#please please reblog this i spent so much time and effort making this from scratch

[hanasinbloom]

> "I'm not... going to run away anymore..." > "I promised him. So please... watch over me."

⋆˖⁺‧₊��� — PERSONA! — ☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Blessed Are The Meek 5

Summary: you are trapped in an awkward circumstance with a widowed commander. (Handmaid AU)

Warning: this series will contain violence, dystopian aspects, rape and noncon, blood, coercion, sterility, and other dark elements. Please read these warnings and beware.

Character: Tommy Shelby

Note: thank you for following along. I’m sure yall didn’t expect to write Tommy again but here we are. Also feedback and comments if you dont mind. Maybe a reblog. 💕💕💕💕

You wipe the Commander's face and stand with the cup, brush, and blade. You go to the sink to clean it all up and put it away. As you do, you hear him shifting in the water. You've already set out his soap and shampoo on the ledge. The smell of it laces the air. 

You glance at the door, wondering if you should go. 

"You will wait and have a towel ready."

His order is taken as diligently as any other. 'Yes, Commander' and you take the bath sheet from the rack, standing by the wall and staring at your sleeve. He sighs as he lingers in water, drawing out the tension.

When he stands, water slaking noisily from his body, you come forward and open the bath sheet. He steps over the wall of the tub and waits. You wrap it around him and he finally clasps the top.

You recoil and move aside. He passes you and you roll up your sleeve to pull the stopper from the tub. You don’t return to the bedroom right away. You give him time before you near the door, head down.

“Would you like your tea?” You ask the floor.

He sits on the side of the bed. He reaches for the thick tome on the round table beside the wooden frame. He lifts the bible and flutters through the gold-edged pages. You listen to the noise but refocus on the cold hardwood.

“Even piety cannot outweigh the law,” he says, “did you chance a verse or two, hm?”

You shake your head. “No, Commander.”

He snaps the book shut, clutching it between his hands. He runs his thumb along the spine and leans forward. He stares at the cover then hurls it at the wall, making you flinch as it falls onto its pages.

“Tell me then, what did you read? Before?”

You don’t know what to say. You don’t believe he truly cares. This is just what the men do. They play on their power, pulling the strings of the women they made into puppets. You won’t tell him of the cheap novellas that kept you company in a tub very much like the one in the next room or the fantastical tales of dragons and magic that first awakened your love of literature. 

“I am not the woman I was before. I cannot recall.”

He sits up and leans his head back, “you are just like every other woman. You say what will do you best, but never the truth.”

You don’t argue. He is right, but he does not admit why. That if you do speak honestly, you will be sent to the wall or worse.

“Or maybe you read nothing at all. Maybe you were the sort to watch a screen until your head turned dull. Or spent your time with a bottle of liquor…” he presumes as he scratches along his neck. “Certainly, there wasn’t much time for reading with a son to rear, eh?”

You try not to falter. Is it a lucky guess or does he know? He could. Surely, if he wanted to know who you used to be, he could find that out.

“Tea,” he orders bluntly and lifts his legs onto the bed, sprawling wide so the bath sheet slackens around his legs.

“Yes, Commander,” you affirm, twisting sharply as you fight to keep your nerves from boiling over. It is a test. One you must pass.

🌫️

The Commander dismisses you as he sits thumbing through the bible’s bent pages and sipping his tea. You leave him with the soft clasp of the doorknob behind you. You wade through the dark and down to the first floor. You resume your seat on the bench, drawing your legs up as you lay on your side.

It is stiff and uncomfortable. You feel the knot forming in your neck already but you are too tired to worry about it. You sleep shallowly, cramped and rigid, until you are awakened by the creak of the stairs.

You sit up with an effort. Your neck screams and your shoulder blades throb. You lean on the wall for just a moment as you muster the strength to stand. The pain is almost inhuman. You knew you would regret sleeping on the bench but you hadn’t much choice.

You rise and brace your hip without thinking as you face the Commander coming down the stairs. He wears only a robe in the pale light of early morning. It cannot be more than four.

“I called for you,” he stops on the middle step.

“Apologies, Commander.”

“Why are you down here?” He sneers.

“I… I did not know where else–”

“Hush,” he demands curtly, “you think too much and say more.”

You lower your chin in submission. You swallow your standard acquiescence and wait for further reproach.

“Upstairs. This house is frigid, I require another duvet. Find one.”

He goes back up as you hesitate to follow. You ascend, step by step, tamping down a whine as each lift of your foot zings up to your neck. You go to the narrow closet door and open it, revealing a spare blanket. You bring it with you and enter through the open bedroom door.

The Commander is abed already. You approach him and throw the duvet across the bed, grunting through your teeth. You tug the corners straight and he reaches to grasp your wrist. You pause, his touch almost stinging.

“You may sleep across my feet, like a dog,” he snickers, “it would do better than that bench for your decrepit bones.”

You stay still, not daring to rip your arm away from him, “Commander, I don’t mind–”

“It is not up to you. Go on, dog, take your place.”

He lets you go and you stand. Your eyes burn with humiliation as you sidle towards the end of the mattress. You put one hand down, then the other, climbing up on all fours like an animal. You lower yourself onto your side, back to him as you stare at the dark doorway.

“Just like a loyal old bitch,” he remarks as he jostles the bed, kicking you from beneath the blanket, “aren’t you?”

“Yes, Commander,” you force through your tight throat.

[thetravelerwrites]

Errol (Naga) Lemon

Rating: Explicit Relationship: Female Human/Male Naga Additional Tags: Cheating, Infidelity, Break-ups, Hurt/Comfort, Pining, Secretly In Love, Angst, Sex, Breeding, Pregnancy Kink, Dom/Sub, Ovipositor, Oviposition, Pregnancy, Babies, Eggs, Egg Laying Words: 7887

A commission for @anjhope1​​! After catching her fiance cheating, the reader breaks up with him and goes home miserable. The ex-fiance's brother, Errol, arrives on his brother's order to get his things from her apartment, but Errol is more interested in taking care of the reader and making sure she's okay. It leads to some confusing feelings and a confession. Please reblog leave feedback!

The Traveler’s Masterlist

You’d had your suspicions for a while, but it wasn’t until you got the message on social media from a girl he’d dated and dumped who had photographic proof of it that you finally had to face the truth.

Your fiance was cheating on you.

Eric was a naga and had been with you for more than five years. He had asked you to marry him, ring and all, on New Years Eve with his family. He had made a big show of it, too. And now, you were going to have to confront him about being a cheating bastard.

The woman who had been dumped told you that he was now dating her friend, and she had gotten the room number where they were supposed to meet. You got to the hotel with your heart in your throat and knocked on the door.

“Who is it?” That was definitely Eric’s voice. He had told you that his friend needed help moving and that he’d be staying over to help him. What a good friend he was.

You deepened your voice in an effort to mask it. “Room service.”

“Oh, good, I was wondering if you were ever going to come,” Eric said, and the door swung open. As soon as he saw you, the blood drained out of his already pale face.

“No, wait--”

“Hey, babe, did they bring the right wine this time?” A female voice said from inside.

You took off your ring and threw it in his face and called inside the room, “You can have the bastard.” And walked away.

“Wait, please, this isn’t what you think,” Eric said, slithering quickly down the hall to catch you. He grabbed your arm and you wrenched it violently out of his grasp.

“Babe, who’s this?” The woman said. She was human and pretty, you guessed.

“I’m his fiance,” You retorted. “Oh, sorry, ex-fiance. Don’t worry, he’s all yours.”

“What the fuck, Eric?!” She shouted at him. “Are you kidding me?”

“Rachel, it’s not…” He stuttered. “It isn’t…”

Rachel slapped him and pushed past you toward the elevator, not looking back.

“Babe--” He started, turning back toward you.

“Don’t you dare call me ‘babe,’ you son of a bitch. Why? Why would you do this to me? Why would you waste five fucking years of my life?”

“I didn’t mean to hurt you--”

“I don’t give a shit what you meant to do! I want an explanation. Was the sex bad? Do you not love me anymore? Are you just the type of person who has to have a side-chick? What? What about this is good for you? What about all this made destroying our relationship worth it?”

He groaned and scratched his head with both hands. “I… It… I can be anything I want to be with those girls, you know? If I say I’m rich, then I’m rich. If I say I’m successful, then I’m successful, and they don’t know better. They don’t know I have a shitty job that I hate. They don’t know that my girlfriend makes twice as much money as me, that she’s popular with people and everyone likes her better than me, even my own fucking family. They don’t know what a fucking loser I am.”

“And that’s my fucking fault?!” You screamed at him. “You know what you could have done instead of ruining a five year relationship? Gotten fucking therapy! Or, better yet, talked to me about it! I have been nothing but supportive of you. I have encouraged you to leave your job and find a better one. I told you I would support you until you found something that made you happy. You could have gone back to school or done and apprenticeship or vocational work, whatever, and I’d have been there! You could do whatever you wanted, and I would have helped you, and you know that!”

“Right, because you so fucking perfect, huh?” He yelled back. “It’s not enough that you rub your perfect job in my face every day and go around spending whatever you want because you don’t have to worry about money, but you also have to be perfectly supportive and perfectly giving and perfectly loving, too, right? How am I supposed to feel good about myself when you’re always better than me at everything?”

“So, it’s my fault you’re cheating on me because I’m a good girlfriend? Is that what you’re saying to me? I’m too fucking nice, so you had to put your dick in random women to feel better about yourself?” You raised your hands as if surrendering and shook your head in disbelief. “You know what? Fucking forget me. Forget our relationship, forget getting married, forget you ever knew me, forget my fucking face, don’t ever come to my house, don’t ever message me again, delete my number from your phone. As far as you’re concerned, I don’t exist to you, because you sure as shit don’t exist to me anymore.” You turned to leave.

“What about my stuff?” He protested.

“Send your brother to come get your shit,” You said without turning. “If you set foot on my property, I’ll have you arrested for trespassing. I’m not fucking around. I’m so fucking glad you never moved in when I offered. ”

“So that’s it?” He said as you waited for the elevator to come back up. “You’re not even willing to work this out? It’s just over?”

“Get fucked, Eric,” You said, stepping into the elevator. “Oh wait, you already did. Do yourself a favor and sell that ring to pay for a therapist.” And the door closed on him.

As soon as the elevator started to move, you hit the floor and sobbed. Why? Why was he like this? You thought everything was perfect up until a few months ago, and you hadn’t know he felt like this. He always seemed happy. How were you supposed to know otherwise if he never said anything?

How you got back home, you didn’t know, because you didn’t remember it. You grabbed a bottle of whiskey from the freezer and didn’t even bother with a glass. For about an hour, you just sat there disheveled on your couch, crying and drinking.

Sometime later, there was a sheepish knock on your door. You hoped to God that it wasn’t Eric, but when you opened the door, Errol was there. Errol, Eric, and their sister Enya, were all from the same clutch of eggs, so he looked a lot like his brother in that they all had white, black, gold scales, golden eyes, cream colored skin, and blond hair. Errol was a bit larger that Eric, and where Eric wore his hair short, Errol kept his long and braided back. You always thought that it made him look elegant, despite his size. He was still wearing his work clothes, as if he’d just come from his construction job.

You and Errol hadn’t spent much time together alone, since Eric was a little jealous of other men. He’d always been very nice to you, though, and liked you just as well as the rest of his family. He’d even given you advice a few times in the past when you and Eric were fighting.

“Can I come in?” He asked, wincing.

“Did you know?” You asked him, your throat raw and hoarse from crying.

“No, I didn’t know,” He said solemnly.

“Don’t bullshit me, Errol,” You replied harshly.

“I swear I didn’t know. I would have told you, I promise. My brother can be an asshole, but I never thought he would do something like this.” Errol grimaced. “Are you okay?”

“Do I fucking look okay?” You retorted, your voice shaking as the tears returned. “If you’ve come to get his stuff, just get it and leave.”

“I couldn’t give less of a shit about his stuff, I’m here for you,” Errol said. He held up a couple of plastic bags. “I brought take out and ice cream.”

“I’m not hungry,” You said vaguely, but you moved aside to let him in.

“I got alcohol, too,” He said as he slithered inside. “I could make you a Bailey’s float.”

You sighed and sniffled. “Okay.”

You sat at your table as he bustled around making the drink, laying your tear-flushed face on the cool surface of the wood.

“What did I do wrong?” You asked weepily with your cheek pressed against the table.

“Nothing,” Errol said as he lay the glass in front of you, moving a chair so that he could coil up next to the table. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Then why did he do it?” You asked, sitting up and taking a watery bite of the ice cream. “Why wasn’t I enough? He said ‘girls,’ which means there’s probably more than the two I know about. How long has he been doing this? Our whole relationship?”

“When he called me to come over here and get his stuff for him, I asked. I’m not sure if he was telling me the truth, but he said it’s only been the last year.” Errol snorted derisively. “Only.”

“How many girls?” You asked.

He shook his head. “He wouldn’t tell me. He kept trying to get me to side with him, but…” Errol rolled his eyes. “I’m not buying anything he says right now.”

“Did he do this to his other girlfriends?”

“Well, you were his first serious girlfriend,” Errol said. “Before you, he only dated casually, so it was never a problem. When he said he really loved you, I thought he meant it.”

“Yeah.” Your lip quivered and you stabbed the spoon into your float. “Me too.”

Errol reached out and pulled you into a tight hug, which you sank into and let loose again, soaking his shirt in tears.

“I’m so sorry,” Errol whispered into your hair.

At some point, Errol put you to bed. You were exhausted and drunk and just wanted to sleep, so he lay you down and left you to it.

When the morning came, you felt like your head had been run over with a truck. You decided to get some coffee going before taking a shower, but to your surprise, Errol was still there. He was in the kitchen on the phone, his hair out of it’s usual braid and tumbling down his shoulders.

“What the hell is wrong with you, dude?” Errol said. You immediately realized he was talking to his brother. “No, I’m not picking up your shit. I don’t care if she burns it all.” He was silent for a moment, and you could hear Eric speaking. “No… No, you’re full of shit. Do you know what a good thing you had? Do you have any idea what I would give to have what you just shit on? …fuck no, I’m not going to talk her into taking you back, are you insane?! Get over yourself… No… No, it’s not happening, you can go fuck yourself right now… Look, I don’t have time for your bullshit right now.”

Errol hung up and turned, startled to realize you were standing there. “Oh, hey,” He said. “How are you feeling?”

“Not great,” You replied honestly. “I didn’t know you were still here.”

“Yeah, you were in bad shape last night and I didn’t want to leave you alone. I slept on the couch, if that’s okay.”

“Yeah, no, that’s fine,” You said. “I was just going to make coffee.”

“Oh, I already made some,” He said, going to the coffee pot and pouring you a mugful. “I figured you could use it. I’ve got breakfast coming too, something greasy to absorb all that alcohol.”

“Thanks, I appreciate it,” You said, sipping the coffee. It was really good, but not your normal brand, though it tasted very familiar. Actually, now that you thought about it, you always drank the gross coffee Eric liked. This was a nice change. “I’m going to take a shower and wash last night off of me. Are you okay here?”

“Yeah, yeah, take your time,” He said, turning to pull down plates and prepare for breakfast.

You were about to turn to the bathroom but stopped. “Errol.”

He looked back up at you. “Yeah?”

“Thanks for… thanks.”

He smiled at you. “It’s no problem at all.”

You took your shower with your head pressed against the tile. Why couldn’t you just forget? Why couldn’t you put all of it out of your mind and stop thinking about it? What would it take to make the pain stop?

The water was cold by the time you got out, and when you went back into the kitchen, the food had arrived and Errol had everything set out on the table. He looked up anxiously when you came in.

“You okay?” He said, concerned. “You were in there for a worryingly long time. I was thinking about going in there if you hadn’t come out in five minutes.”

“I’m fine. Well, not fine, but you know.”

“Yeah,” He said sympathetically. “Try to eat. All you had last night were two bites of ice cream and a lot of alcohol.”

You picked up your fork and speared a sausage. “I must look horrible.”

“Nope, not possible,” He said, tucking into his own plate of food. “A person can look tired and cute at the same time, you know.”

You snorted, prodding your puffy face gently. “You’re too nice. Maybe I should have dated you instead.”

He laughed. “You know, it’s actually kinda funny, I was going to ask you out back in college before you started dating Eric.”

“Really?” You asked, surprised.

“Yeah, he kind of sniped you, if I’m being honest.”

“I never knew that,” You said. “Did he know you wanted to ask me out?”

“Oh, yeah, I told him,” He said, shoveling eggs into his mouth. “I told him there was a girl at my college who always went to this one coffee shop near campus, and I told him I was going buy you your favorite coffee and cookies as an icebreaker.”

Your head rocked back. “That’s exactly what he did when he asked me out.”

Errol tsked sardonically. “Yeah. I know.”

You scoffed. “Wow, what an absolute asshole.”

Errol shrugged and smiled. “Ancient history now. Do you want some more coffee?”

“Yeah, thanks,” You said as he filled your cup. “This is really good, what is it?”

“Orange and almond mocha.”

You cocked your head. “Wait… isn’t that the blend I drank at the coffee shop? It used to be my favorite.”

“I know,” He said. “I ordered some. I thought it might be a nice pick-me-up. The shit that Eric drinks is revolting.”

“That’s definitely true,” You said, looking at Errol closely. “You remembered what my favorite coffee blend was from five years ago?”

Errol looked up at you. His face seemed carefully blank.

“Yeah, but I mean, it’s no big deal.” He wiped his mouth and sat back. “I should get going, I have work in a few hours. Are you going to be okay here on your own?”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine. I think I’m going to take some personal days.”

Errol nodded.”That’s a good idea. I’ll call later to check on you, okay? If you need anything, just text me.”

“Okay,” You said, feeling a little off-balance.

Errol smiled and let himself out, and you were left standing there, staring after him as an overwhelming sense of realization hit you like a freight train.

…did I date the wrong brother all this time?

Later in the day, Eric called. You almost weren’t going to pick up, but you decided to see what he had to say for himself now that the heat of the moment had passed.

“What do you want?” You said brusquely.

“Why did my brother spend the night at your house last night?” Eric said immediately.

“...excuse me?” You replied, incredulous.

“You heard me. What the fuck was he doing there?”

“I don’t see how that is any of your business.”

“What do you mean, it’s not my business? He’s my brother and you’re my fiance!”

“Ex-fiance,” You corrected him. “First of all, you are the one who told him to come over in the first place. Secondly, I was not obviously doing well last night and he stayed to make sure I didn’t do anything stupid or die in my sleep of alcohol poisoning. And third, and I cannot stress this enough, it’s none of your fucking business.”

“Don’t bullshit me, you know he’s in love with you.”

Your head snapped back in agitation. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Oh, you really don’t know? Ms. Perfect doesn’t know that my asshole brother has had a crush on you for years?”

“You’re full of shit, Eric,” You retorted. “Don’t drag Errol into this.”

“Did you just decide to fuck my brother to get back at me, is that it?”

“Fuck you, Eric!” You hung up the phone and hit the floor, a wave of anguish washing you again. What the hell was wrong with him? Why did he have to make everything worse?

The phone rang again, and it was Eric. You decided to block him and be done with it. You got a notification from Facebook, and then Twitter, and then Instagram, all from Eric. Every new notification made your anxiety rise higher and higher until you were balled up on the floor, sobbing again. In desperation, she dialed Errol’s number.

“Hello?”

“Please help,” She begged, weeping. “He won’t leave me alone. He keeps messaging me and calling me. I can’t… I can’t do it…”

“I’ll take care of it, don’t worry,” Errol said. He sounded angry.

“Can you come over? Please?”

“Of course, I’ll be right there.”

“Okay. I’m going to turn off my phone.”

“That’s a good idea,” He said. “If I need to, I can message you on your gaming console.”

“Okay,” You said. “Bye.”

He hung up with you and you turned your phone off, sitting on the floor of your kitchen in the blissful silence, unable to get up.

Was that true? Could it be possible that Errol had been in love with you the whole time you’d been dating Eric? He said he’d wanted to ask you out. He remembered tiny details, like what your favorite coffee had been. He made you your favorite dessert when you were miserable without even having to ask what it was. He stayed overnight to make sure you didn’t get hurt or hurt yourself. He bought breakfast and defended you. He didn’t have to do any of that. He was just your fiance’s brother. Ex-fiance.

He arrived shortly after you called him. As soon as he entered the house, before he had a chance to say anything, you reached up, took his face in your hands, and kissed him. For a second or two, there was no reaction, but then he leaned into the kiss, deepening it, savoring it, before abruptly putting his hands on your shoulders and pushing you back, forcing you to look him in the eye.

“...why did you do that?” He asked you, his face grim.

“Eric told me,” You said. “He said you’ve been in love with me the entire time I was dating him. Is that true?”

Errol looked down and away. “Look--”

“You told Eric on the phone that you’d have given anything to have what he had. You meant me, right?”

“Please don’t do this.”

“Errol, look at me!” You shouted.

It seemed to take a lot of will, but Errol’s eyes flicked back up to meet yours. They were pleading with you.

“Do you love me?”

His face scrunched as if he were in pain and he swallowed hard, shaking his head slightly. “I don’t…

“Don’t…lie to me,” You said in a tense whisper, tears spilling from your eyes. “Do you?”

Tears began to gather in his own eyes. His response was barely audible.

“…yes.”

“For how long?”

“Since I first saw you in the coffee shop.”

You tried to press forward to kiss him again, but he held you firm, sniffing. A tear rolled down his cheek.

“But I don’t want to be used to get revenge on my brother,” He whispered back, his voice strangled and uneven. “It’s not good for you and it’s not fair to me. You know that.”

Your face crumpled. He was right.

“I’m sorry,” You sobbed, unable to look at him anymore. “I just don’t want to think about him anymore. I don’t want him in my head.”

Finally, Errol pulled you into a hug.

“I know,” He said. His body was tense, as if he were restraining himself. “We can revisit this later. Much later.”

“When?” You asked piteously.

“Not now. Not soon. You need time to heal and I… need to think.”

“I’m sorry, Errol,” You cried into his shoulder. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I never saw it.”

He laughed slightly. “It’s not your fault. I got really good at hiding it. And Eric always kept you at arms length from me. I think he was afraid I’d steal you away or something.”

He let you go and you stepped away, looking at the ground in shame.

“I’m sorry if I made you feel like I was using you,” You said. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

He put his hand under his chin and made you look up at him, his thumb stroking your cheek. “For what it’s worth, I’m relieved the secret is out now. Tiptoeing around you and Eric was exhausting. The engagement was my worst nightmare, because it meant I’d have to just suffer in silence forever.”

“Well, I’m glad that’s over for both our sakes, then,” You said, attempting to smile.

He smiled too, but it was very soft. Gentle. “I don’t… think it’s a good idea for us to hang out together much from now on, at least for a while,” He said, letting go. “But… we can text. We can call. If you need anything, I’m always here for you. That’s always been true.”

You nodded. “I know.” You sighed and took another step back. “I’m going to miss you.”

His smile widened sadly. “I’m not far, but… I know what you mean.”

With the both of you in tears, he turned, opened the door, and was gone. Thirty seconds after he left, however, you got a text.

>Are you okay?

You smiled through your tears, feeling glad and grateful that he was still communicating with you. >No. But I think I will be.

>Good.

>Are you okay? You asked in return.

>Honestly, I don’t know what I’m feeling right now. This was a lot at once.

>Yeah, no kidding. I think I may see a therapist to help me out.

>That’s a really good idea. Maybe I should too.

>I think everyone should at least once.

>Yeah. Do you need anything?

>No, I’m okay. Thank you for everything, Errol.

>It’s my pleasure.

Some time passed. You and Errol talked and texted every single day. Neither of you brought up dating each other and carefully avoided affectionate language. He wanted you to heal and you wanted to give him a fair chance without the cloud of his brother hanging over you.

Talking to him was effortless, like talking to yourself. You each had your own tastes and dislikes, but you both loved a lot of the same things and had similar desires. You both loved your jobs, enjoyed the same music, gushed over books you’d read, and liked playing board games. One of your favorite things to do was watch movies remotely over Zoom. It was almost like being on a date, even if you couldn’t be together.

As hard as you tried not to, you compared everything Errol did to Eric. Even still, it was obvious that Errol had always been better suited to you than Eric ever was. It was abundantly clear that you had indeed been dating the wrong brother the entire time.

On what was supposed to be your anniversary with Eric, Errol sent you a link to play a horror game with him. Errol hated anything horror, so instead of spending the day crying and drinking and cursing Eric for being alive, you got to laugh the whole day at how loud Errol screamed when he was startled. It ended up being a wonderful day.

You did see a therapist, as did Errol, and the two of you would talk about your sessions with each other, sharing the advice the counselors had given you. He also sent you gifts through delivery, like the coffee you loved and your favorite treats. Whenever you’d had a bad day or had to deal with Eric due to post-breakup business, a treat would arrive the next day, and it always put a smile on your face.

You were worried that all the time apart might change how Errol felt, but he never wavered. You woke up every day to a text saying good morning, and went to bed after talking to him for at least an hour about your day. After a month, you realized that a day or two would go by when you wouldn’t think of Eric at all. You hadn’t thought that would be possible when you first broke up with Eric, and he did still haunt your thoughts most of the time, but the respite from the emotional distress of thinking of him, even for a short time, was wonderful.

Three months after the breakup and his confession, you, Errol, and your therapists all decided that you were ready to date again. That same day, Errol showed up on your doorstep with flowers. The sight of him was like breathing fresh air after being underwater.

“Hi,” He said, smiling brightly.

“Hi,” You replied, stepping forward to pull him into a hug. He reciprocated without hesitation.

“So…” He said, not letting go. “Do you want to go out with me tonight?”

“Yes,” You said, cuddling him closer.

He pulled back and kissed you for a very long time, tasting your lips and teasing his tongue just inside your mouth. When he pulled away, he pressed his forehead against yours and just looked at your face, touching your cheeks with his fingertips. Eventually he stepped back.

“Let’s go.”

Dating him was amazing. He knew everything there was to know about you, so he took you to places you loved, to all your favorite restaurants, to concerts he knew you’d enjoy. It was like you’d been dating for years already, even though it was just a few weeks. You made out like teenagers, hot and heavy, but he was careful about being intimate too quickly, though, still fearful about being a rebound. You respected that.

