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nethhiri · 6 months ago

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Marooned: Chapter 50

Kid x FemReader x Killer

Warnings: Rape, torture, body horror, loss of body part, violence, forced pregnancy, infertility (Seriously heed the warnings. This one is dark.)

Worse

Warthin had fallen asleep next to you. If you weren’t chained, you could have bashed his head in with the weight if the seastone. The first hit would disfigure his face, lacerate his skin. The second hit would cave all his facial bones inward, maybe exposing the tan, jagged edges of bone, and the indent would fill with blood and viscera, appearing like a bowl of soup. The third hit would splash this soup everywhere and crunch the rest of his skull. Gray-pink, gelatinous brain would squeeze out of the cracks from the force of impact. This is what you replayed in your head when he woke up and raped you again.

He left and came back some minutes later with some “good” news and breakfast, which you refused. The “good” news was that you weren’t pregnant with a Kid Pirate baby and your womb was open for business for his own. He tried to feed you and you moved your head away or knocked it from the fork. He didn’t like that. He forced your mouth open by squeezing your jaw and shoved food in your mouth before covering it with his hand so you couldn’t spit it out. He wasn’t very gentle and you gagged a few times, but eventually he had force-fed you the entire plate and then some vitamins, “nourishment for his child”.

He visited you a lot throughout the day, alternating between raping you again and force-feeding you. He got quite frustrated with you by the time dinner came around. This time when you refused to eat, he had a pair of pliers handy. If you didn’t want to eat then you didn’t need teeth. He loosened some up by punching you square in the jaw, then he took the pliers to one of your molars and pulled. It hurt. It felt like he was yanking your whole jaw out. You screamed and pulled against your shackles. You could feel blood run down your arms from the metal digging in to your skin. When your tooth finally came loose, your mouth was filled with blood. At that point all your screaming and struggling had made him hard, so he fucked you again, a little rougher than he had been. You knew it would only be a matter of time before his rapist instincts overtook the procreative ones. Afterwards, he fed you cold dinner, which you had to choke down because chewing hurt too badly.

Later, you vomited from all the blood you had swallowed. You didn’t have enough chain to lean over the edge of the bed so you were forced to vomit next to you. You couldn’t even wipe your mouth. Warthin accused you of doing it on purpose to starve his future child and proceeded to beat you for the transgression. He didn’t even let you clean up or change the sheets. You felt like an animal. You felt dirty.

This cycle repeated. Every time was a little bit rougher, until you were covered in bruises. Every part of you was sore. There was dried blood in many different places and dried semen all over your thighs and between your legs. It wasn’t that bad. You could take it. You could survive this. Only a few more days you before they would come for you. You could last a few more days. I hope.

“Look at me.” Warthin demanded as he fucked you. “You never look at me, my darling.”

You ignored him.

He grabbed your head by the hair and slammed it into the headboard behind you. “Fucking look at me, you pirate fucking whore.” He slammed you into the headboard again. “I bet you looked into their eyes when they fucked you. Didn’t you? You liked being violated by their diseased, dirty cocks.”

Tears spilled over your cheeks. Your head still hurt from him ripping out your tooth and all the times he had hit you already.

“LOOK AT ME, CUNT!” Warthin choked you out until your consciousness faded.

You blacked out and woke up to him still on top of you, not sure how much time had passed or if this was even the same rape.

”There you are.” He was holding a small, sharp blade. “I’ve thought of something that’s fair for both of us. You don’t have to look at me, but you’ll never get to see anything ever again either, especially not those pirates you give yourself away to.” He pressed the blade below your eye.

”Please don’t.” You rasped, throat raw from screaming. You felt the point of his blade cutting into you. Losing one eye was bad enough. Losing both would be your end. You had no observation haki. You would never be able to sense your surroundings. You would be rendered useless. If he removed it completely, you wouldn’t be able to use your power to bring it back. And then what worth would you have to Kid? What worth would you have to yourself?

He withdrew the blade. “You’re right. I have to take the other first so you can see me crush it.” Warthin roughly stuck his fingers into your right eye socket, taking out your log pose and inspecting it. “So this is what you used to track us. You’re a smart one, aren’t you?” He held it up for you both to see before crushing it in front of you. “All gone.” He took the small blade back out.

”No. Please. What do you want? I’ll look at you. Please don’t do this.” It was rare for you to beg, but you would have no pride left if he took your eye anyway. You would have nothing left. You would be nothing. The Kid Pirates wouldn’t take you back. What use would you be? You would be an extra mouth to feed with no benefit to the crew. Even your devil fruit power would be dubious since you needed to visualize things to make it work.

“It’s too late. You had your chance, darling. And as much as I love seeing the hate in your eyes, I want to be the last person you ever see, so that I’m burned into your mind.” He slowly pushed the knife under your eye.

”NO! NO!” Your pleas devolved into screams as you felt the worst pain of your life. You could barely struggle under his weight pinning you to the mattress. The restraints were pulled taught until your hips and shoulders ached constantly; you couldn't move even if his weight was absent. Hot, semi-vicious liquid dripped down your cheek and onto your chest. The sickening sound of wet, tearing flesh reached your ears.

“Oh fuck yes keep screaming. Just like that.” Warthin didn’t want to rush this but it was difficult to resist finishing. “Fuck!” He came inside you again but didn’t stop. He was enjoying this too much. He grabbed the collar that was still around your neck and ripped it off, noticing for the first time the writing on the back of the tag. “If found, return to Kid Pirates.” He had a tone to his voice that you didn’t like. “They won’t want you back when they see how much you’re enjoying yourself here.”

You didn’t know what he was doing. The pain was so intense that it was all you could feel. You were pretty sure your eyes were open, but you couldn’t see anything. You couldn’t hear anything either over your own screaming. You blacked out from the pain soon after that. Welcomed into a dream state by familiar faces, you were happy to see them, and that you could see. Their faces weren’t welcoming. They were frowning. Kid was there telling you how useless you were to him, nothing better than a set of holes now. Killer wouldn’t even look at you, your face too grotesque. Your hope was faltering.

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Kid and Killer were reunited with the Victoria the day following the incident. Everyone immediately knew that things were dire when they returned with Mini, and you weren’t accompanying them. They expected Kid’s rage, not Killer’s. It was rare that the first mate got angry, but when he did it was scary. Kid was very outward with expressing his. Killer held it all in. He answered in clipped tones and few words. They could tell he was boiling inside and no one could tell when it was going to erupt.

They met with Heat and Wire to explain their plan and afterwards, made themselves scarce. Kid was in his workshop, facing away from the door that led to the infirmary. It made him too upset when he looked at it and expected you to be there. Killer was in his room, unable to come out again until Kid came to check on him. When he did, he saw a crumpled metal ball. A blue and white metal ball. Killer had crushed his own helmet in his rage. He kept thinking about his regret that he hadn’t told you more about how he felt, and he may never get the chance now. They were both emotionally triggered by the event, reminded so much of Victoria.

Kid returned Killer’s helmet to its original state. “Are ya ok, Kil?”

“I’m fine,” he lied. Killer was far from fine. He was pissed at himself for not being there for you or for Kid. If they had taken Kid too, he didn’t know if he could come back from that. “Wish I had told her that I cared about her. Wish I could have done more for both of you.”

”Ya can tell her when we get her back. And I’m here, aren’t I? Ya still saved me from being taken prisoner.”

A few days passed. They used your clothes and the blood of Warthin to track in the right direction. Mini would sniff the items and then point in a direction that they would follow. Sometimes the trail dropped off when the wind changed and it delayed them greatly. It frustrated Kid to no end. He was thinking too much. Left alone with his thoughts, he was ashamed that his mind kept creeping in the direction of questioning your loyalty. The doubts crept in the more he was left alone. Maybe this was all a setup. Maybe you planned it all from the beginning, stealing his heart just to lure him to his capture.

Killer joined him for dinner, bringing it to the workshop, where Kid had been holed up. “What’s wrong?” Kid had skipped lunch earlier.

"Maybe we shouldn't be trying this hard."

"What?"

"M'sayin that I have doubts."

Killer narrowed his eyes, feeling his blood starting to boil. "What do you mean 'doubts'?" His skin got hot at the mere thought of Kid turning his back on you. His temper was getting the better of him, yet he was torn between his loyalty to his captain and his protective instinct when it came to you.

”Don't ya think this could be a setup?” He stared down at the plate of food. “Maybe she wants us to follow her so the marines can capture us. Don’t ya think it’s weird that they didn’t kill her right there, but they tried to shoot me in the head?” He felt guilty for asking it, but he had to know if he was being rational or irrational at this point. The lack of sleep wasn’t helping his anxiety about the situation.

Killer slapped him across the face, not hard, but not gentle either. “KID! She tried so hard to earn your trust, don’t you dare question it when she needs us the most!” Killer’s voice cracked. His index finger dug into Kid’s chest. “You saw how scared she was, Kid! You think that was fake?” Killer put his fist down on Kid’s workbench. “YOU WANT TO QUIT ON HER BECAUSE OF A SCENARIO YOU CREATED IN YOUR HEAD? WHEN SHE’S SUFFERING AND PROBABLY BEING-“ Killer didn’t finish, putting his head in his hands and letting out an anguished growl. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to explode at you. I just-“ He didn’t know if he did it because of fear or anger, or some combination of both.

”I know, Kil. Yer right. Sorry.” Kid shook his head and rubbed his cheek. “I needed that.” Kid felt bad about piling so much of his own feelings on Killer when Killer was dealing with the same anguish. And he felt worse that he questioned your loyalty.

They ate in silence. Neither of them could truly comfort the other. They were both hurting. Killer tried his best to stay strong for Kid, as he had in the past, but he was in pain, too. He didn’t have the capacity to carry the pain of two people. He struggled with his own, ready to lash out again at any moment. They spent the night curled together in Kid’s cabin, before sleep vowing not to let the same thing that happened to Victoria happen to you.

In the following days, tensions rose significantly on the Victoria Punk. They were stalled. The scent stopped coming back to Mini and she was unable to track you further. She paced back and forth across the deck with just as much anxiety as anyone else. Kid and Killer poured over maps with Wire, trying to figure out where they may have gone, where they may have taken you. They argued about what the best course of action was. Kid's intrusive thoughts only became more intense. Killer was snapping at everyone who got in his path. It was looking bleak. Then in the afternoon, about five days after you had been stolen, the Kid Pirates received a package.

There was a scream that rattled the windows on board the ship. Quincy was the one who grabbed it, thinking maybe it was something she had ordered on the last island, or maybe new wanted posters. Heat rushed to her, being that he was the closest, eyes drifting over the package on deck. He froze. Staring back at him were three eyes: 2 belonged to a video transponder snail and the other was irrevocably yours.

Heat hurriedly grabbed the box, suppressing the urge to vomit or cry or both. He didn’t want the rest of the crew to see it. Quincy followed closely behind him, worried about her friend. The four commanders and Quincy stood around the package. Killer pushed Quincy and Heat aside, zeroing in on the jar. He knew what it was when he saw it, and still brought it closer to make sure, to ensure his mind wasn’t playing tricks on him. There was a Y/E/C iris staring back at him, complete with the trailing optic nerve and attached muscles. Kid, on the other hand, assumed it was a gag, a fake, some kind of taunt. Everyone was waiting for the other foot to drop, for Kid to explode. When he didn’t, and instead went off about cheap tricks, Killer delicately explained that it wasn’t a trick. Then, Kid went ballistic.

