallyjaehyuns @itsactuallylina @hsheart @sweetjaemss @ahnneyong @hanienie @jwnghyuns @kpoplover718 @jiawji @rikizm @haknom @yeokii @wvnkoi @whoschr @teddywonss @shinunoga-iie-wa @isoobie @skzenhalove @misokei @s00buwu @ox1-lovesick @miercerise @litttlestars @enhapocketz

[knight-a3]

Adam, the First Man

Hazbin Masterpost

Heavenbound Masterpost

Adam is one of the characters I did not like the portrayal of in canon, so there's a fair amount I'm doing differently.

More notes under the cut

--Character--

I hate the crude misogynist characterization, because it feels disrespectful to Abrahamic faiths. I can't help but feel Christians in particular are targeted, even though Adam is a character is Jewish and Islamic traditions as well.

Adam will still be on the arrogant side, but not nearly as insufferable. I want him to portray traditional, positive aspects of masculinity. Loving and protective husband and father, hard-working, and protective. But, has a bit of a temper that can lead to a tendency toward vengeance. Act first, questions later. Eve was a calming influence for him, but she has mysteriously disappeared and he suspects hell had something to do with it. He'll exterminate every demon if it means he can find answers and bring her home.

--Background--

He and Eve were the first humans and were tasked with cultivating the garden of Eden. Abyss wanted them to Fall so it could consume them, so it created Lilith. Lilith befriended them, then offered the forbidden fruit to Eve. Eve, realizing she'd be kicked out, ran to Adam. So he could stay with her, he ate the fruit as well. The fruit gave them the ability to understand morality, and ultimately the ability to choose good and evil, aka sin. Now that they could sin, they could Fall.

Abyss instructed Lilith to seduce Adam to sin. She tried to force herself on him, to get him to commit adultery, but he rejected her. The friendship between the three of them was broken by this. Lilith hadn't eaten the fruit yet, so she didn't really know what she did wrong.

Adam and Eve were banished from Eden, while Lilith was cast to hell with Helel(Lucifer). Adam and Eve had a family and lived happily ever after. Until Cain killed Abel. I don't have that aspect of their story totally worked out, and I'm not sure how relevant it will end up being.

Children-- The Bible only names three children. Cain, Abel, and Seth. But it says they had "more sons and daughters". There's no definitive numbers. It's not even clear if Cain was actually the firstborn. The true firstborn may have gone unnamed because Cain had a more prominent role to document. No daughters are named in the Bible, but some traditions and apocryphal writings mention a few. Aclima, Awan, and Azura.

The bible story basically goes like this: Cain and Abel offered sacrifices to God. Abel was a shepherd and gave the best of his flock. Cain was a farmer and gave some of his crop. There is no specification to the quality of his offering. So the implication is that he was selfish and kept the best for himself and either gave an average or sub-par offering, maybe even as an afterthought. So when God favored Abel, Cain killed him out of jealousy. Seth was born to essentially replace Abel, so I'm assuming that means Seth was also a shepherd.

History or myth?-- I personally think the Adam and Eve story is largely symbolic, not literal. The method of history keeping during the early biblical days was through stories, often using symbolic imagery to portray a general idea of an event. Which is why there will be other stories across various cultures with similar themes and plot elements. I think the story of Adam and Eve is representative of the evolution of ape to human. While Cain and Abel is about how humans can sin.

Afterlife-- Adam became the chief saint, the highest rank of the archangels, and leader of heaven's army. The army was tasked with protecting heaven and earth from threats, particularly from hell. Demons would sometimes escape and wander earth, so they had to either be sent back to hell, or exterminated.

When concern over hell's growing population and risk of an uprising became prominent, the exterminations began. Recently, the exterminations have been more brutal. Turns out Eve has gone missing, and Adam thinks hell is to blame somehow. So he's furiously searching for her.