You were already talking about the future, though. You both wanted to get married eventually and to be parents before you turned thirty. Before breaking up, you had been talking about having kids with Eric, which was something he had expressed interest in during the start of your relationship, but recently he had been making excuses, like he didn’t have enough in savings or he didn’t feel ready. You guessed you knew why now.

You were worried that his family would be angry with you for ending your relationship with Eric and dating Errol, but they seemed completely understanding. It was likely they were also aware that Errol had been in love with you forever, and the fact that Eric cheated on you wasn’t something they were proud of. You were still warmly invited to all the family gatherings with Errol, and while having Eric there was a little awkward, his seething anger at seeing you happy with Errol was the best revenge you could have asked for.

“They let everyone in the office have the day off. Do you want to hang out today?” You asked Errol one night after about a month and a half of dating.

“Ordinarily I’d love to, but I’m feeling kinda weird today. Squishy. I think I’m going to have my period soon.”

He wasn’t being hyperbolic; nagas with male sex organs both created the eggs and fertilized them, but they didn’t have a womb or cavity in their bodies where the eggs could incubate, which is why they needed people with uteruses to propagate the species. It took a month for the eggs to develop inside them, but after that, they could implant them into another person’s body at any time they chose. However, after a year, the eggs died naturally and were expelled from their bodies, therefore, male nagas experienced periods once a year. Eric usually went to a specialized facility where the eggs would be humanely disposed of.

“Are you sure? Isn’t it rather soon for that.”

“I went into heat last week. The eggs usually die quickly after that.”

“Oh, I didn’t realize,” You said. “Why did you go into heat? That typically only happens when nagas in a sexual relationship with someone, right?”

“That, and if you’re experiencing extreme sexual needs that aren’t being met.”

“Oh. Ohhh…” You hissed in a breath. “Is it because of me?”

“It’s nothing you need to worry about,” He reassured you. “It’s my problem. I’ll take care of it.”

You were silent for a moment of deep contemplation. He seemed to sense you were thinking about something.

“What’s the matter?” He asked.

“Do you think the eggs are still viable?”

It was his turn to be silent. “Um… maybe. Probably. I think it’ll be another week before I need to go in to evacuate them. Why do you ask?”

“I was just thinking…” You said slowly. “We both said we wanted kids. And I know we’re just starting out, and this is super sudden, and it probably doesn’t even make sense to do this now, and we haven’t even had sex yet, but… oh, god, I’m rambling…” You sighed heavily. “If you’d like, we can wait until next year when we’ve been together for longer, but… it just seems like this is a good opportunity. It… feels right, you know what I mean? If that’s what you want.”

He took another moment of silence to think really hard about what you were saying. “Are you sure about this, honey?” He asked you finally.

“Yeah. Yeah, I am,” You said resolutely. “I love you, and I’m in a good place, both emotionally and financially. I’m ready to be a mom. I have been for years.” You fidgeted with the hem of your shirt anxiously. “Is this something you want? I mean… I totally understand if it isn’t. If you want to wait, that’s fine with me. I just… I want to do this.”

His voice turned sultry. “You really want my eggs?”

You grinned and bit your lip. You’d learned through hints in conversations you had with him that he had a little bit of a breeding and pregnancy kink.

“Yeah. But we should act fast if we want them to take.”

“I’ll be right over,” He said, and the phone clicked.

You immediately went into the bathroom to get ready, feeling nervous. There was a weight of expectation on you, not just because you were talking about getting pregnant, but also because of how long Errol had wanted to be with you. You were scared that you wouldn’t live up to his expectation.

He arrived shortly after, looking excited and nervous. You pulled him into your arms and kissed him. He was shaking.

“Are you okay?” You asked.

“Yeah,” He said, touching your face reverently. “I’ve just… I’ve been dreaming of this for so long. I can’t believe it’s actually happening.”

You smiled softly at him. “Come on.” You took him by the hand and pulled him toward the bedroom. He took a deep, shaky breath and followed.

Once in the room, he pulled you in and kissed you again, deeper this time, more probing, his body pressed flush against yours.

“I’m not sure how to… begin…” He said. “I don’t know what you like and don’t like yet.”

“We can learn as we go,” You said. “We don’t have to rush.”

“Well, what do you like? Do you have any kinks I should know about?”

You laughed. “I have a few, I guess.”

“Tell me about one,” He said.

Instead of telling, you knelt down and sat on your knees with your butt resting on your feet, perched forward on your hands, and looked up at him through your lashes.

“What would you like me to do for you?” You asked, biting your lip.

His eyebrows rose and a startled smile spread across his face. “Oh,” He said. Slowly, he took off his long shirt, exposing his torso and the slit on his lower abdomen, usually closed and imperceptible from his scales, but now swollen and puckered slightly. He ran his fingers through your hair where you were crouched on the floor and came close, so that his slit was near your face.

“Touch it for me, sweetie,” He said.

Gently, you circled one finger around the slit, feeling it pulse under your touch. He exhaled sharply and his head fell back, his braid swinging. With your forefinger and middle finger, you stroked it up and down, watching it open slowly. You leaned forward and kissed it, and he spasmed, groaning.

Gradually, two dicks emerged from his slit, a long, thin one with a spear-like head, and a shorter, thick one with a bulbous head. You knew each had a different purpose. Normally, the thin one would be retracted so that nagas could just enjoy sex, but the thin one was an ovipositor. It’s what implanted the eggs. You knew not to touch it, since it secreted a numbing agent that made implanting the eggs easier.

“Now?” You asked.

“Not yet,” He said. “You’re not ready yet. Stand up.”

You obeyed, and he began to undress you. You started to help, but he said, “No, no, let me do it.”

You put your arms back down and let him peel your clothes off. And then he just looked at you.

“Stand still,” He said. “Stay quiet.”

You nodded, obeying.

“Good girl,” He whispered. “That’s my good girl.”

He started with your shoulders, letting his fingers run over your skin, down your arms, up your sides, caressing your breasts, down your belly, and reached one hand between your legs. You gasped.

“Shh,” He said. “Stay silent.”

It was a hard order to follow, as he touched your pearl and massaged it slowly, running a finger inside your slit as he did. Your breathing was uneven and you had to bite a finger, but you managed to be quiet.

“You can make all the noise you want soon,” He promised seductively. “I just want to test how good you can be for me.”

You nodded again, your body shivering at his touch.

He brought his face very close to yours, so that your lips were mere millimeters apart, but stopped short of actually kissing you. You could feel his cool breath on your neck and chest, and it made your heart race.

“You’re getting there,” He said, pushing a finger inside your entrance. You inhaled, but bit down on your cheek to stay silent.

“Good girl,” He said, pulling his finger out. "Lay face down on the bed and lift your ass up. Spread your legs open.”

You nodded again and followed his orders, doing exactly what he asked of you. He slithered up behind you and went back to touching between your legs with one hand, the other sliding up and down your spine. You felt him sink down and kiss your thighs.

“You can moan for me, darling,” He said.

You were happy to obey, and whimpered against your pillow as he licked a long stripe from behind, kneading your buttocks as he did. He moaned as he sucked on you, your legs shaking. He pressed his thumb into you as he sucked, and you thought you were going to cum. He stopped just before that happened, leaving you feeling desperate.

“Good,” He said. “You’re perfect.” He crawled over you from the back so that his face was next to yours and he kissed you. “Are you still sure about this? We can just have sex, I don’t have to breed you.”

“You want to, don’t you?”

“Don’t worry about what I want right now, are you sure you’re ready for this?”

“Yes,” You simpered. “I want it. Give them to me. Please. I want them.”

He bit his lip, looked at you like you were something he wanted to eat, and grinned. “Good girl.” He went out of view then, and you felt his hands on your hips.

“Be still,” He said. “Let me in.”

You nodded, and felt the slim tube enter your body. The anesthetic began working immediately, so you only had a vague sensation of it pushing all the way in, penetrating your womb, and fixing itself there.

“Are you hurting, love?” He asked as he lay over you, putting his arm under your head so that you could lay on it and resting his body on top of you. Your hips were still in the air and your stomach wasn’t touching the bed.

“No, I’m okay,” You replied.

“Good,” He said, sounding a bit strained, his body tensing. His stuttering breath blew through your hair. “It’s starting.”

He grunted, but you couldn’t tell if it was in pleasure or pain. His breathing was sharp and punctuated as the egg moved down through the ovipositor and into you. You could feel a small swell in your stomach, but it wasn’t painful. He pressed his forehead against your shoulder and relaxed and shuddered, gasping.

“Did it hurt?” You asked.

“Not exactly,” He replied a little breathlessly. “It feels good, but it’s also a bit of work to push it out. Sorry this isn’t as sexy as you might have hoped.”

“Who said it wasn’t?” You replied, nuzzling him. “It’s like a special kind of foreplay. Besides, I’m really enjoying all the sounds that are coming out of you.”

“I can feel that,” He said, laughing. “You keep squeezing me.” He tensed again and started grunting, hugging you tightly.

“You’re doing great,” You told him.

“This is… harder than I thought it would be,” He said stiltedly. You could feel the sweat from his brow dripping on your skin.

“You can do it,” You said, kissing his arm as it gripped you and biting his thumb. “How many do you think there are?”

“I think three,” He said. He exhaled forcefully, and you felt another swell slip into you as he panted.

“One more, honey,” You said. “Deep breaths.”

He snickered, and then groaned. “Okay…” He said. He gripped you hard as the last one came and passed through. You were beginning to feel a full sensation in your belly and felt glad this was the last one.

Once it was out, the ovipositor retracted and he flopped onto the bed, gasping like a fish.

“Whoa,” He said. “Laying them in a person is way different than disposing of them.”

“How so?” You asked, moving to lie on your side so that you could touch him. He was clammy and cold.

“That felt great,” He said, looking over at you and smiling. “Like, it hurt a bit, but it felt like a small orgasm every time.”

“Probably a biological incentive to procreate,” You said, kissing his chest and neck.

He snorted. “Probably.” He looked at you with his eyes half lidded. “It’s going to be a few minutes until you get the feeling back down there. Why don’t you spend some time and play with me?”

“Is that an order?” You asked.

“Do you want me to punish you?” He asked.

“Maybe I’ll like it,” You said with a smirk.

He took you by the chin and made you look down at the second, larger cock, which was still erect and bobbing. “Touch me.”

You went down and sat astride his tail so that he could watch you take his cock in your hand, and begin to slowly pump it up and down.

“Hmm, that’s good,” He said with a satisfied sigh. “Let me know when your feeling comes back. We don’t want to waste time.”

“I will,” You said, stroking him. Your stomach felt tight, so you rubbed it as you touched him, drawing his eye. He watched you hungrily.

“I can’t believe you did that,” He said, smiling at you.

“We’re only half-way there,” You told him. “Don’t get too excited.”

He bucked his tail and nearly knocked you over onto the bed, making you shriek and laugh.

After a few minutes of teasing and touching and good-natured laughter, the feeling began to return. You started rocking on his tail to be sure, and realized that you were extremely sensitive.

“It’s back?” He asked

You nodded, pleasuring yourself against his body.

“Good. Lay down.”

You obeyed, and he moved to lay on top of you, his tail between your legs and his slit lining up with yours, kissing you deeply and rolling your nipples in his fingers. He pushed himself inside you as he kissed you, careful not to go too deep, as the ovipositor had made you a little sore. You rolled your body against his in time with his thrusts. You were so sensitive that you could already feel the crest of ecstasy beginning to wash over you.

“I love you so much,” He whispered against your skin. “I’m so happy.”

“I love you,” You replied, your hands in his hair as he moved inside you with purpose, precision. “I’m close. I’m so close.”

He stopped immediately, and you groaned shrilly, the sensation of denial sending a shiver up your back.

“Not yet,” He said, biting your lower lip. “Not until I say. Be a good girl.”

You nodded, panting and trembling, but your body was betraying you, writhing desperately against him, trying to regain the friction.

“Be still,” He said. “I’m not going to move again until you be still.”

You squealed in need, but you did your best to make your body stop clutching at him. It took a minute, but you managed to settle down.

“Good,” He said, slowly moving inside you again. “Good girl.”

“Cum inside me,” You begged. “Please.”

“I will,” He said, kissing you. “When I want to. Be patient and I’ll reward you.”

Your body was wound so tightly that you thought you were going to explode, practically vibrating underneath him. The sight of it made him grin.

“You’re so beautiful,” He said, licking your earlobe, still keeping the maddeningly slow pace. “Do you want it that bad?”

“Yes!” You groaned. “Yes, please. Errol, please.”

He thrust sharply, but not hard, and you nearly came undone. You cried out, about to snap like a string.

“Are you always going to be a good girl for me?” He whispered sinfully.

“Yes!”

“Do you promise me?”

“Yes!”

“Say it. Say ‘I promise.’”

“I promise, I promise, please!”

His thrusts became targeted again. “Beg me some more.”

“Errol, please! Please let me cum, please!” You cried. Every muscle, every nerve in your body was screaming for release.

“You can cum when I tell you to,” He said, though his movements were extremely efficient now. He was very good at drawing this out.

“I can’t take it, please!” You begged.

“One more time, say you love me, and I’ll give you what you want.”

“I love you! I love you so much! Please!”

From there, he wasted no time, slamming himself into you with speed. In no time at all, you were a screaming, shaking mess underneath him, thanking him over and over. The tension in his body and the sudden shout and moaning from him told you that he had reached his peak too.

“Not yet,” He gasped, rearing up. “I’m not done yet.”

He had leaned up so that he could look down at you and put his hand on your stomach, feeling the new hardness there. He kept going, pistoning against your body, snapping his hips against you, and rode the wave for a second time, all focus and concentration.

The both of you came one final time before he collapsed on the bed beside you, sucking in air as hard as you were. For a few minutes, all you could do was breathe.

After some time, he left the bed and went into the bathroom, and you heard the water in the tub running. You were barely conscious when he came back and lifted you out of the bed, taking you into the bathroom, and lay you down in the warm water of the bath. You were so tired and boneless that you could hardly raise your head, so he carefully, lovingly washed your body, paying special attention to your belly.

“Are you alive?” He asked after some time of sitting next to the tub, watching you drift in and out.

“I think so,” You replied, opening your eyes to smile sleepily at him. “Do you think they took?”

“We won’t know for a while. You should take it easy until then.” He smoothed the hair away from your face and stroked your cheek. “You’re going to have my babies,” He said, laughing a little.

“I hope so,” You said, taking his hand and kissing the palm.

“Eric is going to be pissed,” Errol said, snickering.

You snorted. “Honestly, I haven’t thought about him once today. This isn’t about him.”

Errol kissed you. “You’re right. It isn’t. It’s about us.” He lay his hand on your stomach and smiled gently. “All of us.”

Only one of the eggs took, but that was okay. Errol’s parents were overjoyed to learn they’d be getting a grandchild. Both you and Errol decided Eric could learn it on Facebook, like all the other strangers and acquaintances in your lives.

You took maternity leave so that you could pass your gestational time in relative peace. Errol fussed over you, making sure you ate properly and went with you to all your appointments. You made the decision to lay the egg at home instead of the hospital, and Errol’s sister acted as the midwife. It was the toughest work you’d ever done, and Errol was the best cheerleader you could have asked for.

Errol took paternity leave, like you had done, since he couldn’t leave the egg, anyway. He incubated the egg for the rest of the gestation period, curled up around it day and night. Errol’s son, Ewan, was born six months after being conceived, and within another year, you and Errol were married.

You often wondered if things had been different, if you had dated Errol from the beginning instead of Eric, if you’d be as overjoyed as you were at the moment. But then you figured that wondering about what ifs was a waste of time. You had a happy family to look after now, after all, and another clutch on the way. There was no time to worry about the past. The future was right in front of you.

Since my work is no longer searchable, please do me a favor and reblog this story if you enjoyed it. Help me reach a wider audience! To help me continue creating, please consider buying me a Kofi, becoming a Patron, or donating directly to my PayPal!

Thanks for reading!

My Masterlist

The Exophilia Creator’s Masterlist

[youarejesting]

Sly like a...? Part 9

[Master list] [Sly Master List] Beta: n/a (at the moment) Rating: All Pairing: Hybrid!BTS x FailedHybrid!Reader Genre: Hybrid au, fluff, action, adventure, angst, drama, slice of life. Some marked chapters will contain mature/smut scenes, BUT they will not have plot in those scenes and are 100% skippable without losing your place in the story. Words: 1.5k

Summary: Human’s strive to be better, faster and stronger looking to animal DNA. Thus Hybrids are born. As the rise for designer and Pedigree Hybrids increase, so do the failed attempts. There is one species scientists are unsuccessful in creating, but, folklore says they have been here all along, hiding and blending in with the humans for many millennia. How clever they are.

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Tonight you had decided to ask Hoseok what he wanted to eat for dinner. A quick knock on his always-open door and a peek inside showed him sitting on his bed. With his arms wrapped around his legs and his chin resting on his knees he looked young. He was staring forlornly at the wall, perhaps you thought he was feeling a little homesick. The city was much different from what he was used to. 

“Hoseok, hey?” You sat beside him the scent of fresh pine on his warm-toned skin. Waving your hand within his line of sight in an effort to gain his attention. The deer blinked, giving you a bright smile and a cheery laugh. 

“Sorry, I was lost in thought?” He straightened out his legs. You patted the soft comforter in front of you. 

“Shuffle your butt over here,” you spoke softly. He continued to face the wall and shuffled over, you pulled him to lay back against you, “Are you feeling homesick honey?”

“Yeah, I guess I miss nature. It’s just, it’s so bare” he muttered looking around his room, a desk with a laptop, a bed, and bedside tables he sniffed wiping his eyes on his sleeve. “I miss it.”

“How about we get you some plants as many as you want, to fill the room, if you really want we can tear up the carpet and lay down grass instead,” Hoseok laughed as you described a tall plant by his desk flowers on his bedside tables and hanging pots from the ceiling. “You can call them, that’s why I got you this,”

He nodded taking the phone you held out to him, he dialed a number and placed it to his ear. “Hello?” 

“Hello my sister,” he said, relaxing as he heard the familiar voice. 

“Hobi!” She called through the phone, which seemed to cause a commotion on the other end of the phone as many voices could be heard, “what is it like in the city? Are they treating you nicely? Have you been eating?”

“It’s really nice and everyone is so fun and nice and we eat lots of food together,” he cheered. The family was talking happily and you grinned scratching Hoseok's head happily laughing with him. 

“We are going to decorate his room with plants,” you assured his family that he was being treated well, “oh! tonight is your choice for dinner so what would you like?”

“Unnie, Hobi likes Japchae and meat,” his sister giggled over the phone and you leaned around Hoseok and grinned. 

“What you think Hobi-ah? Sounds good?” You used their nickname teasingly but in hopes, he would feel more at home and at ease around you. 

“Mm, Hobi wants japchae!” He said cutely, making you laugh, you gently pushed his firm and warm body until he was sitting up enough to slip out from behind him. 

“Alright, you keep talking I will round up Jin and Yoongi and we will get to work cooking,” bidding your goodbyes to Hoseok’s family, you headed out to the kitchen. Yoongi was tying up his apron and Jin was playing video games with the youngest of the group. 

You decided against asking Jin as he seemed truly engrossed in playing his video games. Sorting out ingredients and finding a recipe Yoongi and yourself shuffled around the kitchen. There were moments where you reached over where he was cutting vegetables and your shoulders would brushed and just for a second you would hear a small purr. 

Jin lost to Jungkook and pouted, scuffing his slippers as he entered the kitchen, “Ya! The game likes Jungkook better!” He whined, with a grin on your face you pulled him into a hug. Arms wrapping around his tiny waist as you buried your face in the soft sweater he was wearing, it smelt sweet like figs and his ears twitched. 

“I am just happy you tried your best,” you praised him, as you felt the vibrating chittering in his chest almost like a purr but more like a rattle. He nuzzled your hair breathing in your scent. You got him to join in with the cooking. Your instructions interrupted by Taehyung who was complaining about being hungry.

Sliding between the two hybrids to get past, you got some ingredients from the fridge. You sat at the breakfast bar mixing the ingredients in a big metal bowl. Taehyung had been your neighbor for at least five years now and you knew his favorite foods. 

“Try this and tell me how it is?” you held a ball of rice out in a plastic gloved hand and he leaned in eating it. His eyes lighting up. He gave a deep mmh-mm of approval and his tail was smacking Jungkook in the thigh, the young boy looking at the offending appendage and swatted it away.

“Me too, noona” He smiled pointing to his mouth and you popped one of the Jumeokbap onto his tongue. He chewed it happily his cheeks puffed full, a purr filling the room loudly. You turned to Jin offering him a taste, he praised it with a thumbs up.

Carrying the bowl around to Yoongi you smiled, “You want to try one Yoongi?” He didn’t reply but leaned his head towards you eyes on the food mouth opened.

He let you put one in his mouth, and you pressed your ear to Yoongi’s shoulder, his purrs were definitely the quietest out of all the felines in the house, they were ones that vibrated deeply in his chest but didn’t make too much noise unless it was really quiet and you listened intently.

“I smell tuna!” Jimin grinned bounding over his long legs barely touched the ground and he smiled, “Me love, one for me”

You were trying to roll one but he had started rubbing his face on your jaw and neck impatiently, as he purred sweetly, “I am making it as fast as I can,” the words barely came out through your giggles his soft hair tickling your neck, his ears twitching at the sound.

“Here try this one,” he leaned in wrapping his mouth around the rice ball his eyes never leaving yours. “Is it good?”

“Mm very good” he hummed standing behind you his hands wrapped around your waist as you made one for Namjoon. He held out his hand and ate it, nodding before awkwardly shuffling around waiting for the food to finish. Hoseok exited his room smiling brightly, it seemed the conversation with his family had eased his loneliness.

Namjoon at dinner was a little scary all he could see was food and his deep purrs were so loud that it almost sounded like thunder rumbling outside. You brought up the question at dinner and watched them all choke on their food. 

“It is only natural, I am just wondering when and if you know your rut schedule so I can put it on the calendar and if you need any assistance during this time we can look for a suitable companion or items that can relief your needs.”

Jungkook was bright red and Jimin thought honestly, “I don’t need assistance but if when I am not in my room we could cuddle,”

“I also do not require assitance I will just be in my room,” Namjoon said with a small reassuring smile.

“I have never had a rut,” Jungkook said his cheeks never losing their rosey colour, “They gave us a hormone blocker every six months so we would behave, we just got really annoyed”

You nodded they all seemed to agree that they would be fine on their own in their room but you thought you would look into somethings as a fail safe. After your goodnights to each of the boys giving them a sweet kiss on their foreheads, you sat on Jungkook’s bed and told him more of the stories of the fox.

“In Korean legends, the Kumiho is often described as a terrifying and sad creature that strives to become a real human. It is said that a Kumiho can turn into a real human by eating 100 human livers or by marrying a human and living with them for 100 days without their true identity being discovered. There are many more theories on how they came to be but they…”

Once everyone was tucked in, you spent the night in the lounge. Searching the web for eligible companions and items that could assist the seven young men. You hoped they were all settling in nicely. A figure appeared in the hall, ringing his tail in his hands, you gave a soft smile, surprised as the figure came closer.

It wasn’t Jimin as you had first thought, it was Jungkook, you walked him back to bed and he whispered, “I am nervous what if I do something bad during my rut?”

“I know your true nature Jungkook, I know you don’t want to hurt any of the boys or even myself and when the rut passes well then you will be back to the old Koo we know and love.”

“Can you sleep in my room tonight?” He said and seeing your apprehension he added, “Just until I fall asleep?”

“Alright just until you fall asleep.” Not knowing how exhausted you were and how the bed was so soft and enticing. You had fallen asleep almost instantly, letting Jungkook pull you into his arms and nuzzle your shoulder.

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[rpbetter]

Hey, can I get some advice on improving my descriptions / becoming more literate? I feel like I'm really dull when it comes to my writing and would like some advice! Thank you!

You absolutely can, thank you for asking! I apologize it took me a bit to get to this, tumblr didn’t show me notifications and I’ve been rather busy. Hopefully, I can offer some good advice!

Please, keep in mind that, as always, it is just my advice. If these things do not work out for you, don’t feel bad about it! You just need to find what does work for you. And, if you have anything that jumps out at you that you wish me to elaborate more on, or even that simply occurs to you more specifically to ask as you read, please, do ask! I am always happy to have those questions, of course.

Being more literate in itself can help. It can also be a hindrance, however, as we tend to compare ourselves to others negatively. I’d say not to do that, but it’s something you have to unlearn, not something you can simply stop doing. We’re taught a lot of self-criticism by comparison in both the educational system and our society. You’ve got learn to approach material you enjoy as just that, something you enjoy, not a standard you need to uphold. All writers should be unique, they’re all individual people! I think the death of a good many unwritten works hinges on that, honestly; the writer couldn’t live up to their own expectations, born of comparison to their literary heroes.

That being said? Read.

Read new and diverse things, and revisit old favorites. Learn as many words as you can in whatever way works best for you; through reading alone, through word of the day apps, or looking up novel words you run across/looking up words as you write to compare them to synonyms. I know, tumblr has gotten really nasty in recent years about writers who seem to have “regurgitated a thesaurus.” There is always a bad way to do something good, there are always excesses when you’re passionate about something. Don’t replace every third word with an exotic one simply because you think it looks better. Do replace words that are, legitimately, better in how they evoke the setting or mood you are going for. Remember that word flow is important, perhaps especially when it comes to descriptions.

If you do not tend to read much material that is description heavy, I’d suggest doing so. Try to find works that are still descriptive, but fit with the genres you like to both read and write the best to get you started, but don’t stay there exclusively. It doesn’t need to be something like...let’s say, Tolkien. Not to piss anyone off, I’m not anti-Tolkien or anything, but I could never get into his works, regardless of interest or effort, because they’re so description heavy, and in ways that don’t pique or hold my interest much. So, if you find that you are not into description laden works, that isn’t a poor reflection on you! It’s more likely that you simply aren’t into those specific works, you need to find something that is more of interest to you, personally.