“THEY TOOK HER FUCKING EYE?! THEY TOOK HER EYE!” All Kid could think was how devastated he would be if his remaining arm was taken from him, and applying that same feeling to you.

Heat quickly grabbed the jar containing your eye before Kid could smash it in his rage.

Killer attempted to quell Kid’s anger. “Kid, if they’re sending us this, it’s likely she’s still alive.” Albeit, alive purely for the purpose of torturing.

”AND SHE PROBABLY DOESN’T WANT TO BE ANYMORE! WHY WOULD THEY DO THAT TO HER, KILLER? WHY?” Kid let himself be enveloped by Killer, burying his head into Killer’s shoulder. Kid felt hot, angry tears roll from his eyes. He was pissed on your behalf, upset that someone would maim you in this way, more upset even, by thinking of the pain you must be feeling. It brought him back to when he woke up after losing his arm. He had been livid, scared, and he did question his ability to be a pirate captain. But he had another arm. And he could make a prosthetic. You had neither equivalent.

”That may be so, but that’s all the more reason we have to get her back.” Killer embraced his captain. “We have to change her mind.” He held onto Kid until the broader man pulled away. Kid scowled, but said nothing. Who was he to try and change your mind? Keeping you in a state of misery just so he wouldn’t lose you would be selfish. He pushed that line of thought from his mind. He didn't want to explore that possibility until it was a reality, if it became one at all.

As soon as Wire saw the transponder snail, he told Quincy to leave, even with her protests. He knew nothing good would come from it. She didn’t need to witness whatever happened next. He didn’t want to entertain whatever taunts would surely come from the other side, but he wasn’t sure what would happen if they ignored it either. Before they did anything though, he was going to figure out how to use it to pinpoint your location. It was a feat to keep Kid from calling on it right away. Wire convinced him to hold off until they could create a device to track the signal.

A bad feeling settled in the pit of Killer's stomach. He could only imagine what they would see on the other side of the transmission. It was already difficult to keep himself from replaying the terrified look on your face when you tried to warn them about Warthin. What if he saw something worse? And what if that was the last thing he saw of you? Bile burned the back of Killer's throat.

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Time was a continuous stream. There was no start or stop, no beginning or end. You couldn't say how long you had been here or even when the start of a new day was. At first, you could, but lately Warthin had been depriving you of sleep. He almost never left, constantly feeding you either his twisted perception of reality and how you were going to be the perfect wife and mother or cruel depictions of how worthless you were now. He went on and on. You were starting to believe him. Maybe you would be better off pretending to go along with his sick fantasy. At least he would want you.

Tears pricked the corners of your empty eye sockets. Falling between the skin of your eyelids into nothing instead of rolling down your cheeks. Even if they found you, the Kid Pirates would leave you there once they saw your sorry state. You were weak from being chained in bed. Your face was swollen, probably beyond recognition. They would see how you've been used and how could they ever look at you the same again? You wouldn't blame them. You were disgusted by yourself, allowing yourself to be caught and abused, becoming the very thing you had been trying to protect. You were too pathetic to be a Kid Pirate. Maybe they would be so kind as to put you out of your misery before they left, if they were even looking.

All fighting it did was exhaust you and excite your captor, so you had given up. You stared at the ceiling, well, that's what you imagined you were doing. You did your best to ignore the soreness between your legs, the movement of the bed, the horrid breath against your neck. In a way, you were glad you couldn't see. You didn't want to see the satisfied look in his eyes when he was done defiling you, or any part of him at all. Instead, you tried to remember the molten iron orange of Kid's eyes and how they burned with anticipation when he looked at you; you tried to remember the crystalline, icy blue eyes that you could tell were looking at you with amusement and patience from behind Killer's mask when you tried to do anything in the kitchen. Every night, or what you thought could be another night, you went through the faces of the crew in your head. That stubborn part of you refused to let Warthin's face be the last thing you saw and you were afraid if you stopped, their faces would fade from your memory altogether.

The lines of your sanity were beginning to blur as you went from wanting to die to desperately wanting Kid or Killer to break through the walls and scoop you up to safety. As much as you told yourself you weren't worthy of them anymore, a small part of you hoped they could look past this and they could still care for you. You had finally gotten a taste of what it felt like to be loved, not just romantically, platonically as well. Hanging out in silence with Wire, joking around with Heat, gossiping with Quincy, listening to Dive's wild stories, all of it was precious to you. The shame of what was happening to you was what held you back from embracing the desire to return. They knew you as a strong, ruthless, independent pirate. You didn't want them to know you as a victim, not strong enough to help yourself.

There was an intense pressure around your neck and you struggled to get a breath, coughing and sputtering. For a minute, you thought maybe you would be granted the release of death. There was no way to know since you could no longer tell if your vision was going black. You experienced flashes of color as your brain was deprived of oxygen and fired neurons at random. Then your throat was released and your lungs greedily expanded with air.

"Angel, you're not paying attention again." Warthin grabbed your face, licking his lips as he took in the dark maroon blood around where your last remaining eye used to be. It pooled under the skin and went nearly all the way down your cheek.

You spit at him. "Fuck you." If he really pestered you to react, you tried your best to make him snap. You knew he had it in him to kill you. You wished he would.

"Come now. Don't be like that." The back of his hand trailed down your cheek. "Don't you think a child should be made with love?"

Every word made your throat ache. "I fucking despise you."

"But I love fucking you." He laughed and grabbed your breast roughly. "I wish we didn't have to chain those long legs down. I want to see your ankles next to your ears. Maybe I'll chain them up by your arms instead. That way your pretty little pussy would always be wide open and welcoming for me."

You had to fight the urge to dry heave at the feelings of his fingers playing with your cunt. Sometimes you wished you weren't so revolted by him so you could get wet. The dryness made every time he entered you painful. If you were lucky, he would spit first. You winced as he pressed his cock against your entrance.

"You know this hurts me, too." Warthin removed the pressure against you and brought his fingers back instead. "Why don't you imagine what those pirates did to you? Make it easier for both of us. Let me guess. Obviously, you fucked the captain and he's a large guy. Did he split you open on his fat cock?" He moved his fingers inside you, testing to see if anything he said made you react. "I bet you liked feeling him fill you up. I bet you liked when he chained you up. How is this any different?"

Was there a difference? Kid was mean to you. He had fucked you under dubious circumstances. You did like being chained up. Had you just been manipulated to believe that there was a difference? You had an emotional connection with Kid didn't you? What if that was just a tactic to keep you around longer?

Warthin leaned down to whisper in your ear. "You stupid girl. We're the same. You just like being used. So let me use you." He pumped his fingers. "What else did they do? Did Eustass share you with his pals?" His fingers felt the beginnings of wetness. "You were passed around to Killer, hmm? Heat? You open your legs for any freak, you filthy whore." He could feel your pussy twitch. "And what... they weren't enough to be stuffed by so you let Wire fuck you, too. I bet his cock is huge. Just look at the guy." He chuckled as he felt his fingers become more slick. "That's it."

"S-stop." Your lip trembled. You hated that the memories you held close were being used against you. You hated that you could feel yourself become wetter. It was an involuntary response. "Please." You would be forced to forget even those treasured moments just so he couldn't use the images in such a sick way. He was taking everything from you.

"Good girl. Cry some more for me." He removed his fingers and was about to rut into you, when he heard the transponder snail ring. "This is perfect timing." He got off you to answer it.

That was out of the ordinary. He usually ignored everything when he was with you.

"Hello, Captain Kid. I've been expecting your call."

Your heart froze in your chest, cold tendrils of fear snaked through your veins.

"WHERE IS Y/N?! WHAT HAVE YA DONE TO HER?" The sound of Kid's voice made your heartbeat quicken.

"Oh what haven't I done?" Warthin sneered. "Would you like to see her? We were just in the middle of enjoying ourselves."

See her? It dawned on you that he might have a specialized transponder snail. You heard him get closer. "No. Please don't." Your voice shook.

"What's wrong, my love? You don't want him to see how much fun we've been having together?"

You thought you could hear a sharp inhale on the other end of the line. "Don't look. Please don't look." Tears spilled down the sides of your eyes as you turned your face away.

"Uh uh." Warthin tutted. "You look at them." He roughly grabbed your face and turned it back.

"DON'T YA DARE TOUCH HER LIKE THAT!"

"What do you want?" Killer's voice was calm, but cold.

Warthin laughed. "I'm not sure I understand. I have what I want right here."

You yelped as he pinched your nipple through the silk of your nightdress. Although you wanted nothing more than to see their faces, you were simultaneously glad that you couldn't. The immense shame you were feeling couldn't be hidden except to your own eyes.

"What do you want in exchange for her?" Killer questioned.

You could hear Kid in the background screaming unintelligibly as someone tried to calm him down.

"Nothing. I think you've misunderstood the situation." Warthin pulled the fabric of the dress until it ripped from your form. "She isn't my hostage. She's my prize, and I'm gloating."

You felt the mattress shift under his weight and you understood what was about to happen. "L-leave them out of this. I'm- I'm begging you."

"Sweet Y/N. They called me. They put themselves in it." Warthin snickered. "And now they're gonna watch while I put a baby in you."

"YA STUPID SICK FUCK, SHE CAN'T EVEN HAVE KIDS. LEAVE HER THE FUCK ALONE."

Your stomach dropped at Kid's words. That was the only layer of protection between you and the true cruelty of Warthin.

"What does he mean by that?" Warthin picked your head up by the hair and slammed it back down when you didn't answer. "I SAID WHAT DOES HE MEAN BY THAT?!"

Kid and Killer were hurling threats through the transponder snail. You could tell by the tone of their voice. You couldn't make out any of the words through the ringing in your ears. The chains rattled and were pulled taught as you instinctively tried to cover your face with your arms. Hearing Kid and Killer's voices again, how they wanted you back, washed away all the feelings of despair that had brainwashed you. Desperately, you wanted to be back with them and everyone else. You wanted to survive in the hope that this could be your future. But even that small flame of hope would be snuffed out.

"YOU LYING FUCKING SLUT." Warthin punched you in the gut. "You let me believe all this time, that you could give me a child?! There are consequences for lying." He leaned down over you and spat in your ear, "Your wretched crew are going to watch me rape you." His voice was slightly quieter, like he was addressing someone else. "And if any of you look away, I'm killing her right here."

"BASTARD! PRAY THAT I DON'T GET MY HANDS ON YA BECAUSE WHEN I DO, I'LL BE TAKIN MY TIME KILLIN YA! AND I'LL KILL EVERY LAST FUCKER IN MY WAY." You could picture how viciously Kid's golden-orange eyes flashed as he said it.