--Design Notes--

Appearance: I wanted Adam to look like he could be the first man. Which I felt meant he needed an actual beard, darker skin, and more textured hair. I used Moses from Dreamwork's Prince of Egypt as a model. I figured a more middle-eastern look would be fitting for a Hebrew character.

I had his halo positioned to resemble horns to reference the canon design, and allude to the halo as his helmet's wings.

Apple: Canon has apples be a symbol for the Morningstars, especially Lucifer. But I think it would be more fitting for Adam and Eve instead. "Adam's apple" is a real term, after all. So I wanted to incorporate that.

Crusader: I do not like the demonic looking uniforms for the exorcists. Why would they want to look like the people they are killing? It doesn't make sense to me. It's not even a disguise.

I thought a Crusader theme would be more fitting. So I gave him a Great Helm. Specifically a style of Great Helm referred to as a Sugarloaf, which has a conical shaped top. Domed and conical shapes were better at deflecting blows than flat topped versions. Great Helms did not typically have a movable visor, and experts disagree on if they ever did. Some bascinets have a visor that can make them look like a Sugarloaf Helm, I guess.

I'm just leaning into my nerd side now, but breathing holes weren't always on both sides. Sometimes it was just the right side, since the left was typically the side presented toward the enemy.

The wings on the helmet do have historical precedent. It's called a crest. They're an indication of status and identification. There's two situations were you might see them. 1, in tournaments where participants want to be identifiable and show off. 2, in battles where looking important means the enemies would rather ransom you than kill you. They weren't generally built into the actual helmet, but were removeable. The example to the bottom right of the above set is not-- as far as I'm aware-- a historical example. But it did serve as inspiration for me.

People can get pretty creative with them.

This helmet piece is specifically what "crest" refers to. It's only a piece of the "coat of arms." There were and still are some specific customs to official heraldry, and I won't claim to know all the rules, just that it isn't as simple as googling the your family name's coat of arms, because sharing a name doesn't guarantee it belongs to your family. Heraldry is recorded and officially verified by governments.

Priest: The priestly garb is to reference his high status as an angel, and the religious implications. For official church vestments, what is specifically used and how it looks can vary by denomination, position, event, etc.

The staff is based on a crozier. Which is symbolic of a shepherd's crook. My sheep nerd side is going to come out with this one. There are two basic sizes of crook: Neck sized, and leg sized. Herding sheep is one thing, actually catching them is another. They often don't want to be caught, but they need to be checked on. I've had this struggle when trying to look at my ewe's hooves when she was limping.

I think that's all I have for now.

(Edit notes will go here as needed)

[amazinglyashy]

hiii I’d like to make a request for LADS🙏

scenarios for the boys (specifically the original 3) when you meet and you’re already dating someone (maybe eventually you leave them for one of the boys). like. i can imagine raf and xav having a hard time keeping their cool about it and perhaps zayne acting the way he did in neon night since he doesn’t remember but fjdjsksm

You actually sent this a day before I got Neon Night, so I was able to reference it in real time and not look up the card on YT or anything, I'm so happy-- This was actually super fun, thank you so much for the request!! I hope you enjoy <3 (I'm gonna warn you tho, I made it a bit angsty--)

LaDS men when you're already dating someone [for now-]

Rafayel -

Rafayel is... upset.

to say the least.

He'll act rude and obnoxious to whoever it is you're dating at the time, to an uncharacteristically high level of sass and snippy comments. You have to try and ask him what's gotten into him, but he won't answer you.

Further meetings will go just as smoothly, so your current partner will just chalk up to you having an oddly rude friend.

He'll say something that comes across as weird to you at some point- a biting comment during a completely unrelated argument about how he waited so long for you, searching high and low for any trace of you returning again, and you didn't even have the courtesy to wait for him.

He'll leave angry, but he'll stand in the hallway regretting it, because he knows. He knows you don't remember him, and he can't keep faulting you for that. But damn-

It hurts.

