#the rug gets yanked from under me again like it did last time and i will not be able to control the melt down that comes from it

[killbaned]

the chicken is in the oven. i was originally going to just. use butter and salt because i'm scared if i use my seasonings it's going to make the gastritis go sicko mode but i can't. i can't fucking make bare seasonless chicken i can't FUCKING DO IT i'd rather starve.

i did, however, select only three seasonings (basil, parsley, poultry) out of the mix along w sea salt and butter so we'll see what happens.

i bought myself some of those knock off gluten free thin mints when i did my errands monday so i just munched on some of those for a sugar boost bc once again. i did not eat anything before i left the house.

in my defense, i literally couldn't have eaten even if someone tried to force me bc The Gastritis Is Gassing.

and also speaking of food regarding mom, she also said the food at the new rehab is decent. hospital food will never be "good" and her lunch came while i was there and their version of scalloped potatoes looked dry as fuck but i also asked if she wants me to bring leftovers when i come tomorrow and she said no since the food is good enough so that's also nice.

it's nice because these are all things that led to her flipping out repeatedly until she finally went AMA last time.

it's also nice because i feel like i can unclench a little and relax and not obsessively sit on my phone waiting for her to call losing her fucking mind about it.

oh also the new place has actual security features. you have to get buzzed in to enter, you have to sign in, you're given a visitor pass, and you have to get buzzed out.

the place she was at here just had an automatic front door and nothing else. which. i will be honest i stopped by a few times after work and i was like.

huh. kinda don't like you can just walk in at 1030PM or later and like no one is around or gives you a second glance. like what if there's a freak around who wants to bother vulnerable old people???

[s-4pphics]

let the rain sing. 4 (a.a)

wc;cw: 7k, dadsbestfriend!abby, lawstudent!oc, large age gap(oc is 25, abby is mid 40s), abby is bi<3, slight angst yall know the deal, brief mentions of familial death, cigarettes, nasty sloppy sex MDNI, dubcon(they sipped a little), couch action :p, eating out no taco bell(pussy and ass), tribbing, meantop!abby, strength kink, lots of dirty talk, breeding kink😳😳, mult. orgasms, BREEDING STRAP(idk how they work im sowwie if it’s not accurate :/), slight d!p, body fluids(spit, fake and real cum LOL), UNPREPPED ANAL PLS DONT DO THIS, dumbification, degradation kink, pain kink it’s me duh, hair pulling, slapping, slight mirror sex??

The holiday season passed, and you were standing on Abby’s porch with your tail between your legs and exhaustion weighing you down. 

You’ve never been… nervous to see Abby. Whenever you arrived at her home, you were eager and desperate to be in her presence so she could take care of you, but now you were nauseas at the thought of using her that way. And it was all your fault. 

You haven’t spoken to her since the Christmas party. You didn’t know what to say. How do you approach somebody that you think hates you after an encounter like that? She went from rightfully kicking you out of her home to rubbing your pussy through your pants without care. In front of your entire family despite your mutual rules, and you didn’t even care enough to stop her. It almost felt like you switched places for the night: she was impulsive and irresponsible, and you allowed her to be, just like how she used to when she handled your demanding attitude. You wished she touched you more before she respectfully departed your parents’ home. 

You wanted to speak with Abby properly. You never thought you would be willing to sacrifice your kryptonite once you found it, but she didn’t deserve to be dragged along and solve your problems anymore. Your heart still hurts at the thought of making her cry and leaving her to it. You’re such an idiot. 

You called her before you showed up, but she didn’t answer. You don’t blame her for being distant, but she deserves an in-person explanation as to why you should never see her again. You’re a trainwreck and you need to deal with that alone, no matter how exhausting the journey would be. 

The sun was setting when you finally exited your car knocked on her door, looking down at your scuffed boots that dug into the melting ice on her porch. You wanted to check to see if her key was still in the same spot under her rug, but you refrained. Your heart filled when you noticed her unique little Christmas decorations still dangling from her door and windows. She loved her flowers, for sure.

When the door yanked open, your heart dropped, and your stomach did somersaults. 

Abby was dolled up in a red dress under a black trench coat with matching red nails and shoes, sparkling jewelry, and her hair was pulled back into a neat ponytail that cascaded down the back of her neck. She looked fucking gorgeous, and your throat went dry. She leaned against the frame as she eyed you, shock evident on her face. 

Don’t fold, don’t fold, don’t fold!

You watched her surprise swiftly shift into confusion and… aggravation? Your heart sunk further into the floor, but you held her gaze. 

“What’re you doing here?” 

Her voice made your heart squeeze painfully; You missed it terribly, regardless of how stiff she sounded. 

You took a shuddering breath, “… Hi, Abby.” 

She ignored your greeting, “What are you doing here?” She sounded like she was in a rush, and you wanted to cry. 

You swallowed harshly, “I-I know you’re probably busy, but I’m— “

“Look, I can’t deal with this right now. I have somewhere to be,” she quietly huffed with agitation like someone would hear, adjusting the shining watch on her wrist to check the time. You could feel her pulling away. 

It felt like every cell in your body was dying, your brain fighting on its last legs to conjure up a reply to get her to stay and speak with you. You would’ve dropped down to your knees if it wasn’t freezing. Is this how she felt whenever you would shut her down to fuck? Nausea came in waves. 

“I don’t,” you weren’t shaking from the cold. “I don’t wanna do anything. I just wanna… apologize.” 

She rolled her eyes at you, “Keep it. Are you done? I gotta leave soon.”

You were motionless, your hands squeezed into fists in your coat pockets as tears jerked in your eyes and lips quivered. Don’t fucking cry!

Your brain didn’t fight hard enough because she shook her head when you didn’t comment, reaching for the door to slam it in your face. It forced you into action, shoving your arm between the open space to stop the wood from shutting completely. You couldn’t control the panic you felt at the thought of her hating you. You don’t remember the last time you cried like this. 

“A-Abby, please, I’m so sorry, I can’t,” your heaving picked up as you sobbed to her. “I can’t stop thinking a—bout you and I feel awful and I know you hate me, and you s-should but’m so sorr—y. Please, I can’t— “

Abby seemed unsure through your watery gaze, the tensity in her face dropping slowly as she gauged you. You felt her wrap a light hand around your bicep as you broke down, ushering you inside with soft shushes. 

You listened and followed her guide to the couch, taking a seat as you cried out your apologies to her. Your wails overpowered the volume of her coos; She was too fucking nice. 

She stood over your sitting form, her soft, rose-scented hands holding your chin as she massaged the back of your pounding head. “Shhh, stop crying, stop.”

Your eyes met hers, and your heart burned, “M’sorry— “

She sighed, “We’re gonna… we’re gonna talk, okay?” 

You nodded, sniffing harshly. You didn’t deserve her hospitality, and you felt guilty accepting her courtesy. Had you really been so heartless to such a gentle soul?

She hummed, “Want some water?” 

You didn’t answer. 

She took your silence as approval and made her way to the kitchen. 

You calmed down. Slightly. Abby was able to remove your coat and boots without fuss; You were too busy blowing your nose with the soft tissues she handed to you. 

Abby sat next to you on the couch, earrings, coat, and heels removed and slung on the floor near the coffee table. She allowed you to take some sips of your water before she spoke, voice as soft as ever. 

“Okay to talk?” 

You nodded, setting your glass down on the decorative table and using your sleeves to wipe your still wet face. 

You took a deep breath. A few deep breaths, and she let you. 

But when you finally opened your mouth to speak, her phone rang. 

Both your eyes darted towards the coffee table; a contact named DON’T ANSWER read across the screen. Your brows furrowed in confusion, eyes gliding between her and her device. You’ve never seen Abby have a negative reaction towards anyone except you; Who did she not want to answer? 

She sighed heavily, reaching towards her phone to mute the ringing. A few moments of silence passed, and the call ended, but the caller popped up again. 

She tsked, reaching for her device with agitation. She answered it, annoyance evident in her tone. 

“I'm not coming. Stop calling me.” 

Your ears perked with intrigue. Was she meant to meet with someone tonight? She sounded so upset. 

Some distant ramblings came through her earpiece before she shot back at the person she was speaking to, “I don’t care. It’s not up to you!” 

The person got louder with her, the voice masculine. You saw Abby roll her eyes as she listened to the shouts. Why was she getting screamed at?

She spat nastily at the man before hanging up. “Fuck you. Don’t call me anymore tonight.”

She turned her phone off and tossed it onto the longue chair near the TV before turning back to you, the flame in her eyes slowly extinguishing. 

“Sorry,” she breathed awkwardly, massaging her temples. 

You shook your head, “Don’t apologize, I’m in your home. You can do what you want.” 

She hummed at you, her expression suddenly distant. She wasn’t looking at you, but at the hand that rested on your knee. Why was that making your body hot?

“I really came at a bad time, huh?” You huffed.

“Mhm,” she answered before backtracking. “I hate talking to him.” 

You spoke before you could think, “Who was it?”

“My ex.”

Your heart frosted over. 

“H-Husband?”

She nodded slowly, like it brought her shame to admit. You don’t know why that made your stomach churn with something red. Something fiery that you never felt. How long were they still in contact? You knew they weren’t on good terms due to Abby’s past dismissal of your questions about their past, but now you were really confused about where they stood. 

“D’you still talk to him?” 

“You interrogating me?” You stiffened at her tone, darkly sarcastic. Fuck, stop fucking up! 

You shook your head incessantly, “Not at all! Just… yeah, I don’t know why I asked that.” 

“What an honest lawyer,” you saw her lips curl upward into a smirk, and you exhaled a sheepish laugh, your hands squeezing into fists on your lap. She’s fucking gorgeous. 

“Not a lawyer yet.” 

She bit playfully, “Gonna be soon.” 

You made a noise in agreement before silence passed between you.

Abby’s voice made you look up. “We don’t see each other often, my ex and I. Not anymore at least.”

“… Oh. What were you guys going to do tonight?”

Abby shrugged, “Get drunk. Fuck probably.” 

You probably looked calm on the outside, but you felt every organ in your body burn like fire at her admission. You were stiff, your nails digging into your palms as grounding. Why are you getting so fucking pissed over them communicating? The fuck?

You couldn’t help yourself, “How come?” 

“It’s winter. We’re lonely and miss our daughter.” 

You felt like you were dunked into a bottomless tub of ice water. Your brain went into overdrive and your throat closed like you were going to cry again. 

She shook her head like nothing mattered, “Not the best coping mechanism, but.” 

“A-Abby— “

She cut you off, tone hushed, “We shouldn’t meet anymore, but he just… gets it. Gets me and what I’m still going through. I don’t know if I’ll ever fully get rid of him no matter how much I hate his guts.” 

You sat there and listened. This is the most personal conversation you’ve had with Abby since the first time you met. You finally met her eyes, waves of emotion flowing through them like ocean waves; You were here, and you wanted to listen to her. I’m sorry for shutting you down in the past. Please talk to me. 

You placed an encouraging hand on her bare shoulder, and she sighed, her eyes fluttering shut as you squeezed. She was so tired; You recognized exhausted stiffness from anywhere. 

“He’s the only… person I have, honestly. It’s really weird,” she huffed a laugh, rubbing her nose. “We had her alone, we raised her alone, I buried her without him, and now we just… drag each other along in our grief. She died such a long time ago and we’ve made no progress, but I can’t… I can’t leave him.” 

You could hear the pain in her voice as she spoke, and it tore you to pieces. You can’t imagine what the two of them went through after such a grave loss; You knew it was your parents’ biggest fear. You had no idea how to talk her through this wave she was experiencing, but both your hands flew down to grab hers in her lap. You rubbed and squeezed them tight, hoping she would accept your presence again. You have me! I’m here, too. I'm sorry I wasn't before, but I am now. 

She looked down at your locked fingers, shocked at the gesture. She released a shuddered breath and squeezed back, grabbing your hand like you would slip away. 

She continued, her eyes glossy, “We always meet up around this time of year. For anything. For sex, to cry together. We could spend hours yelling and screaming at each other and then walk out of each other’s lives like nothing happened, just to do it all over again. I’m so… fucking tired.”

You shook your head in understanding. She needed comfort, some solace, a distraction just as much as you did, even if it’s only for a second. You wish you knew a better way to appease her emotional needs, but you didn’t. You didn’t know what to say, so you did what you should’ve done a long time ago. 

She confided in you, and you listened to all of it. 

Abby pulled out an expensive bottle of wine some time ago. You couldn’t stop smiling. 

Abby’s laugh was music to your ears, “I can’t believe I fucking did that!”

You shook your head as you beamed at her, “You don’t know how shook I was! I thought I was hallucinating! I don’t know what my cousin put in that fucking blunt, but I was on my ass the rest of the night.” 

You and Abby were facing each other, knees touching on the couch, in hysterics about the… events at the Christmas party. She tossed her expensive watch somewhere earlier, her posture content as she leaned back against the arm of her couch. You thought your first conversation after your argument would be much more unnerving, but you were both at ease and light. And a little tipsy. 

You weren’t sure how long you’d been at her house, but you didn’t want to leave. You’re so glad you came to see her. 

Her hands flew to cover her face, her face burning red, “I’m sorry. Aghh, I fuckin’ cringe. Jesus.”

You shrugged, “Great memories.” 

She hummed in agreement, her head tilting as her eyes wandered all over your face. Your face warmed, “You look pretty with your hair up.” 

She raised a brow at you, “Oh?”

“Um… yes,” you replied sheepishly. 

“I think that’s the first compliment you’ve given me,” she joked, but that made your heart hurt. 

“You’re really pretty, Abby,” you replied instantly, tone quiet as your heartbeat picked up. Her expression softened when she called out your name. 

You shook your head, eyes dropping to your hands in your lap, “I'm really sorry for yelling at you.” 

Her hand came up to lift your chin, “Hey. I’m not upset anymore. We’re gonna be fine, okay?” 

You nodded, eyes flickering between her mouth and eyes. She whispered your name again, thumb caressing your face. 

“Yes?” 

She whispered, inching forward slightly, “… How much trouble would I get in for kissing you right now?” 

Your tummy instantly swirled, and you grinned, “I dunno. A pretty good amount, I think.” 

She moved closer, tongue rolling over her lips as she eyed your mouth. 

Your breath shuddered, hand coming up to grab her wrist. You whispered as your face burned, “Kiss me?”

She snorted. Her nose brushed against yours, a smirk plastered on her face as she sniffed, “Yeah?”

Your core squeezed in approval. Abby released the hold she had on your face, strong arms wrapping around your waist to pull you closer. You followed, straddling her lap, arms looping around her neck. You could see the skirt of her dress riding up from beneath you when she stretched her legs out. She smelled like roses and Barolo. 

“Hi,” she whispered with a grin. 

You smiled back at her, “Hi.”

Her lips brushed against yours, “Kiss me.” 

You cheesed, mischievously pecking her cheek, and she stared at you blankly. You giggled and pinched her squishy cheeks. 

“Kiss me for real,” she scolded lightly. 

You snorted, poking the space where her dimples are, “Mmm, nah. changed my mind, actually.” 

“Oh yeah? Don’t wanna kiss me?” Her voice lowered. 

Goosebumps rose on your skin, but you shook your head at her anyway. Your defenses weakened when her grip tightened on your hips and head dropped, planting soft kisses down the expanse of your neck. You could feel her nails tickling the sensitive skin on your back as she softly caressed you. Your eyes went glossy. 

She mumbled against your neck, “Missed you.”

Your heart fluttered. You breathed, “Really?” 

“Mhm, couldn’t stop thinkin’ about you. Doesn’t matter how much you get on my fucking nerves,” her hands slowly crawled up your waist. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck!

How does she speak her mind so easily?! “Miss—missed you too.”

“Missed me touching you like this?” 

You nodded quickly, and her tongue swiped up the side of your neck. You breathed heavily in her ear, eager to touch her. You pulled back so you could see her face, friskiness dissipating when you connected your lips. She purred in your mouth, lips molding against yours as you grinded on top of her, her red lipstick transferring onto your mouth. 

You grabbed her soft cheeks in your hands, gasping when her hands slid down to grab your ass through your jeans. Her tongue licked into your mouth, and your toes curled in your socks. You missed kissing her so badly. 

She was kissing you stupid, tugging the hair at the back of your head as she sucked your bottom lip. You shakily brought your hands up to her ponytail to undo the elastic, and her locks fell down her back like liquid. Your arms wrapped around her neck to kiss her deeper, pulling tightly at her soft strands. 

She moaned into your mouth, sucking on your bottom lip, “Need some head?”

You nails dug into her shoulders, “Y-You don’t have t— “

She rolled her eyes, “It’s not for you, it’s for me. I was just tryna be polite.” 

Well.

“But I wan—“ 

Her hand came up to grab your chin. Fuck, you love when she does that. “Don’t care what you want actually. Lay down.”

You scurried off her like she was on fire, lying flat on the couch and ripping your sweater over your head, tossing it into the pile on the floor. Abby stood as you unbuttoned her jeans. You secretly watched as she unzipped her dress and allowed it to fall down her body. She was completely bare underneath. Your eyes followed the thin trail of hair that led down to her wet cunt, and it made you hot… in more ways than one; She was on a mission tonight, for sure. 

You shoved your jealousy down; She didn’t owe you anything, especially loyalty. You stared down at your busy hands.

You kicked your jeans off, a sock clumsily catching in your pant leg before they hit the floor. You were not prepared for spontaneous sex at all; One lonesome weed sock, panties with chocolate bars on them, and a gray lounge bra. 

You awkwardly scratched your ear and waited for Abby to move, but she didn’t. You looked up at her and noticed her just… staring at your torso. Her expression was unreadable as she took your body in, but you were about to die from her searing ogle. Your face was torched, even more so when she brought a gentle hand up, hooked her middle and index finger into the band of your bra. 

Her eyes bore into yours, silently asking for permission, and you nodded. She bit her lip, slowly raising the elastic band up your chest until your breasts dropped out. She played with the two of them, dark red nails digging into the soft skin, pinching at your nipples. You couldn’t stop squirming, watching her hand move on your body. You lifted your bra over your head and laid the bundled fabric over the back of the couch. 

“Turn over, baby. Wanna see something,” she barely whispered, patting your thigh encouragingly. 

You listened, flipping onto your hands and knees as she climbed on the couch behind you. You sighed happily when she massaged your ass in both hands, rubbing and pulling at your covered cheeks. You peered over your shoulder to watch her pull your sticky panties to the side. She was eyeing your pussy like she wanted to swallow you whole before her eyes flickered an inch up. She was staring at… 

Oh. Oh. 

You jokingly snarked at her, “Find whatchu lookin’ for?” 

Her eyes pierced through yours before she slapped the fuck out of your ass. Your body jerked forward at the force, eyes squeezing shut and groaning at the seering sting. Your head dropped on the arm of the couch.

She sneered at you, “I still feel some typa way. Be nice.” 

You gasped out, “M’so— “

“You’re sorry,” She squealed out mockingly. “I know. Be still.” 

She yanked your panties down your thighs, “Put your head down.” 

You dropped your head onto your crossed arms in front of you. Her hand rubbed down your spine to deepen your arch, pulling your hips farther up. 

“Hold it open for me, baby.” 

You whimpered and reached down between your legs, spreading the drippy folds of your cunt to expose your clit. You heard her curse behind you before you felt slow massages on your clit. They were so delicate, almost ticklish, and it made you shiver. 

Your walls squeezed down and you heard her moan behind you. She rubbed a bit faster, the soft, squishy noises from your cunt filling the room. You tried to push back on her fingers, but she harshly dug her nails into your hip to hold you still, pulling her fingers away from you. 

“Abby, please— “

She ignored you, prying your lips apart with her thumbs. Her breath hit your cunt as she slurred, “You trust me?” 

You nodded incessantly, “Yeah, baby, trust you, fuck, I trust you— “

Her lips sucked around your clit, and you bucked back on her face with force. She wasted no time, shoving two of her fingers inside you and curling them. She poked and prodded at your walls as she flicked your throbbing bud and holy fuck, you missed her so fucking bad—

You couldn’t help the noises that left your mouth when she hit your spot dead on, your walls milking her fingers with eagerness. You cried out her name as your orgasm pulled from deep within your gut, your fingers curling into fists into her couch cushions. The sounds your cunt made were becoming louder as your moans crescendo, your hips moving on their own accord to get her deeper inside you. 

Her tongue slowed on your clit, slowly licking up towards your entrance and… passed your entrance. She moved up, up, and her wet muscle swiped over your ass—

A sharp gasp shot through you, your head whipping around to face her. On any other occasion, she would’ve halted everything and checked in on you, but her fingers didn’t stop. Her thrusts were harsh and unrelenting, her eyes cutting through you, “Fuckin’ trust me, right?”

You sobbed when she slapped your still burning cheek, nodding your consent with tears streaming down your face. She didn’t hesitate to lick over your hole, her tongue sliding back and forth over the puckered entrance. 

“Abby, fuckfuckfuck, oh fuck— “

She hummed against your hole and your head dropped on the cushions completely, using your bent elbows as leverage to fuck back onto her face. 

She mumbled nastily against you, “Just needa be slutted out, baby? Yeah?” 

You could only whine and sob in reply before the strong squeezes of your orgasm built and built. You were right fucking there you just needed her to—

Her tongue shoved inside you, and your body seized and tensed under the pressure of your orgasm. It wracked through your body in waves as you wailed into the pillows beneath you, both sets of walls contracting through your pleasure. Your cunt milked her fingers with urgency, your juices dripping out of your entrance and down Abby’s wrist. She tongued you through the aftershocks. 

She slowly brought you back down as your pulses slowed, planting a kiss on the back of your thigh before pulling out. Exhaustion took over your body as she helped you get onto your back, your head propped up on the pillows behind you. You kicked your dangling panties off and allowed her to lift your leg over her shoulder. She climbed on top of you, straddling your resting thigh. You looked up at her and… the large vein in her biceps made you shiver. 

“A-Abby?” 

She grabbed your tit, “Hm.”

You whimpered, “Are you a gym rat?”

She snorted, a grin spreading across her pretty face as she massaged the soft skin. “Errr… yes? When I wanna be. Why do you ask?”

Throw me across the room! You eyed her bulging vein, “Nothin’.” 

She smirked down at you, “Mhm.” 

… Did she just flex her bicep what the fuck—

You didn’t even have a chance to think before her pussy rubbed up against yours, and nearly cried when you saw your sopping cunts connect, sighs of satisfaction leaving your mouths when your clits bumped up against each other, bonded by strings of slick. You grabbed her thigh for support, digging your nails into her soft skin as her grinds increased in pace. 

Your throbbing bud jerked with each pass of her hips. You did everything in your power to keep your eyes open so you could watch her: her head was tossed back with her lip between her teeth, her defined stomach tensing and she fucked you. She looked so desperate to cum, to feel so good that she forgets everything. She kept taking and taking like you never allowed her to, and you never wanted it to end. 

“Your pussy feels s’good, shit,” she grinded down on you harder as she gazed at the ceiling. “Gonna make me cum— “

“Cum on me, Abby? Please cum on my pussy?” You whimpered up at her as your eyes grew heavy, and she slumped over the pillows, strong arms holding her up as she used you to fuck herself. She was getting louder, and you were squeezing as your second orgasm approached. Her pussy was hitting you right where you needed, right on your clit and you were about to—

You saw a screen flash out the corner of your eye as your device blared, and the drop of your heart matched the tight grip of your pussy. 

Abby was close, and your dad was calling.

Abby was too deep in her pleasure to notice as she begged you to cum with her, grabbing at your tits and yanking your nipples. Your pleasure kept rising and your phone wouldn’t stop fucking ringing—

“Fuck, baby, oh god, m’cumming!—“

Abby’s scream sent you off, your eyes rolling back, and your core squeezing with all you had to give. She was fucking you so hard through your euphoria, crying your name as you did the same. She was hitting your clit so good, you couldn’t breathe. 

Your ears were ringing so loud that you couldn’t hear the second call coming in, and you didn’t care. Your hips bucked as much as they could to meet hers, helping her ride out her intense orgasm. The harder you pushed up, the more you could feel her pussy pulsating. It sent another wave of pleasure through you. 

The feeling eventually subsided, the contractions in your cunt easing into light jerks. Abby caught her breath before moving off and plopping on top of you as she breathed heavily in your ear. You brought a hand up to rub her scalp, twirling her hair around your index finger as her scent infiltrated your senses. Your phone was finally quiet. 

“Can I fuck your ass?” 

Her heavy exhale made your spine bend. You could feel her smile against your neck. 

You were about to pass out, and it wasn’t from your insomnia. 

Abby carried you upstairs to her bed, and eventually got your legs over her shoulders while she lubricated her deep blue strap… with a slit at the incredibly fat tip? She never used this one with you before. It was veiny, curved, and thick; How the hell was that going to fit in your ass!

You knew one of her darkest secrets was cumming inside of somebody, but you didn’t know she meant it. You couldn’t stop thinking about all the times she moaned about cumming inside you. Knocking you up. She was really going to—

“Stop staring at my dick, it’s rude,” she said blankly. 

Your eyes flickered up to meet hers, “Sorry.” 

She snickered, “I’m kidding, relax.” 

How could you relax when she was jerking off in front of you! Her hands are so pretty on her dick, and you could cry right now because of it!

You squealed when she slapped it on your clit, the silicone getting drenched in her flavored lube and your slick. Your pussy squeezed in anticipation; She was about to destroy your cunt and you couldn’t think, holy shit, you missed her so badly—

She breathed eagerly, “You know what to do, baby.” 

You nodded, reaching down to hold your pussy open for her. She lined her tip up at your entrance, “Need this dick?”

“Fuck yes— “

She cooed, “Yeah? Want me?”

You looked up at her, your head bobbing up and down like you were entranced. You wanted her so much. Too much. The look of pride in her eyes was going to stay in your memory forever. 

“Fucking say it,” she spat.

“Want you inside me, baby, please fuck me!”

She popped the tip in, and you moaned as pleasurable pain rushed through you. She took her time easing into you, allowing you to feel every ridge of her dick against your walls. The veins in the silicone were catching on your walls and it made you squeeze down tight. 

She paused and kissed your ankle, “Ease up, baby. C’mon.” 

“Can’help it, fuck, splittin’ me open,” your tongue felt so large in your mouth. 

“Fuck, missed wrecking this pussy,” she moaned out, staring down at the way your walls choked her length. 

She pushed an inch deeper, and you nearly shouted. 

She smirked, “Right there?”

You were drooling onto your chest as you craned up to watch how you connected. She was pressed right up against the spot that made you see stars, and you felt the beginnings of your orgasm stirring in your gut. 

She pushed inside until she was fully submerged in your juices, your slick coating the entire toy when she pulled out, only to fuck back into you again. She stretched you out until you were grabbing at her hip, trying to pull her deeper into you. She wrapped her arms around both of your calves and drilled in your guts, only pulling out a few inches before shoving back in. 

The power of her thrusts was causing the flowery headboard to bang up against the wall, the soggy noises of your cunt and squeals of pleasure filling the room. She was battering your pussy completely, and you couldn’t do anything to stop her. 

“Pussy’s pushing me out,” she garbled with a limp tongue. “Feel good, baby? Can’t take it?” 

You couldn’t find the strength to respond, nails digging into her soft blankets as she transported you to another dimension, sparkles and glitter exploding behind your eyelids as your unannounced orgasm shook your spirit, “Can feel you cummin’, shit.” 

Her voice was muffled from the ringing in your ears. You could barely register her pulling out and grabbing her girth, quickly rubbing her wet tip on your clit to rub you through your orgasm. You felt speckles of droplets land on your ass and the covers beneath you, eyes crossed in your skull and the taste of copper in your mouth from biting your lip too hard. 

She didn’t let you recover before she released your legs, pinning them down to your chest by the back of your knees, nearly folding you in half and shoving back into your wetness with a disgusting noise.

She bounced you on her cock like a weightless ragdoll, your body shifting up her bed with force. She hit so deep whenever she fucked like this. Her tip was nudging your cervix whenever she dug in deep, the pain plunging into you like a knife as tears filled your eyes and pleasure sizzled all the way down to your toes.

“Gonna cum in this fuckin’ pussy, oh my god— “

You couldn’t help the babbles that came from you, drooly yesyesyesyess’ coming from you, “Yeah, baby? Need me to fill your pussy up?”

You nearly passed out at the thought of her stuffing you, your orgasm built until it crashed into you, snatching the wind in your body as you let out a quiet scream. Your lashes were fluttering, and spit was sliding down your cheek, completely dumb under her. 

And then you felt a thin stream of liquid shoot inside your pulsing cunt. You swore you flatlined. 

Your orgasm only intensified at the feeling of her creaming inside you, her gross whispers making the hairs on your arms stand, “Gonna knock this slutty cunt up and send you home filthy. Want you drippin’ with it.” 

You nodded brainlessly; You’d do whatever she wanted as long as she kept fucking and filling you. Another harsh stream exploded inside you, and your juices sprayed on her lap. You went limp under her, letting her move and toss you around how she pleased. You were getting so fucking tired, but you didn’t want her to stop. 

She gave one last deep grind, poking your cervix one last time before pulling out, her gaze dropping to watch her seed spill out of your battered cunt. She pushed your legs down even further, knees nearly hitting your head as she lined her dick up at your ass, “Would marry this pussy, swear to god. It takes dick so good.” 