The dread that closed in around you was suffocating. You turned in the direction of Kid's voice. "You can look away. It's- It's okay." He was going to kill you anyway now that he knew the truth. The least you could do was spare them from seeing you be violated in your last hours. You tried to smile, but the tears that had been flowing turned to sobs, enough for salty streaks to finally coat your cheeks. "I- I- love you." It pained you to choke the words out in this setting. "Please don't remember me like this." You gagged when you felt your mouth forced open and fabric be shoved inside.

"That's ENOUGH. You were supposed to love ME!" Warthin grabbed you by the throat.

"We're coming for you, Y/N. Please don't give up," you heard the sad, sweet voice of Heat.

You could hear the low growl of Killer's voice, "You have no idea what's coming for you, you bastard."

Their promises were like a shell coating what little was left of your resolve. They did want you and they were coming for you, but that also meant they weren't going to let Warthin make good on his threat, and they were about to see what brutality he was capable of.

Tag list: @bbnbhm @nocturnalrorobin

#I can't believe this is chapter 50 #this one is rough y'all #physically hurting me to write this #almost through the worst angst #one piece #eustass kid #massacre soldier killer #marooned #x reader #killer x reader #eustass kid x reader #kid x reader x killer

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bleue-flora · 5 months ago

Note

https://www.tumblr.com/proudfreakmetarusonniku/756464056474435585/people-acting-like-canonically-cdream-and-ctommy?source=share

I’m so lost by that take

Umm… I don’t remember the ccs saying that… I once again ask for proof. Like guys if y’all be out here aggressively stating these takes can please cite your sources… like bruh. Just because you say it don’t make it true. Here’s what I know. In Daedalus Dream says this about Exile:

[17:45] SAM: “I mean… I don’t know. You told me that… You had Tommy trapped on that island with you.”

DREAM: “Yeah…?”

SAM: “Wasn’t that bad?”

DREAM: “I— what— what—? Me— After Tommy was exiled by Tubbo? That I— I spent time with him? And gave him food, like I’m literally doing to you right now? And talked to him? You know— tried to rehabilitate him from making the mistakes that he made over and over and over and over again?”

SAM: “Yeah— I guess… it’s not really that bad I guess. It’s…”

DREAM: “Like why was he exiled—? How is it my fault he was exiled?! He— he was— he was like— he was blowing up things and burning things and destroying things and causing tons of problems for no reason whatsoever.”

SAM: “Yeah, that’s true…”

DREAM: “And he was supposed to be well—behaved as like— what— like whatever he was for his country—I don’t know, he was in some position.”

SAM: “Yeah…“

DREAM: “And then Tubbo exiled him. And after he was exiled I took him to his exile spot and I just kept— kept an eye on him, I didn’t want him to be doing bad things. That’s not so bad.”

SAM: “Yeah… I guess it’s really not that bad. I guess it’s kind of… not bad at all in some ways.”

DREAM: “I mean I’d say— You know… I’d say, the things that— I said to Tommy and the things that I did to Tommy, I do— I do… think that they’re not… you know, morally… perfect. But in my mind it was— it was for his greater good, right? And the server, I mean he was destroying things, you know what I mean?”

Which is not talking about it as an ego trip. And based on that and what we saw in Exile, which I’ve already talked about to me looks oddly close to Philza’s teaching and parenting in general later, with making Tommy destroy items to teach Tommy not to put items above people. I think I’ll have to disagree with their take.

Firstly, if punching, hitting, or slashing or whatever at Tommy counts as child abuse than I’m pretty sure Everyone on the server is guilty and here’s the thing, are we really saying there a difference between abuse and child abuse in the first place? Why is that so important? Tommy could be the same age and Exile would still be messed up. Who cares if he’s 16, 17? In a world where anyone can run a country and lead a war, what does age matter? Couldn’t you also be impressionable and naive and just as vulnerable to manipulation as an 18, 19, 20 year old? Scientifically you ain’t grown up til you’re like 25, when you brain is finally fully developed. Sure in the real world, age matters but it matters because Tommy wouldn’t be able to do the things he does and he would have a legal guardian. In this situation to me it seems to be put at a higher importance. Isn’t abuse just abuse, or hurting someone just hurting someone?…

Plus, it’s not about equally bad. It’s not about deserve. You’re missing the freaking point if that’s how you’re viewing the story. It doesn’t matter about who deserves what and who’s wrong and right. They both hurt each other, they both abused eachother, they both tortured eachother, it’s not about who did worse and who was justified. That’s not how the world works. That mentality is how the cycle of revenge and violence and abuse continues, until there’s nothing left but ash. How about no ones in the right. How about it’s never justifiable. How about no one deserves it. How bout they’re both terrible people. How bout the Whole Server is full of terrible people…

To me if you are breaking the complex story do the dsmp down to exile and child abuse and oh poor Tommy, then you’ve missed the point of the story. And I’m pretty sure I can speak for everyone hand talking about it, no one is saying that anyone can be deserving of necessarily at fault of being hurt, I think we are more so looking at it from the context of Dream’s perspective and the context of the dsmp world rules.

And Tommy may not have deserved Exile, but he may be responsible for ending up banished. He’s not some innocent child, he never was, he has been. Yes, he is absolutely flawed, they are all flawed, but does dream not get the same reasoning of being flawed? Are they not all people, flawed and imperfect, doing things to the best of their ability, motivated with reasons and purpose. Are they not all wrong, but right from their own point of view…

#hello there #dsmp #dsmpblr #not sure I make sense of got my point across well but… I tried I guess… I’m getting real close to writing an essay that will get be cancled #but I’m not sure I feel like discussing with innitors for a bit…. so we leave it here for now #dreblr #c!discduo #c!dream and c!tommy #c!tommyinnit #c!tommy #dream smp #c!dream

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ghostlyyraccoon · 2 years ago

Text

fast as you can

ship: kaveh x alhaitham

word count: 11534

warnings: minor violence, short mention of sexual assault

chapters: 1/1

ao3 link: x

summary: “I returned to the tavern after I brought you home, found the man whose name you told me and punched him square in the face. Are you happy now?” Alhaitham leaned closer towards Kaveh. “Do you believe me?” There was a strange intensity to his eyes.The unexpected honesty had Kaveh utterly confused. For a moment, he was quiet as he ran his fingers over his temples.“I don't understand why you would do this for me. Is it to put me in even more debt? Don't I owe you enough already? Tighnari is convinced you did it for my sake.” He let out a dry laugh. “Unless you're like, secretly in love with me, there'd be no-” Kaveh's words, uttered without much thought, got stuck in his throat when for the shortest of moments, a conflicted expression ghosted over Alhaitham's face. Kaveh felt like the air was being pushed out of his lungs.“W- what was that?!”

Alhaitham considered himself a sensible man. He knew how to navigate his feelings, no matter how incomprehensible they tended to appear to the outside world. Oftentimes, his behaviour was seen as either rude or uncaring, yet Alhaitham rarely bothered to correct these assumptions. After all, there was some truth to them that he did not care to debate. He tolerated a set amount of social torment in a day and refused to even entertain the thought of willfully prolonging the experience.

At his house, it was a different story. Alhaitham’s homelife, once quiet and serene, had been turned upside down the moment Kaveh moved in, desperate and hellbent on keeping his new living arrangement a secret. Kaveh’s refusal to let anyone know about his circumstances was truly fascinating to Alhaitham, considering how the architect tended to complain about him to anyone within hearing range the moment a droplet of wine touched his lips.

Kaveh was currently at Lambad’s tavern, doing exactly that. Archons, he would have kept going if Lambad hadn’t called for Alhaitham to come and escort his tipsy roommate back home. Perhaps the fact that Kaveh had gotten involved in a slight brawl with another patron mere hours prior had worried the staff enough to reach out.

The Acting Grand Sage arrived less than half an hour later, the expression on his face unreadable as he nodded at Lambad in silent greeting before paying Kaveh’s tab.

“We are leaving,” he said as he passed by Kaveh, who was lounging on a couch, legs crossed and wine glass in hand. He spared Alhaitham a quick glance and rolled his eyes, refusing to move. When Alhaitham noticed that he had no intentions of getting up, he turned back around and gave him a quick once-over. For a moment, there seemed to be a silent conversation between the two men. They stared each other down, neither of them willing to budge.

“I am waiting,” Alhaitham finally said. “Unless you want to sleep on the streets tonight. If that’s what you’re aiming for, then be my guest.”

Kaveh scoffed and took another sip of his half-empty wine glass before pointing it in Alhaitham's direction. “Did you forget that I have a key? It was you who gave it to me, I might add!”

“Oh? You mean this key?” Alhaitham opened his palm and Kaveh was greeted by his lion keychain dangling off Alhaitham’s ring finger.

“Oh, you little-” Kaveh crossed his arms and leaned forward. His eyes were glowing in the tavern’s low lighting. “And why should I have to listen to you? Just because we live together doesn’t mean I have to go along with everything you say. What do you think I am, your lapdog?!”

A couple of patrons turned their heads around and exchanged curious glances as Alhaitham ran his hand across his face. He wasn’t wearing his earpieces and his expression looked fairly irritated. “Last chance,” he forced out, his tone more quiet than usual. With that, he waved Kaveh’s keys in front of his face again, an eyebrow raised expectantly. Kaveh leapt forward to reclaim what was his and almost got intimately acquainted with the sticky tavern floor in the process.

Kaveh was stumbling down the dimly lit streets, fuelled by two bottles of wine and a certain kind of delirium that only came for those destined to black out soon. He'd been uncharacteristically quiet for the majority of the walk and was most likely sulking due to his night out having been cut short.

After a few more wobbly steps, he unexpectedly began to talk again. “Say, Alhaitham,” he started. “Tell me one thing. Am I not…desirable? With my reputation, one would think there’d be admirers lining up at my front door. Yet all I get stuck with are these desperate good for nothings.”Despite his state of intoxication, he barely slurred his words, so it didn’t take Alhaitham much to understand him. After all, he’d left his earpieces at home and was now unwillingly suffering through the world at full volume.

He shot his roommate a quick side-glance. “For starters, you’d need a front door of your own for that, don’t you think?”

“You-” Kaveh started, but stumbled over his own feet before he could keep going. Alhaitham, attentive as usual, quickly wrapped one arm around his waist and pulled him up before he could hit the ground. Kaveh’s body felt almost feverishly hot against his own chilly skin.

“You are infuriating!” Kaveh exclaimed, out of breath. He hit Ahaitham’s arm thrice in quick succession until the man let go of him again. “I am trying to tell you about this respectless bastard who tried to come onto me, getting all handsy and such! He wouldn't even take a no!”

Finally, Alhaitham turned to look at him. Knowing Kaveh, he’d let that man know exactly how he felt about the unwanted advances. Judging by his reaction, there was little need to worry. Despite knowing that, there was a feeling he couldn't name roaming in his chest.

“Knowing you, that man would’ve run away sooner or later regardless,” Alhaitham added from two steps behind. He pushed the unnamed sensation aside and bookmarked it for future review.

Kaveh gasped.“I don't even know why I try to talk to you. You-! You have the emotional sensibilities of a sumpter beast!” His cheeks flushed red with anger as he stared at him in disbelief. Alhaitham scoffed, but refused to say more.