It hurts to know that he did everything he could to find you, to protect you- to keep you safe until he could see you again. Talk to you again. Love you again.

But here you were.

Just out of reach again.

Xavier -

You're trying to handle a toddler now, not a grown man.

He's so upset, it's borderline ridiculous.

It's like any comment or conversation starter your current partner tries to toss at Xavier, it doesn't even make it out of the hangar before it's shot down.

Any attempts you make to be friendly with him are also met with snippy remarks.

He did not travel as far as he did, do every single hard thing he had up until this point- just to lose to some average every-day person who was currently enjoying holding your hand.

His jealously is through the roof.

His pouting face is actually pretty cute, though, so there's that.

After sulking for a long time, he'll start inviting you places more frequently, under the guise of wanting to hang out more as coworkers.

His actual motives are trying to make you see just how good of a partner he could be for you.

Yes he's trying to steal you out from under your current partner's feet.

Is it working...?

Sylus -

He's not surprised.

He's also not threatened.

What, was Sylus supposed to suspect that someone with no recollection of him or your previous time knowing each other would hold out for him, until you met again?

He tries his best to be a rational man, as there would be no rationality in getting upset at you for something you have no knowledge of.

He's hurt, but he also has a mild sense of confidence coating his doubts and pain.

He knows you'll come around to him eventually- it's everything that fate had destined, he'll muse jokingly to himself.

Still, he can't help a little doubt itching in his subconscious. He doesn't have any way of outwardly handling it, though.

He isn't the type to flaunt what he has in front of other people in order to appear better. It's gaudy to him, and shows just how little someone actually is worth if they're so desperate to put themselves above another through a dollar amount.

Treats your current partner with the same level of respect he does towards you, and shows them similar levels of care.

They make you happy, and he doesn't want that ever taken from you.

No matter how badly he wants you all to himself.

Zayne -

If it bothers him, you would never be able to tell.

Always the epitome of kindness and civility no matter who he's dealing with as long as they aren't unkind to those who matter to him- namely you- the person you're dating is treated no differently.

That is, as long as they're treating you properly.

He's no overprotective psychopath, but he does have his own concerns given some of the patients he has treated in the past. As long as certain basic criteria are met, he doesn't see any issue with it.

Still he's... a bit sad.

He blames himself wholeheartedly, for going away for so long. For leaving you alone. It's his own fault for missing his chance with you, and while somewhere deep inside of him is praying on your current partner's downfall- it's a very small portion in the back of his mind. Something dark he'll never truly humor.

He wants you to be happy, above anything else. Above personal feelings, his own wishes, anything. And if your current partner is making you happy, then that's all he could ever wish for.

Even through the sting.

He's happy as long as you are.

[mypoisonedvine]

𝙧𝙚𝙣𝙙𝙚𝙯𝙫𝙤𝙪𝙨 | helmut zemo x reader

@radmerrmaid requested a drabble with zemo and enemies to lovers. what happened is a whole oneshot. don't ask me how.

word count: 4.3k

warnings: DUBCON SMUT, enemies to lovers/hate sex, rough sex including hair pulling, degradation and name calling, restraint, a slap, and overstimulation, touchstarved reader, unspecified age gap, very mild violence (hand-to-hand combat and a mention of a previous gunshot wound), kidnapping, soft!dark zemo?

"It must drive you crazy," he purred, wrapping his fingers carefully around the crystal glass before picking it up. "Seeing me like this."

He smirked around his sip of bourbon— at least you figured it was bourbon— as you tried to keep a poker face. You didn't like the idea of being seen as crazy at all, let alone because of him. "Like what?" you pressed instead of admitting to it.

"Free," he shrugged. "Out of that cage you worked so hard to keep me in."

"Getting you there was my job," you corrected with a frown. "If keeping you there was mine, too... you'd still be in it."

He laughed lightly, if briefly, and shook his head. "Still so prideful. You're young, and you have something to prove."