You only released a choked noise in approval; She could have you however she wanted! 

Her pretty brow arched cockily, “You like that? Like when I make this pussy mine?”

You shook your head so fast. It’s yours, baby! It’s all yours!

She barely pushed forward, her tip nudging your other entrance, making you squeal, “Is this mine too?” 

“Fuck yes, s’yours, baby!”

She popped in, and you sobbed. You need this, you need this, you need her—

Tears ran down to your neck as you cried, her gentle shushes caressing your ear drums like symphonies, “Such a good girl, doing so good for me, just a little more, okay?” 

You couldn’t stop moaning at the foreign sensation, “G-Gimme all of it, oh my fuckin’ god—“

“… You sure?”

She paused, only a couple inches inside as she gauged you. The gentle aura you're so used to finally returned as she massaged your thighs comfortingly, and your heart swelled. 

You spoke in one breath, “Fuck my ass, Abby, please. S’gonna make me cum again— “

“Tell me if I’m— “

“Please, baby, s’gonna hurt s-so good, gimme— “

“Okay, baby shhh, I gotchu,” she hushed you, quickly grabbing the discarded bottle of lube at your side and squeezing a messy quantity over your pulsating entrance. She tossed it somewhere and pushed in deeper, the burn sending hot shockwaves to your brain. How were you about to cum there’s no way you’re going to cum—

“A-Abby, fuck me, fuckme— “

She was whimpering with you, still pressing in, “Don’t wanna hurt you baby, shit— “

“Fuck me harder, m’so close!”

Your eyes squeezed shut when she pushed the last few inches in, sitting deep in your ass, and you came so hard. You could hear her moaning with you as she grinded you out. The cum that sat deep in your cunt was pulsing out of you with each clench, dripping down to your filled ass and coating her. You forced your eyes open so you could watch her, eyes burning with lust and her toned body drenched in sweat. 

She brought a hand down to your pussy and shoved two fingers in, curling and hitting your spot at a vigorous pace. The squelches were so loud over your pleased shouts, and you squirted all over her hand, some droplets splattering on your chest and chin. 

She yanked her fingers out to pat and spank your throbbing clit before pushing your legs back up, pulling out slowly before shoving her entire length back into you. 

Abby has never been this aggressive during sex, but she was slapping you, fucking you deep and hard, spitting on your face from where she towered over you, and you took all of it like she was paying you. Your ass was rippling on her cock, trying to make space for her cock so it could suck her in deeper. You couldn’t stop squirting, both your cum dripping out of both your holes. 

Gonna cum so hard in this ass, oh my fuckin’ god, you feel so good.

It’s mine? Say it’s mine.

Look at that dirty fucking pussy. Nasty cumslut. You love being my fucking worthless whore, don’t you? 

Just needa turn that pretty brain off? Yeah? Need me to take care of you? Fuck you stupid? 

You were thrown into one long, constant orgasm and she talked you through it. You clawed at her ass and sheets and your own tits to keep yourself grounded but it wasn’t working. You were getting her so wet, a large puddle forming underneath you as your body jerked away from her. But she held you down, made you take what she gave, made you see god. You felt so fucking good that it almost pained you. 

You could hear her moans increase in volume, not bothering to pull out as she grinded deep inside you. You knew she was close, riding her harness into completion. You used the only strength you had to turn your head to the side, making eye contact with yourself in her large dresser mirror. You looked fucked up, but you watched yourself cum before staring at Abby’s reflection. 

Her eyes were squeezed shut as she bucked into you quickly, her tits and fat on her ass shaking in the mirror. You could hear her whispering makemecummakemecum over and over again, and you shuddered when another spurt of liquid left you. 

Cum in my ass, cum in me filled your brain like a mantra.

You fought to keep your eyes open, watching the muscles in her body tighten up before she yelled out, screaming how hard she was cumming and how good your ass sucked her cum in. A line of spit left her mouth and landed on your thigh as she shuddered through her pleasure, and you felt her jizz fill your ass, the second load much larger than the first. It felt so fucking good. 

Another orgasm rushed through as you both screamed in pleasure. You tried to meet her grinds, pushing down to get her squirting dick even deeper inside. 

Abby dropped your legs and they instantly wrapped around her waist as she fell forward, resting her full weight on you as she rode out her orgasm. Her moans of your name didn’t stop, and it felt like you both were cumming for hours. She filled and filled you like you were milking her dry, draining her completely and it made you cum again. Your arms wrapped around her neck to pull her close, nails digging into the flexing muscles in her back and leaving red trails.

She screamed out a warning of another orgasm right before her body trembled on top of you. Her dick wasn't bursting in you anymore; Why did that make you sad?

Her grinds eventually slowed into twitches as you both came down. She was planting gentle kisses and sucks on your neck, her hands coming down to rub the soreness from your thighs as you massaged her scalp. 

You made sure to keep your eyes open so you wouldn’t drift off into dreamland. 

After Abby pulled out and cleaned you up, she rummaged through her underwear drawer and pulled out a Marlboro box and lighter. 

… Why were you horny again? 

Her wet, semi-leaking dick was still strapped around her waist, her now scarred backside facing you as she stuck the orange end between her lips and ignited it. You watched her through the mirror, her body instantly relaxing as she puffed silently. You looked like a cat in heat. 

She looked up and stared back at you in the reflection, taking the smoke between her index and middle finger, exhaling around her words. 

“What’re you looking at?”

You shrugged and smiled like a ditz. She shook her head at you before sticking the butt in her mouth, undoing the adjusts and stepping out of her dick. She picked it up, eyes flickering awkwardly before throwing it in her hamper. You giggled quietly.

She ashed her cig over her small trash can, before looking at you, “Come shower?”

Your heart pounded in your chest like she didn’t just obliterate your pussy and ass. You consented in silence. 

You could hear her laughing as you hobbled to the bathroom, “I coulda carried you, y’know.” 

You flipped her off. 

After washing, Abby just… held you. 

The water was still beating down on the two of you, her head resting on your shoulder as she rubbed your back. And you did the same. 

You felt so relaxed, and everything was quiet in your head, the lavender scent of her body wash surrounding the two of you. You could’ve fallen asleep right here. 

Her hushed tone surprised you. 

“Are you leaving tonight?” 

Your heart shredded to pieces at her nervous tone. She sighed in relief at your whisper. 

“No, Abby. I’m not.” 

You didn’t know what would happen when you returned home, but for now, you relished in her warm embrace as you nodded off onto her shoulder. 

You didn’t sleep alone. 

OOHHHHH im ovulating LOL 

anal whores this one’s for y’all😞😞

taggie waggies :3 @ohlawdthebirds @fibrogirlie @unangelic-thoughts @chrry1ovr @uraesthete @gravygranules @digit4lslut @machetegirl109 @letsreadsomesins-shallwe @macaroni676 @sillygooselit @nil-eena @elliesgirlll @hi2647 @fr0thycoffee @mai5mai @sweet-lover-girl

prologue. part one. part two. part three. interlude.

[thissortofsorcery]

16 for the soft prompts? Harringrove, my one and only❤️💖❤️

Thank you ☀️

I, um. I did it again. So you get almost 2k. Yay?

---

16. laughing while kissing

It was the kid's idea.

They were spread around the living room at Steve's house after a long afternoon of swimming, with full bellies and painted with different shades of sunburn. Dustin had put a movie on for them to watch, but nobody was really paying attention to it. Billy himself was dozing on the couch, head on Steve's chest, letting the feeling of his fingers in Billy's hair and the sound of the tv and of the kids' whispered bickering lull him to sleep.

"NO WAY you can keep a straight face for longer than two minutes, Dustin!" Max yelled into the silence, jerking Billy awake. His groan joined the voices of the other kids' complaints, all of them yanked from their own silent daydreaming.

"Yes, I can!" Dustin yelled back. Lucas, in the middle of them on the floor, rolled his eyes. "Last week I lasted three minutes while my mom stared me down before I broke."

"What'd you burn this time?" Steve asked, and Billy felt the vibrations of his chest.

"I singed a curtain slightly, but that's irrelevant–"

"It's irrelevant because there's no way you can keep a straight face for two minutes if I stare you down," Max challenged, a smug expression on her face.

"Unbelievable," Dustin said, shaking his head. "Lucas, back me up."

"I'm staying out of this," Lucas said, sounding like the argument had already taken years off his life.

"You started this conversation!"

"No, I said the movie was so boring my face didn't move for fifteen minutes, you said that was impossible," Lucas argued. "Then Max said it was impossible for you, and you went off. This is between you."

"Fine, Steve! Back me up!"

"You can't ask Steve, he's my brother in law!" Max yelled.

"Well, he's my brother!" Dustin yelled back.

"They're not gonna let me sleep, are they?" Billy mumbled into Steve's chest, hearing it rumble when Steve chuckled.

"No, babe, they're not," He said.

"Fucking kids," Billy groaned, pushing himself up from the couch with a sullen look on his face. 

He got a Coke from the fridge as the yelling went on in the living room. The patio door muffled it much better, and he managed to enjoy a nice, rousing cigarette before he went back in to deal with the madness that was the dweebs when they were being stubborn about something.

Especially when it was Max leading the pack.

When Billy went inside, Dustin and Max were sitting across from each other on the living room rug, faces blank, two one dollar notes piled between them. Lucas, Mike, Will and El were watching them intently, spread around the couch and the loveseat. Lucas kept looking between them and his watch.

Billy headed for Steve, still in the same spot on the end of the couch.

"What's going on, now?"

"They bet on who can last longer," Steve said, rolling his eyes, but Billy could tell he thought the kids were hilarious.

Billy sipped his Coke and settled down on the arm of the couch to watch Max stare Dustin down, leaning her elbows on her knees, face carefully clear of any emotion. He could only see the back of Dustin's head, but he'd bet he was at least twitching.

"One minute, fifty seconds," Lucas called, on the edge of his seat. "Fifty one, fifty two…"

As he counted, the kids were leaning in closer to Dustin and Max, watching their faces avidly. El seemed fascinated by the game, with her chin on her hands, eyes bouncing between the two quickly, like she didn't want to miss a single twitch.

"Two minutes!" Lucas called, and Will and Mike started cheering. Under the noise, Lucas said, "Dustin can hold out that long."

Billy snickered when he saw one of Max's eyebrows twitch and her chin lift a little, fighting a reaction. He'd never admit it, but this was more entertaining than he thought.

Max leaned forward on her elbows, eyes fixed on Dustin's. Billy knew she would take being wrong personally. That meant she was going to make sure she wouldn't lose again.

She started twitching her ears.

Her hair was pulled back in a low braid, so they were visible, but the other kids probably wouldn't notice. Dustin, though, was staring straight at her. He wouldn't be able to miss it.

He didn't last long after that. He burst out into little giggles, and a second later Max let herself join him.

"Two minutes and thirty-four seconds," Lucas said. "Max wins!"

The living room erupted into chaos, the kids talking over each other and trying to decide who would challenge who next. 

Mike lost to Will who lost to Dustin, then Dustin lost to Lucas. Lucas beat Mike, but lost to Will, because Will apparently looked like a sad puppy. Max beat everyone but Lucas and El. And El, somehow, beat everyone but Mike.

Billy watched everything from the sidelines, relaxing his body into Steve, with one arm around his shoulders and Steve's arm around his waist. He thought it would take no effort at all to just tip his body to the side and slip on Steve's lap.

"But Billy's the one who's really good at this," Billy heard Max say. "He can go really long without like, twitching or anything."

"No way," Dustin says. "He would start rolling his eyes and calling us dweebs like two minutes in."

"Oh no, there's no way you're roping me into this," Billy said, putting his foot down. "No way in hell."

So now he's sitting on the floor, legs crossed, with the dweebs in a circle around him, staring at his face like a tiny Millennium Falcon is about to come flying out of his nose or something.

"You're all so fucking creepy," He grumbles.

"Ready…" Lucas says, eyes on his watch. "Go!"

He lets his face relax, jaw set, staring straight ahead. He counts his breaths in his head, focuses on his lungs expanding, and does not look at the kids' wide eyes looking at him. He fixes his eyes on a blank spot on the wall behind them until his vision blurs, and he lets himself get lost in his own head.

The silence grows. The kids watch him quietly at first, but they soon start fidgeting.

"How long has it been?" Dustin asks.

"Five minutes, eight seconds," Lucas says.

"Told you," Max says, and she sounds smug.

The living room is filled with tiny sounds from there, fingers tapping, people moving, someone leaving and coming back with a can that they crack open. Billy doesn't flinch.

"Oh my god, he's not moving!" Dustin says, sounding frustrated. "How long did you say he could last?"

"I've seen him go forty minutes," Max says. She doesn't say why Billy went so long without moving a single facial muscle.

"Forty minutes?!" Dustin screeches. "What are we supposed to do until then?"

"We can put on a movie," Will suggests. 

"We have to watch him," El says.

Billy counts his breaths. Feels his diaphragm move. He has to focus not to react. He didn't anticipate hearing the kids complain about being bored of something they nagged him into doing to be so fucking funny.

The noises of the living room get louder as they all get more restless, and every now and again someone will sigh like they're grounded with no TV, and Billy has to count his breaths again so he doesn't start laughing. It's worth it, though.

He hears Steve get up and go to the kitchen, picks up the sounds of him cleaning up the mess the kids left in there.

Every few minutes Lucas calls out the time, and the kids are less awed and more frustrated. Except for El, who's fascinated, still watching him like a hawk. Max is just smug.

"Fifteen minutes," Lucas says, like he's at the end of a marathon. "Let's call this."

"Okay, Billy wins," Dustin says, like he'd rather have his fingernails pulled out than admit it. "You can stop now."

But Billy doesn't. He just keeps staring ahead like he didn't hear them.

"Uh… Billy?" Dustin calls, crawling closer to his face. "You in there, bud?"

"Oh my god, he's not gonna move," Max says. "He's doing it to piss us off."

Dustin shoves his hand in front of Billy's face, waving it back and forth. Billy doesn't blink. 

"Hello?"

"This is so creepy," Lucas says, throwing himself down on the loveseat. "It's eighteen minutes, by the way."

"We have to make him stop," In the corner of his vision, Max throws her head back.

"Steve!" Dustin screams, "Steve, we need your assistance!"

Billy can hear Steve yelling back from the kitchen, "Oh, no way! You wound him up, you deal with it."

"El, can't you do something?" Max asks.

"No."

"We're going to die," Dustin says.

"Really?" Footsteps come from the kitchen, stopping by the couch behind Billy. Steve continues, "Demodogs are fine, but Billy's blank stare is where you call it quits?"

"I can't live like this, Steve!" Dustin's voice rises in pitch and volume.

"It's been twenty minutes," Lucas groans.

"Oh my god, you're so dramatic," Steve must be rolling his eyes into the sun behind Billy's back. He hears some shuffling, and then Steve is kneeling in front of him, directly in his line of sight. Steve has a fond smile on his face, and it's almost enough to make Billy's mouth twitch. "Hi. Sorry about this, I can't listen to them whine anymore."

Steve crawls slowly to him, until his knees are brushing Billy's legs. It's enough to make his breath hitch, and he knows Steve heard it, because his smile widens, pleased. Holding his face blank is taking all of Billy's concentration right now.

Steve's face is close, and it looms even closer, his bambi eyes half-lidded and sultry, the very image Billy's been dreaming about since he moved to Hawkins. He hears El gasp, and Max's murmured oh my god, and Billy balls his shaking hands into fists with the effort to not move. 

Steve's eyelashes flutter, so close to his. He can feel Steve's breath, warm on his face. His lips–

They touch Billy's, and he's gone, mouth spreading into a smile, and his hands come up to frame Steve's face so he can kiss him back once, twice, little smacks of kisses that Steve meets with a smile of his own. 

"You fucking cheater," Billy's kisses dissolve into laughter, and Billy tries to stifle it by catching Steve's mouth again, sucking on his lip, but it comes bubbling up his throat, dumb little giggles that infect Steve until he's laughing just as much.

They don't stop kissing, though, meeting halfway in between fits of laughter. Steve's already climbed onto Billy's lap, wrapped his arms around him, and they're willfully ignoring the kids' yelling.

"I had to put a stop to it before they started throwing things at you," Steve presses another kiss on Billy's smiling lips, pulling another giggle out of him.

"Thank you for saving me," Billy says against Steve's mouth, eyes closed, soaking up the warmth of Steve's body plastered to his front.

"I got your back," Steve says.

"Yeah," Billy breathes, takes in the smell of Steve. Billy's face is flushed pink from laughter. "I know."

------

Thank you for asking baby!!! I had fun with this one!

[betasuppe]

It occurred to me just yesterday that I still only have a sad ending with Flint & Rinzler & still haven't conceived of how they could have a happily ever after.

A lot of it came from how most people want Rinzler to revert fully back to Tron post-Legacy & like, that's fine and all, but because Rinz has always been my fave guy, I got all sore at it & decided to say FUCK IT, WE ALL HAVE A BAD TIME HERE THEN!!

[long exhausted ramble... otherwise Flint's life sucks, nothing new here lol. feel free to ignore]

Anyways, the not very happy ending I've had in place for ages is that, just like how Tron helped Flint escape the Grid before Clu took over.... in the very last seconds of the human world before rolling over into the new millenia, Rinzler holds up the Grid from caving in as Flint is eked out just before y2k drops & the Grid undergoes a hard reset.

Anyways. When Flint finally leaps back the next day into the digital fantasy world to find even the smallest trace of Rinzler & yo ensure everything is ok & that the Grid survived smashing into the year 2000... Flint quickly runs into Clu & Tron & quite a few other familiar faces who are all in cheery good moods, happy to celebrate the new user year & see Flint too but... no one has any memory whatsoever of anything that took place from far before Clu's regime ever took over, all looking at the user all wild-eyed & in a panic with definite concern.

Considering Flint had started to feel like this world was the closest to home he'd ever known, & now not a single part of the adventure he'd been on, the bonds he'd formed & the times he'd shared were remembered by a single other soul... it's like the rug was completely yanked out from under his feet & Flint finds himself in some unknown Twlight Zone-esque version of the Grid that he had once called home... basically standing around strangers with familiar faces.

So like. Flint tries to spur on some memories with Tron, with no success of recalling anything of his time as Rinzler, & Flint has to come to grips with the fact that YEAH, he really did lose Tron once & now Rinzler too &... it hurts too much to realize that the Tron Flint's left standing in front of is neither parts of the program he'd loved. As is, they're just pals at this point again & Flint feels like he can't run the risk of going through this all once more, just to lose Tron again.

So Flint quickly wraps up everything by wishing his fellow programs a happy new year before dipping out... & a bunch of Flint's digital pals all wondering worriedly if the user is alright, but like that's it.

Flint goes back to the real world & hopes to find some archived Rinzler data hidden elsewhere, but the y2k bs messed everything up & kinda. It's just done. Flint leaves the programming & computer based world behind. He becomes a photographer since he'd always been interested in environmental storytelling & then like. Otherwise he feels the need to make sure he has full proof of what he's seen & done after feeling like years of his life were dumped down the drains in the Grid 😬

Anyways, I feel like it'd be easy enough to have Flint wind up with one of Rinzler's identity discs before he escapes the Grid during it's y2k refresh, but would it even work to restore memories on Tron? Would it even sort of be the same? I feel like that's a jerk move, letting a messed up copy of Rinz parasite onto this poor unsuspecting Tron & it's just. Pretty sucky.

Would Flint just hold onto it as the last memory of the greatest bond he ever had in his life?? Hard to say.

If nothing else, may need to rethink the full ending? Maybe it's possible Rinzler gets dragged out with Flint before the y2k restart? But otherwise, Flint having all the memories & no one to share them with... he could try to rekindle things with Tron from the start button that point, there's no guarantee anything would even happen, I guess. I dunno.

Either way, the only version of Flint & Tron/Rinzler that actually has a happy ending is with evil Flint & Rinz, since they get digitally bonded for life & lock themselves up in the Grid forever & live happily for eternity in their little digital paradise bit otherwise like.

Most every version of Flint & Rinz but one does not end on a happy note... usually with Flint lying face down on his bed, praying to disintegrate & stop existing & all because he gave his whole heart to the same guy TWICE & ruined his life BOTH times & feels like he himself is the one who's ruined Tron/Rinzler's life. It's confusing & awful & dreadful, but. There it is.

Sorry about that, buddy...

[In which Flint ends up sad & alone because he's too tired to give his heart to anyone else after losing his first loves... & at least Flynn gets out of the Grid way earlier than 2010 but still, all sorts of things suck here... I'd like if somehow rinzler could remember but hOWWW]

[melon-colli]

Yapping about Inscryption

Just 'finished' (that's in quotes cause I'm not convinced that the games not DONE done) Inscryption and overall I really enjoyed it! I stopped live blogging after a certain point so heres a post to get those out.

!Spoilers for the whole game under the cut!

>I wasn't too sure about the art style change in Act 2 at first, and the fact that I was dog water at the new card mechanics didn't help, but it really grew on me and so did the new gameplay!

>The other scrybes were really interesting, there wasn't a single one I found boring. If I had to rank them I'd go Leshy<Grimora/P03<Magnificus. Grim and P03 only occupy the same space because I love them both equally.

LUKE CARDER INTERLUDE

>He's so quirky! Love him! Seriously though he was an endearing main character, truly creepypasta protag material. Seeing him get shot in the end really caught me off guard, and honestly shook me a little. Idk but why I didn't expect him to die, especially like that. Expected like a computer monster birthed from the old disk to get him, not for the GameFuna rep to cap him in the face. Had my chest tight for a second. Anyways rip bro, raising my mantis god to the sky.

>As for Act 3, I liked it! P03 is such a delightful dickhead, who I just know would be so annoying about Pokemon natures. Botopia was less immersive than Leshy's campaign, and I like what that says about P03's character, who cares way more about gameplay. This chapter's talking cards have my heart. Lonely Wizard specifically, but Angler was nice for the 5 minutes I knew him. (I traded him for another card specifically because he said 'choose me'. Sorry man I thought you had a plan)

>Obligatory Goobert Mention. Great guy, glad his pain was lessened by the tubes. Idk why you still want to go back to Magnificus, but I wont tell you what to do.

>The Uber bot bosses were still pretty interesting for a bot who supposedly doesn't care much abt crafting characters. I made my own special hell for the Make-your-own boss. Where for every dead card, another is drawn. P03 tried to stop me multiple times, but I was determined. For phase two I just chose leap bots for every dead card. Silly boss. Golly was also a sweetheart, loved the mole. As for the scribe Uberbot, the file deletion threat didn't get me nearly as bad since I came off of Kinitopet and knew the game couldn't actually do something like that and be on steam, but it still had me a little nervous lol (cause like what if it did?).

I got weirdly giddy at the prospect of finding the pelt man again. Idk why because I despised him in Act 1, Got a few pelts but never actually found him. Got scammed at the mart cause I thought buying the pelt would make him show up lol.

>Falling into the factory and seeing the 3 scribes just standing there scared me a little, thought they were gonna jump me.

>After that part, going back to P03 knowing what's going to happen, I felt a bit bad. At first. Sure P03's a smug jerk, but it just wanted to be free right? The walk back when it's reminiscing about the game amped this feeling up, but I love that the game yanked the rug from under me and went 'yeah no this puter just sucks' once it starts gloating. Lol. lmao. Also I didn't expect Leshy to just rip its head off wtf bro.

>Saying goodbye to everyone at the end was sad. Having one last game with the Scrybes was so bittersweet. Grimora's game was interesting, and its a crime we didn't have time for a boss battle. Leshy. Leshy I love you so much. I like that Magnificus wasn't going gentle into that good night at first, but his insistence to keep going lost him the chance to shake our hand. I was never super into his play style, but his game was really cool looking, even if im not super into that stuff. (I know the arm thing had something to do with Yugi-oh but I know nothing abt it sorry).

>The lead up to unzipping the Old Code was done so well. Grimora may have nuked the game to get rid of it, but Luke's curiosity still doomed him in the end. The totem lady's last words before we found it were quite unsettling. I don't know what was on that zip, but whatever it was clearly messed Luke up.

>I loved the ending of the game. Already talked about it in the Luke section, but it was so abrupt and final. Idk what I expected but I knew it was over when Luke opened the door for the Funa rep. Rip.

Overall, 10/10 game. There's still something called Kaycees mod for me to do, but all in all I really enjoyed it!

[erstwhilesparrow]

what's up it's time for me to have life series derangements again. you ever think about scott smajor? <- an entirely rhetorical question

a little while ago, i was like, "oh, it'd be fun to me if cleo in double life looks at martyn, looks at scott, realizes which of those two people is going to be more dedicated to helping them survive, and makes a decision that is both tactical and emotional, where even they can't be sure where the division between those two motivations is." and that IS fun, especially in light of martyn then teaming with scott in limited life, maybe because he's now seen what scott's like. however, actually, out of [cleo, scott], i think maybe i had the wrong guy! (relevant here: scott suggesting to cleo in secret life that the best thing to do once etho's on low enough health is to have him let her kill him to get extra hearts. cleo's pov saying, "i couldn't.")

the thing about scott that i think about sometimes is. at the double life finale. scott has the tnt that whole time. he's the one holding the flint and steel, he's the one who calls pearl to spawn, he's the one who gets his final word in and decides when and how they'll go out. "you deserve it more," he says to pearl, as if he doesn't know full well this will kill them both, as if he couldn't hand over the explosives to pearl and let her decide. there are ways to read this that are. deeply cruel. it's the same thing he did at the start, right? yanking the rug out from under pearl, making decisions about their relationship on his own and then forcing her to deal with it, knowing it's come down to just the two of them and snatching this last choice out of her hands too. there are, also, kinder ways to read this. by "you deserve this," he means pearl deserves the win, of course. she deserves to win the game, because it is a game and they are playing it, and after this much, she shouldn't have to figure out what to do about scott, too. he should just give it to her, make this as easy as possible.

i think... it's not even that scott loves throwing himself on other people's swords -- there are other people in the series for that type of thing. i think it's that scott has figured out that throwing himself on someone's sword is a useful thing to do, not just for his allies but for himself. oh, we can tell each other about his loyalty and trust and love and sacrifice, and he can tell that type of narrative too! but there's an element of business, or practicality, or calculation to a lot of it. i think the story that gets out and lingers IS more often about loyalty and trust and love and sacrifice and maybe that's there too, but telling someone, "oh, yeah, you can kill me for the time / hearts / victory, go for it," is also a way of shoring up alliances, of ensuring you stay in people's good books, of reminding people you can be trusted and relied upon. it's a death game, but it's also a social game! your reputation is a tool, and your life can be a bargaining chip. (relevant notes: he yells for martyn to kill him when he's the last yellow left in limited life. lets cleo knock him off the tower in limited life to get some time from him. in his secret life finale, once he gets down to fewer than ten hearts, he goes looking for gem, throws her all his good items and tells her she has to kill him. talks about deliberately saving / not saving the one gift heart per session for trade deals. he thinks this stuff through, when he can.)

this also, when you start putting focus on it, makes it really easy to read scott as just straightforwardly manipulative and cruel. i don't know how interested i am in that. i think it's important that watching scott, i find myself surprised a lot at how often he keeps promises, offers food, shares information. he is honest and generous when i think other people would not be. there are, as demonstrated by the other players, funnier or less complicated or more secretive ways to play the social side of the game. whether that just reinforces [scott is always on-purpose carving out a more positive reputation for himself] or adds more interesting dimensions in other ways, i don't really know either? but i feel like understanding him as purely sadistic flattens him somehow. he tells gem in his secret life finale he's going to stay loyal to his day-one alliance above all, no matter what, and even that is tied up in him trying to convince / remind gem that her loyalty should stay with scott and impulse, but i think it's often like this with scott.

it's cleo and martyn (and also scar, i'm pretty sure, but he's cleo's ally in limlife so.) specifically that he gives up time to -- he'd rather his allies get the time (in limlife) and health (in secret life) than anyone else. and it's not that it's not tactical -- even teaming up with cleo in double life, where he gives the justification to pearl that he and cleo already bonded: because they're not soulbound, they've got two health bars between them for pvp instead of one the way the other soulbound pairs do. but he also just. likes cleo! makes the choice over and over to stick with her. i think it's hard to separate out how much of any given choice scott makes is motivated by [this is a tactical / social advantage] from how much is motivated by [i like and care about this person] because those things blur together so often. certainly i can't separate those two, can't say, "oh, this time he was being calculating 100% and this time he was being much more emotions-first nice." i don't know that i want to be able to do that, and i don't know that scott can tell either? it's both of these things at once, and it works, so there's no real reason for him to try separating them.

my examples are from secret life because that's what i watched most recently, but scott loves to remind people how well he knows them and is startlingly good at knowing / guessing / pretending to know what other people are like. he gets a task where he has to get people to say 'i love you' back to him and at the end, he rattles off the list of people he knew would say it. he's halfway up a cliff and etho calls to him, asking him to come back down; after some back-and-forth, etho admits he was trying to stall so bdubs could get away, and scott replies, "i know you were." and like. i don't always believe him! he did fully climb back down the cliff to talk to etho. i'm sure some of the time when he says stuff like this it's true -- these are people he knows fairly well, of course you can predict some moves -- but i wonder how often he figures something out mid-conversation, goes, "oh, okay, this is what we're doing," and adjusts accordingly as if he knew all along. (relevant note: when boat boys start chasing pearl around after going red and scott gives up on trying to convince pearl to appease them, he switches to hurrying into the midcentury modern whateverthefuck and setting his spawn there so he's not running back from spawn to get his stuff when pearl dies.)

i wonder how much that contributes to the blurring motivations, the idea that scott himself doesn't necessarily go into these interactions really thinking about the tactical advantage all the time, but maybe he'll tell himself afterwards that that's what that was. i've been thinking about the limited life finale (when am i ever not thinking about the limited life finale) and the like million different ways i've thought about scott and martyn's motivations going into and coming out of that final betrayal ("betrayal"?), and how "i wouldn't have it any other way" is still something i like to come back to chew on sometimes. like, yeah, that's his closest ally, and he's already won before. that does in fact work out great for him. i think, maybe it's like that. oh, okay, this is what's happening, scott thinks. i knew it. this works out great for me, and i knew it all along.