“And another thing!” Kaveh turned back around, an accusing finger pointed at Alhaitham. “I could get a partner if I really put my back into it. It’s just that I’m too busy at the moment! That is all!”

“Is that so?” Alhaitham said stiffly, furrowing his brows. “Let me know when the time comes and I’ll extend my congratulations to the happy couple.”

Kaveh simply clicked his tongue and started walking faster. The rest of their walk was painted in silence. In spite of his apparent nonchalance, Alhaitham was deep in thought, reflecting on his roommate’s words.

Then Kaveh stumbled a second time and despite his colourful words of protest, Alhaitham pulled his arm over his shoulder and kept him steady until they reached their house.

When Alhaitham finally unlocked the door, Kaveh was already hanging off his shoulder, threatening to fall to the ground. He wrestled him past the doorstep and as soon as the living room was in sight, Kaveh freed himself, stumbled the last few steps forward and crashed on the couch. His head hit the pillow and it was immediately clear the man was gone. Alhaitham watched him from several steps away.

Kaveh's cheek was pushed against his hand and his shirt had wandered, exposing freckled shoulders and a tanned chest. His last job in the desert had turned his skin into the softest shade of brown.

Alhaitham silently moved closer and leaned down, one forearm braced against the couch’s backrest. He tilted his head to the side as he watched Kaveh’s breathing calm down. His hair, pale like wheat, was looking far from pristine with the way it was spread out over the pillow and covering a good part of his face. His lips, plump and wine-tinted, were slightly parted.

Alhaitham allowed himself a good look. The soft sound of Kaveh’s breathing filled his ears. The room was so quiet he could almost hear his own heartbeat.

It was calm moments like these where he was most certain he was losing the rational part of his mind. He knew far too well what his feelings for his roommate meant, knew against his own judgement that the feelings he harboured were far from the camaraderie one should feel for a former classmate. Against better judgement, he’d been aware of the fact that he was in love with Kaveh for the past seven years.

For a split second, he found himself reaching out. With much more care than one would expect from him, he pushed a strand of hair out of Kaveh’s face, careful not to have his fingers touch his skin.

“What am I supposed to do with you,” he mumbled, then stopped himself and opted to flick his fingers against his forehead instead. Kaveh’s eyebrows pulled together in annoyance and his nose scrunched up. Even in his sleep, he swatted at Alhaitham’s hand, mumbling a string of words that were most likely insulting in nature.

Alhaitham smiled before leaning down further, their previous discussion still fresh in his mind. “What was that bastard’s name?” he whispered into his ear.

“-k-m…” At first, Kaveh’s reply was too muffled to understand. It took Alhaitham a moment until the name sorted itself in his head. Then, Kaveh stirred again. “Akim,” he repeated before burying his face deeper in the couch pillows.

Akim, huh?

Alhaitham straightened his back again and searched the room. His eyes stopped at a blanket lying near Kaveh’s feet. It was a gift from an old woman he’d involuntarily helped out, and was irritatingly scratchy. It had the most horrible feel to it, but for some forsaken reason, Kaveh didn’t seem to mind it one bit. Alhaitham gathered the blanket and quickly threw it over him so it fell somewhat clumsily onto his body. Kaveh mumbled another string of words he couldn't understand as he adjusted the blanket so it covered his entire body.

Ahaitham had made up his mind. On his way out, he grabbed Kaveh’s set of keys. There was some place he still had to visit tonight.

He threw his sleeping roommate one last look as he grabbed his soundproof earpieces and pulled the door shut.

Truthfully, Alhaitham had been aware of his feelings for Kaveh for years now.

The first time they met was shortly after Alhaitham’s grandmother died, leaving him an orphan with no immediate family to call his own. The grief was still fresh as a wound the day they met at the House of Daena.

Kaveh, in his own way, had somehow managed to lift his spirits during that time. Alhaitham was barely respondent and borderline rude, yet Kaveh had been there and somehow managed to befriend him along the way. Perhaps this unexpected act of kindness was the last nail in Alhaitham’s coffin. At first, the realisation was nothing but an obstacle to him. It was a riddle he couldn’t solve, a language that failed to come to him naturally. For years thoughts of Kaveh plagued him at night, resulting in him spending restless hours pondering over what could’ve possibly triggered them.

Months passed and everything was fine until it wasn’t. After the complete disaster that was their joint project, they stopped meeting up, stopped talking altogether. One big fight was all it took to tear down the shaky constructs of their friendship. It was one sentence too truthful, uttered without consideration for the repercussions.

Ever since that day, Kaveh refused to look him in the eye. When communication was necessary, he stubbornly insisted on only talking to him through other people. It was incredibly childish and perfectly Kaveh. And although Alhaitham refused to take back what he'd said, there was a part of him that understood why things had to turn out that way.

Despite himself, he missed the camaraderie they’d had. For several weeks he was moody and irritable until he came to accept that his problem wasn’t only the friendship lost, but also the realization that somewhere along the way, he’d fallen for his temperamental senior. As soon as he accepted his feelings for what they were, it turned from an unwanted surprise into a simple acknowledgement of facts.

Alhaitham hated soup, noisy crowds and had fallen in love with a man who had cut off all bonds they'd previously shared. It was reason enough to keep his distance and leave the relationship a broken, unstable thing. Maybe they were too different after all.

Perhaps it would’ve felt more heartbreaking if Alhaitham hadn’t known from the start that it would never work out.

After all, if there was one person in Teyvat unfit to be with Kaveh, it would be him. Kaveh dreamed of a big romance, dreamed of someone sweeping him off his feet into warm and welcoming arms. In the end, that was something Alhaitham would never be able to provide.

Perhaps it was a bittersweet concept to others, yet Alhaitham had never seen it that way. Since he’d considered his chances to be nonexistent right from the start, the disappointment gradually remained at a low point.

A sudden, loud noise disturbed the busy bustling of Lambad’s tavern.

A man stumbled backwards, pressing his hands closely to his nose. A stream of blood was running down his face, for his hands weren’t enough to stop the blood flow.

Alhaitham shook his hand, now speckled with blood, and looked down at the man below him, fist red and knuckles torn. “Don’t try that again. Next time, you won’t be so lucky. Understood?”

The man tried to retaliate, but quickly lifted one hand to protect his face when Alhaitham raised an eyebrow at him. “U-understood.”

He stared him down for good measure, then turned to leave. Lambad was calling his name, but Alhaitham had already turned his earpieces on, paying the world no mind anymore.

Maybe Alhaitham was losing himself in his own way after all. This had nothing to do with him, yet he’d still gone out of his way to rough the man up. His only saving grace was that even if word got out, Kaveh would never believe it. He had never been one to believe in the goodness of Alhaitham’s heart. Admittedly, it was a proper stance to have. After all, he was indeed particular about who he helped out, but when he did, he rarely cared to keep track of the favours people owed him for it.

The walk home was quiet and Alhaitham had to calm his heart that was beating to the tune of his music, before returning to his passed-out roommate.

Kaveh awoke to one of his arms dead asleep. Shooting up from the couch, he spent his first minute awake shaking the life back into his buzzing arm. The uncomfortable feeling was enough to momentarily distract him from what was to come.

As soon as his hand felt as if it belonged to his body again, the nausea hit him. Judging by his debilitating hangover, he'd definitely overdone it yesterday.

Slowly, he started dragging himself to the bathroom, feeling remotely pathetic and spent. The process took him much longer than expected since he had to stop and reconsider his life choices every few steps to make sure he didn't end up throwing up all over Alhaitham‘s atrocious carpet. Once he arrived without any further incidents, he held onto the sink as if it was a lifeline. Kaveh stared at himself in the mirror. His hair looked like a rat’s nest and his eyes were rimmed red.

When he tried to remember how he got home last night, he hit a wall. Even trying to retrace yesterday‘s steps did him no good. Perhaps he’d overdone it more than a little, he quietly had to admit to himself. No matter how hard he tried to remember, his brain wouldn't budge. The memory gap remained, annoying as it was.

He’d worry about it later. First, he had to get ready in time to meet up with Tighnari. They had scheduled a meeting weeks before, and there was no way in hell he’d miss out on it just because of a little hangover. It was rare enough that both of their busy schedules aligned for once.

Kaveh took a quick shower and left the bathroom, feeling slightly more alive again. He checked the time and cursed. If he ran, maybe he’d still make it in time.

Kaveh was sitting, massaging his temples as he tried to nurse the violent hangover he'd woken up to. Tighnari was sitting across from him, throwing him a slightly judgemental look as he stirred his tea. “You know,” he started.”I’d feel bad for you but you should definitely know better.”

“Yeah yeah, rub it in, won't you,” Kaveh complained. The server brought his order and Kaveh poked at it with a finger. It looked good, but the smell made his stomach turn a little.

Tighnari sipped on his tea and fixed him with a curious gaze. “So tell me, how did your night go? Judging by your half-alive state, I’d say not so well.”

Kaveh took a careful first bite and waited to see if his body agreed with what it was being offered. Once it felt safe enough, he dug in with vigour. Yesterday he'd opted out of eating before visiting the tavern - a fatal flaw as it turned out.

“Oh you won’t believe it,” he started between bites. “So picture this. Everything is going great. The wine is lovely, the company even more so. I am having an amazing time until this guy comes in and starts to flirt with me, trying to feel me up. That ugly bastard just wouldn’t take a no!” Kaveh swallowed his food. “He only got the message once I slapped him right across the face.” A quick chortle escaped his lips. “Left a pretty good mark if you ask me. Anyway, after I managed to shoo him off, naturally, I sped up on the drinks. Really, there was no saving the night after that, so who would blame me. And then everything goes black. I’m pulling up a blank slate right here.” He tapped the side of his forehead twice, then groaned as he buried his head in the crook of his arms. “It’s not fair. Let's just hope I didn't do anything stupid.”

Tighnari watched his friend and refilled his cup. Of course, he’d gotten somewhat used to his friend’s nightly escapades, but that didn’t mean they were any less troubling to listen to.

“Are you okay? If you want to, I could ask Cyno to find the guy.” There was genuine worry in his eyes.

“It’s fine, it’s fine. I’ve been through worse.” Kaveh pushed his hair out of his face. In his hurry, he’d forgotten to pin it back. “ I appreciate the offer, but there's really no need. I just wish I’d hit him a little harder. Would have done him some good, I think.”

“About that,” Tighnari started. His ears twitched in anticipation. “Word has it Alhaitham beat someone up at the tavern last night. Do you think that could be related in some way?”

“Huh?” Kaveh’s head shot up and he almost dropped the spoon he‘d been playing with. “What?! Alhaitham beating someone up?! Nonono that can't be. What sort of reason would he have? What would someone have to do to him, dog-ear one of his books? Come on, Tighnari. This is Alhaitham we're talking about here. Al-hai-tham! ” He made sure to drag out his name. “This is ridiculous. Is everyone losing their minds? I mean, really.”

He racked his brain for last night’s memories, but came up with nothing new. Kaveh scoffed in annoyance. “He wasn't even at the tavern last night. I was there the entire time, I would definitely know. Alhaitham, beating someone up. Yeah right,” he scoffed and rolled his eyes.