"I have nothing to prove to you," you asserted, shifting your weight on your hips— it was sort of uncomfortable to keep standing, but it felt wrong to take a seat even though he'd offered you one when you entered. It seemed like a sign of trust. Not that he should be surprised by you acting aloof, when he'd offered to meet you here without even explaining why.

"No, not to me," he agreed, setting the glass down again and taking one step closer to you. "To your friends at the CIA."

He seemed to emphasize every letter of the acronym, a playful condescension in his tone. "Friends is a funny way to say it," you rolled your eyes, "like I do what I do because I want to be popular, and not because I want to keep the world safe."

"Safe from me," he added, "the evil terrorist. Right?"

You ignored his question, not really wanting to dignify it with an answer— or start some spiel about how you don't really believe in evil people, just actions that merit punishment, bla bla bla...

"Yet, you couldn't keep yourself safe from me," he went on, raising one eyebrow as he examined you. "Or, you can't. Here you are— alone, as I asked."

Obviously, you had tried to imagine some way you could have back-up for this, even just tell someone where you were going. But this was Zemo's turf, and he had eyes and ears all over the city... he would know if you tried to turn this into a sting. Instead, you only hoped to gain some sort of information tonight that you could use to track him down when he tried to run again.

"You're more trusting than I suspected," he smirked, gaze darkening a bit. "Or, more desperate."

"Maybe the right word is 'curious'," you proposed. "Clearly, you have something to discuss with me."

"I do," he nodded. "A question to ask you-- one I feel only you can answer."

You waited for him to ask it, but even just the way he sucked in a sharp breath made you realize he was going to bore you with some preamble first— just like him, really..

"You see, after evading you so many times—"

"Narrowly," you interjected.

"Maybe some times," he shrugged, smiling, "other times, I think I had plenty of room. But that's besides the point... the point is, here I am. I've probably bested you for the last time—"

"That's not—"

"Ah ah, no interrupting, please," he scolded gently. "I know you know that if I can keep a low profile here, your organization has no hope of getting me back. I simply have too many resources, and your superiors know my risk is relatively low. No?"

Again, you refused to answer, but the way you crossed your arms tighter and glanced away seemed to serve as enough of an agreement.

"So that's it— I'm free. It should be so simple," he sighed. "So, why am I disappointed?"

You furrowed your brows, staring at him in confusion. You were waiting for him to say something to give context to that, but he didn't— he only waited for your response with an earnest look. "Why... are you asking me that?" you wondered.

"Because you're the person who knows me best."

You'd never thought of it like that, and it was such a jarring idea that you began to shake your head almost instantly. "No, that... that doesn't seem right..."

"I figured you would take pride in it," Zemo grinned. "You tracked me for years, studied me, learned my habits... I had to do the same to escape you. I must know you better than anyone else."

"That's ridiculous," you scoffed. "What are you trying to say?"

"I just hoped you could tell me why I feel this way— why I feel so wrong about never seeing you again."

Your chest tightened. You couldn't bear to meet his gaze; your stomach felt sick and strange and you just wanted to run out of there, but what good would that do? You needed him to tell you something you could use, one last chance to catch him before it was too late.

"If I didn't know you so well, and hate you so much," he went on, "I wouldn't have the energy to keep running. And me? I'm your biggest case. Sometimes you act like I'm your only case. What is it about me, that you need to win against me so badly?"

"It's not you," you insisted instantly, "it's me— it's who I am."

"Maybe that's how it started," he suggested, "but you can't spend so long hunting someone without becoming a little obsessed with them— trust me, I would know."

You grimaced at him. "You— you can't be serious."

"Who will you be without me to chase?" he pressed anyways, matching some of your anger as he stepped closer again— almost too close. "Without this... passion, between us?"

"Don't step any closer," you warned.

"Or what?" he challenged. "No weapons, no soldiers— it's just the two of us here."

