#so its good to know that my efforts in Relaxing My Grip have paid off!

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

I haz ask... HOW THE QUACK ARE UR LINE'S SO PERFECT- SO RELAXED???!? I have never seen a stiff drawing from you, and everything looks so good.. I just Wana nibble on it! ToT

oh that! that means a Bunch <3 thank you so much <3<3

[stardustedangel]

Red Light

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pairing || ransom drysdale x fem!reader

word count || 2.4k

summary || you and ransom have some fun in his car after you had been begging for some special attention

warnings || 18+ ; minors DNI ; teasing, fingering, oral sex (m receiving), finger sucking, car sex, semi-publix sex, unprotected sex, spanking, choking, hair pulling, slight degradation

author’s note || first fic in over two months so i’m nervous but hope everyone likes it <333 YOU DO NOT HAVE ANY PERMISSION TO RE-PUBLISH, TRANSLATE, OR TAKE ANY OF MY WORK.

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There you were, sitting in the passenger seat while your hands were fidgeting with the hem of your slip dress in a sad attempt to keep your hands off of the man driving. You glanced over at Ransom and clenched your thighs at the sight beside you.

Nostrils flared. Eyebrows furrowed. Bottom lip pulled between his teeth and two fingers were placed against his temple in an attempt to rub out his growing irritation. God, it was a sight to see. You tried to keep the small smile threatening to show as pride bubbled in your chest knowing that you were able to work up a reaction like this from him.

You knew you should’ve been embarrassed with what had happened in the last thirty minutes. Ransom and you had been at a bar drinking with some of his friends when you all but begged him to leave. He’d refused the first few times you had asked, throwing you an eye roll and telling you that you’d both leave with the next hour, but when your hand palmed at his subtle bulge under the table he dragged you to the car, but not without throwing his friends a half-hearted apology.

You’d been thinking of something to say. Maybe asking him where he was going as if you didn’t know. Just something to break the tension in the car—something that would hopefully end in him taking you over the hood of his car. It only took a few more seconds of rubbing your thighs together and mouth opening and closing time after time trying to force words out before a whimper tumbled its way out of your mouth. Your head fell against the headrest in embarrassment, but your thighs didn’t stop their movements.

Ransom’s eyes left the road for a split second to take in your hazy appearance, either from the alcohol or from how needy you were, and eyes shifting lower to see the way your dress was slowly slipping up each time your thighs shifted together.

Ransom’s eyes returned to the road as he let out a deep sigh. “What are you doing?” Thank god he said something.

You let out a frustrated whine, confused as to why Ransom was taking his sweet time on the road instead of fucking you the minute you two got into the car. You were even more annoyed that he wasn’t showing you attention while driving—no hands on you and only one gaze your way since he’s been driving.

“Waiting for you to do something,” you whined while your body slightly thrashed in the seat.

Ransom couldn’t stop the amused quirk of his eyebrow, “Oh?” Ransom halted the car when he saw the light flick to red and looked over at you lazily. “What exactly should I do, baby?”

“Fuck me,” you said bluntly with a whine trailing off at the end of your words.

You slid your left hand across the center console and set your hand on Ransom’s upper thigh. You squeezed lightly before trailing your hand to rest on his bulge, squeezing again all while making eye contact with Ransom. He twisted his face in mock sympathy, leaning over the console sweetly holding your hand that was placed over him. You were quick to lean into him, thinking he was going to finally give you what you want before he tossed your hand back into your own lap and started driving again when the light turned green.

You groaned and sunk further into your seat, crossing your arms over your chest. “Fucking tease.”

Ransom chuckled and rolled his eyes at your words. “That’s rich coming from you, baby.”

Truth be told, Ransom would have no problem fucking you in his car—maybe ever pulling over and bending you over the hood while he gave to you as good and hard as you always liked it, but where would the fun be in that? He loved watching the way you got yourself worked up all night, trying desperately to drag Ransom away from his friends so he’d touch you or give you anything. And he loved seeing you squirm in the seat of his car, practically dripping onto the seat. Ransom was willing and looking forward to seeing how far you’d take things.

“I can’t wait till we get home. Can we do something now, please? I just,” you cut yourself off when you let out a desperate sigh, “I can’t wait, Ransom.”

Though his eyes were still focused on the road you pouted up towards him. Putting on your most innocent, pleading expression you could and leaning in towards him. His eyes left the road to connect with your bright ones, feeling a small part inside of him twinge in pity. A bigger part of him felt pride, amusement, and all and all—need.

Ransom saw the way you were eyeing his bulge and his mouth quirked up in a smirk as he relaxed further into his seat. “You have until we get home, kitten. Better make it quick.”

You squealed in excitement. Hands sliding over the center console and working on the button and zipper of Ransom’s pants, hand reaching beneath his underwear to pull his cock out. You didn’t know how long you’d have till the two of you would be home, but you figured choking on his cock was a good way to pass the time.

Your right hand worked over the bright red tip, smearing his precum around. Your hand left his cock for a split second to spit into it before returning and working your hand up and down. Ransom let out a low groan, grip tightening around the wheel as your own tightened around him.

You barely paid attention to the reactions that you were getting out of Ransom, instead choosing to focus on the movements on your hand. With each pull upward your thumb rubbed over his tip. After a couple of minutes, you leaned your head down to lick his tip, then dragged your tongue down to lick the underside of his cock. Ransom let out a shaky breath, hand coming to rest on your head and thread through your hair, not pulling or tugging, just simply resting there.

You finally took him down your throat, mouth wide and eyes closed as you reveled in the feeling of some of your needs being satiated. You always loved taking Ransom down your throat; having him use you any way he liked. Your left hand grasped onto his thigh while your right continued to work over the parts of him that you couldn’t take down your throat.

“Oh, fuck,” Ransom quietly let out, but you still heard it. You moaned in response and Ransom’s hips quickly thrust up, eliciting a gag from you. You kept your mouth on him, but only quickened your pace.

“Fuck, baby. Your mouth is so warm. Fuck- feels so good.”

Your mouth came down harder and quicker, taking him down your throat even further, taking pleasure in every sound that Ransom made. Ransom shuddered above and had to make a conscious effort to slow down the car. He hadn’t noticed how hard his foot was pressed down on the gas pedal until he was forced to slow to a red light. He was grateful that it was only him and a couple of other cars on the road.

Ransom’s grip then tightened in your hair, pulling you up and down faster as he continued fucking your mouth. He was chasing his high and all you could do was wait for him to come down your throat. As he chased his high, your hand moved back towards yourself and under your dress, rubbing your clit through your lace panties before shoving two fingers into your pussy. Ransom took notice of this and his hand left your hair, yet his thrusts never ceased. He spanked your ass that was arched high in the air as you played with yourself, making you moan and jolt forward.

“Playing with yourself while taking me down your throat? You’re such a dirty girl, fuck. Such a dirty girl letting me fuck this warm mouth right here.” Ransom’s words spurred you on, making your cunt clench. He spanked your ass again, noticing you getting closer to your high.

“Fuck, kitten. That’s right. Come all over those pretty, little fingers. Be my good girl.” You moaned against his cock and your hips started to rock over your own fingers.

It only took a few more rolls of your hips for you to come, whimpering and loaning on Ransom’s cock while he palmed at your ass. Ransom pulled you off him with a pop. “Ransom,” you whined up at him needily. Eyes glassy and lips red and swollen. He took a firm grip on your jaw, pulling your mouth onto his, tongues moving over one another’s before pulling away.

Ransom’s previous plans of driving home had been long abandoned. He quickly put the car in park, not caring that he had just stopped fully at the light—not like there were any cars around anyways. Ransom looked at you with a smirk on his face. “Change of plans,” he grabbed your waist and swung you into his lap, “I’m gonna give you exactly what you want right now.”

You moaned and started to rut against Ransom’s cock the moment you were settled in his lap. His head teased your folds as he pulled your panties to the side and used his right hand to move the car seat back. When the seat jerked you gasped and pulled at the collar of Ransom’s shirt eagerly. “Fuck me, please, Ransom. Need it so bad.”

“Don’t worry, kitten,” Ransom lined himself up at your entrance and placed his hands on your hips before looking at you with a mockingly sweet look in his eyes, “I got you.”

Ransom then thrust up into you the same moment he pushed you down onto him. You cursed loudly at the feeling of being stretched out so deliciously. The feeling you had been waiting for all night was finally here and your body moved quicker than your mind did as you started to ride Ransom.

Your hands settled on Ransom’s shoulders while his fell to your hips fastening your pace. His nails were biting into your skin leaving crescent-shaped marks that you were sure you were going to see the next day. His head tipped back and his mouth fell open at how warm and tight you felt around him.

“Fuck, you feel so good wrapped around me. Can’t wait to come in this tight, little cunt, baby.”

You sobbed and threw your head back when the head of his cock hit the special place inside of you that had you squirming. You could already feel your next orgasm building from your last and started to pull at the collar of Ransom’s shirt desperately. You looked at him with dark, lust-blown eyes and whimpered. “Ransom,” you gasped and swallowed in an attempt to get the words out, “kiss me.”

Ransom was quick to wrap his hand around your neck and pull you into him. Your lips slid together as his tongue slipped into your mouth and played with yours. His hand on your neck tightened and as the kiss continued you were slowly becoming light-headed. Everything felt like too much yet not enough at the same time. Each time you wanted to pull away from the pleasure you were only further encouraged by yourself to dive in deeper.

Ransom's tongue licked over your bottom lip as he pulled away and used his grip on your throat to bounce you harder onto him as his hips thrust in time to meet your movements. His hand previously on your hip went to play with your neglected, throbbing clit and that sent your upper body curling into Ransom.

“Ransom! F-fuck, I’m gonna come.” Your hands tangled in his hair, pulling at the strands as he groaned at your touch, and your face rested in the crook of his neck. Your mouth latched onto his neck, sucking and nipping marks that you hoped would last for days.

“Come for me, kitten. I’m right behind you.”

You quickly came undone around Ransom, clenching around his and hands tightening onto the tufts of hair between your fingers. Your hips rolled against his wanting to ride out your orgasm as long as you could. Ransom helped you along as his fingers circled and played with your clit as you came. Seconds later both of Ransom’s hands returned to your waist to bring you down onto him one last time as he crashed into his own climax. He mumbled your name over and over as he rode out his own high.

The two of you finished riding your highs out and your bodies were sat close together, exhausted and sweaty. When you had enough energy to move you sat up and threw Ransom a tired, but bright grin. He returned a smug grin of his own, hand coming to guide your face to his to place lazy kisses onto your lips. They weren’t as heated and desperate as before, but the passion was still there as the two of you lazily kissed.

Ransom separated from you and moved your body upwards slightly to pull himself out of you. He cockily admired the way his cum dripped out of you and used his fingers to push it back into you. He adjusted your panties back over yourself and tapped your thigh teasingly as he finished. Ransom pressed a kiss onto your collarbone and carefully maneuvered you back into your seat. “Let’s get you home. Alright, baby?”

You hummed and slumped back into your seat with a dopey grin on your face, your body feeling fully relaxed and your mind completely fucked out. “Yes, sir,” you said in a teasing manner.

“Oh, one more thing,” you said quietly and shuffled in your seat slightly as you beckoned Ransom to lean over the center console towards you. He did and let out a low 'yes, baby?’ as he did. You lined your lips up to his ear and giggled to yourself.

“The light’s green,” you whispered with a cheeky smile. You pressed a kiss to his cheek before settling back fully into your seat and bringing the seatbelt over your body, eyes closing in content. Ransom could only shake his head at you with a stupid, grin on his face as a breathy comment of ‘brat’ left his lips before he was buckling up himself and putting the car in drive, ready to leave the light that the two of you had been sitting at.

You giggled at his next teasing words and bit your lip in excitement. “Don’t get too tired, baby. You’re gonna wanna be up and ready for round two.”

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[mycrofts-gunbrella]

Caring is the Greatest Advantage- Part Nine (Mycroft Holmes x Reader) SMUT

I am SO sorry for such a big delay between chapters! I’ve just had terrible writer’s block and my mental health has been.. challenging, to say the least! But here’s chapter nine! Sorry if Myc is a little out of character, I didn’t really know how else to write it! This is a shorter chapter but the next few should be longer! And expect some more emotional chapters coming up for when Mycroft finally talks to his parents about Eurus!

Word Count-  3766

Mycroft wasn't entirely sure how long after you had fallen asleep that he had followed suit. He hadn't been planning on falling asleep at all, really; he was rather content simply laying there and thinking over in his mind how he had ended up in this position at all. It was a strange feeling still, feeling the weight of you in his arms, the feeling of your hands bunching in his jumper as though he were your lifeline, the light feeling of your breath skimming the skin of his neck. Strange, and yet welcoming. He was beginning to question why he had never tried harder in seeking this kind of thing out before, but he knew the thought was futile. He wasn't entirely sure he'd have ever wanted to be in this position with anybody else, as cheesy and cliché as he had sounded. He had a reputation to upkeep, an entire persona behind his Iceman nickname, and yet he felt entirely at ease, thawed, if you will, with you.

He had opened his eyes to find his head resting slightly atop yours, facing towards the television that had long since surpassed standby mode and instead remained a dark black. Mycroft couldn't help but focus on the reflection that he could see in its screen, the image of the pair of you laying embraced on the sofa, his hand resting so casually at your back that it could be mistaken for a position that had been practiced for years rather than only a few days. It was nice, he had decided. Nice that things had ended up this way, even if it had taken so many years to get this far. In both his mind and your own, it had honestly felt as though you had been together for far longer; as though it was some unspoken decision between the pair of you that neither of you would take the step to start the relationship, and yet made yourself unavailable for anybody else, cancelled plans to be with the other, enjoyed more meals together than apart. Though of course this was far easier on Mycroft's end, not exactly having many other social dependencies, and a lack of opportunities for such things with other people. Still, he had remained inwardly thankful that you had adhered to the same ideas.

In his own way, he was glad that it had taken as long as it did. It allowed for him to truly know you, far more than any information on a file could give. It let him introduce himself to you properly, allowed for you to truly get to know him, for him to feel comfortable enough around you to lower his walls and drop his public, heartless politician façade. Not that he had much choice in the latter part. You knew from day dot that it was, as you delightfully put, "a load of old bollocks." Though you never once taunted him for it, not really, at least not in a bad way. You just enjoyed teasing from time to time. Mycroft Holmes had always been the kind of man to laugh at the idea of things as trivial as fate, the whole 'being at the right place at the right time', or even luck, always claiming that every event was purely cause and effect. And yet, he found his ever so brilliant mind allowing himself to, for once, divulge into the prospects of it, liking the idea that perhaps the Universe wasn't always so cruel. And with this rarely optimistic thought in mind, Mycroft once again found his arm tightening slightly around you and allowed his eyes to close- not to sleep, but to take up the rare opportunity in his usually hectic life to just relax.

---

Only 15 or so minutes had passed since Mycroft had woken up before you began to stir slightly, the hand that was fisted into his jumper moved and instead wound beneath his arm, holding at his shoulder blade and pulling yourself impossibly closer to him, your leg twisting slightly and angling your hip to brush against Mycroft's crotch with just enough pressure to make him gasp. Mycroft had blinked slowly, trying to register the sensation while simultaneously trying to ignore it. He had felt his body stiffen, which had clearly been unwelcome to your sleeping form. You had turned once again, other hand circling his neck and tugging closer, pressing against him once more and humming at the warmth. Mycroft coughed rather loudly, face burning, eyes wide, utterly mortified and, quite frankly, half hard.

He was truly embarrassed, his body reacting in such a juvenile way from the slightest of touch. He cursed himself for his lack of control and placed his atheism aside to pray to God that it would just go away. It's not that Mycroft had never paid that part of his body any attention- he was human after all- but with his usually busy work schedule, and then the Eurus mishap, and of course having you in his home, he hadn't allowed himself to.. indulge.. so to speak. So clearly the smallest hint of friction was enough to turn him into a teenager again. He had also noticed that in your movements the hem of your shirt had lifted just enough that Mycroft's hand was now resting against bare skin and he swallowed thickly.

Mycroft had, of course, contemplated the idea of sex- in any form- in his past. It was in college that he had noticed his peers coming into school with hickeys on their necks, conversed between each other of their sexual encounters, parading body counts, and in University where he had found himself accidentally walking in on far too many students going at it in various cupboards and empty classrooms. He had taken a brief interest but soon let it die down when he had never found anybody interested in him, nor anybody he was interested in. Of course with his occupation and links there had always been the option to fulfil such desires with the security of utmost privacy, but Mycroft had never been keen on the idea of paying for sex. So that, of course, left him in the position of being completely sexually inexperienced, which had never bothered him or caused him any embarrassment until this very moment.

When allowing himself to enter the relationship with you, Mycroft of course suspected that sex would be on the cards at some point, but he had hoped it wouldn't be the result of basic instinct like this. Previously, the idea of being that intimate with you had been an exciting prospect, but now all that was left was embarrassment of his history, and insecurity of his body.

"God, how long have we been out? I feel incredible." You muttered against his skin, not making any effort to move away from the cocoon of warmth that Mycroft was providing. You hummed appreciatively at the feeling of the elder Holmes' hand on your back and the heartbeat that you felt under the fingers on his chest. Only the heartbeat was significantly increased since before you had fallen asleep. "Myc? You okay?" Now you did move, angling your neck to look at the flushed features of the man you were lying next to. Mycroft coughed and nodded weakly, making any slight attempt to angle his pelvis away from you. "If you're sure..? Was I being too clingy? Honestly, you can tell me and I'll stop hanging on you like a baby monkey." You heard a quiet 'no' and smiled. "Okay good, because I REALLY like the cuddling." You shuffled in a little closer and continued. "And, please don't shove me off, I think you like it too because you didn't let me fall and yo- Oh!" Your fidgeting had allowed your thigh to once again rub against Mycroft's erection and he hissed slightly.

"Y/N I can only offer my utmost apologies for reacting in such a callow manner." He stuttered out, making every attempt to wriggle his way from your grip with the idea of making a beeline for the door.

"You don't need to apologise, Mycroft. If anything, I should apologise for uh.. friction? Or perhaps Da Vinci should apologise for discovering friction in the first place?" You breathed a small laugh but Mycroft only remained stiff and uncomfortable. You manoeuvred yourself until you'd both sat up, you sideways slightly with your legs resting across Mycroft's lap and covering him. "Sorry, I tried to make a sciency joke to make you laugh. It was just my way of saying that you're okay and that you shouldn't be embarrassed. If anything, I'm flattered." You laughed slightly again and Mycroft's shoulders slightly relaxed. "Christ, I could, that's if you want to and please do not feel pressured, I could.. help. If you wanted to?" His eyes widened dramatically, brows raising to his hairline while his jaw comically opened slightly in shock.

"I don't.. that is.. you don't have..I-" In a rare moment of time, Mycroft found himself lost for words and an appropriate reaction.

"Don't worry, just forget about it. We don't have to do anything like that until you're ready.. If you're ever ready, that is.. If you don't.. do that.. kinda stuff, that's fine too." And now you were propositioning that you were willing to forego any kind of sexual activity should Mycroft never want it? Why? You answered his unspoken question with a chuckle. "I mean, I've gone 5 years without it, what's the rest of our lives?" Mycroft closed his eyes and took a breath.

"No. It's not that I don't.. want to.. I just.. I, well.. I'm a very busy man and I always have been so.."

"Mycroft, quite frankly I couldn't care less whether you've done anything with a hundred women or none at all. If anything, I find it kinda hot that you haven't. And even more hot if I were the one to change that." He nodded slowly and you smiled back at him. "Is that a yes? Because it doesn't have to be if you don't want it to be. We have all the time in the world."

"Yes."

"Okay. Just promise me you'll tell me if you want to stop." He nodded again. "Promise me, Myc."

"I.. I promise."

--------- sexy times warning ---------

You raised your hand slowly to brush against his face before leaning in and pressing your lips against his. Mycroft sighed in content as you let your thumb graze his cheekbone. Shifting position, you moved your knees to either side of his thighs, straddling him slightly but with your weight resting above his knees, your other hand circling to hold the back of his neck.

"This okay?"

"Mmm." You let your lips travel along his jawbone, nipping slightly at skin and smirking in triumph at the tiny gasps leaving the politician's mouth. Running your hands from his neck down his chest, tugging slightly at the thick jumper in silent plea. Mycroft raised his arms slightly, giving you the access to lift it and chuck it at the side. Wincing, you watched as it knocked the half cup of cold coffee you left on the side, the brown liquid splashing from its porcelain confinements onto the burgundy cotton.

"Please don't tell me that jumper's some four-figured item hand crafted by only the finest of maids in a remote Peruvian town.." Mycroft took his focus back and grimaced.

"Five, and Venezuelan." You stiffened and gulped slightly. "I'm kidding, it's only from M&S." A dazed grin on his face, hands squeezing ever so slightly at your hips. The back of your hand slapped his chest as you relaxed again, breathing out a laugh.

"You are a very cruel man, Mr Holmes." Head lowering to kiss at his neck once more. "You're bloody lucky that you're pretty." His low chuckle was cut off with a deep hum as you bit softly at his collarbone. You dragged your hands down again, fingering at the top buttons on Mycroft's shirt, and not missing how his body became tight. "We don't have to take it off if you don't want to." Relaxed once more. "Can I just undo a few? You'll be more comfortable I reckon without being strangled by a shirt collar." He nodded once. And then again when you double checked. And once more with a small 'yes' when you really wanted to make sure. Taking it slowly, you opened the top three buttons; two to give Mycroft's neck more breathing space, and the other to give your hand enough space to explore the new area of skin- fingers brushing over the top of his chest, auburn chest hair tickling between your digits. You kissed him again, tongue running ever so slightly across his bottom lip; relishing at the small whimper as you pulled away. Myc let out a breath he hadn't been aware he was holding when your palm dragged down from his chest and to the front of his trousers, applying the slightest bit of pressure as you rubbed slowly. You looked up once more to make sure you weren't taking things too quickly, E/C meeting the tiniest speck of blue that hadn't been hidden from his blown pupils.

"Please?" His voice was barely a whisper, and you were sure you wouldn't have heard it if you hadn't been as close to him as you are now. You tugged at his belt and threw it with the caffeine infused sweatshirt, popping the button of his trousers open and lowering the zip. Mycroft threw his head back against the sofa cushions as you reached in and began to stroke him slowly, your lips latching onto the much better exposed neck. You experimentally gave a twist of your hand each time you reached the head, thumb brushing over the pre-cum that had formed at the tip and using it to slick up your hand- the elder Holmes let out a low moan from his throat, fingers digging into your hips so tightly that you wouldn't be surprised if they left small bruises. Not that you minded, anyway. Hearing Mycroft make those noises under your touch was exhilarating, and knowing you were the first to do such a thing only spurred the excitement on more. You could feel his thighs tighten beneath you, his breathing become slightly more ragged. You hadn't expected him to have lasted long, and you began to recognise the warning signs. Removing your hand completely, you couldn't help but send Mycroft an apologetic smile at the look of disappointment in his face.

"Look, I've already ruined a jumper and I'll be damned if I'm the cause of ruining your trousers too- which are certainly not from Marks and Sparks." You shimmied yourself back until you could feel the plush rug beneath your feet, dropping yourself until you were on your knees between his open legs. You could see in his eyes how he wanted to protest, or make some explanation on how it's unsanitary, but Mycroft's sheer need fed by his curiosity won over and he closed his eyes in waiting, regaining slight control over his breath before choking on it as you slowly ran your tongue from the base of his shaft to the head. "Unless you want me to stop?"

"Good God, no." His voice raised, making you grin as you took him into your mouth completely, head bobbing in a steady rhythm with your hand that pumped what you couldn't reach. Mycroft was certainly larger than any man you had been with before; his long slender cock suiting his form perfectly. You hummed as you imagined later sexual encounters with him- him filling you completely at last- and he writhed as the vibrations ran straight through him. Without a warning, you removed your hand and took him into your mouth completely, sucking and licking against the long vein that ran on the underside of his erection. Myc's hands instinctively shot to your hair as he felt the warmth build in his stomach, quickly cumming with a shout as you hummed around him once more. You pulled off him slowly with an audible 'pop', trying not to overstimulate while he was still sensitive, and tucked him back into his trousers. He tried to balance his breathing, removing his hands from your hair and running them through his own. Standing back up, you glanced over his form- his hair absolutely wild, shirt unbuttoned sligthly, red hairs poking between the fabric from a heaving chest, mouth still slightly open as he breathed, cheeks flushed immensely. God he looked gorgeous.

"Was that.. uh. Good?" You inwardly cringed at your words. Christ woman, you just blew him, not given him a cake. Uncharacteristically for Mycroft, his pale hand reached over to cup your cheek, bringing your lips to his in a sweet kiss; his tongue experimentally running across your bottom lip before pulling away. "Right, okay. That answered my question on where you stand on kissing after. With you sat there looking all messed up and sexy I was about ready to run and brush my teeth to kiss you again."

"Apologies.. I found myself.. curious."

"You bloody pervert." You winked, leaning to kiss him again. "So you'll kiss me after.. after.." You tried to think of a word that wouldn't sound overly vulgar to the man who had swallowed several dictionaries in several different languages.

"Fellatio?"

"Christ on a bike, Mycroft if you call it that I'll never do it again." The pair of you laughed like a pair of idiots for a moment before you continued on. "Anyway.. You'll kiss me after I do that and deem it 'curiosity', but I dip my chip in a milkshake and that's considered 'improper'? I'm starting to think you make up these rules to best suit you."

"Well, one should indulge in the odd act of impropriety sometimes, else I fear we'd go insane."

"So you WILL dip a chip in the milkshake next time?"

"Oh God, no. I'd rather snack on one of Sherlock's experiments." You both laughed again before silence took over, Mycroft's brain whirring as he tried to both comprehend what had happened, and work out the appropriate way to go on.

"You know, there isn't any written etiquette on how to behave after your partner blows you on the sofa." A raised eyebrow in response. "I am not calling it fellatio.." You reached over and grabbed the tv remote, flicking it back on.

"And you said you couldn't read minds.." As the screen began to power on, you heard a small chuckle from beside you.

"What?"

"No it's nothing. Just ignore me." He bit down onto two fingers slightly to compose himself; the composure being short-lived as he started off again. You tilted your head at him, urging him to speak about what had suddenly crossed his mind.

"Sorry I was just thinking about this morning."

"Bernice? Bit of a weird thing for your mind to flitter to right now, isn't it? Maybe I should be concerned you'll sack me off for her; one bit of action and you're planning to wed the nympho." You teased, loading britbox back up with the intention of continuing your filmathon- a word you used and Myc hated.. so you used it more.

"Before that. What you said this morning, after I heard you wince and ask-"

"Head.. And I said 'who knows what the day will bring'." You snickered into your hand and slouched back, resting slightly aside Mycroft's shoulder. "Speaking of that.. I do hope you're aware that I don't typically do that after only dating somebody for little less than a week."

"Usually wait two, do you?" You slapped his arm.