[helldustedstories]

@madefate asked: “No one will think less of you for taking back what is rightfully yours” / blitz @ stolas!

Nikita Gill's fierce fairytales // accepting

Stolas paced the short distance between the walls in Blitz's office, his form occasionally flickering at the edges. He was just barely keeping hold of himself, full of fear and anger, the need to do something, but feeling so incredibly helpless at the same time. The prince honestly can't remember the last time he'd felt so many emotions at once, especially since he'd spent most of his life pushing them down.

But this was one instance where he didn't think he'd be able to hide what he was feeling even if he'd tried, wouldn't be able to slip back behind that carefully constructed mask. There was too much, and it was too intense. The only reason he was keeping himself together at all was because of where he was, that he was with Blitz. He was very conscious of the fact that, if he lost control of himself here, there would be collateral damage, and he was not willing to hurt any of the people in this office just because he couldn't keep hold of himself.

He'd known that Stella was going to try to pull something, that she'd try to yank the rug out from under him, so she could get the upper hand; he'd just never expected something like this, something so downright…..vile. Trying to kill him was one thing, but this? It was all Stolas could do not to scream.

Blitz said something, but Stolas' brain only processed his voice, not his words. But it was enough to get him to stop pacing, if only for a moment.

"They won't let me see her," he said, hands clenched into fists so tightly his talons bit into his own flesh even through his gloves. "Stella's trying to paint herself as the victim so they can keep Via from spending any time with me," he started pacing again, knowing that there was more to it than that. Stella hadn't had much interest in Via up until now, and that sudden change couldn't be good, especially with her brother involved, pushing for her to be Octavia's sole caretaker, trying to take custody away from Stolas, even though Via was almost of-age.

He didn't know what to do. If he did everything the proper way and went through the correct channels, he might still end up losing her. But if he swept in there and tried to get her back….., he really would be fucked.

And while normally, he would try to take Via's thoughts and feelings into consideration, she could be in danger. Stella had had no qualms about hiring an assassin to try to kill him, and with Striker still out there, he didn't trust him not to turn on Stella the moment he had an opportunity to do so.

"I should have never let her go with Stella; this is all my fault," Stolas gets out, his hands gripping the feathers at the top of his head, taloned fingers digging in, pulling. "I should have sent her somewhere safe the moment I got out of the hospital, even if she hated me for it." He'd known the divorce was gong to be contentious, but he'd never expected Stella to stoop so low. Stolas just wanted to make sure his daughter was safe, that she was cared for. And he couldn't do that if he couldn't even talk to her.

[darkorderaf]

hi!! can i request number 9 with jon moxley from the small details for fictional kisses prompt list? thank you, love!! i can’t wait to read it if you decide to do it!! <3

Yes, of course!! I’m always delighted to write Jon for you! I hope you like it. <3

Pairing: Jon Moxley x OFC. Prompts: Unbuttoning your lover’s shirt, pressed against the wall. Rating: M. Warnings/Content: Smutty smut. A little rough but nothing super intense. Word Count: 1,767.

(I don’t own gif; credit to audreyhrnes!)

Jon hated wearing suits but damn could he wear the hell out of them when someone finally managed to scam him into it. And she had. Sort of. Just for a night. She grinned to herself as she watched him tug on his tie, pace near the far wall of the room. The attempt to hide her smirk behind her champagne glass was caught by one Britt Baker and the good doctor sauntered over. She settled back against the drink table and grabbed one of her own.

“He is hating every minute of this, isn’t he?”

Britt gestured towards Jon with her glass.

“Oh, for sure,” she answered with a nod. She eyed Jon across the way and the look on his face when he saw that Eddie wasn’t also in a suit was priceless. As blue as his eyes were, she could see how wide they were clear across the room. “Eddie and I figured we might pull a rib on him, tell him that we would all be dressed nice. God, he fought against the tie like a dog with a collar.”

She had wrongly assumed that Jon wouldn’t mind the tie because of that correlation. She had seen all of his matches. But shit, they had almost been late because of that tie. He had threatened to tie her up with it and she should have known better than to dare him to do just that. Eventually, they had gotten their shit together enough to make it out the door and to the event. They could circle back to that later.

“He’s gonna hold this against you for forever, you know,” Britt said. “I’m going to go find Adam so good luck with Jon later. You’ll probably need it. Have fun!”

Britt shot a wink at her as they clinked their glasses together and downed their champagne. Just as she turned to set her empty glass, she could feel a presence behind her. A smile spread on her face.

“So, how pissed is Jon?”

“Truth be told his ass is a little chapped over it, doll.”

That was not Eddie Kingston’s voice. She tried to temper her face as she turned and looked up at him. Jon’s narrowed eyes greeted her.

“Hi, babe,” she said. “Are you having a good time?”

He shook his head, a smirk of disbelief on his face. He reached past her to grab a glass of champagne. He took a sip of it and scrunched his face. It wasn’t to his taste. Not like the bottle of Jack back in their room.

“Oh yeah, you’re gonna hi, babe me like you didn’t do anything wrong?” His low voice rolled through her ears. “You did me dirty, sweetheart. You and Eddie. He’s not getting out of this one and neither are you.”

She traced a finger down the line of open buttonholes at the front of his suit as she looked over him again. He insisted on wearing it unbuttoned, the sleeves pushed up. All broad and muscled, beard trimmed and that earring in. Hair a little messy like he’d just rolled out of bed or bar fight. Rugged and nothing at all like a gentleman.

“Oh, I get it,” he rumbled as he looked down at her, his dimples prominent when he began to grin at her. He made like he was going to kiss her cheek and lingered there. “Is it doing it for you, dressing me up all nice like this? I feel like it’s doing something for you.”

Her face flushed and she looked away for a beat. It was as much confirmation as anything. Jon’s tongue swept across his bottom lip and he nodded when he pulled away.

“Eddie and I thought it would be funny,” she finally said, confidently as she could. She fumbled for a glass and he did the honors of handing her one. She took a long sip of it before she spoke again. “We can go whenever if it’s really that ba--Oh we’re leaving now?”

Her words were all the incentive Jon needed to grab her hand and tug her towards the exit. She barely had time to set her glass down before they were through the double-doors. Thankfully, their room was in the same building the event was being hosted in. The time in the elevator went by quickly with Jon’s hand pulsating around hers, his barely contained energy swelling in the glass and metal box.

As soon as their door beeped them in, he was on her. He stooped down to pick her up against him and slanted his mouth over hers to claim. To bruise. Frustration spilled through and his tongue was harsh against her, his teeth sharp. She fisted his tie in her hand and tugged it hard when she pulled away from his mouth. He went to kiss her again and she pulled away.

“What, doll? What is it?”

His voice was a throaty rasp as his chest heaved. She kissed his cheek before she spoke.

“You said I did you dirty earlier, right?”

His intense eyes burned into her as he pressed her back against the wall. He nodded, then narrowed his eyes. What was she getting at? She made like she wanted to get down and he acquiesced. He grunted when she forced him back against the wall and she could see the way he strained against his suit pants, the way his thick thighs went tight. As much as dressing nice did it for her, he liked it when she got her hands on him and was anything but soft about it. Her hand loosened in his tie and she moved her hand down the front of his dress shirt, undoing the buttons as she went. She stood up on her tiptoes to kiss him and he groaned into her mouth when she popped the last one, her hand splayed across the warm skin of his stomach.

“I’ll make it up to you.”

She knelt down and kissed his stomach. His lips parted as he stared down at her, widened his stance. Her deft hands undid his belt and didn’t bother to pull it through the loops. His zipper went next and she slowly pulled his pants down over his ass, halfway down his thighs. Her fingers curled around the waistband of his boxer-briefs.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he said. His long fingers found a home in her hair. He hissed when she scratched her nails along his hip bones. His hips stuttered forward at the sensation and he tugged at her hair. “You’re gonna kill me. You are killing me.”

She smiled up at him as she palmed him through his briefs. He secured his bottom lip between his teeth once she bared him to the cold air of the hotel room. His abs contracted hard when she took the head of him into her mouth. Then the rest of him slid into the warmth of her mouth and he didn’t care about being quiet. A filthy moan thundered out of him when she took him as deep as she could and dug her nails into the muscle of his ass.

“Fuck, fuck,” he huffed out. “Do I need to wear nice shit more often, doll? Is that it? You like that? You like when I dress all nice for you?”

Her affirmative hum vibrated through him as she worked and his knees almost buckled. The hum turned into a moan and he swore. Such a large, intimidating bruiser of a man nearly brought to his knees just by her lips, her tongue? Fuck.

“Shit,” he heaved out. She felt him stiffen in her mouth and the muscles of his thighs go tight under her hands. The hand in her hair tugged hard and pressed her against him. His eyes fell shut and he leaned back into the wall to brace himself. “I’m gonna cum, baby. I’m gonna--”

Jon’s words were choked by his guttural groan as he filled the back of her throat. He hissed and his hips stuttered until the grip he had on her hair finally lessened. The back of his hand lightly smacked against the wall as he let her go. She looked up at him, completely debauched and still half-dressed in the suit she picked out for him. Her lipstick clung to his skin. His head fell back against the wall, eyes shut, and he barely startled when she kissed his neck.

He found her mouth with his and she felt his hands trace down her arms, his grip soft. Then the heat of their kiss was turned up and she moaned into his mouth as his tongue pressed against hers. The bliss of his orgasm faded, burned away by the resurgence of heat that made his hands feel warm as brands on her skin.

She moaned his name and reached for him. Except she couldn’t. She opened her eyes. His tie was gone, her hands bound behind her. Jon’s lips stalled against hers and she felt him smile. He pulled away, his breath hot on her moist lips. Hooded eyes looked down at her.

“You dared me earlier, doll,” he said as he guided her back to the bed. He slowly spun her around and pulled her back against him, his chest to her back. She arched against him when he mouthed against her neck. His hand lightly squeezed one of her breasts through her dress. “You remember that?”

She nodded. He squeezed the other and she panted.

“Do you still want me to make good on that?”

She whimpered and her head fell back against his shoulder. A low chuckle rose out of him when she whispered a yes.

“You dressing nice does it for me too,” he admitted as he guided her to bend over the edge of the bed. His hand ran down her back to play with her bound hands, squeeze her ass, then down her thighs to where the hem of the dress was. If it tore a little when he yanked it up over her hips, she didn’t care. He nudged her feet apart and she turned her head against the bed to look back at him. He leaned over her and she shuddered at his breath against her ear. “But fuck, you look damn good like this too. Real fucking good.”

He tore her panties down and the only thought that crossed her mind when he got his hands, all of him, on her, was that she would have to put Jon Moxley in suits more often. Forever, if possible.

[hxseok-honee]

sundress || part 7

written portion under the cut!

sundress [part 7] || she needs him.

previous || masterlist || next

a/n : [tell me how good it feels to be needed] needy x ariana grande

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__________________________

Friday, 17 September, 9:50pm

The moment Yoongi and Y/n are stepping into Gryffindor common room, having come down the stairs from her room hand in hand, Jungkook is on his feet. His eyes are trained solely on Yoongi, and there’s a kind of burning anger there that has the rest of their friends tensing, especially when the Gryffindor heads right for them. Yoongi wonders with brief amusement if Jungkook’s going to hit him.

And he does try -- rather, he tries to grab at Yoongi’s shirt. But Y/n’s stepping in the way just as Jungkook’s reaching out for the Slytherin, and he has to raise his arms and stop short, his sneakers slipping on the rug beneath his feet as he struggles to avoid making contact with her instead. He looks like an idiot, and he knows it, but the thought of almost having put his hands on Y/n sobers Jungkook quickly.

They stand there in silence for a moment, their friends watching with bated breath as Jungkook looks at Y/n with wide eyes, shocked that she’s looking at him so coldly. He barely notices that Yoongi’s looking at her, too, his gaze examining her fondly. Because somehow, even though he knows her better than she knows herself, she always manages to surprise him.

“I think… maybe we should all sit down and talk like real people.” Jin speaks from one of the loveseats, Jimin perched next to him. Y/n doesn’t move when Jungkook doesn’t, refusing to step out of the way until her ex is backing down. And he eventually does, lowering his eyes and moving to one of the armchairs. He’s acutely aware of Y/n pulling Yoongi to the other loveseat, directly across from Jungkook.

“Okay… not totally sure what we’re supposed to talk about, since it’s not like anything’s going to change…” Namjoon speaks from where he half-sits on the ledge of an open window, a joint in his hand. Tae’s standing behind him, leaning on the wall, Namjoon’s back pressed into his chest. The Gryffindor sighs lightly, pinching at the bridge of his nose, and Y/n feels distinctly bad for him -- he’s the one that has to live with Jungkook, and she knows all too well how annoying he can get.

“Look, let’s just start with the facts so that I don’t have to listen to Jungkook theorizing and scheming all night.” Tae’s roommate turns to him, clearly offended, but the bookworm puts a hand up, silencing him before he can even say anything. He looks at the pair on the couch. “How did this happen?” He gestures vaguely to Yoongi and Y/n when he says this, not wanting to outright call them a couple, considering the ticking time bomb sitting in the armchair.

Y/n looks to Yoongi in slight alarm, careful to mask her expression because she knows Jungkook’s watching closely. But they hadn’t had a chance to discuss a backstory, and she doesn’t want them to say any conflicting information. It seems Yoongi has it handled, though, his face perfectly composed as he makes something up.

“Over the summer -- just a drunk night. We decided to forget it happened because it was better for our friendship, but… I guess I just couldn’t.” He looks to her when he says it, almost smirking when he sees the surprise in her eyes -- surprise that he’d made it sound like he was the one who’d caught feelings. She makes a mental note to talk to him about it later, but Jungkook’s already talking, unable to resist taking a jab at the boy.

“That’s bullshit. Y/n wouldn’t just sleep with you and let it go. She’s not a whore like you.” Yoongi finds it funny, if he’s honest, but he knows by the way that Y/n tenses next to him that she very much does not. So he pulls his hand from hers and slides it over her leg, squeezing at her thigh and letting it rest there, his thumb tracing circles of comfort into her skin. Jungkook’s eyes flick down to watch it happen, and when he raises his gaze again, there’s renewed irritation there. Yoongi almost feels bad that he finds the Gryffindor’s anger amusing. Almost.

“Well, I don’t know, Jeon. Maybe if you hadn’t fucked up and dumped her, she wouldn’t have spent the summer with me. Then that drunk night wouldn’t have happened. So… should I say thank you?” Y/n purses her lips and hides her face in Yoongi’s shoulder, somehow both exasperated and deeply amused by his words. Jimin whistles from the couch, not even bothering to mask how entertained he is by what’s happening here. Y/n lifts her head, figuring she should try to ease the tension somehow.

“Look, Jungkook. There’s nothing you can do about this, okay? Yoongi and I are together now, so I would just… appreciate it if you’d let this go so we can rebuild our friendship.” The group nods, finding her words reasonable. It’s the truth -- what’s done is done, so they might as well all move on and find a way to return to normalcy.

“I don’t believe you.” Namjoon throws his head back and groans loudly when Jungkook refuses to cooperate, Jin dropping his head to his hands because they’re really never going to get anywhere like this. Jungkook doesn’t even notice. “You want me to let it go, huh? Almost like you’re just pretending to date so that I will.”

“I feel like that says more about the fact that you won’t leave her alone than anything it says about Yoongi and Y/n.” It comes from Tae, who is clearly getting very frustrated. He’s a man of knowledge, fact. He puts weight in words and sees the world for what it is. So he’s very annoyed at Jungkook’s delusions -- at the fact that he won’t just accept the situation. That, even in a world where he might be right, he’s not seeing that Yoongi and Y/n would only pretend because he’s being relentless and they’ve had to turn to a drastic last resort.

“Prove it. Prove you’re dating. You two hold hands and shit all the time, this doesn’t prove a thing.” Jungkook all but ignores Tae, hyper-focusing on Yoongi and Y/n across from him. Yoongi turns to Y/n with a knowing look, one that says ‘What’d I tell you? Cringey TV shit’. It makes her smile widely, even as she’s reaching to place her hand on the side of Yoongi’s neck, pulling him in. He slides his hand from her thigh to her waist when his lips fall to hers, the action already easier than it’d been less than hour ago.

They can hear the various noises of reaction from their friends -- Jin hums in contemplation as Jimin quite literally starts to laugh, and Namjoon is choking on the hit he’d just taken, Tae whispering ‘oh, okay then’ behind him.

Yoongi presses one last kiss to Y/n’s mouth before pulling away with an obnoxious smack of his lips, winking discreetly at her and smiling when she rolls her eyes. They turn to the group, Yoongi taking her hand in his and pulling it into his lap as he threads his fingers through hers. Their friends seem relatively unaffected, if only amused or intrigued by them, but Jungkook.

Jungkook’s looking at them with hardened rage, because there’s really no way he can explain that one without ending up at a romantic relationship between them. That fact clearly bothers him enough that he’s leaning forward, elbows on his knees as he looks at them, and Y/n can see the childish malice flashing in his eyes. And she knows he’s about to say something bad.

“Tell me, Yoongi -- are you enjoying my sloppy seconds?” The entire room is standing immediately -- Yoongi because he’s perfectly certain he’s about to put Jungkook in the Hospital Wing, and everyone else because they have to make sure Yoongi doesn’t do exactly that.

Y/n had seen it coming -- had seen the way Jungkook had shut down just before saying it, because she knows what that looks like -- so she’s able to react the fastest out of everyone. Latching onto the back of Yoongi’s shirt before he’s able to get too close to Jungkook, she yanks him back to her, slipping her arms around her waist and holding tight. Jin and Namjoon have moved to Jungkook’s side, hands on his chest to stop him from moving -- because at the end of the day, Jungkook’s the athlete here. He could easily knock someone back if he wants to, so they know they need more than one person to stop him from acting rash.

Y/n slides her hand over Yoongi’s mouth, knowing he completely lacks a filter and not wanting him to make things worse because he’s angry. She pulls him backwards toward the stairs to her room, turning when she gets there and urging him up the steps before waving at the rest of the room.

“Well, this has been great -- goodnight!” And then she’s taking the steps two at a time to catch up to Yoongi, who’s stomping angrily up to her door. He makes his way inside, pacing the room as Y/n shuts her door behind her, and then he’s turning to her, his eyes alight.

“After that, you still won’t let me kick his ass?!” She knows that, if all their friends are still downstairs, then they can definitely hear him yelling. The whole house can probably hear him yelling. She rushes forward, taking his face in her hands and shushing him, because she really needs him to calm down.

“Yoongi, it’s fine. I don’t care, it doesn’t bother me--”

“It should!” He’s ripping his face from her hold, going back to pacing as he pulls at his hair in frustration. She sighs, moving to him again and wrapping a hand around his wrist. He tries to pull that free, too, but she holds tight, so he turns to her with annoyance. “How can you just be okay with what he said?!”

“I’m not. I’m not okay with what he said.” He stops, breathing deeply to calm down when he sees how serious she is. Turning so he’s facing her properly, he waits for her to continue. “I’m not okay with it, Yoongi, but right now I’m more concerned about you.”

“Why? I’m not the one he was insulting--”

“It’s not about him, Yoongi. I will deal with what he said later. Let’s just… go to bed? Hm?” It hurts, what Jungkook had said to her. That he’d called her a cheater over text and then blatantly insulted her to her face. That he’d let his pride get so in the way of his head that he couldn’t see how terrible he was being.

But it’s Yoongi that worries her. Because he’s fiercely protective, whether he’s aware of it or not. Because she knows how quickly his mouth can get him in trouble when he’s seeing red. Because her problems with Jungkook are hers, and she doesn’t want Yoongi burning a bridge with Jungkook over this, no matter how hard her ex is trying to start the fire himself.

So she’s pulling him to her bed, shuffling toward him once they’re both under the comforter. Taking his face in her hands again -- and smiling when he doesn’t pull away this time -- she’s squishing his cheeks, glad to see the way he rolls his eyes. It means he’s calming down, however reluctantly.

“You okay?” He sighs when she asks, sliding his arm around her waist and pulling her close. Her fingers move to his ears, where she plays with his piercings, an unconscious habit. Pushing his nose against hers, he doesn’t respond, only searching her eyes.

“Are you?” A small smile, a nod. But he doesn’t find the reassurance he’s looking for in her eyes, so he knows she’s lying. But he lets it go for now, scooting around until he can tuck her into his chest, his chin coming to rest on her head as they drift off to sleep, trying to put this day behind them.

--

Saturday, 18 September, 3:48am

It’s the shaking that wakes Yoongi up. Not the gasped sob that precedes it, muffled into a hand desperate to keep her quiet. Not the sniffling that follows, tearful and devastated. It’s the shaking — the pure force of the cry that tears its way through her body, jostling the mattress and pulling Yoongi out of his slumber.

Y/n keeps her curtains drawn at night, blocking any moonlight that would have filtered in through her window, so he can’t see her in the dark — not until he’s blinked enough times that silhouettes start to take shape around him. When he notices the shadow sitting at the edge of the bed, he’s sliding his hand across the sheet next to him, almost as if to check that she’s not there, sleeping peacefully beside him. She’s not.

Scooting his way along the mattress until he’s close enough to touch her, he’s sitting up, the comforter falling off of him as he goes.

“Hey…” Yoongi puts his hand on her back to draw her attention, his palm flat against the curve of her spine as he leans over to try to see her face. Y/n jumps, clearly not having noticed that he was awake.

“Shit— did I wake you?” She gives one last sniffle, and he can see her wiping frantically at her face. He doesn’t respond, only moving closer until he can press his chest to her left shoulder, trying to make as much physical contact as possible so she knows she can lean on him.

“Talk to me… please?” He doesn’t need to see when she shakes her head. He can feel it, the way her whole body moves to say no — to shut him out. It leaves a dreadfully bad taste in his mouth, guilt crawling up the back of his neck.

“I’m just gonna... I need to shower.” Yoongi furrows a brow at her sudden remark, pressing his chest closer to her, his face coming to rest on her shoulder.

“Now? It’s the middle of the night…” Y/n moves to stand, Yoongi’s fingers clinging to the back of her shirt until she’s too far away for him to keep holding on. She heads to the bathroom, the sudden flick of the light blinding him for a few seconds. He blinks it away, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed and perching there, just as she had. He hears the shower turn on, and his heart aches at the thought that Y/n’s only doing this so she can cry beneath the sound of running water again. The guilt that had been dancing along the edges of his skin flows into his chest now, settling there like a ton of bricks.

He’s so busy staring down at the floor, trying to figure out how to make this better, that he doesn’t notice Y/n’s slowly making her way back to him until she’s standing over him.

“Yoongi?” The Slytherin blinks, lifting his head in surprise at the call of his name. Y/n stares down at him, taking in the way the pale yellow light from the bathroom washes over his features — it shows her the darkness in his eyes, the turmoil sitting there. She reaches out to him, wiggling her fingers slowly until he’s taking her hand in his, waiting for her to tell him what’s on her mind.

“Come with me?” Eyes widening, he stares up at her silently, unsure why she’s asking him this. But he finds himself nodding, knowing that, whatever it is, she needs him. She needs him there with her, so he’s rising from the bed and following her to the bathroom, because — right now, in this moment — he needs her to need him. He’s too scared to think of the alternative — that he’s caused this pain in her eyes, that it’s his fault.

Compared to the bedroom, it’s uncomfortably bright here in the bathroom, so much so that they just stand in the middle of the room for a few seconds, unsure how to proceed. Finally, as if coming to his senses, Yoongi’s looking toward the door, finding the light switch easily. With an apprehensive glance in Y/n’s direction, he moves toward it, setting his fingers on the switch and flicking it down.

They’re bathed in darkness immediately, but there’s a small window on the far wall, one that lets in just enough moonlight that they won’t hurt themselves trying to navigate the room.

Yoongi steps slowly back to where he’d been before, hovering in front of Y/n and waiting for her to tell him what to do. After a moment of nothing, she’s reaching out to him, taking his fingers in her own and guiding his hands to the hem of her t-shirt. She leaves them there, looking to him to continue.

With a nervous breath, Yoongi grasps at the material, lifting the shirt up and off her body as gingerly as he can, his eyes on the wall behind her head. He only glances at her once he can see her crossing her arms in front of her chest, covering herself.

He steps in just enough that he can set his hands on her hips and push at the waistband of her pajama pants, turning away and giving her privacy once she’s able to kick them the rest of the way off, working slowly at his own clothes while he waits.

When his shorts and shirt are pooled on the floor beneath his feet, he’s glancing over his shoulder at her. He can see out of the corner of his eye that there’s no break in the expanse of her skin where her panties should be — she’d removed them while his back was turned. For some reason — and although they’ve been in this situation before — the idea of that makes his face uncomfortably warm.

They make eye contact as he hooks his thumbs into the elastic of his boxers experimentally, but when he sees how her eyes widen just slightly in panic at the idea of him being fully naked — never mind the fact that she’s fully naked — Yoongi pulls his thumbs free, deciding it’s best that he leaves them on.

He waits until she’s stepped past the shower curtain to follow, giving her time to curl into herself again because this is objectively the weirdest thing they’ve ever done, and he’s not sure either of them is ready for him to pretend he’s completely comfortable seeing her naked. She pokes her head out after a moment, hair and face wet, and he knows he can join her.

He’s not exactly sure what he’s supposed to be doing here — if he should be standing on the far end of the shower like he had been the only other time they’d done this, or if he’s supposed to be showering, too. After all, it hadn’t been his idea this time.

He’s just about decided to keep his distance from her when he sees her silhouette moving toward him. It’s a lot darker behind the shower curtain, which he’s partially glad for because he really can’t see any part of Y/n that he’s not supposed to, but the other part of him is stressed because he isn’t really in the mood to slip and die tonight.

Y/n’s wet hands find his forearms, pulling him slowly toward her and into the stream of hot water. They’re close enough now that they can see each other’s faces, but she’s dropping her forehead to his shoulder soon enough, arms slipping around his waist loosely.

“Can you help me?” As if running on autopilot, Yoongi’s moving, hands fumbling for the bottle of shampoo on the shelf to their left. Squirting some on top of her head — admittedly difficult since she’s got her face buried in the crook of his neck — he scrubs gently at her hair. Knowing she likes having her head scratched when she’s having a bad day, he rubs the pads of his fingertips against her scalp, feeling both accomplished and like he’s just made a terrible mistake when she shivers and unintentionally pulls him closer, almost no space left between them.

Lowering an arm to the small of her back so she doesn’t fall, Yoongi walks her backwards until she’s fully under the water, where he rinses her hair for her. He’s about to reach for the conditioner when Y/n lifts her head, grabbing the shampoo herself. Pouring some into her palm and setting the bottle down, she meets his eyes before letting her eyes drift up to his hair, now wet from standing under the water with her.

Wordlessly, Yoongi lowers his face to her shoulder just as she had, giving her permission to wash his hair for him and sighing when she drags her nails through his hair. With his eyes shut and the soothing feeling of Y/n breathing against him, he’s left with his thoughts. It’s not long before the guilt is rearing its ugly head again.

“I’m sorry…” Things had been quiet between them, Y/n working at rinsing the soap from his roots, when he’d whispered it. She hears him perfectly, and, although he doesn’t lift his eyes to look at her, she knows he’s waiting to see if she’ll respond. When she doesn’t — only slowing her movements in his hair — he continues. “If I hadn’t started all of this — if I had just talked to you before telling him we were together — then he wouldn’t have…” He doesn’t finish, but he doesn’t have to.

Then he wouldn’t have said those things about you. Then you wouldn’t be hurting right now.

“If you’re mad at me—“

“I’m not mad at you, Yoongi.” Yoongi lifts his head now, searching her eyes for any sign of a lie. There isn’t one — he only finds hints of amusement, a smile dancing on the edges of her lips. “I’m not mad at you. I know why you did it — I get why you did it. I’m okay with it — with this.”

Yoongi’s not sure he’s ever felt as much relief as he does now, his body almost deflating from the pent up stress leaving him. Y/n grins when she sees how his entire being untenses, his shoulders dropping as he sighs. Reaching up, she pushes his hair out of his face, almost laughing when she sees how his eyes twinkle with renewed energy. She hums, pretending to think about what she’s going to say next, because there is one thing she’s decided in the last few minutes — in the span of time it’d taken her to see how the guilt of potentially being responsible for her pain had torn at Yoongi. At the only boy in the world who would do anything in his power to never hurt her.

“There is one person I’m mad at, though.” Yoongi raises an eyebrow, knowing what she’s going to say but still waiting for the name to leave her lips. “Jeon Jungkook.”