Tighnari stole a piece of Kaveh’s food and plopped it into his mouth. “Would you though? He always gets called when you overdo it. Archons above, it's beyond me why he still comes to pick you up so often. Kaveh, you’re my friend and you know I cherish you, but I’d definitely have abandoned you after the third time or so.” Tighnari leaned forward and his ears twitched playfully.

“Hey, rude! Aren’t you supposed to be my friend?!”

Tighnari’s tone turned more serious again. “In all honesty, I can't think of anything besides you that routinely gets Alhaitham to act out of bounds like that. I think it’s pretty safe to say that he normally doesn’t care enough to get involved like that.”

Kaveh scoffed once more, but stared at an indent in the table as he felt his cheeks heat up.

“Yeah, there's no way. Even if he did, he was probably just in a bad mood because he got sand in his shoes or something. Or he just read an incredibly bad application for funding. I'll ask him, you'll see! Alhaitham, doing something like that out of the goodness of his heart… yeah, right. What's next, he'll start behaving like a normal human being?!”

Kaveh threw the door open so hard it almost hit the wall.

“Alhaitham!” he yelled as he burst into the house, looking for his roommate. “Alhaitham! I need to talk to you!”

He didn’t have to look for long. There Alhaitham was, lounging on the couch. It was his day off, so he looked fairly relaxed reading his book, not even looking up as Kaveh came bustling in.

“What's the ruckus about this time?” he said, head still turned towards his book. One finger hovered over the pause button of his earpieces.

Kaveh sized him up with a strange look on his face, then stepped forward and quickly snatched the book away from him. Alhaitham looked up at him, irritation clear in his eyes. He reached for the book, but before he could grab it, Kaveh put it even further away.

“Let me check something,” he said. It was more of a demand than a question.

“Return my book and we’ll see about that,” Alhaitham shot back as he crossed his arms in front of his chest.

“Listen to instructions for once in your life and you’ll get it back.”

Alhaitham seemed to consider his options for a moment. “No.”

“Alright, then,” Kaveh muttered under his breath. Instead of continuing to run in conversational circles with Alhaitham, he lunged forward and grabbed both of his hands by the wrists, pulling them close. Desperate times called for desperate measures.

Embarrassingly enough, Kaveh was more than acquainted with Alhaitham’s hands and would notice even the slightest change in appearance. He’d always harboured an artist’s adoration for them. Long fingers, almond-shaped nails and soft-looking skin seemed to make for the perfect muse. In the confines of his room, he’d painted them more times than he was proud to admit. Not that he'd ever told anyone about it. Actually, he’d much rather die and turn over in his grave before admitting to such a thing out loud.

He inspected the hands he knew so well with furrowed brows. Alhaitham’s skin was as smooth as he had always expected it to be. When his thumbs ran over split knuckles, Kaveh looked at his roommate with raised eyebrows. Of course, Tighnari just had to be right.

“What the hell, Alhaitham! When Tighnari told me someone saw you getting into a fight at the tavern, I was so sure they must've been mistaken. Feeble scholar my ass.”

Alhaitham tried to pull his hands away, but Kaveh only tightened his grip and pulled them closer.”Don’t you have anything to say?!”

“So what if I did. I don't see how that's any of your business, Kaveh.”

“When did you even get to Lambad’s? You weren't there when I was.”

Alhaitham raised one eyebrow. “You do know the owner calls me whenever someone needs to drag your semi-conscious carcass back home, don’t you? Did you really think you got yourself home in the state you were in?” His hands were unmoving in Kaveh’s and he threw him a taunting look. “Everybody, clap for the genius that is the Light of Kshahrewar,” he replied, his voice dripping in sarcasm. It made Kaveh want to throw a fit. How could one man be this infuriating? He dropped Alhaitham's hands as if he'd been burned. This was as close to an admission as he'd get from him.

“Not only are you a bastard, you’re an ass too! Unbelievable! And to think I was worried about you! Why can't you just communicate like a normal human being?”

Alhaitham shot him a deadpan look as he tried reaching for his book again. Clearly, he didn't want to talk about the issue at hand. But that didn't mean Kaveh would just let him have his way. He moved Alhaitham's book even further out of reach.

“We are not done talking.”

“Says who.”

“Well, I do! And I’m your roommate, so you’ll have to listen to me!”

“Remind me how that works again?”

Kaveh stared him down, exasperated. When he received no further answer, he clicked his tongue and turned on his heel. It was clear from the way his steps echoed through the hallway that he was mad.

What Alhaitham didn't expect however, was for Kaveh to return shortly after, disinfectant and bandages in hand. He plopped down on the sofa, one leg pulled up, the other on the ground.

“Come here,” he said, suddenly quiet. A peace offering.

Alhaitham didn't move an inch, but turned towards him with a raised eyebrow nonetheless. Kaveh rarely ever did things quietly. With him tended to come a boatload of irritating noise.

“Must you always be so difficult?! Come here, Alhaitham,” he repeated himself, this time more demanding.

“What for?” he asked stubbornly, earning him a groan from Kaveh.

“Just stop asking! Here.” Kaveh scooched forward, taking one of Alhaitham's hands and putting it on his leg.

The confusion was almost comically clear on Alhaitham's face. Before he could open his mouth again, Kaveh pressed an alcohol-drenched cotton ball to his split knuckles. His tongue darted past his lips as he ogled the injury once more before carefully applying bandages.

When he was done, he squeezed Alhaitham's healthy hand. “There. Wasn't that bad now, was it? You know, it wouldn't kill you to trust me from time to time.”

Kaveh had always been too kind for his own good. This breached dangerous territories. Alhaitham knew he should thank him, but being open felt like reaching into his chest and exposing a beating piece of his heart he wasn't willing to give up just yet. It was a derailment of what he knew that made his blood run cold.

Carefully, he flexed his fingers as he pondered his next move, decidedly ignoring how warm his cheeks felt after that small touch. Years of little to no touch had made him a degenerate when it came to physical affection, it seemed.

Alhaitham cleared his throat. “You didn't do half bad,” he finally admitted.

“Yeah yeah, you're welcome.” Kaveh made an exaggerated hand movement. “It was nothing.”

But Alhaitham knew better. To him, it was a lot more than that. People generally did not treat him this gently. Archons, people rarely ever touched him. They kept their distance, careful not to gaze over Alhaitham's meticulously built walls. Mostly, he was thankful for it. His fortress was a lone, but sturdy thing. It was safe and most of all, consistently reliable. Leave it to Kaveh to knock it down in the breath of a moment.

“You feel like telling me what happened now? Although I find you terribly insufferable, I don’t know you to be violent without a good reason.”

And Alhaitham decided to give him an inch. He tilted his head back and let his back hit the couch. “Find it out yourself if you're so curious,” he taunted, looking at Kaveh from under his eyelashes. Kaveh returned the gaze with a newfound fire in his eyes.

“Oh, I will. Believe me, I will!”

He pointed one last accusatory finger at his roommate. “This conversation is not over!”

For once, Kaveh made his way down to Lambad’s tavern without the goal of getting absolutely hammered in mind. Today, he was on an important mission.

It should be fairly easy to find the answer to his questions as long as he asked just the right people. After all, Lambad’s tavern was always filled to the brim. There had to have been at least a handful of people who bore witness to Alhatham’s little throwdown yesterday.

Kaveh didn’t have to search for long. Upon entering, first things first, he was faced with a man staring at him, one eye swollen shut and his nose bent in an awkward ankle, most definitely broken. The man opened his mouth, then closed it again when he made eye contact with Kaveh, bearing striking resemblance to a blowfish. His eyes darted to the ground almost immediately.

Suddenly, a memory pushed its way through Kaveh’s hazy brain. Hands trying to grab his waist, attempting to touch where he certainly hadn’t allowed him to.

“You little-” Kaveh started, leaping forward. Before he knew it, he was already grabbing Akim by the collar, pulling him closer to his face.

The scumbag named Akim lifted his hands in defeat, flinching away from him as he scrambled for words. “Your partner already taught me a lesson. I get it now! What I did was wrong and I am sorry. I've had one too many, Kaveh. I was drunk, drunk I say!”

Kaveh's anger came in hot white flashes. “That is not an excuse you- wait. Say that again?”

“I've had one too many?”

“No, the other thing! Did you just say my partner beat you up?” An idea, perhaps even an inkling of what might have occurred started to form in his head. However, it made absolutely no sense to him, no matter which way he turned it. There was only one person Akim could logically be talking about.

“Partner, boyfriend, lover, whatever you’d like to call the Acting Grand Sage.” Akim shied away from his probing gaze. “Knocked the living daylights out of me. Who knew a paper pusher like him could have that much upper body strength? I mean I should’ve known, the man is built like a t-”

Kaveh’s breath hitched in his throat. “The Acting Grand Sage beat you up?!” His voice raised in pitch. “You think Alhaitham and I are…” His cheeks reddened and Akim threw him an almost amused look.

“It's the talk of the town, even more so after he hit me in front of the entire tavern. Honestly, my bad for trying to shoot my shot despite it.”

“You- I- He…Ugh!” Kaveh brought out and let go of Akim’s collar. “It's not like that!” He took a step back and pushed his hair out of his face in exasperation.

“So I still have a chance?” The man’s hopeful smile was disgusting. Without any warning, Kaveh picked an abandoned glass off the table and threw the drink in his face. “You wish!” He left the man behind, dripping from head to toe and looking properly pathetic.

Kaveh made his way towards the bar, grumbling to himself, where Lambad watched him with a certain kind of curiosity.

“Mister Kaveh.” He nodded in greeting. “A bit early to see you here. Might I ask why you are antagonising my clientele this fine midday?”

Throwing himself onto one of the barstools, Kaveh leaned forward, fixing Lambad with a serious gaze. “He deserved it,” he concluded. “I’d keep an eye on him, he's definitely a pervert.”

“Hmm of course. I will keep it in mind. The Acting Grand Sage did already take care of that for you yesterday, didn't he?”

“Did everyone see?!” Nervously, Kaveh tapped his fingers against the counter. “Tell me what happened. Please, it’s… important.”

Lambad sighed. This was far beyond his pay grade.

When he returned home, Alhaitham was still where he’d left him. Kaveh approached, ready to confront him, but soon realised that Alhaitham had fallen asleep. Kaveh tutted his teeth. Whenever he complained to Cyno and Tighnari about how Alhaitham acted like a lazy cat in his free time, they refused to believe him. Yet here he was, once again dozing on the couch, the sunlight kissing his closed eyelids. He was lying on his side, both arms pulled close to his face. Like this, Alhaitham looked closer to the irritating junior Kaveh had met all those years ago. In many aspects, he was still the same. The attitude problem definitely remained, just as his lack of respect for his seniors did.

Kaveh knelt down, inspecting Alhaitham's face. “Hey, Alhaitham,” he said, voice firm. Alhaitham, being an exceptionally heavy sleeper, did not stir. The man was near impossible to wake and even more disagreeable than usual upon waking up. But Kaveh would have to risk it. After all, he wanted answers and he wanted them now.