"Cheeky prick, I'm being serious! I don't want to make it all mushy and awkward so I'll say it, you don't respond and then we'll start up Carry On Camping. Deal?" He nodded his head slightly, bowing it towards you in gesture to continue. "Doing.. that.. and you letting me, it meant a lot. Which probably sounds weird for what it was but, and don't let this over stroke your ego, I don't feel like we've only been together a week. It just feels like we've been together for years with a random rule of celibacy that an innocent nap on the sofa broke. So.. there. I dunno.. I'm just.. proud of you? For taking that step with me.. and I'm massively looking forward to a few steps time when I can get your kit off." You coughed the last sentence with a laugh. True to his agreement, Mycroft didn't say a word. You played the next film and grinned when you felt a long arm wrap behind your back, tugging you to his form gently before warm lips pressed against your temple.

From an outside perspective, your little speech would likely seem a tad bizarre but you knew it probably meant a lot to Mycroft- the kiss on your head solidifying that fact. So you were more than willing to spurt a few awkward sentences for the sake of his reassurance; pleased that it was received well and not like some 'well done for trying' certificate you'd get in primary school for coming 6th in the sack race.

"Ooh this one has Babs in it, doesn't it? God I loved Barbara Windsor."

"Mmm. I met Dame Barbara once, a fair few years ago now. She truly was wonderful." Mycroft praised.

"Of course you met her, her last name's Windsor. You'd do anything to get to anything related to The Queen."

"Dame Barbara's surname was actually Deeks. She changed it to Windsor, inspired by Her Majesty, in 1954 following her role in 'The Belles of St Trinian's."

"Mycroft, sweetheart, I was joking. You told me you'd met her when she was given her title. I was a Barbara fangirl, I know." You twisted and pecked him on the cheek, not even noticing the petname that certainly didn't fall on deaf ears from Myc. The side of his mouth flicked up in a small smile; his hand squeezing slightly on your hip before he leaned over and spoke quietly.

"Thank you."

"What fo-"

"Shhh, film's starting." And with that, the pair of you settled into a comfortable silence, being broken only every now and then with your laughter as you watched the telly. Mycroft's smiles and light hearted reactions came from watching you much more than the film, but he didn't think you noticed. Or if you did, you didn't say a word.

TAGLIST

@lola4pedro​

[mingoyeob-archive]

Can you please do:

53: "We're stuck in the middle of a storm and all you want to do is play in the rain,"

41: "Dance with me,"

61: "If you keep looking at me like that I won't be able to handle myself,"

45: "Take.It.Off"

With Jungkook and reader.💜

Loads of love✨

under the oak tree drabble game ⚔️🌳 to make up for my delayed release of part 3 of under the oak tree i’ve decided to do a drabble game! send me a number + any of the characters from under the oak tree and i’ll write you a drabble :)

thank you so much for sending in a request 💜 💜 I love that you sent in multiple prompts cause it allowed me to really develop the story! I kinda went crazy with it tho, can you call 2.5k a drabble? idk but I hope you enjoy!

53: "We're stuck in the middle of a storm and all you want to do is play in the rain," + 41: "Dance with me," + 61: "If you keep looking at me like that I won't be able to handle myself," + 45: "Take.It.Off" - jjk x reader - word count: 2.5k

Your body swayed back and forth in your seat as the carriage wheeled over bumpy roads and rocky dirt paths. It had you gripping tightly to the underside of the leather seat to prevent yourself from falling to the hard cabin floor. Your gaze stayed trained out the window, watching the trees go by and the rain pouring down creating puddles along the roads. The small drops on the glass had your eyes zeroing on them, watching as they raced back and forth towards the edge of the carriage door. Oh how I tire of this dreadful weather you mused, a frown settling on your face at the thought.  Jungkook grunting as if to catch your attention was the only thing that had your head turning away, meeting dark brown pools that filled steely eyes.

“Are you upset with me?”

Any other day his question would have had you scrambling to pacify his concern, but today, your foul mood had you holding your tongue. Of course you were upset, he was taking you to the one place you hated the most - home. Well, what used to be your home, Uwhen felt more like your home now than that place ever did.

You fixed him with a blank stare. “Yes.” you say, voice monotonous and lacking any obvious emotion.

Your blunt response had Jungkook's eyes slowly widening as he registered just how bad he had fucked up. He never would’ve guessed you’d be this upset, he was doing this for you after all. When Jungkook first got the invitation to attend one of your fathers council meetings to oversee the trades occurring with other kingdoms he was completely set on denying the request; he was never one to meddle into things that didn’t directly affect his people. But one of his own advisors, Seokjin, had reminded him that as the new Duke it technically was one of his responsibilities to be there. Plus, according to him, a good opportunity to get you out of the castle.

“If I was her, I’d want to get out of here as soon as possible!” He had said comically, laughing at his own terrible joke loud and squeaky like. Jungkook frowned at the memory.

Had you said something to him about wanting to leave? he had wondered. Even though you hadn’t (you barely even knew the man), Jungkook’s worries continued to spiral out of control and he hastily had sent your father confirmation that he would be there and that he was taking you with him. He hesitated with his response trying to find the right words to make sure he didn’t make the situation worse. “I’m sorry I assumed you would be ha-”

Bang!

Jungkook's apology was interrupted by the loud sound of something cracking, the two of you launching off your seats as the carriage immediately leaned over on its side. The crash had you two falling out of your seats onto creaking wood, bodies crumpling onto one another and limbs draped everywhere. You had let out an oof at the fall, but Jungkook had seemed unfazed and if anything more pissed off than dazed. It took you a minute to gather your bearings, trying to determine which way was up and which way was down, but as soon as you did you realized you were staring directly into Jungkook's eyes, body sprawled across his chest.

It seemed like he had made an effort to try and catch you during the fall and somehow his arm had found its way around your waist, huge hand unintentionally landing directly on your ass. Your face heated up immediately. “Jungkook, your hand.” he just quirked an eyebrow, oblivious to what you were referring to which only served to make you more annoyed. "Take.It.Off"

He looked confused for a second before finally registering where his mischievous hand had strayed. Despite how he was internally freaking out, his hands had calmly retracted and instead moved to your shoulders to lift you back into your seat as if you were as light as a feather, catching you off guard. You could only sit there surprised at the action, watching as Jungkook’s giant figure struggled to stand up in the cabin, neck bending to duck out of the cabin when he opened the door.

“What the hell happened out here?!”

“I’m sorry my Lord, but it seems one of our wheels got stuck in a hole and broke its bearing.” The coachmen muttered embarrassed, cringing at the obvious anger that showed across Jungkook’s face. The driver's words had you sticking your own head out of the door, flinching as the ice cold rain immediately started drenching you.

“Well how long will it take you to fix it?!” Jungkook questioned irate.

The man avoided Jungkook's fiery gaze, rubbing at his neck, “Considering the craftsman isn’t until the next town, I’m not quite sure. We’d have to walk the rest of the way unfortunately and that could take the rest of the day and probably into the night, sir.”

Jungkook let out a groan, obviously upset with the coachmens words. He threw his hands up, turning in his spot to kick at the edge of the broken down carriage only to just notice that you had stepped out into the rain yourself. Immediately he walked over, boots stumping in the mud. “Get back in the carriage Y/N.”

You scoffed, “No way, you heard the man. We’ll have to walk and you’re not leaving me out here by myself to wait for you to return with a damn wheel.” You glared up at him, neck straining to look up and meet his gaze confidently. “Besides I think I can handle a little rain by now.”

“Rain has nothing to do with it. I didn’t plan on leaving you, I’m staying here. He can walk to the town by himself,” The driver let out a sound of alarm at his statement to which Jungkook paid no mind to. “He can send word to your father to get another carriage to escort us the rest of the way.”

“Jungkook, staying here would be the worst thing to do and getting my father involved would just be a nuisance and you don’t want to make him upset, do you? We can just stop at an inn and stay till the morning.” You were obviously trying to stop Jungkook from continuing the journey to your father. But he didn’t know that of course and he actually began to mull over the idea. The two of you stood in the rain for a moment glaring at each other, waiting for one of you to give up. When he realized that he wasn’t going to win, he let out a grunt, spinning on his heel to trudge down the path. The driver stared back and forth between the two of you, confused about what just happened. You just smiled at your plan actually working and followed behind him, satisfied with your accomplishment.

For a while the three of you walked, completely soaked from the relentless downpour with clothes clinging to your bodies. Thankfully it began calming down as you continued on the road, but the mood surrounding everyone was still tense. You could tell Jungkook was still upset as he had never stopped glowering at the forest ahead, eyebrows furrowed and jaw tense. His bristly mood had you sighing, perhaps it was time for you to try and break the ice.

“Jungkook.” you called from behind his towering figure, stopping in your tracks. He didn’t immediately respond, but after realizing you had halted he turned to look over his shoulder, offering you a grunt in question.

“Dance with me.” you say with a smile, beaming despite his obvious annoyance.

He merely arched a brow, finally facing you to stare at you blankly. Jungkook crossed his arms, “What?” he said.

You giggled, “I said dance with me!” you did a small spin in your spot, lips tilting up at the corners as you extended a hand in his direction. He just looked at it, face void of emotion.

“We're stuck in the middle of a storm and all you want to do is play in the rain.”

He sounded dreadfully confused, but that didn’t deter you from your mission. “Yes! In my opinion, mud makes for an excellent dance floor.” your voice dripped with excitement and when he didn’t show any sign of taking your hand you just took it upon yourself to take his hand from his folded arms and pulled him forward (it barely moved him but you get the jist).

Jungkook sighed and tried to stand his ground as you pulled relentlessly on his arms. The sound of your feet splashing in the mud made him cringe but regretfully he started moving to the beat you seemed to have made up in your head. You two spun in circles and moved back and forth down the path, making up your own dance as you went. The coachmen watched amused from the sidelines, clapping along to the two of you to mimic the sound of music. You knew Jungkook was trying to look like he was still upset, but you could tell it was an act and that he was starting to warm up to the idea as you went along. His arms started to loosen and his back started to untense, shoulders relaxing to make it easier for you to pull him along. He was even biting back a smile at the sound of your cute sounds and the hums you were letting out in tune to the drivers rhythm. At that moment Jungkook thought you looked absolutely enchanting.

Despite the hair stuck to your face, the bottom of your dress covered completely in mud and lingering scent of mildewy smelling soaked wet cotton, the drops of water stuck to your long lashes and the flush in your cheeks trumped all of those things. He had never seen you smile so hard or look so comfortable in his arms. Besides the accidental fall back at the carriage, this was the first time you had been this close to him since your wedding night and he could feel the heat radiating from your body, your hearts beating to the same rhythm. He truly felt like you were his.

So he watched as you continued to spin, laughs full of glee escaping past your lips. You even had the nerve to stick your tongue out in an effort to catch raindrops, showing off the long expanse of your throat and jutting collarbones. The sight had something stirring in him. And you must’ve noticed the change in his face because you stopped in your step, smile calming and eyes softening. You could tell he was deep in thought, so you didn’t feel the need to speak just yet. Instead, you just looked at him, eyes gazing up at him and swimming with admiration. Your shining irises peeking up below your lashes had your stare coming off as almost sultry and he felt his pulse quickening. When you picked up on the shift in his mood you decided to speak up. “Is something the matter, Jungkook?” you questioned, looking up with wide eyes. You looked so innocent. He knew it was wrong, but he wanted so bad to corrupt you.

Jungkook pulled you so close you had to strain your neck to stare up at him just before he dipped his head down, lips so close to touching. "If you keep looking at me like that I won't be able to handle myself."

Your breath caught in your throat and your face was full of surprise as you just stared at him speechless. It was almost as if you two were having some type of heated conversation with the way his dark eyes connected to yours. The tension was undeniable. But you two seemed to have forgotten that you guys weren’t the only ones out there on that dirt road, and the sound of the driver clearing his throat had you two stepping apart.

“Are you guys um...ready to keep heading towards the inn?” he mumbled, obviously uncomfortable. The two of you couldn’t answer fast enough.

“Yes!”

[kurohoely]

mask (sakusa x y/n)

What happens when Sakusa realizes masks are better off than on?

genre: hurt/comfort, sakusa is in time skip!

wc: 2.2k

It was known that Sakusa is reserved, he only shows his most relaxed self to those who he trusts, which includes you. He can show those random, whacky emotions, teasing you and giving some gen z emojis but being open and vulnerable? That’s just not him.

You have been dating him for almost a few months now and a lot of people were surprised that you both actually worked out. The dynamic you both have was something people often quote as ‘not compatible’. You knew him before since you both have few classes together in college but who would’ve thought from those unintentional crossings lead you here. Sakusa’s character is pretty obvious and you kind of get it by now how he works and acts but was there any difference between before and now? Why does it feel like the walls are kept up, and builds higher than before?

You tried to initiate a lot of things. He does too but he was indeed more awkward, baby steps as you call it. Despite all that, you appreciate him, all the things he did were definitely out of his comfort zone. You kept saying to yourself that he's trying, remembering that he was the one that confessed first. You hold onto that memory in hope that it will be dynamic throughout the relationship.

But how about right now? With the new season up and running, you kept seeing less and less of him. Countless lonely dinners and cold bedsheets. Rescheduled dates and missing out on one another. You almost excused Sakusa for forgetting your anniversary, thinking it was a given. You signed up to be with someone that has no constant rhythm in their life, always the next big thing to keep their lives afloat. Again, you put on another layer, masking away, reasoning to yourself that things will work out. You don't want to bother him, let alone be the reason why he is stressing out. Patience has always been a good nature of you but sometimes, you question if you should stop being selfless and start being selfish. He is your boyfriend after all.

Sakusa noticed the subtle changes that happened. He felt that you were perfect. Too perfect, as a matter of fact. He wanted to sit down and try to understand why and where this was coming from because he definitely didn't confess to you for perfection. He wanted you. Not any other version. Pure and transparent. No mask. But as much as he wanted to, it is still out of his nature, and with the season starting, it will be quite some time before he can bring this again.

Mid through the season, work is piling up, matches are getting tougher each time they win. That’s a given. You came to almost all of his games and have them recorded on tv. Whatever the outcome, you will always be proud of him. He was basking in his prime condition; you were there for him and his plays were getting synchronized with the team at a rate that even the coach was surprised. He left the thought at the back of his mind, focusing on what he has to do first. After each match, you both have this little ritual, spending some alone time together starting with dinner as both of your schedules sometimes don't overlap quite nicely. Sakusa told you about his plays as if you weren’t there to witness it all and you can’t blame him. You love seeing the sparkle in his eyes when he talks about how good it felt when spiking. The conversation flows naturally and you both talked about how your days went. You were both walking diaries of each other. Not until Sakusa flipped a page that has been long overdue.

He cussed himself to have the audacity to forget about this issue. He doesn’t like this. It was as if he’s taking advantage of your facade, your mask. Even though Sakusa tells you many times that you need to wear one physically, this was something that he wished to be stripped off completely. He hates it. He hates that he can't be a safe space for you. Someone you can let yourself breathe from the suffocating expectations from the outside world. But what he hates the most is that you changed yourself to accommodate his own ignorance.

Sakusa flipped his match schedule. It looks like there won't be another match in 5 days. He called Meian and Iwaizumi if it’s okay if he takes a few days off from practice. Both of them were surprised that Sakusa would even ask for a day off but they agreed anyway. He’s not the type to ask for one so this must be something really important.

Saturday shifts are hard. You only have one day of rest before hustling again on Monday but oh you were SO GLAD that your manager said that you can have a paid leave on Monday after helping out on a side project for some other team.

You pushed your shared apartment door, dragging your feet inside. You saw Sakusa peek his head from the kitchen. He took off his apron and walked to you, grabbing your bags from the floor and giving a peck on your cheek. You went to the bedroom and saw the bath bomb that you bought impulsively on your previous date. A bath sounds nice, you thought to yourself.

Filling up the bath to a slightly hotter temperature, a much-needed one to shake that fatigue out from your body and start your long weekend with a fresher body. Gently dipping your toes, you hold the sides and lower yourself in, letting the heat seep into your skin. As you were shuffling your position, a knock on the bathroom door.

“Can I come in?”

“Doors unlocked so yeah baby come in”

Sakusa twisted the knob, letting himself in. He sat on the floor next to the tub, a rare sight for Sakusa and you. He folded his arms on the dry part of the tub and stared into your eyes. Losing himself in your mind, finding where he actually belongs. He knows this isn’t the right time, not even a good one, to bring up this matter but it has been pushed back for too long, he couldn’t care less about what setting it was in right now. You were always firm on your stands, confronting those to have the middle ground in everything but now, it was as if he’s with someone else.

“Hey sunshine, how's the bath”

You flushed at the pet name he called you. When was the last time you heard that softness, that warmth? The sense of home and belonging to another person, solely wanting to give your whole life away in exchange for his.

“It's pretty nice. Do you wanna join in?”

“Hmm sounds nice.”

He removes his mask and strips quickly, submerging himself into the tub in front of you. He pressed his muscular, toned back to your chest, taking its warmth into his body. Taking in whatever he could take from you between his skin and yours. Your scent, your heat, your touch, the friction, sensation - everything. He knows he wants everything but how about you? He sometimes thinks that he forced you into the relationship, going above and beyond to go with how he handles things. His fussy attitude when it comes to cleaning, being in crowds, and towards people in general. Whatever the train of thought was, he needs to know, He can’t bear seeing his future bland and monotonous because you were not there. You were his yellow, heck, you were his entire spectrum.

“Hey y/n, I know it's not a good time to ask this but, did I do something that makes you uncomfortable? I know I’m not good with words or being affectionate, doing all those sweet things that you see in movies but the last thing I want you to be is forcing yourself to be something that you are not.

“If there’s anything wrong that I did please tell me I…”.

“No! You did nothing wrong. You were perfect but maybe too perfect. I have this feeling that you weren't being yourself for quite some time. It's like you have this mask that you put on whenever you are with me. I know you are sensitive in nature - both to other people and towards yourself, which is why I fell in love with but aren't relationships supposed to be a two-way thing? I need to know what’s bothering you so please talk to me. I want you to feel safe with me. I want you to be your most comfortable as if both of us are the only ones that are living on this earth. I wish I could come and talk to you sooner about this but I got too caught up in the games. It's my fault. I’m sorry. I’ll try to be braver on confronting things like these. I’ll try to be more attentive to the small things”

Hearing this from Sakusa made your heart burst into so many emotions that were buried for so long. Happy, sad, hopeless, desperation, anger, guilt but most importantly, longing. You could only cry when he finished his last words. You were gasping for air, clawing yourself into Sakusa’s shoulders to grip on whatever you can. Wet streams trickled down Sakusa’s nape, dampening them. Sakusa was flustered as if it was the first time he ever saw you broke down. The first time? Oh God, how much has he been missing in this relationship...

“I’m sorry Omi. I was trying to be understanding. I tried to make this home at least a space where you can have at least some peace. I wanted to be with you more so badly but I know by asking it, you have to take time off or you might just think I'm annoying. And I hate it. Words cut more for me since it is the least effort to bring out but weighs the most. I don't think I can bear with it. So I avoided it. I avoid creating any chances that would lead us to fight. But then, it hit me when you started to slip away, distancing yourself subtly. Our dinner time became shorter, we didn't even cuddle anymore because your muscles were sore and I want them to heal fast so you can play your best. It seems like it backfired huh?”

Sakusa was taken aback due to a lot of things. How he finally was able to hear you say his pet name, the range of small things that you do, putting him as your topmost priority when you yourself are buried down, succumbing to earth more and more. How could he be so blind? It hurts him. It hurts him that you didn't even consider being comfortable with him. It destroys him that all of your actions were threaded with the thoughts of him when he did nothing, even worse, he forgot. Sakusa felt a sting poking through his heart, thin-like rods thrusting through it slowly. He felt a burning sensation that he was sure he didn’t like. If he felt this after hearing all of these, what about you? You’ve been carrying these for weeks, stretching out to months, yet you’re still here. How did he end up with someone as thoughtful and wonderful as you? He turned his body around, facing you. Your legs tangling together, bringing you inside his embrace, pushing your foreheads together. He lets out a breath after his thoughts finally reach a verdict.

“Hey bub, it’s okay. We’re here now. I’m sorry it took my dumbass this long to have this conversation. You don’t know how much you meant to me even though I barely show it. Please know that at least. I love you. I love you so much, too much that I cannot imagine waking up the next day without you. You were the reason I can handle Atsumu’s ass, thinking about if I can go through that part of the day, I can see you again. A little reward from me to myself. I asked for a few days off, shall we do a bit of catching up session?”

A tint of coral pink brushes lightly on top of your cheeks. Seeing Sakusa being all vulnerable and open, is a view that you wish no one will ever see besides you. You smiled and chuckled lightly.

Sakusa's heart swells. There it is. The smile that got him smitten all over. The small chuckle that you made was a symphony to his ears. It was as if at this moment he fell in love again. He found the you that he fell for but even deeper. He swore that day he would never make you feel like this.

You both get out, drying yourself together. Omi blow-dried your hair and you did his. He's pretty good at managing your hair because of his curls. You both did a random 14-step Korean skincare routine and cuddling around watching your favorite movie - Pride and Prejudice. Sakusa never understood why you liked this movie so much but today he finally does. When two lovers placed down their masks and finally faced each other, all became visible. The adoration in one's eyes, longing for the warmth of the other, to finally be together.

[nepenthendline]

S/O having an epileptic seizure - Tendou, Koganeawa, Tanaka, Goshiki, Sugawara and Aone

My medical degree coming in handy here lol, this technically counts as studying, right? Also I’m going to cover a range of different seizures and that they are aware of your epilepsy, so I hope that’s ok! These are all going to be mini drabbles!

I just want to say I don’t have much experience with epileptic seizures besides studying them, so I hope this is realistic enough, I put a lot of effort into it 💞💞

Request: idk how many characters you accept so i’m sorry if this is too many!! but could you do tendou, koganeawa, tanaka, goshiki, sugawara and aone with a s/o who has epilepsy and has a seizure when they’re hanging out? :)

Seizure types covered: Atonic, Complex Focal, Tonic, Tonic Clonic, Absence and Myclonic

Tendou - Atonic Seizure:

The two of you were sitting in his bed, cuddled up to each other while watching a show on his laptop. You had both spent all day studying so this time was for the two of you to relax together, pushing through the tiredness. His arms were loosely wrapped around you as you leaned on his shoulder, breathing his scent. 

As his fingers were brushing over your skin, he felt your body stiffen suddenly, before going limp and falling forwards. Since he always paid close attention to you, he was able to quickly move the laptop out of the way, allowing your head to safely land in his lap. He knew you weren’t in pain, or that you would probably even remember this moment, but it still sent his heart racing every time he witnessed a seizure. Brushing your hair away from your face, he pulled the blanked closer, covering your body to keep you warm. 

It was only a few moments before you opened your eyes again, blinking and looking around the room in confusion, but he was instantly there to comfort you. 

“It’s alright, sweetheart, you’re safe. You can lay there for a little longer, ok?” He gently spoke, caressing your arm as you settled back into his touch, still trying to regain your senses. 

“Sorry,” you mumbled, reaching out to pull the forgotten laptop closer and set your eyes back on the screen once more. He let out a light chuckle before speaking.

“Sh, you don’t need to apologise. Although, if you didn’t want to watch the show, you could have just said so,” he teased with a smirk, laughing as you swat his leg in protest. 

Koganegawa - Tonic Seizure:

You didn’t know too much about playing volleyball, but Koganegawa always begged you to play with him, often resulting in you both throwing the ball back and forth with him showing off a great deal. 

He was trying to teach you how to spike, setting the ball to you in different places as you did your best to jump high and slam it down. You’d miss multiple times, turning to him with a pout as he laughed, but he gave you a thumbs up and a ‘good job’ no matter how badly you did, all with a beaming smile on his face. 

You were motivated to learn though, for him, and once again threw the ball up over his head, ready to set to you. After tossing the ball in the air, your body went stiff and your vision blackened as you fell backwards.

As his arms rose to direct the ball to you, he took a glance in your direction and saw you crumble to the floor. His quick reflexed kicked in, lunging towards you in an attempt to catch you with wide eyes and a pounding in his chest, although he didn’t reach fast enough as he heard the thud from your head making contact with the ground below. Before he could call out to you, your eyes slowly opened again, as you raised an arm to rub the back of your sore head. 

“Are you ok? Are you hurt? Do I need to call someone?” He frantically asked, putting his arms around you, aiding you as you pulled yourself forward to sit up, groaning a little at the slight throbbing in your head.

“I’m fine, it’s ok, I just hit my head a little hard,” you reassure him, taking the hand that was held out in front of you to help you stand. Coming behind you, he, gently, moved your hair and checked over your head, letting out a sigh of relief when he saw no major damage. His hands dropped to your sides, holding you steady as he pecked the top of your head. 

“Ah, you’re so brave. I’ll get you some ice cream on the way home, that always makes me feel better when I get hurt.”

Tanaka - Absence Seizure:

After a long day of walking around town, visiting different shops and eating at a cute cafe, you were on the train coming back home, settled closely to Tanaka as he held your hand tightly. 

He was talking away about the tournaments the Karasuno team had coming up soon, discussing all the strong players they needed to face and telling you stories from their practices. 

As he spoke, you couldn’t help but admire him, smiling away as you watched how passionately he talked, how his carved jaw moved and the way he eyes seemed so piercing. After every sentence or so, he’d give you a grin back, squeezing your hand as you nodded along with his story. 

“You’ve seen what Hinata’s like though, he’s crazy, right?” He asked with a laugh, looking at you for your reaction, although he didn’t hear your voice reply to him, nor did he see your sweet smile. Your face had turned limp as you stared beside him, unaware of his focus on you. He stopped speaking, carefully watching over you and stroked the back of your hand with his thumb. 

It was only a couple seconds before your eyes snapped back to his, opening your mouth before closing it again and swallowing, “sorry, could you repeat that?” 

He simply gave you a smile and kissed your cheek, before carrying on with his story, where you trained your eyes and thoughts on him once more.

Goshiki - Myclonic Seizure

You often had to remind your boyfriend to study since his brain was filled with volleyball 99% of the time, so you tended to study together regularly during the week, allowing you to both get work done while also spending time with each other. 

You sat across from him at the table, pen in hand as your eyes dragged over the textbook in front of you. Gazing over towards Goshiki, you giggled to yourself as his expression - his teeth had a firm grip on his lower lip, and his eyebrows where tightly knotted together as he stared down at the page, furiously scribbling answers, before crossing them out again. Reaching over, you brushed your fingers on his knuckles, grabbing his attention. 

“Take it easy, do you need a hand with a question?” You asked, still trying to hold back your smile as his cheeks flushed a little. 

“Uh, yeah. I don’t know how to solve this equation,” he muttered, pointing to a string of numbers and letters on the page. You were about to lean over to look, when your arm suddenly spasmed, launching your pen across the room, hitting the floor with a loud clunk. It continued to jolt a couple more times, before your body relaxed. 

Goshiki looked at you with widened eyes, unsure of what to do. “A-are you ok?” He asked timidly, watching as you looked away. 

“Yeah, m’fine,” you murmured, getting up to grab your pen, however he stood up first, placing a hand on your shoulder.

“It’s ok, I’ve got it,” he spoke, picking up the pen and passing it to you. Sitting back in his seat, he noticed the way you fiddled with your pen and kept your head down, avoiding looking his way. 