If you do tend to read many works that are descriptive at all, take up a few of your favorites and pick some passages within them that you enjoyed the most. Ones that you could feel. When they described an outfit, you not only saw it, you saw the way it moved on the character, knew what it would feel like to touch it. When they described a setting in nature, you had a sensory experience there as well; you could smell the hyper-specific scent of wildflowers on a warm breeze, or the electric chill of a sudden summer storm moving in.

Ask yourself what does this for you so that you can experiment with doing it yourself. Is it the words, the word flow? Is it what the author isn’t saying, leaving the reader to automatically fill in with their own sensory recollections? There are so many ways of being descriptive in writing, as many as there are writers, and as many as there are things to be descriptive about.

So, it’s, again, a bit of a situation of finding what naturally pulls you into those descriptions yourself. While there are always good rules that can apply across the board with writing, it is a creative art. If you’re only following the rules others have set down, you can end up feeling negative about the process, yourself, and the product...or your readers/RP partners feel like the work is lacking or boring. Even when people can’t quite put their finger on something, forced work feels forced, unnatural, or lacking substance.

Diversify what you consume.

I know, I just said that thing about the familiar stories! Once you’re better able to identify what it is that stands out as evocative to you, though, you can better feel that in unfamiliar works. You can get a better idea of how language itself works as a living thing. Read some things out of your usual genres, ask for recommendations from friends or family who read, check out some older works, and even follow some blogs that post a variety of poetry quotes or full poems.

Reading song lyrics and a variety of other spoken-word style things like slam poetry and rap is helpful as well. They’re all doing the same here, evoking imagery and emotion. That is what you are trying to do as well! These formats, additionally, use highly evocative words to describe in a shortened way. They are great for realizing unique ways that familiar words can be paired.

By going outside of your usual bounds, you may encounter words, writing styles, and other descriptive qualities you hadn’t considered before. If you don’t, you still end up with a fuller grasp on writing itself. Everything is a potential learning experience if you are willing to approach it that way! Use it to play around with words and styles, Use this as experimentation, and realize that it is perfectly alright for it not to work out. That’s part of the exercise of finding what works for you; realizing what doesn’t work.

When you have some ideas of what makes you experience the things being described, practice. Pick anything. In fact, incredibly mundane, irrelevant things are perfect for this. If you can describe a sock in good detail, in a way that isn’t either inaccurate or boring, giving it relevance and life, you can describe anything.

Use ask memes and writing prompts, and write them out from your character’s perspective.

Even if you are not writing a first person account, it helps you to use narrative language that the muse might use, or that gives the reader a intuitive feeling for the muse. Don’t try to fill the whole thing up with descriptions. Sometimes, just simplifying is a good thing, and will help more relevant details stand out.

For example, I will often use things in the environment around my muse to help pair with, further denote, and give the reader a feeling for the muse’s emotions, psychological state, and so on. If that muse is in a hectic state, I’m not going to describe something in the environment that isn’t, like a peaceful meadow. I’m going to describe the seeming chaos of some ants in the grass taking apart their food, the erratic seeds or spores on the wind, or the clatter of an old farm truck on the roadway that breaks up the peace of the surroundings.

It’s a very different effect than describing the entire meadow in high detail, in ways that are perceptible to my muse and not, down to a blade of grass or a rock. It then takes over too much of my reader’s imaginative process and agency without giving them anything of nonnegotiable importance about the scene or the muse. Details that reflect a state of internal distress, like the ants, seeds, or truck, then fall by the wayside of this massive scene-setting I’ve done. And, as unfortunate as it is, if you are writing RP especially, your audience is looking for details that are pertinent and impactful. They’re likely to, intentionally or otherwise, skip several paragraphs of descriptions no matter how beautiful they are.

Since you just said “descriptions” and “writing” {nothing wrong with that, I just want to be sure I’m covering as much as possible that might be of help to you}, I’m not sure if you are meaning external descriptions or more internalized, character-driven ones, and not sure if you are writing only RP, only traditional writing, or a combination thereof.

As I said above, using descriptions that reflect things about the muse is useful and interesting, regardless of how or what you are writing. So, even if you were not meaning internalized descriptions, doing the things I’m about to talk about relating to this will still be helpful!

Internalized descriptions include things like: mood, thoughts, memories, and sensory perception.

To do these things any justice, you have to really know your muse, be able to experience things from their unique perspective and not just your own - or just what you wish the reader to experience through them.

If you didn’t have inspiration for the muse, you wouldn’t be writing them, but inspiration isn’t the same as knowing them as well, maybe better, than yourself. To do that, it is a process of learning and experimentation...and practice.

Those memes I mentioned above? Those are useful here, too! It doesn’t matter if it isn’t an ask meme you want to reblog, or if no one sent you anything from it; you can find a variety of memes, save them, and ask yourself the questions.

On sentence memes, or “starter memes,” ask yourself what your muse’s internal reaction to having that sentence said to them would be, how it might externalize (or not), and if these things are true, or just your perception/what you would like to have happen. If you’ve developed this muse from scratch or spent time learning them from canon, you should have some pretty good ideas as to how they’ll feel. Expand on that instinctive or learned idea. Does it change if a different muse or character type says this? Say it is an inflammatory sentence, something accusatory, derogatory, or pushy. Do they react the same way if a loved one says it instead of a stranger? How about a person who is obviously intoxicated, or a person who is under the influence of youth, so to speak? Take that, and write out two different scenarios.

On ask, or “headcanon/development memes,” pick a question and answer it yourself. Just answer it in depth. Now, have your muse answer that question. You may notice that the muse didn’t want to answer as clearly, is lying or omitting things, and/or had other thoughts generated by that question. If you didn’t already do it this way, answer the question again as a story in which your muse goes through those thoughts. Describe their emotions using words that carry the same emotional resonance, not all descriptions need to be lengthy if the right words, right word order, are found for optimum impact on the reader. Write out the thoughts they are having, just as messy as they are naturally having them.

Outside of memes, you have yet more options for helpful exercises that get you in touch with your muse and your writing.

Try out photography and inspiration blogs. Pick a some pictures that drew your attention, and write about them descriptively. Write out how the picture makes you feel, what it makes you think about. Practice not just describing how something looks, but how it would feel to be there. Using the same pictures, write as your muse in the same way. Put them in this scene to give their experiences. It helps you get a grasp on putting impressions and experiences down in creative ways that allow others to experience it the same way, and it helps you more easily step into your muse’s mind and experiences.

Seeing things through your muse’s eyes (through the lens of their life experiences, preferences, biases, emotions, and thoughts) is critical in giving authentic descriptions. To do more of this, you can practice in every day life. Even if you cannot write it out, or write it out yet, you can consciously think as your muse. If your muse was watching this TV show or hearing this song, what would they think? Don’t just answer as, “they would/n’t like it.” Answer as to why they would or would not, what it makes them feel and think. You can continue doing this with your muse’s impressions of different environments and people.

You can even simply contemplate an emotion and how your muse feels and expresses it.

Adding on underlying and overarching emotions to the mix as you go along; emotion, and thought, is complex. We very rarely are only angry, sad, or happy. We are very rarely only thinking of a single thing, and even rarer, thinking of it out of nowhere. It’ll help you identify the way your muse experiences emotion and thought, as well as how best to describe these things.

For example, I write a muse that can easily present as simply being quiet and angry. Additionally, as the character develops, his actions and general behavior can seem to not match well with his overall, genuinely kind nature. It’s necessary for me as a writer to identify where the anger comes from, what its components are; it isn’t just anger. It’s built on the things anger so often is; frustration, sadness, and fear. It gives the reader insight and helps delineate the muse’s expression of “anger.” When the anger is coming more from a place of insulation and protection than it is frustration, it presents differently.

I describe the sensation of the most obvious emotion, the anger, but also the underlying states that have led to it being apparent. How it really feels to be a wounded animal in a corner. I describe an experience or two pertaining to the emotional pain and fear, keep it relevant throughout the text in callbacks (what set him off is related to those experiences in some way, and during or after the experience of anger, those other situations are referenced again). Maybe it is an outright flashback, maybe it is less thematically stated. The descriptions I use, again, of his surroundings-not just his expressions, tone of voice, or movements-denotes that he is in this particular state of mind. He might notice similarities in the environment relating to a previous bad experience, since he is in that mindset, or he might be noticing things in a more critical way than he normally would. Things he might see every day are being processed as hateful in some way; garish or otherwise visually displeasing, might be seen as outright harmful, or even menacing. Bold colors, sharp lines, stand out. Things come into high relief and are painted in large swaths of color, the minute details missing suddenly.

Further, you can think of things that make your own similar state of mind so much worse in these situations. Is there a repetitive sound in the background? Is the person he is speaking with seemingly blowing him off in some way? Is he hungry, tired, thirsty, in physical pain? I then write those things throughout as additional, building irritants. 

Using your personal experiences isn’t a bad thing, I really wish tumblr hadn’t gotten into that mindset. Unless you really have written a 100% self-insert character, they shouldn’t experience things exactly as you do, no. However, you have a basis to go off of already when you are describing their inner life; your own.

Maybe you have never been so wracked with grief that you collapsed, but you have been caught up in a significant loss of some sort that you can build upon. If you can better imagine what your muse’s experience is, you can describe it not only better, but also in a way that reads as legitimate. It’s not a description of grief that you could have gotten from anywhere else, doesn’t have cliché lines in it about grief, such as, “though he was drowning in an ocean of loss, he knew he had to be strong for his friends, so, he put on a brave face.” (There are other issues with that, but that’s a whole other post!)

My point is, you have the tools of accurate inner life within you, and you should use them to build that accuracy in your writing. Again, play with the words and structure, make sure you are building the feelings or otherwise being immersive about them. Keep them throughout the thread, do not have a muse magically become the opposite of what you’ve described because it is no longer convenient, and do not forgo little reminders that the muse feels the way they do, no matter what their actions might be saying.

When you describe your muse’s actions that are being influenced by an emotion, good or bad, use words that evoke the emotion while describing those actions.

If the muse is very sad, do not use words that bring to mind vivacity and passion. Don’t use metaphors that bring to mind those same things. Your muse doesn’t slink like a jungle cat to the table when depressed, but they might move in a daze, like a shadow, or a have to put maximum effort into their every step as though heading to their own execution.

I don’t think anyone should describe, let alone to an extreme, every action their muse undertakes, but when you are imparting these things with emotional tone or thought processes, it really shouldn’t be done. It’s exhausting for you to write, and just as exhausting for your reader, who is very likely going, okay, we get it, she’s angry. Like the descriptions of the surroundings, try to keep it to important and telling actions. You needn’t describe your muse’s every eye movement, but if they are so embarrassed they’re having trouble keeping eye contact, or so annoyed they glare, that is a description you want to add.

Writers never seem to forget facial expressions or dramatic body movements, which is reasonable, considering how visual a species humans are, but quite often forgo tone of voice and word pronunciation entirely. These are great ways to denote what your muse is feeling. Consider how your muse speaks most often, whether they work at proper pronunciation and hiding an accent, or if they simply let their most natural speech flow. Then, consider how different emotions might impact that. I’m not talking about the only go-to many muns on tumblr have, the “my muse speaks -first language here- when angry” thing. I’m talking about your muse entering into any emotion strongly enough to drop crisp pronunciation, outright mess up familiar and easy words, stumble, stutter, or pause. Write emotion into your muse’s speech, and don’t keep it to adding things like, “said angrily.”

That’s telling, not showing, and is the death of descriptive writing of any sort.

Doing any of the above in a document is highly recommended. Not only are you less likely to encounter tumblr eating your drafts as you work on them, you have more freedom to open it up later and play around with the structure. Additionally, writing directly on the platform can be distracting in more ways than just the desire to dash scroll! It can make you feel like you need to be doing what you owe instead, need to be responding to messages, posted memes, comments. Taking it off site feels more like your own space and time for experimentation.

I know this was long, and covered many points (though, it could always use more). So, I’m going to kind of rehash some below!

For learning and inspiration:

read things both familiar and not in order to figure out what sort of descriptions speak to you, then practice doing them yourself

read a variety of works, not just books, and not just new books; oftentimes, the lessons in older books will stand out to you even more for using descriptions that are no longer common. Those lessons still hold, like the very act of using common, highly recognizable objects and settings to describe a person, place, or thing. In those cases, see what you can rewrite that would give the same feeling using things that are currently so recognizable

don’t count out things like music and poetry, they flow with emotion and it is imperative that they give emotion and setting in unique ways

use ask/starter memes, pictures, and even common situations occurring around you to experiment with both writing descriptions and getting into your muse’s mindset

think on your own experiences with your environment and emotions

consider how your muse’s perceptions may change based upon thoughts and emotions, and/or how you can describe the setting to reflect and drive home these factors

really get to know your muse by exploring headcanon memes, giving yourself a refresher on their canon (yes, even if you wrote it), and comparing and contrasting your experiences with your muse’s on the same topics

experiment with new words, their use, and their flow

seriously, practice! Outside of writing you intend for anyone else to ever see!

Things to Remember:

you are unique as a person, therefore, you are unique as a writer...and that is a good thing, you just need to find what works for you

describe things that are important in setting the scene in ways that are not just visual; be emotive, and pick things that have bearing on the immediate topic

don’t forget that your muse’s voice and spoken words use can, and should be, impacted by thoughts and feelings

just like you, your muse is unlikely to see the same objects in the same light under any manner of strong emotional influence

also just like you, who is saying something and in what context is extremely important in how your muse reacts internally and how that is presented externally; if your muse feels and reacts the same way no matter the other party, they’re a little cardboard and you’re not being descriptive or thoughtful enough

listen, if you just really need to describe something utterly irrelevant to live another second? That’s fine, but you need to make it relevant. Perhaps, your muse noticed the cracks on that rock because they’re in an altered state - be that by way of a substance, or an emotion

there is a reason why we use clichés, and I am not going to say they should never be used, just that you should try to be more creative with them, and they should always be viable ones that truly match the mood

the same is true of words, we have some words that are just so commonly expressive of sensations and emotions that they come up quite often, but again, try to find something similar if possible, and always make sure it’s still evoking the right thing

I repeat: get in touch with your muse, even if you do not write them from first person. The language you use as a writer to describe them and their world is better if it feels like them

no support for tumblr’s anti-wordiness, but huge support for optimizing word use for maximum impact

to that end, if you’re a RPer, even a fic writer, please know that your desire to write descriptively isn’t going to be appreciated by some people. That’s their fucking loss, and you are better off without them. You will find the audience that will properly appreciate what you’re doing!

I hope some of this helped to give you some starting points you might not have thought of!

[lettering-is-my-music]

finished making all Eeveelution Pokepens!!!!! super proud of myself for this. Not only did I make the pens but I made the Pokémon blanks from scratch!

These are made from the actual Pokémon trading card. They come in both fountain pen and rollerball.

(details of the giveaway for one of these pens will be on my Instagram tomorrow!)

(please reblog I spent so much time and effort on these i ruined so many shirts because I got resin on them)

[shitty-marvel-fan732]

Jealous of a Kitten

Author's Note:

Hey y'all! So I was b l o w n away by the response to my last Loki x Reader oneshot, so I thought I'd give writing for him another go! I've had this fic in my drafts since literally last year lmao. If you end up liking it, I'd love a like, reblog, or comment to let me know! And if anyone wants to request something for Loki or any other MCU characters, feel free to send me a message and let me know! As always big thanks to @twentytwohearts for their help reading and helping out with this fic!

Y/N POV:

“Good heavens mortal, haven’t you got anything else to occupy your time besides pestering me?” Loki grumbled affectionately from his place on the sofa. He was reclined comfortably on the couch, back pressed up to my front as he rested in between my bent legs. My hands were tangled within his inky black locks, fingers lazily scratching through his hair as I braided small sections. I grinned widely.  

“Nope!” I replied cheekily, ensuring to overexaggeratedly pop the “p” at the end. “Cap gave me the rest of the day off from training, so you’re blessed with my presence all day, snowball."

The prince sighed melodramatically as he turned a page in the book currently resting on his lap. 

“I wouldn’t exactly describe it as a blessing pet” he remarked dryly. His tone was nonchalant, but I could hear the small smile in his words despite his clear efforts to seem passive. 

“Oh please, we both know you love when I ‘annoy’ you." I rolled my eyes with a giggle. Loki merely hummed in response as he continued to read whatever tome had caught his attention this afternoon. Deciding to mess with him a bit, I removed my hands from his now-wavy tresses. 

“Or maybe not?” I pouted, feigning hurt and leaning my chest away from his body. He stilled slightly with his fingers paused mid page turn. His back tensed just a bit, and I could practically hear the cogs turning in his head as he tried to decipher whether or not I was serious. Though he only panicked a moment or two, it was enough to make me silently delight in having seemingly tricked the god of mischief. He huffed childishly, his hand grabbing mine quickly and placing it back on his head. 

My smile widened so far at his reaction I was almost fearful it may actually split my face in two. He didn't say anything, but was certain Loki could feel the satisfaction coming off of me in waves. Even though I'd known from the beginning, it was nice to be reminded just how content he was to be entangled with me for the moment. He could pretend all he wanted, but I knew something about the lanky god that most people didn't. 

He was a huge cuddle-bug. 

As stiff and regal as he presented himself most of the time, he never failed to make it known just how much he adored physical contact with me. I'd even go so far as to consider him touch-starved when we'd first met. I mean, it made sense. He was a prince and the only meaningful contact he'd probably experienced came from those that used to help him dress or bathe. The thought of him going for so long -- literally thousands of years -- without the affectionate touch of another living being made me genuinely teary. Once we'd established ourselves as a couple, he instantly became a constant presence at my side. It didn't matter the situation nor the company surrounding us, if he was in the same room as I was he would gravitate towards me. Whether it was a hand resting across the small of my back or fingers linked firmly through mine, he always found some way to initiate some kind of physical touch. I was more than thrilled at his open displays of affection -- even after months of time spent together I still felt the delicious ripples of electricity run through me each time his skin met mine. 

Moments like today's were rare. Days when neither of us had any obligations or work to be done, when we could just spend time with one another. Sweet, domestic slices of life when we could just cuddle close to one another and pretend for a moment that all the struggles of the world were gone. I sighed softly as we lapsed back into comfortable silence, both of us content to simply be in one another's presence. 

But, as always, no peaceful moments around here could last that long. 

Peter came bursting through the door, looking even more flustered than usual. Which, for him, was saying something. He was wearing his suit sans the mask, carrying a giant throw blanket, with his brown curls mussed wildly and eyes desperately searching the room. He spotted Loki and I fairly quickly. A brief look of relief passed over the young boy's features as he rushed over to where we laid.

"Hey guys, uhm I could use some help," he blurted breathlessly once he reached the couch. I chuckled, amused by the poor flustered teen. 

"You'll have to be more specific than that," Loki grumbled from his place between my legs. I didn't need to see his face to know exactly his expression. Clearly he was annoyed to have our peaceful moment interrupted, and I would bet money that he was scowling at Peter as a result. Frowning slightly, I pinched the back of his arm in reprimand. 

"OUCH," he exclaimed dramatically. His arm darted out of my reach, the other hand coming out to rub the sore spot childishly. "What on Earth was that for?"

"Leave him alone snowball, he clearly needs something," I scolded lightly. He huffed once more, settling back into my legs and turning his attention back to his book and grumbling inaudibly. I rolled my eyes. 

Peter's eyes went slightly wider as they darted between Loki and I. He wasn't entirely comfortable with the raven-haired Asgardian when he was actually behaving, and given Loki's current grumpy demeanor he seemed especially on-edge. I smiled brightly, hoping to ease his discomfort. 

"What's up Peter?"

His eyes darted back to mine suddenly, relief overtaking his face at the save.

"So I was just out, ya know like patrolling, and I was helping this old Italian lady. She was carrying all this stuff right -- and I obviously figured I would try to help -- but she didn't speak English. She was like kinda mad at first and she hit me a couple times, cause I think she thought I was trying to rob her, but eventually we got everything sorted and got all her stuff back to her super old car and --" Peter rambled, words slurring together with that inhuman speed that only teenagers could seem to muster. My brows furrowed in confusion and I lifted my hands up like a criminal surrendering. 

"Whoa WHOA Spiderling, take a breath man." I chuckled good-naturedly. The teen's face flushed slightly at my interruption. 

"Sorry. Right. Sorry." he mumbled. "Anyways, so I finally get all her stuff in her car, and she just leaned into me and patted my head. I was gonna swing away, but she handed me this and drove away." 

He gestured to the large blanket in his gloved hands. My brows furrowed. 

"Okayyyyy," I drawled, still confused as to the issue. "And you're mad she gave you an afghan because…?"

His eyes sparked with realization, mouth forming an 'O'. 

"Oh no, no that's not it. I mean that is pretty weird, like why would I need a blanket in the first place. Maybe she thought I looked cold or something, but --"

"Norns, child!" Loki interrupted. He shut his book with a snap, abruptly shifting positions on the couch so he was sitting upright. "Could you perhaps get to the point sometime this century?"

I slapped his arm disapprovingly -- he scowled at me, stubbornly scooting further from me in silent protest. I turned my attention back to Peter with a soft smile. I nodded at the red-faced teen, waving a hand in indication that he should continue. 

"Right. Sorry Mr. Loki. Uhm, so anyways, she gave me this and I don't exactly know what to do with it," he finished. He opened the chunky-knit blanket to reveal the smallest, fuzziest kitten I'd ever seen. The kitten was tiny, no bigger than my fist, fur matted and full of tufts of orange and white hair. As soon as Peter opened the blanket the small kitten blinked it's tiny eyes against the harsh light. Adorable high pitched squeaks came from the teeny cat, who was clearly displeased with the sudden disturbance to it's sleep.

I gasped, my heart practically melting at the sight. I stood suddenly, hands reaching out unconsciously and making grabby motions towards the adorable creature. Peter readily complied, gently transferring the mewling baby over to my awaiting grasp. I cradled the little cat delicately, blanket and all, against my chest and cooed soft, unintelligible words of affection. My hands instantly found a spot behind the kitten's ears and began scratching lightly. The kitten responded positively, nuzzling into my touch readily and purring loudly at the attention. My heart felt like it was positively melting at the sights, sounds, and feel of the small animal in my arms. 

"It's so cute," I gushed, though whether it was to myself or the guys I wasn't even sure. I finally managed to tear my gaze from the cat when I heard a quiet growl come from Loki's direction. 

He was in his same spot on the couch, but I could instantly tell he was annoyed, even without the little grumble. His posture was rigid, hands sitting atop his legs balled into fists, and eyes suddenly dark with anger. Only moments before his face had seemed soft, the sharp planes and angles relaxed as we'd sat together. Now his expression was stony -- the stern mask of irritation he so often wore back with a vengeance. I was momentarily distracted from the small creature in my arms. Twinges of worry and the impulse to comfort him planted low in my belly ran through me at the sight. 

"He is cute," Peter's voice interrupted, clearly oblivious to Loki's abrupt mood shift. "At least I think it's a he? Anyways I can't bring him home, May is allergic to cats and anyways I don't think they're allowed in my building. I was kind of hoping you could watch him for a while?"

"Absolutely n--"

"Of course!"

Loki's head snapped up towards mine as we spoke at the same time, his scowl deepening at my response. I furrowed my brows in confusion, slightly surprised at his aggressive reaction. Peter's eyes bounced from my face to Loki's -- the awkwardness radiating from him as he shifted from foot to foot. 

"Can you not just take it to a shelter or something of that nature?" Loki seethed, glaring at the poor teen. Peter was clearly flustered by the question -- red creeped up his cheeks and he rubbed the back of his neck in discomfort. 

"Well, see, I tried that! I did, but they told me he's too young for them to take -- cause he's just a baby -- and they can't take him," he stuttered. "Plus, they said they've got too many animals right now, and if he doesn't get adopted soon then they might have to...you know…"

I gasped, instinctively tugging the now-sleeping kitten closer to my chest. Loki shrugged, nonplussed. 

"So?" he questioned. "That is what happens to unneeded animals on this realm, yes?"

My jaw dropped and I frowned disapprovingly at Loki. I knew he could still be, shall we say, difficult at times; though he was definitely on his way to being 'rehabilitated', old habits die hard and he often still struggled with concepts like compassion and kindness. Particularly when it came to anyone or anything that wasn't, well, me. Even still, how someone could look at the tiny creature in my arms without feeling the warm, protective emotions that I did baffled me. 

"We are NOT sending this poor baby to be killed!" I stage whispered the last part, glaring at Loki and cradling the kitten protectively against my chest. "Good lord Loki, just look at him!"

I held the small orange cat down slightly, revealing it's angelic sleeping face to the scowling god. He glanced at the kitten briefly before turning his attention back to me and quirking a brow. 

"I have." he stated plainly, voice laced with poorly concealed contempt. I scowled at him and stuck my tongue out childishly before turning back to Peter. 

"Ignore him Pete, of course we'll take care of him." I reassured the flustered teen. Peter's young face instantly flooded with relief and he mumbled a muffled 'thanks!' as he rushed back out of the room. 

Smiling and chuckling, I turned back towards the couch where Loki still sat. His facial expression remained annoyed and he'd crossed his arms tensely against his chest. I couldn't help but giggle outwardly at his pout; he looked like a child who's toy had been taken away. Though I found his pouty face adorable, I still found it slightly infuriating that it was over the innocent little bundle in my arms. My obvious amusement only caused his scowl to deepen and he scooched over further from me as I sat in my previous spot on the plush couch. 

"Somebody's a bit crabby," I stage whispered to the still sleeping kitten. Loki scoffed. 

"I am not 'crabby' pet," he grumbled. "I simply don't understand your fascination with this little creature.”

I chuckled, the noise hollow and closer to a scoff than anything. I rolled my eyes before turning my attention back to the small kitten in my arms. He began to stir lightly, stretching out his tiny limbs and squeaking out the most adorable yawn before turning his attention to Loki and I. His small eyes appraised the two of us with a kind of innocent curiosity. Eventually he deemed us safe enough, and he began to slowly venture out from the confines of his blanket. As he tentatively explored my lap and the small section of couch that separated Loki and I, I felt my face split into a wide smile. Warm, happy feelings blossomed in my chest at the sight of the curious creature. 