“Wake up,” he said, shaking Alhaitham's shoulder. The man stirred, but only buried his head further into his arms. Irritated energy was coursing through his veins and Kaveh kicked the bottom of the couch. After all, Alhaitham hated when he made a ruckus. He'd show him what a proper ruckus looked like.

“Come on now, time to wake up!” He shook Alhaitham once more, this time more violently.

Finally, his eyes opened the tiniest bit. “What is it,” he grumbled and they fell shut again. Instead of waking up, he got a hold of Kaveh's arms. The architect promptly lost his balance and toppled over with a squawk. Curse Alhaitham and his stupid strength.

Still having a death grip on Kaveh's arms, Alhaitham turned onto his back, uttering something Kaveh interpreted as. “Just be quiet.”

This was why Kaveh never bothered waking him up. It was an entirely impossible feat and not worth sitting across from a grumpy Alhaitham not even coffee could soothe. Additionally, Kaveh was now partially draped over Alhaitham, unable to move. Determined not to give up, he swung his legs over Alhaitham's body, straddling him. He still couldn't free his hands, which were held tightly against Alhaitham's chest, but at least now he felt like he had the upper hand again.

“Alhaitham!” he said, this time louder. No response. “I'm not your pillow, let go of me!”

“Alright, if you're gonna be like that.” Kaveh leaned down until his head was almost in the crook of Alhaitham's neck, right next to his ear.

“Wake up, you bastard,” he whispered into his ear, sweetly, softly.

Finally, Alhaitham awoke with a startle, his eyes blinking against the light of the dimming sun.

“Kaveh?” Alhaitham was still drunk with sleep and his voice came out sounding both raspy and soft. Kaveh’s heart did something funny in his chest. Perhaps he'd made a mistake after all. He'd never heard Alhaitham utter his name like that.

Kaveh leaned back, dumbfounded, already having forgotten about the position he'd put himself in, and watched the way Alhaitham's eyebrows pulled together as he let go of his hands and yawned. He opened his eyes and suddenly stilled. For a moment, there was confusion on his face as he sat face to face with Kaveh. Neither of them said a word.

“What are you doing s-”

“It’s not what it looks like!”

They both stopped again until Kaveh remembered why he wanted to talk to him in the first place. He cleared his throat and turned his head away defensively. “I was just trying to wake you up. It’s not my fault you are impossible to wake up.”

“More importantly,” he continued. “Do you mind telling me what business you had at the tavern last night?”

Alhaitham sat up as much as he could, looking much livelier than he normally did after having been awoken so crudely. For once, there was some colour to his cheeks. “Actually, I do mind. Didn't I tell you to find it out yourself? What happened to that, gave up so soon? And to think you call yourself a creative genius.”

“I haven't! I just wanted to hear it from your mouth!”

Kaveh crossed his arms and looked down at Alhaitham. His eyes were narrowed.

Alhaitham blew his bangs out of his face and looked up at his roommate, who was still breaching his personal bubble. His eyes were still half-lidded from sleep, making his expression look remotely standoffish.

“I returned to the tavern after I brought you home, found the man whose name you told me and punched him square in the face. Are you happy now?” Alhaitham leaned closer towards Kaveh. “Do you believe me?” There was a strange intensity to his eyes.

The unexpected honesty had Kaveh utterly confused. Slowly, he untangled himself from Alhaitham and slid over to sit down on the couch instead. For a moment, he was quiet as he ran his fingers over his temples. His thoughts were racing.

“I don't understand why you would do this for me. Is it to put me in even more debt? Don't I owe you enough already? Tighnari is convinced you did it for my sake.” He let out a dry laugh. “Unless you're like, secretly in love with me, there'd be no-” Kaveh's words, uttered without much thought, got stuck in his throat when for the shortest of moments, a conflicted expression ghosted over Alhaitham's face. Kaveh felt like the air was being pushed out of his lungs.

“W- what was that?!”

“What was what?” Alhaitham replied, his voice lacking its usual bite. “You need to be more specific if you’re expecting an answer.”

A certain kind of nausea started to fill Kaveh’s guts. “I saw that. That look on your face, you… You must be joking.”

The look on Alhaitham's face was a truly unfamiliar sight. In the 10 years they’d known each other, Kaveh had never seen anything like it.

“This is just a cruel joke right? You've heard me lament about how lonely I am, so this is how you choose to tease me.”

Alhaitham seemed to have regained his composure. His lips parted and Kaveh waited impatiently. It was uncomfortable to see him at a loss for words.

Then finally, Alhaitham looked back at him before averting his eyes again. “It’s beyond me why that would be your first assumption,” he said calmly. “I may be blunt, but I'm rarely intentionally cruel, you should know that.”

“Then tell me that I got it wrong. Geez, don't sca-”

Alhaitham interrupted him before Kaveh could brush off his words. “You didn't. Your assumption was correct. I guess the secret's out now.” Alhaitham let out a dry chuckle.

Kaveh just stared at him as if he'd grown a second head, all possible replies dried out on his tongue. “Am I having a stroke?” he brought out, unable to keep his eyes off Alhaitham’s face. Red eyes met turquoise ones. “Do you want me to believe you of all people would fall in love? With me?”

The question caused more pain than he expected. Perhaps it was an unfair thing to feel hurt over. After all, Kaveh couldn’t have known the impact those exact words would have on him. Still, he recoiled and Kaveh pulled back his hands just as quickly.

“You'll be fine. This is none of your business anyway.”

Alhaitham stood up and pushed the hair out of his face. “For what it's worth…” He didn't turn back around. “I never planned on telling you. Maybe… “ He pulled a grimace. “Forget it.”

“It’s none of my business?! Oh no no, you are not going to get away with this, because I’m not buying it! You-” Kaveh watched Alhaitham, trying to find any change in his behaviour. He seemed just the same, if it weren't for the rigid set of his shoulders and his guarded expression.

“I thought you didn't care,” Kaveh whispered, all his anger blown away in an instant.

“I guess you thought wrong then.”

Kaveh couldn't keep his eyes off him. His heartstrings were aching with a familiar pain.

“You… you've known for a while,” he concluded and Alhaitham nodded. His hands were digging into his thighs hard enough to leave marks. Kaveh didn't dare to step closer, his body frozen in place.

“Obviously.”

“For how long?”

“I don't see how that matters.”

“It matters to me! Alhaitham, of course it matters! How. Long.”

It was obvious Alhaitham didn't want to answer. After a moment of silence however, he caved in. “After we cut contact.”

“After we-” Kaveh's eyes widened. “Seven years?! And you said nothing?!”

“Naturally. You didn't talk to me. Nothing would've changed if I’d thrown another set of obstacles your way.”

“I-”

“You wouldn’t have listened. Nothing would have changed,” he repeated, putting more emphasis on his words. There was a scary level of conviction to his words.

Kaveh's head felt as if it was about to combust. His heart was beating with an anxiety that was yelling at him to escape while he still could. Certainty could be such a frightening thing. “I can't do this right now,” he forced out, caught up in the mess that were his own emotions.

Alhaitham nodded solemnly and sat down again, his hands now pressed flat against his thighs. For once, he seemed reluctant to fight about the issue. “I certainly won't stop you.”

“I'm going to Tighnari’s. Don't come after me.”

“Suit yourself.”

Kaveh rushed to his room to gather a few of his things. His heart was beating to his chest as he threw all his necessities into a bag. When he returned to the living room to retrieve his keys, Alhaitham was staring out of the window, arms crossed and lips pressed into a straight line.

And although there was some part of him yelling at him not to leave him like that, all Kaveh could do was run.

Alhaitham didn't turn around when the door fell shut behind him. As soon as he was alone, his expression dropped. This was the outcome he’d expected, yet it still hurt. It was a foolish, nonsensical thing to grieve about.

His heart ached, the feeling uncommon and new to him. It wasn’t the dull heartache of unrequited love he’d grown accustomed to, but something much more open and fresh instead.

Alhaitham slipped his ear pieces back on and put on instrumental music to soothe his bruised heart. The mellow beats did little to calm his troubled mind.

With a sigh, Alhaitham switched the music off again. Perhaps this was the perfect time to get serious about his temporary position as Acting Grand Sage. A lot of work had piled up and by now it was quite obvious that no one else was ready to step up just yet. Being busy would be a welcome distraction. Despite his efforts, there was nothing and no one waiting for him at home anyway.

Perhaps it was always supposed to end this way. After all, fate had never been particularly kind towards either of them.

Kaveh arrived in Gandharva Ville completely out of breath. He came to a stop, hands braced on his knees, and had to catch his breath for several minutes. As his gaze was turned towards his own feet, they were suddenly joined by a small set of sturdy boots. Kaveh’s head shot up and he was greeted by unruly green hair and big eyes. Tighnari’s little pupil, Collei, mustered him with a worried expression. “Mister Kaveh?! Are you- are you alright? Hold on, let me get you some water, here!”

The young girl unbuckled a flask from her belt and handed it over to him with shaky hands.

Kaveh took a big gulp and relished in the feeling of cold water making its way down his parched throat. He straightened his back and looked up. Kaveh was greeted by the bluest sky he'd seen in a long time. It was a day too perfect for his beaten mood and for once, he found himself wishing for rainy clouds and dark skies.

“Thank you, Collei. You are too kind. Is Tighnari home? I really need to talk to him.”

“Of course, yeah! I'll bring you to him, follow me!”

He followed her through the forest and not too soon after, they arrived at Tighnari's house.

“Master!”

Tighnari's head poked out of the doorway. “Yes, Collei? Oh- Hello Kaveh. I expected to see you sooner or later. Come in, tell me what happened.”

“Tighnari, can I stay here for a couple of days? Please?”

Tighnari put his hands on his hips and sighed. “That bad, huh? Well, come on in first. You can tell me all about what happened with Alhaitham after you’ve settled down a bit.”

“How did you-”

Tighnari sighed deeply. “One way or another, your problems always revolve around him.”

Kaveh opened and closed his mouth. “I complain about other things too!” he retorted, fairly offended.

Tighnari's ear twitched. “Let me be the judge of that.”

After he got settled in, Kaveh and Tighnari sat down at a cozy dinner table. Without saying a word, Tighnari pushed a bottle of wine towards Kaveh.

“You look like you need it.”

Kaveh accepted it gratefully. “Tighnari did the Archons send you?” He poured himself a glass, then settled down. After his first few sips, he pushed the glass away and cradled his head instead, lost in thought. Tighnari poured himself a glass as well and watched his friend with sharp eyes.

“Alhaitham told me he's in love with me.” Straight to the point. The words came tumbling out of his mouth before he could even think about stopping them.

Tighnari spilled a bit of wine and cursed. “He did what now? Kaveh…”

“For seven years, Tighnari! He's been keeping this from me for seven years! Can you tell me why he has to be like that?! And he only admitted to it because I straight up asked! If I hadn’t said anything, he would have-'' Kaveh interrupted his stream of words to take another small sip. “He would have kept it all to himself, just like that!” He nursed his drink and pushed out his bottom lip. “He’s so unfair, Tighnari.”