Yoongi feels himself swell with something akin to pride when he sees how the sadness that had been in her eyes turns to anger, almost mischievous in the glint of the moonlight. She continues, eyeing him with an evil grin.

“I think that, no matter how dumb and ill-prepared your plan had been… you really might have done something there, Yoongi.” The Slytherin beams, loving the way revenge looks on her as she stands there in his arms at damn near 4 o’clock in the morning.

“Yeah? You got something in mind?” Y/n hums conspiratorially, a bubble of laughter escaping her as she loops her arms around his shoulders and pulls him closer, because they’re really standing in her shower scheming about how to get back at her horrible ex, like this is normal for them.

“I mean, I just think we could really make this work… We’d just have to work out the logistics of the ‘relationship’, but nothing between us will really change since we’re already so close.” She gestures vaguely down at their current state for emphasis, and Yoongi throws his head back to laugh at how incredibly strange this entire situation is. He nods when he’s done, running his hands up and down her back, hot water flowing over his arms as he wraps them tighter around her waist.

“Well, I know that being naked with someone might not be the most obvious act of affection to you, but to me, there’s nothing better.” Y/n rolls her eyes at his playful smirk when he says it, because at the end of the day, Min Yoongi’s still an idiot.

”So… since we’re clearly in quite the romantic situation here, I think this is the perfect place to ask.” Yoongi smiles when he says it, shockingly sweet given the teasing lilt of his voice. “Y/n, would you do me the honor of pretending to be my girlfriend so that we can tear your dumbass ex-boyfriend apart from the inside out with how perfect we are together?” Y/n snorts, nodding once.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.” With a toothy smile, Yoongi lifts his right hand to her hair, playing with the ends of it as he hums contemplatively.

“Should we make it official?” Y/n eyes at him suspiciously.

“Listen buddy, I might be naked right now, but I’m not having sex with you.” With an annoyed huff and a mumbled 'you're an idiot', Yoongi rolls his eyes, grabbing a fistful of her hair and tugging until it’s pulled taut, giving him full control of her head. Leaning in, he angles her so he can slot his lips against hers comfortably, almost smiling when she reciprocates right away.

Yeah. This is definitely getting easier.

Y/n’s arms tighten around Yoongi’s neck as her hand lifts to card her fingers through the hair on the back of his head. She barely notices that the arm he has around her waist is pulling her in, only registering it when she feels her chest press flush to his. She doesn’t even have time to feel embarrassed, though, because Yoongi’s tilting his head, the pressure of his lips on hers suddenly changing.

She isn’t ready for the wet swipe against the seam of her lips, and she hates that she gasps because she knows it’s given him a chance to push his tongue into her mouth -- he’s brushing against her tongue roughly, almost challenging her to fight back. Feeling him smirk against her lips at the victory when she doesn’t, she tries to resist him now, nipping sharply at his bottom lip and snickering into his mouth when he groans.

The laugh in her throat is drowned out by a whimper when Yoongi tightens his hold on her hair until it’s bordering on painful. She doesn’t mind the sting, and she’s wondering if he can tell. That thought goes quickly out the window, because he’s already testing it again, tugging harshly and taking note of the way her breath catches. It had been a game before, push and pull -- but now she just can't think straight.

The fog in her mind masking every form of smart decision-making that she knows, Y/n’s sliding her arms off of his shoulders. Scratching her nails lightly down the expanse of Yoongi’s chest and torso, she smirks when his muscles are jumping under her touch, his breath shaky as he rubs his tongue against hers. And then her two pointer fingers are hooking into the waistband of his wet boxers, and Yoongi’s whining low into her mouth.

He can feel her pulling the elastic away from his skin, and he’s shuffling toward her to close the distance, mostly because he’s afraid she’s going to purposely let go and snap the band painfully back to him -- but also because there’s only one thing Yoongi’s sure of right now, and it’s that his boxers have to stay on. But her fingers are still hooked into the band -- because apparently she’s decided that that’s a good place to rest her hands -- and she keeps accidentally tugging the material down, so if he doesn’t keep up with her, they’re both gonna be in trouble.

Dropping his hands to Y/n’s waist, Yoongi turns her slowly toward the shower wall, his thumbs rubbing heated circles into her skin as he nudges her backward. His brain feels like mush, especially when he accidentally pushes his hips against hers, because she’s sighing into his mouth, and he finds himself wanting to do it again -- so he does. The white noise in his head only gets louder, because she’s whimpering when he stumbles forward, pinning her roughly to the wall as his hips rock into hers. But then she’s gasping suddenly and his heart is dropping, because it doesn’t sound the same as the others.

Yoongi pulls back right away, searching her face in the dark to see if she’s hurt -- if he’s made her uncomfortable. But she only seems shocked, her eyes wide and confused.

Shocked is exactly what she is. Because when Yoongi had guided her backwards into the wall, the cold tile against her skin had made her jump. And just like that, the haze had cleared, the reality of what they were doing -- what they might have kept doing if not for the shock to her system -- setting in. She looks him over, taking in his confusion and only offering a single sentence.

“You’re Yoongi.” Eyebrows disappearing into his hair, the boy’s nodding slowly, like he’s worried about her current mental state. She offers one more line, and this one does the trick.

“I’m Y/n.” Almost like a switch had been turned off, wiping Yoongi’s brain free of his own fog, he’s grimacing immediately, a noise of discomfort leaving him. Because she hadn’t filled in the gaps, but he had.

He’s him, and she’s her. And they… they don’t do things like this. They don’t lose themselves in each other like this. Because there’s nothing there between them, so much so that even the thought of continuing what they’d been doing is bringing a frown to both of their faces. Yoongi swallows hard, smacking his lips in slight disgust.

“Way to kill a boner, loser.” He hisses when she lands a well-aimed smack to his bicep, fully aware that he deserved that. Planting her hand on his chest, Y/n’s pushing him away -- slowly, because the last thing they need is him slipping and trying to explain to Pomfrey how they’d gotten here when he ends up in the Hospital Wing. Once there’s distance between them, Y/n’s crossing her arms over her chest, like that really will do much considering the last five minutes of their lives. She does it anyway, grateful that he has the decency to look away instead of making a snide remark about the futility of hiding from him now. She clears her throat, drawing his attention from where he leans against the wall.

“So -- making out in the shower at 4am was a bad idea.” Yoongi laughs loudly, and the tension between them is immediately dissipating with his nod.

“100%. Cross it off the bucket list, but let’s never do that again.”

--

Saturday, 18 September, 10:05am

“…ke up… Y/n… come on, wake up… Y/n!” Jumping from the sudden yell of her name, Y/n’s eyes fly open, startled. She turns her head toward the voice that had called her, finding that Yoongi’s hovering right over her. He’s got his lips pressed to the shell of her ear, clearly having decided that yelling right into her eardrum would wake her, because of course it would.

“What?” He pulls away when she snaps at him, looking down at her with a sleepy grin. He’s got an arm around her waist, his body having been curled tightly around hers the whole night. After they’d finished their shower, she’d sat on her bed in her towel for a few minutes, too lazy to get dressed, and Yoongi had thrown one of his baggy t-shirts and a pair of her panties at her face in irritation because he’d really wanted to go to sleep. It’s all she’s wearing, something that had made cuddling much easier since she gets cold at night -- he’s not happy about having his body heat stolen, but it’s only a minor inconvenience if he’s honest.

He sets his chin on her shoulder now, breathing in the scent of her shampoo mixed with the smell of him, all over his t-shirt. He wonders briefly if she’s going to start smelling like this new hybrid scent from now on -- if she’d be wearing his clothes more often now. It doesn’t elicit any particular reaction out of him, only a curious hum leaving him. He makes eye contact with her again, seeing that she’s giving him an irritated look, probably because he’d woken her. With an innocent smile, he says--

“‘m hungry.” She shoots him a look, rolling back over onto her side and shutting him out.

“Then go eat.” He pulls at her shoulder right away, forcing her to lean against him again and give him her attention.

“Go with me -- I don’t wanna sit alone in the Great Hall, and we’re supposed to do shit together now! Couple-y shit!” Y/n groans angrily, because now all the sleepiness she’d felt is fading away, leaving her awake and annoyed.

“Dude, it’s a Saturday at 10am, and we just went to bed like 5 hours ago! Go without me!” She’s about to turn away again, but Yoongi’s scooting impossibly closer, pressing his face into her neck and whining loudly -- it’s really obnoxious, and he knows that. It works, though, because she’s sighing loudly, about to give in. But--

“Min Yoongi.” His whining stops, replaced by a confused hum because her voice has an edge to it that makes him feel like he’s in trouble.

“Get your fucking morning wood away from my ass. Before I push you out the window.” Yoongi stills, pursing his lips and shutting his eyes in embarrassment, because he hadn’t even noticed that he’d been pushing the front of his shorts against her backside while he was complaining. Hiding his face in her neck, he’s about to apologize and move away, maybe even resign himself to going to breakfast alone after all -- but then a snort of amusement is leaving him, and he’s staying right where he is.

“Maybe if you get out of bed, you won’t have to feel it anymore. Unless… you want to?” It’s definitely the wrong thing to say, and he knows it, already rolling away from Y/n in a panic because she’s turning to him, her hands curling into fists as she locates her target.

For no less than five minutes, Y/n chases Yoongi around her room, flinging clothes, shoes, heavy objects -- anything she can get her hands on. Finally, she latches onto the front of his shirt, wrapping her legs around his waist and pulling angrily on his hair. He yelps, snaking one arm around her and using his other hand to break his fall against her bedroom door, because they’re both about to topple over.

His back slams heavily into the wood, and Y/n can’t tell if he’s crying or laughing, but either way, he’s yelling -- and it’s very unlikely that anyone in the vicinity of her room can’t hear him.

“I had you naked up against a wall last night, and you’re mad about my morning wood?!” Y/n pulls on his hair extra hard, enraged, and he yelps again, losing his footing -- they crash to the ground in a pile of limbs, both groaning loudly. It becomes laughter almost immediately, exhausted and full of disbelief that they’d just spent all that time trashing her room. After a moment of heavy breathing and pained complaints, Yoongi turns to her, an obnoxious grin on his face.

“‘m still hungry.”

--

“Oh my God, would you hurry up? If we miss last call for breakfast and have to eat in the kitchens, I’m gonna be so pissed--”

“I told you to go alone--”

“And I told you that I wanted you to go with me--”

“We coulda been there already if you hadn’t been all up on me and pissed me off--”

“I’m sure you’ll get used to it, babe--”

“Min Yoongi--”

“Ow! Okay, I’m sorry!”

After cleaning up the mess in Y/n’s room, she and Yoongi had gotten ready together, because there would have been no way for her to go back to sleep after that. He had rummaged through the part of her wardrobe designated for his belongings -- it had become convenient for them to keep clothes in each others’ rooms after a couple years, clearly serving its purpose now that Yoongi’d needed a clean outfit.

Still, even with fresh clothes on, it’s obvious that Yoongi had stayed the night -- rather, it’s obvious to Taehyung and Namjoon, who are sitting in the Gryffindor common room doing work when Yoongi and Y/n stumble down the stairs, on the edge of laughter even though they’re bickering. And it’s especially obvious to Jungkook, who’s reaching the bottom of the stairs to the boys’ dorm at the same time -- because he’s stopped at a close enough distance to Yoongi that he can smell the scent of Y/n’s body wash all over him. A smell he’s very personally familiar with.

Y/n chokes on her spit, realizing with a reddening face not only that her friends had heard the conversation she and Yoongi had just been having, but that they had definitely also heard what had happened upstairs -- what Yoongi had said about having her naked up against a wall. Y/n wants to hide in a corner and never make eye contact with them ever again, but they don’t mention it, Taehyung only waving with an amused smile as Namjoon hides his laughter behind a hand. She points at the door to the common room awkwardly.

“We’re… going to breakfast… if anyone wants to come.” The pair of boyfriends shake their heads simultaneously, and Y/n turns her head to where she knows Jungkook is when she sees Namjoon glancing in slight concern over to the boys standing beside her. When she looks, she sees why he might be worried.

Yoongi and Jungkook have yet to say a word or even acknowledge that Y/n had spoken, too busy staring each other down. It’s obvious that Jungkook’s angry, but Yoongi would never back down from a challenge. Y/n reaches out, sliding her hand down Yoongi’s forearm and threading her fingers through his.

“Come on… we’re gonna miss last call…” Jungkook doesn’t tear his eyes away from Yoongi’s when she grabs the Slytherin’s hand, but he’s definitely seen it out of the corner of his eye, his gaze hardening. It brings a smirk to Yoongi’s lips, knowing Y/n’s affection had gotten under his skin. Looking Jungkook up and down with that infuriating curl of his lips, Yoongi only cocks an eyebrow at the Gryffindor before turning to Y/n, pulling her toward the door as he responds, his voice carrying through the silent common room with distinct clarity.

“I don’t mind if we eat in the kitchens, babygirl -- I like being alone with you.” Y/n rolls her eyes internally at how obnoxious Yoongi is, but she can hear Jungkook letting out a restrained sigh behind them, and she can’t help the smug satisfaction that fills her. And when Yoongi glances at her as they step out into the corridor, his eyes dancing with amusement, she knows he feels the same.

Well, this should be fun.

[echo-of-sounds]

lazy start, intense finish (pt.2 in the 'your first creampie' series)

-Aizawa x f!reader-

smut drabble of aizawa giving you your first creampie

I’m posting this using my phone’s hotspot because I just really wanted to get this out today. Nothing’s really loading. I picked a gif at random. If the format is a little wonky, I apologize. I’ll fix it later.

Warnings: nothing serious, just a little deepthroating/gagging

At the commercial break, you lowered the volume for Shouta sleeping on your stomach. He sighed and nuzzled into you. His hands were burrowed inside your sweatshirt for warmth, resting on your sides. Not that he needed the extra warmth. His body was nothing but a radiator, keeping yours pleasantly cozy in the cool room.

He remained motionless for another thirty minutes until his chest rumbled a swear.

“You alright?”

He groaned, turning his head. Through the thick, black mess, you saw his eyes straining at the Tv. At least they seemed less red than an hour and a half ago. Hair stuck to his mouth. You gently brushed the strands out of his face, carefully combing through them.

A low hum sounded at your grooming. Your fingers graced behind his ear, down his jaw, skimming the defined bone and bristles. It’s grown a little longer than usual, shading in the sparse five o’clock with attractive, full stubble.

He grumbled in a thick voice, “I need to shave it soon.”

“I like it like this.”

“It’s annoying like this.” He shifted on top of you, removing his hands from your sweatshirt. You moved too, bending your left leg, wedged amid him and the couch’s back, to relieve your stiff knee. He faced your thigh and pressed his lips to it. The peck formed into a long kiss, dragging the thin skin into his mouth.

The heated weight between your legs allowed you to lazily hump, working up wetness, not from his mouth. His lower chest rocked with you. Fingertips depressed into your thigh. Hair mingled around your playing fingers, keeping you coupled as he sucked, stressing the skin with teeth and lips.

You sighed for him. He didn’t budge. You wiggled, cooing, “Shouta, come here.”

Your voice corralled him; he lifted, crawled up to your mouth. Heft settled on top, happily trapping you for a kiss. Swelling swayed against you, encouraging your hips to return the favor. His tongue crudely sunk into your mouth. It drew moans and heavy breaths from both of you, hastening your grinding.

The kisses trailed to your jaw, then neck once you opened it, where his teeth decided to taste. You fondled him through his sweatpants. The material didn’t stifle his girth and heat. And your groping spurred his swaying into thrusting, obviously wanting something to thrust into.

You were about to speak when he bit your neck, shaping your words into a gasp. His jaw didn’t release, very clearly set on leaving you swollen. You squeezed his cock. That only made his hips jerk. You squeezed his sleeve next, panting, “Let’s go- Fuck. Let’s go to bed.”

Shouta heaved himself and you up. The cuddly start to your night-in quickly disappeared as he muscled you to the bedroom. His tongue left your mouth once when he slipped his shirt off. Your palms flushed over his abdomen, feeling up the grooves and hair, smoothing along his pecs, kindling from his radiator of a chest.

“God, you’re so fucking hot.”

“Then suck me off,” he gruffed, gripping your hair to keep your mouth against his for an airless ten seconds before shoving you to the bed. He dropped his pants and boxers, then joined. But he laid beside you, waiting for you to enact what he said.

And you did. Ready and willing, you hopped between his legs, kissing his erection. Veins in his foreskin slicked with your tongue, from his raphe to his frenulum. The little ridge of skin roused him, physically and audibly. A blush tainted his cheeks. Gorgeous sighs charmed your ears. You lapped slowly, softly, and sweetly at the reactive zone, soaking up his sounds, also soaking your panties.

“You look so handsome right now,” you praised. “Not that you don’t look handsome other times.”

Holding him steady, you pressed a lewd kiss to his head, and you couldn’t help but nip his corona. Then you took him in your mouth, quickly sinking, gradually rising, lightly dragging your teeth along him.

His head dropped to the pillows. Black hair frayed out, exposing pale collarbones and marred skin. His abs expanded in lengthy, indulged breaths. As your fingers trailed up the muscles, he snagged your hair, forcing you lower. Another hand joined. Hips snapped up. Each loud, deep prod choked you. Tears fell when he held you down, flattening your nose into his hair, stationing his dick thick and solid in your throat.

“Fuck,” he groaned.

Saliva dribbled. Heat pooled in your neck. A crude gag came with his grinding, making him yank you off. Dark eyes watched spit seep past your lips, drooling to him. They kept yours in focus, his head tapping your lips. “Clean it.”

You nursed on him again, sucking up all his precum and your spit. After a gentle thumb wiped the tears away, his palm rested on your cheek, calmly guiding your head. You hummed.

The switch from dominant to mellow wasn’t new, but it always sparked an affectionate glow in your stomach. The glare, from arousal, not anger, was always pleasing. And the intensity, you’ve seen many a time. Yet something about the tilt of his eyebrows and the pink of his ears goaded an unfamiliar experience, a new need.

Wetly, lust-filled, you spoke around his glans, tasting the salt you wanted to feel inside, “Cum in me.”

“What?”

“Cum in me.” You climbed up, parked on his waist, and removed your sweatshirt. You cupped his cheeks, kissing him with all the potency this need inflamed. “I’m on birth control. It’ll be okay. I want to feel what it’s like.”

“No one’s ever cum in you?”

You stroked his jaw. “No. It’s never come up. I want it to be with you.”

“You sure?”

“Yes,” you whined before kissing him, smiling at the tongue muscling in.

Rough fingers coasted down your back and into your underwear. They kneaded your ass, spreading and pressing you while you moved with his hands, lightly riding his naked chest. The foreplay was becoming a bit too much, evident in the wet material pressing between you.

The fingers skimmed to your front and easily slipped in. “You’re this wet just from thinking about-”

“Yes,” you gasped, appreciating how his palm graded your clit. You stilled his wrist to grind down. “Sho, I’m gonna- Fuck.”

“How am I supposed to cum in you if you get worn out before I’m even inside you?” His stupid, rugged, lovely smirk taunted you.

Before you could respond, you were whipped to the mattress and your panties were tugged off. Shouta nestled between your thighs, immersing himself balls deep without any pushback or preparation. Knowing how this was going to end livened your noises and heightened your skin. Coarse hair, fevered skin, sultry breaths, digging fingers, lips, teeth, nails; all fueled the fire.

With a bite to your already bitten-up neck, the thrusts started solid. His head brushed straight into your front wall over and over and over again. Your nails made a home in his back, scratching, thanking him for his beautiful dick.

Shouta pushed up to his hands, increasing the strength behind the thrusts. You grasped at his biceps and rose, needing his mouth. You got what you wanted; sloppy, saliva, tongue-filled kisses and deep thrusts to curl your toes. Your eyes fluttered closed and head lolled back. Refusing to break, the kiss followed with his added grunts, amorous sounds he barely shared.

You tried speaking, voicing how amazing he always made you feel, your love, close you were, how so fucking high you felt. But nothing escaped your connected mouths except saliva. Instead, you stroked your clit. The width inside was leading you straight to orgasm.

Yet, rather fiercely, your hand was stopped.

“Sho, I-”

“Tonight, you cum from me,” he growled in your ear. He hooked both your knees, leaned forward, and continued his unabashed rutting, flattening you to the bed, completely caging you under him and the weight bearing down and into you.

He withdrew till only his head remained then bucked, slapping his balls against you, using the bed’s bounce to repeat repeatedly, jarring your hips and legs. His thrusts reached your depths. Pleasure drowned any twinge of pain out. You weakly clawed at his shoulder blades, losing energy.

“Cum.”

You whined his name.

“Now.” Teeth, once again, found your sore neck. Hair flared over your face, lending more building heat. “Cum, now.”

Arousal dripped from the disgustingly vulgar sounds between you. Your muscles couldn’t straighten under his control. You fussed and pawed.

“Fucking cum,” Sho gnarled. The guttural demand rolled your head back, driving home what he wanted, clenching muscles and limbs around him. Water formed from squeezing your eyes too hard. Skin gave under your nails.

All the joyous bliss almost turned painful with his nonstop thrusting. Because of the position, your legs couldn’t wrap his waist. But they still tried, needing him to stay inside. You felt down his sides and grappled at the sweat-coated skin. “Shouta, please- Fuck! Please.”

“I’m fucking-” His own huffing cut him off, struggling to even out. Thick groans melted in your ear. His thighs, while railroading through, trembled, humping, seeking.

“Cum in me. I want it.”

The thrust slowed, but the weight behind them didn’t lessen. He pressed into your neck.

“God, Sho, just cum in me.”

Each ball slap lingered longer and longer.

“Please,” you all but pleaded.

Swearing and growling your name, he sunk one last time, grinding against you, trying to push just a little deeper as you finally felt cum inside. It was new, different, and so, so warm. Hearty groans rumbled his chest. He dropped your legs, giving you the chance to wrap around him, embracing tight, and refusing to let him pull out.

Shouta’s labored breathing gradually calmed. Though it didn’t ease the heat of your bodies. And neither of you spoke, choosing to just lay and experience the feeling together.

[whaleofatjme1920]

EJ SIMPS RISE 😤😤💪💪💪

may i please request a scenario for yandere ej x fem reader where ej is punishing the reader for escaping ? feel free to go DARK dark with this one <3

Cream Colored Ceiling

[Eyeless Jack X F!Reader]

[Warnings: NSFW - but not for sexual content, just violence, what isn't a warning in this one, mentions of cannibalism (but there is no described cannibalism, just allusions to it), EJ physically harms the reader, amputation, violence of all kinds, throw up, look this is just,,,, it's dark. I repeat, there is no sexual content in here, it's just physically violent]

[AN: yeah. This was uh, yeah.]

Hazy, your mind is hazy. You wake and open your eyes to see that same fucking cream colored ceiling with water damage leaking through the top and dangerously close to your bed, if you’d even want to call it your bed.

You raise one of your hands that feels heavier than stones and wipe quietly at your eyes, dusting them from the sleep. Your body feels heavy, oh so heavy.

You sit up. Nothing strange so far.

Has he really been that gracious with you?

You yawn and stretch, joints and bones popping as you look out the window. There’s that cursed forest. It looks dark, shadowy, misty. The fog is rolling in and you know with it comes the rain. You’re going to be stuck here forever, aren’t you?

The sunlight doesn’t filter through the window, but there’s light regardless. You’re deep into mid Autumn and with it will come winter. It’ll be the third winter you’ve been trapped with this monster.

Your mouth feels dry, much too dry. You smack your lips together a few times, wondering where your saiva has gone and decide to go to the kitchen. It seems like Jack isn’t home right now, which is probably for the best. Alongside him being out, so too is your natural fear of him. You swing your legs over the side of your bed, wondering why you feel so physically exhausted before attempting to stand up.

“Shit!” You cry out as your knees buckle beneath you, your body cascading like a pile of bricks to the floor. Your knees and palms blank onto the hardwood, digging into you most uncomfortably. Tears well in your eyes as you struggle to get off the floor. You continue to curse under your breath as you glance back at your ankles where large surgical wounds lay, covered in stitches and gauze. What the fuck? When did that happen?

Your heart begins to race when you slow, calculated steps padding on the floor. You’re all too familiar with the sound of those combat boots knocking on the floor, pacing back and forth and keeping you awake at all hours of the night. Panic sears itself into your heart as you attempt to get up, pathetically crawling along the floor and reaching for your bedpost.

Jack stands in your doorway, his large form casting a shadow on your throw rug. He tsks, and you can already tell he’s more than disappointed with you. “What did I tell you about getting up?” He asks, voice smooth and clinical, once again padding towards you.

You feel tears well in your eyes as you curl as tightly into a ball as you can.

Jack breathes out with slight disappointment before crouching down and seeing your sorry form. “You knew this was going to happen,” he says, half lidded eyes watching you curiously before he reaches his large, gloved hand out. “Did you pop any of your sutures?” He tilts his head to the side and looks over your swollen, still bloodied ankles. “I think you might’ve.” He reaches to pick you up and you begin to panic, blubbering your apologies.

“I’m sorry, please, don’t touch me, don’t hurt me-” you begin to babble, your remaining strength trying their hardest to push the behemoth away. Tears well in your eyes as Jack grips your calves, sending pain holting like lightning strikes up and down your lower body, making you cry out in pain.

“You deserve it,” he murmurs, his claws pinching into your skin before he lifts you. A glance of annoyance passes over his face before he yanks your grip from the bed.

You struggle against him as you pound your fists into his broad chest, tears of frustration falling down your cheeks.

The tall demon moves without budging. He doesn’t care, you barely feel like a scratch to him.

You watch your surroundings, still fighting against him and feel your heart sink when you realize he’s taking you down the hall that he’s deemed forbidden. The energy you feel from this specific hallway makes you cry out in fear.

Jack eats it up, his own heart beating just a little faster. You won’t ever do what you pulled last night again. He juggles you into one his arms and uses his free hand to unlock the door, the slight beeps of numbers being added into a keypad making your attention shift ever so slightly.

The inside of this room is like a horror scene to you. You see an operating table, and stainless steel tables, cabinets and countertops. There’s a large trash bin filled with bloody gauze and other things, such as discarded clothes, clumps of hair, things you don’t want to think of. Is this it? Is he finally going to kill you?

Fear overtakes your system again and renders you to nothing but silent sobs as Jack pulls off a turquoise colored sheet from the operating table, placing you down.

You try to get off, wiggling and clawing at him. “Let me go!” You cry out like a broken record of a mantra, your eyes wild and feral.

Jack simply shrugs you off, tying large leather brown straps over your waist and your chest, rendering you immobile. “The more you struggle, the more it’s going to hurt you,” he hums, his clawed hands moving across your chest to your wrists. He quickly ties you down there as well, your legs numbly kicking at him through the pain due to severed Achilles tendons. He flicks the wound on your left leg, grinning at your pain. “Won’t be needing these anymore,” he chuckles.

“What?” You say in shock, pupils restricting to the size of pim points.

He takes a seat on his wheeled stool and begins setting you up with an IV drip. “Gonna sedate you, and when you wake up?” He warmly smiles, pricking the vein on your right arm with the needle, making you weakly thrash once more. “Get some sleep,” he murmurs, pumping some sedatives into your bloodstream.

You feel more tears welling in your eyes as your conscience begins to wean. The world becomes more shapes and colors, merging into brightness and shadows before you finally slip into your dreams.

You haven’t been able to trick Jack like this in the history of well, ever. Almost three years with this nightmare and you’ve finally gained enough of his trust to ask him for some time out.

“Don’t stay in there for too long,” he says, large hand gripping your thigh as you swallow down the feeling of hitting him from where you remain seated in the passenger seat. “I want you back safely,” he murmurs, his other hand gently letting go of the wheel to cup your face.

You do your best to show love and admiration in your eyes as you meet his gaze. “Don’t worry. It’s just an hour or so, okay?” You hum, your hand gently holding his and burying your face deeper into his warmth.

“I don’t know why you need anyone else’s company,” he says, a slight acrid venom seeping into his tone. “You don’t need anyone else but me.” It’s almost cute how offended he sounds.

You play the part of loving him. “I know, I know,” you coo, taking his hand from your face and pressing your lips into a pucker. You raise his hand to them, planting a kiss on his palm. “I love you. I won’t be that long.”

Jack’s heart flutters. “I’ll be here, waiting for you.” He says, watching you as you unbuckle yourself, his hand reluctantly leaving your thigh.

You flash him a warm smile and lean over to press a kiss to his cheek, and then his lips. You try not to spit at the scent of blood and taste of rot before pulling away. You then open up his car, sliding from the passenger seat and to the rinky dink little bar you’d managed to convince him to let you go to. Just an hour - that’s all it was. Just an hour. You’d be in and out, get some drinks, and come straight back to his car.

Due to Jack’s appearance, he had told you he couldn’t go in. They’d know something was wrong with him immediately, and you’d gained enough of his trust for you to be away for just an hour. Come straight back to the car when it reaches 10 PM. You promised him. And he fucking believed you.

It wasn’t that hard finding some idiot down on his luck with the ladies. You cozied up next to him, getting to sit with him at the bar and start talking. He was so attentive and sweet, so receptive to the story you had made up to him.

“That sounds awful,” he says, voice low and sweet. His deep blue eyes look at you with nothing but gentleness and fondness. His hand reaches for yours across the bar and you smile, allowing him to take it.