Taking a deep breath, he reached forward and grabbed your hand. “You don’t need to worry about it, it doesn’t bother me at all.” His voice was quiet but you could tell he was genuine, especially by the squeeze of his warm hand on yours.

Sugawara - Complex Focal Seizure:

Lazy days were a common date for you two - spending your day huddled in each others arms watching movies, talking or playing games. You had both been craving cookies, so you made your way to the kitchen, shuffling through the cupboards for ingredients to bake your own. 

Sugawara was in charge of handing you the ingredients as you stirred and sifted them into the bowl, dipping your finger in every now and then for a taste, giggling and ducking away as he tried to reprimand you. 

“Ok, just the chocolate chips left,” he spoke, turning round to hand you the bag. As his eyes found you, you dropped the spoon, bringing your arm close to you and tightening your hand into a fist. Your other arm fell to your side, fiddling with the edge of your shirt as you looked ahead in a daze.

Gently, he placed the bag down and slowly walked towards you, calling your name quietly before allowing his hand to settle on your lower back as to not startle you. With his other hand on your hip, he brushed soothing circles on your skin while whispering to you, reminding you he was there and taking care of you.

As you started to come around, your body released its tension and you could feel his strong but delicate hold on you, keeping you steady. 

“Let’s sit you down for a moment, you’re doing alright my love,” he spoke, guiding you towards the nearby chair and sitting you down. When you became aware enough to look at him, you found his crouched in front of you, holding your hands in his, massaging your cramped palms as he smiled up at you. “Are you doing ok?” He asked, concern showing in his voice despite his calm exterior. You gave him a nod, attempting to smile back at him in your, still, foggy state. He sat with you until you settled down and felt back to normal, before helping you get up and carry on with your backing, although, this time, keeping an eye on you a little more. 

Aone - Tonic Clonic Seizure

Aone was sat on the sofa, flicking through the movies on the TV before finally settling on one to watch as you were in the kitchen preparing snacks. With the movie ready, he unravelled the blanket by his side, draping it over the seats and arranging the cushions ready for you both to snuggle up. 

Footsteps became louder as you walked in, placing the bowl of popcorn and bags of treats on the side table next to your boyfriend, bending down to press a kiss on his cheek that left them tinged with warmth. 

He lifted up the edge of the blanket, as if an invite for you to crawl in, holding out a hand to pull you closer. As you were about to walk round to him, your body tensed, your limps hardening before you fell to the ground. Aone quickly jumped out of his seat, catching you before you hit the floor and slowly lowered you down as your body shook. 

With one hand softly brushing over your hair, the other tugged a cushion from the sofa, sliding it under your head for comfort. His face twisted, eyes sharp as he watched you jolting and heard the distressing sounds of you heavy breathing. The next few minutes seemed to last for hours as your body continued to shake, and it broke his heart that all he could do was watch by your side, wiping away the spit that trailed from your mouth. 

Slowly, your body grew still and your breathing quietened down. You looked up at him with tiredness overcoming you, blinking slowly as your muscles relaxed. His large hands scooped under you, lifting you to lay on your side and allow your body to recover. His eyes only left you to grab the blanket from the sofa, before covering you and caressing your cheek with his finger as you calmed into a slumber. The movie was long forgotten as he sat by your side, watching over you and comforting you as you slept, not leaving for even a moment.

[aotxfan]

Shatter (Historia)

Summary: Historia decides to leave her female lover in order to marry a man that can protect her and give her an heir.

“I think it’s best if I marry someone else.”

The Queen’s voice was neutral, devoid of emotion, and the soldier froze in her seat.

Her entire body had frozen in shock and her mind had stopped processing. The hand that had been holding her spoon lost its grip and the teacup rattled as it fell in. Openly staring at the Queen with her mouth agape, the soldier could only get out a pathetic “What?”

Sitting across from her, Historia sighed. Her shoulders slumped and she looked away as if the sight of the soldier was too much for her to bear. Her hands began to rub together, a nervous habit she had yet to break, and she sought solace in the gesture. When she finally spoke, her voice was quiet.

“The more time I spend as Queen, the more I begin to realize that my time here isn’t assured. For now the military has seen fit to follow me, but I don’t think they’ll be fine doing this forever. Over time they will want more, and it may become dangerous for me. I wouldn’t put it past them if they decided one day to feed me to Eren to unlock the Founding Titan’s abilities with my Royal blood. Every second that this war rages on, my safety is in danger.”

The soldier blinked and tried to digest this information. The words repeated over and over again in her mind before she could even begin to make sense of them.

Slowly, she clenched her fists tightly in her lap. Her throat worked as she tried to figure out what to say.

“How-How will marrying someone help you?”

Historia looked away towards the window pensively. She was quiet for a long time before finally answering.

“If I marry someone, I can have children with them. Children that will carry Royal blood and assure the future of Eldia. Carrying a pregnancy will also protect me from being used in some scheme for at least nine months,” she closed her eyes, “It’s not ideal, but I have no other choice.”

“So that’s it?”

The soldier closed her eyes and tried to ignore the way her chest had begun to hurt. She tried to sound composed, relaxed, but her heart was shattering to pieces and she had no idea how to keep it together. No amount of military training in first aid had prepared her for the pain of a broken heart.

Historia said her name softly, under her breath like a secret, and bit her lip. “I don’t have a choice.”

Her voice was a quiet plea and her blue eyes desperately sought the soldier’s gaze.

The soldier leaned back in her chair and refused to look her way. It was much too painful to look in her direction. She had a feeling that, if their eyes were to meet, she’d break down.

“Don’t-”

Historia repeated her name again just as softly as before. This time, her hand reached forward-

And the soldier moved away before their hands could touch. The queen’s hand met with empty air and froze in place.

The soldier drew herself in tight seeking to shield herself and bring herself some semblance of comfort.

“And I can’t give that to you, right?” The soldier dug her nails into her palms, “I can’t give you a child. I can’t even give you my last name. The only thing I can offer you is my heart, but that won’t ensure yours keeps beating.”

Historia’s breath hitched and her hand fell back towards her lap.

“Your heart is all I’ve ever wanted. I’m not doing this because I want to-"

The soldier pressed her lips together. Her eyes began to burn and she bit down hard on her cheek in an attempt to stop the tears from falling. The last thing she wanted was to lose her composure in front of Historia.

In truth, she had always expected this moment would come. While Historia had been happy to let a relationship between them bloom, the world had not. It had only been a matter of time before it conspired to tear the two apart.

As a Queen, Historia had many burdens placed upon her shoulders. Her fate was not her own and her womb belonged to an entire nation. Her responsibility was to bring about a new generation, and the next monarch would have to be birthed at some point.

They had both known Eldia would one day come to collect that which was owed, but they had never imagined it would be so soon.

Foolishly, the soldier had hoped they would have more time. Their relationship had only just started. They had only had three years together which wasn’t enough for either of them.

Not even a lifetime would have been enough for their love to burn, so how could three years possible do it justice?

“I know,” the soldier closed her eyes tightly, “I know. We both knew this would happen, ‘Ria. We knew this couldn’t go on forever.”

The Queen rubbed her hands together again, and the soldier realized they were shaking. The urge to reach out and offer her comfort was overwhelming, but she managed to resist. Were she to touch Historia now, she knew it would only be harder to walk away.

“I just need to have a child. Just one. I can marry someone and have a child then be done. After that maybe we can-”

Historia cut herself off. Even to her, the words sounded hollow. It was evident neither believed them, so the rest of her words died in her mouth.

The soldier knew their story didn’t have such a simple solution. Marriage was a binding contract and parenthood an eternal partnership. Historia couldn’t just use a husband for a child then rid her hands of him.

No, once she married, her fate would be sealed. The new King would own her forever, and he would take her as his own.

The soldier flattened her hands against her lap to keep them from shaking.

“You aren’t asking for my opinion,” she blinked away her tears, “You’re telling me this is going to happen. Have you already found your partner?”

Another pause.

This time, Historia let out a shaky breath.

After years of practice, she was good at keeping a regal composure, but the soldier had always been able to see through the illusion. The intimacy and feelings they both shared allowed her a glimpse into her true feelings. Even if Historia seemed composed to the naked eye, she could still sense the agony that lingered beneath her skin.

This situation hurt her love as much as it pained the soldier.

After a long time, Historia answered.

“I have. He’s a man I knew from my childhood. He used to try to get me to play with him and pay attention when we were kids, but I never really paid him any mind. I chose him because he doesn’t have the noble status to threaten me and because I can trust his sincerity.”

She continued to explain away her decision, but the soldier had long ago stopped listening.

I chose him.

The sentence echoed in her mind and her heart gave another painful lurch in her chest.

Historia had chosen him. She had chosen him over her and the reality throbbed like an open wound.

Despite the years they had shared together, the love that beat in both their hearts, she had made her decision. She had chosen a man she hadn’t seen in years over the woman that had swore to give her, her heart for her to hold, to love-

And to break.

Standing up suddenly, the soldier spun away.

“Please, stop,” her heart began to race, “Just stop.”

Stop talking, and stop breaking my heart. Can’t you see it’s already in a thousand pieces?

Historia called her name again, and the sound brought a new wave of tears to her eyes.

She would miss it, she realized, miss the way her love said her name. After she left this room, the quiet sort of intimacy that was between them would be broken. They would have to assume a persona of Queen and Soldier. From then on, Historia would only refer to her by rank and last name. She would never again utter her first name unless a formal decree followed.

“You don’t have to go on, your majesty, you’ve made your choice-”

Now Historia was standing up. For the first time, her composure visibly cracked. Her blue eyes began to fill with tears, but she held them back with what little strength she still had.

“It’s not my choice!” She slapped her hands to the table and the teacups rattled at the impact. “If it were my choice I’d choose you over and over again-”

“Except this time,” the soldier still refused to turn around.

Historia bowed her head and her shoulders shook with the effort of holding in her tears. A Herculean task, she almost sank to the floor. The table alone held her up even as she felt her world shattering around her.

The soldier drew in a quiet breath and raised her head to the sky as if in prayer. She hoped that whatever deity presided over star crossed lovers would intercede now. Perhaps a God or Goddess that bore witness to their exchange would take pity and turn her into a man. Maybe as a man she might be allowed to love the woman behind her.

When no divine intervention came, she lowered her head and the first tear fell down her cheek. Her fingers reached to brush it away before Historia could hear her sob.

“If this is goodbye, then just dismiss me. Let me go-”

Historia sank to her knees and the tears she had previously held back began to fall. As if a dam had broken, they fell one after another and landed on the surface of the table. She closed her eyes with her fists as if she could stop them from coming.

“I don’t want to say goodbye. I want you, I want to marry you. If I could choose, I’d choose you over and over again.”

Desperately, she reached out to the soldier. Her hand managed to snag the back of her cloak, and she let her head fall against her turned back.

The soldier flinched and turned rigid. An instinct made her reach behind her to try and offer some comfort-

But her mind made her lower her hand before she could touch her.

The last thing they should do was touch, she knew. After all, if she had a chance to hold Historia in her arms again, she might never let go again.

Carefully extracting herself from the Queen’s grasp, she turned around. A mask fell over her features and she held her head up high.

“Allow me to take my leave, your Majesty. The hour grows dark.”

She tried to keep her voice as formal as possible and tried to keep the white hot agony coursing through her at bay.

Historia buried her face in her hands.

“Don’t-please-”

The soldier tried again. This time, her voice sounded more detached.

“Please allow me to take my leave, your Majesty. The hour grows dark.”

At her feet, the Queen sniffed. The tears continued to fall, but she had given up on wiping them away.

“You have my heart, you know that. My heart is yours for the rest of my life. The future King will have my womb, but I am yours until my last breath-”

“Please allow me to take my leave, your Majesty. The hour grows dark.”

The soldier refused to look down and kept her gaze trained on the door. She hoped she could manage to at least walk outside before she collapsed. Her heart was already in pieces and her ears were roaring with the effort of remaining upright.

The room grew quiet once more and Historia dropped her head. She sniffed a few final times before standing up. Dusting herself off, she bit her lip.

Her persona as a Queen snapped into place and she tried to ignore the way her hands shook as she gave a single nod.

“You are dismissed,” she voiced.

The soldier looked past her towards the door and gave a crisp salute. As her fist pressed to her heart, she imagined herself holding the remnants of its shards in place to keep them from being left behind at Historia’s feet.

Her movements were robotic, formal, and she drew strength in the strict protocol. From now on, there would have to be an invisible wall of decorum between the two of them. The previous emotions they had once held for each other would have to be killed and buried.

“Thank you, your Majesty,” she bowed her head.

As she moved past Historia, the soldier swore she saw the Queen’s hand reach for her once more. As if by some desperation, Historia had intended to stop her from walking away. Perhaps she had regretted her choice and changed her mind-

But, in the end, the love for her country won over the love for her soulmate. The hand reaching for her stopped midway and returned to her side. The previous agonized look on her face disappeared and was replaced by the carefully guarded expression she always wore in public.

The soldier refused to look back as she left the room and closed the door behind her.

Once outside in the hallway, the last of her composure shattered and she slid down the door. A waterfall cascaded down her face and she clasped her hand to her mouth to quiet her sobs.

Her head bowed and she squeezed her eyes shut. Agony coursed through her and she wished she could claw out her heart and free herself of the pain. Her hand moved to her chest and she pressed down as if she could somehow mend the organ she was certain was now torn in two.

And as she clutched her heart, she was certain she could hear Historia’s own shattering through the wood.

[onecanonlife]

careful son (you got dreamer's plans)

Wilbur gasps back to life with mud between his fingers and rain in his eyes.

Wilbur was dead. Now, he is not. He can't say that he's particularly happy about it.

Unfortunately, the server is still as tumultuous as ever, even with Dream locked away, so it seems that his involvement in things isn't a matter of if, but when.

(Alternatively: the prodigal son returns, and a broken family finally begins to heal. If, that is, the egg doesn't get them all killed first.)

Chapter Word Count: 7,998

Chapter Warnings: swearing, blood, violence, injury, threatened death, sui.cidal ideation, mind control, manipulation, victim blaming

Chapter Summary: In which Wilbur makes a desperate choice.

(masterpost w/ ao3 links)

(first chapter) (previous chapter) (next chapter)

Chapter Twenty: dark into the heat

No. No, no, no, he needs to ignore it. He knows better than to listen, knows better than—

He can feel it. He can feel it poking around in his mind. He can feel it again. And it knows he can feel it. It knows, and it’s smug about it. It’s smug because it knows he hates the sensation, feels violated by it, and it likes that, likes the power it has over him. His stomach lurches, and he staggers. Purpled watches him, advancing slowly.

But no. No, he can’t give in, can’t let it distract him. He can’t.

“What’s it offering you?” he gasps out. He tries to stand straighter, but the world around him wavers and ripples, and not just in the heat. He can feel it, feel it still, though it has not yet spoken again. It is going to. It is going to, going to speak to him with honeyed words and dripping promises, going to coax and persuade and worm its way inside, and knowing that it’s coming doesn’t make it any easier to bear.

Only time will tell whether it makes it easier to resist.

Purpled shrugs, still approaching. Once he attacks again, he’s done for. He can’t fight off Purpled on a good day, much less now.

“Money,” Purpled says. “I mean, what else? It’s a job.”

And the way he says it is as if—

“It’s not controlling you,” he says, and wonders how he didn’t realize it before. Purpled looks completely unchanged. No part of him has faded to white or deepened to red, and his voice holds none of the fanatic edge that the Egg’s followers possess. “It’s just paying you.”

“I don’t like the thought of being mind controlled,” Purpled agrees. “But I do like being paid. So, like I said, sorry. But I’ve taken the job.”

“I’ll double whatever they’re paying you to switch sides,” he says. “Or not even switch sides, if you don’t want. Just stay out of it. Don’t attack me and mine. Leave.”

Purpled tilts his head. He’s listening. Good. His grip on his sword does not relax, but he pauses in his approach.

“How do I know you’re good for it?” he asks.

“I’m good for it because my brother is Technoblade,” he says. “You know, the Blood God? Nigh on impossible to defeat in combat, one of the richest people on the server? He honors the agreements he makes, and I, as his brother, can make one for him. You’ll get your money.”

“So the money’s not even yours,” Purpled says. “But—Technoblade, you say? And you just want me to stay out of it?” He pauses. “Triple it and you’ve got a deal.”

“Done.”

And just like that, Purpled nods. There may be some measure of relief in his face; Wilbur isn’t sure. But perhaps Purpled was never all that comfortable taking orders from the thing, money or no. But Purpled nods, and Purpled moves toward the exit, and Jack, at least, notices, and shouts, “Traitor!” Some of the vines spring to life, attempting to stop him from leaving. But Purpled slices through them easily enough, with a practiced and steady hand, and then he’s vanishing up the corridor.

He didn’t expect it to be that easy.

(but at the end of the day, mercenary or not, isn’t Purpled still a child, too? a teenager caught up in forces beyond his control, just trying to make it through to another day? perhaps he was looking for an out all along, and if that is the case, he is more than happy to give him one, and not just for his own sake)

You have always been clever, the Egg says, always been quick with your words and quick to spin a deal in your favor, quick to have them all dancing to your tune, so very quick to use whatever power you have, so very quick, but you know better than to thank yourself for it, know better than to believe that it lends you superiority, and you know better than to believe that this is a victory at all, know better than to believe you have accomplished anything. What is your plan, Wilbur Soot? What blow do you seek to strike against me?

He shakes his head. It’s digging deeper, like a swarm of stinging hornets crawling in his skull. He takes a few clumsy steps forward, begging his blurry vision to resolve. It doesn’t, not quite, but he can see well enough to know what’s happening, to see that Jack and Niki are concentrated on their attack, that Tubbo is vicious in his counters and Tommy is halfhearted, and Fundy—where is Fundy—?

There, a few feet away, crouched on the ground, hands on his ears. The whites of his eyes are visible, and he rocks back and forth slightly. “Shut up,” he says, barely audible, “shut up, no, no, I’m not listening to you, leave me alone—”

He sees red for a different reason.

“Stop it,” he rasps. “Stop it. Leave him be, leave them all be.”

They are with me because I give them everything they want, everything they dream, and if your little wonder, your little champion joins my ranks then it is because you have failed him, because you cannot give him the love he deserves, and that is no one’s fault but yours, ash child, the Egg says, and he nearly doubles over with the force of it, with the truth of it.

(no, no, not truth, not truth, because here before you is a true monster the true villain the true enemy and it lies and manipulates as part of its nature and you can feel its claws in you and you should not think that just because it agrees with your own warped perception of yourself that it is right because you are just beginning to learn that perhaps you are not right yourself not right about yourself and remember what Phil told you, about healing and deserving)

But then, the Egg keeps on, isn’t that better to think about, isn’t that nicer than to imagine his blood spilling across my roots, for I am hungry and I will be fed, and if not with your boy’s blood then with that of someone else but is it not better to imagine him becoming one with me and mine, for is it not better to offer him up to me than to lose him?

(no)

“I’d lose him either way,” he says. “Don’t fuck with me, I’d lose—I’d be losing him just as surely.”

And perhaps he’s already lost him. Perhaps his son no longer wants a father at all. But even if that is the case, he will be damned before he allows the Egg to take him. So he lurches forward again. Draws his bow from his inventory. Fires off a shot. He’s not even thinking about it, really, but he fires off a shot, and he aims it for Jack Manifold

(and he can’t remember the last time he saw Jack Manifold, but he vaguely thinks that he may have taken one of his lives as well, maybe, in the heat and the rush of things, and he can’t remember whether it was a mistake or on purpose but neither matters right now)

and it flies wide. He doesn’t see where it lands. He nocks another arrow to the string. His hands shake. Niki drives Tubbo back with a ferocious flurry of attacks, and Jack is on Tommy, and if he doesn’t do something about this, there will be blood spilled here. Blood watering the roots.

You know you could stop this, the Egg says, you know that it is within your power, for I have offered you everything, everything you desire, and I shall give you fire and I shall give you rest and I shall give you your brother’s safety assured and he will not be harmed by me and mine and we shall look after him, for now and for always, he shall be mine as all creatures must be or perish but he shall be safe, and you can rest knowing you have done everything and have everything you want in the end, and it can all be yours and you know this.

“Shut up,” he says. “Shut up.” Just a few more steps. Why does he feel so far from them when he’s only a few steps away? Just a few more steps and he can join the battle, can drive them back and away from those he’s sworn to protect,

(but these were his countrymen and he swore to protect them too and now look at them all children in a war that spiraled out of their control and never ended the soldiers never coming home because there was no home to return to and so the soldiers keep on marching on and they cannot learn to put their weapons down because there is no place to let them rest and no assurance of safety and the war continues whether seen or unseen and the soldiers keep on marching on)

and he can draw his sword even though his swordplay has never been his strongest suit.

Except, no, he needs to use the sword for something else, needs to—the Egg has to be the priority, because if he destroys the Egg, then this will all come to a close, and—

Then you have a choice to make, child of flames and of destruction, the Egg says, and it sounds terribly, horribly amused, and he can’t help but clutch the side of his head as it seems to laugh at him, awful and grating, like his skull has fractured and the shards are being driven into his brain. You have a choice to make, and shall you try to save the ones you hold dear and shall your efforts be fruitless, or shall you raise your hand against me, shall you defy that which you know you seek, that which you know you love, shall you raise a hand against me and fail again, shall you call yourself child of failure and lay your impotency bare.

And then, the Egg stops.

I see, it says. You have a sword.

He inhales sharply.

(it’s in your head and it knows it knows it knows your mind is its for the taking and now it knows)

Niki draws back from Tubbo, face twisting. Tubbo comes to stand beside Tommy again, protectiveness screaming in every line of his stance. Even Jack pauses, and Fundy looks up at him, tears in his eyes, shoulders shaking.

Tommy is staring at him, on his face a dawning dismay.

A sword blessed by the universe and granted by the shell of what was once a god, the Egg says, and suddenly, Wilbur can feel—something else. Something through the Egg, something else looking at him, aware of him. Something that feels like the Egg, but isn’t quite, and he thinks—it’s Dream. Dream is watching, though Dream is blocks away, fighting a battle of his own. A sword meant to destroy the void stuff, the darkness, the corruption, a sword you believe will avail you.

It speaks, and the whole room can hear it. Its voice reverberates in more minds than just his.

You are a thing of dust and ash and soot, and the name you chose for yourself was a prophesy, the Egg says, and you may pretend to have the strength to raise your steel high and drive it against me, you may pretend, but I know you better than you know yourself and I know that even if you had the strength, you would fail, because you have a choice to make and there is only one correct path, only one way out for you, only one way, and you will see it, and you will take it, and what use will your sword be, then?

“You talk a big game for something that the universe itself has sided against,” he says, rather proud of himself for stringing such a coherent sentence together, even while he desperately searches for what the Egg means, what it’s talking about. Because this is a trap, he knows. Likely intended for him. But what the Egg means by a choice, he has no clue, unless it means the choice it’s been trying to get him to make all along, but—

And then, as one, Niki and Jack move. Jack dives for Tubbo, catching him off guard, and there is a terrible snap as Tubbo hits the ground, and Tubbo screams. Tommy shouts, and Wilbur curses, trying to aim for Jack, but there’s too much movement, too much that could go wrong if he misses, because Jack has got Tubbo pinned down, still screaming, each scream interspersed with curses, and Jack doesn’t look like his weight could possible keep Tubbo there, but somehow, all his struggles accomplish nothing. And even as he and Tommy both move forward to help, and even as Fundy seems to be shaking himself out of his stupor, Niki launches herself forward and puts her blade to Tommy’s throat.

And everything goes still.

A choice, the Egg repeats. And Wilbur understands.

“I want to kill him now,” Niki says, her eyes locked on the Egg. And then she scowls, whatever the Egg tells her not for the ears of anyone else, but while she presses the blade further against Tommy’s bare throat, drawing a thin line of blood, she does not cut down. “A choice, then,” she repeats, shifting her gaze to him, and her expression is something like anger and something like defeat. “I wonder if you even know how to make the right one.”

“Let me go,” Tubbo is saying, between sobs. Something is surely broken, but Wilbur can’t get a good enough look to see what. And moving closer may very well spell Tommy’s demise. “Fuck you, let me go, let him go.”

“Just, fuck, just settle down, would you?” Jack demands. “This’ll all be over soon.”

Niki is still watching him.

You have no control here, no power, and here is the choice.

“Wilbur,” Tommy says. His voice trembles. He swallows, and the action pushes his skin just slightly closer to the blade’s edge. More blood trickles down. “Wilbur, you—what is it asking you?”

But he says it like someone who already knows.

(and his brother has a sword to his throat and still seems more concerned for him than for himself and it breaks his heart  just as it always does again and again and again)

You may strike your blow, you may take your shot, and no one here will impede your path, and if that is your choice then so be it, the Egg says, but know that should that be, your brother will fall and his blood will sustain me, and behind you his life will fade away even as you toss him aside to strike at me, but it does not have to be this way, void seeker. It does not have to be this way, and you can make the right choice, and the peace you want will be yours, and your brother will live.

He draws in a breath. The beginnings of a plan hatch in his mind. Desperate, crazy—but then, what up to this point hasn’t been? He’s out of options, has let himself be outplayed, and he can’t even let himself think about this too hard, or else it will pluck the idea straight from his mind and it will all be for naught. But he has to try.

There really is only one choice to make.

Tommy’s expression changes.

“No,” he says, “no, no, no, whatever you’re thinking, don’t you fucking do it, don’t you—it’ll be alright, it’ll be alright, I swear, just kill the thing, just kill it, don’t, don’t worry about me, don’t” —He takes in a shuddering, gasping breath, and when he continues, he’s no longer talking to Wilbur— “don’t hurt them, please, you can have me, you can, but don’t hurt them, you can’t, and, and Tubbo, Tubbo, it’s gonna be okay, ‘cause, ‘cause you’re still yourself without me too, and it’s gonna be, it’s gonna be, just, please, Wil, please don’t—”

“Tommy,” he says, and Tommy falls silent. Tubbo does too. They’re all looking at him, and he can’t look at any of their faces for too long, Tubbo’s scrunched up in pain and anger and Fundy’s open wide, almost childlike in his—disbelief, perhaps. He can’t look at their faces, because that makes it hurt worse.

The Egg doesn’t say anything. Nothing he can hear, at least. But it’s waiting. And it feels victorious.

“Tommy,” he says again, “Tubbo. Fundy.”

He breathes in. And out.

“Sometimes things are never meant to be,” he says, and he doesn’t know where the words are coming from, but he lets them flow. “Sometimes things are destined to end even from the very beginning.”

“Wilbur, please—”

“But not this. Not us.” He pauses. “Do you trust me?”

Tommy’s face crumples. He doesn’t respond. Fundy takes in a long, shaky breath, and for a moment, that’s all he can hear. No one really answers him, and he supposes that in the end, that’s an answer in and of itself.

But that’s alright.

He turns to the Egg.

“Our deal,” he says. “The one you offered me. I want it extended. I want everyone in this room alive and safe.”

Everyone in this room. That includes Niki. That includes Jack. Because they were his countrymen, and he owes them this much. Owes them his best effort, even when his best effort once meant their destruction.