"What's your name gonna be, huh?" I cooed to the small, exploring cat. "Are you a Tom or more of a Finn hmmm?"

Loki rolled his eyes, face never leaving his book. 

"How about blot?" he suggested plainly. His tone was even, controlled, and even though his lips didn't quirk up even the slightest bit at his suggestion I was wholly suspicious instantly. Sending a frown his way, I replied quickly. 

"Dare I even ask what that means?" I quipped warily. His eyes flashed momentarily to my face as he shrugged. Even with the briefest glance I could see the tell-tale spark of mischief in his eyes. Rolling my own eyes in exasperation, I turned my attention back towards the small tabby and ran my fingers across his back. 

"Hmm, what else?" I pondered out loud. "How about Tigger? You look a lot like Tigger."

The tiny cat purred louder at my words, curling around my hand as I spoke. Encouraged, I scratched his fur a little harder. 

"You like that huh? Alright, Tigger it is!"

 A quiet scoff came from the other end of the couch. To my utter confusion, Loki was still radiating complete and total annoyance from his place across from me. He sat tensely in the opposite corner of the couch with his boots tucked petulantly beneath him and his body angled as far from mine as gravity would allow. His head was bowed down slightly, his attention seemingly directed back to his book. Despite his best efforts, I could tell that he was only idly paying any attention to the words on the page. Gone was the smooth look of contentment that had graced his beautiful features mere minutes before; his face was once more a cold veil of poorly concealed contempt as he feigned reading. The look, though common to the rest of the world, was troubling to me. It’d taken months, but I thought I’d broken through the raven-haired god’s stony exterior. The sudden return of the stern facial expression caused pangs of concern and sympathy to prod at me from within. I reached a hand out instinctively to grasp his hand in mine, determined to display my silent support. 

Despite his ‘silvertongue’ reputation, Loki often struggled to verbalize feelings of anything other than contempt, rage, or disgust. I’d learned quickly that often he didn’t need me to attempt to discuss anything he wasn’t ready for -- rather it seemed the best way to comfort him in these times was a physical show of my presence and affection. 

This time was no different, and though his head barely moved an inch I could instantly feel the way he calmed under my touch. The muscles in his hand immediately relaxed as he moved to twine his long fingers between mine. His tense expression softened, although only fractionally as he grasped my hand. He turned his attention from his book slowly, deep blue eyes turning to meet my worried gaze. 

"Hey, talk to me snowflake," I demanded softly. "What's going on?"

Loki opened his mouth to reply, but a small mewl cut him off before he could speak. I glanced down and giggled lightly at the sight of the small orange tabby beneath us. The tiny kitten had wandered down the couch and was currently sitting mere inches away from our intertwined hands with a curious look overtaking his small face. Evidently he wasn't quite pleased to have the attention taken from him so quickly, and he reached a paw out tentatively to hover above our hands. Eventually deciding it was safe, the small cat placed a paw over the tops of our hands, eyes darting between Loki and I with a kind of content curiosity that made my heart practically melt. 

Loki, quite obviously did not share these feelings, and withdrew his hand instantly. His face was once more overtaken by a deep scowl as he snapped his book shut and swiftly stood. He turned curtly and exited the room without another word. My eyes followed him as he left, brows furrowed with concern and confusion. Tigger, meanwhile, was clinging to my chest by his tiny claws, his heart beating with an insane speed. He was clearly scared by Loki's sudden moves and general demeanor, and I cooed soft words of comfort to the small creature. My eyes never left the door though, thoughts of interest and concern overtaking my mind as I wondered what exactly had gotten into my raven-haired companion today. 

A few days later

Loki's POV

Sweet giggles filled the halls of the tower as I walked towards Y/N's room. A small smile overtook my features as the sound filtered through my ears. Typically I found midgardians irritating and their laughter grating, but as was almost always the case, Y/N was an exception. Y/N simply radiated happiness at every turn, and over the past weeks the sound of her infectious laugh had become one of my favorite sounds. Her mere presence had the uncanny ability to both calm and excite me at once, and I'd grown progressively more fond of my time spent with her in a way that baffled me and those around us.

In fact, the past few days had proven increasingly difficult for just that reason. Y/N and I had spent less time together as of late -- a fact that saddened and irritated me in near equal parts. For the past few days I’d found myself yearning for more time with my dear mortal, having been separated by the rather irritating presence of a certain small animal. Ever since the young Spiderchild had thrust a stray cat into Y/N's care she had been wholly and utterly enamored with the useless pet. She doted on the feline, which she'd dubbed 'Tigger', and spent nearly all of her time either caring for, amusing, or simply fawning over it. 

It was becoming rather taxing. 

At first, once I had begrudgingly accepted that the cat wasn't going anywhere anytime soon, I'd attempted to simply ignore it and go about our time as usual. It was only a day or two before that notion was entirely dismissed. Each time I made such an attempt Tigger had made his presence unmistakably clear. The loathsome, needy thing seemed to share my desire to be near Y/N, and was constantly sitting on or pawing at her. And even the precious few moments in which it wasn't physically touching Y/N it took to mewling and crying until she gave in and picked it up. I hadn’t had a single moment with Y/N in which we were truly alone for days, and I was reaching my breaking point. 

As I finally reached Y/N’s room and entered, the smile that the sound of her laughter had put on my face immediately turned to a scowl. Inside the room was Y/N, beautiful as ever, sitting casually on her bed. The sight, which normally would have filled my stomach with a tiny stir of happiness, was marred with the unwelcomed addition of a certain small kitten. The wretched thing was sitting in between her legs, happily jumping and pawing at the toy she waved above him. She was looking over the stupid pet with such fondness in her eyes -- a look which I'd once thought was reserved only for me. Irritation overtook my senses at the sight, and I couldn’t help the scoff of annoyance that came from me. 

Y/N looked up at the sound, initial confusion turning to excitement as she realized my presence. My own feelings of resentment faded marginally at the sight of her beautiful features lighting up with a smile of genuine happiness at the sight of me. 

"Hiya Snowball!" she greeted me excitedly, rushing up from her place on her bed and striding up to where I stood. She tucked herself into the fold of my arms easily, her head resting comfortably against my chest and her arms wrapped tightly around my waist. I sighed lightly, my own arms winding around her relatively smaller frame and my face coming to rest against the top of her head.

"Hello my love," I murmured lightly into the crown of her head, placing a sweet kiss in my wake before burying my nose in the soft hairs there. She hummed softly in contentment, and we stayed in this position for some time. It could've been moments, minutes, hours -- I was never quite aware of the passing of time when I was with Y/N like this. I was wholly encased in the safe little bubble that only her presence seemed to create. I was surrounded by her: the unique scent wafting from her hair, the feel of her body melding against mine, and the soft thumping of her heart against my chest that provided the ideal background music for our calm moment together. I was completely entranced by our embrace, all feelings of irritation gone for the moment. 

But only for the moment. 

The sound of tiny cries and the feeling of a small body thumping and winding its way across our ankles broke through the peace we'd established like a freight engine. Y/N's chuckle vibrated low against my chest before she pulled herself out of my arms to peer down at the kitten. Annoyance seared through my body as she detangled herself from me and squatted down to scoop the needy thing into her arms. She stood up once more, cradling the spoiled little creature in her arms and scratching its face with her long slender fingers. 

"Someone wants a hug too, huh?" she cooed playfully to the cat. My frown deepened at her soft tone, the same tone she often spoke to me with -- the small, loving voice that had crooned to me during late nights or early morning moments spent wrapped in one another's embrace. The same tone that never ceased to comfort me or make me feel as if she was possibly the only person to truly love me. The sound that I treasured so dearly was now being directed to a lowly, disgusting animal. It sent a wave of rage through my entire being like a white hot flame. 

"Norns Y/N!" I snapped. "Can we not have a single moment without the presence of this...this animal?"

Her eyes widened as she took in my words, brows practically flying upwards in surprise and hands stilling against Tigger's face. Her wide eyes blinked a few times in complete shock as she surveyed my face carefully. 

"I'm sorry?" she questioned confusedly. I exhaled loudly in irritation, arms coming to rest across my chest in a display of my annoyance. 

"Does it not bother you that we've not spent a moment together, alone, since the creature was forced upon you?" I questioned, tone acidic and face a stone mask of anger. Her brow furrowed deeper in confusion briefly before a wave of understanding flooded her eyes. Expression softening, she set the kitten down lightly onto the floor before crossing the few steps required to reach me once more. Though her eyes held nothing but concern and understanding within the deep Y/E/C irises, her face had the tiniest hint of a smirk.

"Well I'd ask if it bothered you snowflake, but it seems that may be redundant at this point," she replied to my earlier question with ease. Her soft hands reached up towards me and wrapped easily around the back of my neck. Almost of their own accord, my own hands found the curve of her waist and held her firmly. In lieu of a response I simply scowled in her direction. She chuckled lightly, and propped herself up on her toes briefly to place a gentle kiss on my cheek before she led me over to her bed and motioned for me to sit. I complied, albeit somewhat begrudgingly, and she ensured we were settled against the head of the mattress before she spoke again. 

"Loki, are you...jealous of Tigger?" she questioned. Her tone was very matter-of-fact, but the ghost of a smirk still lingered on her face. I felt my face flood with heat, and though I'd like to blame the color on anger I was certain she could tell that I was embarrassed. Though she was largely correct, I was struck with the ridiculousness of the statement as I heard it tumble from her lips. Glancing away from her expectant gaze I mumbled out a response, though I wasn't entirely sure what it was. 

Her gentle fingers moved slightly around my head, delicately stroking the skin of my neck and face until her soft palms rested against the sides of my face. She applied the gentlest pressure to my cheek, forcing me to look her in the eyes once more. I reluctantly complied. 

"Because if you are," she continued. "I'm sure I'd have to tell you just how insane that is. Outside of the fact that Tigger is a cat and you are my not-so-human boyfriend, the idea that there's anyone or anything I'd want to spend time with more than you is just completely inaccurate. He's a baby, and he needs a lot of my attention that's all. Since you haven't been coming around much I just assumed you were busy with other things lately -- never once did it cross my mind that I was the reason I hadn't seen you much." 

I felt my furrowed brows relax slightly. Stupid and petty as my feelings may be, I couldn't deny that hearing such reassurances straight from the one person I truly cared for had taken away a considerable amount of unease from my mind. I exhaled a long breath and shifted unconsciously deeper into Y/N's hold.

"Regardless I'm truly, very sorry that I made you think I was choosing something else over you. I would never want to hurt you like that, or make you feel like you aren't the most important person in my life." 

Her worried gaze was still locked firmly on my face as she spoke. Though the majority of my chest was filled with a feeling of relief from her admission, there was a twinge of guilt lurking deep within my stomach. I often forgot just how caring and gentle Y/N could be and this may have been one such occasion. Of course she latched onto the feeble creature -- was that not what she did with me as well? It was simply a part of her nature to care for the weak or disadvantaged. 

I frowned once more as my mind reeled with the realization of my own selfishness. Y/N clearly mistook my expression however, and I could see the guilt in her eyes as she spoke up once more.

"I can ask Peter if there anyway he can watch him for a bit, maybe just give us some time alone. Or maybe --"

"No." I cut her off abruptly once again. Her brows furrowed in confusion, and she opened her mouth to reply. My own finger came up to her face fast as lightning to silence what would undoubtedly be more apologies. 

"Dearest, clearly the fault is not on your end in this case," I started, hoping to ease her mind. "We both know I often, shall we say, struggle with expressing my thoughts at times. Of course you wish to care for the kitten, just as you care for everything in your life. I was wrong to assume your affections were completely diverted and for not mentioning my feelings sooner. For both, I am truly sorry."

Her expression softened at my apologies, face relaxing under my hand as I spoke. She smiled a small grin of appreciation before thrusting herself forward and deeper into my arms. I let out a small 'oomf' at the force of her body attaching to mine, but regardless my arms wound their way around her frame and I cradled her to my chest. She sighed in contentment, and we stayed in this position for a few moments before I felt her chuckle against my body. I pulled my head back just enough to give her a questioning look. 

"I'm sorry," she giggled, face alight with mischief and glee. "Did the big, fearsome Loki just say he was sorry?"

However unintentionally I felt my face heat up once more, although this time it wasn't from anger. I rolled my eyes lightly before smirking down at Y/N's smiling face. 

"If I were you, I'd mark this day down in your memory, as it isn't likely to be said again anytime soon," came my dry response. 

I heard Y/N's melodious giggle from where her face was pressed against my body, sending delicious sparks of happiness across my frame. Outside of that, her only response to my statement was nuzzling deeper into my body -- a welcome action that I easily reciprocated. My eyelids closed as we settled ourselves into a comfortable silence, content to simply be in one another's presence. I hummed, utterly at peace with my current position, when I heard a tiny mewl from nearby. 

Opening just one eye, I saw a curious little face near mine. Tigger had evidently decided it was now safe enough to venture close to where Y/N and I laid. He was pawing hesitantly back and forth across my lap, eyes assessing me with tentative curiosity as he made tiny circles around my stomach. I chuckled at the feeling of his impossibly tiny paws kneading my lower belly as he settled into a lying position. Y/N opened her eyes at my amused chuckle and shot me a sheepish grin. 

"I'm sorry," she apologized. "I can take him somewhere else. I think Peter's around, he'd probably watch him for a bit."

I shook my head, placing a small kiss to her forehead and placing a hand on Tigger's ears.

"It's alright love. I meant what I said when I was sorry -- he didn't do anything wrong, he simply wishes to be around you as much as possible. Obviously, that is a trait we both share, and I think I could expend a bit more energy in attempting to bond with Tigger." I answered genuinely. The kitten purred loudly in response, inching his body further up my chest until he was resting just beside Y/N's face. He closed his eyes sleepily, and curled into my body constantly as he slept. 

Y/N grinned widely, her lovely face alight with such genuine love and glee that I was taken aback at her beauty. She placed a sweet kiss to my lips in thanks before returning to her place on my chest. I closed my eyes once more, smile firmly in place as I lied quietly and revelled in the peaceful moment. 

Taglist: @grahoundart

[fairylightsandchai]

The Internship - Part 3

A/N: Hello, again! Just popping in again to say that I know I don’t usually post fanfic here, but I really wanted to take part in @darkficsyouneveraskedfor​​‘s Pre-Code Challenge! Just ignore this if you don’t follow me for fanfiction. :) Also, I’ll be adding tags in a reblog. 

Read Part 2 Here! 

Pairings:  Dark!Professor!Steve Rogers x Reader

As a side note, after writing this, I made a new blog dedicated to fanfic. If you wanna check out out, click here!

Summary:  You are a student in the former-Captain America’s American History class, and you soon notice that Professor Rogers has been paying more than a professional amount of attention to you. But when he approaches you with an internship opportunity that’s too good to be true, how can you say no?

(A/N: This fic contains non-con elements, stalking, and manipulation, and this part will inclue rape, breeding kink, and kidnapping. It is also inspired by The Wild Party, a film from 1929. I hope you enjoy, and please let me know what you think.)

               You lost track of time as you lay there, your body bruised, bloody, and spent. At one point you’d tried to roll over onto your back, but your ass stung so badly at the feel of the sheets against its abused flesh that you gave up on the effort. Your mind was reduced to white noise as it played over, again and again, what had just transpired.

               Steve’s moans echoed in your ears, and even when you squeezed your eyes shut, you could still see his face as he came inside of you. Your pussy clenched at the memory and you let out a yelp of pain; you could still feel something trickling out of your used channel, but you knew that it was no longer his cum dripping out of you – it was blood.

               The worst feeling, though, was the one of guilt that was rattling in your chest. At one point, you’d…enjoyed it. You’d wanted to find your own release with him, and even though you never achieved it, you still felt fresh tears start to fall as you were overcome with self-hatred.

               Time passed by too quickly and too slowly all at once, because before you knew it, the door to your prison was once more being opened. You didn’t move when you heard Steve descending the stairs, but you could hear the rustle of shopping bags over the sound of his whistling. Once he’d set down his purchases, you heard him getting closer to you, but you still refused to so much as look his way when he sat down on the mattress next to you.

               “You ok, doll?” His voice was soft, almost uncertain as he spoke to you. When you didn’t reply, he put his hand on your shoulder and turned you onto your side, but even then the only sound you made was a groan of pain.

               You could see his face in this new position, and you almost felt angry at the look of concern on his face as his eyes skirted up and down your body.

               “…I think I owe you an apology, hon,” he said after a long pause. “I didn’t mean to get so rough with you; even if you did deserve your punishment, that was still…well, it was intense for your first time.”

               The small rebellious part of you wanted to snort at his words. Oh, you think? What gave it away, my bleeding ass or my bleeding pussy?

               But you were too scared to voice those thoughts, now that you knew what this man was capable of.

               With a sigh, Steve cupped your cheek in one hand, his eyes focused intently on yours.

               “Let’s get you a bath, doll,” he murmured.

               He stood up and leaned over the bed, maneuvering your body as if it weighed nothing as he picked you up. When his hand grazed your ass, you let out a yelp, clinging to the material of his shirt.

               “I’m sorry! I’m sorry,” he hurriedly apologized, adjusting you to lay more comfortably in his arms. “I know you’re sore; I got something at the store that should help with that.”

               You blinked away the tears in your eyes as he started to walk towards the door on the opposite wall of the bed, and once he opened it you saw that it was a bathroom. Your eyes squinted against the glare coming off of the white tile walls and floor. In the corner, there was a large garden tub, and once Steve was standing in front of it, he gingerly set you down onto your feet.

               “There you go, baby. You just stand there and wait for the tub to fill up, ok?”

               You nodded shakily, keeping a close eye on him as he rolled up the sleeves of his button-up and started the water. You took the time to look around at the rest of your surroundings; next to the tub there was a modern-looking glass shower, and dotted around the room were framed drawings decorating the walls. The one above the toilet, you realized with sickening dread, was of the very bridge in Central Park where Steve had abducted you. Next to the mirror above the sink, there was one of a blue-jay singing as it perched on a branch. And above the bathtub was one of…

               Your eyes widened when you realized it was a picture of you. Well, it was of your profile. In the drawing, you were sitting at a table, hunched over a book with your hair up in a messy bun. You gulped, looking between it and the man who was currently picking out a bath bomb from a glass case filled with them on a shelf next to the shower.

               As if he felt you looking at him, he glanced at you over his shoulder and smiled when he saw you staring at the drawing.

               “Do you like it?” he asked, finally settling on a pink bath bomb and starting to unwrap it. “I did that one about a week after I first saw you in the café on campus. I think it’s still one of my favorites I’ve done of you.”

               “Th-there’s more?” you rasped. You couldn’t tell if your voice was scratching from the screaming you’d done earlier or from Steve strangling you in the park.

               “Oh, yeah,” he chuckled. “I’ve tried to draw other things over the past couple of months, but nothing inspires me the way you do. Maybe I could get you to model for me sometime.” He shot you a wink with that last statement, but you just turned away, hugging yourself tightly.

               When the tub was finally full, he set the bath bomb into it and walked towards you, but when your eyes widened and you started backing away from him, he stopped and sighed.

               “Hon, you don’t have to be scared anymore. I love you, you know that, right?”

               “Then why,” you whispered, squeezing your eyes shut as a tear escaped them, “did you hurt me?”

               You jumped when Steve put his hands on your shoulders, resisting the urge to lean into him when he started massaging them gently.

               “That isn’t far, doll. You were being difficult. And, I mean, you hurt me too, right? Biting me when all I wanted was a kiss? You needed to be punished; I think, deep down, you know that.”

               You let out a sob, looking down at the floor and willing yourself to stop crying.

               “Shh, baby, it’s ok,” Steve cooed, pulling you into a tight embrace, “I know. It’s never easy to take a punishment. But, hey.” He pulled back and tilted your face up to look at him. “I can be gentle, too. I can make you feel so good, if you let me. I can make it all better.

               “C’mon, go ahead and get into the tub for me. I’ll show you.”

               Not seeing any other option, you slowly walked over and lowered yourself into the tub, letting out a low hiss as the warm water hit your raw skin. Once you were fully settled, though, you couldn’t help but moan softly and let your tense muscles relax as it started soothing your wounds.

               “Keep making noises like that and I might just have to join you in there,” Steve chuckled. Your eyes widened in a moment of panic, but you relaxed once more when you saw him making no moves to get in the tub with you.

               No, all he did was roll his sleeves up a bit more and grab a cup from a shelf above you. Kneeling next to the tub, he gently guided you to let your head tilt back, and then the warm, soothing water was being poured over your scalp.

               You closed your eyes, suddenly not caring about your nakedness in front of him, not feeling that same old spike of fear. You needed this; you needed a respite from the pain you’d just endured.

               “That’s it, baby,” Steve murmured, using his nails to scratch lightly at your scalp as he started shampooing your hair. “See how nice it is when you just let me take care of you?”

               You tried to tune him out as he kept murmuring soft words of encouragement, letting yourself zone out as he rinsed out your hair. You didn’t even protest when he took a sponge and started washing your body.

               But when his hand started trailing lower and lower, you finally opened your eyes and grabbed onto his wrist.

               “No,” you said, trying to pull his hand away from the apex of your tightly-clenched thighs. “Please, just…let me?”

               Steve let out a sigh through his nose, but he relinquished the sponge to you. Nodding your thanks, you slowly opened your legs, wincing when you saw a thin ribbon of blood twist up through the water from your pussy.

               “Oh, baby,” your captor sighed, moving his hands back to your shoulders to continue rubbing them. “I’m so sorry. I promise that once we start having sex more often, it won’t hurt as much. Soon, you’ll want it just as much as I do.”

               With a stilted gasp you tore yourself away from him, clambering to the other side of the tub and pressing yourself against it. Steve let his head hang with disappointment, shaking it once before turning to look back up at you.

               “Do you want another punishment?” he asked, the cherry-sweet tone completely gone from his voice.

               Gulping, you shook your head, holding the sponge to your chest as it heaved up and down with your breathing.

               “Then get back here and let me finish your bath,” he growled.

               Turning away from him, you slowly, reluctantly moved back to your previous spot, gasping when you felt him tear the sponge out of your hands.

               “There you go,” Steve sighed, sounding exacerbated. “I won’t warn you again, baby. Behave. I promise I’ll give you something special if you do.”

               He didn’t talk anymore as he finished washing you, gesturing for you to stand up when you were all done. You hurriedly took the towel he offered you, wrapping it around yourself to provide some form of cover over your body.

               “Not so fast, doll,” Steve said, turning you around to face the mirror. “Lift the towel up and bend over for me, ok?”

               You stared back at him in the mirror as you complied, silently begging him not to do whatever it was he had in mind. He stepped out of the room for a moment, but when he came back he was still fully-clothed, a green bottle of aloe vera in his hand.

               “This should help you feel better,” he explained, squeezing out a dollop of the gel and rubbing it into your skin.

               You let out a soft sigh, grateful for the relief it brought; the stinging in your ass started to fade away as he massaged in the jelly, and when he was all done, he let you fix the towel around yourself once more.

               “I’m gonna go clean up a little, now,” he told you, pushing some of your damp hair out of your face. “You do whatever you need to feel comfortable, ok? Dry your hair, put on some clothes if you really feel the need to, whatever will make you feel better.”

               “Clothes?” you asked, looking around the bathroom to see if you’d missed any.

               “The closet’s through the door the left of the bed when you walk out,” he instructed.

               With that, he left, and once the door was finally closed you rushed to lock it behind him, even though you knew it would do nothing to stop him if he really wanted to get to you. You let yourself sink to the floor, finally letting the tears you’d been suppressing fall while trying to stay as silent as possible.

               How had this happened? You’d seen all the warning signs; why hadn’t you heeded them? How would you escape this place – escape him?

               You closed your eyes and pulled your knees up to your chin, trying to trample down the anxiety rapidly expanding in your chest. You were smart; you could get out of this. But you couldn’t let him get the best of you.

               You tried to think back and analyze your situation from a clinical standpoint, devoid of emotion. There was only one door that led out of the room you were in, and you’d heard the jingle of keys when Steve was opening and closing it; you assumed that Steve kept those keys with him wherever he went, probably in his pocket.

               So now it was a matter of getting the keys. You knew that you would only have one shot to get them; if you failed in any way in your escape attempts, Steve had said he would tie you to the bed and keep you there. If that happened, you could kiss your freedom goodbye.

               Your first option was to try and be sneaky; you could wait until Steve fell asleep and try to steal them from his pocket. But with his super-hearing, you knew that the chances of that plan succeeding were slim to none. He would hear you with those keys from a mile away, and you wouldn’t be able to outrun him to the stairs.

               Your next option was to try and convince him to let you out. The pros of that were that he, in his own words, ‘loved’ you. If you could convince him that you’d fallen for him, too, then maybe he would get more comfortable with you. You could ask him to take you on a date after a while, or say some bullshit about wanting him to meet your mom.

               But you shrugged off that idea; it would take too much time, and you didn’t know if you could wait that long.

               Your last option was to fight; you were tempted to just laugh that option off, but something in your memory gave you pause. You traced back your steps, remembering when Steve had first cut you loose from your ropes.

               He’d used a pocketknife.

               And then it dawned on you. Maybe the way out wasn’t through using just one of those plans. Maybe it was using a combination of all three.

               “Hey, doll? You okay in there?”

               You jolted, looking up to the door from your spot on the rug.

               “U-um,” you called out, hurrying to your feet. “Yeah! Just… trying to figure out how to use the hairdryer!”

               You searched beneath the sink, finding the device in question and plugging it in.

               “You need any help with it?”

               With trembling hands, you turned it on, praying that he wouldn’t come in.

               “No, thanks! I got it.”

               You didn’t even usually dry your hair, but you didn’t tell Steve that. You just used a comb while the hair dryer was running, watching your reflection’s movements.

               You were going to get out of this place, even if it killed you.

               When you were finished in the bathroom, you held onto your towel tightly and walked out into the bedroom. Steve was stripping the bed when you walked past, and you winced when you saw the large bloodstain on the white sheets you’d left behind.