“I just wanna get away from that brute,” you admit. “I just wanna go home.”

He squeezes you just a little tighter. “Why don’t we go back to my car and call the cops?” He offers.

“Where did you park?” You ask, hoping it’s not in the front lot where Jack remains waiting for you.

“In the back.”

What a relief.

A slight smile blooms on your face as you nod. “Yeah, let’s go,” you finally answer. You hop off the barstool and then grip his hand, letting him lead you through the bar and the sea of people. It smells like sweat, alcohol, and regret - you love it. It smells like the beginning of freedom, something better. Maybe, just maybe…

He opens the backdoor to you, allowing you out first. The crisp night air of autumn greets you with her beauty. You can smell maple leaves and pumpkins out in the distance, the atmosphere is incredible. “That one’s mine,” he says, pointing to his car a little ways down in the parking lot under one of the yellow lights. He continues holding your hand as the two of you walk through the parking lot.

You watch as he unlocks the car door, walking around the side to let you in. You accompany him and slide into the passenger seat. Putting this seat belt on feels almost liberating. You giggle when the short man closes the door before walking around the front of his car.

And then he pauses.

Fear seeps into his eyes and leans forward, his abdomen cutting into the hood of the hunk of metal that can barely be called a car before sweat beads and rolls down his forehead. He begins to cough, violently.

Your eyes widen in shock as he begins to cough up blood, and tears well in his eyes. They roll down his cheeks, fat and crystalline like the beads of sweat. He reaches out to you, mouthing for you to run before finally slumping forwards.

You see him, the behemoth that’s held you captive for three years, a sapphire colored mask boring into your soul and searing into your mind with what you can understand is pure, unadulterated rage. You scramble, panicking as you notice the large blade that’s wedged itself into the man’s back as he seizes on the car, his thick body rolling off from the hood and landing with a large ‘thump!’ as he does so. Foam and the smell of something unpleasant wafts upwards and you palm the handle of the car, attempting to release yourself.

Jack takes slow, calculated steps forwards, his shadow growing larger as he gears up to catch you and claim you as his.

Your heart pounds like a drum in your chest, the panic overtaking your system as you finally get the car open. You shoot out of the metal cage like a bat from hell and stumble onto the asphalt, hissing as the black tar digs into your knees and palms. No time for registering your pain, you need to run! Like a freshly born faun, you hobble up and begin to run, wondering if you can make it back to the bar and the safety of other people when Jack’s steps grow quicker.

Fuck, fuck, fuck! He’s going to catch you and he’s going to kill you!

“You’re such a stupid little rabbit,” he hums, watching as you sorely sprint towards the door. “Look what you’ve done,” he taunts, hand gesturing to the man. “You made me kill him and I’m not even hungry,” he hums. “Maybe I should make you eat it instead,” he muses.

The thought alone makes your stomach retch. You stumble once more, body feeling violently ill as you cave. The alcohol paired with his words has you emptying your stomach of its contents that splash to the asphalt, the sickly acrid and saccharine taste overtaking your mouth.

Jack’s giant form finally overtakes you. He stands with his hands behind his back, peering down at you with disdain. “Fucking disgusting,” he coos in a tone that reminds you of a condescending father. He grips the back of your neck and forces you down.

You screech and fight him, not wanting to touch what came out of you.

“No? No,” he grins. “Fine. Let’s go see your date.” His claws dig into your neck as he drags you back to the man’s car where he’s finally gone still. He’s left a puddle of blood. Jack laughs quietly at your struggling before forcing you to your knees. “Are you hungry?”

“No-”

“I think you mean yes.”

The taste of blood still lingers in your mouth, and it remains even in your slumber.

Of course, you passed out due to your traumatic experience, and threw up again as well. Jack took advantage of your fragile state and brought you back to your home, the place you belonged - with him. He cut your Achilles tendons, just a warm up, really.

“Time to wake up.” Jack’s voice permeates your head, rousing you from your slumber. His gloved hands are snapping in front of you.

It’s bright, much too bright. Your body feels simultaneously heavier and lighter. Where are you? You see that you’re now looking into an operating light, and it’s super uncomfortable. “What did you do to me?” You ask drowsily.

Jack ignores your question and instead picks you up. His footsteps begin to lull you into sleep.

Exhausted, you fall back in again, and this time? This time, it’s dreamless.

It’s that fucking cream colored ceiling again that you open your eyes to. The water damage is still the same, and you realize you’re still stuck. You’re about to get up when you hear your door opening.

“Nice to see you up,” Jack says, watching as you slowly come to. “Did you dream about anything?”

You narrow your eyes recoiling as he reaches his hand out to pet you.

Jack glares at you for a moment, his hand straightening before he slaps you. “Don’t get testy, I’ll take your arms next,” he murmurs.

You’re about to bite back when you take in his words. What? Your heart begins to sink, deeper and deeper as your hand shakily reaches to the edge of your bed sheets. No. No. NO. You hold your breath as you rip the sheets off. Your flesh is swollen, puffy and looks like it’s crying out in its own form of pain. Large, manila colored casts and bandages surround your thighs and what remains of your knees.

You begin to hyperventilate. Your chest begins to rise and fall faster and faster - your body feels like a prison.

Jack only coos. “Stop that,” he says lovingly, hand petting your head as you fall deeper and deeper into despair. He removes the black glove from his hand and grabs your face, his dark, eyeless sockets boring into your own eyes. He looks at you with such adoration that acts as a front for the betrayal and anger he feels for you deep down inside. He draws closer to your tear stained face, a small smile bearing shark-like teeth at you before parting his lips to speak to you. “You’re being hysterical.”

[heyiwrotesomethings]

Feeding the Weary Traveler

Mitsuri Kanroji x She/Her Reader

A/N: Warnings for this one are homophobia and a mention of physical assault. Let me know if you think I should mention anything else. It’s a relatively light story considering. I usually like to keep the sexuality of the reader undiscussed so it could be anything, but this time around reader doesn’t seem to be interested in men in the slightest. It’s only a couple of lines but just a heads up. Hope you like it! Sorry if there are more errors than usual. My internet is painfully slow and it makes uploading a chore and a half. Word Count: 6,388

Mitsuri hummed happily to herself as she surveyed the various food stalls lighting up the night around her. She wasn’t sure where she should begin, it all looked so good! She was so lucky to have stumbled upon this bustling little village, and during a festival no less! This dinner was going to be legendary! Hopefully there would be an inn nearby where she could rest between missions and take some time to enjoy it all.

Mitsuri decided that the sweet dango stall was calling her name so she made her way over there first and purchased four skewers. She chewed happily as she walked around and tried to decide what to try next. The dango tasted so good she had half a mind to go back and get a couple more.

The Hashira was about to approach a yakitori stall as she finished her last dango when her crow landed none too gracefully in the dirt beside her. She flapped her wings frantically, her little clover shaped crown slightly askew.

Mitsuri whined as she chewed the last bit of dango before swallowing it down. It looked like dinner was over before it really even started. Well, when duty calls...

She cast one last longing glance at the sizzling meats and followed after her crow out of the village’s well lit valley and into the dark mountains above. Lives could be on the line, dinner could wait.

Mitsuri scaled the rugged terrain, hopping from tree to tree. Her crow flapped erratically just ahead, guiding her to whatever demon was wreaking havoc tonight. Her fingers wrapped tightly over the hilt of her blade as the air became heavy with an overwhelming dense dread that could only be brought on by the demon’s bloodlust.

Mitsuri unfurled her blade and kicked off of the next tree branch particularly hard as a scream ripped through the craggy boulders. A few more leaps and bounds.., she did not slow, a scream could mean many things, it wasn’t over yet. They could still be alive!

Her crow cawed in alarm just as Mitsuri’s eyes locked onto a struggle in the brambles below. Almost on instinct, she cracked her whip-like blade over the demon’s grotesque form, causing it to shriek. The Hashira twirled in the air to land in front of the beast and the young woman trapped and writhing  beneath it.

“Get off of her, you miserable fiend!” Mitsuri commanded, readying her blade to lash at the demon again.

The demon wailed again in anger, crushing the dirt beside its hostage’s head before tearing off into the forest in an attempt to get away from the powerful newcomer.

“Oh no you don’t!” Mitsuri called after it, cracking her nichirin blade over its retreating form. The blade sliced into the tendons in the back of one of its legs, causing it to tumble to the ground. Before it could skitter off to heal, Mitsuri swung her blade around again. The specially forged metal curled around the demon’s neck and with one clean yank, it’s head came clean off.

The slayer stayed alert, scanning the area for any other nearby threats. An exhausted caw from her crow alerted her that it was safe to let her guard down. She quickly turned on her heel to asses the young woman’s condition, observing her as she shakily got to her knees.

Her kimono was ripped and dirtied. Blood seemed to be seeping through her cloth of her shoulder. Her eyes were wide and frightened while her breath came shallow and quick.

“Are you alright?” Mitsuri spoke gently, slowly moving into the girl’s line of vision. She didn’t want to scare her anymore than she already had been tonight.

“I don’t know,” she said between gasping breaths, “I, I’m alive. That’s something.” She tried to get to her feet, but something twinged in her ankle and she fell back to her knees.

Mitsuri knelt at her side in concern.

The girl would need some medical attention. “My name is Kanroji Mitsuri. What’s your name?”

“(L/n) (Y/n).” She shakily replied.

“Let me help you home, (L/n)-san. Do you live in the village down below?” Mitsuri asked, helping (Y/n) to her feet, carrying most of her weight for her.

“No,” (Y/n) answered quickly, almost as if the insinuation pained her, “no, I don’t. I live here, in the mountains. My cottage isn’t too far from here.”

“I’ll help you get home, (Y/n)-san. Don’t worry, you’re in safe hands.” Mitsuri assured.

“Thank you, thank you so much.”

Mitsuri eyed the young woman sympathetically. The poor dear was still shaken, but managed to direct Mitsuri in the direction of her home while the Hashira carefully held her up, guiding her through the tough terrain.

Mitsuri frowned at the sight of the worn down shack as it came into view, this couldn’t be it, could it?

“There, I live there.” (Y/n) proclaimed, her voice laced with exhaustion. She must have been able to feel the shift in Mitsuri’s mood at the declaration because she then added, “It’s not much, but it’s home. I built it myself even.”

“Do you live here alone?” Mitsuri couldn’t help but ask, slightly horrified.

“I do.” (Y/n) affirmed, missing Mitsuri’s open-mouthed, wide-eyed shock when she stumbled towards the weathered door. “Thank you again, for saving me and bringing me back home.”

“You’re welcome but...” Mitsuri tried to find words but none would come finally she just shook her head and followed (Y/n)’s stumbling form to the door. “Do you have any medical supplies? Let me help patch you up.”

“I have some things. I’m not sure how helpful they’ll be. You needn’t concern yourself. You’ve done so much for me already, Kanroji-san.”

“Your shoulder could get infected without proper care and your ankle looks sprained or even broken. Let me see what I can do. We might need to take you to the village, there’s got to be a doctor down there.”

(Y/n) shook her head furiously, wincing a bit and grasping her head soon after, “I’m not going into town for anything. I’ll invite you to do what you can here, but that’s where I draw the line.”

Mitsuri was concerned by the girl’s reluctance to go to the village, but she took (Y/n)’s offer and entered the small shack. She was surprised by how homey the inside looked once (Y/n) lit a few lanterns. Not only that, but it smelt heavenly inside.

(Y/n) cursed under her breath as she hobbled over to some kind of makeshift oven and carefully peaked inside before sighing in relief and opened it fully. “It didn’t burn! Thank the gods for small favors I guess.”

“What have you got there, (L/n)-san? It smells very good in here.” Mitsuri said, holding a hand over her stomach in an attempt to quiet its rumbling.

“Bread. Please, help yourself. It’s the least I can offer for all of your help tonight.”

“Really? Thank you!” Mitsuri was practically glowing at the invitation before she remembered why she was here in the first place. “Later! First, let’s check you over.”

(Y/n) gestured to another corner of the space to a wobbly, rustic shelf next to a futon so flat it couldn’t possibly be comfortable to sleep on.  Mitsuri’s heart went out to this girl. She couldn’t be too far off from her in age, this was no way to live, and alone no less.

Mitsuri recovered the tin sitting atop the bottom shelf and motioned the girl to sit on the ground as she noted there were no chairs. She kneeled beside (Y/n)’s injured shoulder. A pained grunt rumbled at the back of the hermit’s throat as she painstakingly loosened and lowered the fabric around her shoulders, baring the bloody claw marks to the Hashira.

“Oh you poor dear...” Mitsuri cooed as she gently probed the torn flesh. At least it wasn’t too deep.

“It’s fine,” (Y/n) shivered and looked away, “could you wrap me up now please. Try to be sparing with the bandages if possible.”

“I’ll see what I can do.” Mitsuri frowned. She disinfected and wrapped the wound as Shinobu had shown her during her first aid training and managed to only use about a third of the already meager roll. “There,” she gently patted (Y/n)’s shoulder, “that’s all set. Now I just need a look at that ankle. Oh my, it’s swollen pretty bad. We’ll need to elevate it and you should really lay down.”

“I am pretty tired,” (Y/n) sighed wearily, pulling her kimono back up over her shoulders. “Could you help me up?”

“Of course!” Mitsuri eagerly replied, easily scooping (Y/n) up in her arms and standing to her full height.

(Y/n)’s hands scrambled for purchase on Mitsuri’s uniform from the sudden movement. Once she realized Mitsuri’s hold on her was solid and unwavering she relaxed a bit before pulling her hands back to her own chest and jerking her head outwards away from the pale expanse of the demon slayer’s chest. If at all possible, she was sure steam would roll out of her ears like active geysers.

Mitsuri didn’t notice anything amiss and took the few steps needed to lay (Y/n) down in the sad little bed. Then she paid careful attention to (Y/n)’s leg, tilting and rotating it while getting feedback from the girl.

“Well, I don’t think it’s broken, but you should definitely stay off of it for awhile.” Mitsuri informed, feeling anxious. “So you know anyone nearby? Someone that can assist you with your recovery?”

“I’ll be just fine, trust me.” (Y/n) had said.

“That um, didn’t really answer my question.” Mitsuri smiled a bit tightly as more worry settled in her heart. “Do you have family nearby, friends, close acquaintances?”

“If you must know,” (Y/n) weakly spat, “there isn’t anyone. I can take care of myself. I’ve been doing it for nearly two years now.” She finished bitterly.

Mitsuri flinched back at (Y/n)’s tone and the bedridden girl immediately felt bad. She was only trying to help after all. (Y/n) would have been dead without her.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound so harsh.”

“It’s alright. You’ve had a hard night,” Mitsuri patted (Y/n)’s hand reassuringly. “I’ll just have to watch over you then.”

“Cawww!”

Mitsuri looked over her shoulder at her crow, flapping and comically sweating buckets from her uneasy perch on the windowsill.

“I can take care of myself,” (Y/n) voiced her stance once more, “besides, it looks like your work isn’t over yet. Take a couple loafs for the road as thanks. You’ll need to keep your strength up.”

“I couldn’t.” Mitsuri shook her head. The girl already had so little, it would be a crime to take advantage. She was already paid plenty as a Hashira, she could hold out for a few more hours.

“I insist. I make more than I know what to do with. Quite a bit gets thrown to the wildlife.”

“Well, if you’re sure...” Mitsuri’s resolve crumbled like loose gravel. She was hungry, and the bread smelled really, really good. If (Y/n) was going to insist, how could she say no? Then Mitsuri straightened as an idea formed in her mind. (Y/n) startled as Mitsuri loudly smacked her hands together.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, tomorrow before the sun sets!” Mitsuri said with conviction.

“What?” (Y/n) blinked, watching Mitsuri pack three loafs of bread into a rucksack before giving it back to her crow to fly off with.

“I’ll come by tomorrow to check on you.” Mitsuri said before taking a bite out of a fourth loaf of bread. “Mmm, this is so good!”

“You can’t be serious.”

“I have to get going now, but I’ll be back! Keep your weight off that ankle and don’t strain yourself!” Mitsuri called as she opened the front door.

“No, wait, Kanroji-san!”

But she was already gone, the door closed tightly behind her before she ran off headlong into the dangerous night.

“And she’s gone,” (Y/n) sighed, “just who is she anyway? She’s practically superhuman,” she covered her face in the crook of her good arm, “and she’s really pretty.”

***

By morning Mitsuri was halfway through her last loaf of bread and standing before the familiar sight of the Butterfly Estate. After seeing the state of (Y/n)’s medical supplies, Mitsuri thought it prudent to visit Shinobu and procure a kit for the girl.

“Mitsuri, hello.” Shinobu greeted upon looking up from her microscope. “What brings you here today?”

“Shinobu, you have to help me,” Mitsuri immediately started in, “I saved a girl last night and she got a roughed up a bit before I got to her. Can you help me make a medical kit for her?”

“Of course I’ll help you,” Shinobu smiled, “but I must ask, why not just take her to a civilian doctor? Surely they would be able to provide the help she may need.”

“She lives alone in the mountains. She seems to have a bad relationship with the village in the valley below, but I don’t know why.”

“Just be careful then,” Shinobu warned, “who knows, you might be dealing with a criminal.”

“No way!” Mitsuri gasped, waving the last couple bites of bread in front of Shinobu’s face, “Could a criminal make bread this good? I think not!”

“Please stay vigilant regardless,” Shinobu giggled before switching gears, “now, tell me what happened last night.”

Mitsuri explained the situation the best she could, detailing (Y/n)’s injuries and what supplies she had left. Shinobu helped her pack up a new med kit that would not only replenish (Y/n)’s supplies, but give her some other helpful medicines that she didn’t have initially. Mitsuri thanked Shinobu with a tight hug that forced her fellow Pillar to dangle in the air for a few moments before being lowered to the ground once more. Then she made her way off the property, running off into the woods. She had a lot of ground to cover before sunset.

After a few hours of travel Mitsuri was feeling peckish. She had unfortunately finished the last loaf of bread before leaving Shinobu’s estate and didn’t have time to replenish her snack sack that her crow carried for her. If she was lucky, maybe the festival she had stumbled upon last night was a multiple night event and she could stalk up once she checked on (Y/n).

With an excited hum, she practically flew up the mountain, making her way in the general direction she knew (Y/n)’s shack to be.

“Oh dear, was it a left at this boulder or a right?” Mitsuri mumbled to herself. The forest was more inviting in the evening light but it looked so different. Cautiously, she tried the left path and scoured her surroundings for anything that looked familiar.

Mitsuri had begun to grow a bit anxious, worried that she had taken a wrong turn. She took a deep breath through her nose to calm herself which was quickly followed by a few more testing scentings of the air. Something smelled delicious. She couldn’t be sure, but it was the best lead she had so far. She followed the hearty aroma and cheered to herself as the rundown, misshapen hut came into view.

The Hashira wasted no time hopping up to the door. She gave a courtesy knock and announced herself before letting herself inside. She smiled to herself as she imagined how happy (Y/n) would be to have such an arsenal of medicinal goods. That smile quickly became a shocked, open mouth of light horror upon seeing (Y/n) up and moving about her small home.

“Ah! I thought I told you not to put any weight on that ankle, you’ll hurt yourself!” Mitsuri worried. She quickly went up to (Y/n) with her arms out in front of her like (Y/n) would collapse at any moment.

“I couldn’t just lay in bed all day.” (Y/n) tried to reason. “You said you were coming back so I felt the need to make dinner for you. You know, to repay you for all you’re doing for me. A little ankle pain can hardly keep me down.”

Mitsuri was touched by the gesture, it made her heart flutter with appreciation, but (Y/n) needed to follow her instructions or who knows what long term damage she would cause herself.

“It smells wonderful, (L/n)-san and I thank you endlessly, but please, lay down right now!”

“I’ve been taking breaks. I’m fine—ah!“

Ah, swept off her feet by the strong and beautiful demon slayer once again. As embarrassing as being doted on in this manner was, (Y/n) was definitely going to revisit this tender care in her dreams. Gods, she was touch starved.

“Really (L/n)-san, don’t be difficult. Let me check on your shoulder, okay?” Mitsuri didn’t even sound strained as she slowly placed (Y/n) down on the futon.

“Oh, okay.” (Y/n) fought through the fuzzy tingles, shaking them from her body as she slid her sleeve off her shoulder.

“Aw, it looks a little infected,” Mitsuri whined as she softly prodded the tender flesh, “but don’t worry! I paid a visit to a dear friend today and I’ve got everything you’ll need!”

“Kanroji-san, this is too much.” (Y/n) gaped in awe at the tightly packed tin Mitsuri presented to her.

“Not at all! Now, hold still while I apply some of this cream.” Mitsuri beamed before swirling the cool salve over the cuts. (Y/n) flinched a bit but the numbing chill soon soothed the pain.

“Wow, that feels really nice.”

“Right? I can always trust Shinobu for the best!” Mitsuri proudly proclaimed as she finished re-wrapping (Y/n)’s shoulder. She then took care of (Y/n)’s ankle the way Shinobu had suggested and looked at her handiwork with pride. “There all done! Shinobu said you’ll want to keep it elevated and free of strain for at least two weeks.”

“Okay, I’ll rest where I can. Thank you.”

“No no,” Mitsuri made an ‘x’ with her arms and pouted, “none of that, you have to rest!”

“I can’t afford to rest. It’s not easy living in the mountains alone.” (Y/n) informed, her eyes shifted over Mitsuri’s shoulder at the burning embers in her ‘kitchen’, “Could you take that off the heat please?”

“Yeah, I can do that.” Mitsuri shot up and stole to the dingy pot, her eyes shined upon witnessing the rich, golden broth up close. “Wow, this looks amazing!”

“I’m glad you think so, the mountains are harsh but there are plenty of resources if you know where to look. Please, help yourself.”

“Thank you so much! Here, let me get you a bowl as well. Food always tastes better with company after all.”

Mitsuri tried to prepare another bowl for (Y/n) but quickly discovered she only had one. It seemed like the more she looked at the place, the sadder it made her. (Y/n) seemed to notice the sudden downtick in the slayer’s mood and spoke up.

“Hey, I’ve got a tea mug I’ll happily drink from if you don’t mind my bad manners.” She laughed, provoking a smile from Mitsuri.

“Of course I don’t mind.”

They ate the broth and fresh bread together as they made small talk and Mitsuri was having a great time. It was rare to get to know someone she rescued like this and being able to see (Y/n) while the sun had not yet fully disappeared she got an opportunity to have a really good look at her.

Mitsuri’s face heated as (Y/n) laughed at something she said and she silently praised the forces at hand that allowed her to make it to her in time. It felt good, so very rewarding, to know such a beautiful soul’s time was not cut short by a cruel end. She wanted to keep it that way.

“Something on your mind, Kanroji-san?” (Y/n) asked, breaking Mitsuri from her thoughts with a start.

“Oh! I, um, I was just thinking about how good your food is! You know, the village down below was having a festival yesterday. I bet you could sell a lot of what you make really quickly if you set up a stall there.” Mitsuri exclaimed before diving back in.

(Y/n)’s face soured a bit at the thought, though she sighed wistfully and a sad smile crossed her lips.

“That would be nice, wouldn’t it?” She said before taking another sip from her chipped cup.

“Why don’t you go down to the village, (L/n)-san?” Mitsuri asked, her pastel-green eyes gazed at (Y/n)’s downcast face.

(Y/n) stayed silent for a few moments, debating with herself if it was worth delving into her strife with a girl she had only just met the night before and probably wouldn’t see again. At least, she definitely wouldn’t see her again if she were to explain her situation.

“It’s not something I’d really care to discuss. Sorry.” (Y/n) curtly replied.

“No, I’m sorry,” Mitsuri frowned, “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“It’s fine. It was an innocent question.” (Y/n) assured, giving Mitsuri’s knee a friendly pat before withdrawing once more.

They continued to talk about anything until the sun disappeared and the stars lit up the night sky and the lanterns were lit to illuminate the hut.

Mitsuri needed to go. The Hashira was reluctant but she wasn’t going to leave (Y/n) completely on her own just yet. She told the mountain dweller she’d come back to check on her in three days time, giggling at the girl’s surprise at the declaration. Mitsuri reasoned that (Y/n) would still need help while she recovered and although she was busy with her duties, she couldn’t in good conscious leave (Y/n) completely on her own. Especially when the girl had a tendency to skip out of much needed rest.

Mitsuri filled her rucksack to her heart’s with (Y/n)’s blessing and set off into the night. She hoped to see improvements in (Y/n)’s health when she returned in a few days.

***

The next visit went well. Mitsuri still had to scold (Y/n) for moving about, but she still, albeit a bit guiltily, heartily ate the meals (Y/n) would prepare for her upon her arrival.

Even after (Y/n) had completely healed, Mitsuri didn’t stop visiting. (Y/n) would always laugh when Mitsuri would show up unannounced, joking that feeding Mitsuri was like feeding a stray cat, she’d always come back for more. (Y/n) was happy for the company though. Very happy.

Mitsuri would also bring little things to make (Y/n)’s shack more bearable, starting with an extra set of dishes so they could properly enjoy a meal together. Before long, they considered themselves close enough to be real friends.

One night Mitsuri came by so late, she had awoken (Y/n) when she knocked on the door. (Y/n) let her in and Mitsuri nearly toppled them both over in her exhaustion.

“Hi,” Mitsuri whispered both shyly and with great exhaustion, “sorry for coming by so late. It’s just been a really long night and I think I’m about to crash any minute now. You were the closest to where I was so...”

“You know better than to think you ever need have an excuse to stop by.” (Y/n) lightly scolded. “Come lay down, are you hungry?” She asked, laying the Hashira down on the new futon that Mitsuri had brought for (Y/n) a couple visits prior.

“I could never say no to anything you make.” Mitsuri smiled, causing a prickly heat to swirl over (Y/n)’s cheeks.

(Y/n) heated up her leftovers and presented them to Mitsuri who ate them with the same vigor she would have if it was fresh.

“So good,” she sighed happily, “really, if this is what you can make in this little hut, I would die of happiness to see what you could do in a proper kitchen.”

“You flatter me, Mitsuri.” (Y/n) smiled shyly. It still gave her butterflies to speak to the demon slayer so familiarly, but it was a good feeling.

“I’m serious, (Y/n)!” Mitsuri swore, “I still maintain that I think you would do very well in the village.”

(Y/n) pursed her lips, which Mitsuri noticed straight away and mirrored before fidgeting with the now empty bowl in her hands.

“Are you ready to talk about that yet? It’s alright if you aren’t.” She hesitantly asked.

(Y/n) would be lying to herself if she thought she wasn’t nervous at the prospect of telling Mitsuri her history with the village, but she found herself wanting to share that part of her story with the sweet woman. Mitsuri had never done anything to hurt her, but that’s what made the aspect of sharing so much more frightening. What if Mitsuri became disgusted with her? Accused her of befriending her with alternative motives? But when (Y/n) met her eyes those doubts quieted and she took a deep shutters breath before blowing it all back out in one harsh breath.

“Are you sure you’ll be able to listen? It might be better if you sleep for the night first.”

Mitsuri seemed more alert already, sitting up fully in the bed and giving (Y/n) her full, undivided attention. “No, I can listen! I want to be able to understand you better and support you in anyway I can! Tell me whatever you are comfortable sharing.”

“Okay,” (Y/n) took another breath, taking a moment to decide how to proceed.

“I was born and raised in that valley, actually. My family owns an inn that doubles as a restaurant to boot.”

“That explains a lot.” Mitsuri commented with a small smile, patting at her full stomach. That earned a chuckle and a nod from (Y/n) before she continued.

“Yeah, my mom started teaching me almost as soon as I could stand on my own. She was strict, but with food that good, she was entitled to that attitude. My father took care of the inn side of things and when he wasn’t doing that, he was drinking his weight in saké.” (Y/n) took note of Mitsuri’s concern and patted her hand while flashing her a reassuring half smile.

“It wasn’t ideal, but that was just life. Incredibly, the business didn’t suffer and he never treated us badly so we saw no need to address it. I didn’t know of any other way of life so I was content where I was. Until...”

“Until what, (Y/n)?” Mitsuri cocked her head to the side.

“Until my parents arranged a marriage for me to be wed to the blacksmith’s son. The union would have brought a large sum of money to my family. The whole village seemed to know about it before I did.” (Y/n) chuckled humorlessly and shook her head while Mitsuri listened, holding herself back from jumping in to ask questions.

“They would talk over me about what I’d wear, who would be invited, even as far as when I should bare a child. I felt like everything I thought I knew was crumbling around me. I hadn’t even talked to the blacksmith’s son before. Even now I don’t recall his name. All I knew was that the idea of marrying him terrified me.”

“Did you tell your parents this?” Mitsuri couldn’t help but blurt, her eyebrows had upturned and creased her forehead.

“Yes,” (Y/n)’s eyes shadowed over as she peered down at her lap, “I admit, the middle of town wasn’t the best place to air my reservations, but they wouldn’t listen to me. They would tell me it was just cold feet or that I was overreacting. Then I had finally had it, and two days before the wedding, I screamed at my mother that I didn’t want to be married to some boy I had never talked to and made a big scene.

She had said then, since I was making such a fuss, that I must have been handing myself out to some other boy while her back was turned and it just made me so mad. I told her there was no other boy, that I didn’t want one.” (Y/n) sighed and pressed her head back against the wall.