Tighnari furrowed his brows and sighed deeply. “So you finally realized it.”

“Finally? What is that supposed to mean? Don’t tell me…” Kaveh looked over at his friend. Was it that obvious?

“So how did you answer him?”

“Well, I- I mostly didn’t! I ditched him and immediately ran over here!”

With great restraint, Tighnari managed to suppress the urge to put his head in his own hands. Calmly, he folded his hands and leaned forward. “Let me summarize what happened, just to make sure I've got everything right. Alhaitham-”

Kaveh nodded.

“-confessed to you. You got mad at him, left without giving neither answer nor rejection and sought me out? Is that correct?”

Kaveh bit his lip. “Well, if you put it that way…”

“If I were you I’d go back home before he does something stupid.”

Guilt started to fester in Kaveh's bones. “I can't do that.”

“And why not? You can't just hide away forever. Running away from him will only get you so far. Didn’t you just start to rebuild your relationship? ”

“I can't because… because I just can't. It's complicated. He hasn't thought this through.” Kaveh crossed his arms and averted his eyes.

Tighnari didn’t know that everything good he touched eventually withered and died. No matter how irritating he was, he would never put this on Alhaitham, regardless of his own complicated feelings.

Tighnari fixed him with a deadpan stare. “You said yourself that it's been seven years. I think he’s had ample time to mull it over. I'm not trying to push you here, but I think you know very well that the actual problem lies elsewhere.” Tighnari tapped the table and faced him head on. “I just don't want you to ruin something before it's even had the opportunity to grow and bloom. Although Alhaitham is even more prickly than a cactus, I think you know him better than anybody else. Take your time to think it over, but don't just run away. You love him too, don't you?”

Kaveh lowered his head and wrung his hands. “Sometimes I despise how smart you are.”

When Kaveh returned with a made up mind and slightly improved mood, three days had already passed. Surprisingly, he was greeted by an empty home. After searching the entire house up and down, he came to the conclusion that nobody was home. Apparently, Alhaitham himself hadn’t been home in quite a while.

Just as Kaveh put down his bag, a frustrated sigh leaving his lips, the doorbell suddenly rang loud and clear. Kaveh opened the door without any hesitation. Perhaps Alhaitham had simply forgotten his key?

The man standing in front of the door was very clearly not Alhaitham. Still, the man’s face was familiar. Kaveh recognized it from somewhere. Then, it suddenly clicked. This man was Panah, the Mahamata who’d had the displeasure of getting tasked with helping out the Acting Grand Sage at the House of Daena.

“Senior Kaveh, thank Lesser Lord Kusanali!” he exclaimed, sounding both exhausted and out of breath. “Please come quick, we need your help. It's about the Acting Grand Sage. He hasn't left his office in days! Talk some sense into him, none of us are getting through to him! He just won't listen!”

Kaveh's eyes widened. So that was where Alhaitham had been hiding. What a fool.

“Yeah, he tends to do that. Let me grab my keys and I’ll be right behind you.”

Kaveh took the elevator up to Alhaitham's temporary office. To be quite honest, he had no idea what to expect. Despite his genius, Alhaitham was rarely one to do more than the bare minimum. This sudden change was so concerning and out of place that Kaveh couldn’t help but suspect that he was partially to blame for it. Perhaps if he hadn’t run away like a coward, things would’ve been different by now.

Alhaitham was sitting at his desk, the shadows beneath his eyes dark and pronounced as he stared down the document lying in front of him. The light of an almost burnt down candle dipped his features into an ominous light. The quill he was holding had left droplets of ink spattered on the tabled underneath his hand.

“Didn't I ask not to be disturbed?” he asked without lifting his head.

Kaveh walked over to his desk, hands stemmed on his hips. “Finally starting to take this thing seriously after all?” he asked before adding softly. “What are you doing here, Alhaitham?”

The scribe lifted his head and considered Kaveh. “Well, look who's found his way back,” he said drily. “The runaway architect.” He took a look at the clock. “There's still plenty of time left to escape if you ask me. Might make it worth your while.” Okay, so maybe running away had been an even worse decision than first anticipated.

“Alhaitham,” Kaveh started, but found himself at a loss for words once he got a closer look at the Scribe. “You look horrid.”

“Thank you for that astute observation. Now leave.”

Kaveh's eye twitched. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? I refuse.”

Alhaitham stared him down. “I said leave, Kaveh. Is that so hard to understand?”

“I am not leaving until you're coming home with me,” Kaveh retorted.

“First you run for the hills and now you want to play martyr? What a kind and empathetic soul you are, Kaveh.” Alhaitham’s voice was dripping with sarcasm, but there was a strange tone buried underneath it. “Maybe you can fix me after all.”

Kaveh slammed both of his hands on top of Alhaitham's table. “Why must everything always be doused in sarcasm with you! Am I not allowed to show that I care about your wellbeing?!”

Alhaitham's gaze was exhausted as he cocked his head to one side. “It's beyond me why you'd do that.” His usual drawl lacked its sparkle. “I never asked for your kindness and I certainly won't start now. Go and offer your charity to somebody else.”

They stared each other down, neither wanting to give in. Alhaitham's eyes drooped with tiredness and Kaveh could tell he almost had him. So really, who would blame him for playing a little dirty. He sat down on the table, arms crossed and back turned away from his roommate.

“How mature,” Alhaitham's voice sounded from behind him.

Kaveh shrugged his shoulders. “And what about it? I don't see you acting your age either, so why should I?”

Alhaitham sighed heavily. Minutes passed, and the scratching of quill on parchment turned from erratic to slow until finally, the quill dropped onto the table and it stopped completely. Kaveh turned back around. Alhaitham's head hung low and his breathing was slow. He had passed out from exhaustion.

“Oh geez,” Kaveh mumbled. “What have you been putting yourself through?” He walked around the table, kneeling down next to him to take a closer look at his face. Despite his slumber he didn't look peaceful.

“Let's get you home,” he whispered, brushing Alhaitham's hair back in place before pulling his arms over his shoulders and taking hold of his legs, carrying him piggy-back. “If you let go I'll never forgive you,” he grumbled. For once, he found himself thankful for Alhaitham’s annoying tendency to sleep like a log. Alhaitham's head dropped onto Kaveh’s shoulder and the hold around his neck tightened. The weight of Alhaitham on his back was almost reassuring, grounding.

The people at the House of Daena, once preoccupied with their various research topics and assignments, were watching Kaveh with eyes as big as dinner plates as he carried the dead asleep Acting Grand Sage towards the exit.

“This,” he pointed at himself, then back to the bystanders, “never happened.” Kaveh lifted one finger in warning before he left. “There's nothing to see here. You didn’t see anything .”

For some reason, he was certain his insistent words would do little to keep the rumours from spreading even further.

If the people of Sumeru city weren't already gossiping about Alhaitham and Kaveh's relationship, seeing Kaveh carry Alhaitham home would certainly give them ample reason to start doing so. For once, Kaveh didn't mind. More so, he found himself busy keeping the suffocating feeling of guilt at bay as he threw various onlookers with far too curious gazes a hard side-eye. Alhaitham the bastard continued to remain dead asleep and only tightened his hold on Kaveh’s neck.

“Are you trying to choke me out in your sleep?” he chuckled quietly. “Are you that cross with me?”

When they finally arrived at home, Kaveh's arms felt about ready to pop off. For a moment, he hovered in the living room, unsure of where to put Alhaitham down. After a moment of consideration, he carried him over to his room. Alhaitham’s room was more spacious after all.

As he stood before the bed, he found himself faced with a small problem. Alhaitham's grip on him was still fairly strong and Kaveh didn't want to wake him just yet, not after the stunt he just pulled at the House of Daena.

So he did the one thing he knew would work. Kaveh maneuvered the both of them onto the bed with as much care as humanly possible. His back cracked during the effort and he sent a quick prayer to the heavens, hoping he didn’t pull a nerve.

Normally, he'd never do this. Sure, he’d think about what it might be like to be in the same bed as Alhaitham, but he’d never act upon it. But it was only the two of them now, and their relationship was already strained. Something like this wouldn't do much except maybe embarrass them even further. Kaveh was tired of it all.

Finally, he had managed to turn himself just so he could let go of Alhaitham without jolting him awake. It was a bit difficult with the man still holding onto him, but Kaveh managed. He wedged his hands in-between Alhaitham's, creating a bit of space for him to move. He turned around, hands still on Alhaitham's arms, and was met with Alhaitham's face very close to his own.

Kaveh gulped. Curiously, he let his eyes roam over Alhaitham’s face. He was filled with the sudden need to trace his nose with gentle fingers. One hand started to wander as he fought the urge, looking for the little dip near Alhaitham's wrist where he was certain to find his pulse instead.It was a fluttering little thing, and he let out a breath of relief upon finding it.

Kaveh hated to admit it, but he was scared. Scared of change, scared of holding on just to be forced to let go again. Ever since his childhood, he'd been nothing but a force of destruction. Kaveh feared his own disastrous feelings would ruin Alhaitham just as they had done to so many before him.

For once, he pulled himself closer and let his eyes fall shut. Alhaitham's grip tightened and Kaveh let his head fall right into the gap between his shoulder and his neck.

And if there were tears staining Alhaitham's shirt, at least there was no one around to witness them fall. Alhaitham’s pulse, a delicate thing beneath Kaveh’s fingers, lulled him to sleep.

Kaveh didn't even realize he'd fallen asleep until he was awoken by movement.

“Five more minutes,” he mumbled as he buried his head further into his pillow. That was until his pillow moved in a way a pillow definitely shouldn’t move.

“Kaveh,” a voice came from under him. It was a voice he knew far too well, so he opened one eye and was greeted by Alhaitham's chest right in his field of vision. He hadn't been sleeping on a pillow, after all. His head was nestled comfortably against Alhaitham's surprisingly soft chest.

“Alhaitham!” His eyes widened in shock and he quickly untangled himself from his roommate. “You're awake?! It’s not-”

“What it looks like? Yes, I thought as much.” Alhaitham pulled his knees close to his body and rubbed the skin behind his ears.

“Are you… okay?” Kaveh asked quietly. The distance between them was nauseating and he didn’t dare reach out.

“Don't ask me that. Don't bother,” Alhaitham forced out. His eyes were fixed on a set point of the wall. There was a dog barking outside, again and again and again and his skin was crawling. His fingers interlaced behind his neck and he took a deep breath, then exhaled audibly.

Kaveh reached out, but before he could reach him, Alhaitham recoiled. “Don't touch me.”

“Alhaitham.”

“No.”

“Alhaitham, I-”

“I said no.” He took another deep breath and avoided looking at Kaveh. “Why did you do that?”

“Do… what?” Kaveh asked despite knowing fully well what Alhaitham was referring to. It was too late to run from this conversation after all.

“You returned, brought me home, went to bed with me. Did it slip your mind or were you simply not listening when I said I don't want your charity? Or is leading people on perhaps a new hobby of yours?” There was a bitter tone hidden behind his words.