               Tearing your eyes away from the sight, you scurried into the closet and closed the door behind you. Looking around at the large space, your eyes fell to the teddy bear in the corner; it was the one Steve had won you at Coney Island.

               You looked at it pleadingly, as if it could help you escape, but all it did was slump against the wall.

               “At least I have one friend here,” you sighed to yourself sardonically.

               Tossing your towel into the hamper by the door, you surveyed the room around you. Most of the closet was taken up by dresses. The majority of them had short poodle skirts and low necklines, but towards the back of the small room you found a rack of nightgowns. The longest one reached just to your knees, and its neck- and hemline were lined with lace. You would’ve preferred a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt, but there were none to be found. The chest of drawers shoved up against the wall was filled only with lingerie. Your stomach had turned over when you saw the frilly, lacy undergarments, cringing to think of Steve picking them out for you.

               When you’d pulled on the nightgown and the most modest pair of panties you could find (they were lace like the others, but the material was thick enough not to be see-through), you took a deep breath and opened the door.

               The first thing you noticed were the fresh set of sheets covering the bed; these ones were a dove gray, the same color as your sheets back home. Steve was sitting in one of the armchairs by the bookshelves, a paperback novel in his hands. You just then noticed that there was a vase of fresh flowers sitting on one of the nightstands – daisies.

               “Oh, hey, baby,” Steve said, standing up from his chair and walking over to you. You turned away when you saw how his eyes were raking up and down your body, focusing instead on the daisies, so pretty and innocent, like you used to be.

               “Hey, you like those?” Steve asked when he saw what you were looking at. “I always liked daisies. They were my mom’s favorite flower.”

               You flinched when you felt his hand on your cheek, but otherwise you remained motionless as his fingertips drifted down to the neckline of your gown.

               “I knew you would look good in this,” he murmured. “Just like an angel.”

               You cleared your throat, shifting on your feet.

               “I-I’m tired,” you stammered. “What time is it?”

               He glanced down at his watch, letting out a short whistle.

               “Sheesh, it’s already 10 pm. No wonder you’re tired,” he remarked. Then, a sly smile stretched across his features. “Plus, I must’ve worn you out earlier.”

               Your knuckles were white with how tight you were clenching your fists, and you felt a wave of nausea settle in your belly when his hand moved down further, palming at your breast.

               “It wasn’t all bad, was it? You were practically begging me to make you cum there at the end. And don’t,” he murmured, pressing his lips against your ear, “forget what I told you after; good girls get to cum. And you’ve been very…very…good this evening.”

               “Please, Steve,” you whispered, trying to push him away, “Please, can I just…go to bed?”

               That sly smirk was still on his face as he nodded his head.

               “Sure, baby. Go ahead and crawl into bed.”

               You gulped as you did as he said, lifting up the sheets before laying down. His hand caught your wrist when you moved to cover yourself with the blankets, though, and you nearly screamed when he started crawling onto the mattress.

               “Steve, please, I just want to sleep,” you begged. “Please; I’m so sore, I don’t want-“

               He shushed you, pressing a finger to your lips while his other hand started creeping up your inner thigh, slowly pushing your nightgown up.

               “Don’t worry, baby,” he assured you, pressing a soft peck to your lips. “We don’t have to make love again. But I do wanna show you, just like I promised. I wanna show you how good I can make you feel.”

               You didn’t know what to feel more sickened by – the hand that was delicately peeling off your panties, or the fact that he’d called what he’d done to you ‘making love’. You wanted to kick him right in his perfect teeth, but then you reminded yourself of the half-formed plan you’d come up with in the bathroom. If it was going to work, you would have to make him believe he was winning you over.

               At least, you told yourself that that was the reason why you let out a moan when his fingers grazed your clit. You bit your lip and looked up at the ceiling, feeling the heat of his stare as he slowly started spreading your wetness around your sensitive bud.

               “You know, you’ve been acting like you don’t want me,” he murmured, his nose brushing against yours, “But your pussy sure is wet for me. How do you explain that, hm?”

               You didn’t answer, simply allowing your eyes to close as he kissed you again. It was nothing like your first kiss; it had been bruising and possessive and punishing. But the way he was kissing you now was…pleasant. His tongue slowly dragged along the seam of your lips until they opened for him, and he didn’t rush the pace of it. No, he kissed you as if he was unwrapping a present, as if he was savoring every last bit of your mouth.

               “I wanna show you how I wanted it to be,” he whispered. “Our first time together.”

               He slowly started moving down your body, lifting your nightgown up around your hips as he dragged your panties all the way down your legs. Your ass stung with the slide of fabric against it, but when he pressed you down into the sheets and kissed the top of your mound, the discomfort started to fade.

               You gasped when you felt his tongue slide against your folds, and you unconsciously spread your legs for him. You glanced down just in time to see his smirk widen before he delved in, sliding his tongue over your entrance and up to your clit.

               “Fuck-“ you moaned, your back arching up against your will.

               Your hand clapped down over your mouth, trying to muffle the noises that were escaping it as he started slowly lapping at your bud, but Steve heard them anyway. Your eyes were wide open, staring at the ceiling as you started losing yourself in the pleasure. No one had ever done this for you before, and Steve definitely knew what he was doing.

               The sloppy sound of his tongue moving against you filled the air alongside the soft moans you couldn’t hold back, and each time your hips bucked up, each time you gasped as he moved his tongue at just the right angle, you heard him let out a growl.

               When he slid in one of his fingers, he was met with no resistance, your pussy greedily sucking in the digit as he suckled at your clit. You glanced downwards and could see your wetness glistening within his beard, and for a reason you would feel ashamed about later, you felt yourself clench at the sight.

               First one and then two more fingers were added, but the stretch was delicious, nothing like the burning feeling of his cock slamming into you earlier. Once more, you felt your orgasm rising up inside of you, but once more he pulled away at just the last second. You did nothing to contain your desperate wail at having your release taken away so cruelly, but when you looked up to see Steve unbuckling his belt, you frantically tried to push yourself away from him.

               “Hey, none of that,” he snapped. “You were being so good. Just let me do this and I’ll let you cum.”

               You whimpered, but when he lay between your legs again you forced yourself to stay still, not wanting to face yet another one of his brutal punishments. His mouth crashed onto yours, forcing you to taste yourself on his lips.

               This time, when he entered you, you only felt a small twinge of pain. The moan that escaped your lips, though, came as a surprise to you both. The head of his cock was pushing against that spot so deep down inside of you, and you couldn’t help but moan again when he drew himself almost completely out of you and thrust back in, dragging his dick along that spot once more.

               “Oh, baby,” he sighed, working his hips slowly, “you have no idea how good you feel…”

               Your nails dug into his biceps when he started to move faster, rolling his hips fluidly and hitting that spot that made you see stars. You kept your eyes on the ceiling, trying to imagine that it was anybody else on top of you, that you were back home in your apartment instead of some basement. That you were free instead of trapped with this madman.

               “I’ve thought about this for so long,” Steve whispered in your ear. “Fuck, I’ve wanted to feel you cum around me so bad-“

               He clenched his teeth and let out a growl, all of a sudden starting to slam into you. Your eyes met his for a second as he rose up onto his knees, lifting your hips up to meet his thrusts as if you were a ragdoll.

               “Take it, doll; take me nice and deep-“

               “F-fuck-!” you cried up, feeling your orgasm starting to build up once again. Your hips were moving of their own accord, trying to rise up and chase your release as the pleasure inside of you crested.

               Finally, finally, you felt the knot inside of you burst, and you heard yourself screaming Steve’s name as you came. You couldn’t tell if your eyes were closed or open for a moment; vaguely, you were aware of Steve letting out a howl as he came inside of you, but you were floating, not able to concentrate on anything except the aftershocks of pleasure coursing through you.

               “Doll? Doll, you ok?”

               You blinked, focusing on Steve’s face as he panted above you, and nodded your head. You let your arms fall back to your sides, feeling as if they weighed a ton each.

               “Good,” he smiled. “Thought I’d knocked you out there for a second.” His lips were warm and wet when he kissed you, and you noticed that he was still very hard and very much still inside of you.

               “Didn’t I tell you that I could make you feel good?” You gasped when you felt him start to thrust again, feeling a twinge of soreness as he bumped against your already-battered cervix. “Hm? Can you feel it now? How perfectly we fit together?”

               You were too spent to anything but lay there as Steve took you again. For a moment, you felt as if you were going to pass out from exhaustion, but then his hand had roughly squeezed your cheeks, prompting your eyes to fly open.

               “Eyes on me, hon,” he panted. “I wanna see you cum again; you’ve earned it.”

               At first, you thought it would be impossible, but when you felt your lower half stirring once again, you gripped onto his shoulders again, looking up  at him pleadingly.

               “You getting close, baby?” he grunted. “Say it. Tell me how good it feels.”

               You were silent, looking away in shame, but his hand smacked your hip, causing you to yelp and look back up at him.

               “Say it,” he demanded.

               “I-It feels so good,” you whispered.

               “Are you gonna cum for me again?”

               One of his fingers found its way to your clit, and your entire body jolted as if it had just been electrocuted.

               “Y-yes!” you cried. “I-I’m gonna cum!”

               “Then say it,” he growled. “Say, ‘Please, Steve, let me cum.’ C’mon, be a good girl and ask politely.”

               Your back arched up off of the bed when his fingers quickened, and you rushed to comply with his order before you came again.

               “P-please, Steve, let me cum,” you begged. “Please, please, I’m so close, I need-“

               “I know what you need, baby,” he moaned. “I know what you need. Cum for me, doll. Cum for me-“

               Before he could even finish his sentence, you were cumming. You felt your pussy clamp around him, and with a muffled, “O-oh, God-“, he was finding his release as well.

               After he’d pulled out of you and rolled over onto his back, you didn’t move, shame starting to creep its way into your afterglow. You tried to tell yourself that it was all part of the plan, that you were only pretending to like what he was doing because you wanted him to trust you. But deep down, you knew that that was a lie. You’d never cum that hard in your life.

               “You were so good, (Y/N),” Steve sighed, pulling you against his side. “I love you so much, doll. I wanna take such good care of you.”

               You let your head fall onto his chest, too exhausted to fight your way over to the other side of the bed. He was still whispering sweet little things in your ear when you fell asleep, his quiet declarations of love becoming more and more disturbing as you drifted off.

               The last thing you registered him saying before you went to sleep was truly terrifying, sending an icy spike of fear straight through your heart, and it echoed in your dreams while you tried to rest.

               “You’ll make such a good mother.”

_________

               The next day, you woke up alone, a note resting on the pillow beside you. Trying to ignore your aching muscles, you sat up and read it.

               Good morning, beautiful. I’m out running a few errands, but I’ll be back around 9 with some breakfast.

               I love you.

               Rolling your eyes, you swung your legs over the side of the bed, letting out a groan of disgust when you felt his dried cum flaking off of your thighs. You waddled into the bathroom and, after struggling to figure out how his shower worked for a solid five minutes, you took a hurried shower, scrubbing your skin raw as if it would wash away his touches from last night.

               By the time you finished, it was around 8:30, so you took your time getting dressed. None of the dresses were really your style; they looked vintage, like something from Steve’s time. Your stomach turned as you pulled on the first dress you saw that didn’t actively repel you; you hated playing along with his sick fantasies.

               Your dress came down to your knees, and it was black with tiny little cherries embroidered across it; its skirt flared out at the hips, swishing gently with every step you took. When you finally exited the closet, you meandered over to his bookshelf, skimming the titles.

               There was at least one copy of every book you owned back home; he must have gone into your apartment at some point.

               “Sick freak,” you muttered to yourself.

               You paused when you came to a book that didn’t look like all of the others; sliding it out of its place, you realized that it was a leather-bound sketchbook. You opened it to the first page and smiled at the drawing of the New York City skyline; even though you knew Steve had been the one to draw it, you couldn’t deny that it was a well-done sketch.

               Your smile fell when you turned to the next page, though. It was a drawing of you, like the one Steve had hanging up in the bathroom. In this one, though, you were laying down in bed, wearing the oversized college sweater and pajama shorts you usually wore to bed. You gulped, flipping to the next page – another picture of you, laughing at something he hadn’t bothered drawing.

               Feeling a wave of nausea rising up in your throat, you kept flipping the pages. You, you, you, you – they were all of you, save for two. The one of the skyline, and then one of a man. You thought that his face was familiar, but you couldn’t place where you’d seen him before.

               He had long hair in the drawing, and his cheeks held a thin layer of stubble Steve had shaded in. Aside from his handsome features, the most striking thing about him was his metal arm. You frowned as you stared at the man’s face, certain that you’d seen him somewhere.

               The door behind you opened suddenly, slashing through the silence in the room with the squealing of its rusted hinges. Steve walked in holding a brown paper bag and a large wooden box, giving you a radiant smile when he saw you.

               “Hey, doll,” he said, setting the objects in his hands down onto the bed. “You look fantastic in that dress; I knew you would the moment I saw it in the store.”

               You forced a smile to your face, trying to ignore the hammering in your heart; focus on the plan, you told yourself. Focus on the plan.

               “Thank you,” you told him meekly.

               He walked over to you and pressed a kiss to your cheek, his smile only growing when you didn’t move away. His eyes skirted down to the sketchbook still in your hands, and for a moment you were afraid that he would be upset with you for being nosy.

               But he only took the book from your hands and studied the drawing of the man you’d been looking at.

               “You checking out more of my artwork, baby?” he asked. “What do you think?”

               “Um… I think it’s really good,” you said, forcing a strained smile to your lips. “You’re a really good artist.”

               Steve seemed to glow under your praise, and he leaned down to press a soft, lingering kiss to your lips.

               “Thank you, baby,” he smiled. “That means a lot coming from my best girl. Speaking of! I brought a present for you.”

               He gestured for you to follow him to the bed, and you watched as he excitedly opened the box atop of it. Inside, there was a brand new Crosley record player, and beneath it were a stack of records.

               “I have one of these at home, but I figured it would be nice for us to have some music while we’re here,” he explained. “Did you know that record players are getting popular again? A brand new record shop opened up close by; I guess history really does repeat itself, huh?”

               You nodded, starting to flip through the records. You noticed that two of them were from your favorite band. There were several dedicated to older music, too - Frank Sinatra, Nat King Col,  old movie soundtracks.

               You looked up to see Steve watching you expectantly, and you gave him another weak smile.

               “This is great, Steve,” you assured him. “I love it; thank you.”

               “You’re welcome, baby doll,” he cooed. You felt his arms wrap around you from behind, and his breath was warm against your ear when he spoke. “I do have one condition, though.”

               You gulped, fearing the worst when you felt his pelvis press against your ass.

               “Wh-what’s that?”

               “That you dance with me,” he said, “after I have it all plugged in.”

               You nearly slumped with relief, and you nodded quickly.

               “Sure, Steve. We can dance together if you want.”

               Your captor’s face lit up, and he quickly let you go to start hooking up the machine. You sat on the bed as he worked, reading the back of the records to see what songs were on them. Every now and then, your eyes would look up to Steve, sliding down his body to his ass. Or, rather, to the shape of his keys where they rested in his back pocket.

               “Alright, hon, I-“ Steve straightened up and caught you staring, his lips twisting up into a smirk when your eyes rushed to meet his. “Oh? See something you like?”

               Your cheeks burned, and you emphatically shook your head no, but he still had a mischievous look on his face as he walked back over to you.

               “There’ll be plenty of time for that, later,” he chided you. You opened your mouth to protest, but you gave up before you even began.

               He flipped through the records until he found the one he was looking for, gesturing for you to follow him as he went to put it on the player. When he set the needle in place, the sound of a vintage big band flooded the air, and you recognized the tune as “It’s Been A Long, Long Time” by Harry James.

               “This is my favorite song,” Steve explained, moving your hands to rest on his shoulders. You felt his huge palms rest on your hips as the two of you started swaying. “I knew from the second I saw you that I wanted to share it with you.”

               You sighed, feeling your heart constrict. If things were different, if he hadn’t done all of the horrible things to you that he had, you would have melted upon hearing him say that.

               “When did you first see me?” you suddenly asked. “You mentioned yesterday that, um… Well, you made it sound like you’ve known me longer than just two months.”

               He smiled, looking almost sheepish for a second.

               “I saw you for the first time back in April,” he confessed. “You were sitting in the café with Tina, and just… I’d always laughed off the idea of love at first sight, you know? I didn’t think it was possible. But you were so beautiful, so…perfect, and I just knew you were the one.”

               You felt as if something had sucked all of the air out of your lungs. April. He’d been stalking you, he’d been obsessed with you, since April.

               “Why,” you asked, “Why didn’t you just…talk to me? Why do all of this?”

               Steve flinched, his eyes sparking with that same anger you’d seen yesterday, and you ducked your head, letting it rest against his chest.

               “I heard you telling Tina you didn’t wanna date until you graduated,” he eventually admitted. “And I just knew I couldn’t wait that long. I… I waited too long one time; I wasn’t going to let it happen again.”

               You had no idea who he was talking about, but you didn’t press the issue, just continuing to sway to the beat with Steve. When he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you flush against him, you let him, letting your hands trail down his back, towards the pocket where he kept his pocketknife.

               Now isn’t the time, you reminded yourself, forcing your hands to stop at the small of his back. Soon. You just have to be patient.

__________

               Five days went by, and if it wasn’t for the terror of cohabitating with a crazy person, you would’ve been bored with the routine you’d fallen into.

               In the mornings, Steve would usually be gone. The only appliance in the small space was a minifridge, so he would usually stock up with food for the day in the mornings. While he was away, you would shower and dress, and when he came home you would let him give you a kiss.

               After that, the two of you would read while sitting on the couch; he forced you to sit in his lap, but the books always served as a good distraction. In the afternoons, after lunch, he would ask you to model for him. At first, it didn’t bother you so much. The first day he drew you, you’d sat in one of his armchairs reading, ignoring him for the most part.

               On the second day, he’d asked (or ordered, more like it) you to wear one of his shirts, leaving it open to show your lingerie underneath.

               “I don’t feel comfortable doing that,” you’d said at first, desperate for him not to force you into any state of undress. “What if someone finds your sketchbook and sees?”

               Steve had just smirked and pecked your cheek.

               “Then they’ll know that you belong to me,” he’d answered. “Now go on, don’t be shy. It’s nothing I haven’t seen before, doll.”

               On the third day, he’d made you pose in lingerie he picked out – a pale pink, lacey bralette with matching panties. You’d been on the verge of tears the whole time he was drawing you, but in his final picture, you’d had a smile on your face. You’d wondered, then, if that’s what he always saw when you were sad. If he really was so crazy as to believe you were happy with him.

               After dinner, he would put on the record player and lay with you on the couch while the two of you talked. Or, actually, he would talk. You would zone out most of the time, only muttering a quiet ‘uh-huh’ every now and then. Mostly he would talk about his childhood, sharing stories with you about his mother or Bucky. He’d even opened up about ‘the only woman he’d ever loved’ – a British agent named Peggy Carter.

               You couldn’t help but wonder if he would have done the same things he was doing to you to her. You hoped not; you hoped that he’d only lost his mind after he’d been fighting for so many years in a time he never should’ve lived to see. But you would never know for sure.

               The one thing in your routine you refused to get used to was the sex. Every night, and at least once during the day, he would fuck you. And the only time you never came was on the first night, when he’d stolen your virginity, your innocence, and, really, your life.

               It was never as brutal as your first time had been. His touches would start off gentle, teasing your skin as he whispered filthy things into your ear. He, thankfully, never asked you to give him oral, but he sure seemed to love giving it to you. You’d lost count of how many surfaces he’d eaten you out on; on the second day, it had been the bathroom counter. On the third, it was the sofa and then one of the armchairs. Really, if it was horizontal and strong enough to support your weight, he’d made you cum atop it.

               You still never got used to the stretch of his cock inside of you, though. Because, while nothing was as bad as that first night, the stretch always stung, always took your breath away. That initial pain never lasted for long, though. Soon enough, whether you liked it or not, you would be moaning for him. He would always, without fail, make you beg to cum, and you always, without fail, would. You hated it even as you loved it, but it was only when you noticed yourself craving his touch while he was away that you knew something had to give.

               He was conditioning you to want him, but you would be damned if it would be that easy to break you.

               On the fourth night, you stayed awake, waiting for his arm to loosen around you in his sleep. When it did, you waited even longer, not moving a muscle until you heard him start to snore. Holding your breath, you started wiggling away from him, lifting his arm off of you as you slid towards the bed.

               When you were finally out of his grip, though, you heard him stir, turning onto his side to face you.

               “M’where ya goin…” he mumbled, voice rough with sleep.

               “Just to the bathroom,” you whispered. You squinted in the darkness; the only light in the room came from the glow of the alarm clock, but you could just make out the movement of him nodding before letting himself fall back against the pillows.

               “Hurry back,” he slurred. “’s cold without you.”

               You slid your feet onto the cold floor, dragging them with your steps, heading towards the pile of his clothes he’d left on the floor. When you felt your toe come in contact with them, you threw yourself onto the ground, making a gasp of mock-surprise.

               “(Y/N)?” You saw Steve sit up onto his elbows, looking towards your prone form on the floor. “You ok, baby?”

               “I’m fine,” you assured him. As you stood up, you fumbled, knowing this was your only chance. “Just tripped on your clothes; go back to sleep.”

               He hummed and laid back down just as your fingers slipped into the pocket of his pants and found his pocketknife. You slipped it out of its pocket and stood up, wrapping your fist around it as you went into the bathroom.

               You locked the door behind you and sat on the toilet, going about your business as you studied the weapon in your hands. It wasn’t large, but it was something; one more part of your plan was fulfilled.

               You stowed it between some towels in the linen closet and washed your hands, stepping out of the bathroom to find Steve standing up, naked as the day he was born, holding his jeans in his hands.

               “S-steve?” you asked, doing your best to calm the wild hammering in your heart. “What, um… What are you doing?”

               He looked up at you, and for a moment you felt all of your hopes, all of your plans, torn into pieces. But when he smiled, you faltered, forcing a matching smile onto your lips. Maybe it wasn’t all over.

               “They’re still here,” he said.

               “Um… What’s still there?” you asked.

               “The keys!” He walked over to you, cupping your cheek. “Sorry, I just… I thought maybe you would, uh…”

               “Try to take them?” you finished. He smiled sheepishly and nodded, pecking your lips.

               “I’m sorry, doll,” he sighed. “I should’ve trusted you. I just… I don’t want anything to happen to you. To us.”

               You made yourself grin and cup his cheek.

               “Steve, I… I don’t think I want to leave anymore,” you said. “I mean, I would like to leave this place, but… I promise I don’t want to leave you. I’m starting to think… Well, maybe it sounds silly, but I’m starting to think you might’ve been right. Maybe we were made for each other.”

               Steve inhaled deeply through his nose, his lips parted as he searched your face of any signs of a lie. You carefully schooled your expression into one of honesty, meeting his eyes with a small smile and praying that you were a better actress than you’d previously thought in your life.

               His eyes started watering, a tear slowly rolling down his face as he looked at you, and suddenly you were being lifted up into his arms. He pressed your body flush against his, kissing your shoulder with trembling lips.

               “God, baby, I… That’s all I’ve ever wanted to hear you say. I love you so, so much,” he said. He sat you down, a broad grin parting his lips as he wiped away his tear. “Jeez, doll, I don’t think I’ve cried in years. What’re you doing to me?”

               You blamed the small prick of guilt you felt on Stockholm Syndrome and pushed it aside, giving him the most earnest grin you could muster.

               “Let��s go back to bed,” you suggested.

               That night, Steve made love to you slowly, and you were able to stop acting as he pulled orgasm after orgasm out of you – first, with his fingers, then with his tongue, then with his cock. He left the lamp on so his eyes would never have to leave yours, and something in his blue eyes made it impossible for you to look away.

               The next morning, you woke up before him, something that had never happened before. You sat up in bed, turning to your side so you could watch his sleeping face. He seemed peaceful; you never could have guessed that so much evil could reside underneath his handsome features.  

               But your sore muscles were a testament to all he had done to you, as were the finger-shaped bruises on your hips. With a sigh, you started to move away, but then his eyes opened and he smiled at you.

               “Good morning, baby,” he murmured. “How are you feeling?”

               “Sore,” you answered honestly, drawing a chuckle from him.

               “But a good kind of sore, right?” He didn’t wait for your answer before standing up and walking over to the closet, pulling a cableknit sweater out of the drawer he’d reserved for himself and a pair of boxer briefs.

               “I’m thinking breakfast burritos this morning,” he said as he dressed. “What do you think?”

               “That’s fine,” you answered, standing up. You’d grown accustomed to him seeing you naked, though your skin still crawled anything you caught the hungry look he would get in his eyes. “Just hurry back to me, ok?”

               Steve paused at this, arching an eyebrow at you.

               “You…mean that?” he asked, and you smiled. Now was the time to sell the act.

               “Yeah, Steve.” You leaned up on your tip-toes, pressing your lips to his for just a fraction of a second. “I mean it.”

               He broke into an ear-to-ear grin and captured your lips once more.

               “God, I love you,” he breathed before pecking your forehead. “I’ll be thirty minutes tops, ok?”

               You nodded, giving him one last peck before going into the closet to pick out your clothes for the day. You threw on a pale blue dress, walking out into the main room right as the door at the top of the stairs clicked shut behind him.

               It was time.

               With your heart beating a mile a minute, you ran to the bathroom and retrieved the knife from its hiding spot, clicking open the blade and gripping it in one of your hands. As you walked out of the bathroom, your eyes swept over the space you’d been living in for the last half of the week, wondering if there was anything you should take with you. But there was no money to be found; you’d spent most of your mornings alone looking for anything that would help you.

               But no, the only thing you would need was Steve’s keys. And, if your plan went accordingly, you would have those soon enough.

               On shaky legs, you climbed the stairs, pressing yourself to the side of the wall as you waited. When Steve first walked in, he wouldn’t be able to see you where you were currently standing, a fact that you would be taking advantage of. You played out all of the possible scenarios in your head, heart beating frantically; you wouldn’t be surprised if he could hear it on the other side of Brooklyn.