(because they were once his countrymen and they were once his friends, and what a picture they make now, and what a picture they made then, back in the summer heat with the walls high and proud around them, as they messed with a camera in their military uniforms, smiling and laughing and free, and it is easy for him to forget that L’Manberg was something beautiful once but it was, it was, it was, and they were beautiful too, and the world was laid at their feet, and they took that photo and he wonders where all the copies went, whether any still exist or whether they all went up in flames, and they were six then and they are six now, the same six, and how bitter and twisted they have all become, how far from that hazy memory of peace they all are)

(and how fitting, perhaps, that it should be the six of them here and only these six, here where it all will come to a close one way or the other, ending just as it began on that sunny summer’s day)

“Wilbur, stop—”

It is nothing to me, the Egg says, and he can feel it, still, can feel it pressing in around him, ready to swamp him, ready to pull him under, and he can hear the whispers, too, just the same as they have always been, whispering fire, whispering death, and he can feel himself begin to lean into them already, can feel himself tempted, can feel his own longing.

And he can still feel, beyond the Egg, Dream watching. Waiting. Considering.

“Fine, then,” he says, and traps his last apology under his tongue. “A deal.”

And he lets the static claim him.

It rushes in around him, and the red dives in eagerly, filling out all the corners of his mind, all the spaces and all the cracks, and he remembers this, remembers this sensation from before, remembers how the Egg coaxed him, persistent and careful, and this is not quite like that, because then, it was like a siren singing a victim to a willing drowning, and now, it as if the entire ocean has opened over his head, a red sea.

There you are, and it is a homecoming, isn’t it, the Egg croons, and his breath stutters in his chest, and I know what you want, I know you long for the fire’s murmurs and the explosion that you once caused and the end of your symphony, forever unfinished, and you were wrested back to this world so cruelly and without your permission, and you do not want to be here, you long for the darkness and the rest of the void, you wish for it with every fiber of your being and you only need listen to me and you can have it.

Yes. He’s having a hard time remembering why he spent so much effort on resisting. Why he resisted the drumbeats that now ring out in his head, a rhythm of war, of blood and of fire, a rhythm that will send him to sleep, if he lets it, and he wants to let it, because the Egg says it is so, and he has let it in, has let it take him over, and the Egg is right. The Egg is right.

(the Egg says it is so, and the Egg must be right, feels right, right like nothing he has ever felt before, but so then why does he)

Come forward, then, and let me grant to you what is yours, the Egg commands, and his feet step forward, once, twice, three times, taking him closer. Behind him, someone is sobbing.

“Wil,” someone whispers, and it sounds like his son. He doesn’t turn around.

Your mind is laid bare to me, and all that you are is mine, the Egg says. I can read your plan, and you thought you could fool me, could take yourself close with none the wiser and break free of my guidance, break free of me and strike before harm could befall your brother, but you cannot be free, because you do not want to be free, because I am giving you everything you want. Did you think you could do as you did before and claw yourself away from me using thoughts of your brother? There is nothing there to use, for I have assured his safety, and you know that.

He does know that. He’s pretty sure that was indeed his plan,

(was it?)

but why shouldn’t the Egg know it now? The Egg is going to give him everything, is going to give him what he could have had before if he was not taken from the room as he was, and now that he is with it again, beating in his mind, a consistent pounding pulse, he feels that jubilation fill him, a hot, heady joy, settling sickly sweet in his gut.

This is right. This is how it was always going to happen. This was meant to be. And the Egg is right; it will be a homecoming, in more ways than one. The void awaits him, and with the Egg curling around him, almost smothering him, he remembers how badly he wants to answer the void’s call, how badly he wants to be dead again, because he made himself an ending and never asked for the story to restart, and it’s unfair that more has been demanded of him.

You played your part, and they were fools to think that you could ever be anything better than what you were, the Egg whispers. You have not changed from the bitter thing you became, and they could not have expected more from you, should not have thought that this would end in any other way, because the void hums like a siren and you want to go, and I will take you there, and you will bleed out before me and feel peace at last and nothing more will be wanted of you. Drop your totem.

Ah, yes, his totem. The one that Techno gave him. He summons it from his inventory, feels its weight against his palm, cold and solid. Its emerald eyes gleam up at him. And then, he goes to drop it, as the Egg says. Somehow, he ends up tossing it over his shoulder instead, rather hard. He’s not sure where it lands. He doesn’t look.

Dream watches. Dream feels—smug. He ignores him. The Egg is what matters.

People are still talking to him. Crying, maybe, but it’s all fallen away, become white noise. There is him, and the Egg, and what the Egg will give him, as long as he does exactly as it commands him. It is as a god, and he is as its vassal, and that is what he’s always striven for.

You love to be useful, the Egg agrees, will abase yourself to anyone to earn your worthiness to live.

(Phil’s voice, steady, sure, and loved: you don’t need to do anything to be worthy of love, you don’t need to do anything to deserve to take care of yourself)

And I know you, the Egg continues, better than you have known yourself. You wanted the fire, wanted to see it all burn around you, and the glee that filled you when you pressed that button was like none you had ever felt.

(no, that’s wrong)

And that same glee again, when you had your father run your sword through your chest, and how eager you were to die, and how eager you are now, how eager, how eager, and you are the same creature you were then, at your core.

(wrong, something about what it’s saying is wrong because these are thoughts he’s had himself so very often but)

A few steps more, and he’s standing next to the Egg. Close enough to touch it. He almost wants to, but doesn’t, something holding him back.

His head pounds. Throbs. Each breath comes as a struggle, though why he’s trying so hard, he doesn’t know.

And you are mine, the Egg croons, my creature now, and I can do with you as I will, but I will give you what you seek so desperately, can you feel it?

He can. He can feel it, the red, soothing as it always has been, and every inch of him cries out for it, cries out for what he

(but does he?)

wants.

And you shall have it, the Egg says. You shall have it.

They’re all calling to him. All of them, but Tommy most of all, calling his name, begging him to stop. He doesn’t turn, even now. Part of him wants to, but when he thinks about it, the Egg pulses in his mind, burning him, expressing displeasure, and he won’t go against what the Egg wants, not when it is about to gift him everything, not when it understands him so well. So he does not turn, and—distantly, he thinks that this was the idea. To use Tommy to pull himself out again, just as he did before. But it won’t work this time, because Tommy is going to be safe. The Egg has sworn that he will be unharmed.

You never had a hope of resisting me, the Egg says, as I know you as no one else does, and I know what you want, and you shall have it now.

Vines creep around his ankles, slide around his legs, his arms. And one rests around his neck, lightly, but he can feel the thorns. They’re a caress, an embrace,

(but you know what an embrace is like and this is not that you know that this is not that because en embrace is Phil’s wings or Tommy’s face in your shoulder or Techno gripping your shoulders and pulling you in and you know better you know better)

a promise.

(but something isn’t right and your mind stirs and there is disquiet hesitation that even the red cannot drown out)

You wanted fire and to let it all burn down around you, and you wanted it all to end, and if you cannot have the fire again, your fire you so love, if you cannot dance victorious on the wreckage then you will have the dark.

The vines tighten. And through the red, Wilbur realizes what’s wrong.

(because here is a secret you keep locked away: you love the fire not for what it is, but for what it granted you, for the ending so desired, but the fear has never left you, the fear instilled in your veins the first time your country went up in a blaze and your people fell around you and it was no game, and here is the second secret: you fear the fire, and at the last, you decided you deserved to die afraid)

(it all comes down to deserving)

It’s difficult to think. Difficult to wade through the red haze, but this—this is important, because the Egg is going—is going to give him what he wants, so why does it—it’s supposed to understand him, so why—

(it all comes down to deserving, and what he thinks he deserves, and the Egg is in his head, and what is the Egg drawing from if not his own thoughts, but the thing about his thoughts is that they might be)

“That’s not what I wanted,” he whispers. “It’s not what I want.”

The Egg presses in further, and he can feel it in his head, pulling at his thoughts, at his emotions, telling him that he is wrong, that this is what he wants, but he stands his ground, because—his head’s a mess, but he—he doesn’t—

(Phil’s voice again, careful and sad and gentle and kind, because for all his father’s faults he has never doubted that he loves him, and Phil’s voice says, remember that you do deserve better things, and there’s an implication in there that Phil thinks that what he believes he deserves is wrong, and he hasn’t really had time to think that over, but)

The vine tightens around his throat. The thorns dig into his skin. Not breaking it, not yet.

“You’re offering me what I think I deserve,” he says, and it’s like coming up for air, if only for a moment, and finding that the sky is still blue. For a second, he exists outside of himself, outside of the hooks the Egg has dug into him, and he can experience its presence for the horror that it is. And then the red takes him again, and he’s drowning, suffocating, his lungs full of syrup, and the Egg is unhappy, and part of him wants to grovel and apologize and do anything to be sure that he receives his due, and the Egg speaks again and rakes its voice across his body, and he shudders violently.

Then what is it that you think you want? it asks, and it is angry and it is patronizing, and it is pushing up against him, twisting him, forcing him to agree with it, to believe its words, and half of him does and the other half comes up for air again, bobbing in the open ocean, sharks circling, and that gives him just enough room to consider the question, to truly consider it.

What does he want?

(freedom, once, freedom and choice and a place to call his, a place where he and his loved ones would be safe, and he built the walls as both practicality and symbol, and he wanted to protect, wanted to lead, wanted a land that was good and a land that was free)

If he could have anything, anything at all, what would he—

You want rest, the Egg hisses, and you know it, know that you are the villain and you deserve death, and you want rest and you want peace, to be released from this world that is cruel and corrupt and full of darkness, to be released from your responsibilities, you want rest and I will give it to you—

Yes, perhaps, but

(Tommy smiles at him with sunlight in his hair and in his eyes and Tubbo grins sharp and sure and Fundy is with him and no longer regards him with hatred and Techno has a book in his hand and his voices are quiet and Phil stares on and his posture is straight and not bent with guilt and with pain)

(and he is with them, and he has so far to go, but he is happy)

(and if he puts all of himself aside, puts aside his self-loathing and his fears, puts aside all the harm he knows he has done and all of the punishment he knows he still deserves, then that is what he’s always wanted, isn’t it? his family with him, the days stretching on, and here is a realization, breaking like the dawn itself: he hasn’t ever thought that he deserves to be happy, but he wants it, he wants it, he wants it, just as he wants to be a better man, he wants to be happy again, he wants, even if he doesn’t deserve he wants)

he has always wanted rest. Since coming back, he has wanted rest. But he is still here.

He decided to be better, and perhaps he’s not doing a very good job of it in any sense of the word, but he decided, and he’s sticking to it, and that is what he wants. More than death, he wants another chance.

He wants to stay. Not only for other people, but for himself, too. He wants to stay, and he wants to stay more than he wants to die.

Admitting as much lifts a weight from his chest, one that he hadn’t known was there at all.

Then I shall give you that, as well, the Egg says, and for the first time, he hears it: desperation. Slowly, surely, the red begins to clear, leaving him with shaking limbs and a headache that makes it difficult to focus, but the Egg’s voice is no longer so welcoming, the red no longer so appealing, and he hurts, and he hears Tommy’s broken protests, Tubbo’s sobs, Fundy’s whimpering, he can hear them, and they tug at his heartstrings where only a moment before, he ignored them, so sure of his course as he was, so sure of his course as it made him.

He’s pulled himself out. He pulled himself out, and he did it himself, with shaking, bloody fingers, and he hasn’t climbed back over the top of the cliff yet, but he’s hanging on. He’s hanging on. He’s stopped his fall.

(and he doesn’t know what healing is doesn’t know what it is to be better but perhaps here, now, he can admit to himself that being better includes being better to himself, too, and he has never allowed himself to think as much before but perhaps it is truth, and perhaps he can let himself hope, and what a time it is to finally come to this conclusion but something of truth rings in it and he knows that this is right)

They will be happy, the Egg says, and they will be alive, and I will keep them safe, and you will be happy as well, and you will have what you desire.

The words are like hands, pulling on him. But he can recognize as much. Recognize the sensation, slimy and insidious, of something else trying to change his thoughts, trying to reach in and change him. The ground beneath his feet feels more stable now, his footing found at last. He almost let himself slip. Almost, but he’s found footholds, handholds, and he did it himself, and that feels important.

“You and Dream are the same,” he murmurs, and he can feel it paying attention, feel it wanting to know what he’s about to say. And beyond it, somewhere further away, he thinks he can still sense Dream looking, too, Dream watching him, listening to them. “You’re always so eager to talk. So certain that you’re right. But you’re too prideful, and that’s the end of you.” He summons his best glare. Plants his feet. Playing his hand like this is not wise, but somehow, he knows that the Egg will let him finish, will let him get to the end of his speech before trying anything. It wants to know. Even now, it is prideful, sure it can contain him, that he will not be able to harm it. “Even knowing what my plan was, you let me get close. You assumed you could overwhelm me. You thought I’d be yours. And for a minute, you did. I was. But do you want to know what your biggest mistake was?”

The vine around his neck tightens.

“Even when you knew you were losing me, you still let me talk,” he finishes, and in one movement, drops the sword into his hand

(and he can hear the universe again, can hear it humming, vibrating against his skin, and he burns with it)

and slices through the vine before it can strangle him. In the next second, he drives it forward, putting all his weight behind it, and shoves it into the Egg.

It slides in like a knife through butter, and several things happen at once.

Behind him: chaos. Chaos that he can only hear and not see, but several people shout, and then Jack Manifold cries out, and there is another clash of metal, and then Tommy shouts, not in pain but rather a loud, wordless denial, and there is a great cracking sound, like the air tearing itself apart, and the golden flash reflects off even the Egg’s surface, and the room crackles like ozone, like a bend in reality, and it is the activation of a totem, and he can only hope that it will be enough.

And the Egg screams.

It is like a thousand voices crying out in a thousand discordant notes, like several hundred orchestras all out of tune in different ways, like a shriek of violins and a moan of tubas and the drums stutter and falter and tap out infinitely different rhythms until it’s all a clanging, howling mess of static and white noise and still, something screaming, something old and powerful and terrible in its death throes.

He screams too, he thinks. He can’t hear himself anymore. Can barely feel himself, though he tries to tighten his fingers on the hilt of the sword.

At the edge of his perception, the universe encroaches. Humming, humming, and for a second, they harmonize with him, and in that second, the universe says,

(you did well, and now look, look upon your adversary and know what they are, know the darkness and the corruption and the rot and the sickness)

And he does look, and he sees

(the Egg indeed is not an Egg and for this second, for this one moment in time and out of time, he sees it for what it is, something incomprehensible, something existing against all the laws of the world, all things natural, a blight, a bug, a twist in the code that makes up all things, a virus, and even despite that, it was not done growing, not done gathering strength, and one more sacrifice would have done it, glutted as it was on Dream’s shared power and the blood of the Blood God, one more meal would have done it, and he was close to being that meal, inches away from dying and giving it what it needed to hatch, and perhaps it would have kept its promise, perhaps it would have allowed his loved ones to live, but it would have been no life, no life at all, under the control of a thing that at its core sought to devour worlds)

But the universe says,

(but it is well, it is well, for your strength was enough and you are stronger than you know, and you are worthy and you have come to the beginnings of understanding, and you realize now that you are deserving of the world, that you deserve to live, and you want to live and to make yourself better, and you are deserving of time, and we are with you, and you are not alone, and you have freedom now to make it all right)

A million stars twinkle in his vision, and then, he comes back to himself. There is no more screaming. No more whispering. His head is quiet.

He still holds the sword. But the Egg itself is shriveling, blackening, twisting, collapsing in on itself, and as he watches, it and all its vines become husks, dark and small. He draws the sword out, and the area around it crumbles to dust.

It seems so small. So small, so impotent. But it is a corpse now, he supposes, so that is only right. Relief floods him.

It’s over. At last, it is over. The Egg is gone.

The sword no longer shimmers, no longer shines. The runes are only shapes, now, not glowing, not humming. It has served its purpose; it’s just a sword, now, like any other sword, and he’s tired of holding swords. He never was much good with them anyway. So he puts it back in his inventory, and turns

(and as he does, he catches a glimpse of something in the husk, in the shriveled shell, something impossibly blue, but that can wait)

around, and in that motion, his heart stops beating.

Only for a moment before it starts up again, but its rhythm is stuttering, weak, too quick and too slow by turns. He wonders if that’s something he should be concerned about. He feels no pain, though his body seems rather numb, now that he’s thinking about it. What’s important now, though, is the scene in front of him, because they’re all alive. All of them, alive. Tommy is hugging Tubbo, tightly, like he thinks he’ll disappear, and Tubbo himself glitters with gold, shimmering all around him. He had to use the totem, then.

He tries not to think about what would have happened if he hadn’t thrown it behind him. He’s pretty sure that he was trying to give them a failsafe, even under the Egg’s thrall as he was, but he can’t be sure. Can’t trust his memories of only a few minutes ago, probably.

Niki and Jack are both on the ground, surrounded with dust from the crumbling vines. Their eyes are closed, but their chests rise and fall. They’ll be fine, then, and relief mixes with sorrow; they’re not under the Egg’s control any longer, but he knows better than to think that means all is fixed. Fundy has staggered to his feet, is hovering by Tommy and Tubbo, face still tear-stained.

But he’s fine. He’s okay. They’re all okay.

He lets out a breath, and takes a step forward. It’s more difficult than it should be. Pain flares in his—flares everywhere, actually, his abdomen and chest and limbs, and his head is still killing him, though that much, at least, doesn’t surprise him. But then, it dies down, replaced by the numbness again.

Tommy pulls back from Tubbo. “You ever do something like that again, I’m killing you myself, Tubbo, fuck,” he says, and Tubbo laughs, a little tearfully. And then, Tommy rounds on him. “And you, what the fuck did you think you were doing? How stupid are you?”

“A bit stupid,” he agrees. The words come out slurred. He frowns, and so does Tommy. Or at least, he thinks that he frowns. He can’t feel his face. Tommy is definitely frowning, though, and then Tommy is walking toward him, or stumbling, more like, and then all three of them are.

“Are you good?” Tommy asks. “You’re making weird faces.”

“That was a good throw, with the totem,” Tubbo says, almost at the same time. Where Tommy stands right in front of him, Tubbo goes around to stand at his side, looking him up and down with narrowed eyes, narrowed eyes that flicker with golden light. He’ll crash once the magic burns itself out, though it shouldn’t be nearly as bad as what Techno went through. He keeps rolling his shoulder, flexing his arm, as if shaking out a wound that is no longer there. “Saved my skin, there. But man, that was a risky play.”

“I can’t believe it worked,” Fundy says quietly. “I thought the Egg could read thoughts. I mean, I felt it in my head, man. It was awful. But how come it didn’t know you were pretending?”

“Pretty sure he wasn’t pretending,” Tommy says, and—he wishes he didn’t say that, because now still doesn’t feel like the time to talk to Fundy about any of this, even though he probably should, at one point, because if he’s going to be a better father, he ought to start by telling him things that he wants to know, despite the part of him that still screams to shelter him, screams that he’s not ready to learn about such terrible things, but—he’s grown. Fundy is grown. He needs to work on keeping that in mind.

“I just can’t believe it’s over,” Tommy continues. “Just like that? After the days we’ve had? Feels anti-climatic—”

“Anti-climactic,” Tubbo supplies.

“Oh, piss off. Anti-whatever, it feels all sudden, doesn’t it? Though I suppose there’s still Dream.” Tommy’s face darkens. “Guess we need to go see about everyone else.”

“Uh, Wilbur?” Fundy breaks in, hesitant, but not angry. Not too upset. Perhaps concerned? Is Fundy concerned for him? “Your, um, your nose is bleeding.”

Tommy and Tubbo go silent, and he blinks. Is it? He can’t feel it, can’t feel any blood dripping down, but he can’t seem to move his arm to check. He can’t seem to move anything, actually, and when he opens his mouth, intending to say something—though what, he has no idea—he finds his airway obstructed by something. He coughs, and their faces all go very alarmed.

“Oh, shit, he’s bleeding from his mouth,” Tubbo says, and at the same time, Tommy steps in closer, right up against him, and grabs his shoulders, peering into his face.

“Wil?” he says, and Wilbur would try to respond, he really would, but Tommy’s touch has chased away the numbness, starting at the points of contact and radiating outward and in its wake is—is too much, too much to think about, too much to describe, too much to handle, and he’s been stabbed and he’s been shot and none of that felt anything like this, because this feels like lava’s been poured down his throat and he’s burning alive from this inside out, and his lungs are having severe difficulty inhaling, and his chest is tight and he can’t feel his heartbeat so he thinks that maybe—

“Get him on the ground, get him down, get him down, oh, fuck—”

The world tips, and he’s lying down. The ceiling above is red, and dust drifts into his eyes. Dust from the vine husks, breaking apart as he watches them, crumbling into nothingness. It’s like watching ash fall. Like watching soot fall.

His chest constricts further, and he gasps for air. Air that doesn’t come. Air that doesn’t come, because, because—

They’re all talking over each other. He can barely follow the conversation. Dimly, he realizes that he’s quite panicked, though that fact itself has taken a backseat to the fact that he can’t breathe properly. Can’t breathe properly, because—

He thinks he might be dying, actually. He’d forgotten, how the Egg strikes back at those who strike it. He’d forgotten. He wonders if the universe did, too.

The vines aren’t burning, so there’s no ash falling. Not really. But there would be a twisted kind of poetry in it if they were, if it was flakes of soot tumbling down. Soot falling.

Soot falling.

[downondilaudid]

Reality Check

Spencer gets tired of readers reckless behavior, and finally gives her a little reality check.

Requested: Yes

Prompts: My life motto is fuck bitches, get money blow cash.(This is a inspired by a line from the song ODD by Hey Voilet) & That’s not even factual

Word Count: 4.6K

Warnings: SMUT, LIKE PRETTY ROUGH SHIT

“Talk is cheap, but actions are priceless.”

― Green Monk

You wouldn’t necessarily consider yourself reckless, per se, just a little wild. It was a surprising turn of events when you and Spencer ended up together, his teammates had thought you would be nothing more than a fling, someone to keep his bed warm while he was gone. Yet, you had been together for a year and a half now and had been living together for five months. 

Despite the two of you being opposites, you worked together beautifully, you easily complemented each other. Your wild nature allowed Spencer to relax, and enjoy the simplicities of life. While his sophisticated way of thinking forced you to use your head a little more, and consider the consequences of your actions. You loved Spencer, and he loved you, it was just hard sometimes, seeing the world through different eyes. 

“C’mon Spence, please?” You pleaded, your hand latching into his arm to try and get his attention. 

“I really need to work on this, Y/N” he mumbled absentmindedly, pulling his arm from your grasp, and writing something on a notepad. 

“Spencer! You’ve been working on this all night, please take a break.” You shifted so you were standing behind him, wrapping your arms around him, and laying your head lightly against his shoulder. 

He let out a mix between a sigh and a groan, and you could feel the vibration of it through his back. “I need to finish this, Y/N, watching you get drunk, and then having to drag you home, doesn’t sound like a break.” 

You scoffed, “suit yourself, babes.” You pushed off of him, leaving the room to go get ready.

The music pounded in your ears, and the bass rattled your drink against the table. You were already quite tipsy, but for the first time, you weren’t a happy drunk. You guess you were what people call, a sad drunk. 

You stirred your straw around your drink absentmindedly. “Y/N! Come dance with me! Please?” One of your friends questioned. 

Right as you opened your mouth to deny her, the unforgettable intro to Gas Pedal by Sage the Gemini sounded through the club. It was like a switch had been flipped inside you, suddenly you were on your feet. Grabbing her hand, you dragged her to the dance floor. 

She laughed at your change in mood, “yes!”

You laughed along, the both of you staring at each other and in sync screaming, “h-h-h-h-holy shit!” 

This was good, it was good for you to forget, to throw away all the problems of life, and get drunk off your ass. 

Which is how you, and your two girlfriends you had gone out with, ended up stumbling down the street, the club long forgotten. 

The three of you laughed and giggled, talking about anything and everything that popped into your drunken minds. 

“Ooooh! We should prank call someone.” Your friend shouted rather loudly. 

You laughed at her, “totally, we could prank Spencer, he was a dick to me earlier. He didn’t even want to come out with us!” You exclaimed, your hands gesturing wildly, and your speech slightly slurred. 

The girls gasped, both talking over each other, screaming about how boring and annoying he was. 

“I know!” You cried, pulling out your phone to call Spencer. 

You hit the call button, putting the phone on speaker, and hushing the giggling girls. 

“Y/N?” A voice asked through the phone. 

“How did you know it was me?” You asked, a look of bewilderment crossing your face. 

Your friends laughed harder, one of them reaching out to smack you on the arm, “you forgot to block your caller ID, idiot!”

“Oops” you giggled.

“Y/N, where the hell are you? It’s one in the morning.” Spencer questioned angrily. 

Another laugh escaped your mouth, at this point, everything just seemed funny to you. You looked around the dark street, nothing looked familiar. 

“Do you guys know where we are?” You questioned. 

A scoff came from the phone, “are you fucking serious?” 

The girls giggled one of them letting out a childish “oooh! Someone's in trouble!” The two of them turned leaning on each other as they walked away, letting you have your privacy. 

“We were at a club, I’m just not sure where we are now.” You giggled. 

“Which club?” Spencer questioned, his tone authoritative, like a disappointed parent.

You combed through your brain for the answer, “uh…”

Spencer let out a deep sigh, and you could imagine him running his hands angrily through his hair. “You can’t keep doing this, Y/N.” You could hear the sound of a car door opening, and you assumed he was coming to find you.

“Actually, I can do whatever I want, it’s my life. And, my life motto is fuck bitches, get money, blow cash.” Anger bubbled in your stomach, who did he think he was telling you what to do?

“Y/N look around you, what do you see?” Spencer asked, ignoring your comment.

“Hmm…” you trailed off, giggling before you finished your sentence, “my two bitches over there!” You hollered, pointing towards your friends, who laughed at your antics. “The fat stacks in my purse, and the club we just passed where I paid way too much for drinks!” 

“Y/N, I swear to God…” Spencer muttered. 

“C’mon Spence, let me live a little! What are the odds of something bad happening to me? Like, none. I’m with my friends, having fun. Something you seem to never do.” You snapped. 

Spencer let out an angry huff, “first of all, that’s not even factual, second, you need to tell me where you are. Or, I’m going to call Garcia, and have her track your phone.” 

Well, damn. Your eyes squinted, trying to read the blue street sign. “Uh… Briar, Brian Ln.” You laughed, “what the hell does Ln. mean?” 

“Dear God, lane, Y/N, it means lane,” Spencer grunted. You could tell he was tired of your shit.

Luckily for him, the cool night air nipping at your exposed skin began to sober you up. You heard the phone hang up, right as a familiar car pulled up next to you. 

You watched as a very pissed off Spencer leaned over from the driver's seat, pushing open the passenger side door. You looked to your friends, who were jokingly saluting you like it was the last time they would see you. “Good luck! We’re catching an Uber! Call us if you live!” 

You let out one last laugh before clambering messily into the car, roughly shutting the door, and buckling your seatbelt. Spencer remained quiet, his large hands gripping the steering wheel, and his knuckles turning white. You would be lying if you said the sight wasn’t hot, Spencer was always hot, but, angry Spencer was hot.

The rest of the ride was silent, despite your efforts to try and “jam to some music” Spencer smacked your hand away from the radio every time! It was like he wanted you to sit here in the horrible silence. 