He stepped up again, nearly pressed against you, and you couldn't let him get away with that... you had to prove you meant what you said. You weren't armed, and you knew he wasn't someone you wanted to go up against hand-to-hand... but at the same time, it was one thing you'd always secretly wished for. A chance to wage this war the way it should be, the way it had always been: personal.

You stepped back at the same time as you swung your fist, giving yourself just enough room to gain momentum— but you weren't quite fast enough, and he blocked you. From then on it was fast, instinctual: he was stronger but you were quicker, and on the offensive.

You never quite landed a hit, but neither did he— which felt like a good sign, until you realized he wasn't really giving it his all. Dodging and blocking, yes, but he wasn't trying to win, just keep you at bay.

"Come on!" you yelled in frustration as you finally got in a kick to his chest, forcing him to stumble back and nearly fall. "What are you doing, pitying me?"

"Hardly," he wheezed, a little affected by the hit, which made you smirk. "But I don't want to hurt you."

"Please," you rolled your eyes, putting your fists up and stabilizing your posture. "If we're going to do this, let's do it right."

He came at you, and finally, there it was... his real strength. That passion he'd been talking about, you could feel it.

Both of you were flushed and panting, exhilarated by the sport of it all. Unfortunately, right as you thought you'd found your moment— the weak spot in his form— it was a trap. When you moved in closer, he grabbed you and spun you around, holding your back against his chest so tight that you struggled to breathe.

But he didn't shove you down, didn't put you in a chokehold, didn't even threaten you or gloat about pinning you. Instead, he only held you tighter, and soothed you with a gentle 'shh' in your ear when you tried to squirm out of his grasp.

"Wh-what are you doing?" you whispered, your whole body shaking as he ran his tongue up your neck.

"If it's curiosity that brought you here," he purred in response, "I can satisfy that."

"You can't be fffucking serious," you hissed, though a moan tainted your words as one of his hands ran down your body, the other still effortlessly holding you still.

"I know you so well," he went on, a deep growl in his voice as your eyes fell shut. "I know how lonely you must be. That's one of the things we share."

His hand was heavy and warm against your leg, even through your pants— and it was moving higher, petting your inner thigh as you shivered.  Though your mind longed to resist him, your body was desperate for any affection; because he was right, you were lonely.  You couldn’t think of the last time someone had touched you like this, and yet you remembered it didn’t usually feel this good.  His touch was precise and careful and teasing— not too awkward but not too cocky.  And the heat of him wrapped around you, his hot breath on your shoulder, his wider form encompassing you… how could it feel so good?

“And I know you’ve thought about this,” he added.  “That’s something we share, too.”

He couldn’t know that— he might be rich and resourceful, but he wasn’t omniscient.  If you were any more logical in that moment, you would’ve realized he was just guessing and denied it.  But his teeth brushing over your pulse didn’t exactly provoke your critical thinking skills.  “Fuck, I— fuck,” you choked out instead, shuddering when he chuckled proudly.

“You might hate me, draga, but you need me,” he explained.  “Your mind needs me, just as much as your body does.”

Something about the way his fingers traced up your side, teasing your breast before pulling away right before getting to anything too exciting… it seemed to bring you back to reality, at least partially.  You absolutely couldn’t do this— you couldn’t let him do this.  “G-get off me,” you choked out, struggling against him again.

“That’s what you want?” he taunted.

“Get the fuck off me!” you yelped.

“Make me,” he challenged.

Bringing your foot down hard on top of his, he winced and you managed to break away, spinning around and shoving him back— he actually lost his balance that time, falling to the floor.  You were ready to deliver a firm and swift kick between his legs, but rolled over and grabbed your leg while it was up, bringing you down to the floor with him.