               You didn’t allow yourself to relax as you stood there, keeping all of your muscles tight as a bowstring, your knuckles white from how hard you were gripping the knife. You can do this, your brain kept saying. You can do this.

               You jolted when you heard his keys slide into the lock on the other side of the door. It was now or never.

               As soon as he walked through the door, you were on him, plunging the knife as deep as you could into his chest.

               “SHIT,” he wailed, reflexively throwing you off of him.

               Your back hit the wall so hard that, when you landed on the ground, you were winded, but you still managed to scream when you felt Steve’s hands on your biceps. You thrashed as he tried to pick you up, slashing blindly with the knife until you saw blood covering your hands.

               “YOU FUCKING BITCH-“ he screamed, punching you in the side as you slashed across his chest. You stumbled, knowing immediately that he’d at the very least bruised your ribs, but you were being fueled by adrenaline.

               You ducked when he tried to grab you again, plunging the knife into the side of his thigh and pulling it out, washing as blood spurted out of the new wound. Steve went down onto one knee, clutching at the hole in his leg frantically.

               You stumbled to the side when his other arm swung out at you, trying to get past him to the door. A hand wrapped around your wrist, though, jerking you back towards him so hard that the knife went flying out of your hand, clattering down the stairs.

               “I’m gonna make you pay for this,” he was growling. Despite the menace of his words, though, you could see his face getting paler by the second, and when you kicked him in the shoulder as hard as you could, he lost his grip on you.

               For a second, you felt as if the world was moving in slow motion. As soon as he lost his hold on you, you spun to the side, running out of the still-open door. Gripping the handle with both hands, you wrenched it shut behind you, just barely catching the look of surprise on Steve’s face as he tried in vain to reach the door in time.

               You thanked the heavens that his keys were still in the lock, and with shaking hands you hurried to lock him inside. As soon as it was done, you watched as the handle started jiggling wildly from the inside, and for a second you only stood there in shock, staring down at the blood on your hands.

               But then you heard an animalistic yell from its other side, and you stumbled back when you heard the distinct booming of his fist pounding against the door.

               “LET ME OUT,” he screamed, his voice more high-pitched and desperate than you’d ever heard it before. “LET ME OUT YOU FUCKING BITCH!”

               The metal groaned when he hit it again, and you didn’t want to stick around to see if he would actually manage to break it down. Turning on your heel, you started walking down further into what you now recognized as a house. You were in a hallway with photographs lining the walls, and you gasped when you realized who they were of – you.

               Every single picture was one of you – in your bed, in a classroom, in a library. They were all of you. You hurried past them as the banging got more and more insistent, heading straight for the front door. You only paused when you saw a wallet resting on the side table beside it, hesitating only for a moment before grabbing it.

               “I’LL FIND Y-“ you heard Steve start to shout, but his voice was cut off as you walked out the door, slamming it shut behind you.

               You blinked in the sudden rush of sunlight; you were on in the city. The distant shapes of skyscrapers rose up behind a row of brownstones, and when you saw a taxi driving by, you stumbled down the steps of the home behind you and waved at it frantically.

               When it paused on the side of the road, you didn’t hesitate to climb into the backseat despite the protests of its driver.

               “Watch it, lady,” he cried. “Is that- What the fuck are you doing covered in blood? You better not get it on my seats, or I’ll-“

               “I need you to take me to Buffalo,” you interrupted him.

               The cabbie laughed, and you could see his eyes roll in the rearview mirror.

               “Yeah, right, girlie,” he chuckled. “I don’t go out of the city.”

               You rooted around in Steve’s wallet, pulling out a handful of hundred dollar bills and holding them out to him.

               “I can pay you $500 now, and I’ll give you $500 more once we get there.”

               It only took the cab driver a second before he put the car in drive and started heading down the street, rolling down the partition to accept the cash.

               “Jeez, lady, you must be in some kind of trouble,” he sighed. You leaned your head back, the gravity of what you’d just done weighing heavily on your shoulders.

               “Not anymore,” you replied. “Not anymore.”

[ask-de-writer]

In the Desert (1 part), a fantasy of Dirkhan in the Desert and Uman the Fat

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IN THE DESERT

by

De Writer (Glen Ten-Eyck)

Cover by Wind the Mama Cat

1474 words

copyright 2013

All rights reserved.

Reproduction in any form, physical, electronic or digital is prohibited without the express consent of the author.

Copyright fair use rules for Tumblr users

Users of Tumblr.com are specifically granted the following rights. They may reblog the story. They may use the characters or original characters in my settings for fan fiction, fan art works, cosplay, or fan musical compositions, provided that such things are done without charge. I will allow those who do commission art works to charge for their images.

All sorts of fan activity including but not limited to art, stories, musical compositions, plays or anything else is ACTIVELY ENCOURAGED.

///////////////////////

The nomad’s arrow thumped into Uman’s camel. That was an accident. He had meant the shaft for Uman. The beast gave an expressive groan and took off like it had wings instead of feet. Very few things can catch a camel that has made up its mind to run. Uman the Fat hung on and let the camel have its head. It easily out-paced his pursuers’ horses and settled down to a distance-eating trot.

Uman reflected that he was not much better off now than he was as a prisoner in the gem mines of Lusk. He earned that fate by being a mercenary on the wrong side of a civil war. He’d always earned his living by dame Fortune. Uman had been many things in his life: fortune hunter, thief, adventurer, mercenary soldier. The big adventurer had worked harder for his independence than most who labored for a living. In the process, he had earned and lost more than many would ever see.

On the first day of his flight from Lusk, he had the misfortune to run into a band of nomads. Even worse, they knew him from the recent civil war. Hence, the arrow flighted at him.

On the second day after his camel was hit, it began to stagger and show severe distress. Before noon, it pitched onto the ground and died. Uman gathered as much of his gear as he could carry and began to walk.

The Skrald Iden seemed even hotter once he was on foot. The heat caused shimmering mirages that made the stones waver and dance. Uman walked as long as he was able. At last, he came to the end of his water, and soon after, the end of his considerable endurance.

Uman drained the very last drop of water from his canteen. He shook it in futile frustration. He was about to hurl it away with an oath. Thinking better of his action, he contented himself with the oath. Rehanging the canteen by its strap, he averred to himself, “Never can tell, it might be useful again.”

Spying an outcrop of rock that ran from east to west, Uman hastened into its shade. “This will last until the cool of the evening. Travel will be easier then,” he thought, loosening his head-cloth and settling himself as comfortably as he could. He began a futile attempt at napping to save his energy for the evening and night’s travel.

He could not get comfortable. There were hard, lumpy little stones everywhere. Looking more closely, he saw that there was a layer of gravel under the cap of rock on the outcrop.

“This looks like the gravel they made me dig when I mined for gems in Lusk,” he muttered to himself, running some of the small stones through his fingers.” I wonder…”

Uman began idly scrabbling at the gravel to pass the time. He was about to give it up as a complete waste of effort when he found a pebble that looked different from the others. He licked it, to see better what it looked like. A brilliant blue winked back at him when he held the dampened stone in the sunlight. “I don’t believe it! This is a sapphire or I’m a eunuch!” he exclaimed.

Uman began digging at the gravel like a terrier digging for a rodent. With each new find, he exclaimed in delight and dug again. After a while, he rested from his digging. In his hands were five sapphires, three rubies and a beryl.

As he admired his finds he said, “This is a nice little packet. Still, I have to get out of the Skrald Iden alive if I am to enjoy it. I would trade the lot for enough water to get to Derkhan.”

Suddenly he froze. A desert viper had silently crept to within inches of his leg. “You spoke my name and I am here,” said a voice that rasped like dry stones within his brain. “Your bargain is acceptable.”

“Who are you? Where are you?” asked Uman in an urgent whisper.

“I am Skrald Iden and I am beside your leg,” came a reply like a slide of sand.

“There is a viper by my leg. Is that you?” inquired Uman softly.

“That is my form. I am the god of these waste-lands. If you honor the bargain that you offered, I will not bite you. I will guide you to water.”

“It’s a bit strange, conversing with a serpent, but I will follow you,” replied Uman with more confidence. He gathered his few possessions and stood up, saying, “Lead on.”

As he followed the reptile through a maze of tortured rock, he said conversationally, “I thought that Skrald Iden was the name of the desert.”

The reply in his brain was like a sere wind. “It is the name of the desert. This desert was named for me.”

Uman was tired, hot and thirsty after several hours of following the reptile. He was beginning to stagger some when a small building came into sight. It was made of a translucent green stone.

The building proved to be a small temple. As he entered it, he faked a stagger so that he could lurch against the stone and feel it with his hand. It had a cool, almost silky feel.

The altar was empty. The snake crossed the floor, found purchase on several inconspicuous projections and climbed onto the altar. It grew larger, until it had filled the top of the altar, arranged itself neatly and turned to stone.

The desolate voice spoke inside his brain once more, “Your bargain, man. Put all the stones that you have found into my mouth.”

Prostrating himself before the altar, Uman asked, “Are your fangs still poisoned? They look sharp.”

The arid voice inside his head replied, “I will not hurt you, man, if you do as I say. Water awaits your cooperation.”

Placing the stones into the god̓s mouth, Uman asked, “I know that you do not come every time that someone speaks your name. Was I just lucky?”

“Indeed you were,” replied the god, its scales turning from dusty brown to jewel-like blues, reds and pale green as the stones vanished from its mouth. “Most of my time is spent with my fellow gods. I look over my desert about once every hundred years. Those works needed to keep my land untamed were just finished and I was about to go when you spoke my name and thereby gained my attention.

“Even when I am not here, worship pleases me. Bring others to my temple. You will know where it is.

“Dig no more gems from the desert. They are mine.”

A set of certainties began to form in Uman’s mind. He knew the location of all the water-holes between the temple and Derkhan and the best routes between them… Then, he felt an absence and knew that Skrald Iden was gone. It was only a short way to the first water-hole. He filled his canteen and took a long, refreshing drink. “I don’t have to dig any more gems,” he muttered as he returned to the temple. Carefully dislodging small block of the green stone from the temple, he said, “An adventurer has to take what fortune gives him.”

For four days, he was sustained by his dreams of the wealth that the temple would bring him. He worked his way through the wilderness of stone and sand, going from water-hole to water-hole until he came to the caravan track that lead to Derkhan-in-the-Desert.

Uman glared at his last date as if it were the fault of the fruit, somehow, that it was the last edible thing that he had. It did not make a satisfactory meal. After that, he went hungry.

A day and a half of trudging the dusty caravan route brought him to Derkhan. Uman entered the city by the Gate of the Setting Sun. He made his way past the blank facades of the homes of the wealthy, passing the small shops and hovels of the poor. He pulled his head-cloth tightly about his face. There seemed to be more flies in Derkhan than in all of the deserts round about. Once he found the market-place, he sought out a trafficker in gemstones.

“I have borne this across half of the Skrald Iden,” said Uman with pride, holding out the small block of translucent green stone. You will find it worth your while, I think.”

“You carried it that far?” asked the gem dealer, taking the stone. “Jade is indeed be worth my while,” he said, scratching the rock with the tip his dagger, “but this is only soapstone.”

In the back of his mind, Uman heard the sound of laughter like the sliding of dry gravel and sand.

-THE END-

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This completes In the Desert. If you enjoyed what you just read, please go to the Master Story Index for links to all of the stories that I have posted on Tumblr.

[k1ngtok1]

“What child doesn’t wish to fly”

Hi hello yes if you know me, you know I love me some winged!Roman. Hope you like it! Please give me some feedback! Reblogs and likes are appreciated and cherished! The word count is 2,603

Tw: Knife mention, blood mention, remus being remus, mild cursing, pain, 

Relationships: brotherly Creatitwins, platonic LAMP, prinxiety if you squint and put on glasses

Summary: Roman has wings. Let’s not shy around that. They were big, fluffy, brown angel wings, and they were awesome!

At least to him.

Roman sighed as he easily slipped on a hoodie that looked almost exactly like his tunic. It wasn’t a recording day, so he could wear something a little more comfortable than his usual outfit. Tucking his wings into said hoodie was the hard part.

“W-why won’t you just- c’mon” he grunted angrily, trying to tuck the lower feathers of his wings into his jacket or at least his pants. It would be uncomfortable sitting on them, but if it meant the other sides didn’t find out, then he would bear with it.

“Kiddo! Breakfast is ready!” Patton chirped from outside the door. Roman panicked a little, he couldn’t let Patton come in, lest he see.

“I’m getting ready! Be out in a moment!” He called, managing to get the feathers of one wing inside his jacket, by the way they were angled, he could tell they were going to hurt later. Just another price he would have to pay to keep his secret hidden.

“Ok! Don’t take too long though, wouldn’t want your eggs to get cold.” Patton replied, leaving Roman to assume he walked down the hallway into the kitchen. Roman could not let those eggs get cold. He increased his efforts, desperately swatting at his feathers before slowing down a little and finally being able to tuck them into his pants. The symmetry would bother him later, but all that mattered now was the his eggs stayed warm.

As Roman opened his door and started towards the kitchen, he thought about what this whole hiding-his-very-cool-wings thing was for.

This whole thing started because he was anxious. Wow, now was starting to sound like Virgil! But yes, he was ...anxious. He was scared, terrified even, of what would happen if he were to reveal his extra limbs to the others.

You see, Roman hasn’t always had wings. After the split, Roman and Remus were your average, actually, scratch that, your not-so-average run of the mill twins, in that they hate each others guts most of the time, but Roman would gladly stab an army of dragon witches to death for his brother, as would Remus.

Being Thomas’ more... wholesome creativity, he was the one who took over aspects such as hopes and dreams. And Thomas, like any child, miiiiiight have had a tiny, no, huge dream of being able to fly. So imagine 8 year old Roman’s surprise when he feels sharp pains below his shoulder blades. It wasn’t agonizing just yet, but it was enough for Roman to summon his worse half.

“Is this an occult meeting? Was I finally summoned by my loyal followers? Where’s the bod-“ Remus stopped talking when he saw his brother curled up on his bed. “Oh wow, you look like someone stabbed you with a bunch of knives and didn’t stop the internal bleeding when they patched you back up,”

Roman could care less about Remus’ description of him at that point, the pain was worsening. Small spasms of pure hurt were shooting though him.

Remus, finally realizing that yes this is real and yes his brother is in pain, ran over to Roman, having to crawl up onto the bed in order to properly reach him. “What’s wrong?” Remus said, seriously, for probably the first and last time in his life.

“...h-hurts....m-my back...” Roman managed to squeeze out between pants and rapid breaths.

“Uh.. uhhhhhh,” Remus said, eloquently. He really was great at comforting others, wasn’t he.

Luckily, Remus didn’t have to think of a way to help Roman, because now his red and white leach of a brother was clinging to his midsection and getting his outfit wet with tears.

After ten very long minutes of agony, Roman felt... weird. His brain felt as if there was an army of ants crawling through it. Little ants with jackhammers and megaphones, that is. He could feel the comforter below him, but his arms were still wrapped securely around Remus. He had long pants on, so it couldn’t be his legs. And what was that weight on his back?

“Woah,” Remus whispered, astounded. “Look... y-you...”

Roman shifted slightly, trying not to move his sore body any more than he needed to, and proceeded to gasp at what he saw he saw. He was NOT expecting to see feathers, much less connected to him!

“Rem?” Roman was starting to panic. “W-why ar- is t-there...” he trailed off, more tears starting to fill his eyes. What was that? Why did it come out of him? What in the name of Cinderella’s left slipper was going on!?

After Remus somehow managed to calm down Roman (a miracle, truly), he started to admire his new additions. Somehow already feathered (he didn’t question it), they were a burnt amber color, with small ember-like sparkles dusted in places. He tried to lift one of the wings, but only managed a few inches before stopping.“...Im still confused,” he said, quietly. “Why... why do I have wings?” He asked.

“Well,” Remus started, “we could ask Logan?” He suggested. “He almost always has an answer for everything!” He said, smiling.

Roman thought about it for a minute. “No,”

Remus’ smile fell a little, “Why not?”

Roman sighed “Logan hates things that are ‘illogical’, and I think this counts,” he chuckled, lifting his wing up a little bit again.

Remus persisted, “What about-“

Roman cut him off, “I don’t think I wanna tell anybody, Rem. They’ll look at me weird,” he explained. This was a very plausible outcome in the child’s mind, that or he watched too many movies.

Remus looked like he wanted to argue, but Roman stared at him with a pleading look, and he backed down. The two brothers spent the rest of the day researching birds and testing out his wings in the imagination. He enjoyed himself.

“Earth to Roman, come in Roman,” he saw a hand waving in front of his face. His eyes followed the arm the hand was connected to and eventually landed on a sleep deprived Virgil’s face. He looked around, noticing how somehow he was sat at the bar in the kitchen, and had been blankly staring at the marble counter for about 5 minutes now.

“Oh, sorry,” he apologized quickly, “Daydreaming,”

Virgil shrugged and went back to his food, allowing Roman to loose himself in his thoughts again. At least until Logan came into the room.

“Salutations,” he said, dryly. Not waiting for a response, he marched over to the fridge and pulled out a half full jar of crofters. During this, Roman remembered his eggs, which had cooled significantly, and started stuffing his face. Logan walked over to the seat on the other side of Roman, and sat down.

“Welp,” Virgil started, getting out of his seat and putting his dish in the sink, where Patton was washing them, “imma go mentally prepare for the day, see y’all in like, two hours,” he started walking out of the room. Passing Roman, he gave him a rather large pat on the back.

Right on one of his wings.

Roman’s eyes went wide. He sat strait up and dropped his fork as a weird tingling- almost painful sensation went down his spine. Everyone turned to look at him, Patton was concerned, and Logan had half his face full of jam. Virgil awkwardly pulled his hand away from Roman’s back.

“Are you ok, kiddo?” Patton questioned. Concern was evident in his eyes as he cocked his head slightly to the side.

“Everything’s fine, padre,” Roman assured the moral side, praying that no one questioned him further.

“I don’t know if I believe you,” Logan asserted. Roman was starting to internally panic.

“Seriously! I’m fine!” Roman racked his brain for an excuse, “Virgil’s hand was just really cold,” 

Virgil looked at him incredulously, “You’re wearing a hoodie,”

Fuck, Roman needed to work on his lying. He stood up out of his chair, “Thanks for breakfast, Padre, but I have some... script... stuff to work on,” he started to walk toward the hallway. Unfortunately Logan got there first, blocking the doorway.

“Not so fast, Roman. We know something is troubling you, and we are your friends, are we not? It would be emotionally beneficial for you to tell us, so that we may help,” Logan reasoned.

Roman was backed into a (metaphorical, he was really still in the middle of the kitchen) corner. “I told you, I’m fine!” He repeated. All he wanted was to get to his room and do something to make his wings stop feeling so uncomfortable.

“Bullshit” Virgil declared, ignoring the small ‘language!’ from Patton, “You’re hiding something, and it’s hurting you, so give it up you limp noodle!”

The limp noodle in question was very panicked at this point, slightly shaking. He couldn’t let them know, he couldn’t. That would only mean bad things. He needs to get back to his room. He needs Remus. If they know they’ll hate him. He doesn’t want them to hate him.

Apparently he wasn’t hiding his panic as well as he thought was, because Patton walked over with a concerned frown, “Oh, Roman,” he put his arms around his child and squeezed him in a large bear hug.

Patton’s arms were right on Roman’s wings.

Roman cried out and slumped against Patton, causing them both to fall to the tile floor below. He curled up into a ball, his breathing turning ragged. It hurt, it hurt just like the first time he got his wings. Only this time he didn’t have Remus. Apparently you’re not supposed to press down on the joints connecting the wings to the rest of the body.

Surprisingly, it was Virgil who was the first to act. “We need to get him to the couch. Patton, help me get his hoodie off, Logan, go get some heat packs” he ordered, thinking that Roman must suffer from back cramps or something similar.

Logan hesitated for a moment before rushing off, leaving the others to carry a slightly limp Roman to the couch in the living room. They tried to pull off the prince like hoodie, but because of the feathers tucked in haphazardly earlier, Roman cried out whenever they tried. Patton’s eyes lit up with an idea, and he rushed off to go find some scissors, letting Virgil sit there, holding the prince’s hand, trying to be a source of comfort for him.

Virgil was abso-fuckin-lutely freaking out internally, but he had to be there for his friends. Before long, Patton come back holding a pair of sharp scissors in his hands, taking care to walk, not run, like they tell you to do in school. He carefully snipped along one of the seams on Roman’s hoodie, silently promising to sew it back together later. He started to get confused when, among the red and gold of the prince’s t-shirt, there was a brown feather.

“Is that..?” Patton trailed off. He focused back on the hoodie. Soon, he had it all the way clipped, and was about to ask Virgil to help flip Roman onto his stomach in order to have better access to his back, when he saw more of those strange feathers.

“Virgil?” He looked toward the man in question.

The purple clad man noticed the feathers, alright. But he didn’t have time to wonder why Roman was keeping bird leafs in his jacket. “Help me flip him over,” he asked Patton, who nodded and set down the scissors.

Apparently Virgil DID have time to concern himself with the feathers in his friend’s jacket, seeing as those feathers were connected to said friend.“...I guess we know what he was hiding,” Patton chuckled.

This was the moment Logan decided to burst into the room carrying a multitude of heating elements. “I acquired some  heat packs, as well as the rice sacks you place in the microwa-“ he stopped short, noticing the large bird wings attached to Roman’s upper back. “...I’m not even going to ask,” he stated. And set down the electronic heat packs, before taking the others into the kitchen.

Roman was... confused, to say the least. The pain has lessened to the point where he could think again, but the others had seen his wings, hadn’t they? Why weren’t they disgusted? He-he thought-

“Roman, kiddo,” Patton said to the winged side, “how are you holding up?”

Roman started tearing up, but he refused to cry, lest Patton think he was in more pain then he was, “I-it still hurts, but not as much,” he admitted, a small smile (or grimace, that too) gracing his features.

Patton nodded and leaned down to pick up one of the heat packs, which he plugged in to a nearby outlet. “I have a heat pack, do you think I could put it at the base of your wings?” He asked.

Roman nodded, and Patton placed the device on his back. Almost instantly the pain lessened. It was still there, but Roman felt like he could breathe again. Logan walked in and wordlessly handed the now warm heating packs to Patton, before sitting on the ground in front of the couch next to him. Patton held up a heating pack, gently placing it near the bottom of the wing base.

“So...” Virgil started, awkwardly, “This is what you’ve been hiding?” Some of his panic from earlier was slipping into his voice. Roman grabbed his hand from where he laid on the couch, which to be fair, was a little awkward, but Roman wanted to comfort Patton’s dead gay son.

“Yeah,” Roman replies breathlessly, rubbing his thumb over Virgil’s knuckles. No one spoke for a while.

Logan was the one to break the silence, “How long?”

Roman replied simply, “since we were eight,” he looked down at the ground and stopped rubbing Virgil’s knuckles.

“You didn’t need to,” Roman perked up when he heard Logan speak. “What do you mean?” He questioned.

 “You did not need to hide this from us,” Logan assured, “These are beautiful. I have no idea why you would want to keep them hidden” he answered honestly.

Roman looked back down at the ground, feeling Virgil giving his hand reassuring squeezes. “Because... because I was scared,” he admitted, “I was scared you would think they were weird- think IM weird,” he felt Patton’s hand on his shoulder.

“We would never,”

No more words needed to be said. Roman looked into Patton’s eyes and knew he was telling the truth. These were his friends. His family. They care about him. They won’t reject him. They aren’t going to leave him. Remus was right. Roman started to tear up a little.

“Thanks, padre,” his voice shook a little, bit one said anything about it, “can you help me sit up?”

Patton nodded, before grabbing his shoulders and sitting him up so that his wings were spread out in a way that would not hurt them further. There was some pleasant conversation between the winged side and his companions. Roman started to forget about the ache in his shoulder blades.

“I’m going to need to study your wings, Roman,” stayed Logan, “I want to see how they work in the air,”.

Roman grinned, “sure, I’d be happy to,”. He felt content sitting with his friends. Maybe he should have reveled his wings sooner.

“Roman?” Roman turned to look in the direction of the noise, “Why is it that you have wings?” asked Virgil.

Roman chuckled before answering,

”What child doesn’t wish to fly?”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Make-up Assignment

Warnings: noncon sexual acts and rape, coercion, breeding/forced pregnancy.

This is dark!Ransom Drysdale and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Based on this drabble request: Ransom Drysdale + “No, not there, in my lap.” + breeding/forced pregnancy + Maybe dark professor ransom with a naive student? Like naive naive, too trusting as request by Anonymous

Your nerves were running wild. The way your heart dropped at the sight of your grade still resonated within you. You couldn’t fail this course and if you did, you had to wait over a year to retake it and that could mean an extra term entirely.

You couldn’t help but fidget as you watched Professor Drysdale read your paper over again. You wanted to know why he gave you such a low mark, a better explanation than the slanted writing on the last page. You needed another chance.

“It’s a well written paper but your thesis just wasn’t strong enough. It’s not what we discussed,” he set it down on his desk, “it’s about symbolism and yet you spend so much time on the literal descriptions.”

You twiddled your fingers and frowned. You couldn’t say you didn’t struggle with the essay but all that effort, the sleepless nights, and the hours spent bent over a library table had done nothing to help. Were you really that hopeless?

“Can I-- Can I make it up?” you asked, “please, I could rewrite it or do an extra paper--”

“I don’t do that,” he shook his head, “it’s not fair, is it? You had as much time and resources as every other student--”

Your eyes blurred with tears as you folded your hands against your lips. You bit down and sniffed back the wave of dread. It wasn’t impossible to pull yourself back up on your other assignments but it wouldn’t be easy.

“Hey, come on,” he leaned forward, “don’t cry.”

“I’m not-- I’m sorry, I’m just overwhelmed,” you dropped your hands, “I really did try and I just… I don’t know what I did wrong.”

“Well,” he flipped the front page again and perused your introduction, “we learn from our mistakes, don’t we? Let’s go over it and it might put things in perspective.”

“Alright, I… okay,” you murmured and wiped your sweaty palms on your skirt.

“You can’t see all the way over there, come on,” he waved you around the desk and slid his chair back just a little.