As soon as the apartment door closed, the exhaustion washed over you, your limbs felt ten times heavier, and all you wanted to do was sleep. You immediately began your walk to the bathroom to lazily brush your teeth and wash the makeup from your face. 

“Oh, so we’re not going to talk about it?” Spencer said, his voice rising slightly. 

“Spencer, be quiet, it’s two in the morning.” You groaned out quietly, wiping the last of the makeup from your eyes so you didn’t look like a rabid raccoon. You threw the makeup wipe into the trash, moving past Spencer and into your bedroom.

An angry scoff left his mouth, “seriously?” He followed you out, his eyes glaring holes in the back of your head.

You rolled your eyes, stripping from your dress and opening Spencer’s closet to grab one of his old shirts. “Yes, what do you want me to say? Sorry for having fun?” You slipped the soft fabric over your head, turning around to crawl into bed. 

“Please, Spence, we’ll talk about it tomorrow, I’m drunk and tired.” You grumbled, your frazzled mind struggling to pull back the comforter correctly. 

Spencer sighed, your actions proving your words, he leaned over, roughly yanking down the comforter for you, “fine.” 

You closed your eyes, listening to the sounds of Spencer getting ready for bed. He slipped under the covers, turning his back to you. The only reason he did so was because he knew you couldn’t fall asleep unless you were facing him. Something in you wanted his face to be the last thing you saw at night and the first thing you saw in the morning. Despite his petty actions, the alcohol in your system put you to sleep anyways. 

                                                            … 

You groaned, rolling over onto your side, tugging the warm comforter with you. “Seriously?” Spencer questioned, yanking the comforter back, causing you to roll back onto your other side. 

“I need an Advil.” You muttered, squinting slightly to try and block out the sunlight streaming in through the window. 

“Why the hell did you get so drunk, Y/N?” He sat up slightly, the comforter sliding down his bare chest. 

You scoffed, rolling your eyes, “you think I remember? I’m just as clueless as you.” You pushed the comforter off your body, deciding to leave the warmth of the bed for a bathroom break and some Advil. 

Spencer followed suit, standing in the doorway of the bathroom, “Y/N you got lost, you were wandering the streets alone and drunk!” 

“I’m sorry, I guess.” You mumbled, your speech slightly distorted as you began brushing your teeth, fighting off the nauseous feeling in your stomach. 

“You guess? Y/N, you have no idea how worried I was!” Spencer cried, his hands gesturing wildly as he took a step closer to you. 

You set your toothbrush back in its stand, “mhm, the same worry I feel when you overwork yourself 24/7.” You remarked, turning to face him with your arms crossed over your chest. 

“That’s different, Y/N! You’re being idiotic, reckless, and immature. I was doing my job.” He spat, spinning on his heel and storming out of the bathroom. 

You sighed angrily, continuing to get ready. You knew he was right, you were being immature. Maybe you had let your friends sway you too much, you just wanted to forget Spencer for a night. You hated seeing him so stressed, it broke your heart, and now you were the cause of that stress. 

Walking out of the bathroom and into the living room you were met with the sight of Spencer once again hunched over his desk, pencil in hand. 

‘Wow, didn’t expect that one.” You muttered sarcastically, walking into the open kitchen, searching the cabinets for Advil. 

“Just like I should’ve known you would go out and get wasted with your friends. Seriously, Y/N, what’s it going to take for you to learn you have to grow up?” Spencer slammed his pencil down angrily. 

“Why are we even together if I’m too immature for you, huh?” You growled, watching as Spencer angrily stood from his chair, stalking over to you. 

Spencer’s hands found your hips, roughly shoving you against the counter, his body pressed against yours. 

You felt his hand trail up your back, leaving goosebumps in its wake. “Because, unlike most guys,” his hand laced into your hair, giving it a sharp tug so you were forced to look up at him, “I know how to handle brats like you.” He finished. 

A cheeky smile grew on your face, this wasn’t how you imagined this conversation going, but you weren’t complaining. 

Spencer chuckled, “oh you think you’re so cute, don’t you?”

Your teeth dug into your bottom lip, his condescending words casting a new atmosphere in the room. 

“You’re so quiet now, baby, you weren’t so quiet a minute ago.” His voice was low and as smooth as honey. 

A giggle left your mouth, “well, if I talk, will you shut me up?” 

Spencer grinned, his grip on your hair loosening, “I think I have a few ideas.” 

“I’d love to see them” your hands started a path up his chest, wrapping your arms loosely around his neck. 

“I bet you would.” He said, and in an instant, he was gone, he had stepped back and was already walking back to the bedroom. 

“Spencer!” You cried, stomping after him like a child who had just been put in timeout. 

“Calm down, I’m just getting something.” He said, digging through his work satchel. 

You rolled your eyes, your bratty nature getting the best of you, “well you better hurry, or I’ll just take care of myself.” 

Your statement sent Spencer into a fit of laughs, and your face scrunched in confusion. “Y-you really don’t know when to quit, do you?” He said between laughs. 

“And you’re saying I’m the immature one?” At that moment, all you wanted was for him to fuck the shit out of you, but, apparently, that was not on his agenda.

He walked over to you, much like a predator would to its prey, slow and deliberately. “Just shut up and fu-shit!” You cried out in the middle of your sentence, as he roughly grabbed your arm, spinning you around and pinning you to the wall. 

“You’re telling me to shut up? All you’re doing is back talking, and I’m sick of it.” He growled out.

You squirmed in his grip, “then maybe you should stop being an asshole!” His hand grabbed your other arm, yanking it behind your back, “ow, Spencer! Jesus.” Then the faint clinking of metal filled your ears, and chills covered your arms as the cool metal clamped around your wrists.

“Did you just fucking cuff me, Spencer?” You screamed, trying to turn to face him. Surprisingly, he allowed you to, in fact, his hands moved to your hips, helping you.

But the second you faced him, his hand was wrapped around your neck, tight enough to restrict your speech. “I did, in case you can’t tell, you’ve been an absolute brat the past few days. And if you want to go out and act like a whore, I’ll treat you like one.” A primal look washed over his eyes, he wanted to break you, to humiliate you into submission. 

Your eyes rolled into the back of your head, your mouth falling open in a silent scream. Spencer chuckled, “oh, you really are a whore. You like it when I choke you, huh?” 

His hand pushed back on your neck, shoving you back into the wall, watching as you collapsed into a heap on the floor. You gasped for air, squirming as the handcuffs dug uncomfortably into your back. 

Spencer’s hands went to his belt, unbuckling it quickly, “get on your knees, sweetheart.” His voice was soft and gentle, probably because he just choked you and threw you against a wall.

You complied, shifting onto your knees with minimal struggle, despite the restraint of your arms. “Good girl.” Spencer praised, pushing his pants and boxers down thighs, his hard cock springing free. 

Your eyes widened, you were shocked at how hard this had made him, sure, you had always had this Dom/Sub dynamic, but you had never been this rough before. 

His hand wrapped around his length, giving it a few good pumps. His other hand wrapped your hair in a makeshift ponytail, using it to drag your head towards his cock. “Open, baby.” 

Your jaw fell open, his cock filling your mouth, and your lips puckered around him, sucking lightly at the tip. “Oh no, baby, I’m going to fuck your mouth, and you’re going to sit there and let me.” 

He pushed down harder against the back of your head, driving his cock further past your lips. You squirmed, gagging slightly as he hit the back of your throat, you tried to pull back for some air, but his hand just pushed your head down further. “That's it, such a good whore” he groaned out.

You took shallow breaths in through your nose, trying your best to relax your throat to take him in further. Tears welled in your eyes, and you tried to pull back once more. Spencer let out a mix of a groan and a chuckle, “no, no, you wanted to act like a whore, you’re going to take it like a whore.” 

He pulled back, groaning as your tongue ran over the vein on the underside of his cock, “God, yes, there you go.” He pushed back in, this time pulling back faster, setting a rough pace. You gagged again, more tears falling down your face, mixing with the saliva escaping your mouth. 

“Shit, that feels good.” Your eyes flickered up to Spencer's face, just in time to watch him lean his head back with a groan. The sight alone caused you to moan around his cock. “Oh, God” he moaned, his hand pushing your head down one last time, as he stilled, his cock twitching lightly in your mouth, spilling his hot cum. 

The sight of him coming undone before you had you moaning around his shaft, milking his orgasm. “Fuck” he breathed out, his chest heaving. You swallowed around him, trying to control your gag reflex as he pulled your head off of his cock.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” he said, his voice once again soft and soothing, his hands wrapped around your shoulders, helping you to your feet. 

“Please, Spencer, please” you begged. 

Then the soft tone in his voice was gone, replaced with a low condescending tone, “please, what? You want me to make breakfast? Or maybe you want me to go back to working?” 

“No, no, no, no” you begged, taking a shaky step towards him, “please, just fuck me.” Your voice came out harsher than expected, albeit still horse from the abuse on your throat. 

Spencer’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, a short scoff leaving his mouth, “wow, and here I was thinking you had learned your lesson.” 

“No!” You cried, before correcting yourself, “no, I mean no, please fuck me, I’m sorry.” You could feel your arousal soaking through your panties.

“Hmm… much better. Get on the bed.” He stated, turning towards the bed, he clambered on, laying down in the middle, his cock once again hard, and standing at attention.

“B-but, I can’t, not without my arms.” You whined you could only imagine how much of a mess you looked like, drool and tears all over your face, along with your disheveled hair. 

You watched as Spencer’s hand wrapped around his cock, stroking leisurely, “that’s a shame, I guess you won’t get to ride me.” He sent you a smirk, watching as you struggled to walk to the bed, the bastard was enjoying this so much. He was addicted to the sight of you, no longer reckless, but more wrecked. Completely at his will. 

You fell face forward onto the bed, squirming to try and climb onto it. “How cute.” Spencer voiced, sitting up slightly, his hands wrapped around your biceps, and in one swift tug, he had pulled you onto the bed. “There you go.”

His hands helped you onto your knees, helping you to straddle him. He pulled your panties to the side with one hand, the other spreading your wetness around your folds. He hummed in approval, “almost seems like you’re enjoying this” he teased. 

You whined at the friction, your hips grinding down against his hand. He pulled his hand back, reaching down to grab his cock. He lined it up with your entrance, slipping the head in. You both groaned at the feeling, your head falling back in pure bliss. His hands moved to your hips, yanking you down fully onto his length. 

“Oh, God, fuck yes.” You moaned, your head leaning forward this time, your hair falling in your face. 

Spencer’s hands left your hips, folding behind his head, “if you want to cum so bad, you can do it yourself.” 

You swear your jaw fell to the floor, and the tears that once filled your eyes came flooding back. “No, please, Spence, please fuck me, please.” Despite your words, your hips began to rock into his, lifting slightly only to crash back down on his cock. 

He groaned lightly, his eyes closing in pleasure, “you were acting like a whore, you’ll cum like a whore.” 

“Ugh, shit.” You moaned out, your hips working faster. 

“Yes, baby, there you go. Make yourself cum on my cock.” Spencer said through gritted teeth.

Your thighs began to burn, and you knew you couldn’t carry on much longer. You quickened your pace, desperately chasing your orgasm. 

“Fuck, such a good whore, my little whore.” Spencer praised, his voice strained with lust. 

The burning became too much, and exhaustion hit your body like a train. You collapsed forward, burying your face in Spencer’s neck. “Please, fuck me, please, Spence. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’ll be good, I promise.” You sobbed, your fresh tears falling onto his shoulder. 

“Alright, baby, it’s okay.” He unfolded his hands from behind his head, running them up and down your back soothingly. His hands ran down to your hips, lifting you off of him. “C’mon baby, we’re not done yet, I know you can take it.” He cooed softly.

You pulled your head back, biting down harshly on your lip, you nodded your head, not trusting your voice. “You’re such a pretty girl, and all for me,” Spencer said, his hand coming up to trail over your face affectionately, and you subconsciously leaned into his touch. 

“Okay, up.” He said, landing a soft tap to your backside. You giggled lightly. He helped you off of him, and before you could relish in how gentle he was, it was gone. He shoved your face forward into the bed, and you let out a sharp yelp. 

The low gravelly tone was back in his voice as he spoke, “You’re such a pathetic little mess for me.” He had moved behind you, his hard cock grinding against your clothed ass.

You turned your face to the side so you could breathe, muttering out a, “please, Spencer, I won’t do it again, I promise.”

His finger hooked in your panties, pulling them to the side, and with one swift motion, he had slammed his cock into you. You screeched, eyes crossing, and mouth falling open. “Fuck, yes! Fuck, me.”

Spencer’s pace was relentless, pounding into you, skin slapping against skin obscenely. He practically growled from behind you, and his hand reached up, latching onto the handcuffs. He pulled you back onto him with each thrust. 

You yelped, your wrists ached, and they would definitely be bruised, but the pleasure was too good to tell him to stop. Plus, you doubted he would listen. “Fuck, fuck, Spencer.” You muttered, the tension building in your stomach. 

“C-can I cum, please? Please, please?” You begged, drool sliding from the corner of your mouth. 

“Cum, cum, whore,” Spencer demanded. 

You let out a loud cry, panting as your orgasm coursed through you. Your thighs clamped together, and you cunt clenched around Spencer’s cock. Your back arched further, pressing your breasts into the mattress. 

Spencer continued his pace, crashing into you with everything he had. “F-fuck, shit, Y/N, so good.” He stuttered. 

At this point you were an incoherent mess, your mind was clouded, all you could focus on was the feeling of Spencer’s cock dragging against your walls. 

“Spence, please, I won’t do it again, I promise.” You begged, you couldn’t tell if you were begging him to stop or continue. 

He chuckled through a groan, “your right, you won’t do it again,” one of his hands reached around, placing itself on your stomach. He could feel the bulge his cock created every time he thrust into you, “you won’t do it again, because I’m going to cum in you.” 

The one-sentence had you spasming around his cock again, moans, and whimpers leaving your mouth. “You won’t be able to go out and drink with your stupid friends if you’re nine months pregnant, bitch.” He gritted out, finally stilling inside you, letting his cum fill you up.

The feeling alone sent you into one last orgasm, your body trembling, and a constant flow of tears cascading down your face.

You knew this wasn’t healthy, you couldn’t make up like this. He was so right, you were being childish and immature. Orgasming inside you was almost his way of telling you you’re not a child, you’re a woman, and you need to act like one. It was on its own, a reality check.

Spencer gave you a few more gentle thrusts, before pulling out, moving quickly off the bed. 

You didn’t dare try and move, your body ached, and your wrists had been rubbed raw. Your headache from earlier was back, this time twice as strong, and you groaned at the pain.

“Shh… baby, don’t move.” Spencer was at your side in an instant. You vaguely registered the clinking of metal and the freeing of your wrists. 

You whimpered as he slathered lotion on your sore wrists, massaging them gently. When he was done you giggled deliriously to yourself, it was moments like these you cherished. Such moments of utter vulnerability and trust that would only be shared between the two of you. 

He left once again, and you slowly rolled onto your back, letting your eyes close momentarily.

Spencer came back shortly, walking back over to the bed. He placed a kiss on your forehead, watching as your eyes fluttered open, “hi” you mumbled. 

Spencer laughed, “hi” he leaned down, pressing his lips to yours in a gentle kiss. “C’mon” he mumbled.

One of his arms hooked under your knees, the other around your back, you got the idea, quickly wrapping your weak arms around his neck. He lifted you up, carrying you bridal style into the bathroom. Upon entering you had noticed he already drew a bath, and a smile crept onto your face. 

“Here, sweetheart.” He set you down on the toilet, helping you out of your shirt, and pulling off your ruined underwear. He helped you up, holding onto you as you stepped into the water. 

You got yourself situated, watching as he stripped from his clothes to join you. You scooted forward, allowing space for him to slip in the bath behind you. 

He smiled at your actions, climbing in carefully, he settled behind you, his arms wrapping around you comfortingly. You sighed peacefully, nuzzling into his chest. “I’m sorry if I was too rough with you” he muttered into your hair.

You giggled lightly, “no, I deserved it.” You sank deeper into the water, allowing the warmth to soothe your muscles and the pounding in your head. 

“No, Y/N, you were just trying to help me relax,” Spencer said sympathetically.

“Mhm, and I ended up doing the exact opposite, I’m sorry, Spence. I just wanted to forget about you, I can’t stand to see you so stressed.” You turned slightly so you could look at him.

“How about this, you don’t drink so heavily next time, and I’ll take more breaks from work?” Spencer debated, one of his eyebrows raised in question. 

You let out a giggle at his expression, leaning back to press a kiss to his perfect lips, “sounds like a deal to me. Plus, who knows when I’ll be able to drink again?” You teased, alluding to the fact that he had come inside you. 

Spencer laughed, his arms wrapping loosely around your stomach, “there’s no one I’d rather have carry my child than you.” He ended his statement with a lasting kiss to your lips, pulling back, only to pepper more kisses on your face.

[dudeandduchess]

Kyōjurō x F!S/O: Double Penetration/Sex Toys (Smut, Kinktober, NSFW Scenario)

Note: I don’t go in full detail about anal play here, since that will be touched on on Day 25. 😌

Warnings: Smut, DP, Anal Play, Sex Toys (Dildo, Sex Swing)

MASTERLIST

***

With his hands on either side of (Y/n)’s hips, Kyōjurō slowly began to caress his wife’s skin; knowing that he had just put her under a considerable amount of pressure after preparing her for what he’d had in mind.

In fact, it had been a good month since he’d begun prepping his wife’s ass so he could get to fuck it— and it had all paid off, since it was clear from her intense orgasms that she liked it. And she’d especially liked it when he suggested double penetrating her.

Most women would have shied away from such a scandalous thought, but not (Y/n). She embraced her sexuality, and was on-board with almost all of the things that Kyōjurō wanted to do; which said a lot about how much she loved him. And it made the young man love and cherish his wife even more than he already did.

“Deep breath, then relax, sweetheart,” He whispered, squeezing her hip with his left hand, while pressing the tip of the lubed-up dildo to her ass hole. He then pressed the toy more insistently against her, hand tightening its hold on her since Kyōjurō had also strung her up on the sex swing.

Numerous straps held (Y/n) up a few inches over the bed, with her thighs and ankles also being hooked on two pairs of straps to further put her under her husband’s control. She could still move— as evidenced by the way that she was freely gripping the thick ropes that supported her upper back— but the pace and the force of thrusts would all be dictated by Kyōjurō.

Which was a heady thing, in and of itself. (Y/n) would never admit it— in case he got so smug and began to tease her— but she had cum so many times by playing with herself to the images of her husband dominating her in bed.

Slowly, the blond pushed the toy within her; earning him a low moan, as she felt it stretch her walls so deliciously. He then began to gently thrust it inside her ass, gradually letting it get deeper and deeper until it was buried to the hilt within her. The silicon balls were pressed up against her skin, and it took everything in Kyōjurō not to take the dildo out so he could fuck her ass with his own cock, and not something that was only a copy of it— as it had been cast from a mold of his own erection.

(Y/n) already felt so full with the dildo stuffed inside her, and pressed against the back of her cervix; however her husband wasn’t anywhere near done with her. Aforementioned husband pushed the pad of his thumb against the hilt of the dildo once more, earning a breathless gasp from (Y/n) as it stimulated her cervix once more.

She could feel her pussy throbbing with need, and clenching down to alleviate the need that she celt coursing through her; especially when Kyōjurō took his cock in his hand and began to rub the tip up and down her slit— smearing his pre-cum, as well as her own arousal, all over her cunt.

And with one last look at his wife’s blissed out expression, the young man pushed his cock deep within his wife’s pussy; feeling the dildo in her ass sliding against his cock through her walls. It was such a heady and pleasurable feeling that both of them couldn’t help but moan aloud.

Kyōjurō’s hips even jerked involuntarily, sending (Y/n) rocking slightly in the swing. He did get a hold of either side of her hips, however, and pulled her back towards him so that he could snugly fit his cock inside her.

Then slowly, he began to rock her on the swing— bringing her body flush against his own, and letting his balls smack against the hilt of the dildo in her ass.

Having two cocks inside her had (Y/n) feeling a little lightheaded, especially since the dildo kept rubbing against the back of her cervix with every thrust— while Kyōjurō’s cock kept hitting the mouth of her cervix. To say that it was overwhelming would have been an understatement.

She was in so much bliss that it didn’t take long for her to cum around her husband’s dick; walls fluttering around his erection as he kept fucking her through it.

“You came, sweetheart? Does it feel that good?” The blond asked with a grin, not at all winded with all his non-efforts of swinging her up and down on his length. And all (Y/n) could do was nod helplessly.

“Good, because we’re not stopping until I’ve had my fill of you.”

[sweetdreamhellofanight]

Effort

Marcel Barthel x Reader Warnings: None, all fluff (with the tiniest bit of angst!) Word Count: 1,925 Summary: Marcel’s usual flirting doesn’t work anymore (requested)

It started out the same, staring at you in the gym, smirking when you made eye contact, and rolling your eyes at him while he walked up to you. 

Six months ago, perhaps you thought he was all talk and no game. Six months ago, you would’ve humored his cheesy pick up lines and enjoyed the way he looked at you, the way his eyes lingered over you even after you’d walked away. Six months ago, you gave him your number and winked and started something that shouldn’t have lasted this long. 

But six months later, you were getting bored. 

In the six months you two had taken up with each other, Marcel hadn’t moved past his usual flirting and, while on most days it was enough for you, you were starting to miss something from him. 

Something...fun. 

So you tried to have your own fun with it. 

Now, with him standing beside you, watching as you completed your set, biting his lip. 

You paid him no mind, instead focusing on your music and the way your arms strained to finish the very last rep. 

“Good form,” he teased, looking you up and down. 

You sighed, turning to him, taking one ear bud out. You looked him up and down, now, expressionless. 

“Try harder,” you said, finally, grabbing the towel from beside you. 

His smile faded, turning into confusion as you walked away. 

“Wait-” he started, following after you. 

“Not gonna work this time, Barthel,” you said, over your shoulder, making him stop in his tracks. 

***

You hadn’t seen him for a couple of days after that, and you wondered if he’d taken it the wrong way, and thought you meant you didn’t want to see him anymore. 

But tonight he found you between matches, catching your breath, trying to clear your mind. 

“Good match,” he said, standing awkwardly in front of you, hands fidgeting at his side. You smirked at him over your water bottle, but took your time. 

Still, he stood there and waited for you to respond, 

“Thank you,” you said. 

He opened his mouth to speak, but hesitated. You arched an eyebrow, waiting, 

“You looked good out there,” he said. 

You nodded, and when he didn’t say anything else you stood to leave. 

“Wait,” he said, quietly, grabbing your arm to stop you. 

You looked at him, 

“Can I see you? Tonight?” 

You smiled,

“Nope,” you said, smiling as you watched his expression fall. 

“Why not? Did I do something wrong?” he asked, more concern in his voice than you’d heard from him before. 

You shook your head, 

“No, but…I dunno, I’m bored.” 

“Of me?” he asked. 

You shrugged, 

“I mean, you’re getting kinda predictable,” you said, watching as his expression changed into something unreadable. “There’s nothing fun, you just slap my ass and then tell me you’re coming over and that’s it. Where’s the charm? Where’s the romance, you know?” 

“I can’t come over...because I’m not romantic enough?” he asked, speaking slowly, eyes narrowed. 

You nodded, 

“Yeah, pretty much,” you said. Still, he looked confused, so you brought a gentle hand up to his cheek, “I want you to woo me,” you said with a wink. 

***

And he did try, you couldn’t fault him there, because for the next few days he would go out of his way to find you, trying some new pick up line that you hadn’t heard before, 

“Nothing here looks as delicious as you,” he whispered to you as he took a seat next to you while you ate your lunch. 

You nearly choked on your food, trying not to laugh. 

He smiled nervously, 

“Good?” he asked.

You shook your head, still smiling, 

“It’s….” 

“Bad, it’s bad, I know,” he said, looking away. 

“Just needs some work,” you said. 

He nodded, getting up to leave, 

“You’re not staying?” you called out. 

“I’ve got work to do!” he shouted back, smiling at you. 

***

You regretted it, now, asking Marcel to woo you. 

Or rather, you regretted not being clear with him. 

Because now you stood in front of your locker, a giant teddy bear blocking it, with a plush heart between its hands, staring down at you while you tried to figure out how he could’ve gotten it in here in the first place. 

“He’s got it bad for you,” Indi teased as she passed. 

You shook your head as the others offered similar comments. 

Today, the giant teddy bear. Last night you got the bouquet of flowers with chocolates almost as soon as you’d arrived home. 

But you didn’t have time to deal with this, so you carefully moved the teddy bear away and got ready for your match tonight. 

You would just have to talk to Marcel later. 

***

He found you first, after your match. Coming up from behind, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you back, 

“How about tonight?” he whispered, kissing your neck. 

You sighed, prying his tight grip off you, and turning to face him, 

“How did you get a giant teddy bear into the locker room?” you asked. He grinned wide, 

“I asked Dakota to help,” he said. You rolled your eyes, but smiled. You should’ve known. 

“Was the teddy bear her idea, too?” you asked. 

His smile fell, slightly, into a more embarrassed one, 

“I needed some help,” he said, quietly. “Did you like it?” 

You nodded, 

“Yes, but that’s not what I meant when I said woo me,” you said. 

He stopped, brows furrowed, 

“You didn’t like it,” he said. 

“No, I liked it, Marcel, but that’s not what I meant,” you said, starting to get frustrated. 

“Then what did you mean?” he asked, annoyed, taking a step back from you. 

You looked around, still standing in the middle of the hall, steps away from the locker rooms, and pulled him aside. 

“I just meant, do something...else? I didn’t mean do something huge and grand to show off, I meant...woo me. Tell me how much you want me, or want to be with me just...put in the effort, Marcel.” 

“The teddy bear? The flowers and chocolates? That wasn’t effort?” 

“I don’t know how I’m going to get that thing home in my car, first of all,” you said. “The flowers were nice but...I’m not good with flowers. I can’t keep plants alive longer than a day! And the chocolates had nuts in them and I’m allergic, but you would’ve known that if you’d just taken the time to think it through!” you said, getting louder. 

“Then I guess I don’t know you,” he huffed, moving back from you. 

“I guess not!” you replied, turning and walking away, leaving him there. 

You hadn’t meant to yell or to make it a fight, but you were growing tired of Marcel thinking with everything but his own brain. 

And until he could get a grip on that you figured you were better off giving him space. 

***

For another week you didn’t see him. He avoided you, making sure your paths didn’t cross, not at the gym, not at work, not anywhere. 

You had all but given up on it. You stopped looking at your phone, hoping to see a text from him, you had tried to change your own gym time to see if you could run into him. 

You just wanted to see him, just explain that it didn’t matter anymore and you just wanted to be with him. 

But he seemed more evasive than ever.

So you gave up, and accepted that you had ruined something before it even had the chance to begin. 

But a knock on the door stopped you. 

On a Friday night at nearly midnight, while you watched TV, trying to take your mind off everything. 

But your mind wandered, and though you tried as hard as you could to distract yourself, nothing seemed to work. 

All you could think of was pressing send on the message you’d typed and retyped for the last hour to Marcel. 

You had started with a paragraph. 