He laughed breathlessly, sounding a little frustrated, as you flailed for purchase against the floor— only for him to grab your wrists and pin you down, positioning himself over you with a grin.  His hair was shaken out of its style, hanging around his face which was flushed from exertion.  “You keep me on my toes, I’ll give you that,” he offered.  You tried to writhe again but he had you properly trapped now, with absolutely no way out.

“You wouldn’t,” you sneered incredulously.

“Wouldn’t what, dear?”

“You wouldn’t force yourself on me,” you completed.

He seemed a little surprised, hanging his head and shaking it.  “Oh,” he breathed, “no, I wouldn’t.”

A little relieved, you started to catch your breath.

“I don’t need to.”

He brought his lips down to yours suddenly— the collision was almost too rough, and yet it was the only thing that made sense for the two of you.  You groaned in protest yet submitted instantly, opening your mouth wide for his desperate and dominating kiss.

Your back arched up off the floor, and his weight seemed to sink down on top of you in response.  Though you hated yourself for it, you spread your legs a bit, just enough for him to rest his hips between— and fuck, you could feel it.  The hard, throbbing heat, you could feel it pressed against you and the most horrible moan was nearly lost to his lips.

He hummed back proudly, running his hands over your body, kissing you faster.

You were gasping for breath when he broke away, which only worsened when he latched onto your neck.  “God, I hate you,” you blurted out, just to remind you both that if this was going to happen, it wasn’t going to be pretty.

“You hate me for all those times I embarrassed you?” he assumed, hands holding your waist and starting to slide up your shirt.  “For when I eluded you, wasted your time, made a fool of you?”

“And that time you shot me.”

“I winged you,” he corrected— like that was any better.

He tugged your shirt up and you raised your arms, letting him slip it off; he spotted the scar right away, a line across your arm just under your shoulder.  He cooed for a second before kissing it softly— too gentle a moment for you to let lie.  You shoved his jacket back next, helping him slip it off his shoulders before pulling him down to kiss you again.

Your sports bra had a clasp in the front, it was a bit unique in that way, yet he had no trouble with it.  Freeing your chest, he of course had to tease you a bit more— instead of groping your waiting breasts right away, he guided your arms down from where they held onto the back of his neck, lifting you up from the floor a bit so you could slide the garment off and toss it away. ��

When you laid back down, the floor was cold, but the hiss you let out was more a response to him rocking his hips against you, teasing you through these stupid remaining clothes.  “You know why I hate you?” he returned as he started to unbutton your pants, even though you’d entirely forgotten that last part of the conversation.

Before he answered the question, he yanked your pants and underwear down to your thighs— and swiftly got his own out of the way.  Your heart raced; you weren’t totally convinced this was really happening, not until he pushed into you in one painfully sudden thrust.  You cried out, yet he took no mercy on you.  He was ruthless, in fact.

Choking on your broken cries, you arched up off the floor again as he hammered into you, rage and relief and desperation evident in every movement.  He had to hold your legs tightly just to keep you from sliding across the floor, which only ensured you took every stroke as deep as it could go— which was already too fucking deep.

“Say it,” he ordered, “tell me why I hate you.”

“I caught you,” you said— but you knew that would just make him angrier.  Maybe that was kind of the idea.

Stopping just long enough to tug your pants the rest of the way off— and leaving you naked while he was still mostly dressed— he descended over you and looked right at you, far too close, with a rageful stare.

“You trapped me,” he corrected gruffly.  “You played dirty.”

Before you had a chance to retort that all’s fair in love and war, he started to pound into you… harder and meaner than ever.  You didn’t surprise yourself by crying out, considering how intense and nearly painful the feeling was, but you were a little confused that the word you said was a needy yes!

"Those years in prison," he snarled, "you could barely call it living, life in that place— you put me there. I thought every day about how you put me there."

He yanked your hair, making you whine loudly and exposing your neck for his lips and teeth to explore freely.  