“I told her that the only people that I had ever thought of marrying were either the grocer’s eldest daughter or the seamstress’ apprentice who had helped me at my fitting the day prior and then my mother slapped me in front of the whole village.”

Mitsuri gasped, covering her mouth. She was no stranger to the disappointment of a parent, but her parents had never laid a hand on her for any of her failed engagements.

“She was disgusted with me and word traveled fast. The blacksmith called off the arrangement, not wanting his son to have anything to do with my... perversions I think he called them. The grocer refused to sell his produce to my family and kept his daughters inside.

My father, once greatly respected, was humiliated by me and shunned by the whole village. He was furious and drunk which made for a very bad combination as you may imagine. I was severely... disciplined and locked away.

Later that night, I could hear him and my mother discussing selling me to a brothel to be trained as a courtesan. Needless to say, once I believed they were asleep I tore through the paper wall of the room I was trapped in and packed up what I could carry before I escaped into the mountains. I’ve been surviving here ever since.”

As (Y/n) finished her story, Mitsuri sniffed loudly and hiccuped, startling (Y/n) from her memories to try to comfort the demon slayer as she cried for her. Mitsuri pulled (Y/n) into her chest with such ferocity that it cracked the poor girl’s spine.

“I’m sorry that happened to you. You didn’t deserve such treatment!” The Hashira blubbered. “It was awful of me to ever suggest you go back to that terrible place devoid of love and compassion.”

(Y/n) struggled to breath and patted Mitsuri’s back. “Don’t be hard on yourself, you didn’t know. It’s okay.”

Getting all of that out there, having someone to listen and not judge her for her tale, it made (Y/n) feel so much lighter. Mitsuri kept her close and rocked their bodies side to side and how was (Y/n) not going to cry when she hadn’t been treated so tenderly since she was little. Before long, they were both sobbing messes in the corner of a dingy shack in the middle of the mountains.

By the time their bout had subsided into the occasional sniffle or the loud, gross honk of mucus being sucked back up someone’s nose, the girls had migrated to spooning on the futon with one of Mitsuri’s arms wrapped securely over (Y/n)’s side while the the other alternated between lightly scratching at the nape of (Y/n)’s neck and between her shoulder blades. The fit on the futon was tight, but neither seemed to mind.

“You know,” (Y/n) sighed, “the night you saved me I was out because there is a cliff that you can see the whole village from. I knew the festival lights would be up and I really wanted to feel the warmth I used to feel at festival season. Figures I’d be attacked by a demon before I even got there.”

“You’re going to make me cry again.” Mitsuri said, her voice coming out a tad nasally because of her stuffy nose.

“I didn’t mean for that to make you sad. I was just going to say I was glad for that night for nothing else other than I got to meet you. Thank you for sticking around, Mitsuri.”

“Now you’re being so sweet I’m gonna cry again!” Mitsuri sniffled, weakly batting at (Y/n) and making her laugh as she apologized.

“I’m glad I met you too,” Mitsuri whispered softly once they calmed down again. Then they finally went to sleep as the sun was rising.

***

“I just— mm! I don’t want her living in that rundown shack anymore. I never did! But now, I think about it all the time and I just can't stand it!” Mitsuri complained to Shinobu as the Insect Pillar tried to concentrate on the medicines she was measuring out.

“I see.” Shinobu answered simply, making a note before giving Mitsuri her full attention, “Well, if she’s as good of a cook as you keep telling me, I’m sure Aoi would be happy for another pair of hands in the kitchens.”

“What?” Mitsuri blinked.

“You know me, Mitsuri. I have a history of taking in young girls who have nowhere to go. I assume that’s why you have been telling me all of this.” Shinobu smiled mischievously, “besides, you make her sound so cute, how could I say no?”

That got a rise out of the Love Hashira.

“You—! You already have a girlfriend!” Mitsuri sputtered her face as pink as her hair at the possibility of Shinobu trying to woo (Y/n). Worse yet, the very real possibility that it would work! Mitsuri knew just how charming Shinobu could be! But thankfully, Shinobu laughed and diffused the state Mitsuri had worked herself into.

“I was only teasing, but she really can live here. I have plenty of room. I just figured you would want to keep her closer. I didn’t realize your estate was operating at full capacity.”

“Wait, say that again.” Mitsuri said, the wheels in her head turning as she tried to work backwards herself.

“(L/n)-san can live here?” Shinobu tried.

“No, after that.”

“I didn’t realize your own estate was running at full capacity. I thought you would want (L/n)-san to live with you.” Shinobu reiterated.

“Ah!” Mitsuri shrieked, making Shinobu wince ever so slightly. Then Mitsuri roughly grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her around a little bit, “You, Kochou Shinobu, are a genius! I can’t believe I hadn’t realized sooner! Thanks for the talk, bye!”

“Take care!” Shinobu saw Mitsuri off, fixing her tousled fringe as she watched the blur of pink, green and white run out of sight around the corner. Deciding she was due for a break, she wandered down the opposite end of the hall to find out what her girlfriend was up to at the moment.

***

By now, Mitsuri knew the mountain like she knew the back for her hand. The delicious scent of sizzling vegetables and meats never hurt either of course. She didn’t even bother to knock before letting herself in.

“I had a feeling you’d come by today.” (Y/n) smiled as she checked over her shoulder, “I’m not sure what it was, but I’m glad it proved true because I definitely made too much food.”

“(Y/n), live with me.” Mitsuri blurted before shyly hiding her face in her hands. How could she ask that so suddenly? Never mind ask, she definitely didn’t even phrase it as a question!

“Huh?” Was all (Y/n) could get out before she forgot how her voice worked.

“Would, would you maybe, possibly consider maybe living with me?” Mitsuri tried again, her voice raised almost to the point of cracking with every word.

“...I wouldn’t want to impose.” (Y/n) nervously replied after a few moments, busying herself by stirring a pot that was in no need of attention.

“You wouldn’t be!” Mitsuri said with more conviction. “I really want you to come with me. I know you are proud of what you have managed to do for yourself, it’s better than anything I could ever make, but the more time passes, I can’t help but hate how you still live in this rundown, rickety, shack that I can clear in four strides!” Mitsuri demonstrated her point by walking from one wall to the other before turning back to (Y/n) with pleading eyes.

“Please, come live with me. I love you and you deserve more than this.”

“La, la, lalala, lov, love... love me?” (Y/n) quickly turned back to her cooking as the fire cracked so loud it made her jump. Why was she acting like this? Mitsuri loved a lot of people, she obviously meant a friendly, platonic kind of love and now she had just made it even more awkward!

But then (Y/n) jolted again when Mitsuri’s strong arms wrapped around her middle and her chin rested against her shoulder. The Hashira hummed an affirmative as she slowly began to rock them side to side. Between the heat of the low fire and the heat of Mitsuri’s front pressed against her back, (Y/n) was sure she was going to pass out.

“Please (Y/n), live with me?” Mitsuri asked softly. She kissed (Y/n)’s jaw as she moved.

“?!??!!” (Y/n) short circuited, lost in Mitsuri’s softness. Mitsuri merely giggled and rested another to (Y/n)’s cheek, then her ear, her temple, until—

“Oh dear!” Mitsuri gasped as (Y/n) fell limp in her arms. “(Y/n), are you alright? Are you sick? Why didn’t you say something? You shouldn’t be up!”

“I, I’m not sick,” (Y/n) mumbled, smoke rolling off of her like a steam boat, “It’s just a lot of touching that I’m not really used to yet.”

“Oh! Should I stop?”

“Gods no.” (Y/n) sighed and gripped onto Mitsuri’s haori so she couldn’t back away.

Mitsuri beamed brightly before resting a kiss over (Y/n)’s forehead and rubbed her back. “Come with me?” She asked again.

“I’d follow you to the bottom of the ocean if you asked.” (Y/n)’s eyes slipped shut as she enjoyed Mitsuri’s scattered kisses.

“Great! I can’t wait for you to meet all my friends! Iguro-san and Kabumaru will love you, Kyoujirou-san too! He’ll love your cooking. Just watch out for Shinobu though, she’s flirty.”

“Okay, I’ll stay vigilant.” (Y/n) laughed.

“Good girl,” Mitsuri nodded, “now let’s pack up all that you hold dear. We should be able to make it to my estate by dinner.”

“Yes, ma’am.” (Y/n) nodded excitedly in return. She took the little pail of water from the floor and doused the low flame, “maybe you’d like lunch first though? I’d hate for it to go to waste.”

“Yes! Lunch first and then the beginning of the rest of our lives!” Mitsuri amended, skipping over to the meal (Y/n) had prepared.

As they are together (Y/n) couldn’t help but grin. Mitsuri was right, food really did taste better when sharing it with people you love. The kisses and nuzzles throughout the meal didn’t hurt either.

[clarrissanewt]

Hello, I'm ashamed to say this is my 3rd time asking someone to do this request so pls put me out of my misery! If possible could you please do harryxfemreader where nobody knows the reader is really good with a broom? like a gymnast on a beam type of? You know how they do flips and stuff? One day harry comes across her doing tricks on the broom and keeps pestering to join the quidditch team for weeks after? Finally she agrees and In her first game she does a flip to avoid a bludger? Thankyou xx

Backflip

Pairing: Harry Potter x fem!reader

House: Gryffindor

Warnings: None

A/n: here I'm to actually end your misery *laughs nervously*

I'm no good at gymnastics and well, it's just a maiden attempt. Hope you like it!

Thanks for the request xx

September could never be bad. With a tattered, old book in hand, a thin, warm sweater over the shoulders, and a dancing fire in front of eyes- told you, it never could have been bad. At least for Potter.

And so, he didn't even notice when the portrait hole opened and when a highly exhausted Gryffindor plonked beside him. All thanks to the Prince.

It was only when Merlin knows what fell on his feet, he was yanked out of Prince and his little secrets.

"Oh- so sorry, Harry!"

The girl beside him plunged from her armchair to the rugged floor, hastily picking up the books that now sprawled within half a metre (his mind often exaggerates, and he admits it).

It took a minute for reality to hit him before he jumped to his feet. He had been lying in the common room for almost all day with Ron, who decided to ditch him and move to the Great Hall for some food. Not like he complained, though.

But her friend, who was currently plucking her scattered books, didn't look as fresh as he did. The reason, of course, was that she agreed with Hermione to waste her only holiday in the library (he is more than greatful that Hermione isn't an Occlumen, otherwise, she would have killed him before Voldemort did).

"Are you alright?" He asked her carefully as she fell back beside him, not minding that the rim of her feet brushed against the protuding stack of books.

"Yeah, just sneaked out of the library," she rubbed her eyes furiously as she avoided direct contact with the clicking flames. "If I'd gave opened another book, I'd have scorched my eyes for sure."

A smile crept into his face as he nodded in her direction. And definitely, she wasn't exaggerating (unlike him). Hermione had dragged her soon after their breakfast, and, by now, the sun was almost out of sight from the demarcations of the castle.

She did have a hectic day.

"Why don't you, maybe rest?" He advised, silently hoping she would decline it.

She did, but it wasn't what he even thought of.

"I think, I'm heading out. No, you aren't coming-" she was quick to halt his actions and gave out a small laugh. "Your nose still looks a bit displaced."

He silently rolled his eyes at the antics of his friend. She was almost completely out of sight before she appeared in front of him again.

"Erm- I was just thinking if you can lend me your Firebolt? Won't sabotage it, I swear."

And he was bumfuzzled. She was never interested in Quidditch, let alone be flying. He always saw her completely ignorant whenever a certain match was hotly discussed.

And now, it was of course impossible for him to stay put in the common room.

No surprises, he was always indulged in out of bounds.

At least four, he counted.

At least four times he had to clean his glasses to believe what was unfolding before his eyes.

The girl he had known for six years was nothing what he ever imagined.

The way her slender fingers left and gripped the broom in perfect intervals as she somersaulted within the deadly narrow range of the Firebolt almost made his heart do a backflip.

Wicked.

And again.

This was nothing he ever saw a wizard performing. The flips, the jumps, the movement of her limbs...they were magical.

He didn't even realize he had been gawking at her perfect dives and skills with his mouth ajar until he heard a low growl from the periphery of the Forbidden Forest.

Making a mental note to self to not keep his curiosity at bay, he decided to slip out undetected; hah, only if he could.

He stumbled upon few stray brooms and clenched his eyes shut as a gruff harsh cough reached the edge of his ears.

Sheepishly, he smiled at his friend (who seemed betrayed by her looks) and stroked a light-hearted conversation.

Thank, Merlin, she was nothing like Hermione.

And being the captain of Gryffindor Quidditch team, he had plans for tomorrow.

△▽△▽△

"I swear upon Merlin's whatever is left," she groaned as he followed her uncomplainingly (since he was no one to complain at this position), "repeat that again, and I'm hexing you."

"All fine with me if you join the trials."

"I'm not. Be scared of me!" She turned dramatically at him. "I can H-E-X you!"

"Trials-"

Pity him. She was gone.

By now he had almost lost the track of his pleadings. Now this was do or die- either she agrees, or he gets hexed.

No looking back.

He huffed out a deep breath before jogging towards her. And if Hermione and Ron had failed to pursue her, his last try had very little to do.

"Umm...hey- no! Wand down!"

She grinned at the terrified boy, and blew nothing but air over her wand, before latching it back into her pocket.

"If you are here for pestering again, come and help me with these," she pointed at the pots that perched on the floor which belonged to Neville, who had accidentally splashed some potion all over his hands, and now was in the hospital wing.

Harry nodded silently, the last hope also withering in front of his sight. As both of them hunched their backs and hugged the pots in their warm embrace, he tugged on her wrist (in his mind, he had planned his funeral in his mind already).

For a second, they both stood there, shivering under the evening wind.

"Please."

And her beautiful orbs twinkled as she smiled. "Just for this time. Watch it, Potter."

△▽△▽△

He couldn't have been more proud. His team was perfect. But only if the looks on the faces of Rona and Y/n told him so.

He and Hermione had been bugging them to eat something.

Easy to say on their part, of course.

And as she reluctantly tossed a single grape into her mouth, she wanted to double back her decision for agreeing with Potter that very second.

No looking back, of course.

Her fingers were malfunctioning so much by the next minute, she was sure she would screw up this match. Slytherins would be tough for sure.

For once in all her life, she wanted to get badly injured and run back to Madam Pomfrey. But instead, she was being dragged to the pitch by none other than the Chosen One himself.

"Harry, I- I think I'll mess up badly."

"Nonsense," he remarked nonchalantly and locked the Gryffindor lockers before asking for her numb hand again.

Except this time, she looked even more nervous.

"You want me to drug you like Ron?"

"Don't be stupid," she crushed him into a tight hug, which slightly loosened her own wild nerves. "I know you never dropped your liquid luck."

"Good. Now, come on."

And how exactly was she expected to guard three hoops when she couldn't stay still on a broom? She was repeatedly praying under her breath that Potter catches the snitch the next minute and they win.

But for another hour they continued scoring side kicking points while he skimmed the clouds for that tiny speck of gold.

He did, at last, sped towards it, soaring higher and higher, while her eyes distracted themselves from her own task. There was a second of gap where the snitch was within his reach, and bludger from her- oh, she had to defend.

She dived into the air with a graceful bent of her body and landed back effortlessly.

The cheers were loud, and yes, Harry had caught the snitch.

He couldn't help but smile goofily in her direction.

This was all he needed.

A backflip.

[chudleycanonficfest]

you belong with me

Day 11, story #1 is by @accio-broom

Title: you belong with me Author/Artist: accio-broom Pairing: Arthur Weasley / Molly Prewett Prompt:  Soulmate AU Rating: T Trigger Warning(s) (if any): None, unless Arthur Weasley trying to enjoy his birthday offends you.

When Arthur Weasley woke on the morning of the 6th February, nothing was out of the ordinary. He took his time, easing out of sleep like a man with nothing to do. He stretched out his body with a loud yawn, then pulled back the curtains of the four-poster bed, ignoring the attack of the winter air that filled the dorm room.

He was going to have a perfect day.

Wiggling his toes on the plush rug next to his bed, he greeted his fellow dorm mates.

“Morning, Ry.” Arthur tipped his head towards the Gryffindor on the bed opposite him. “How’s it hanging?”

Ryan was not a morning person, and he grumbled at Arthur before snuggling further under the duvet. Arthur chuckled and joined in the conversation about the latest Quidditch scores, trying his best to not lament too long on the disappointing Cannons scores. He gathered his wash bag, and made sure he had clean briefs with his uniform, then waved a cheery goodbye as he wandered off to the bathroom, whistling as he moved.

Today was Arthur Weasley’s birthday, and the day he came of age, although the notion was rather peculiar to him. He didn’t feel all that more responsible than he did yesterday, but according to Wizarding Law, he could now leave school, get a real job and get married, should he wish.

He scoffed as the thought of getting married flitted into his head, disappearing as quickly as it came. That would mean actually landing himself a girlfriend, something he hadn’t yet achieved during his six years at Hogwarts. He hadn’t even come close.

As he showered, Arthur mapped out his day in his head. If it all went to plan, he’d enjoy a big breakfast with the rest of his school friends. His classes today were straight forward—double Muggle Studies this morning, then Potions this afternoon. Between these would be lunch, and a free period, where hopefully, he’d be able to go for a fly, if the weather was okay.

If he survived the day, then he and his friends were planning a night of wizard chess, birthday cake and butterbeer, which hopefully Ryan was going to sneak from the kitchens for them.

Shower done, he dried himself off in front of one of the mirrors. As he did, he examined his body. He didn’t look any older than yesterday, there were no new lines or hairs on his body. He was still the same gangly lad with violent red hair and far too many freckles to count.

Arthur settled his glasses on his face, then loosened his towel. Without warning, a soft femine voice filled his head, taking him by surprise.

Merlin, I hate red hair.

Tightening the towel around his waist, he looked around the bathroom for the source of the sound. 

“H-hello?” he called out, but the only reply came from the echo of his greeting bouncing off the tiles. “I-is anyone there?”

I wish I were blonde or a brunette—anything but this. Nobody fancies redheads. 

His heart pounding, he checked all the nooks and crannies in the room, only to find that he was the only one there. The tips of his ears turned bright pink as he turned his attention back to his reflection. Dark circles sat under his eyes, and a frown covered his face. He was tired. It was the only explanation for the voice that was still filling Arthur’s ears with insecurities. There had been a few late nights in the library recently, as well as some early morning Quidditch practices. They must be catching up on him.

He’s no spring chicken, after all.

Hurriedly pulling on his uniform, he combed his hair then carried on whistling, hoping to block out the now persistent voice in his head.

⁂

The girl’s commentary didn’t stop whilst Arthur ate his breakfast. It filled his ears, dragging his shoulders down with negative thoughts and observations.

Everything is so greasy here, the voice wailed. No wonder I’m putting on weight. I’ll get spots if I carry on eating like this. I wish Mary wouldn’t wear so much perfume. It makes me feel sick.

The negativity depressed Arthur and was the last thing he needed on his birthday. He’d hoped for a nice day, full of presents, and easy lessons and time spent with his friends, but instead, Negative Nancy was ruining his time. He didn’t even fancy opening his gifts, which had been delivered by owl mail just as he sat down for breakfast.

Glancing down the table, he tried to work out the source of the interference in his brain, but the Gryffindor table was full of people, and conversations flew around them from every angle. He sniffed, wondering if Mary’s perfume could lead him in the right direction, but all he could smell was baked beans.

With a sigh, he shoved his second sausage into his mouth, letting the taste of his favourite breakfast food cheer him up, even if it was only a little bit.

Muggle studies was Arthur’s favourite topic, but he found it hard to concentrate as his head filled with arithmancy. He hated the subject, there was a reason he didn’t choose to continue the subject after their O.W.L.’s, so it irritated him greatly that the thoughts were disrupting learning more about muggle bridges. They were such beautiful contraptions, too.

Lunch was just as bad. Although the voice was annoying, Arthur was starting to get used to it. However, what was infuriating him was how familiar the voice sounded, yet he couldn’t work out who it belonged to. Whenever it filled his mind, it brought warm feelings and stirred something new deep inside his belly. Whatever was happening to him, he felt awkward that he was getting a very up close and personal look into someone else’s thoughts. Throughout the morning, he’d experienced such a vast range of emotions, and he felt like he might explode.

His birthday was going downhill rapidly.

By the time Potions came around, Arthur was exhausted. He arrived at class before the rest of his peers, and as soon as he settled into his usual seat, he folded his arms and rested his head on them. He was about to drop off to sleep when…

“Good afternoon, Arthur. Are you enjoying your birthday?”

Arthur’s ears pricked up. It was the same damn voice he’d been hearing all day, but this time it was loud and happening outside his head. Peeking over his arms, he watched as Molly Prewett sat down next to him and gave him a warm smile.

It was her, the voice inside his head. How had he not realised this before now?

Although he and Molly weren’t best friends, she had been his potions partner since their first year, and they often found themselves sharing a table in the library late at night. Could she hear his thoughts the same way he could listen to hers? Or was this all one-sided?

“Oh, yes, it’s fine,” he said, finally lifting his head from the desk. “Perfectly spiffing.”

Perfectly spiffing? He’s never spoken like that before, and definitely not to Molly Prewett. He usually chooses his words carefully around her, not wanting to look like an imbecile.

She giggled, and Arthur goggled at her. Was she only laughing at his choice of words, or was his internal commentary amusing her. His pulse started to quicken. There had been many thoughts throughout the day, some that would mortify him if anyone else heard.

Arthur checked on Slughorn, who was distracted writing today’s recipe on the board. Summoning the courage, Arthur took a deep breath then reached out with his mind. He crossed all his fingers and toes that this would work as he thought hard.

“Hello? Molly?”

All of a sudden, Molly sat upright in her seat. Her face turned towards him, and even through the smoke from their cauldron, Arthur could see that her eyes were wide, and her jaw was almost reaching the desk.

“Arthur? Oh Merlin, is that really you? Is it your voice I’ve heard all day?”

“Yes? I mean, I think so. I’ve been hearing your voice since I woke up, and I was curious to see if you could hear the same.”

A red blush crept from Molly’s neck and onto her cheeks, and Arthur was sure it wasn’t from their cauldron or the heat of the dungeons.

“How much did you hear?” Molly averted her gaze from him.

Arthur paused, weighing up his options. Should he lie and protect Molly from inevitable humiliation? Or should he tell her the truth? It was a difficult choice, and both came with a list of pros and cons. But Arthur wasn’t a dishonest man, and if this problem continued for much longer, Molly deserved to know what she was exposing him to.

Plus, if she was experiencing it too, then she probably had a good idea of what he’d heard.

Reaching a decision, he flexed his mind again. “All of it. I’m sorry, Molly. I tried my best to ignore it all, but it’s all I can hear.”

“What’s going on? Do you think we should go and see Madam Pomfrey?”

Despite the seriousness of the situation, Arthur couldn’t help but chuckle. The mind-reading was not an illness or spell damage, and they hadn’t been near each other recently, save for right now. 

It’s no coincidence that this started on the morning of his seventeenth birthday, and his brothers had mentioned something similar happening to them, although at the time, Arthur put it down to them yanking his wand. They often liked to tease him, as older brothers do.

It was Percival who’d mentioned it, while they were tinkering with a Muggle car in their father’s garage last summer.

“So, this school year is going to be fun for you, Arthur,” he’d said, a smile on his face. “Coming of age, you’re allowed to go to Hogsmeade without supervision, you’ll hopefully get your apparition licence too.”

Arthur had smiled, his stomach lurching with excited nerves. “If I pass.”

Bilius had piped up. “The family record is five attempts.”

“And Dad has never grown his eyebrows back.” Percival smirked at his brothers.

Arthur joined in with the laughter, relishing getting to spend time with Percival and Bilius. Percival had married almost straight out of school, and although Bilius remained single, he was always away on secret missions for the Order of the Phoenix.

Grinning at Arthur, Pervial spoke again. “Of course, apparition isn’t the hardest thing you’ll have to deal with. If the voices start, you’re in for a treat.”

“Voices?” Arthur fumbled with his screwdriver as a frown appeared on his face.

“Yeah, don’t you know?” Percival continued, adding oil to the engine. “When Weasley men come of age, they have a special way of finding their one true love.”

“What? No, you’re making this up. This is all fairy tale nonsense, surely? Bilius hasn’t met anyone!”

“How do think Perce landed his wife so quickly?” Bilius laughed. “Wasn’t his charm or good looks, that’s for sure.”

Percival and Bilius had erupted into giggles again. The tips of Arthur’s ears burned pink. There was no way this sort of thing happened, they were just having him on. But still, the thought had appealed to him. He was so unlucky in love, that the thought of being able to automatically identify his future wife had piqued his interest for sure.

Would he be like Percival or Bilius? Only time would tell.

⁂

Arthur hadn’t thought back on that conversation since it had happened. But if what his brothers had told him was true, then there were worse women in the world to be hearing in his head. Molly was kind and pretty. He’d always had a soft spot for her, but he’d never acted on it for fear of being rejected. Now, he probably didn’t have a choice.

Taking a huge breath, he reached for Molly’s hand and squeezed it. His grip trembled but felt it pertinent for him to try and be brave, given the enormity of what they were facing. In an attempt to distract himself from her internal panic, he wet his lips before finally whispering in a low voice, 

“What do you know about soulmates?”

[eliemo]

Waiting Arms

Summary: Janus and Remus had never hurt him, but that didn't mean they hadn't known. It didn't mean they wouldn't still try.Virgil can't handle the fear of going back to how things used to be. 

TWs: Panic attacks, mention of past abuse 

Masterpost

Taglist: @self-taught-mess @itawalrus @mygenderisidiot @a-very-gay-raccoon @dawnfire7 @cr4zyart @ray-does-stuff @whydoifeeltheneedtoorganizestuff @bunny222 (If i missed someone or you wanna be added just let me know!) 

Virgil pushed himself off the floor, arms struggling to support his weight as he managed to make it to his knees, unable to stop trembling as the pain in his ribs and face grew to an unbearable throb.

He bit back rising tears, grabbing the couch for support to pull himself to his feet. He deserved this, he knew that. He’d really messed up this time.

But that was ok. He’d had worse (much worse). He could handle this. All he needed to do was get back to his room, hide out for a few hours to let the everyone’s temper simmer down, and then cover his face with enough concealer to hide any marks left on his skin.

No need to let everyone see what he’d deserved. It would only serve as an invitation to let them do it again.

The room tilted a bit when he finally stood up, but it righted itself quickly as Virgil blinked, hissing against the flare of pain where he’d been struck just below his eye.

He just needed to make it up the stairs, lock the door of his room and then--

“Anxiety?”

Virgil froze, halfway to the stairs, forcing himself to straighten up as Deceit appeared in the kitchen doorway, watching curiously through mismatched eyes.

“You look well,” he drawled, and moved to point a finger to his own face, mirroring the mark on Virgil’s. “What happened there?”

Virgil scrambled for an acceptable answer, coming up short as the panic quickly returned. He was...acquainted with Deceit but he didn’t know how best to traverse the other side when he was angry. He’d somehow been lucky enough to avoid setting him off.

“I uhm, I was just--”

There was suddenly a hand on the back of his neck, digging into his black hoodie, cold and controlling even through the cloth, and Virgil quickly snapped his mouth shut, knowing who was behind him without needing to look.

“It was just a simple accident,” the voice behind him said, dripping with false gentility. “I was grabbing Anxiety an ice pack- we all know how clumsy he can be.”

Deceit frowned, eyes flickering between the two sides. At the time, Virgil hadn’t recognized what it was, but for just a second something dangerously close to hope had flickered in his chest. Because Deceit looked unconvinced.

But it was gone as quickly as it came, dying back down into cold helplessness as the snake just sighed, shook his head and sank back down to his room.

Before Virgil could even move, the ice pack was being swung forward like a weapon, finding purchase against his already bruised cheek, hard enough to send him stumbling back against the staircase with a cry of pain.

“You’re welcome,” the side snapped, uncaring as ever. “I did you a favor- making sure he doesn’t know how much of a fuck up you are. He hasn’t had to hurt you yet, has he?”

Virgil shook his head, doubting the other wanted a verbal response from him right now. He stayed tense, braced for another blow, clutching the stair railing like a lifeline.

But it was true. Deceit was one of the only sides that had never been given a reason to punish him, and Virgil was more than happy to keep it that way.

The light sides hated him, he knew that, but he was careful not to stick around long enough to let them take out their anger, much as he deserved it. He had enough of that already.

Remus hadn’t gotten around to punishing him either, but the other half of creativity was terrifying for a whole list of other reasons. Virgil knew better than to risk pissing him off.

“Let’s hope it stays that way,” the other side said, tossing the unused ice pack in the trash. “Can you make it to your room?”

Virgil quickly nodded, knowing full well the question wasn’t asked out of sympathy or concern. The last time he hadn’t been able to walk on his own he’d practically been dragged by his hair up the stairs and down the hall, cruel hands only tugging harder when he struggled.

The other side apparently took his word for it, thankfully turning away without another remark, sinking out and leaving Anxiety alone again.

Virgil blinked, leaning back against the headboard of his bed, mulling over the memory for what had to be the third time that evening.

That had to have been...what, years ago? Too long ago to know for sure.

That was just...how things had been back then. Virgil was pushed around, beaten and berated, constantly punished for things that (he now knew) should never have been a big deal.