But that felt like too much. 

So a paragraph became a few sentences. 

But the sentences were too direct, too blunt. 

So the sentences became questions. 

But the questions made you sound desperate. 

So the questions became just one, simple request. 

Come over?

But still, you couldn’t hit send. You couldn’t bear that message left unanswered from him. 

So you tried to focus on the TV and the reruns of shows you had never heard of, and hoped you would fall asleep soon and forget about the text.

Until the knock on your door made your heart race. 

Made you wonder, made you hope, that maybe...it would be him. 

You tried to push that thought away, tried not to get your hopes up, even though something told you it was him on the other side of that door. 

You opened the door slowly, peeking out of it, and only when you saw the frayed edges of his hoodie, did you relax, knowing it really was him on the other side. 

Marcel smiled softly at you, 

“Hey,” you said, quietly. 

“Hi.” 

You both stood there, watching each other for a moment, not sure what to say. 

“Were you busy?” he asked. 

You shook your head, 

“Come in,” you offered, stepping aside. He paused, but nodded, walking in with his hands folded behind his back, hiding something from you. 

You shut the door and leaned against it, watching him, nervous and shifting in his spot. 

“What’s up?” you asked, trying to prod him on. 

“I,” he started, watching you. “I got you this.” 

From behind his back, he pulled out a single fake flower. 

A daisy. 

“And this.” 

In his other hand, a small, white bakery box. 

You stared at the two things, but didn’t move. 

“I’m sorry.” 

Now you looked back up at him, 

“You were...right. I didn’t think it through. You said you wanted effort and I gave you what I thought you wanted. But it wasn’t. You...want different stuff, and it took me a while to figure it out but…” he trailed off. 

“But?” you asked. 

“A fake flower, since you said you’re not good with plants,” he said, holding the daisy up, “and it’s a daisy because you have that necklace you always wear with a daisy on it.” 

Your hand went to your neck where the small silver necklace sat, the one he always played with just before he kissed you. You smiled. 

“And this...it’s a slice of pie. The one you told me about. I know you like the strawberry one.” 

His cheeks grew bright red, eyes cast down as he spoke, his voice getting softer as he finished. 

And you smiled wide, moving closer to him, taking the box from him first, setting it aside. Then, taking the flower from him, you brushed the top of it against his nose, making his face scrunch into a small smile. 

You brought a hand up to his cheek, making him look at you, 

“I’m sorry I yelled at you,” you said, quietly, “I just wanted you to show me that you really wanted me. That...this was more than just...a fling.” 

Now you couldn’t look at him, 

“I really want to be with you,” he said, softly, stepping closer to you. “I should’ve told you sooner and I’m sorry I didn’t.” 

He lifted your head up, slightly, and smiled at you, 

“But you said it now. That’s all that matters,” you whispered, reaching up to kiss him. 

[lastxviolet]

In Neglected Fields, the Fern Grows -Ch. 2

Fred Weasley x OC

4,447 k

Ch. 2 / 10

Warnings: NSFW!! Slight Dom!Fred, touching, grinding, cursing, begging, dirty talk, slight degradation

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13829826/1/In-Neglected-Fields-the-Fern-Grows

____________________________________

Fern woke the next morning to her roommate's frantic reminders about class. She groaned, peeling herself from the warm navy sheets, and joined Daisy, getting ready for the full day of arbitrary, seemingly endless classes.

It wasn't that she was bad at school as far as grades and accomplishments went, but rather, she felt like she'd never really caught her stride. Even now, in her last year of school, there was no rhythm. She was always running around like a chicken with its head cut off, finishing papers, apologizing to professors, and begging her peers for answers. Her brand of schoolwork had paid off, seeing as she'd got a majority of Outstanding grades on her O.W.L's and felt relatively prepared for the N.E.W.T exam in a few months. But now that she was nearing the end of her time in school, she wondered if it would've been less of an effort and time commitment to just do the work as assigned in a timely fashion.

It was noon before she had time to catch her breath and think of something other than school. Lunch was a welcome sight as she walked into the Great Hall but before she could enjoy the moment, she caught sight of her younger brother sitting alone, and her frustration and curiosity from last night were reignited.

"Nev," she announced, sitting down across from him.

"Fern," he muttered in a tempered tone.

She exhaled and rolled her eyes at his mood.

"I'm not cross at you," she noted, eyeing him the best she could from over the book he was buried in.

"That's good. You've no reason to be."

She stared down at the food between them. Every year the quiet, timid kid she'd had to bribe to try and make friends at school became more and more outgoing, outspoken, bold….more of a Gryffindor.

"You're not going to tell me about last night, are you?"

"I…I already have and it's your fault if you don't believe me."

"Bloody hell," she hissed under her breath. "Fine, I believe you, are you happy now?"

He brought his book down an inch and finally made eye contact. She knew he wasn't perceptive enough to realize she was lying, and still incredibly suspicious of him and his whereabouts but decided that it would be better to actually have some evidence before she started accusing him of anything.

"You do?"

"Yes, yes," she reassured him. "I'm sorry, I was just tired and annoyed that I had to do rounds."

"Oh," he mused, dropping his book fully. "Are you sleeping alright? I could give you some Valerian root to chew on before bed it's…usually…Fern?"

His voice tapered off but she wasn't even listening. Neville's right hand, splayed out on the cover of his book, was cracked with a deep vernacular wound, still pink from a recent infliction. She stared in horror at his bloodied hand and reached across the table to seize his wrist.

"Neville," she hissed, harshly.

He tried to pull away but she was faster and stronger.

"When did this happen?"

"It's…it's nothing. Only one detention," he stuttered, eyeing the rest of the table in embarrassment. "Just got unlucky s'all."

Her angrily pounding heartbeat drowned out the rest of the noise from the lunch rush. He was lying to her, again. Her mind raced with all the things that he could be doing out and about with the twins but seriously doubted that any of them would improve his chances at staying unharmed at the hands of Umbridge.

"I'll give you one chance to tell me who you were with."

Neville opened and closed his mouth as if he was trying to think of a lie or an argument before finally pressing his lips into a reserved line.

"Fern, please, they're my friends," he pleaded. "I know you don't like them but—"

"Friends don't get friends into this kind of trouble, Nev!"

"They don't get me into anything…I'm as much a part of the trouble as they are," he insisted, shaking off her grip and standing up to leave.

"You can't expect me to just let you get hurt like this if Gran knew —"

"Don't…don't use that against me…like you always do," he whispered with a harsh glare. "I know what I'm doing."

She craned her neck to stare at him in disbelief, acutely aware of how tall he'd gotten.

"I just don't want to see you get hurt," she pleaded, taking extra care to sound less accusatory, in the hopes that he would see her as less of a threat. "I'm only trying to help."

"No, you're not," he countered as harshly as he could, even though it was still relatively tame. "You hate that I am doing something without getting your permission first. I don't need help, Fern. Just leave it alone…please."

She squinted her eyes but remained silent, letting the not so timid boy trudge off without her ripping him to shreds.

In all her years of knowing him, he'd never dismissed her like this. He was a sweet, shy boy who put his family above everything else. There was no way that he would hold some prank or hi-jinx to such high regard…without some kind of influence. She glanced down at the Gryffindor table and caught sight of Harry Potter leaning down to whisper something to one of the twins, who in turn, leaned across the table to repeat it to Pavarti Patil and Lavender Brown. She rolled her eyes at their obviousness. If Padma was involved, of course, her sister would be too. And if Harry was involved, then it was certainly no good at all.

The weather for the rest of the afternoon and evening mimicked her mood. The rain of late fall was neither refreshing nor relaxing. It smelled of winter, and brought with it, frozen winds and only a taste of what was to come in the winter months.

Fern pressed her forehead to one of the tall windows in the Ravenclaw common room and contemplated how much the near-freezing droplets would hurt her bare skin. It was coming down pretty hard so there was a good chance it'd leave her burning, but no doubt, she'd catch a nasty cold. She glanced away from the moonlit grounds down below and failed at taking interest in the abandoned book in her lap. Despite trying, she hadn't been able to tear her thoughts from the interaction with Neville from earlier in the day. He'd never really been a serious boy, even when they were little, but today, he'd been uncharacteristically stern. It'd been enough to make her at least consider that the right thing to do would be to accept his wishes and leave him alone but the image of his bloodied hand was making her sick to her stomach. She couldn't shake the feeling that he was in over his head. He had a habit of being blind to the obviousness of his circumstance and acting without plan or consideration of pros and cons. Some called it bravery, and his house prided themselves on being collectively blind, but she knew what it was - stupidity. She'd never understood the appreciation that others had for the first person willing to risk their neck despite the risk.

She closed her eyes and pressed her forehead against the glass again. It was sharp, cold, and just enough to bring her sense to life for a few seconds. The minimal chatter around her in the darkened common room disappeared beneath the roaring storm outside. She wanted to go and stake out the seventh-floor hallway. Admittedly, it was overbearing, and would probably instigate more problems between her and Neville than answers but she couldn't fight off the feeling. Before she could find her common sense, her feet were moving towards the tower exit.

The castle thundered underneath the storm and drowned out her footsteps on the moving staircase. She held her breath as she entered the seventh floor and walked swiftly against the stone wall to stay hidden. For a touch more secrecy, and perhaps a flair for the dramatics, she extinguished the fireplace, and torches with a flick of her hand and waited in the shadows.

It was nearly half an hour later when she sunk to the floor and sat on the cold, dark floor and an hour after that when she nearly gave up.

There was no sign of anyone, until, she heard the faintest sound of a door closing somewhere behind the stone pillar to her right. She held her breath and listened to the lumbering steps as they came around the corner, again, from the direction of the astronomy towner. She smirked as the thunder reminded her that Astronomy was an impossible excuse tonight.

What happened next was the convergence of three terrible things at once.

She revealed herself from the shadows and came face to face with Fred Weasley, who looked surprised by her presence for a mere second before looking decidedly more put out by something over her head.

She turned to see what was more important than her obvious gotcha moment but her excitement turned to despair as a pink figure stood at the top of the steps. Umbridge waved her hand, igniting the hallway to reveal her standing a little too close to the troublesome twin. She knew how it looked before Umbridge even opened her mouth.

"Boys and girls are to be more than eight inches apart," she giggled. "Ms. Longbottom…Mr. Weasley, I am sure that you're aware of this rule."

She frantically glanced at Fred in hopes that he would tell the truth but he took a step closer and snaked his arm around her waist.

"Eight inches, professor," he cooed, pulling her tight. "How'd you know?"

Fern's eyes went wide at his obvious attempt to anger the already unhinged woman.

"No, professor," she hissed, pushing him off of her. "It isn't like that —"

The woman clicked her tongue and held up a hand to silence her.

"Detention for the both of you," she warned, oozing with pep.

She turned her head frantically to Fred again who was looking quite content with a wicked smile on his face.

"Professor, please," she pleaded, trying to make it sound like less of a beg.

"Enough," the woman shrieked. "Detention tomorrow evening. Now, off you go."

Without another word, the woman disappeared back down the stairs. She stared at the doorway in shock before wheeling around to confront Fred.

"Godric that woman…Ah well, what's another one, right, Longbottom?"

Her eyes widened in disbelief. "Another one? I've never had a detention before, you prick. Let alone, one of Umbridge's."

"Oh, well it's not so bad," he assured her, bringing a hand out of his pocket. "There's a bit of scarring but it doesn't hurt for too long."

She looked down at his hand and let the air be sucked out of her lungs. It was the same writing as Nevilles.

"I'm not upset about the pain you imbecile, I'm upset because I have to go in the first place and it's your fault!"

He leaned against the pillar next to them and stared down at her with a curious look on his face.

"My fault?"

"Yes, your fault," she hissed. "Like always." Of course, he would deny it, she thought.

Her accusatory words seemed to have the smallest effect on him as he rolled his eyes and scoffed at her.

"How?"

"Who else's fault could it possibly be, Weasley?"

"Oh, marvelous question, here's a thought, and it is just a first draft theory so do be gentle, but yourself? You were out frolicking, just like me, and therefore, bound to get caught with or without me," he explained through gritted teeth.

She shook her head and gave him a look of disbelief. They might have gotten off if he hadn't felt the urge to be such a smart ass, how could he not see that?

"I was not frolicking," she huffed. "The only reason I'm even up here is that I have to make sure that you, don't corrupt my brother. Thusly, your fault."

"I'm corrupting your brother," he repeated in disbelief.

"Yes."

"This might shock you but he is perfectly capable of getting into trouble all on his own."

"Only because he's been hanging around the likes of you for far too long!"

He squinted his eyes at her and leaned forward. She wouldn't let him use his size to intimidate her so she stayed put and furrowed her brow back.

"The likes of me? What is wrong with you?"

"You think there's something wrong with me?"

Fred scoffed and tipped his head back, closing his eyes in the process. "I think there are a whole lot of things wrong with you, love."

"Don't fucking call me that. I'm not one of your dumb fucking groupies, waiting patiently to be reduced to a pet name for your pleasure," she hissed, plunging a finger into his muscular chest. "Refer to me by my fucking name or don't refer to me at all, asshole."

"Bloody hell," he grumbled, returning the look of anger to his face. "Alright, I'm terribly sorry. Let me rephrase that. I think there are too many things wrong with you to count, let alone fix, Fern."

"That's big talk for a self-absorbed sociopath with pyromaniac tendencies and a severe maturity deficit!"

He looked caught off guard and brought his face down close to hers again. She stared back defiantly and let him search her eyes.

"Wow," he breathed after a moment of silence.

"Wow, what? Too many big words for you? Was poor little Freddie too focused on his tricks to pick up any comprehension skills at school? Do you need me to dumb it down?"

"If you insist, since dumb seems to come so easy for you," he retorted.

She let out a groan of frustration and dug her finger in deeper.

"You are maddening! At least I've got two brain cells to rub together. Your head is probably filled with fuck-all!"

Her voice bounced around the hallway as she stared at a wide-eyed Fred. She thought for a moment that'd she'd made a dent in his ego but his lips pulled up into an amused smirk. Her temper was usually a little more dependable than this but it was too late to go back now.

"My head," he repeated with a smile. "Hm…I'm more curious about your head."

"You're a bastard," she hissed, ignoring the heat radiating off of her face. He always reverted to perversion to throw her off guard, and unfortunately, it always worked.

"Normally you'd be right but this time, I dare say that you started it."

She glared at him and shook her head. He wasn't meant to be enjoying this. She'd hurled her best at him and it hadn't even hurt him in the slightest. Her brain told her to walk away but she stayed planted in place.

"Well, now I'm ending it. Yelling at you isn't worth the strain on my throat," she exclaimed.

His eyes flickered with even more amusement as the words left her tongue. She could've screamed with frustration when she realized what she'd said.

"Fern, darling," he cooed, leaning down further into her bubble. "I'd be more than happy to provide some strain on your throat. Just say the word."

"Fuck you."

"Tsk, tsk, tsk," he sighed, shaking his head. "A high-strung, good girl like you shouldn't have such a colorful vocabulary."

"My choice of words is no concern of yours," she blurted, internally cringing as she sounded like a child having a tantrum. It was difficult to admit to herself, but it seemed as though he had the upper hand.

"Well I didn't hear a single curse in that," he cooed, smirking devilishly. "Go on, don't be shy now, please continue your onslaught of obscenities. I'm a big boy, so I can take it, not like the posh blokes of Ravenclaw."

She scoffed and rolled her eyes. "You don't get to talk down on anyone and you don't get to tell me what to do."

"I'm not, Fern, if you were as perceptive as you pretend to be, you'd have realized that I'm asking nicely. Can you do that for me, love?"

"Don't fucking call me that," she hissed, pressing her whole hand against his chest to keep him at a distance.

"There it is. Anything else, darling?"

"You're a prick."

He threw his head back in a laugh. "You sure I'm not a fucking prick?"

His tone made her blood boil. How had getting detention come to this? How had she let him weasel his way underneath her skin? She momentarily thought of the wand in her pocket but knew that he'd be falser than that.

"So now you're making fun of me?"

"No, I've just always found you very curious," he said, leaning into her hand. "Tell me something, Fern. Are curse words the only improper thing you do? Is everything else pressed skirts and studies? Do nasty words fill the void that a life without excitement has left you with?"

She looked at him like he'd slapped her straight across the face. This conversation was going to get her no closer to figuring out the Neville mystery, but now it didn't matter. She was going to finish her feud with the intolerable twin, showing him once and for all, she was not a woman to be reckoned with.

"For fucks sake, how do you stand yourself? The melodramatic attitude must be exhausting. A life without excitement? That's really what you want to go with?"

"I call it as I see it," he barked confidently with a smile.

She couldn't believe that he was actually lecturing her about the philosophy of life when he had next to nothing figured out.

"So, what, to lead a life worth living I'm supposed to torture my peers without a care in the world? I'd hardly call being a nuisance to everyone I come in contact with, exciting."

A flicker of anger crossed his face. She tried not to make it intimidate her but he caught her wrist and yanked her hand away, pinning it to her shoulder.

"At least it's something," he growled.

"Yeah, a thorn in everyone's side!"

His damn of self-control broke and he shook her arm violently.

"Then you're a fucking raincloud! Godric, how do you not see that you suck the life out of every room you're in? At least I break even with smiles but you? You're basically a Umbridge in training with your prim and proper attitude and delusions of order! It's fucking boring! YOU are fucking boring and I — "

Without another thought, she closed her eyes, brought her other hand back, balled in into a fist, and swung.

She felt her knuckles make contact with his ridiculously shaped nose and opened her eyes in time to see his eyes ablaze with anger.

"Fucking, shit," he bellowed. "Ow!"

"How's that for boring?" She yelled at his scrunched face.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?"

The words tipped her over the edge and she slung her fist at him again, this time catching his arm. It barely seemed enough to catch his attention so she let it all out. Every frustration, fear, anger; came out in punches, kicks, and slaps, all aimed at the very tall redhead who had his back up against the pillar.

"You're fucking mental," he roared, seizing both of her wrists and turning them around so that she had her back to the stone.

"Fuck you," she yelled.

"Stop kicking me you wretch of a woman, bloody hell!"

"You can't hurt my feelings, dumb fuck," she bellowed back, as he yanked her wrists above her head so that she couldn't break free and used his weight to stop her from moving. "There's nothing you can say to me that I haven't already said to myself a million times."

The words registered in her mind the same moment they escaped her mouth. It was the truth, but she'd never said it out loud or even acknowledged it herself. She did in fact sling evil sentiments at the abyss in her self but for some odd reason, they'd never made a dent. Fred's words, however, didn't hurt in the slightest. On the contrary really; they ignited her.

He snarled at her words and held her still. Her heart beat so fast she thought she might pass out. She met his eyes finally and watched him digest what she'd said. He looked surprised. She couldn't blame him of course, she hadn't ever meant to say it out loud, let alone to someone she hated. She expected him to drop her, and leave because of the suddenly serious, uncomfortable topic of conversation but his face did something she didn't expect. He moved closer with a look of curiosity.

"Go on, try," she whispered, daring him despite her nerves. "I know you want to. I give you detentions, I confiscate your products, I target the rest of your family too because you're all fucking annoying —"

"Fuck you," he hissed.

"Fuck you too."

He glanced down at her lips as she spoke and held her tighter.

"You're a fucking bitch," he whispered, eyeing her with wary.

She threw her head back into a sharp cackle. "Is that all you've got?"

He snarled at her flippant attitude and brought one hand down to hold her throat while the other kept her hands above her head, scraping her knuckles against the stone in glorious agony.

"Shut the fuck up you insufferable, uptight swot," he purred angrily.

Her eyes went wide and she saw a flash of regret cross his face.

"Bloody hell…I…" he stammered, easing up on her restraints.

"What else," she croaked from beneath his grip. The words, his seething presence, and the painful embrace pumped adrenaline into her veins and an inexplicable hunger into her throat. The thought of him fighting off hatred to be close to her set her chest ablaze.

His eyes snapped back to hers. She was daring him, goading him, perhaps even begging him to continue. It was dramatic but she thought that she might die if he stopped now.

"I've always thought that you were an evil bitch, you know that?"

"I know," she whispered. His chest rose and fell rapidly making his breath heating her face with every puff.

"But now," he murmured low and slow, increasing the pressure against her throat. "I think you're desperate."

Her eyes went wide and he inched closer.

"A needy, desperate, good girl…with a dirty fucking mouth."

"Yes," she moaned.

His eyes went wide again, clearly surprised by her sensual reaction but he didn't move away.

"Bloody hell," he whispered. "You like this, don't you?"

He didn't give her a chance to answer and pressed himself up against her with a force that made her spread her legs to make room for his extended knee. It brushed against her gloriously, fanning the flames that were already ablaze. She could see the same soft unexpected look in him that she felt herself. He hadn't known that he would like it either. Just as she wondered if he was feeling an ounce of what she was, she felt growth in his pants.

"You like it….so you're a fucking whore, too. Aren't you?"

She whimpered and slid down the wall a little until she could press harder against the rough material of his pants.

"Aren't you," he whispered again, bringing his thumb up from her neck, and teasing her bottom lip. "A fucking whore."

She opened her mouth in response and let him slide his finger up her tongue and back out, smearing her lips with spit.

"Yes, yes…fuck," she whispered.

"Shut the fuck up," he grunted, gripping her chin so that she had to tilt her head further back to look up at him. "I don't want to hear that word from your mouth ever again."

She swallowed hard. He looked down at her with a serious look but his eyes were on fire. She glanced down at his neck, practically panting from the sight of his veins bulging from anger.

"Good girls don't curse. Do they," he asked forcefully. "Look at me when I'm fucking talking to you."

She snapped her eyes back up to his and slowly shook her head.

"No," she sighed.

"Stop. Talking," he hissed. "Let me rephrase that since you're such a fucking now it all.

My good girl doesn't curse. Does she…Fern?"

All she could do was whimper and shake her head as he slowly released her chin. It was incredible. The words seemed to pour out of him as if he'd been planning them and scratched each itch that she'd ever had.

"Good answer," he moaned, reaching over to tuck a piece of hair behind her ear. "She's mine. So I get to tell her what to do with her pretty little mouth…pretty little throat…and pretty little cunt."

Ferns eyes blew wide open at the last bit of the sentence and she realized that she'd been grinding against him with helpless desperation. The realization felt like a shot to the head and the fantasy was broken.

The hallway appeared behind him; they were still very much in public. Fred came into view as himself again, and not a domineering figure to fuck all of her troubles away. She bristled, acutely aware of his forceful grip. She pulled away from his grip with all her might, causing him to stumble backward. His eyebrows shot up at the movement and he released her not a second later, backing away equally as shocked that they were still in the school.

She leaned against the stone trying to catch her breath, and find her footing again as they stared at each other. Fred Weasley had called her many things in the past, and she guessed that maybe they'd always stoked the fire in her chest but this was…something else. She could tell that if she didn't leave now, it'd become an incurable hunger, which she could not afford, especially with him.

"Fuck…Fern….I'm sorry I —"

"Stop," she whispered, talking a step around him, towards the moving staircase. "Just…stop."

"Fern," he said, matching her stride, trying to catch up. "I'm sorry —I didn't mean —I thought that —"

"Just stop," she bellowed, halting him with her voice. "I…I have to go."

He looked at her, stunned, and disheveled but didn't move another inch as she made it to the door and took one last look at him before sprinting down the stairs.

[coping-via-clint-eastwood]

Bug Men - Gil Grissom x Reader

(A/N: PSA:  Numb is a very good song to listen to while writing. Who knew; the push I needed to finish this was a peaceful sit down at Starbucks, with Numb playing in the background {from my device}, heh.  Warning - Gil and Nick eat flies. Also, I am desperately touch-starved in this one.

@addictedtostorytelling thank you for your long-lasting patience 🙏)

"Goodbye, Grissom," Jim bade to the person clocking out.

You smiled at him, "Goodbye."  You were a detective assigned to the crime lab's graveyard shift, and the wife of Gil Grissom.  As soon as you stepped outside of the police station, you saw Gil.  "Hey," you smiled, walking towards him.

"Hi." He was smiling too as he walked to you, which was nice.  You let yourself get smothered in his embrace; you smelt of the same corpse anyway, just not as strongly as him.  You let out an, "Mmmmmffff..." as you buried your face in his chest, eagerly wrapping your arms around his waist; he placed one arm around your upper back and the other around your waist and tightened their hold, as you liked it, chuckling at your sound. You abruptly broke away from him and dragged him to a recess which you knew nobody would pass, and was in the blind spot of the security camera. (How convenient.) You gripped the collar if his jacket and pulled his upper torso and head down, so that his lips slammed onto yours. He quickly caught hold of your elbows to prevent himself from falling, his eyebrows jumping up in surprise.  He ran short of breath almost instantly and forcefully yanked his head back, wheezing.  "Antsy," he panted.

"Mm...I've missed you all damn day..." you rumbled, wrapping your arms around his neck, and he snaked his own forelimbs around your waist in turn.  You kissed the corner of his mouth since you had to let him breathe.

"But you worked with me all night."  He stood still and appreciated your affection.

"No..."  You were kissing along his beard up his jaw as you spoke.  "I ran around and collected information and brought in suspects for you. You were mostly in the lab." You had reached his ear; you gently kissed the bottommost area of its shell. You had always kissed his ears a lot to reassure him when he was feeling bad about his hearing loss, and even after his surgery it was something that stayed.

He closed his eyes and sighed as he leant into your touch. "I've gotten my breath back..." he murmured, hinting at what he wanted.  You brought your face in front of his again and kissed him again, gentler this time.  You tried your best to restrain your eagerness.  Fortunately, he pulled you closer and increased the pressure of his lips on yours, giving you the go-ahead. You let out a choked gasp when he did that, which was immediately followed by a whimper.  You used your whole body to push him, backing him up against the wall.  You used your hips to pin his to the wall, so that your hands could roam his torso. He held you and let you do what you wanted, letting himself enjoy the sensations. But he remembered something that was at hand and said softly, "Nick is waiting." The two of you were to go for breakfast with Nick. You let out a soft whine in protest, but gave him one last kiss and reluctantly pulled away.

You tried to smile, and not come off as disappointed as you were.  "Hello Nick."

But, he was good as his job.  His grin turned playful as he cocked an eyebrow.  "Did I interrupt something?"

"Yes..." you said ruefully, eyes downcast.  Gil smiled kindly and petted your back.

"You guys ready to go?"  Nick asked.

"Yes," your husband replied, looking at you.

You bobbed your head a few times, still looking down at the floor, eventually letting out a, "Yeah."  With that, Gil pushed you to his car (which he had sent you to the station in that night) and opened the driver's seat's door for you.  He knew by now that your grumbling noise was a 'thank you'.  He got in the front passenger's seat; Nick sat behind his own steering wheel. After everyone wore their seatbelts, Nick and you started driving. Throughout the whole ride, Gil kept nuzzling you, petting your thigh, kissing your cheek, and so on, making you smile.

The ride passed quickly and pleasantly this way. The three of you entered the diner and sat at the long table that was mounted all along the wall. You were on the left, Gil next to you, and Nick on his boss' right.  You ordered a chocolate muffin and chocolate to drink, Grissom ordered oatmeal and tea, and Nick ordered porridge and decaffeinated coffee.  Nick made most of the small talk, with you occasionally chipping in with a sound of acknowledgment, and Gil remained completely silent unless he was directly spoken to. The food came soon enough.  You heartily sank your teeth into the muffin, closing your eyes and humming, savouring its sweetness.