You stood, slightly confused, and rounded the desk. You stopped by his shoulder and bent as his fingers tapped on the paper. He chuckled and pulled his hand back. He rubbed his thigh as he looked up at you.

“No, not there, in my lap,” he patted his leg.”

“What--I--”

“We have a lot to go over. You stand like that all night and you’ll hurt your neck,” he touched your wrist, “it’s fine.”

You scrunched your lips and stared into his eyes. It was… weird, surely it was wrong, but you needed to do better. You sidled in front of him as he pushed further back and sat carefully. He brought his arms around you and lifted your paper. His breath grazed your neck and slipped down the collar of your dress.

“Your structure is good, style too, but you need to make an argument you can support with more than… conjecture,” he began and his deep voice crawled over you, “there are several instances I can think of that would support the theme of regret but you didn’t really present them and when you did, the explanation just wasn’t there…”

You listened, or tried to as you felt heavy against him. You felt as if you were hurting him as you sat on him but he barely seemed bothered by the awkward position. When he shifted, you tried to lift yourself.

“Sorry, am I too--”

He dropped your paper and pulled you back down. Your ass met the bulge in his pants. Your head snapped up and you gripped the desk.

“Professor Drysdale,” you uttered.

“Shhh,” he slid his hands under your skirt, “you want another chance, don’t you?”

“Please,” you tried to stand and he held you down. He wiggled under you and groaned.

“Don’t act so innocent,” he rasped, “you sit in every man’s lap like this?”

His fingers pressed to the crotch of your tights and you took a sharp breath. You shivered as his other hand tanked your skirt out from under you. His fingers poked at your tights until the sheer fabric tore and he rubbed your panties as his breath hitched.

“Do you want the grade?” he asked, “or I can knock a few more percent off for inappropriate conduct.”

“Professor--”

“It’ll be quick, a fair trade,” his other hand snaked under you and he pushed down his zipped as he scratched against the nylon.

He brought his knees between your legs and spread them as he lifted you slightly. Frozen, you let him and it was only as he tore the whole in your tights bigger that you realized what was happening.

You stared at the circled number in red on the paper and gulped. He slid your panties aside and urged you down onto him. His tip met your entrance with resistance but he forced his way in and filled you completely. You whined and grabbed his hands as he gripped your hips.

“Wha--”

“That’s it,” he began to move you, “you don’t have to do anything, baby.”

You quivered and squeezed his hands harder. He leaned back and stretched his legs out as yours splayed out over his knees. He rocked into you from below and trailed his hand up the front of your skirt. He shoved his fingers through the whole and toyed with your clit as he sped up.

His fiery breaths surrounded you as the sensation of his fucking filled your core. Stunned and senseless, you could only let him use you. Even if you thought of stopping him, you didn’t have the strength. You were terrified. It was too late anyway.

“Oh, baby, I’m gonna cum,” he groaned, “mmm, you're so tight.”

“Please,” you begged as he wrapped an arm around your middle and bucked his hips wildly, “pull out, please, I’m not--”

He spasmed and muffled his moans as he came. You tried to push off of him but he held you down and kept moving, using you until he was done. He stilled and took deep breaths as he descended from the high but kept his cock buried in you.

“Why--”

“You’re so sweet,” he purred as he nuzzled your head, “you’ll make such a good little mommy.”

---

Please leave some feedback and reblog if you enjoyed!

[skysterriblescribbles]

Part 1

The only reason Denki got out of his school-issued bed this morning was thanks to the ever-handy alarm vibrating itself off of his bedside table and onto the floor, making itself out of reach.

He shivered when his foot hit the cold wooden floor, making him even colder. The blond picked up his phone and glanced at the time.

3:00 am

Perfect.

Denki stretched his arms up arching his back. Satisfied with now awake muscles, he headed to his bathroom.

He showered and brushed his teeth. His blond hair was now held back by some clips. Gone were his pajamas, replaced by an old t-shirt with the sleeves cut off and some shorts.

If you asked anybody in his class, they would say that his room is probably not cleaned, that it would be the epitome of a teenaged boys living space.

But that isn't the case with Kaminari. He like to keep everything nice and organized. Shelves for his books, yes he reads, more than you would think, fairy lights were pinned against the walls, just below the ceiling.

He likes order and the peace that comes with it.

Denki started his routine, a deep stretch to start off the day, first warmup the arms, the the legs and after his stretching finished it was 4:30.

He opened the door to his dorm room slowly, like normal. He would never forgive himself if he woke up a classmate at these ungodly hours of the morning.

He wandered down the hall and entered the stairwell.

Never skip leg day, he thought to himself, bouncing down the steps.

On the usual days, the common room and kitchen are empty. Sometimes the occasional Tokoyami or the resident embodiment of IcyHot. Or the insomniacs that spend all night in the common space, mainly Midoriya or Shinsou. He had always managed to slip by his classmates unnoticed.

But today it was just him by his lonesome. The large space was dark, the only light source was from the light pole outside.

Denki strolled over to the kitchen area. Today they had hero training which allowed him a small breakfast. He settled on a boiled egg. 90 cal, leaving 110 for dinner. He didn't eat lunch.

He ate in small bites, taking too long to chew each piece. Finishing his meal, Denki headed to the door, grabbing his running shoes and putting them on before leaving the building.

Things were hard the first few weeks of living here. He had to readjust his schedule to fit within the curfew the school enforced.

He couldn't leave any earlier 5 in the morning and 11 at night. It threw his running off for a while, him being used to midnight runs to burn off the stubborn fat that seemed to pile up in his thighs and stomach.

His run lasted 30 minutes, like always and he slipped back into the dorms. This time the commons was occupied by another, Iida Tenya.

He usually was back in his room before anyone else began their morning exercise, so Denki walked quietly, trying to avoid confrontation with the boy.

But like everything else in his life, he failed.

"K-kaminari! You frightened me. What are you doing this early?"

He froze. So far he's been able to keep up his "I'm lazy and never put effort into anything" facade. It's made it so much easier to keep attention off himself.

Think Denki.

He looked over at the class president and smiled, "Oh hey class prez! I was takin some pics of the sun rise for my insta! It's hella pretty, you should check it out." He said with a cheery voice then waved at the boy and left as fast as he could.

I hate talking to people, he thought.

Once back in the safety of his room he fetched a fresh school uniform and jumped in the shower, taking extra time to scrub his skin raw.

Now 6:45, he had an hour until he had to head to class.

He finished his homework from the night before, then plopped down on his bed and spent the remained of his morning scrolling through his tumblr feed, rebloging some thinspo he liked and some workout routines.

At 7:55 he left his room, knowing he was going to be late. But he doesn't care. He never paid any attention in class anyway.

Denki walked alone to class, and entered a few minutes after the bell rang.

Everyone paused and looked at him, today is so not going to be good.

With a blank stare he looked at his homeroom teacher. "Sorry Aizawa-sensei, I didn't wake up on time." And lazily walked to his desk and sat down.

Fuck. I shouldn't of eaten breakfast.

--------

The day passes by without any other hiccups, so when the bell rang signaling that lunch had started, Denki felt a little better than he had earlier.

Kirishima walk up to the blonde like normal.

"Hey Kami, you ready to head out? Mina's gonna go with Bakugo to review for the quiz next period." He smiled at the boy and scratched his neck.

"Dude I totally forgot about that. Ugh I'll just wing it, ya know?" He flashed a brighter, faker, smile at the red head.

And with that the two boys left the room and made their way to the cafeteria. Denki walked to their table and saw Sero already seated and eating.

Denki sat in front of him and took his phone out, opening tumblr and scrolled through his dashboard.

After a few days minutes, Kirishima joined them with his lunch. Today was American style food, and Kirishima got a hamburger with fries.

Denki's mouth watered at the sight of the food until the smell hit him, making his stomach growl loud, but still quiet enough to be hidden by the noise of the room.

He grabbed his water bottle out of his bag and chugged the whole thing.

"Damn Kami, thirsty much?" Kirishima laughed at the boy. But Denki was to distracted by the rumble inside him. The want, the need to eat.

He opened the Google app on his phone and searched for calories in a hamburger.

354 calories, 154 over my limit.

Your fucking disgusting, Kaminari. You don't deserve that many calories. Such a waste.

Denki could feel this breath picking up. His surroundings blurred and his focus was on one thing.

Shit, why did I eat this morning? He thought. He looked at his wrists, they were so small and fragile in his uniform. He reached his hand to his collarbone and dragged his hand along the protruding bone. It felt so good.

But never good enough.

He thought that if he were to touch his thighs, he'd puke. So he settled for just looking.

"Kami.."

He saw how much space they took up.

Repulsive.

"Kaminari!"

He saw how they touched when he sat down.

How disgusting.

He jumped when a hand was put on his shoulder. He looked at the appendage with shakey eyes. Kirishima.

"Hey bro are you okay? I've been calling your name for a while. You look pale, are you sick?" Denki saw. The furrowed brows, the worry in his eyes, the hesitation in his voice.

Denki stood up. And gathered his stuff.

"Tell sensei I don't feel good, I'm going to my room." The blonde said, then he ran out of the seeming even louder room.

He ran down the stairs to the first floor, breath wild, tunnel vision setting in. He ran past Bakugo and Mina, who finished their tutoring.

He reached the dorms and kicked his shoes off, not bothering to put them in their spot properly.

He didn't even remember the trip up to his room, doesn't remember locking the door behind him. He doesn't know how he ended up emptying his already empty stomach in the toilet.

He just remember the egg.

------

That's how the boy found himself a few hours later, passed out on the bathroom floor, the smell of bile still hanging in the air.

He got up of the floor and looked at himself in the mirror. His hair was out of place from sleeping, but the bags under his eyes would speak for the quality of his rest.

He exited the bathroom and groggily walked into his dark room. He fetched his phone from his school bag and checked the time.

3:50 PM

That meant his classmates were done with classes and heading to the building, since hero training always ran late.

Speaking of training since he wasn't in class and couldn't participate, Denki still needed to burn off the calories from this morning.

It had been a while since he had worked out on his own, since hero class satisfied most of his exercise cravings. He scrambled through his desk got a bit before he found the paper.

There were 3 levels of routine he had written. The first was a light workout, the second was his previous daily one and the third was a super intense routine.

He decided on the latter.

He stretched for a warm up and began his workout.

Arms, abs, and legs he all work, pushing his body to the max and then some.

You need to work harder. You lazy piece of shit.

He drank more water, getting ready to repeat the list again when he heard a knock at his door.

"Go away. I don't want to talk to anyone." Denki thought. But the knocking persisted. He wiped his mouth and tried to collect his breathing.

He opened the door to the class president.

"Kaminari! I hope you are feeling better, Kirishima told us you felt ill? Please do take better care of yourself." The boy spouted.

He was too tired to be happy. How could he get through this?

"I'm sorry, Iida. I just need some rest and I'll be better." Denki said with blank eyes. He motioned to close the door but was stopped.

"You should talk to Kirishima, he's really worried about you." Iida adds. And with that the blue haired boy left.

Denki closed the door and returned to his exercise. Yeah right. Like someone as cool as Kirishima would worry about him.

------

When 6 rolled around, Denki ignored his phone when it lit up, indicating a new notification.

He knew it was the class group chat telling everyone that dinner was ready and that everyone should head to the commons.

Instead, the blond changed into a pair of loose sweatpants, which at this point everything was baggy on him and switched off all his lights.

Might as well go to sleep early, not like anyone needs me.

----

Something was wrong with Kaminari Denki.

Or that's what Kirishima had come to conclude.

These last few weeks of living in the dorms he had noticed a difference in his friend, but couldn't quite figure it out yet.

At first, he chalked it up to living in a new space, with 19 new neighbors. Everyone was a little apprehensive at first. But everyone had gotten used to the changes throughout the first 2 weeks.

But what happened during lunch was new. It was as if Kaminari was a different person.

But the thing Kirishima hated the most was the expression on his friends face.

He looked so...

Empty.

Something is wrong with his best friend and he'll figure it out.

The question is whether he makes it in time.

---------

I cant. I can't. I can't. I can't. I can't.

Fuck.

His mouth tasted like old medicine and his stomach felt heavy. Already were tears bubbling in his eyes, threatening to break the tension and pour hot tears down his face.

Immediately he made way to the bathroom, delivering dry heaves into the toilet.

His limbs pinned him to the floor, like weights. His mind was too clouded to think or move. The only thing he could register before passing out was the tears spilling down his cheeks and rolled down his face with gravity.

------

The first thing he remembered when he woke up was that there was classes today.

Denki forces himself off the floor and back into his bedroom, a quick glance at his clock telling him it was well into the day, morning classes would be over soon.

"Fuck it I'll go to the afternoon classes then." He mutters. He throws on his uniform, reaching for his phone only to see the thing is dead.

Denki decided to just leave the phone and heads out.

He gets to the main building when the lunch bell rings, allowing hungry students to flood the halls. The blond waits outside for a bit to let the hallways clear out before starting his trip to the 1-A classroom.

Pleased to find the room empty, he takes his seat and decides to sleep until lunch was over.

In the quiet of the room, you could hear grumbling, a plea.

It's okay, he's not hungry.

---------

[kryptsune]

🌼Yes I know I said I needed a break but here is my proof that I love what I do. I spent today and yesterday crafting a little drabble for Felldritch. I am unsure if this is going to be exactly how this story is going to go but it’s a general idea. If it becomes a proper fic then I will elaborate more. Hope you enjoy it C: Tell me what you think and if you would like to see more.

DO NOT REPOST MY WORK WITHOUT MY PERMISSION IT IS NOT FOR YOUR USE. IF YOU LIKE MY WORK PLEASE REBLOG INSTEAD! It helps me so much! It makes such a difference.💙If you want more of these just let me know! It’s the only way I can gauge interest!

FELLDRITCH DRABBLE {1/3}: The Madhouse

Chocolate colored walls surrounded her day in, day out, though chocolate was something one would associate with something pleasant. This room. Was not. All appearances led one to believe in the fastidious nature of this place. This containment. This prison of foul-smelling chemicals of an unknown substance. The scent of something burning followed by screams for mercy. No…they never heard that. No. This was not a place one would associate with something sweet. 

It was a facade. A simple show for those that did not know any better. A dull green leather sofa sat along the wall. The rivets bolting it down were just hidden by an ornate rug of ghastly reds and browns. Some unknown crimson stain that was never able to be washed out was just covered by a wooden table. A few books here and there slightly worn decorated its surface. They were books one would not make an effort to pick up. The Nature of the Mind, An Essay on the Success of Electrostimulation, CareGiving, A Safe Haven. All books that might lure one into a false sense of security about this place. This madhouse of screaming lunatics and suffering patients. Ruttledge Asylum… The home for the Mentally Tortured and Disturbed.   

A large wooden desk, a full coat rack, a diploma hanging just over some gaudy floral cream-colored wallpaper. Giant books filled with fancy penmanship. A ledger and a quill. Meaningless. Small details that had no value or purpose other than to be eye candy. A pale face watched it all from above surrounded in a golden frame, “Frisk… are you even listening?” Chocolate eyes flecked with ruby stared down from that pale face. Its lips moved expressing a lack of thoughtfulness. A dull tone of acceptance, “I’m sorry Dr. Ruttledge. I will pay more attention.”

The voice that came from that pale face was soft, almost a whisper. One would question if they were truly there, to begin with. A kind of lifelessness that illuminated the tribulations of the past, present, and future. The face that stared back, mahogany hair cut in places haphazardly sticking out, a bandage around a pale throat, eyebrows furrowed with despair. This was her… 

A young woman lay on a lounge staring up into the mirror that the nurses and doctor had placed there. They had claimed it was a means of self-reflection. To be able to see one's own progress and health improving. To her, however, it was a wraith. Every time she stared back at that girl she could see herself being whittled away.  Every question asked left her more and more hollow. No one believed her and why should they? Her experience was something out of a fairytale. Something that only the mad would conjure up, “Frisk I am going to ask you once more and I want you to respond honestly. Do you understand?” 

Dr. W. D. Silias Ruttledge owned this madhouse. He was the presiding caregiver and psychologist to those that did not have violent tendencies. The rest were thrown in solitary beating their empty skulls against dirty white padding. Only hearing the voices of others through a bolted latch in the door. At night she would hear them pacing or talking to themselves. 

He had a suspicious voice. One that was soothing in understanding but he didn’t take that tone with everyone. She always felt he was hiding something. Of course, he would just add paranoia to her list of ailments if she even exhibited such an accusation. His black hair was neatly combed where she could just see a streak or two of grey by the side of his skull. A crooked nose had a pair of golden spectacles perched lightly. She noticed it was a habit of his to pull them off and clean them with this handkerchief when he was beginning to grow irritable. A faint scar ran from the bottom of his left eye and she could have sworn also the top of his right. He was properly groomed, a high white starched collar resting below his chin. An ebony and cream waistcoat showed how successful he had been in his career. The finery of a medical professional.

A set of hazel eyes were kept focused on the clipboard he had resting on one leg dressed in black slacks. A lapel pin of a deer rested on the fabric standing out very minimally. It must have been his lineage she guessed just from his British accent, “Yes sir, I understand.” He tapped the quill he was using to write against the inkwell gently ready to write down any notes that may implicate her level of delusion. It was hopeless.    

“Frisk, can you explain to me how you got here?” He replied, moving in his chair to find a more comfortable position before reaching for his usual cup of tea and taking a sip, “I want a full and complete answer, no one-word responses today.” 

She just turned her attention back up at the doppelganger in the mirror, watching it speak but not feeling anything about what it was saying. It could have been a doll or a dead body for all she cared. That was how hollow she had become. Was there even a soul left within her? Her eyes fell closed before he even asked. It was a typical procedure. Everyday, “Yes, Dr. Ruttledge. I promise I will answer completely and honestly.” Even answering fully wouldn’t put any emotion behind it. A soft sigh escaped her, “I was found wandering the woods late at night nearly seven years ago.

He nodded his head, never once looking up at her, “Yes and why is it you have found yourself in our care?” His quill scribbled something down as she responded, “I was confused trying to remember what had happened to leave me there. Alone in the woods...” The writing stopped, soft scratching absent from crumpled parchment, “You were found exclaiming that you came from a world of monsters. That you needed to help and that you made a promise. A promise to free them from their underground prison.”

Frisk swallowed thickly, “Dr. Ruttledge please I-” He cut her off, listing off her supposed illness calmly. She didn’t want to hear it anymore, “You became hysterical and physically aggressive when you were found and brought here. You begged to be released. So that you could return to them. You continued to talk about these demons… skeletons, fish people, dragons, and goat beasts.” He removed his spectacles and set them down on his clipboard, folding his hands in front of him, “Now tell me, is this due to some trauma or hallucination that you have had? Do you still believe in these fabrications?” 

Her eyes fluttered open to look off to the side, “Frisk? Did you not hear my question?” She took a breath but did not respond to the question. She could just hear that soft sound of metal folding upon metal, “I see. We shall skip that question for now. Now... tell me about these friends that you talk about. That you confide in.” 

She stared as he sat calmly looking down at her. He never seemed to move positions except for maybe switching the leg he crossed. His attention was back on his notes, but only for a second, “Let’s start with your ‘Best Friend’. You seem to talk about him quite a bit.” Frisk felt her body stiffen. Of course, he would ask about him, “Frisk, I want you to talk about him.” She didn’t want to. She never wanted to because she knew what would happen when she did. 

“He was one of the first monsters I met. He helped me and watched over me… protected me. We became close friends. He saved me. I would have had to sacrifice myself to save them all. They all told me that it wouldn’t be the same if I was gone. He begged me to leave my mission behind. Save myself.” 

Dr. Ruttledge just nodded his head, “Yes, as we have discussed before. I must ask if your analysis of this… situation is correct. To me, it sounds as though you possibly had feelings for this demon. Which concerns me greatly.” Frisk shook her head before bolting upright, “He is not a demon!” He raised a brow before shaking his head, “Is? As in present tense. Oh, Frisk, I thought we had made progress today. We will continue tomorrow. Rest up, I will see you in the morning.” He rose from his chair, setting the clipboard down on his desk with a soft sigh and opening the door. His gaze was locked on her, just waiting for her to leave his office, or the most likely reason: waiting for the nurse to “escort” her out. 

Of course, she was upset. He just called her best friend a demon. He was nothing of the sort, even if he was skeletal in appearance. His brother was not that way either. As much as she wanted to play the game to get out of here she wasn’t going to agree to that. Sans and Pap. They were her friends and family. Nothing would ever change that. Even as the nurse glared at her, grabbing her arm and leading her down the hall. 

She didn’t even bother to look around the room she was in. It was the room she had been in for nearly seven years. The soft clink of the lock reminded her that she was still a prisoner, regardless of her “ailments.” At least she had a small window to look out over the grounds. It was sad, really, to think that such a small thing was even worth mentioning. It was dark outside with the fire of the lanterns flickering back and forth.

Her hand slipped from the wooden frame only to make her way to the small bed she knew. All she could think of was her bed back in Snowdin. How she would cuddle under those warm covers, snuggled up with the boy's pet dog. Well, more like a wolf. Now she just laid there cuddling a plush she kept close to her. It was a rabbit. A white stuffed rabbit with little button eyes. She had painted them green one day with some of the paint from the rec room. A place she was apparently forbidden from for it would “worsen” her delusions. 

All she could do was close her eyes and try to rest, all while slipping into her memories of a better time. One that she wanted to return to. A place where she was loved and accepted. A place that withheld judgment. Home. She buried her face gently against the plush in her arms, her whole body shaking from the thoughts that clawed at her mind. It was at that moment she felt terribly alone and hopeless.   

Frisk could feel the tears slipping down her cheeks as she curled into a ball on top of the thin blankets. A few soft sobs caused her to choke on what little words she could get out, “I want to go home.” Would they even recognize her anymore? She was broken. A fragile thing putting up a smiling face in the jaws of adversity. That tightness was starting to constrict her chest before she let it out. Trails of tears poured from her eyes as she fell apart, slowly struggling to take in proper oxygen. This place was breaking her. If she just admitted that they didn’t exist maybe they would let her leave. Maybe she could live a normal life, but that wasn’t the one she wanted.

A few hours later and she was shaken awake only to be greeted by an old frowning face. The nurse. Frisk didn’t bother to remember her name. She was a crotchety old crone that treated the patients like dogs. The cup in her hand found its way into her cheek, squishing against her face and forcing her to take it from those leathery hands. It was her medicine. The kind that would make her sleepy. It was a feeling she hated; not being in control of herself properly. She took the pills and hid them under her tongue as the nurse walked away. Normally they checked to see if they were swallowed, but they had never caught her not taking them before. 

She spit them out before tossing them through the bars of the window. There were worse things here then not taking ones medication. Tortures she had been subjected to even though she was not supposed to. That was when she noticed a sliver of light coming from the hallway. The nurse had forgotten to shut the door. 

All that was running through her mind was that she could be free. She could escape this place. Adrenaline was coursing through her as her feet flew toward the crack in the metal. A promise of freedom and escape. There was no one in the hallway. 

She grabbed some of her clothing. The same ones that she had been found in and threw them on. The striped shirt that she wore in the Underworld for so long they had thrown away a long time ago. Now all she was left with was the patient clothing now hanging on her shoulders and a pair of boots and socks. She hated being stuck in that sterile smock, but she couldn’t waste any time. 

She grabbed what she found valuable from her room before creeping down the hallway, passing a security guard easily. The spare keys were kept in the office as she snagged one from the drawer before rushing toward the door. That soft click of the key being inserted into the lock caused her heart to jump, as she stumbled out into the night. Where was the mountain? She could just faintly make out the silhouette of Ebott from where she was. 

Frisk ran as hard as she could and as fast as she could, stumbling through the trees, climbing rocks, and doing everything in her power to reach the summit. She knew where she had fallen; it was all rushing back. A branch caught at her cheek, causing a thin line of crimson to bead from the wound. Just a little bit more. 'Seven years ago she had been here,' she thought as she stared down into the open mouth of the mountain. So long ago. 

It didn’t matter… she was going home.

A simple jump and she had flung herself into the darkness once more. Only this time she knew what awaited her. At least… she thought she did….

[glaivenoct]

Swept Away

Relationship: Nyxnoct Rating: T Words: 2,124 Summary: Nyx plans something special for Noct on his birthday. Something better than sitting through meetings

Also over on (ao3). Please, pretty please consider to stop by a drop a comment or maybe give this a reblog if you enjoy? I appreciate it and would love to hear your thoughts :) (I’m not late, Noct’s birthday is all weekend what are you talking about)

-

“Where do you think you’re going, birthday boy?”

Noctis nearly drops the notebook in his hands when he collides into Nyx, who he swear appeared out of thin air. Nyx, with quick, heroic reflexes, steadies him before he can stumble backwards in his startlement. A soft gasp and Noctis is tugged close so they’re inches apart, looking up into the suave, steel blue of the glaive’s eyes. The subtle curve of Nyx’s lips is far more captivating than Noctis could have prepared himself for, and it has his own parting in love-struck awe like a bad romcom cliche.

“Nyx, what the hell?” is all he can think to say in reaction. There’s a blush waiting to shoot from his neck to his ears, but he stops it short with a meager glare, forcing a little distance between them.

“Sorry.” Nyx leans close like he wants to kiss him but waits for some sort of permission. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

Noctis glances over his shoulder and past Nyx for any crownsguard or citadel staff. You can never be too sure in these long corridors. When he’s sure the coast is clear, he turns his head just enough to give Nyx the okay and gets a kiss on the cheek. “You know where I’m going, hero.”

“That I do, and I’ve decided you’re not going.”

“You can’t do that.” Noctis snorts, prepared to step around Nyx and be on his way, but his path is blocked.

“Oh, but I can! What kind of lover would I be if I let my little king work on his birthday?”

“We went over this. I have a meeting.”

“Right. With me. Pretty sure it was supposed to go a little something like this.”

Noctis has nowhere near enough self control to stop Nyx from capturing his lips in a leisurely kiss. To not melt into the brief touch of fingers propping beneath his chin to tilt his head back to deepen it. To fight the urge of jumping right into his arms and respond accordingly to the tease of tongue and the graze and nip of teeth. Noct doesn’t even care that anyone could turn the corner at any given moment and see them.