Finally, a hand latched onto your chest— a hot palm encompassing your breast and skilled fingers pinching lightly at your nipple.  You couldn’t believe how composed he was through all this— in many ways, he wasn’t, but he seemed to be deliberate with every way he touched you and that was far more togetherness than you had.

You weren’t together at all, actually… something about the heat of the moment, the way your body responded to him, the way he glared at you… you could already feel tension building inside you.  It wouldn’t be long, not if he kept going like this.

“I thought about you every fucking day, draga— that you were free, and I was trapped in that cell,” he growled.  “You missed it, didn’t you?  Chasing me.”

When you didn’t answer, he struck you across the face with the back of his hand; the shock of it made your walls clench on him, or at least you could blame it on that, but you had no way to explain the way you moaned a moment later.

He moved even faster, a sickening wet sound echoing through the room which you hated to acknowledge was your own body.  “The worse I am to you, the wetter you get,” he noticed, smiling for just a moment.  “What a filthy whore you are.”

“F-fuck you,” you stammered roughly.

“Actually, why don’t you?” he offered, grabbing you by the hips and rolling both of you over until he was on his back and you were straddling him.  “Show me how bad you need it.”

As much as you wanted to not do what he told you, your hips were already moving— your body was on its own mission now, desperate for pleasure and friction and heat.  Desperate for anything he would give.  You whimpered as you grinded down on him, feeling his cock go so much deeper than you imagined was possible.  “God,” you sobbed, tossing your head back and trying not to picture the way he must have been looking at you then.

His hands moved all over you, up your thighs and over your breasts, even wrapping around your neck once though they didn’t put on enough pressure to really choke you.  “Pretty girl,” he praised darkly, making chills dance over your skin.

But when his hands settled on your hips, trying to guide you the way he wanted, you’d had enough; you grabbed him at the wrists and leaned forward, pinning his hands beside his head.  He smirked up at you at first, but when you bounced your hips up and down while hovering over him, his eyes fell shut and he let out a deep groan.  “I’m close,” you panted sharply.

“You can make yourself come like this?” he realized, sounding a little impressed.  He opened his eyes and lifted his head for a moment to get a better look at you, before almost instantly giving up again and dropping his head back to the floor with a moan.  “Fine, take it— just take what you need, draga.”

You held tighter to his wrists, mostly to keep yourself stable, and you felt his own hands ball into fists as you bounced faster.  “Oh god, oh god, oh god— yes!” you yelped, legs quivering as it struck you.  It seemed to come and go so quickly, perhaps because your strength gave out halfway through and you felt weak and paralyzed.  It had been ages since you’d felt pleasure like that… actually you weren’t sure you’d ever felt pleasure like that, at least not so much all at once.

If only he were satisfied by that.  With your grip weakened, he easily pulled his hands away to wrap his arms around you, holding you tightly and bucking his hips up into you rapidly.

“Fuck, wait, s-slow down,” you panted, whining weakly as he shook his head against the crook of your neck.

“I couldn’t even if I wanted to,” he purred.  “I won’t be able to slow down at all until you’re full of come, draga.  I want you dripping.”

You were all numb and limp now, so raw and sensitive inside— he put you on your back again and didn’t struggle at all to pull another orgasm from you.  The third, though, was a little more hard fought: he rubbed your clit with an almost painful amount of pressure, watching through dark eyes and with a sneering grin as you screamed and shivered.

“Not too loud, darling,” he warned, “the people in the streets might hear you, the window’s still open—”

“Fuck!” you shouted, high-pitched and shaky, and he covered your mouth with his other hand as he laid on you with a growl.

“Just one more, then I’ll fill you,” he promised.  “I only need to feel you come one more time.  You want a rest, don’t you?”

You nodded weakly, biting down on your shaking lip.

“Then give me what I want.”

Your final cry was stuttered and helpless, every final ounce of energy in your body being taken from you by the final forced peak of ecstasy.  But it wasn’t until you sighed out his name, barely audible under your breath, that he groaned against your neck and pumped himself deep inside you— every drop, leaving you full to the brim and then some.  