The conversation carried on with relative normalcy (well, as much normalcy - and grace - as was possible with constant refrains for eating) two flies landed and drowned in Nick's and Gil's foods, one in each. "Ugh..." you vocalised. However, the two men just looked at each other and spooned the insects into their mouths. "WHAT!" you exclaimed, flinching. Fortunately, there were no other patrons at the diner that early in the morning, so nobody stared at you; the staff did not care. Still, you remembered to lower your volume. "Ew!" you asserted in a harsh whisper. Your husband grinned mischievously at you. You sighed heavily and looked away, giving in to how adorable he was.

Nick got up from his seat.  "I gotta use the bathroom."  He left.

You were still looking away, with your chin resting on the crook of your elbow.  So you were unaware of anything Gil was doing until you felt his chin rubbing over your shoulder, his face coming towards yours.  "A-a-a!"  you exclaimed, jerking your head away and putting a hand over his forehead and nose to gently push him away, keeping clear of his mouth.  "You aren't allowed to kiss me until after you brush your teeth!"

He chuckled and leant back slightly. "Okay. Can I have a kiss then?" You happily kissed his cheek.

The both of you pulled away just before Nick exited the restroom.  He took his seat.  Again, he noticed that something had happened.  "I see the look on your faces.  What did you guys do?"  It was true that you both were sort of beaming now.

"I just kissed his cheek. That's all," you answered, looking away; you were facing the wall and smiling stupidly. Gil was, as usual, frozen.

"Really? From the way you two are carrying on, it seems as if more than just that happened."

You turned back to Nick at that.  "He's not allowed to kiss me until he brushes his teeth."

Nick chuckled.  "That makes sense."

"Yep."

"You know you guys can eat?"

You ducked your noggin and gently bumped your forehead on Gil's shoulder.  He was literally jerked out of his swirling mind. His head snapped to look at you. "Eat," you giggled at his dazed expression. He robotically did as you suggested.

Breakfast passed amicably. Nick paid for his own food, while Gil paid for his and yours because you shared earnings. Outside the diner, you hugged Nick, because unlike your husband, you enjoyed hugs irregardless of whether you were in public or privacy. Whereas the said husband just bade Nick goodbye with word of mouth.  Once again, Gil had his hand on your elbow as he escorted you to his car, bringing you to the front passenger's door this time. He took the keys out of your pocket, unlocked the doors and opened yours for you. You kissed his cheek in thanks before sitting down. He closed your door and made his way to the driver's seat.

As soon as Gil parked, you jumped out of the car and waited for him to take his kit. "I can't wait to shower," you said.

"We should shower only after we walk Hank, so we'll be relaxed fully."

"But I'm so tired..."

"So am I, but hold on for a little longer."

You pushed opened the door and squatted down to greet a waiting Hank. "Hey boy." You fondled his ears, then stroked his sides. He gave your face gentle licks. Gil squatted next to you and pet Hank as well. The dog barked and routinely turned from one human to another, making sure that he gave them equal affection.

Gil stood up first, so you followed suit.  While he went to put his kit away, you brought Hank to the kitchen.  You sighed with the effort of squatting again as you set out the dog food.  "Okay love, eat up, and then we can go for walkies."  Hank gave an enthusiastic bark and ate his food quickly but cleanly.

Not too long a time later, you looked up at the sound of Gil's approaching footsteps over Hank's chewing.  "Stand up," he directed as he walked towards you.  You did.  As soon as he was near enough, he put a hand on the back of your head and kissed the corner of your mouth, his other hand on your lower back, your hands immediately holding his shoulders. You sighed and closed your eyes at the minty scent of the toothpaste. You tried to kiss him properly, but he pushed you back, mocking you, "A-a, if you want more, go and brush your teeth."

You whined. "This is extortion."

"I'm just asking you to brush your teeth. Go," he scolded playfully, pushing you away. You nipped to do as he said and back at an embarrassingly desperate speed. Gil had cleaned and was just putting Hank's bowl away. That was fast," he teased.

"Shut up and kiss me," you grumbled, grabbing his shoulders and pulling him down. He chuckled as his lips crashed onto yours, but gave you what you wanted. He gripped your elbows to prevent himself from toppling over.  You pressed your lips hard against his; he had prepared and taken a deep breath this time so he could let you kiss him without having to interrupt you.

In fact it was you who had to pull back for breath first this time. Eyes shut, you leant your forehead against his, cradling the back of his head with one hand, the other still on his shoulder. He rubbed your back delicately. "Satisfied?" he mumbled.

"Yes," you laughed breathily. You slowly moved back from him, letting him go at last.  You turned around to see that Hank had removed himself from the area. Gil and you burst out laughing. You turned your heads to see that Hank was resting behind the front door.  You raced towards him, with Gil following as fast as he could.  "Come on Hank," you chirped as you opened the door.  He got onto his paws and padded out behind you, with Gil trailing behind.  While you locked the door, the other human went to open the side gate, and shut it once everyone was through, leaving it unlocked.

As usual, Hank picked the path, taking his time and sniffing anything that interested him.  Gil strolled along with his hands in his pockets; you put your arm in between one of his and his body, and rested your head on his shoulder.  "Still tired?"  he asked you.

"Yeah..."  you sighed.

"How about we bathe when we get home? You and me in the tub, together." He knew that that would most likely cheer you up.

You smiled. "I'd like that."  There was unspoken finality from him.

The old boxer completed one circumference of the housing area. He pushed his way through the gate.  Gil went through after him, leaving you to lock the gate.  Once in the house, Gil and you made a beeline for the bedroom, leaving Hank to do as he pleased.  You took off your clothes and dropped them on top of Gil's in the laundry basket. He plugged he tub snd turned the tap on, then just stood next to the tub, watching the water. You wrapped your arms around his neck from behind, resting the side of your head on his back with your eyes closed. He absentmindedly held and fondled your hands with one of his. A gentle tug on your hands signalled that the tub was filled to a satisfactory level. Gil stepped out of your arms and got in, sitting with his back against the side lengthwise. You sat between his legs, leaning backwards on him. He had his nose and mouth in your hair. "...you smell horrible."

"Speak! For yourself!" you interjected playfully, turning around halfway to look at him. He tittered.  He fastened his arms around your waist, holding you tightly against him so that you could not move.  You did not protest as you leant into his touch. For a few savoury moments, the two of you just remained still, cuddling like that.

[waveypedia]

they don’t know you like i do

Rymin Week Day 5: Birthdays

1 2 4 6 7

Ao3

~

Ryan wakes up to a sloppy cheek kiss.

“Mmmm,” he sighs, unconsciously leaning into the source. It’s something soft and warm, and unquestionably familiar and comforting even to his sleep-addled brain. For a minute he slumps drowsily against the warm lump, whatever it is, until it unfortunately moves away. What a tragedy. The universe truly is against him. Just him against the world…

A hand, gentle yet firm, shakes his shoulder. “C’mon, Ry. Time to wake up.”

“Ughhhh,” Ryan mumbles, rolling flat on his back. His eyes don’t want to open. “Not yet.”

If Ryan was more conscious, he’d register the laughter in the other’s voice. “Today’s an important day. Do you remember?”

Ryan sat up, blearily rubbing at his eyes. “Izzit a show day?”

“No, not yet.” Ryan’s eyes opened just in time to see a slightly-blurry but nonetheless beautiful Min hovering in front of his face with an excited yet bashful smile. Ryan couldn’t help a smile of his own, just looking at his handsome boyfriend. Yet all thoughts were dashed when Min leaned in for a kiss, effectively cutting off all of Ryan’s brainpower.

When Min finally pulls away, he is grinning euphorically. “Happy birthday, Ryan.”

Ryan leans into Min’s shoulder. “Happy birthday, Min.”

After a few more kisses, Ryan reluctantly slips out of the warm bed (or lack thereof) and shakes himself awake. The sun is just barely peeking over the horizon, and the interior of the van is shrouded in long shadows. Min, who has never truly taken to getting up early, is starting to droop.

Ryan wraps an arm around his boyfriend. “Not that I don’t want snuggles, Min, but I’m guessing you woke me up for a reason?”

“Oh! Right. Yes.” Min shakes himself, rubbing fatigue out of his eyes, and stands up straight. Ryan scrambles to stand as well so he doesn’t lose his grip.

Min turns and makes eye contact, smirking mischievously. “Check outside.”

“Hmm?” Ryan makes for the van’s back door, tugging a sleepy but excited Min along with him. He opens it and sees… “Wait. We’re here?”

Min grins at him. “Yeah, I did some late-night driving so we could have the whole day to ourselves.”

Ryan laughs, euphoria tinging his voice. His emotions felt uncontrollable and unstable from sleep. He was still in that half-awake state where his emotions hadn’t quite settled yet, and all he could feel was a tidal wave of happiness and love. Affection for his amazing boyfriend.

“Miiiiin,” he faux-whines, squeezing Min’s side. “But now you’re gonna be all tired! And I want to spend time together on our birthday!”

Min coughs lightly, his cheeks coated with a heavy blush. “Well- I- I didn’t drive for too long, Ryan. I’ll be fine.”

Ryan gives Min a long, measuring look, then shrugs. “If you say so. You know yourself best, and I trust you. I’ll be watching you, though, buster,” he says warningly, pointing his fingers at his eyes and then Min’s own.

Min chuckles, somewhat awkwardly. “If it gets to be too much, I’ll say something. I promise, Ryan.”

“Good.” Ryan leans against Min’s side, before changing his mind and pulling his boyfriend into a full hug. “Now let’s go celebrate our birthday, huh? We have two years to make up for!”

Min leans down to rest his chin on Ryan’s shoulder. “I am more than ready.” 

--

They check into the hotel and unpack as quickly as possible. They’re used to getting situated quickly, (all those late nights performing made for good experience) but this time their haste is borne out of excitement instead of fatigue. Once they’re settled, they spent a little while lying on the bed, just cuddling and enjoying each other’s company.

Min lovingly brushes his fingers through Ryan’s hair. He’s done it so many times now since they first embarked on their tour, but Ryan will never get tired of it. He leans his head back into Min’s soothing touch.

He could stay like this forever, but unfortunately, that is not in store. He and Min have a few errands to run. They don’t quite feel like errands, though. Not when they’re spent in the company of each other.

They make a quick stop at the local supermarket for food and supplies. They’re nearly finished, and Min is already outside checking around for an Asian market. Ryan is about to pay and join him, but then his eyes catch on something magnificent.

“Min!! Min, come here! Come look at this!!”

“What?” Min is inside in an instant, eyes wide and hair messy. He looks slightly panicked, and he’s breathing heavier than normal. For a minute Ryan feels guilty for worrying him, but then Min relaxes at the sight of Ryan excited and unharmed. It’s all he can do to keep from bouncing on the balls of his feet - and as Min’s expression shifts from worried to curious, Ryan’s enthusiasm wins out.

“Look at this!!” Ryan gestures to a row of boxes behind him exuberantly.

Min frowns at the shelf, brow furrowed. Ryan can catalogue the moment he notices what Ryan’s trying to show him, because his eyes light up and he breaks out in a grin. “Brownie mix?! Oh, Ryan, you genius!” Min wraps him up in a hug, and Ryan grins into his chest. “We have to make this!”

“You read my mind,” Ryan says as soon as Min lets him go. He grabs a box and places it carefully in the shopping basket.

At the checkout counter, both he and Min can barely contain their excitement. They keep shooting each other mischievous, eager grins every few seconds. The cashier seems slightly curious, but evidently grows tired of them after a few minutes and rings them up with more than a few eye rolls. Once they’ve paid, they practically book it out of the shop, still giggling uncontrollably to themselves.

They can’t wait to make it back to the hotel. The rest of the shopping, usually a fun activity where they discuss all the new (and in Ryan’s case, cursed) food combinations they can try in their budget, feels much more like the chore others regularly lament it to be.

 But at last, they make it back. At the sight of the hotel parking lot, they break into a run that doesn’t even stop for the stairs, laughing all the while.

The hotel, of course, has a concierge bell. On impulse, Ryan sneaks back down while the concierge is on break and snatches it, overcome with mischevious giggles like a young child.

When he presents it to Min, safely back in their rooms, he blanches. “Ryan! You can’t just do that! We could get into so much trouble!”

“Ah, I’ll return it when we're done. And I won’t get caught. Don’t worry.” Ryan waves him off, brushing past him from where they stand in front of the closed door. Even though it costs money they don’t have, they’ve sprung for a little kitchenette this time. After all, when can you treat yourself (and your amazing partner) if not on your birthday(s)?

Ryan sets Not-Kez on top of the mini-fridge, in perfect view of his and Min’s tiny cooking spot. “Just like old times, eh, Min?”

“Not in the slightest,” Min says, sounding like he’s torn between a groan and a snort.

“Yeah, I know. This dull thing could never compare to the real Kez.” Ryan brushes his fingers over the disappointingly not-sentient bell, not dissimilar to how Min comforted Kez when she was upset. “It’s not nearly snarky enough.”

That gets a real snort out of Min. “Not counting the weird gravity, giant pig-baby, sentient porcelain cow, and giant kitchen.”

“Don’t forget the post-war American cookbook,” Ryan adds. “Brownies were the only good thing they had.”

“And the only thing we care to replicate.” Min starts pulling ingredients out of their shopping bag. He places the coveted brownie mix in its place of honor next to Kez. “Hey, at least we have butter.”

Ryan laughs. “Just don’t put the butter in the microwave, and we’re good. That goes for you too,” he adds, faux-stern, wagging his finger at Not-Kez.

Unsurprisingly, Not-Kez does not respond. Just another reason why the real Kez is superior.

“This is way easier with regular-size ingredients,” Min comments.

Ryan bursts out laughing, brushing Not-Kez in his haste to keep his balance. “Really? Who would’ve known?”

Min glances back at him, rolling his eyes. “Go back to your humble brownie expert act, please.”

“I am but a simple man,” Ryan parrots dramatically, clutching at his shirt like Min had done all those months ago. “A simple brownie man.”

Min laughs. “All right, all right, that’s enough out of you. Here’s your toothpick, so we can check for fudgieness. You know, so it’s not cake.”

Ryan bows. “Of course, of course, Your Honor.”

Min’s responding giggle is enough to sustain Ryan for years to come. Brownies aside.

--

After the brownies are done, they curl up in bed with the tray. It’s torture waiting for the brownies to cool down, but a hospital visit from burns would certainly put a damper on their birthday. Not to mention cut into their already lacking budget and tight schedule.

“We’re going to get crumbs in the bed,” Min grumbles when Ryan presents him with a properly-cooled brownie. “Have you ever slept on crumbs, Ryan? Do you know how fun it is?”

“You say that like I don't eat in my bed all the time,” Ryan replies flippantly. He sits down next to Min and purposefully takes the biggest bite possible. They both watch as crumbs scatter onto the bed. Min sighs.

Ryan pauses. “Or. Well. I did.”

“You are literally sitting in your bed right now, leaving crumbs,” Min says, poking Ryan in the side playfully. His smile doesn’t reach his eyes, though. When their gazes lock, Min conveys a silent message. Are you okay?  

Ryan nods. Min relaxes, and grudgingly grabs a brownie. “Hmm. These are good.”

Ryan laughs. “Well, what did you expect? They were made by the brownie experts, after all. Or have you forgotten?”

“Forgive me for doubting cheap grocery store mix,” Min deadpans. His smile has returned in full, which in turn only brings a matching smile to Ryan’s face. “But it is quite good.”

“I agree.” Ryan downs his brownie. Somehow, he gets the feeling they won’t be talking much while they eat.

They devour the majority of the pan. It’s with some effort and self-restraint on both of their parts that they finally put the tray away - they both want leftovers, but fresh, warm brownies are difficult to refuse. In the end, the afternoon slips away, dangerously towards dinnertime, and the brownies end up safely stowed in their bag.

Dinner is a quieter affair after the brownie debacle, but it’s no less fun. They head downstairs to find a good restaurant in the area. (And so Ryan can drop off the inferior Kez - he nearly gets caught by the concierge, but slips away just in time. He catches her looking around, baffled, at the mysteriously appearing and disappearing concierge bell as they leave. Min shoots him a glare that feels like it could kill him, but in the end they escape unscathed.) After they make their escape, they end up at a small place with a live band playing on the corner stage.

Ryan nudges Min. “That could’ve been us, you know.”

“Maybe next time we pass through this town,” Min agrees. “But… thanks. I know you would’ve performed on your birthday if it was up to you, but I appreciate you spending it with me.”

Ryan rolls his eyes, although he’s smiling. Perhaps a little too emotionally. “Please, I’d be spending time with you even if we were playing,” he reminds Min. “But really. It’s nothing. I’m just happy to be with you, however we spend our time.”

Min reaches across the table to take Ryan’s hand. His eyes are shining in the soft candlelight. “You have no idea how much that means to me.”

Ryan smiles affectionately. His heart feels like it’s full to bursting. His vision is getting a little blurry. “I think I do, Min. Because I feel exactly the same way.”

Min’s responding smile is enough to make Ryan’s entire year.

--

The rest of the night is a blur after that. All Ryan really remembers is that he had fun and that he somehow loves Min even more than he did before. Which should be impossible, but it’s the truth.

They end up curled up in the bed together. Right as always, Min complains about crumbs, but his heart isn’t in it.

They don’t stay up too late. As much as Ryan loves his party-filled late nights of adrenaline and bad decisions, they both got up quite early. By the time Min’s arms are tucked securely around him, Ryan is asleep in an instant.

 Well, not quite.

He’s in that state of almost-asleep-but-not-really when whatever visually discernible features the hotel room has in darkness are starting to blur beyond recognition when Min says it.

“I love you, Ryan.”

Ryan leans back, cuddling himself into Min. “I love you too.”

~

oh god this is so late again why can i please stop getting inspiration boosts exclusively at 9pm (i did write 1.5k words in an hour though that's not bad!)

i keep eating on my bed and then every night i'm like god what are these CRUMBS who brought fucking CRUMBS into my bed how dare you skdfhgfkdsk this fic is just projection but in the weirdest, most mundane ways

the beginning of this is actually the first thing i wrote for rymin week! i wrote it a week or so before after i finally figured out my prompt ideas (thank you for talking it out with me sae) and then proceeded to write nothing else but day 1 before the event began skhfjksl. i'm a mess thank you for coming

the worst part of writing post-train is the lack of kez. in a perfect world she got off the train with min and ryan and she and morgan became their floating concierge bell and castle road trip friends. i miss herrrrr

title is from masterpiece theater iii by marianas trench. i rediscovered this song a few months ago after years of not listening to it but the warriors map to it used to be my favorite thing years ago. the actual video didn't come out until i was nearly done with the books but i used to watch the planning video over and over again

if you ever wanna talk infinity train, writing, these amazing characters, or really anything hmu here on my tumblr or twitter! thank you for reading, and please leave a reblog/like/comment if you enjoyed it!

@ryminweek

[neverthrive]

Just gonna leave this old ass fanfic here

Adventuring is a rewarding occupation, providing an abundance of wealth, the respect of peers, and even a fulfilling sense of self worth. Even so, the constant action takes its toll, and every once in a great while an adventurer has to take a step back, breathe in deeply, and just get away from it all. Which is exactly what Jake had been planning for himself and his human brother.

It was a simple idea; take a break from their regular schedule of evil slaying, butt-kickery and all around, nonstop awesomeness. Find some remote location that holds nothing but tranquility in store for the duo to just chillax at for a few days. Just the two of them, a dog and his boy. It was perfect, but like any other well laid plan, there was a monkey wrench destined to find its way into the cogs of said perfection and jam Jake's precise synchronization up something awful. This particular monkey wrench goes by the name of Marceline.

"What are you dweebs up to?" Inquired a melodically cynical voice that belonged to none other than the ancient noirette in question. Marceline stared down ever curiously at the mixed species siblings and their growing mess as she liesurely drifted on the air over their heads. From what she could tell, her mortal friends appeared to be gathering heaps of useless garbage and stowing the junk in their already cramped luggage, for some reason or another.

Finn took a moment to acknowledge the vampire's presence, looking up from his loaded pack to face her. "I'm not actually sure, myself... Jake just told me to start packing my crud, and I guess that's what I'm doing, so does that answer your question?"

"Not in the least." she replied curtly before turning her now suspicious gaze in Jake's direction. The dog paid Marceline no mind as he continued to toss his various and mostly useless possessions into a sack. A rubber duck, a length of rope, a jar of peanuts, a pair of socks... Finally, he stored two empty glass bottles and closed the sack, still oblivious to the vampire's questioning stare. "Jake, what the plum is with all the hullabaloo?"

"Nope." Jake snapped, mildly irritated.

"'Nope'? Nope what?" She pressed him, ignoring the dog's tone.

"No. I'm not gonna tell you because you'll just want to come with us and muck it up. It's s'pose to be just me and mah bro, and you have no part in it. So no, Marceline, you can't come camping with us." Jake retorted in his best attempt at sounding authoritative, but in trying to iterate just how serious he was, the fact that he was suppose to be withholding information had slipped his mind a tad. He soon realized his mistake and growled in frustration. "Forget I said that last part!" But ironically, that last part about ignoring that previous last part was ignored by both teens.

"We're going camping?" Finn and Marceline asked in unison, excitement bubbling up in their throats.

"Yes, Finn, WE are. And no, Marceline, WE are not. Got it?" Jake answered pointedly. "It's camping time with Finn and Jake. I didn't hear Marceline anywhere in there, so step off sister!"

"Well fine! Maybe I didn't want to go on your stupid trip anyway!" Marceline pouted sorely and turned to leave, but Finn, being the model peacekeeper he is, blocked his friend's exit. "Get out of the way, Finn. I'm obviously not wanted here anymore." The vampire queen tried to push the boy aside, but no matter how hard she shoved, the squishy blob of flesh and heroism persisted to keep her from leaving.

"Come on, Jake's just being a butt. You don't have to leave on account o' him bein' a Mr. grumpy pants." Finn gently wrapped a hand around Marceline's forearm and began to lead her back over to his brother so as amends could be made.

"He doesn't even wear pants, dude." she huffed out in retortion as she let herself be pulled back towards the junk heaps that the magical dog was still busying himself with sorting through and packing into napsacks and suitcases and the like.

"Jake..." Finn verbally nudged his brother to outstretch the olive branch to Marceline, but an apology seemed hesitant in forthcoming. "Come on, man. You know you done bad in yourself bro, and I know you know how to make it right again." Finn's prompt appeared to have worked this time, eliciting a defeated sigh from Jake.

Dropping his bags of assorted and worthless loot, Jake turned to face Marceline who now had her arms crossed over her chest and was avoiding eye contact with him. "Look, I'm sorry, alright?" Marceline untensed a bit at that. "It's not you, It's just that I really wanted to have some bro time with Finn, y'know? To recapture those times we used to share when we was wee pups." Jake inhaled deeply, breathing in the musty scent lingering about from the, until recently, long forgotten contents of that once overstuffed closet in the corner. He had a feeling in his gut that he'd regret this decision later, and his gut was almost never wrong, but he couldn't ignore his guilt and empathy for Marceline. She just wanted to hang with her friends. "So... You want to come with us, then?"

The vampire's sour mood dissipated immediately, her pout rapidly shifting to a grin stretched from pointed ear to pointed ear. "Heck yes I wanna go camping with you guys! So when are we leaving?" Marceline asked almost giddily.

"Well I guess since you're coming with us, we probably shouldn't be heading out 'til just before sundown." Jake answered thoughtfully. Having so much time before they were to depart allowed Jake some spare moments to cool it with all the preparations and freed up his thinkin' schedule a bit. Suddenly, a thought pervaded his mind that the dog rather took a shining to. "If we're bringing guests along now, Lady Rainicorn's coming too!" and with that, Jake took off to go inform his girlfriend of how he'd decided she would be spending the next few days. The matter was entirely non negotiable.

Finn and Marceline stood idly by as Jake hastily absconded out through a nearby window. The young hero turned to his immortal friend "You know, he actually does wear pants..."

"Really?"

"Yup."

A quarter hour before dusk would settle in, the four campers had reached the landing Jake scouted out beforehand. It was a small pocket within the forest, not too far from a river, vacant enough to comfortably fit everyone but with a dense enough canopy to shade any vampire from daylight at high noon. Having acquired a suitable base of operations, the only thing left standing in between Jake and his cherished relaxation was setting up camp. The duties were divied up between two groups.

"So Lady and I are gonna pitch our tent, by ours I mean hers and mine. I don't know what either of you are doing so... Sleep under the stars or whatever. But also, we need a campfire, so you guys should maybe gather some sticks and twigs and stuff, and it'll be math. 'Kay." Jake then spoke something in a language neither Finn nor Marceline could comprehend to Lady, who laughed in response, and the two magical creatures diligently began piecing together the frame of their shared tent. The rainicorn giggled lightly every time Jake slipped a tent pole into the corresponding connector she held.

Marceline narrowed her eyes at the spectacle and made a face. "Gross..." She thought it best to linger around the couple and their disgusting adorableness as little as inhumanly possible and began to head towards the surrounding thickets. Finn soon followed suit, tailing behind his friend into the thick of the forest to gather materials for their fire.

"So like, sticks, huh?" The human remarked as he bent over to scoop a discarded twig from the earth.

Marceline turned to see Finn's pitiful offering. Their fire would need a lot more fuel than some measly green branches. "No man, we need bigger stuff than that." she explained. "And preferably a little more dead." she added.

"Bigger?" Finn thought it over for a moment. "Alright, bigger." Turning to face a tree, the stout teenager grappled the trunk and with all his might attempted to pry the poor unsuspecting eudicot from the soil. "I need your wood, tree! Give it up, yo!" Finn continued his struggle while Marceline cackled at his random act of foolishness.

Seeing no sign of Finn relenting any time soon, his undead friend intervened. "Finn, we don't need a whole tree. And you most def don't gotta yank one out'a the ground. C'mere, ya goober." she beckoned while barely supressing her laughter. Finn looked from Marceline then back to the tree in his grasp, releasing the bark from his grip and gaining nothing from his efforts but sore arms.

"Look," she pointed to a fallen branch that looked as if it'd been laying on the forest floor for a few seasons now. "This is the kind of stuff we're gonna need. Big enough to burn, and not impossible to pick up, got it? Now get it." Finn did as instructed, bending to take the dry, rough chunk of high octane campfire fuel in his arms. "Alright, now just find a lot more like it and we're good to light 'em up."

"How many more?" Finn asked wearily.

"I don't know. Lots, I suppose. Have to keep it going for a while." she replied, venturing deeper into the woods to search for any more decent firewood she might per chance stumble upon. Figuratively, that is, it's hard to sumble when your feet don't touch the ground.

"Bleh..." Despite his contempt for such menial labor, Finn once again followed the vampire to gather what they needed. It was an easy enough job, but way too dang boring for a man of action. Finn needed excitement, and lugging sticks around wasn't providing.

When they'd finished gathering the firewood and the time came to actually light the fire, Finn demanded he be the one to do the deed. And so there they sat across from one another, a neatly arranged pile of dead wood between them. Finn furiously stroked the sticks together in a fruitless attempt to catalyze a spark.