He should care, though. He really should. He has a meeting, damnit.

But he still has to stop himself from whining when Nyx finally parts from him. Noct stares at him like the unreal man he swears he is sometimes, breath almost catching in his chest.

“There might be a few more finer details to go over.” Nyx says with the cock of his brows and a suggestive grin. “Y’know, in private. Where I can take my time.”

Noct resists the shiver fluttering through his spine at the insinuation. Straightens himself and clears his throat, ducks his head to stare at the notes scribbled on the open page of his notebook.

“We were supposed to do all that tomorrow…”

“And we will. But it’s your birthday, and you’re crazy if you think I’m letting you sit through meetings all day.”

Believe it or not, Noctis is a firm believer in not working on one’s birthday.

He recalls being six years old and all but demanding that his father’s birthday be declared as the king’s “Do Not Disturb” day. Being not much older and pleading with Cor and Clarus to take a day off for once, that he would look out for his dad just fine so they didn’t have to worry about a thing! The “As your Prince, I command you” line worked well enough on Ignis as they grew up together, and Prompto in high school. While he saved the more sarcastic reasonings for Gladio, claiming with a grin that he was only looking to get out of training.

There was less control when it came to Nyx. Noctis knows there were years where Nyx spent his birthday behind enemy lines, treated to makeshift dinners and celebrations around the campfire of their secret headquarters. Though it’s been years since such a thing happened, there was always the possibility. But if Noctis could help it, none of his loved ones were allowed to work on their birthday.

Noctis isn’t excited about the idea of spending his birthday stuck in meetings either. At the same time, he brought this on himself and felt obligated to face the consequences of his organizational blunders. He’s usually better than this. Or so he likes to believe, but he really should’ve looked at a calendar when he said “Yeah, Friday works.”

Rooted somewhere beneath that overwhelming sense of obligation, Noctis knows no one would dare to question him for rescheduling. He was the Prince and it was his birthday. How could anyone say no to that? They wouldn’t. And that was just it. Despite it all, Noctis takes his charity work seriously. Knows that the people he’s meant to meet with have been eager to brainstorm with him for a special project that’s been in the works months now. Prince or not, it didn’t feel right to delay the progress of the project out of his own selfishness. 

Plans with Nyx and his father and friends were set up for the weekend. He could tough it out this one day. It’s not like they were council meetings.

“Nyx, I have to be there…” Noctis insists, though the hesitance and indecision is clear in face and tone.

“No, you don’t.” Nyx insists with far more confidence and a smile that hypnotizes Noctis further to the thought of resignation. “Because Ignis agreed to take care of it in your place. Already has copies of your notes and everything. Said he’ll fill you in on everything later and schedule another day you can meet with them yourself.”

“But -”  

“He also said no buts. So did your dad. And me.”

“But -”

“Nope!” Nyx slaps his hand over Noct’s mouth, muffling an outraged yelp. “None of that. Don’t make me kiss you.” Noct narrows his eyes and huffs against the warm fingers, tempted to bite them out of spite. Nyx laughs as his hand is pushed away instead. “We’ll still do everything we planned to do tomorrow, Noct. But I wanted to do something special for you today too.”

“Special?” Noct tries not to sound too curious. 

“Well, I hope it’s special. What do you say, little king?” Nyx offers a hand to him. “Let me sweep you away?”

There’s not another dimension or universe in which Noctis has the heart to refuse such gesture. A dashing smile sprouts across Nyx’s face, accenting the hopeful kindness in his eyes and making Noct’s heart buzz. Nyx was like his emboldened knight, stealing him away from the confines of his responsibilities within the citadel. Off to their own fantasy land where the only thing Noct cares about is the press of his lips, the caress of his fingers, the scratch of his beard, and the dopey things Nyx says to make him laugh.

There’s not much else Noct could want on his birthday. He doesn’t need anything grand. Nyx being this adamant about it is already special enough for him. Meeting’s and guilt be damned. It’s his birthday! He bursts into a smile as he allows Nyx to take his hand and squeeze it.

“Everything’s taken care of?”

“Everything’s taken care of.”

“Then lead the way, hero.”

Nyx leads him with all the thrill of fugitive lovers on the run. Off to the sanctuary of his small apartment tucked discreetly into the city’s lower districts. He doesn’t let go of his prince’s hand until they reach the door, and each second he spends fishing for his keys and fiddling with the lock feels like an eternity to Noctis. It has him eagerly shifting his weight from foot to foot.

The first thing Noct notices when the door opens is the smell. Something that reminds him of the crisp morning air of a forest after rain with the faintest hint of syllelblossoms. There’s an incandescent flicker cutting through the abnormal darkness inside, and Noctis looks at Nyx curiously, waiting for an explanation. It’s all in the step Nyx takes out of the doorway and the gesture for him to enter first. 

Noctis only hesitates because he’s unsure if he’s prepared to face whatever sweet thought and effort Nyx’s clearly put in to this.

One step past the threshold and Noctis stills in that spot, taken aback at the pathway of tea light candles before him, paving the short route to Nyx’s bed. The two windows in the apartment have been covered up to minimize the amount of sunlight peering in. Ahead are spare sheets and blankets draped and hung strategically above the bed, enveloping it like a tent with a perpetually open flap. Old, white holiday lights Noct recalls bringing for the winter holidays are strung inside, turning the area into a cozy, golden cove. A blanket fort, he should say. A cozy, golden cove of a blanket fort. Noctis blinks, lets out a stunned huff and drops his notebook.

Meetings are the farthest thing from his mind now.

“I’ve got three movies picked out.” Nyx says just as Noct notices his armchair pushed aside near one end of the bed. On it rests the small TV that’s normally mounted on the wall. “They’re all ones you’ve mentioned wanting to see. Got all your favorite snacks too. Don’t tell Ignis.”

Noctis can confirm for himself that Ignis would not approve as soon as he spots the small table near the other end of the bed, covered in an array of junk food and sweets that have his stomach ready to grumble any minute now. 

Down the flickering path of soft candlelight Noct goes. He hears the door shut and Nyx following quietly behind him. The closer he gets to the bed, the wider he finds himself smiling, and the more he notices the plethora of pillows and fuzzy blankets stuffed inside. It’s more than Nyx has ever owned and Noctis soon recognizes that most of them have been hijacked from his own apartment. He moves one of the flaps aside to peek in further, noticing a folded article of grey clothing. A knit sweater. He picks it up and presents it to Nyx with the rise of one brow.

“Your favorite, right?” He asks. “Can’t give you a movie night without something to get comfy in.”

It’s one of Nyx’s sweaters. Noct’s favorite to steal and snuggle in after a shower or enduring the cold of winter and rainy days. Set out for him like a warmhearted invitation. Noctis could’ve tackled him then and there, pinned him to the ground and kissed every dose of gratitude into Nyx’s lips before the rush of it threatened to make his own heart implode.

“Nyx…” Noctis starts without quite knowing what else to say beyond it.

“I know, I know. Crowe said it was dopey. After she helped me set it up, but it’s still better than sitting in a meeting. Right?”

“Way better.” Noct rises on the tips of his toes to gift the start of many grateful kisses. “It’s perfect. Thanks for sweeping me away on my birthday.”

“Allow me to sweep you into bed next.” Nyx smirks and grabs him a sudden bear hug to topple into their blanket fort together. Noct’s stifled yelp turns into a string of giggles once he feels Nyx’s hands at his waist, encouraging the removal of his current shirt in favor of the sweater. 

In their own time, they settle down. After Noctis is comfortably down to the sweater, his boxers and socks. After Nyx finds the self control to pull away from his kisses to wheel the snacks closer and move the armchair with the TV accordingly. After they’ve worked through Noct’s indecisiveness on what he wants to watch first, and Nyx teases him for already knowing he’d end up picking sci-fi. After they’ve picked the snacks they’re craving most.

They meld together in their cozy fort, Noct’s back to Nyx’s chest, an arm slung around his waist and legs sloppily intertwined. Noct doesn’t care to move from the position throughout the entirety of the first movie, only wriggling every now and again throughout the second to stretch. Halfway through the third, when he’s struggling to keep his eyes open, he finally moves. Turns around completely so he can tuck his face into Nyx’s chest and escape the bright light from the TV.

Both arms come around him this time in another squeezing hug. Noctis smiles drowsily into Nyx’s shirt and feels a kiss atop his hair, drifting off to sleep on the thought of this being a birthday well spent. The best part being that it’s just the beginning. 

[onewaywardwitch]

Just A Typo (5/?)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Hacker!Reader

Summary: It was a simple challenge between a very competitive group of friends. A challenge that ended very differently than anticipated.

Warnings: None I think

Word Count: 2213

A/N: I finally got a chance to write the next part! The feedback has been amazing so thank you to everyone who likes, reblogs, and comments. It really does make my day! Also I just watched Fantastic Beasts 2 and I have so many questions.

It didn’t take long for me to settle into my new routine. Alarm goes off, get up twenty minutes later because I pressed snooze again. Look for my keys which I somehow manage to misplace every morning. Then grab my morning hot chocolate and a bag of jellies on my way to the tower.

Each morning I made the effort to greet everyone I bumped into in the tower, and soon enough, it payed off. People that were previously cautious around me grew fonder. I was doing my best to not give anyone a reason to dislike me. It worked with most of the staff, but the Avengers themselves were a whole other story.

Tony and I grew close. He invited me upstairs often, sometimes to talk about work, others to just have a chat. It was nice to talk to someone other than Angie or Becca. I couldn’t help but notice that there was never any other Avenger around when I was there. When I mentioned it to Tony, he brushed it off, claiming they were on a mission or simply busy elsewhere.

From that moment on, I became determined to make them all less uncomfortable around me.

~~~~~

“Why do you have this need to make everyone like you?” Angie questioned me a few days after my conversation with Tony.

I scoffed at her and shook my head.

“Don’t be ridiculous, why would you think that?”

“Because you're literally making brownies for the Avengers that apparently hate you just to get them to like you,” she replied, eyeing me in my current situation.

My hair was thrown up haphazardly in a bun and the sleeves of my jumper were rolled up to my elbows. The flour that was supposed to be in the bowl was on the floor, but I was too busy trying to scoop out the eggshells that had fallen into the mixture to notice. I tried brushing some of the flour that was on my face away, only succeeding in getting egg on my face as well.

“No, I was just in a baking mood. I didn’t think there was any harm in making some for my co-workers too. It's not a big deal.”

“We both know those brownies are going straight to the top floor and nowhere else.”

I shrugged my shoulders nonchalantly, hoping the Avengers would accept my peace offering. It was incredibly frustrating that most of them hadn’t forgiven me for the hacking incident and for some reason, I couldn’t accept that. That was why I was desperately trying to bake brownies while unbelievably close to tears.

“Please help me, Angie,” I whined. “I can’t make the food taste like actual food by myself!”

She chuckled at the state I had gotten myself into and began rolling up her sleeves to help out. I let out a sigh of relief, yet still unsure about whether or not this would work at all.

~~~~~

On one hand, I had hoped to just give the brownies to Tony so he could distribute them to everyone else. On the other, I knew that I needed to do this in person to have a chance at apologising properly.

The secretary gave me a quick glance before allowing me on the lift once they recognised me as a friend of Tony. Once in the lift, I attempted to fix my hair a bit. I had woken up late again and barely had time to get ready and grab the large box of brownies I finished making with Angie late last night.

The ding of the elevator caused me to nearly jump out of my skin. My nerves had increased tenfold and I resorted to mumbling reassurances to myself to try and calm down.

“Are you alright?”

The soft voice behind me made me whip around quickly. It was Sergeant Barnes, watching me curiously as I fumbled over my words. He definitely wasn’t the person I thought I'd be bumping into first. He seemed far more reserved than the others and was known to showing up to very few public events.

“I, ugh, yes I'm okay. I mean, I have these, ugh, brownies? I thought, well, I don’t really know what I was thinking,” I scratched the back of my neck, only now realising that perhaps this wasn’t the best idea. “I know you guys are still annoyed about what I did, and I thought this might help make up for it. But it was stupid of me. You guys are superheroes, you probably don’t even eat brownies! But I don’t know what superheroes eat. Oh God, I've screwed this up completely, haven’t I? Sergeant Barnes, I am so sorry− “

“Bucky,” he cut off my ramblings as soon as he processed why I was here. He found my predicament endearing. I gave him a confused look. “Call me Bucky.”

“Right, sorry, Bucky. I just shouldn’t talk anymore− here.” I practically shoved the box into his hands as he looked at me with an expression that I couldn’t quite identify.

I rolled on the balls of my feet slightly while he glanced at the contents, a small smile forming on his face. He actually has a nice smile, why haven’t I noticed before− no! Stop it, you moron.

“I should probably just go,” I said slowly. Bucky lifted his head up quickly.

“You don’t have to.” He cringed inwardly at how eagerly he replied. “Don’t you want to see the others?”

After a few moments of hesitation, I agreed to his suggestion. It couldn’t hurt to try apologising in person once again.

We found most of the Avengers gathered in the kitchen, chatting amongst themselves. Their conversation died down when they saw me. An awkward silence hung over us all before Bucky cleared his throat.

“Y/N brought us brownies.”

It was only when Bucky said it out loud that I realised how ridiculous it sounded. I was in the middle of working out the probability of my survival if I was to jump from the nearest window, when another voice spoke up.

“Yes! I'm starved,” Clint exclaimed, jumping up and heading towards the food.

I let out the breath I didn’t even realise I was holding in. Natasha was eyeing me suspiciously as I shot Clint a grateful smile.

“Oh man, these are great! Here, try some,” Clint said, thrusting the box towards the remaining Avengers who were now looking a lot less uneasy.

“They were supposed to have chocolate chips in them but I, er, ate them,” I said tentatively, but no one was listening other than Bucky. I noticed he was still nervous around me but tried to brush it off.

Wanda saw me standing beside him and invited me to take the seat across from her, which I accepted gratefully. Just as I sat down, Natasha quickly got up. Before she left the room, she whispered something to Bucky, who tensed immediately. I didn’t think too much of it as Wanda pulled me into a conversation between her and Sam.

~~~~~

Bucky, being the gentleman from the 40’s, offered to walk me back to my apartment. I was surprised at first, until I saw that I had spent nearly the whole day at the tower, and it was pretty dark outside. Not too keen on walking back alone, I gladly took him up on his offer.

We walked in silence for a bit, the winter wind not as strong as it normally would be. I took a moment to observe the man beside me as discreetly as possible. His dark hair was pushed back behind his ears, and every so often a few strands would fall into his face until he pushed them back again. He had kind blue eyes, much softer than I previously thought. I heard his story before, of course. But it was difficult to be intimidated by him after seeing how gentle and soft-spoken he really was, and I couldn’t help but comment on it.

“Hagrid!” I blurted out, my face turning a bright shade of red. Bucky turned his head in my direction slightly and raised his eyebrows. At least we weren’t walking in silence now.

“Sorry?”

“Hagrid… that’s who you remind me of. From Harry Potter. Y’know, the whole ‘gentle giant’ kind of thing? You both look scary, but you're softies on the inside.”

It was Bucky’s turn to blush, his ears tinged red. I smiled to myself at his reaction while he stuttered a reply.

“Thanks? Is that a good thing?”

I stopped walking and narrowed my eyes at him in thought before breaking out in a grin. “Definitely a good thing,” I agreed.

He accepted my compliment and nodded his head, continuing on our path home. But I couldn’t help but notice the small smile that graced his face after that.

“Tony said you were working on something new to prevent another hacking incident,” Bucky said in attempt to keep our conversation going.

“Oh yeah! See, I figured that if someone else is going to try hack into the tower, they’re not going to make a stupid mistake like I did, right?” I glanced across to Bucky, who was focused on what I was saying. Not needing any reply, I continued on.

“I'm installing this new system that’ll basically send a virus to whoever is hacking you. So, while they’re hacking into our system, we’ll be doing the same to theirs without them even knowing. That way, we’ll be able to access everything they have and know where they are. And it’ll be impossible for them to get into our system at all now. They can try, but I've made it virtually unhackable. The only person who would be able to hack us now is, well, me,” I explained proudly.

Bucky nodded slowly, deep in thought. I could tell he was trying to process what I said, and I was about to explain once more before he spoke up.

“I don’t think ‘unhackable’ is a word.”

“Oh shush.”

~~~~~

Surprisingly, everyone was still in the kitchen when Bucky returned home. The box that previously held Y/N’s brownies was now completely empty, lacking even a crumb. Bucky was about to complain when Steve appeared at his side, a small brownie wrapped in some tissue in his hand.

“Here,” he said, handing his friend the food. “You're lucky to even be getting this much. Sam and Clint devoured the rest.”

Bucky was munching on the brownie happily when Wanda noticed his arrival. She nudged Sam, a grin forming on his face at once.

“Hey, Bucky, get your girl home safe?”

Tony looked up from his conversation with Natasha in interest. Bucky glared at Sam, who could barely contain his glee at having something to tease Bucky with.

“She’s not my girl. It can get dangerous here at night. I was just making sure she got home safe, that’s all.” Bucky tried to convince Sam with little success. He stared at the rest of the group. Wanda, who had immediately taken a liking to Y/N, was beaming at the soldier. Tony and Rhodey both appeared slightly confused at what was going on. Steve simply clapped Bucky on the shoulder, but Bucky’s gaze was fixated on Natasha, who had yet to say anything. She must have felt him watching her, as she sighed before speaking.

“Look, she doesn’t seem like a bad person, but I still don’t think we should be trusting her this soon. She spends half a day up here, and suddenly everyone approves of her? Are we forgetting the reason we met her? We don’t know her.”

“We know enough,” Tony replied, getting tired of Nat’s constant disapproval of the woman he had grown quite fond of. “Give her a chance, Nat. You might actually like her.”

She shook her head and caught Bucky’s eyes.

“Whatever you do, be careful.”

~~~~~

“Why does everyone think I like Y/N?” Bucky questioned Steve the following day while they were on their morning run. It had become a routine for the two. They enjoyed having the few hours to talk, and Bucky found it beneficial to have a constant every morning. His life had been a series of unpredictable complications. This gave him something steady to hold onto.

“You’re just acting different around her, Buck. A little more nervous. And you stutter around her too. You don’t stutter,” Steve laughed, his friend glaring at him.

“I don’t know, she’s different, but a normal kind of different. Not our kind of different. She’s gentle too. And nice, but for no reason. No one is ever just nice anymore. But she doesn’t take anyone’s bullshit either. She nearly lost it when Clint told her he still uses Internet Explorer.” Bucky chuckled at the memory of how frustrated Y/N got last night while trying to explain to Clint that Internet Explorer was completely rubbish. “But it doesn’t matter. She deserves someone who’d be good for her. She’s probably already got a boyfriend too.”

“You’re too hard on yourself, Buck,” Steve remarked. “She’d be lucky to go out with you. Plus,” he picked up his speed, shouting back to Bucky, “she definitely isn’t dating anyone right now.”

“Wait, how do you know that? Are you sure? STEVE, ARE YOU SURE?” Bucky yelled at Steve as he chased after him.

Taglist (open):

(if there’s a strike through your name it means I couldn’t tag you)

@amybarter15 @imperialoath @throw-some-music-my-way @mamaraptor @marbleowl @lydklein1 @wantingtobekorra @alysawrites @uhholyhazza @ladymelissastark @sarcasm-n-insomnia @foxylupines @myrabbitholetoneverland @amazingficsthatididnotwrite @markusstraya @padfootormoose @worldofchoices @just-some-stuff-in-life @colie87 @catsandbooksinafarawayplace

[quasarkisses]

Spirit, Valor, and Knowledge Teaser

SVK is my original story. I’ve been worldbuilding for it for about seven years under the working title “heroes story”, which longtime followers have probably seen mention of at some point. It’s gone through several iterations over the course of that time and has changed a significant amount from the initial attempts.

The current manuscript is partially incomplete and will need to go through  thorough edits, but I’m hoping to release early chapters for beta readers later this fall or winter, with the goal of ensuring that the representation I’ve included is done as well as possible for a queer hick from the rural midwest. 

All characters and content are my original creations and are open to improvement. Feedback is appreciated and will encourage further content release.

Wordcount: 1.2k

_______________________

The cat was nosing in Theo’s paint again, bothering him for a scratch. He loved the insufferable creature, but damn if it didn’t seek affection at the worst of times. Careful to balance it properly, he set aside his pallet and rubbed Carnie’s ears. The wind blew cold even in the summer season, and Theo pulled his coat tighter around him, trying to keep paint off of it and the cat as best he could.

He took a moment to warm his hands in its long orange fur and look over what he had completed so far. The rough textures of the worn brick and concrete buildings of the city east of the commune were a good challenge; the crumbling asphalt road with its faded remnants of yellow and white leading outwards tested his skill at displaying perspective.

Mx. Jordanes had assigned him to sketch the same scene last year. More of the shoulder of the road had deteriorated since then, doubling the size of the pothole, and one of the telephone poles had rotted through in the spring. It had taken fifteen able adults to move, clearing the way further to the fourth stoplight down, where things became 4th Street territory. The stop lights still cycled through their colors, directing the ghost of traffic. Once, they had been the pulse of the city. Theo thought he might catch them all at different colors. Some red and yellow would really brighten up the scene.

He was putting down a base of orange on the furthest one when he noticed the change. A cluster of dots in the distance had come around a corner and were making their way down the road: two of them black and two of them gray. Two travellers, he assumed, being escorted to Slateset by 4th Life Strays, who claimed the 4th Street territory. The Strays were usually good about sending survivors their way, but as they came closer Theo could see the strange make of their clothes. The gray figures were bundled in swathes of cloth over every inch of their body, hoods pulled low over their faces, while the dark coated pair were marked at the shoulders, the taller one by red and the shorter by violet. They were packed too lightly for real wandering, but they didn’t look like Kings either. Certainly they wouldn’t have come through 4th Street if they were.

Theo painted his stoplights as he waited for them to come in calling distance of the barrier wall he was perched on, and began packing away his brushes for deeper cleaning.

If they were Darksiders he was as good as dead already. They didn’t look the type, no guns or bows as far as he could see, but Theo adjusted the hatchet hanging from his belt so the steel caught the light just in case.

“Hail!” cried the violet-marked woman, her dark face turned up to look at him against the sun. A long scar ran vertical on the right side of her face from jawline to cheekbone.

“Hello,” he replied. The wind picked up bitterly, and he had to raise his voice significantly to be heard. It was possible someone else from the commune would hear him and come to investigate. Carnie the cat didn’t care for his yelling or for the sudden cold and trotted off down the wall without him. “Did the Bosses give you passage through 4th Street?”

The woman’s reply was stolen by a cold gust. “We met no one on the road here,” she said, louder this time. “We are glad to see someone left alive. Are there more of you?”

“We’re all glad to be alive these days,” he replied, to avoid answering her directly. “Do you need food or medical attention?”

The woman shared a look with one of the hooded figures and discussed something between them. “Your company is all we would request. We have come from far away, and we have many questions as to how this place came to be in such a state. If you would come down and speak to us, we would be grateful.”

Theo weighed the risk. She didn’t talk like a local, she wasn’t lying about that. Their clothes, especially the gray cloaks, were exceedingly clean for someone who had been on the road for any stretch of time, and both she and her redmarked companion would freeze to death if they spent the night outside. They didn’t even have gloves. Still, they didn’t seem like Darksiders, and they had made no threat to him. If they had news from any distance the council would want to speak to them immediately. It had been more than a year since they’d had news from as far as the next state over, and there would be a hundred questions to ask anyone from further.

No, they hadn’t threatened him yet. It would be safer and smarter to test that before bringing them back to his home. “No, I’m staying up here,” he shouted. “Ask whatever you want, but do it from down there.”

They showed no sign of aggression at his refusal, though the women turned and conferred with her companions again. “What is the name of this place?” she asked.

Theo frowned. He leaned over, holding onto the ledge, just to check that his memory was correct. Below his feet in letters five feet tall, Slateset: The First Solar Supermall was proudly printed in bold emerald script. They’d taken down the plastic decals to clean and repaint only two weeks before. Mx. Jordanes had organized the effort, and Theo was still finding green paint behind his ears.

Maybe they were illiterate. Or, more likely, there was some obvious reason for the confusion that Theo was overlooking somehow. Either way, he said, “This is the Slateset Commune.” He pointed back the way they had come, then westward towards the mountains. “That’s all Fourth Street until you hit the residentials, and past us you’re in the King’s Republic.”

“Theo!” Still in his work clothes, Jack Kindley jogged over from the farmyard. “We heard yelling, you alright?” The barrier wall was set against a hill, leaving Jack only a few feet below him as opposed to the height he spoke with the strangers from.

“I’m fine Mr. Kindley, only there are some people here that say they’re from out of town.”

Jack’s face brightened with surprise. “Out of town? How far out of town?” He began to scale the wall next to Theo, heaving himself up by wrapping his arms around the edge, and looked down at the four travellers. “You come from out Kansas way? 73 still a bandit nest?”

The man with red on his coat answered them in a deep tone that cut through the wind like a knife. “We only came west recently,” was all he said.

Jack glanced to Theo, adjusting his grip on the wall. “They look like trouble to you?”

“Nah, I think they’re just odd. They came from 4th Street, though, and they said they weren’t stopped by any Strays. That sounds like trouble to me.”

The older man frowned and nodded, peering over the ledge again. “You guys got any weapons?”

The woman with the scar and her tall friend pulled out a large sword and an axe with a long, black blade. She presented it oddly, as if she were offering it up to be taken or showing it off, and the man did much the same with his blade. The hooded figures were supposedly defenseless. Jack seemed to think it as strange as Theo did, but he nodded all the same. “Alright then, guess you can’t shoot the place up. Let’s get you in where it’s warm.”

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I’ll likely post more teasers from throughout the book as parts become more polished. If anyone actually reads this far, thank you! Literally all feedback is good, my asks are open and anyone can dm me. The response I’ve gotten so far has me looking forward to putting out more original content in the SVK vein but please like/reblog/usual e-shilling etc if you enjoy it.

Thank you!