You didn’t even have the strength to hold onto him, but he held you far too tightly as if to make up for it, and didn’t let you go for quite some time.

It had only gotten darker and colder out, and the draft through the window eventually danced over your sweat-slickened skin.  When you shivered under him, Helmut lazily reached up to the couch nearby, pulling a throw blanket off of it and wrapping you both up in its soft embrace.  You sighed with relief from both the cold air and the hard floor, not even realizing you were falling asleep. 

Even when you woke up, you didn’t really notice that you’d been asleep— except that Helmut was gone, and the fireplace was going.  Sitting up as little as you could get away with to look for him— since moving at all was quite a task given how tired you were— you heard him coming around the corner and turned back to look at him.

He was in a robe now, and carrying two crystal glasses of water.  He smiled at you as he sat back down on the floor, laying beside you on the blanket and handing you your glass.  “Figured you would need this soon enough,” he explained with a soft voice as you sipped carefully at the water.  You weren’t really ready to talk to him yet, but you wanted to thank him for the water, so you just nodded and hoped that would get the point across.

The silence was probably only awkward for you— he seemed totally at peace, getting through most of his drink before setting it down on the floor and cuddling up to you again with a contented sigh.

You quietly drank the water, staring forward at the crackling fire, hardly believing where you were.  It actually sounded sort of romantic on paper: a dashing and wealthy older man, a penthouse apartment in a foreign city, a fire, a blanket, a crystal glass…

If it weren’t for the wanted terrorist, it might make for a good little fantasy.

Yet, you set your glass aside and laid back down with him.  He slipped an arm around you, holding your shoulder and petting it with his thumb, even kissing the side of your forehead sweetly.  “I don’t understand how you can… be like that,” you whispered, glancing down at his arm crossed over your chest.

“Not everyone is so afraid of their feelings as you are,” he countered, and you snorted a little.

“I’m not afraid of my feelings,” you denied half-heartedly.

“You’re afraid of me, then?” he wondered.

“Not… quite…” you murmured your answer, not even sure yourself what you felt.  “I mean, I drank the water, so—”

“I wondered if you would,” he laughed, “but I’m glad you did.”

“I mean, only half the glass, technically,” you noticed.

“Oh, don’t worry, you’ve had enough,” he shrugged.

“Enough?” you chuckled.  “After that, half a glass of water is hardly enough.  I won’t be recovered until I have a protein-heavy meal and probably a couple painkillers— if I wanna, you know, sit or jog or whatever in the next few days.”

“I suppose I’ll take that as a compliment,” he chuckled, “but I didn’t mean enough to recuperate.  I meant enough for you to sleep until we get there.”

“...what?” you asked, turning over your shoulder with knitted brows to look at him.

“If even you know where you’re going, you might find a way to get out is all,” he explained flippantly.

“What… what are you…?” you started, shaking your head— but it didn’t shake off that funny feeling, that heaviness in your head.

“You see, I did think about you every day in my cell,” he went on, “and I thought about how, someday, I would lock you away— so you’d know how it feels, to be a prisoner.”

Whimpering as realization dawned, you sat up quickly to try to fight whatever was in that water… but it only seemed to make it worse, spots forming in your vision like when you stand up too fast— except they didn’t fade, just multiplied.

“I’ll treat you much better than I was, though,” he assured, “in fact, I think you’ll be better off than you were before… you’ll be mine, draga.  No one else will ever see you again.”

You tried to speak but it wasn’t really coming together— you tried to push him away but you only limply held onto him, looking up at his eerily blank expression with your fading vision.  As it all turned to black, he caught your head before it hit the floor, cradling it rather tenderly before kissing your cheek.

“Now,” he whispered to you, though you couldn’t possibly hear it, “let’s get you cleaned up— the plane is waiting to take you to our new home.”