"This usually works! These things must be broken, or something..." Finn pouted and heaved the useless wooden shafts into the nearby shrubbery in frustration.

"Here," Marceline moved herself closer to the bundle and spawned a small flame in the palms of her hands. Touching the flame to the tinder, the pile of miniature lumber and bark ignited almost instantly. Finn stared down at the blazing fire, then glanced up to Marcleline, a smug, toothy smirk plastered across her face.

"You cheated!" he yelped, pointing accusingly at the girl who succeeded so easilly where he so miserably failed.

"Finn, don't be jelly of my totally sweet vampire powers." Marceline replied, her expression never faltering.

"I'm not jelly! Maybe jam, but not jelly. Just admit you cheated! Vampire powers is cheating fo' sure." he insisted.

"Nope." The vampire playfully let her forked tongue slide out from between her fangs, mocking the disgruntled human.

"Whatever..."

"Hey, you guys made the fire! Rad!" Jake exclaimed as he padded his way over to the two from his now fully assembled tent.

"Yeah, we totally did it! 100% group effort here." Marceline chimed almost sarcastically. "So who wants to roast marshmallows?"

"... Then the puppy looked under his bed, and saw two glowing green eyes! The pup was so scared, it almost wee wee'd!" Finn stood over his three friends, the crackling fire below lighting his features in distorted illumination. He raised both hands above his head, digits stretched and curled as claws in the most menacing display the boy could muster. "The nebelung under the bed reached out to the scared little puppy and..." Finn paused, turning to Jake who'd heard the story right along with Finn in their youth and knew what came next. "TICKLED THE PUPPY!" Finn pounced on his brother and poked his wriggling fingers into the dog's soft flanks. Jake snorted and snickered at the human's tickle attack as the two women watched on. Lady found the sight to be quite amusing, adorable even. Marceline just sucked the red from a can of kidney beans in stark indifference.

"If you two are done with your brotherly gropefest yet, maybe I could tell a real ghost story?" Marceline cut their fun short and assumed her position over the campfire as current story teller as the brothers returned to their seats. "This isn't the first time I've been in these parts of the woods. I came through here some years back, how long ago exactly is a little fuzzy. But I wasn't alone. No, I had friends with me, just like I do now, and just like now, there was a dog among my group.

"We were just hiking through, you see, we had no intentions of staying. No, that would be foolish! We knew better, we'd heard the stories of what happens around here after dark. Weird stuff... Spooky happenings, y'know? But the dog, he got lost-"

"Oh no! Not the dog! The dog always dies first!" Jake interrupted with his sudden fearful outburst.

"Well anyway..." Marceline shot him a scornful look, and continued. "The dog must have started straggling, because when we stopped to rest, he was nowhere to be found. Of course we looked for him, we stayed together as a group, we weren't about to split up so we'd all be lost in 'The Forsaken Forest'. But no matter where we searched, there was no sign of the poor lost doggy. It wasn't 'til well after dark when we found him. He was huddled in a bush maybe twenty or so yards from where he was last seen, shaking uncontrollably with his face in his hands.

"He wouldn't show us his face. He just kept on mumbling some nonsense about 'whispering trees' and 'eyeball rockets'. When we finally pried the dog's hands from his face, he had no eyes! Just two gaping sockets where his looking globes used to be! Once we got him to calm down, he told us the whispering trees of the forsaken forest used some hoodoo to turn his eyeballs into jet packs and they flew right off of his face. Wait..." Marceline stiffened and tilted her head to one side as if intently listening to some faint noise off in the distance. "Did you guys hear that?"

"Hear what?" Jake squeaked, cowering into his girfriend's embrace. Cuddling with Lady Rainicorn made him feel secure, but it wasn't enough to make him totally forget he was in the alleged 'Foresaken Forest'.

"It sounds like..." she leaned in toward Jake, and with a completely straight face, with a hint of what might pass for something distraught in her tone, answered "Whispering."

That's all Jake needed to hear. He gave his friends a surprise performance of his scream song and tore off to his tent as fast as his four legs would carry him, separating himself from the 'evil' trees outside with a thin layer of nylon. No way in the flippin' Night-o-Sphere was he letting some piney mischief makers steal his precious eyes. Lady chuckled and followed after him, knowing Jake wouldn't be able to sleep alone tonight after that fright.

Finn and Marceline shared a laugh at Jake's expense. When their howling merriment subsided, they realized they were alone once more. Finn fed a few more branches from their dwindling supply into the blaze, stoking the flames.

"So, have you really been out in these woods before?" The boy asked, now feeling uneasy not knowing if the vampire's story was true or not. Finn'd witnessed stranger things, so believing tall tales came easily to him.

"Yeah, I have. But not how you're thinking I did, that story was bogus." Finn was relieved. "Naw, my old man took me camping somewhere around here when I was younger, before that whole 'fry incident' happened. It's one of the more pleasant memories I have from my upbringing." Marceline sighed and watched the flames consume their fresh meal through hazy, half lidded eyes. The age-old young woman contently recalled the time she and her father shared out in this forest so many years ago.

"Is that why you like camping?" Finn pulled her out of her train of thought. "Becuase your dad brought you?"

"Yeah, probably." she admitted. "It's just nice to chill out in the wild, with some friends or family or whatever. It's kind of peaceful. So how 'bout you, Finn? Have you ever been camping?"

"Well, once pop took me, Jake and Jermaine out for a weekend of fishing. Y'know, a father and his boys." Finn still missed his parents, they were such kind old folk. No one else would look twice at the human freak, but they raised him as their own. "But it was actually just the back yard, there was a pond there too, and we were told we couldn't go inside the house 'til the weekend was over. Dad made us some sort of little shelter out of some dead trees and ferns and all we ate was the fish we caught, but Dad made sure to stock the pond with lots of fish beforehand, so we had plenty. It was a pretty good time, even if it wasn't the wilderness like this."

"It's not where you're at, Finn, all that matters is who you're with." Marceline asserted, and felt a certain truth to her words resonate. In her experience, this was an immutable fact, in good company, fond memories could be made anywhere. Finn always seemed like good company, and he'd given the vampire an abundance of fresh memories she hoped would not fade any time soon.

"Yeah," Finn nodded gingerly. "that's deep." The human stretched his arms wide and yawned in deeply. It was getting late, and an adolecsent boy needs his sleep. "I'm gonna hit the sack."

Finn took a few paces away from the campfire and found one of the various packs he'd brought with him on this excursion at the base of a large tree. Opening the zipper, he reached inside and withdrew a very large, very new looking gortex sleeping bag and unrolled the bundle of fluff and warmth, laying it across the ground. The tuckered hero wasted no time before hopping into the over sized, silky feeling cocoon, but before he could drift of to the land of Sweet dreams, he was disturbed by a familiar voice.

"Where am I supposed to sleep?" demanded the very abandoned feeling vampire queen.

"You're nocturnal." Finn retorted bluntly before rolling over to face away from the dying fire.

"But I've been up all day!" she protested. "My sleep schedule is wack, and it's pretty much entirely your fault."

"Hey, it's your own choice to pester us during the day. You made your bed, now you gotta sleep in it. Hehe." Finn laughed at the irony of that figure of speech used in this particular instance and noted that he's not exactly one to be clever with irony, and it was mostly just coincidence, but an awesome coincidence at that. "Can't you just like, sleep hangin' from a tree or somethin'? Bats do that all the time."

"No! For one, that's actually an insulting generalization, and two, I don't think I can maintain myself in bat form while I'm sleeping." Marceline explained. It sounded logical enough of a reason to rule out sleeping in trees, and there was no way she was about to sleep atop the cold dirt. "Scootch over, I'm getting in with you." she ordered.

"No way! Why didn't you bring your own sleeping junk?" Finn countered.

"Because I didn't think of it and vampires were never bestowed with the gift of foresight, now make room!"

"You can't!" Finn barked.

"Why can't I?" she challenged.

"Because... You're a girl..." Finn's face brightened with reddish hugh.

"Are you saying you'd rather sleep with a boy?" Marceline asked slyly, raising an eyebrow in playful inquiry.

"Well no... But..." Finn sputtered, "This isn't fair!"

"Life ain't fair, get used to it," the dead girl shot back while making her way to Finn and his comfy looking sleeping bag that he was being oh so greedy trying to keep all to himself. Finn hesitated, but after seeing Marceline was dead set on gettin' all up in his bag, he reluctantly relented his opposition and allowed her entry, slipping in beside him.

Marceline noticed how spacious it was inside, still comfortable enough even with the both of them fully encased up to their necks in the puffy fabric, and she almost couldn't help but to be suspicious that Finn's end game was to share this sleeping bag with someone all along. Silly human, he'd only have to ask, no need for reverse psychology and mind games. But then she realized this was Finn she was thinking about and how his intentions never run any deeper than face value. Marceline couldn't see Finn, the genuine goober he is, devise some elaborate plan entailing sleeping bags and psychological warfare all to result in getting her to sleep with him, speaking only in the most literal sense of the term.

Then Marceline realized something else. She was dreadfully uncomfortably laying in this position. "Finn. I need a pillow." she informed.

Disturbed once more from the verge of slumber, Finn exhaled audibly and cracked his sore and crusty eyes. Scanning about the surrounding darkness for something that might sate the relentless vampire's pestering, Finn peered a fairly large, stout stone not far from where they lay. Removing his arms from the confines of the sleeping bag he was now being forced to share, he grabbed hold of the rock and placed it by Marceline's head with a dull thud. "Use that." he instructed coarsely before returning to his previous position and trying once more to sleep.

Marceline stared at the rock in awe for a long moment before deciding it was a horrible candidate for a pillow. No, she'd need something softer, with some give. Something... Squishy. And per chance, it just so happened that there was something exceedingly squishy laying right beside her. So with no further thought or reasoning, Marceline curled herself around Finn and layed her head on the softest point she could find between his shoulder and chest.

"What the flip are you doing?" The hero questioned when feeling his friend's arms snake around his body.

"Shut up." she hissed, momentarily lifting her head from his chest to make eye contact. "You're lumpin' comfortable, so deal with it. Now lay there and be quiet like a good pillow." And with that, she nuzzled back into the fleshy swells of Finn's torso.

As awkward as this situation was, Finn couldn't deny that it was maybe even a little pleasant. But also mostly uncomfortable, for him at least. So to right this, Finn hauled his arm out from beneath the cuddly vampire and repositioned it around Marceline, so now they were in some ungraceful, and clearly completely platonic embrace. Nope, nothing going on here, just a couple o' bros in a sleeping bag is all. Snuggling? Naw, none of that going on here, bro.

Feeling Finn's arm wrap around her back and rest somewhere near her waist, reciprocating her cuddle, Marceline grinned into the adolescent adventurer's chest. "I know you're enjoying this, probably more than you're letting yourself believe, but don't expect it to happen often." She took a moment to glance back up to meet Finn's embarrassed gaze. "You just so happened to have been the most comfortable place for me to spend the night." Reaching up to play with the ears of Finn's hat, she added "Y'know, you're no Hambo, but you're quite the snuggly little bear."

Finn's face flushed skarlet, or maybe it never stopped being that color, he couldn't tell. But either way, he definitely felt significantly warmer around the collar after that remark. He wasn't too sure he liked being Marceline's 'snuggly bear', he imagined it might be something reminiscent of what Lady Rainicorn would call Jake, if she spoke english. And Finn for sure didn't think he was ready to have with Marceline what Jake had with Lady. But here they were, closer to any other girl than he'd ever been, unburnt by her touch and unscalded by any callous words that carelessly fell from her mouth.

Finn gave some thought to this and realized it wouldn't be so bad to be more than simply friends with Marceline. She was probably the greatest gal he knew, and almost certainly the least complicated, even if that's not saying all too much. But he could easily envision their relationship taking a turn for the romantic. By the time he'd worked up the courage to profess that thought to her, a rather obnoxious snore seized his attention. Finn snapped his eyes down in his bed buddy's direction to find she'd already fallen fast asleep. So, the adventurer, pushing all silly thoughts of relationships aside, closed his eyes for what seemed like the umpteenth time that evening and was finally allowed rest.

It wasn't the muted sunlight shining through the leaves overhead, ticking at his eyelids, that woke Finn that morning, nor was it the stirring of the girl still in his arms. It was the earpiercing shriek of utter shock and surprise let loose from his older brother's agape maw. Finn's eyes shot open, sitting up quickly and turning his attention from Jake to Marceline, taking in the situation and how it might look to anyone outside of the sleeping bag.

"This probably isn't what it looks like!" Finn piped up defensively almost without thinking. His brain kicked in and told him that whenever someone says those particular words, it's almost always exactly what it looks like.

"Oh my grawd, dude! You guys didn't... Did you?" Jake gasped, flabbergasted. "Just tell me you kept it PG13, please."

"Dude, what the hey! We're both fully clothed, okay!" Finn stepped out of his sleeping bag to prove he was, in fact, not in the nude. "She just forgot to bring any camping gear, so I shared. Alright?"

"Yeah, alright... I guess I might have been overreacting a bit..." Jake mumbled ashamedly, averting his gaze from his two friends he just so blatently accused of indecency.

"A bit?" Finn chuckled. "It's a'ight man, let's just forget about it." Finn's stomach let out a low growl. "So what's for breakfast, homie?"

Jake felt a mite cheerier now that they'd moved on past that terrible misunderstanding. What an awful, horrible revelation to wake up to first thing in the morning. "Canned food, yo. It's all we got since we pollished off the marshmallows last night."

"Sounds good, man." Finn responded with a nod. He looked back to his vampire friend who was still wrapped in his sleeping bag. She was in a sitting position, watching the two brothers, holding the poofy top of the bag up to under her chin with strangely bare arms. "C'mon Marcie, stop being a lazy butt. It's time to get up." The human coaxed.

"Remember that thing you said about how we're both fully clothed?" she asked with a bashful smile. "If we've learned anything this morning, it's that you guys are great at jumping to conclusions." She motioned with her eyes, directing Finn and Jake's attention toward a pile of her discarded flannel shirt and ripped jeans.

"What the flip, Marceline!" Finn cried out, bordering on the hysterical.

"What, I got hot! Besides, it's not like I'm completely naked. Glob Finn, don't be such a perv!" Marceline huffed indignantly, floated up from the ground sleeping bag and all, snatched the shirt and pair of jeans from where they lay and was gone into the dense forest, presumably to get dressed.

"What in the flip just happened, Jake?" Finn asked flatly as he continued to stare dumbfoundedly out into the woods where he last saw the lunatic who wore his sleeping bag like a toga.

"Sounds like you're having girl troubles, bro." Jake answered, gingerly giving the confused human an empathetic pat on the back.

[aizawaskittenwhore]

𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐮𝐭

pairing: cartel!shota aizawa x fem!reader

words: 2.4k

warnings: swearing, this will be a cartel!au, so mentions of c*ke and distribution...yeah lol, suggestive content towards the end of the chapter (vague description of a bj), angst, cheating, aizawa just ain’t shit in this story LMFAOOO

a/n: this is the third fucking time i’ve tried to post this so if it doesn’t work i’m gonna cry. but I AM SO EXCITED FOR THIS ONE and i can’t wait for you all to see what i’ve got planned. so uh...strap yourselves in it’s about to get crazy. sorry ms joke </3

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐧𝐞: 𝐂𝐨𝐜𝐚’ 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐂𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐆𝐢𝐫𝐥𝐬

The salty, warm breeze from the ocean whipped its way through Shota’s onyx locks, tossing them around with a gentle force. Miami was gorgeous from the water, skyscrapers alight with the buzzing energy of the city, streets crawling with good food and even better looking women. Gorgeous full lips wrapped around martini glasses, criminally short dresses clinging to any skin it was given. He didn’t care much for the nightlife, opting to observe the partygoers from a distance.

He wasn’t here to socialize.

He was here to work.

His wrists draped over the edge of the rail that separated him and the water, a small portion of his weight against the cool metal. When Hizashi suggested that he get a yacht he nearly spat out his whiskey, face contorted in an expression of annoyance and disdain. Shota didn’t understand why someone would need such a flashy boat, it was merely a watercraft meant for travel and or fishing. This wasn’t the 1400’s where one’s worth was tied to the size of a man’s ship. Just another glorified pissing contest for rich people with too much money, and not enough couple’s therapy in the world that could keep them home for days at a time.

It’s not as if he was in any position to judge though, his pinky coming to rest just below the silver band that rarely inhabited his ring finger these days. He doesn’t entirely know what possessed him to wear it, whether it be the ever-crushing guilt from lying to his wife, or the text he’d received from Emi this morning that read:

“Make sure to bring me back a mojito! Don’t work yourself too hard, and remember how much I love you!💕”

If only she knew that these tri-monthly “Inter-Departmental Hero Conferences” were just fronts for selling a literal boat-load of cocaine.

Turns out, yachts were really good for that.

In the span of just five years, superhuman society was nearing it’s peak. Upon the graduation of all the students in the 1-A Hero Course, and Izuku Midoriya’s induction as the new Symbol of Peace; the world began to see an astronomical shift. Crime rates were the lowest they’d ever been, with Japan and the States sitting at 2 and 4.5 percent, respectively. Newly minted Pro Heroes roamed the streets, bringing security to those who needed it and striking fear into the hearts of those who were on the wrong side of the law.

But this utopia came at a price. With the sudden influx of fresh and talented pros, crime decreased exponentially, leaving little villain-based work for Heroes to get paid for. Hostage situations and evacuation efforts took backseat to helping older women across the street and assisting young children with their schoolwork. Soon enough, peace became a burden for those whose careers surrounded chaos.

Aizawa was no exception to this dilemma. Once Midoriya and his classmates graduated and obtained their Hero Licenses, he’d ended his tenure as an instructor at UA. He felt that he’d done his civic duty as a teacher and a Pro, and produced some of the finest Heroes the world would come to see. So he began to settle down. Surprisingly, he’d begun to tolerate Joke’s incessant laughter and boisterous personality, and soon fell in love with the eccentric woman. Between patrols and giving advice to aspiring Heroes at the community center, he and Emi explored all the the world had to offer; swapping out steel-toed combat boots for soft plush flip flops against hot sand. After three years he’d proposed, much to Emi’s delight (and Ashido’s upon hearing that Mr. Aizawa could actually tolerate another human being). The ceremony was small, and intimate. Shinsou serving as the ring bearer, and Eri as the flower girl. Mic even shed a few tears during the toast, though he’ll deny it if Kayama ever brings it up.

For a while, things were good. Life was good. Emi was glowing with the energy of a new life blossoming inside her, and Shota fantasized about meeting his little girl, counting all of her dainty fingers and toes, and doting on her for all to see.

Or at least it was, before agencies began to close. Paychecks got smaller and smaller. Heroes were struggling to find work and their pockets began to struggle along with them. With Emi on maternity leave, and Hero society coming to a standstill, things were looking grim. He needed to provide for his family, his wife, his children.

He needed a plan, and fast.

Luckily, Hizashi always did have good standing with everyone’s favorite Bird Boy. So he called in a few favors.

“Just for a couple months man! We stir up a little bit of noise, make a couple ripples and bam! Crime rate’s back up, and we get back to makin’ money. It’s temporary. Nobody will ever know, I’ll make sure of it. I got you.” Hizashi pleaded, an arm slung across Aizawa’s shoulders as he pensively gazed into his glass of amber liquid. He’d done some vigilante work here and there in his twenties but this....this was outright criminal. But what choice did he have?

Just a few months, he’d said. If only it’d worked out that way.

“I was getting worried you wouldn’t show, Eraser!” Zhu thundered, hands clapping joyously at the other man’s timeliness. “That’s some boat you got there, let me guess...the wife’s idea?” He queried, eyebrows waggling emphatically as Aizawa descended from the metal ladder and onto the wooden pier; eyes rolling into the back of his head at Zhu’s...excitable personality. The two had known each other for about two years or so, having gotten acquainted over the course of Shota’s many trips between Japan and the States, and sometimes South America. Zhu Kanaka was a man of the lower ranks, opting to use his easygoing disposition to negotiate deals for Takami “Lord of The Skies” Keigo, better known as Hawks. Standing at a solid 6 foot 4, with thick black locks that spiked into a point reminiscent of an onion, thick bushy brows and a set jaw, you’d think he wouldn’t hesitate to punt anyone like a football.

At least until he opened his mouth.

“As it turns out, Emi hates the damn thing. Makes her seasick. Hizashi talked me into getting the fuckin’ eyesore.” He intoned. His left hand palmed his slacks for the emergency pack of cigarettes he kept in his back pocket for when he was stressed during a deal, although he never really needed them anymore after Eri said she wanted him to quit. He still held on to them though, just in case. “The hell you waiting for? You know the deal man. Let’s see it.” He muttered, silently willing for Zhu to get on with it so he could get in a bed. Three and a half hours on a goddamned boat (that you didn’t even want to begin with) will do that to you.

“Someone looks like he needs a nap. Alright, I got ya. Count it, make sure it’s all there. I had Thing 1 and Thing 2 back there pack it, so you might wanna double check.” Zhu quipped, jerking a thumb towards the two young men currently engaged in a heated game of Rock, Paper, Scissors; the pair of them flushing upon receiving one of Aizawa’s infamous stares. Two thick black duffles were handed to his two bodyguards, the men immediately unzipping and checking the stacks, a mental tally steadily climbing higher and higher as they sifted through the cash.

“He’s good. Four hundred thousand in each bag. It’s all there, Eraser.” Sato affirmed, Toru nodding alongside the man. “Good. Go ahead and call Jamie, tell him to bring the car around. Zhu, I’ll send Sato and Toru to help your men unload our shipment. It’s a hefty one, so you’ll need the assistance.” Shota offered, shoulders visibly relaxing at the thought of getting some alone time in an empty hotel room.

“Yeah that’d be great, thanks! How long you in town for?”

“Until about 3pm tomorrow. I’ll be on my flight back to Kyushu then.” He states, right arm extending to clasp the other man’s hand in a firm grip. “You’re goin to that meeting the Big Man’s holding in a few days right?” Zhu queries. “Unfortunately, yes. Gonna miss my little girl’s first doctor’s appointment for this shit.”

“No way! She had the baby?!?!? Congratulations man! How’s it feel?” Zhu exclaims, eyes alight with joy for his friend’s new addition to the family. “Feels good. She had a smooth pregnancy, everything worked out fine. Hana’s beautiful, and healthy. I couldn’t be more proud.” Shota brags slightly, heart swelling at the thought of his little girl and how proud he was to know he’d helped in making someone so...ethereal. “Wow. Raising another kid, you flying out all the damn time, along with whatever else you got goin on?? No wonder you look like shit.”

Red eyes and floating hair caused Zhu to immediately retract his former statement.

“Aw I’m just joshin’ Eraser! But I hear ya. It’s a lotta’ sacrifices that go into this, but they’re who we do it for. All of it. Ya know?” Zhu amends, eyes shimmering with the reflection of the city lights off of the water.

Did he even know who... or what he was doing this for anymore?

Shota found himself asking that question more and more often as of late.

“...Right.”

“Anyway, you’re probably spent, so I’ll leave you to it. It was good seeing you man, send Emi my love!” Zhu shouted as he slowly walked towards the men unloading his boat. “Likewise. Tell Macie and the kids I said hello.” Aizawa responded dryly, body screaming for some kind of relief from this exhaustion.

“Will do! Oh, by the way! You might wanna bring some cooler clothes and sunscreen with your pale ass, I hear Guadalajara’s pretty sunny around this time of year! See you in a few days man!” The male laughed, throwing him a wave as he slowly disappeared into the darkness of the port. Massaging the bridge of his nose in irritation, Aizawa nodded in acknowledgement as Jamie pulled up alongside him; his hand reaching for the handle and dragging his siphoned body into the backseat.

Jamie could sense his employer’s weary expression, and didn’t make any attempts at conversation, merely opting to start making his way to the hotel while smooth jazz floated through the car. Forehead against the door of the towncar, Shota typed out a quick message to his wife:

“Alcohol is the last thing you need sweetheart, and I love you too. Got another meeting in a few days, mandatory. I’ll in be in Mexico, so I’ll miss Hana’s appointment. I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to the two of you.”

Sent.

The message sat for a few seconds before Emi read and typed out a response:

“Aw, bummer! </3 Dont worry, work is much more important right now. I’ll be sure to take lots of pictures!”

“You don’t have to make it up to us, you caring is enough. Get some sleep old man, me and the girls love you. xoxo, Wifey 😘 ”

He didn’t deserve her.

He didn’t deserve any of them.

This he knew. And yet, it didn’t stop him from responding to the unknown number that texted his phone every time he happened to be in town.

“Same time and place? Desperately in the mood to play....My toys just aren’t as good as yours, Eraser. ;)”

His heart sank. A beat passes. Then two.

Calloused thumbs move fluidly across the screen. He’s done this far too many times.

“Be there in 10. You know the routine.”

And in retrospect...he would’ve been way better off just blowing off Guadalajara and going to Hana’s appointment.

Because while he wrapped her slick ponytail around his hand, as a head that wasn’t his wife’s dipped between his legs, he didn’t think this would be his last moment of peace. Shoved down the throat of a woman who’s name he had long forgotten, settling for calling her whatever pet name he felt like adorning her with, her hands clawing at the soft and sleek cotton of his trousers.

Aizawa never anticipated that this would be the last time he would be in a room without immediate reinforcements, and be content.

The last time someone he didn’t trust with his life knew his location, and he wasn’t terrified.

The last moments of peace in his world before it all went to hell.

Temecula, California;

1:36am

The office floor was barren. Dark, coffee stained carpet congealed with the bacteria of old and new; giving it a sad beige color from the creamy foam-like white it was when the building was built. Cubicles cluttered with miscellaneous paperwork from separate departments, all of it raining down from desk to desk like a fresh layer of snow on the first day of winter. Tired, weary hands typed at a computer with precision and accuracy, the warm glow from the screen illuminating the buttons on her blouse as she plowed through each document. Her body raged for a moment of rest, but she couldn’t give in. Not when so much was at stake, not when so much needed to be done in so little time.

After a few minutes, and approximately twelve sips of bittersweet lukewarm coffee, the fingers came to a halt. A sigh of relief was freed from her body as she pushed the enter button on the dusty, tan keyboard and began to pack up for the night. Since the computers were set on an activity timer, there was no need for her to physically shut it down. After 30 seconds of no visible movement, the screen flashed a message declaring that the activity would be suspended within the next 2 minutes if no motion was detected. Content with her work, she slung her work bag over her shoulder, and trudged towards the elevator, mentally clocking out for the night.

As the elevator slowly carried its passenger down, the computer continued its countdown before discontinuing its power, leaving the following words for nobody but its future recipient to read:

Drug Enforcement Agency Operative Travel Request:

Agent: L/N, F/N

Current Operation: Potential formation of a rising cartel under the leadership and or affiliation of Pro Heroes Hawks, Endeavor, and Eraserhead. Agent has been undercover for eight months and twenty-seven days.

Investigation Status: Active

Location of Travel: Guadalajara, Mexico

Reason for Request: Possible gathering of multiple Hero-Run plazas to discuss further movement. Will gather more intel and gain trust of suspects involved/acquire more resources for investigation.

Travel Request Status: Accepted.