But he’d assumed it was normal. Normal for Anxiety to be hated and hurt, normal to be terrified of any mistake, no matter how small. Because his presence was tolerated, not wanted. Because he was a villain.

He’d believed it. All of it. And so naturally, he’d just as easily believed Janus and Remus were just as likely to punish him.

Everyone wanted to hurt Virgil. The light sides, the dark sides, and the sides Thomas would never see. That was what Anxiety was there for.

If a side hadn’t hurt Virgil, it was only because they hadn’t been given a reason yet. They would eventually.

But now...looking back on it, maybe it wasn’t so simple. They’d lied about why they’d hurt him, he knew that now, so maybe they’d lied about Janus and Remus too.

They’d told him Patton, Roman, and Logan would hurt him just as happily as anyone else, and that couldn’t be further from the truth.

So maybe lying to Janus every time he’d been caught with a black eye or bloody nose hadn’t been to spare Virgil from another beating. Maybe it was just to cover up their own lies and abuse.

Maybe Janus and Remus hadn’t joined in the abuse because they hadn’t known. And if they’d known it would have stopped.

God, Virgil hoped they hadn’t known.

He didn’t know what he’d do if they had, and they’d just watched and let it happen. He didn’t know what the others would do.

It was the reason he hadn’t asked yet, too terrified to hear the answer, even as Janus revealed his name and gradually began to fit into their lives, and Remus inevitably began hanging around more.

Because...because what if they had? What if they were just as willing to hurt him as the others had been? What if things went right back to how they used to be?

He knew...he knew the others would never let that happen. Accepting Janus was a shaky process, and they were getting there, but Virgil knew that if Janus attempted to strike him…

Well, it wouldn’t be pretty. He knew how protective his family was when it came to sending him back to that awful mindset.

But if Janus and Remus were aware, if they were living under the assumption that Virgil was there to be a punching bag…

All his progress would be undone. He’d go right back to how things had been, always terrified and overly cautious, any little slip up enough to send him into a mindless, blinding panic.

He couldn’t do that. He couldn’t live like that again. Not after being safe for so long.

So when Logan asked if Virgil had plans to tell Janus and Remus, he’d quickly shut the idea down and disappeared into his room before the logical side could offer any convincing argument.

Not knowing was better. He could just assume everything was fine and continue on like normal. If he never asked, never clarified, he couldn’t be given the answer he was dreading.

Of course, nothing could ever be so simple for him, could it?

It was mid afternoon, all of them dispersing to wind down after their usual routine of yelling at each other in Thomas’s living room until their host somehow came to a conclusion, and Virgil had wandered into the kitchen for something to drink.

Janus was already there, leaned back in the dining room chair with what looked like a glass of wine, and for just a second Virgil hesitated.

He and Janus had been...working on their rocky relationship. Slowly. They were getting there, Virgil just...wasn’t sure how he felt about being alone with him.

Because if there was no one around to stop him, and Virgil ended up doing something wrong and Janus had been perfectly aware of the abuse then there was nothing stopping him from--

“Virgil,” Janus greeted, easy and welcoming. “There definitely aren’t any leftovers from last night in the fridge.”

Virgil relaxed, allowing an easy smile to slip onto his face. Nobody had any reason to be upset with him. It was fine.

And he had to admit, aside from the lingering fear that refused to give him a moment of peace, having Janus and Remus around was...not as bad as he initially thought it would be.

He put the leftovers in the microwave and carefully got out one of the plastic cups to fill up with water while he waited.

Janus had made a smug remark about using plastic cups the first time he’d joined them for dinner.

The energy in the room had suddenly dipped, Logan and Patton exchanging nervous glances while Roman squeezed Virgil’s hand so tight he thought it might bruise.

Janus must have picked up on the importance of the plastic, because the dishes were used without further complaint ever being brought up again.

Virgil was yanked from his thoughts when Remus suddenly made his appearance in the kitchen, his Morning Star slamming down on the counter just inches from the anxious side, a hand coming down to rest on the back of his neck.

It was a textbook example of what would trigger Virgil into a panic attack, but of course Remus wouldn’t know that. No one had told him because Virgil had specifically asked them not to- not yet anyway- and he was suddenly understanding why Logan had been so hesitant to honor his wishes.

He lurched back so fast, twisting out of Remus’s hold, that he briefly forgot there was a drink in his hand, the water sloshing over the edge and seeping into the rug below his feet.

“Very mature,” Janus said, draining the rest of his glass. “Do you two mind not making a mess? I’m trying to unwind.”

Janus wasn’t angry. Amused, if anything. Virgil could have easily locked onto his tone and recognized that if he’d been just a bit more put together.

But Remus was grinning, blocking the exit, and wielding a weapon (he was usually wielding a weapon, there was no reason Virgil should be this frightened), and it was quickly growing impossible to latch onto rational thought.

“It’s not my fault Emo’s so clumsy,” Remus said, twirling his Morning Star until it rested over his shoulder, and Virgil desperately willed himself to just calm down. “I was just saying hi!”

He’d made a mess and he was trapped. He was outnumbered too...it would be so easy for Janus and Remus to grab him and--

But they wouldn’t. Not where the others could see. But...but the others weren’t here. Not right now. Where were they?

“Patton’s not gonna be happy about that spill,” Remus said, with a tone that Virgil would know was simple teasing under any other circumstance. “Don’t you think we should teach the emo a lesson, Jan?”

He was joking, he was joking. Remus was so clearly joking- they did stupid shit like this all the time. This was when Virgil would promptly tell Remus to go fuck himself, the Duke would make a sexual innuendo and stick around just long enough to steal some of his food.

That was how it was. Because despite everything, Virgil and Remus got along. When Virgil wasn’t struggling to convince himself he wasn’t about to be beaten to death.

He swallowed, his throat having suddenly gone cold and dry. “He...they- they won’t let you, Remus.”

“Aw, what’s wrong, Virgey? Scared of me?”

Yes. Terrified. But he couldn’t say that- he wasn’t supposed to be afraid. He’d made a mess, he’d ruined things, he was expected to understand and take the pain.

But it wasn’t like that anymore. He was supposed to be safe.

Virgil kept his hands behind him to hide the way they’d started shaking, curling them around the kitchen counter, and he cautiously glanced at Janus in one last desperate cry for help.

He just raised an amused eyebrow at Remus, not bothering to hide his smirk. “I believe Logan is napping. Just try not to wake him up, whatever you do.”

And just like that, it was back. The helplessness, the fear, the feeling of being trapped and cornered like some kind of cowardly animal people took sadistic joy in kicking around for fun.

Virgil was darting forward before he really even thought about it, too frantic to consider sinking out, eyes only on the exit to the rest of the mindscape where he could get help--

But Remus was faster of course, having been stood just inches away from the anxious side to begin with, dropping his weapon in favor of grabbing Virgil around the waist and abruptly hoisting him off the floor.

“Remus!” It came out much more strangled than he would have liked, but that was the least of his worries. “Let me- let me go.”

“Aw come on, we’re just having fun!”

Virgil wanted to fight- he wanted to kick and scream and do whatever he could to get out of the Duke’s grasp. He needed to get free, he needed to run and find one of the others. They would help him. They’d promised.

But he couldn’t. He couldn’t move, frozen in the confining hold, eyes wide and breathing erratic. He couldn’t fight back because if he struggled…

Whenever he struggled it was worse. He wasn’t supposed to fight back. He deserved whatever came next.

But he had people who would help him now. But those people weren’t here-

“Remus.” That was Janus’s voice, muffled by Virgil’s own racing heart, and he thought he saw the other side stand from his chair. “Remus let him go.”

“Aw, but I’m--”

“Remus, put him down now!”

The yelling made it worse- overwhelming and loud and angry-

Remus let go without warning, which meant Virgil was on the ground before he could even blink, on his back and defenseless.

Remus was looking down at him, head tilted like a confused puppy, playful grin gradually dropping into something more confused.

“You alright, Emo?”

Virgil was already scrambling backwards, desperate and uncoordinated, only stopping when he found himself pressed up against the bottom of the kitchen counter.

Remus and Janus were both standing now, watching with a mix of perplexion and rare concern. Janus took a step forward, and Virgil’s hands moved to protect his face.

“Virgil—“

“You can’t.” He knew begging wouldn’t get him anywhere, as close as he was to falling into an endless string of pleas. But maybe he could get them to understand that they couldn’t do this anymore.

“Y-you- you can’t, you can’t they won’t- Thomas won’t he said- he said—“

“I don’t understand, Virgil.” Janus was lowering himself to one knee, no longer looming above him, and Remus was hurriedly backing up like Virgil was a bomb rigged to explode. “Can you explain to me what’s wrong?”

Virgil couldn’t breathe. Janus was too close and the exit was still blocked and he couldn’t take a single breath.

“Please don’t,” he found himself begging, pathetic and useless as ever. “You can’t hurt me, you can’t . Not anymore not- T-Thomas won’t—“

“Wait what?” Remus called from the doorway. “Hurt you? Shit, Virge I wasn't gonna—“

“Virgil, you need to breathe,” Janus said. “One deep breath, you’re alright.”

He shook his head, hating himself for the way he’d so quickly been reduced to a trembling, terrified mess, hating the way both dark sides could so clearly see it.

“Can’t,” he managed through frantic wheezes. “I can’t, I- please please don’t, I don’t want to be hurt again please.”

His words were met by a brief string of silence, heavy and unsure, Janus’s gloved hands hovering helplessly in the air.

“Virgil.” Janus’s voice made Virgil freeze, something steady but so clearly struggling not to be angry. “Have they hurt you before?”

“I…” he was struggling to answer, to wrap his head around what was being asked. “I don’t—”

“Virgil,” Janus said again, hand still outstretched but not touching, brown and gold eyes intense enough to be staring into his soul. “The others. Did they hurt you?”

Virgil swallowed, unable to stop shaking, arms still held out to protect his face, all his attention focused solely on the anger Janus was obviously trying not to show.

He couldn’t lie. Janus would obviously know if he was telling the truth or not- that's who he was. Virgil couldn’t risk making him even more upset.

“They- they did,” he forced out, his own voice small and unsteady. “I’m s-sorry I thought you--”

“Guys?” There was movement somewhere behind Janus, a glimpse of white and gold. “What’re you- oh shit, Virgil!”

Virgil stopped at the new presence at the doorway, the relief that flooded at the sight of Roman dizzying, even as he choked and struggled to breathe on the kitchen floor.

Roman started forward, eyes shining with that gentle worry Virgil had long ago learned to recognize through the haze of panic.

But Remus was suddenly in front of his brother, Morning Star back in his hand, effectively blocking his path. Roman stopped, concern shifting to surprise- then quickly to cold fury.

“Remus,” he practically growled. “Get out of my way.”

“I don’t think I will.”

“Remus, he’s having a panic attack!” Roman’s eyes briefly met Virgil’s, before his view was blocked again. “He doesn’t know what’s happening! This isn’t funny!”

“No, it’s not,” Janus said, standing from his crouch. “So you better tell us what the hell you did to him.”

“I- what?”

“He thinks we’re going to hurt him,” Remus snapped. “Why the fuck does he think that, Roman?”

Everyone was angry (why was everyone so loud?), all of them looming above him, standing over him to keep him down, all of them close enough to grab or hurt him if he made one wrong move.

What was Roman doing? Why wasn’t Roman helping him? He could barely make out the Prince from where he was...was he just letting this happen?

“Virgil?” Janus was talking to him again, glancing between Roman and the trembling lump on the floor. “You’re hyperventilating, V, you need to--”

“Of course he’s hyperventilating!” Roman said, and Virgil jumped at the sudden volume. He sounded angry. Had..had he managed to make Roman upset too? “You idiots won't let me help him!”

Remus held his ground, weapon still raised, and Roman looked like he was seconds away from drawing his sword against his brother.

“I’m not letting you near him until you tell us exactly why he’s so convinced someone’s about to beat him!”

“I will, just--”

“He said you hurt him! He fucking said that, Roman!”

“It’s- shit, Remus it’s not like that--”

Janus was suddenly crouched in front of Virgil again, blocking his view of the fight, his voice close enough to muffle the yelling.

“I need you to breathe,” he said, voice taking on a gentle tone Virgil hadn’t heard in a long time. “You’ll be alright, but I need you to breathe with me.”

Virgil shook his head, pressing further back against the counter, nails digging into the rug beneath him. He couldn’t breathe- wouldn’t force himself to calm down when he knew the second he did it would only be met with pain and punishment, right when he’d started to think he was safe.

He wasn’t safe. He was never safe, they would always hurt him because he deserved-

Janus reached for his hand, already starting a vaguely familiar breathing exercise, but Virgil yanked his arm back, hardly registering the flare of pain that came from slamming into the counter, the fear suffocating.

“Don’t!” He snapped, too shaky and quiet to be intimidating in the slightest. But Janus froze nonetheless, the human side of his face falling. “Don’t- don’t touch me, you can’t do this anymore!”

“Virgil--” 

It was too loud, everyone was too loud and angry and he’d managed to upset everyone again. He didn’t know where Patton or Logan were (had he upset them too? Had he done something wrong? Maybe they’d finally decided to let things go back to how they were), and he could barely hear anything Janus was trying to say.

And then, fueled only by panicked instinct rather than rational thought, Virgil forced himself to sink out, the storm of sound from the kitchen fading just like that.

He was still on the ground, fingers now digging into plush carpet, everything finally still and quiet.

But he still couldn’t breathe, still drowning under the knowledge that everything had gone back to the way it was. Everyone was angry, everyone wanted him to hurt—

“Virgil?”

He jumped, scrambling to his feet despite knowing somewhere in the back of his mind that he hadn’t gone back to his own room, not wanting to be alone. He was never safe when he was alone.

“Virge? Buddy, what’s wrong?”

Virgil realized he’d left the mindscape as soon as he saw Thomas toss his phone aside and get up from the couch- and he wanted to sob at the utter relief that came with seeing his kind and worried gaze.

“I’m sorry,” he gasped, more on instinct than anything else, but he had popped in without any warning, wheezing and crying and probably freaking Thomas out. “I just...c-can I stay? Please, I can’t- I can’t go back, I don’t--”

“Hey hey hey, you’re ok,” Thomas said, stopping just a few paces from Virgil. “Of course you can stay, bud. You can stay with me as long as you want.”

Thomas smiled, small and hopeful as he opened his arms in a wordless invitation, and Virgil didn’t hesitate before flinging himself forward and sobbing into Thomas’s chest, his legs threatening to give out when arms moved to wrap around him, protective and secure.

“There you go,” Thomas said, rocking them both gently, his steady heartbeat beating in Virgil’s ear. I’ve got you. I’ve got you, you’re ok. What’s going on, Virge?”

He clutched the material of Thomas’s shirt, willing himself to breathe normally, his gasps still coming in too short and too fast, wincing at the sound of his own awful wheezes.

“I-I c-can't- I can’t do it again,” he sobbed, vaguely aware he was probably ruining Thomas’s shirt, but the host didn’t seem to mind. “They...it stopped and now i-it’s gonna happen again and I can’t--”

“Alright, slow down,” Thomas soothed, making no move to let go. “Focus on my breathing, ok? Try and copy me.”

“I-I...I can’t--”

“Yes you can. I’m right here, you’re safe, I promise you’ll be ok. But you need to breathe, Virgil. Please, you’re scaring me.”

That was enough to get through to Virgil, a bit of reason amidst the panic. Thomas was already scared, and Virgil was only going to amplify that. And if he hurt Thomas ...oh god, if Thomas was affected by this it would only give everyone another excuse to be angry--

“Sorry,” he forced out around his obnoxious crying. God why couldn’t he just be quiet? “S-sorry, sorry, I’m so sorry Thomas, I can try to--”

“Don’t apologize,” Thomas said, holding him tighter. “I’m not angry, bud, I’m worried. Just try to breathe with me, ok?”

Virgil squeezed his eyes shut and nodded, willing his racing thoughts to quiet just long enough for him to listen, to focus on Thomas’s slow and steady breaths, on the rise and fall of his chest.

The panic didn’t fade, the feeling that at any moment someone would appear to drag him back blaring like an alarm, but after a few moments the ache in his chest began to ebb, and Virgil felt himself come back just a bit.

“There you go,” Thomas praised, even as Virgil’s breathing continued to be broken up by sobs, still shaky and small and much too fast. “You’re doing so well. You’ll be ok.”

Virgil shook his head, shuddering when Thomas reached up to cup the back oh his head. “They- they’re gonna do it again and I can’t, I--”

“Virgil--”

“Please.” He couldn’t pull away, couldn’t look up and risk seeing pity or annoyance, the dismissal of Virgil’s fear that would leave him helpless and alone all over again, like nothing had ever changed. “Please don’t let them do it again, Thomas please. You said- you- you said...just please don’t change your mind, Thomas, please.”

His words were met with silence, the living room still and quiet for just a moment before Thomas loosened his grip.

“Let’s...why don’t we get you over to the couch? I don’t think you’re thinking very clearly.”

Virgil couldn’t move, ice cold dread clawing at his throat. “Please...please, Thomas, please.”

“Hey.” Thomas was suddenly in front of him, hands on Virgil’s shoulders practically keeping him upright, and the anxious side warily met his gaze. “I promise, I won't let anything bad happen to you, Virgil. I don’t know what you think is happening right now, but we said no one would ever hurt you again, right?”

“I...but they- what if they--?”

“We can talk about it when you’re calm,” Thomas said. “You’re exhausting yourself. But I can promise you, things will never go back to the way they were. Ever. We love you Virge, and that’ll never change. Do you understand?”

Virgil blinked, breath caught in his throat, struggling to latch onto the words he so desperately wanted to believe, fighting to just listen and relax.

“It’s ok if you don’t right now,” Thomas added when Virgil didn’t respond, and nothing about his tone hinted that he was annoyed or upset. “I know you’re not completely here right now. But you protect us, right? So just...believe me when I say we’re gonna do the same for you.”

And then Virgil was suddenly being led forward, the unfortunately familiar exhaustion eating away at the lingering panic, everything feeling oddly distant and dull.

He allowed Thomas to lower him onto his back against the couch cushions, fighting back another hiccuping sob when something soft gently wiped away his tears.

Thomas was talking to him again, soothing but worried, and by the time Virgil thought he heard other voices join in, his eyes had already slipped closed.

When Virgil woke up again, it only took a few terrifying moments to realize he was on Thomas’s couch, the events of the afternoon flooding back, along with the shame and embarrassment. Just like always.

Damn. He’d really fooled himself into believing he was getting better, huh? It’d had been weeks since he’d panicked that badly...he’d actually started to think he was over that.

But then again, this had been...different. Janus and Remus hadn’t known. They could very well be under the impression that hurting Virgil was expected. Encouraged, even.

God, he should have asked. He should have set the record straight as soon as Janus was accepted. Now they might be upset or angry, and they could be planning to--

There were footsteps from the kitchen, making their way towards the couch. They stopped as soon as Virgil’s breath hitched, his fingers curling into the blanket that had been carefully placed over him.

“Kiddo?”

He instantly relaxed at Patton’s voice, just over a whisper, and he let out a shaky breath as the steps continued.

“Hey,” Patton said, setting down a mug on the coffee table and kneeling beside the couch. “How’re you feeling?”

Virgil shrugged and struggled to sit up, wincing when pain shot down his arm, gratefully accepting the help Patton quickly offered. “I’m fine. Just...just tired.”

“I’ll bet,” Patton said, when Virgil was situated. “I heard you had quite a scare today.”

Virgil’s cheeks suddenly felt hot, well aware of how pathetic everyone probably thought he was. “It was dumb.”

“You and I both know it wasn’t,” Patton said and then paused, suddenly averting his gaze. “I heard what happened. And...we had to tell Janus and Remus. About why you reacted that way.”

Virgil’s stomach churned, and he really hoped he wasn’t about to throw up. He’d already embarrassed himself enough for one day.

“Ok,” he said, voice back to that small, shaking whisper. “What did they say?”

Patton took his hand and squeezed, brown eyes big and pleading behind his glasses. “They feel horrible, Virgil. They really do.”

His words loosened some of the panic in Virgil’s gut, but...but it didn’t get rid of it completely. “Ok.”

“They didn’t know,” Patton added, like he could read Virgil’s mind. “We had to explain it to them. They were in the same boat we were.”

“That’s...that’s good. I guess.” He hesitated, blinking down and Patton’s fingers intertwined with his own. “I...I guess I was worried things were going to go back. To...you know. How they were.”

“I know, honey,” he said, and suddenly Patton was pulling him into a hug, the angle a bit awkward but warm and safe all the same, and Virgil melted into the embrace. “But it won’t. Not ever. Even if Remus and Janus wanted to- which they don’t- we wouldn’t let them.”

Patton pulled back before Virgil could say anything, reaching forward to cup the anxious side’s face, forcing him to meet his eyes.

“We wouldn’t,” he said again. “We wouldn’t let them, Virge. You know that, right?”

And it took every ounce of willpower Virgil had left not to burst into tears once again. Because he did. And he remembered Thomas saying something similar.

“Yeah,” he choked out, chest loosening when Patton smiled. “I do, Pat. I know.”

Patton’s smile only grew, and he leaned forward to give Virgil a quick kiss on the forehead, and for just a second everything in the world felt right. Peaceful.

“I sent Thomas to bed a little while ago,” he explained, and it was only then that Virgil realized how dark the living room was. “He wanted to see you, but…”

“He needs the rest,” Virgil said, knowing he’d probably done a number on Thomas’s anxiety. Great. “I didn’t mean to stress him out, I just...I wasn’t thinking.”

“He’s not angry,” Patton assured. “None of us are. You panicked, and you went to someone you felt safe with. I’m proud of you.”

Virgil had honestly expected to be reprimanded for the impulsive decision. Gently reprimanded, of course, because it was Patton, but told off all the same. His job was to keep Thomas safe and vigilant, not freak him out because of his own stupid panic attack.

But he did feel safe with Thomas. Going to him had been nothing but instinct and desperation, and he’d helped. More than anyone else probably could have in that moment.

He’d needed the reassurance, and Patton knew that. Thomas probably did too. He understood them better than he let on.

“The others are still awake,” Patton continued when it became clear Virgil didn’t have an answer. “They’re...really worried about you, if you’re willing to see them. It can wait until morning if you’re--”

“No.” Logically, he knew nobody was mad at him. He just...knew he wouldn’t get much rest until he saw it for himself. “No, I- I can see them now. It’s ok.”

Patton smiled, clearly relieved, and sank out with promises to be back in just a few seconds. Virgil leaned back, breathing in the silence and pushing the blanket away as he leaned back against the cushions.

True to his word, Patton was back in seconds, Roman and Logan rising up right behind him. Neither of them looked...great.

He had no idea what time it was, but it was clear they’d all been up for a while, waiting to talk to him. Logan’s tie was askew, his shirt wrinkled, and Virgil vaguely remembered the logical side agreeing to take a short nap that afternoon. He hoped he hadn’t woken him up.

Roman looked far worse, his sash gone, jacket undone and his hair (usually kept in perfect condition) an unkempt mess, like he’d been constantly running his fingers through it.

Virgil didn’t think he’d ever seen the prince look so disheveled. He didn’t like knowing he was the reason behind it.

Janus and Remus didn’t appear with them, and didn’t seem to be making any plans to. Virgil tried not to think too hard about that.

Roman was already rushing forward before anyone could say anything, dropping to his knees in front of the couch. It was his usual dramatic grandeur, but there was real fear and regret behind the act.

“I’m so sorry,” he said, quieter than Virgil expected, and the anxious side quickly took the prince’s hands in his. “I should have- I tried to get to you but we- there was a stupid misunderstanding and I--”

“I know, Roman.” There had been a moment of confused terror back in the kitchen, his panicked brain unable to understand why Roman wasn’t helping. “I think- Remus thought you were...you know…”

“Janus and Remus believed that we were the ones who had been hurting you,” Logan said, and his voice sounded...strained. Hurt. “From their perspectives, keeping Roman away from you was the best course of action.”

Virgil swallowed, suddenly realizing how much fear and confusion he must have caused everyone. “I- I’m so sorry, I think I told them...god, I didn’t mean to.”

Roman pulled himself up on the couch and Virgil scooted over to give him room as the prince pulled him close, and he fell against his chest.

“It’s quite alright,” Logan said, shoulders relaxing when Patton squeezed his hand. “It’s been straightened out. And of course, no one blames you for poor communication during a panic attack.”

“It’s no one’s fault,” Patton jumped in. “It was just...a scary miscommunication. We all just wanted to help you, kiddo.”

Virgil had no intention of pulling away from Roman, but he held out a hand for Logan to take and pulled the logical side onto the couch, Patton following behind.

The angle wasn’t ideal, but they organized themselves into some kind of sloppy group hug, and to Virgil it was beyond perfect. For a moment he closed his eyes and listened to their breathing, their familiar presence on all sides.

He was safe. He was, and he always would be. What happened for all those years was...it was wrong. He knew that now. And it wasn’t going to happen again.

There was no reason for his chest to still feel so tight.

He wasn’t sure how long they stayed like that, wrapped up safely in each other’s silence, but a flash of movement from the doorway made Virgil pull back, the others reluctantly following.

Janus stood in the light from the kitchen, looking like he’d just been about to sink back out, straightening abruptly when he realized all eyes had turned to him.

“I apologize,” he said quickly, and Virgil didn’t think he’d ever heard him sound so uneasy. “I didn’t mean to interrupt. I can come back later.”

“You’re fine,” Virgil said without even really considering it. “You can come in.”

Janus hesitated, looking to the others for some kind of unspoken permission before making his way into the living room, all his movements eerily out of character.

He smiled, still a few steps away from the couch, the gesture not quite meeting his eyes. “You seem to be feeling better.”

Virgil wasn’t sure if that was a lie or not, but he shrugged all the same. “Yeah, I’m uh...I’m fine, I guess.”

He felt that familiar, overwhelming need to apologize again, but he bit his tongue and pushed it away. Patton seemed to notice, sending him a small, proud smile.

“I’d like to talk to you,” Janus said. “Alone, if you’re up for it.”

The twist in his chest was back, tightening worse than before, but Virgil resolutely ignored it, digging his hands into the blanket and forcing himself to breathe.

“You don’t have to, of course,” Janus said quickly, raising his gloved hands. “It’s been a long day. It can wait.”

“I’m ok,” Virgil said, pushing past the rising anxiety, the doubt and old fears piling up. He owed Janus a chance. “We can talk. It’s fine.”

Logan and Patton exchanged glances, and Roman was watching him skeptically, all of them oddly silent.

“It’s ok,” he promised. “Seriously, guys. I’m fine, all of you need to go to bed. It’s late.”

Patton sighed, flashing Janus a sympathetic smile before standing up from the couch, the others slowly following suit.

“Both of you get some sleep when you’re done,” he said, before turning back to Virgil. “My door is open all night if you need me, honey. Don’t be afraid to come get me.”

Virgil nodded, bid them all a quiet goodnight as they sank out, leaving him and Janus alone in the dimly lit living room.

It took a moment, neither of them knowing quite what to say, but Virgil scooted aside and Janus sat on the other end of the couch, gloved hands folded neatly in his lap, staring straight ahead at nothing.

For a traitorous second, Virgil expected to be hit. They were alone now, if Janus had been lying, now was the perfect time to punish him.

Janus took a breath, speaking so softly for a moment Virgil almost thought it wasn’t directed at him. “You used to be incredibly accident prone.”

He blinked, risking a glance up at the other side, only able to see the scaled side of his face from where he sat.

“You fell quite a lot,” he continued, and Virgil wondered if he was being insulted. “You always seemed to have...cuts or bruises somewhere. I remember I once caught you with a particularly nasty bruise below your eye. I don’t remember who it was- it was so long ago- but they said it was an accident. They brought you an ice pack.”

Virgil swallowed, clasping his hands together, knowing exactly what Janus was referring to, despite the situation being identical to so many in the past.

Janus finally turned to look at him, eyes filled with so much pain and regret, Virgil momentarily forgot how to breathe. “Those weren’t accidents, were they?”

It wasn’t a question. Janus knew the answer. But Virgil shook his head regardless, stubbornly swallowing against the lump forming in his throat, the familiar stinging behind his eyes.

“Oh Virgil,” Janus whispered, faint and broken. “Virgil, I’m so sorry. Why didn’t you tell me?”

Virgil shrugged, blinking up at the ceiling to keep the tears at bay before answering. “I thought you knew. They said...they told me you would just do it too. I thought...I thought everyone knew.”

Janus didn’t respond at first, still watching Virgil with someone unreadable in his eyes. And then, slowly, he began peeling off one of his gloves.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m telling you the truth,” Janus said. “I need you to believe me.”

“You...you don’t have to do that.” Virgil’s voice broke, and he quickly wiped away a stray tear. “I trust you.”

Janus just shook his head, removed his glove and set it aside, then carefully held up his now bare right hand.

“Virgil,” he said. “Look at me.”

Virgil obeyed, taking a shaky breath before glancing up to meet Janus’s eyes, forcing himself not to look away as he spoke.

“Virgil,” he started, leaning in closer, voice low and almost desperate. “I didn’t know. I swear, Remus and I didn’t know. If we did- if we thought for a second that something like that was happening- we would have stopped it. Immediately.”

And Virgil...somewhere behind the panic Virgil had known that. He hadn’t thought Janus had lied to the others, and he had certainly been more than eager to protect him when he’d thought Roman was a threat.

But hearing him say it, the raw emotion he so rarely heard in the snake’s voice, the way he looked so desperate for Virgil to listen and believe his promise…

He was curling in on himself before he could even try to stop, a tiny hiccuping sob breaking free from his chest, fresh tears now freely streaming down his face.

Janus put a hand on his back, another moving to cup the back of his head, slowly moving him forward until Virgil rested against his chest, gripping Janus’s sleeves.

It wasn’t quite a hug, they weren’t ready for that just yet. But they’d get there. And right now, this...this was exactly what Virgil needed.

“I’m sorry,” Janus said again, and Virgil could count on one hand the number of times he’d heard a genuine, heartfelt apology come from him. “I’m sorry, Virgil. I wish I’d put a stop to it a long time ago.”

Virgil shrugged, squeezing his eyes shut in an attempt to avoid crying all over Janus’s clothes, desperately fighting back another sob.

“I thought about telling you,” he managed, small and muffled. “So many times. You were- you were nice. You tolerated me, you...you were the only one.”

Janus’s grip tightened, just for a moment. “I...hadn’t realized.”

Virgil laughed at that, the sound humorless and dry. “They said you knew. They said...they- they said you’d hurt me too once I pissed you off. I was...shit, Janus I was so scared. I was always so fucking scared.”

He heard Janus’s breath catch, felt him suddenly go very still and silent.

“I thought you knew,” Virgil said again. “And then I- I learned that it wasn’t...normal. When you and Remus started showing up I was so...I thought you would make me go back. I thought it was going to happen again.”

“I know.” Janus took a breath, pulling away slightly to look Virgil in the eyes. “But it won’t.”

Virgil nodded, covering his hands with his sleeves and wiping at his soaked face. “I don’t...I still don’t get it. I don’t understand why they hated me so much.”

“I don’t either.” Janus squeezed Virgil’s hand before reaching over to grab his glove. “I really don’t. But you’re safe now, and if they ever come anywhere near you again--”

“You’ll kill them, I know.” Virgil managed a smile, small but genuine all the same, pulling his hoodie tight around himself. “Get in line.”

Janus matched his smile, both visibly relaxing, and Virgil realized the tight feeling in his chest had almost disappeared. It wasn’t gone entirely, not yet, but it was better. They would be ok.

“Remus wants to...give you some space I think,” Janus said, and Virgil tried not to think too hard about what that meant. “Are you ok to be alone tonight? I can always stay.”

“I’m fine. Really, I’m just...probably gonna head to bed.” Virgil knew full well he wasn’t going to try and get any more sleep, not unless he wanted a full night of reliving traumatic memories through vivid nightmares, but Janus didn’t need to know that.

The snake hummed, slipping his yellow glove back on and standing up from the couch. Virgil hesitated, not wanting to risk falling on his face in front of anyone right now.

“Well, I hope you get some rest,” Janus said, gradually starting to sound like himself again, but still genuine and warm. “I...hope you feel like you can come to me if you need anything. Just as long as you don’t wake me up before nine.”

Virgil laughed as the other side sank out, chest loosening even more. He shut his eyes for a moment, silently counting out his own breathing, before pushing himself to his feet and sinking back out into the mindscape.

He rose up in the common area with the intent of grabbing a snack and heading back to his room for the foreseeable future, but he quickly realized he wasn’t alone when there was movement and a flash of green on the couch.

“Shit!” Remus shouted, then instantly looked like he regretted it when Virgil jumped. “Fuck- I mean, shit, sorry Virge, I’m leaving, I was just--”

“It’s fine,” Virgil said quickly, hating...whatever side of Remus this was. He wasn’t supposed to be so careful and on edge. Ever. It went against everything he represented. “Seriously, it’s...it’s chill. I’m just grabbing some food.”

He didn’t move and neither did Remus, both of them standing on opposite ends of the mindscape living room, neither quite willing to meet the other’s gaze.

Remus spoke first, loud and sudden, but Virgil didn’t flinch. “I’m so fucking sorry, Virgil.”  

Virgil took a steadying breath, eyes on Remus’s shoes. He’d been expecting the apology, and it helped (it was much more welcome than the ridicule or contempt he was always half expecting), but there was only so much emotional turmoil he could go through in one night.

“It’s ok,” he said. “You didn’t know.”

“That’s why I’m sorry.”

They fell silent again, and Virgil wondered if he should just give up and walk away as Remus plopped back down onto the couch.

“How long?” the Duke asked suddenly, just as Virgil was actually starting to walk forward. “How long did they...you know. Do that?”

He stopped, temporarily frozen at the question, forcefully pushing down memories fighting to come back to the surface. Later. He could think about it later.

“Dunno,” he muttered, and it wasn’t a lie. “I can’t, uh...really remember when they didn’t.”

Remus stood abruptly, face twisted in dark rage and disgust, and Virgil instinctively took a step back.

“I’ll kill them,” he snarled. “I’ll kill them right now, I swear to god. They’re dead. Everyone who ever fucking touched you, Virgil. I’m killing them.”

“No you’re not,” Virgil sighed. It was a nice thought, though. “You have no idea what that’ll do to Thomas.”

“Then I’ll go beat the shit out of them!” He spun around to face the anxious side, and Virgil couldn’t help his nervous smile at the Duke’s eagerness. “Give them a taste of their own medicine, you know? Make them regret everything they ever did!”

“Please don’t.” He hadn’t meant for it to come out so soft, but Remus quickly fell silent. “I just...I don’t want to risk it. I want them to just leave me alone.”

“They’re never getting to you again,” Remus assured. “Ever. I’ll rip them to shreds if they even look at you! I’ll--”

“I know. I know, Remus I just...want them to forget about me.”

He’d never be able to forget about them, he knew that. He still woke up screaming at least once a month with their words echoing in his ears, cowering and expecting a blow from a faded memory.

But he’d clearly meant so little to them. He’d been nothing. A walking punching bag. He was out of their reach now, safe and protected, so if there was nothing to remind them that he even existed…

They’d forget about him. They’d never think of him again. And Virgil could rest a little easier at the thought.

And Remus, despite no doubt having many graphic plans to extract his revenge, seemed to understand, and he smiled. Not the toothy, playful grin they’d all gotten used to after a lewd joke, but a real, reassuring smile.

Virgil briefly wondered how many people got to see that smile. He felt strangely honored.

“No problem, Emo,” he said. “Just don’t expect me not to think about bashing their skulls in.”

Virgil smiled, ducked his head, and disappeared into the kitchen. He reemerged a few moments later with a bowl of popcorn and plans to hide out in his room watching Youtube until he inevitably passed out.

“It’s almost three,” Remus called as he passed, like either of them had healthy sleep schedules. “You planning on sleeping anytime soon?”

“Probably not. I think I’m just gonna watch stupid conspiracy videos or something until I’m too paranoid to sleep.”

“Have fun with that, Virgey.”

Virgil adjusted his hold on the popcorn bowl, and made it all the way to the bottom of the stairs before stopping, hesitating just a moment before turning around.

“Do you want to like...join me?”

There was genuine surprise on Remus’s face before something much more familiar took over, the Duke waggling his eyebrows suggestively. “Join you?”

“Jesus, ew.” Virgil was almost positive Remus could see his poorly concealed smile, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. “Come on, I just meant like...we haven’t really hung out together. And I don’t...really want to be alone.”

The Duke’s expression softened, and he stood up from the couch to make his way over to the stairs, snagging a handful of popcorn as Virgil started up the steps.

“Lead the way, Emo!” he sing-songed, probably loud enough to wake everyone in the mindscape, humming under his breath as he followed, and Virgil wondered if he would regret this by the morning.

Somehow, he really doubted it.

It wasn’t until his laptop was set up, Remus sprawled out at the end of his bed babbling away, that Virgil realized the tight feeling in his chest had finally faded completely.

[soulmate-game]

Can you do a prompt of Marinette being the daughter of the Joker and Harley but Harley left him before Marinette was born and when Joker found out about his daughter He decided to kidnap Marinette so she can become like him (Ace chemicals) (Daminette)

Woot, my first ask in a while! Let’s see how I can do this oddly specific ask that reminds me of a fic that might actually exist but tbh I’ve read so many fanfics idk if my brain is remembering right

—*—*—*—*—*

Marinette knew Sabine and Tom weren’t her biological parents. She had known ever since she was eight, when her mother by blood visited her for the first time, sat her down, and explained everything. Including, but not limited to, her disastrously toxic past relationship, her new girlfriend, and her recent success with long term rehab (unofficial rehab that mostly consisted of illegal anti-hero actions, but hey if it worked it worked).

Marinette understood. Well no, she really didn’t since she was only eight, but she understood that her mom— that Harley— was genuine. She had always had a knack for emotions and telling when people were sincere or not. And Harley really was regretful about not being in her life beforehand, and was serious about wanting to be part of her life now that her own was mostly sorted out.

So Marinette was not surprised when Harley really did stick it out. When Harley cooed over Marinette copying her hairstyle to show her support of her biological mom, when Harley never failed to call at least once a week even if she was in jail for punching some asshole or another. Harley never stayed arrested long anymore, she was usually found to be on the right side of the moral scale more and more often so the police didn’t bother keeping her locked up anymore. Through the years, Marinette always looked forward to her mom’s calls. Looked forward to being lulled to sleep by one crazy story or another from her mother’s past. Everything was nice. Perfect, even, for a while.

A thump sounded from her balcony, one late night when Marinette was thirteen. Blinking, the dark haired girl furrowed her brows. Who would be on her balcony? Cautiously walking towards the trap door leading to it, grasping her metal pencil holder as a weapon (she remembered all of her Mom’s stories about break-ins and random attacks back in Gotham), the teen strained her ears. Akuma attacks were only a few months old now, but she had already become in high alert for any sign of Hawkmoth or his victims. As per usual, Marinette’s paranoia began to kick in. Did Hawkmoth already figure her out? Was he here for her earrings? Would she be able to fight him?

She gently pushed up the trap door, catching a glimpse of black leather. Huh? Marinette narrowed her eyes, confused. Was it Chat? He should have been on patrol, on the other side of the city. What was he doing visiting her?

Suddenly the trap door yanked the rest of the way open, making Marinette yelp as the handle for it rugged away from her fingers. And there, backlit by the pure blue-white moonlight, was Not Chat Noir. It was Catwoman, in all her skintight black leather glory, grinning at her before pushing her cat-eye goggles up to the top of her head and crouching down by the trap door’s entrance, balancing only on the pads of her feet.

“Well hello there~” the woman purred. “So you’re the cute little kitten Harley is so secretive about. Nice to finally meet you,” the woman held out a hand, sending Marinette a sweet, if mysterious, smile. For a while, the pigtailed girl only stared before a squeal of excitement left her throat, leaving very little room for any doubt as to her bloodline. A large smile curled over Marinette’s lips, leaving her beaming widely at the catlike woman on her balcony.

“Auntie Selina! Mom’s told me so much about you! Come in, come in, come in! I’ll sneak some macaroons up for you. Or do you prefer croissants? What’s your favorite flavor? Are you really dating Batman? Oh my goodness, that necklace is so lovely! Did you steal it?”

Selina could only chuckle fondly at the word vomit, letting the smaller girl drag her down the trap door and into her very… pink room. Looking around, Selina was once again slapped with just how similar this kid was to her outgoing friend. Marinette clearly had no shame in indulging in the things she liked, such as the color pink and anything regarding fashion. But there were other things amongst the girliness of the room, like the posters of Jagged Stone and the training dummy half-sticking out of her closet door. There were a few ornamental knives hung up behind her computer, seemingly just for decoration although Selina could see that they were definitely battle ready and sharpened. A small mallet, clearly a miniature replica of her mother’s own signature weapon, leaned up against the side of the girl’s laundry basket. But then there was Marinette’s mannequin, which was surrounded by meticulously cut pieces of cloth and had other pieces pinned to it strategically. Marinette clearly had the same professionalism and love for her chosen career that had so completely defined Harley in the Time Before Joker. The same genius intellect hiding in those deceptively cheerful bluebell eyes. And for the first time, though not for the last to be sure, Selina found herself thoroughly relieved that it seemed Marinette had inherited very little from her father.

Except, as she would learn from stories Harley told her later, an apparent affinity for chaos.

“I’m not that picky, kitten. But I’m not that hungry, so don’t go too out of your way,” Selina decided to just react the same way she did with Harley’s rambles, and answer one question at a time. “Also, I am actually dating Bruce Wayne. But, if you promise not to tell anyone—“ she waited for Marinette’s eager nod before continuing casually, “— the two are maybe not as mutually exclusive as many think,” Selina finished with a conspiratorial wink. “No, I actually did not steal this necklace. Bruce has been adamant in trying to curb me of my thieving habit by buying me almost everything I so much as glance at sideways. It’s sweet. Naive, because I like stealing for the fun of it, but sweet.”

Marinette giggled, bouncing in place happily. She loved a bit of innocent gossip like this. “Is Momma Ivy ever gonna visit? I don’t think Mom told her much about me yet, and I still gotta give her the shovel talk!” the fierce look that overcame Marinette’s face made Selina laugh again. Oh yes, definitely her mother’s daughter.

“Pam has been trying to sneak over, but the laws regarding Metahumans in Paris suddenly got much stricter a few months back and have caused some problems. You wouldn’t happen to know what happened, would you?” Selina did not miss when her seemingly innocent question caused her niece to close off almost instantly. Bluebell eyes took on a familiar guardedness, and scanned her with the same soul-searching intensity that Harley had when she was channeling her Psychiatrist side. Selina found herself in a slightly concerning spot though—

Because she couldn’t predict Marinette at all. She was left to simply stand there as Marinette searched for some unidentifiable thing in her eyes, completely unable to read the younger girl’s face and with no idea of what to expect. The side effect of having chaos so thoroughly entwined in both of her biological parents, she supposed.

“Nope, no idea.”

Selina knew that was a lie, but knew equally as well that she would not be getting a better answer anytime soon. So, she let it go and the two of them once again dipped into innocent chatter.

Later that night, when Selina left and the sun threatened to rise at any minute, Tikki flew up from her hiding spot under Marinette’s pillow to land on her holder’s shoulder. Marinette giggled and looked over at her little friend.

“Tikki?”

“Yes, Mari?”

“Why was I chosen to be your holder?” She asked suddenly, flopping back into her bed and staring at her ceiling. The little goddess hummed, smiling knowingly before flying down to cuddle in the crook of Marinette’s neck.

“Because you are born from luck itself. Even when bad things happen, you have the luck and determination to get out just fine, and stronger than before. And despite the destruction and anarchy in your blood, you have the willpower to reign it in and keep control of yourself. That’s all order really is, Marinette. The decision to take all the chaos and madness around us, and make it make sense. Make it do something good. And that’s a large part of who you are, I could feel it in your soul the moment we first met.”

Marinette closed her eyes, biting the inside of her cheek. “What if I lose control?”

“... You’ll just have to get it back. It’ll be hard, but as long as you have people to support you, you will be able to do it. You aren’t evil, Marinette,” the small God seemed to sense the true question her holder was asking, and did her best to soothe the doubt the girl felt. “Just remember the reasons you fight against chaos. Remember everyone you love, and you’ll be okay. And you have me, I’ll always help you.”

“... thank you, Tikki.”

—*—*—*—*—*

“He’s going to find out, Mom.”

“No he won’t, don’t be silly! I’ve been very careful about hiding you from him, Nettie-pie.”

“Mom… I just have a bad feeling. I don’t think we can hide who I am from him. If he sees me, I think he’ll know.”

The phone went silent.

“If he hurts you, I’ll kill him. If I was crazy about him, Sugar, then I’m head over heels for you. Not even he can stop me from caving his skull in if he tries his usual tricks with you.”

“... My plane leaves soon, I’ll talk to you when I land. And mom?”

“Yeah, honeycake?”

“I love you.”

—*—*—*—*—*

It was uncanny just how often Marinette’s hunches were right. Her intuition was something to behold, truly, because it only took three days in Gotham before Joker snatched her right out of her room at Harley and Ivy’s apartment. At least Marinette had sixteen by then, so she had had enough experience as a hero in Paris and with generally unpredictable situations and people who were absolutely nuts for her to not immediately panic. Too much, anyway.

Because there was definitely a little panic there.

See, Marinette knew herself inside out by then. After her own battle with her toxic feelings towards Adrien and doing her best to heal from those before she turned out like her mom, she knew she was by no means mentally indestructible. Mental illness ran the high risk of being inherited, and Marinette was well aware that her own personality was scarily similar to her mother’s at times. She got attached quickly, felt affection and love for others very strongly and, as she found with Adrien, could easily become obsessive if she didn’t watch herself. At least Harley was the perfect person to help with that, and Marinette was serious about helping herself too. She did everything she could to keep an eye on her mental health and keep her behavior in check so she didn’t do anything too unhealthy with her relationships again.

But she knew, she knew she had a soft spot for family. She got attached too easily. And being in the same room as her biological father, despite being tied up by her hands and feet and knowing just how many unforgivable things he had done in his life, Marinette felt vulnerable. She didn’t want to hurt him, despite everything. She still loved him, despite every reason not to, despite her first meeting with him being with him shoving chloroform over her face and hogtying her to a metal chain dangling over a vat of acid.

Geez, she’d need more than just her mom as a therapist after this for sure. Even if her mom had a PH.D, Marinette felt like she’d need several psychiatrists to sort through her emotional turmoil right then and make sense of any of it.

Marinette licked her lips, aware that the only kindness that Joker gave his daughter was sparing her from the discomfort of being gagged.

“Don’t,” Marinette said, surprising herself with the amount of steel she was able to put into her voice. Somehow, she managed to make the single word sound more like an order than a plead. “Joker, put me—“

“Ah-Ah-Ah!” The clown walked over, tutting and waving his finger in the air in almost playful admonishment. He gave her a dramatically fake pout. “Don’t you know it’s disrespectful to refer to your father by his first name?” Neither of them mentioned that Joker was definitely not his real name. They both knew the point was moot. “Say it with me now— ‘Daddy dearest, I am more than willing to be dunked in acid for you,’ go ahead, say it.”

Marinette’s jaw clenched. Familial love or not, she would not tolerate being ridiculed like that. She dealt with enough ridicule when she was fourteen and fifteen during school, before she put Liar Rossi in her place. She had spent the past three years as a hero in charge of the war against Hawkmoth, in charge of protecting all of Paris from an emotional terrorist.

And gee, wasn’t that what Joker was, too? Sure, he was a terrorist in the classic meaning of the word as well, but he was nothing if not a skilled manipulator. He knew the human mind just as well as Harley or any other psychiatrist did, he just used his knowledge for different means. He had emotionally abused Harley for years, he emotionally abused and manipulated people all across gotham on a daily basis. He was just another Hawkmoth, but with more physical violence in place of magic.

With these thoughts strengthening her resolve, Marinette narrowed her eyes at the man who donated half of her DNA. She let her anger boil into her irises, hitting him with one of the few traits she knew she inherited from him.

Her ability to intimidate others on the tip of a hat.

“No,” she growled back at him. She took a deep breath. It had taken her a while, but she refused to be ashamed of who she was regardless of her blood relation. She would have no problem using the very things she inherited from Joker against him. She might have gotten most of Harley’s personality, she might have inherited her mother’s habit of falling in love hard, fast, and obsessively, but she also had Joker’s defiance. His bone-deep inability to be stopped from doing exactly whatever the fuck he wanted.

And then, there were Marinette’s own traits. The ones that were completely her own, developed over her life organically. Like her refusal to bow down to bullies, her creativity, her ability to take even the most chaotic situation and see some sort of balance and sanity in it that she could use to her advantage.

That she WOULD use to her advantage. The shadows she saw move out of the corner of her eye gave her the chance to do exactly that, she just needed to buy a few more seconds. Just a few more seconds.

“Excuse me?” Joker growled right back, his own intimidation, honed over more years than Marinette had been alive and thus much more potent than her own, reading its ugly head as he stalked towards her. His face was pulled down into an ugly snarl, his shoulders tensed and back straight as he glared right at her. From his spot on the metal walkway, he was easily able to reach over the railing and grab her chin in one pale, viciously strong hand. “I think you’re misunderstanding something here, little Marionette. I’m your father. Half of your life came directly from ME. That makes you my puppet. You exist to follow my orders,” his right grip suddenly let go, leaving behind the beginnings of a bruise as his entire demeanor changed from angry to cheerful. He spread his arms as if gesturing to the whole chemical plant victoriously, and an unnaturally large smile curved over his lips and bared yellowing teeth at her. “But that’s okay. I’ll forgive you this time, you haven’t learned any better yet. That’s why we’re here. We need to cleanse you of all those icky bad habits you’ve learned up until now, all you need is a little,” he bounced in place with a wicked smirk to illustrate his next words— “jumpstart. A little acid goes a long way to enlightenment you know, you’ll see my side of things in no time. And with my blood in you, you’ll make a better sidekick than that idiot Harley ever did. I can sense it, you’ve got a real talent for Chaos in you, it’s exciting, Heheeeheheee! Now then, we should probably speed things along before our family reunion is cut short. Hang in there, my little Marionette,” the man actually had the gall to spin in place while humming a tune cheerfully before all but dancing over to the lever that held Marinette’s length of chain in the air over the vat of chemicals below her. “Everything will clear up in that little head of yours in just a second!”

There! Right as Joker pulled the switch to lower her into the bubbling vat underneath her, Marinette was able to finish untying her hands. She couldn’t contain a small yelp as gravity flung her body forward, leaving her upside down on the chain for a brief moment. That was when the chain started lowering rapidly, and Marinette was barely able to rip the rope off of her ankles in time to swing off of it and onto the metal walkway that came up right next to the giant metal container of liquid death and insanity. Joker had barely enough time to shout in rage before the windows near the ceiling shattered, admitting the city’s vigilantes themselves. Batman, Nightwing, Red Robin, Red Hood, Robin, and evening Black Bat all landed on the same metal platform above Marinette’s head that Joker was still on, buying the teen time to start running. But she didn’t go towards the exit right away, instead heading right up the stairs into the thick of the fight. Robin briefly separated from where Joker was managing to hold his own, goons flooding from side doors to inhibit the heroes in their attempt to bring their boss down.

The katana-using vigilante kept one eye on Marinette the whole time, suspicious of why the girl would come back up if not to help her father. But that wasn’t what she did, instead she flipped and kicked and punched her way through the quickly growing sea of Joker thugs until she reached a small pink purse that had been abandoned near the lever that had nearly sent her into liquid insanity. Three thugs surrounded her right as she snatched the purse up and slung it over her shoulder, but Robin barely had the chance to head over before she was heaving the men, who were all easily three times her size, over her shoulder and was slamming elbows into soft spots and the side of her hand into pressure points. By the time Robin got to her side, all three men were unconscious and bound to wake up in utter agony.

Marinette glanced up, getting ready to haul Robin over her shoulder as well before she realized who he was. She let her shoulders relax just a tick, sighing in relief before returning her eyes to scanning their surroundings. She shot him a brief grin.

“Good thing my adoptive mother, Mom, Momma Ivy, and Auntie Selina all made sure I knew how to take down a small army on my own, huh?” She asked rhetorically before they were both unceremoniously dragged back into the giant brawl.

—*—*—*—*—*

“Nettie-pie!”

“Marigold!”

Harley and Pamela Quinzel-Isley shoved down anyone and everyone who dared block their direct path to their daughter. The girl of the hour stood next to the bat clan, a shock blanket held tightly around her shoulders as she did her best to finish her statement to both the vigilantes and Commissioner Gordon.

“You untied yourself… from a ship-grade knot in high quality rope… with a phone charm?” They heard Gordon ask incredulously, to which Marinette could only give a lopsided smile. That was when her mom and stepmom crashed into her, enveloping her in a nearly suffocating hug.

“Gah— mom— momma Ivy—“ Marinette flailed in their arms for a bit before finally getting her head free and continuing her statement as if she didn’t have two of the most dangerous women in the city still giving her a bone crushing hug. “That’s better. Yes, Commissioner. You see, I realized when I was in the car with Joker, while I was pretending to still be unconscious, that one of the charms on my phone had pretty sharp corners that I could use like a serrated edge if I had enough time. So I carefully detached it from my phone, and held it in my palm. It took almost an hour, but once Joker noticed I was awake I kept him talking so that he didn’t notice what I was doing even as he tied me up to that chain. Really, it’s just lucky that I was able to get it worn down in time,” Marinette rubbed the back of her neck with a nervous chuckle. “But regardless, I think Batman and his partners,” she nodded to the listening vigilantes just to the side of her. “Were close enough that I would have been caught anyway, I just wanted to make sure they had less work to do. The sooner I freed myself, the sooner ‘Daddy Dearest,’” she grimaced as she mockingly used the same term Joker had tried to get her to say earlier that night. “Could go back behind bars where he belongs.”

“Oh my little Nettie-cake,” Harley cried, finally pulling back from the hug long enough to wipe her cheeks. It was clear that she had been crying for a while, and her colorful pigtails were mussed and tangled from where she must have been tugging on them in worry. “You were right. I’m so sorry, I never should have let you come to Gotham when I knew he was out of Arkham.”

Marinette was quick to shake her head frantically, pulling her arms out of Ivy’s hold so she could grasp Harley’s shoulders firmly. “No. No, Mom, I’m fine! And besides, we knew I couldn’t stay secret forever. I really like staying with you and Momma Ivy! Everything turned out fine though, and he’s headed back to Arkham. It’s okay.”

“It’s not okay, Nettle,” Pam argued, distracting herself by running her hands through Marinette’s bangs. She had only known the girl for two years, but that was more than long enough for her to consider the teenager as her own. “He took you right out from under our noses. You were supposed to be safe in our home, and he still got to you. That’s not okay. We weren’t able to protect you like we should have been. Maybe you should go back to Paris early.”

“What?! No way!” Marinette argued, eyes wide. “This is the first time I’ve been able to ever visit you guys in Gotham, I’m not letting some psycho sperm donor keep me from enjoying time with my family! I came here knowing full well that it was dangerous. I’m not gonna just run away after one bad experience.”

Harley snorted, and then devolved into uncontrollable giggles. “Heh— psycho sperm donor. Good one, sugar!”

Marinette smiled and rolled her eyes good naturedly at her mom’s usual immature antics. Seeing as Gordon had walked away muttering to himself a short while ago, Marinette pulled herself the rest of the way away from her moms and turned to the vigilantes. Without a second’s pause, she bowed to them just like her Maman Sabine taught her.

“Thank you for helping save me. I know it’s probably a shock that I’ve been kept secret from you guys all this time, but I hope you don’t lump me in with the likes of the green-haired half of my DNA. I’m staying with my Moms in their apartment, if you guys decide to patrol by our place like I suspect, I’ll leave some baked goods and coffee out for you on our patio. It’s the least I can do for you all after tonight. And don’t be too hard on Auntie Selina. Me and Mom swore her to secrecy, even from you guys.”

Batman jerked a little at the mention of Catwoman’s real name, jaw twitching for a second. Behind his cowl, his eyes narrowed. Marinette laughed, easily reading his body language and expression.

“She never told me who you are, but she didn’t exactly hide it either. It was easy to put the last pieces together on my own. But don’t worry, SHE swore me to secrecy too. I won’t tell anyone.

“How the hell are you related to the Laughing Asswipe from Hell?” Red Hood blurted out, his confusion clear even from behind his hideous helmet. Marinette burst into giggles, and both Pamela and Harley smiled knowingly.

“Mom gave me up for adoption when I was born, so I spent my whole life in Paris up until now,” she admitted. “Mom didn’t visit me for the first time until I was eight, and she and my adoptive parents are so awesome that it must’ve suffocated the worst traits from his DNA before they had a chance to develop,” she guessed out loud with a good natured smile.

Batman grunted. Marinette knew that one run-in wasn’t enough for them to trust her. After all, she was still the biological daughter of their arch enemy. But she didn’t mind, she understood the caution even if she didn’t fully agree with it. They weren’t outright hostile, despite the fact that Robin had never stopped glaring at her since they fought back-to-back against the mob of thugs earlier. She could live with their suspicion, as long as they continued to not be outright rude or mean to her.

At least she could empathize with Adrien now, whenever she figured out how to break it to him that Hawkmoth was definitely Gabriel and couldn’t be anyone else. Hopefully she could help soften the blow for him a little.

Harley and Ivy were starting to herd Marinette towards their car and take her back home, where they could continue to smother her in care and make sure she didn’t have even a scratch on her, when Robin’s voice stopped them all in their tracks.

“You are a surprisingly capable combatant.”

Marinette froze, blinking in surprise for a second before turning to stare at Robin in shock. The rest of the Bat Clam was doing the same, nobody expecting Robin of all people to be the first to directly complement Marinette. He tutted, crossing his arms, but never moved his gaze away from Marinette’s eyes.

“But your form could use some work. Most of your style is incredibly improvised, which I can appreciate since you do it well, but you would benefit from more structure in your fighting. I will set up a time and place for us to spar. We start in two days, if you think you can handle it.”

It took a while for what Robin said to sink in, and another few seconds for Marinette to decipher what his semi-aggressive, order-phrased proposal really meant. And she smiled.

“It’s a date.”

—*—*—*—*—*

Woo! This started off a little rough, but I really like how it ended up! Thank you, Anon!