Kaveh pressed his lips together and considered his roommate for a moment, searching for the truth between the lines. Alhaitham was always so incredibly hard to read. He took another look at him, took note of his straight spine and unsteady hands.Then, something clicked. Kaveh practically jumped up and left the room with quick steps. Alhaitham turned his head to the side and said nothing. An expected wave of déjy-vu came crashing over him. He snapped out of it when suddenly, there was a voice next to his ear.

“Hold on,” Kaveh mumbled as he slipped Alhaitham's earpieces over his ears. He tried to flip them on, but couldn't find the right button. Alhaitham's hands rose to cover his, aiding him in finding the switch.

For a moment, he kept them there, eyes closed and his breathing finally calming as they breathed together. His hands were soft against his own and he didn’t mind the sensation.

“Better?” Kaveh asked when Alhaitham opened his eyes again. The man read his lips and slowly nodded before releasing Kaveh’s hands. After a few more minutes he pressed a few buttons on the side of his earpieces, adjusting the levels of noise cancelling once more.

The signs had been there, yet Kaveh had failed to pick up on them until he noticed Alhaitham’s state of unease. Kaveh had managed to peer past his meticulously crafted walls. Alhaitham looked overwhelmed and exhausted.

Before he could cringe at the thought, he forced out his next sentence. “I think we really need to talk.”

Alhaitham exhaled loudly and nodded. “We should.”

They sat down next to each other on the edge of the bed. The distance between them felt suffocating.

“So,” Kaveh started. “You like me.”

“Against better judgement, I do.” Kaveh watched him with expectant eyes and he sighed. “I am not delusional to my limits as a person, I know that this isn't anywhere near the realm of possibilities. I never thought so.” He knotted his hands together. “I didn't plan on telling you,.”

“Why did you even open your doors for me if I’d bring you nothing but heartbreak?” Kaveh asked, gaze on the ground.

“One could say you did make the house more lively.”

“Be honest with me.”

Alhaitham sighed and pushed his hair back. “It was the better alternative to not having you in my life at all. It was better than knowing you’re out there somewhere, struggling, refusing to ask for help. I wouldn’t have offered you half of my life if I didn’t want you here.”

“But why?”

Alhaitham moved closer and finally turned towards him. His eyebrows were pulled together. “You have this aggravating tendency to put everyone's needs before your own. How has that been treating you?”

Tears welled up in Kaveh's eyes. The memory of their last argument about the topic still stung. One fear was still present: What if this conversation would end the same way their previous one had?

“How dare you bring that up again,” he uttered. “And what about you?” he continued, voice shaky. “I don't see you putting yourself first either. You never even gave yourself a chance.”

“Should I have? You not talking to me and running off were pretty good indicators of why this wouldn't work.”

Kaveh glanced over at him. Slowly, he slid his hand over his, holding it tight.

“I-”

“Don't force yourself,” Alhaitham interjected, his hand solid as a rock under Kaveh’s.

“Ugh, would you just listen to me?! Who are you to decide what I’m feeling? I was afraid, okay?! There you have it, happy?”

Surprised, Alhaitham finally looked at him.

“You're crying?”

“I am so fucking terrified,” Kaveh admitted, wiping at his tears with his sleeve. “Of what this means, what it could mean for us. I don't want to lose you again. You're infuriating and arrogant and most of the time, you drive me up the wall. But I still-”

Slowly, Alhaitham reached up, wiping a tear away with a curious expression on his face. Kaveh pushed his cheek against his hand. A tear, shiny like a pearl, rolled down the back of Alhaitham’s hand.

“I still…”

“You are looking for someone loving, kind, yet you haven’t formally rejected me.” A statement voiced in confusion, not a question. “Your mind makes little sense to me.”

“As does yours. Did you know half of Sumeru city thinks we’re a couple?” Kaveh suddenly asked. His body was buzzing with anxiety.

“I was aware of the rumours,” Ahaitham answered nonchalantly, as if he’d known about the rumour ever since it’d come up the first time.

“You were?! Why didn't you say anything? And how can you be okay with that, when you're-” In love with me . The words got stuck in his throat.

“Why should I? Let them think what they want.”

“You- You’re infuriating. You are really infuriating and I am going to kiss you right now.” His eyes searched Alhaitham's. The man looked back at him, caught off guard. It took him a second before he recovered and raised an eyebrow expectantly.

“Will you now? I'll believe that once I see it.”

“You little brat. Don't you patronize me.”

Kaveh put his hands on Alhaitham, one gently against his chest, the other cradling his jaw. “Trust me, I will,” he uttered softly, his eyes never straying. With a tilt of his head, he closed the distance between them until there was no space to separate them left.

Alhaitham's lips were soft, pliable, and he kissed back with enthusiasm. He buried one hand in Kaveh's hair, running through the blonde tresses. Their lips slotted together, slowly and carefully. Kaveh pulled himself closer. It simply wasn’t enough. He needed more touch, more stimulation, more of Alhaitham pressed against his skin.

Alhaitham made a small noise and Kaveh pushed him back onto the bed. His back hit the mattress and Kaveh swung one leg over his body, straddling him once again. Alhaitham hugged his waist with one arm. His hand wandered and disappeared under the soft linen of Kaveh's shirt, tracing tight muscles and sharp shoulder blades.

Kaveh broke the kiss to let his lips wander from the corner of his mouth to his jaw down to Alhaitham's neck. First, he pressed an experimental kiss to the sensitive skin before mouthing at it, pulling the skin through his teeth and sucking softly. Kaveh was desperate to leave a mark, any kind of sign that this wasn't just a dream. With one hand, he pushed down Alhaitham's shirt to gain better access to his skin, while the other ran over his chest. Alhaitham shuddered beneath him.

“Kaveh…” he murmured.

His heart squeezed upon hearing his name leaving his roommate’s lips in that tone. He etched another mark into his skin before looking up. Alhaitham was watching him from under his lashes, his face flushed and breath heavy. For a moment, there was nothing but them, entangled in Alhaitham's bed. Kaveh felt tears prick at his eyes. He cradled Alhaitham's face and kissed him again. A soft whimper escaped his lips and Alhaitham pulled back to check up on him.

“Are you okay?”

Kaveh shook his head and buried his face in the crook of Alhaitham's neck.

Without saying another word, Alhaitham hugged him carefully and pressed a kiss to his head.

“Are you regretting this?” he asked reluctantly.

Kaveh shot up and Alhaitham pushed himself up into a sitting position as well, eyes flitting to the side. Kaveh was still straddling him, an unbelieving look on his face as he stared down his roommate.

“No!” he answered quickly. Alhaitham relaxed visibly. “I’m just… happy? Too happy maybe? I can't fully tell.”

“But you're crying.”

“And you're still trembling.”

Alhaitham wrapped one arm around his waist and pulled him closer again. He brushed Kaveh's hair out of his face and ran his thumb over his cheekbone, then pushed it against Kaveh’s lips. Slowly, he leaned in closer and replaced his finger with his mouth, softly, carefully. It was so considerate Kaveh felt like he could burst into tears all over again.

“Tell me what this means,” he mumbled against his lips.

“Everything. It means everything.”

They parted again and Kaveh started tracing the sharp edges of Alhaitham's features, feathery touches from his temple down to his jaw. Shyly, he looked up at Alhaitham and took a deep breath. The words seemed to be stuck in his throat.

“Let's assume I say I like you,” he said. “What then?” He could feel his heartbeat accelerating.

“Let's assume I say I don't believe you. What would you do then?”

Kaveh furrowed his brows. “You're just trying to get me to kiss you again,” he concluded.

“Am I now?” A smile crept up on Alhaitham's face.

“You definitely are,” Kaveh shot back. “Have I ever told you that I find you incredibly insufferable?”

“Plenty of times. You’ll just have to put your hypothesis to the test then, maybe that will convince me,” Alhaitham replied and there was a drawl to his voice that Kaveh couldn't help but find both attractive and annoying.

He shut him up with his lips and felt the rumble of Alhaitham's laugh against his mouth. It was an infuriatingly attractive sound. Kaveh nipped at his lip in retaliation before pulling back again.

“Do you like riling me up this much?”

“Only when I’m getting something out of it.”

“I hate you.”

“Hate me all you want. That’s fine.”

“Hold on. No, it's not! When have you ever been the moderate type? You're alright with that? Okay then, what if I say I love you then? What about now?”

Alhaitham's eyes widened in surprise just as Kaveh's mouth fell open.

“Uhm-” He started to laugh awkwardly. “What I was trying to say was-”

“I can work with that,” Alhaitham replied, a rare smile on his lips. It sent a shiver down Kaveh's spine. “No complaints.” His grip on Kaveh's waist tightened before he pulled him down with him again. Kaveh searched for Alhaitham's hand, interlacing their fingers as he pinned it down next to his head and leaned down to capture his lips again.

This time, he wouldn't run or hide. Kaveh was desperate to stay right where he was, entangled with Alhaitham in his bedroom.

#genshin impact #kaveh x alhaitham #haikaveh #kavetham #my writing #fanfiction #at this point i dont even know if this is good or bad anymore i just know i can't read it anymore #*throws this your way* here fetch #angst #hurt/comfort #miscommunication #idiots in love #also sorry akim but fuck your concresoil commission that's why he got douchebagged

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sugartitstownley · 2 years ago

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HC’s for Post Option C Trikey

Hey, everyone! This is nothing too formal or well written— just some thoughts put down. All mistakes are mine because I didn’t reread this at all. Trigger warnings for mentions of violence and canon compliant themes. Here’s some Trikey + a bit of Amanda/Mike/T friendship.

Michael and Amanda’s divorce is rather amicable despite years of prior arguing.

Neither want to admit their marriage is over—both worried about the kids’ reactions. But they know it’s in everyone’s best interest.

Amanda moves out of the house, opting for a beach front property like she once asked Michael for months before.

Mike decides to stay at the house for now, even if it reminds him of what a lonely, washed-up jock he really is.

It doesn’t matter, though, because he’s never home. Instead, he spends his time at the movie studio, threatening actors and crew alike (because old habits die hard, right?).

If he accidentally hits too hard and the actor just doesn’t wake up…well, who can blame him?

The rest of his time is spent in the company of Franklin, Trevor, and Lamar.

“Jesus, sugar tits. You finally have time for us outside of kissing Solomon Richards’ ass.”

“Oh, bite me, T,” Michael says, rolling his eyes as he slides into the backseat of Franklin’s car. “I’ve been busy doing my job on set.”

“Well, sorry! I didn’t realize I was in the presence of a huge celebrity.”

Franklin slams on the brakes, the car coming to a halt in front of the stoplight. “Man, if y’all two don’t shut the fuck up, I’m dropping you both off.”

In hindsight, maybe things don’t seem that different between him and Trevor after The Big One. But he knows something has changed.

Trevor’s insults and quips don’t pack as much punch; they don’t leave a bitter taste in your mouth.

And Michael? Well, he stops regulates how many times he calls his former running buddy a psycho.

Their tentative friendship rebuilds for the most part, but there’s still an added component that neither party wants to speak aloud. That, or maybe it was a returning feeling resurfacing from their youth.

Either way, Michael tries to let it go and focus on making himself semi-happy for once. However, he doesn’t factor in until later that maybe he’s been so damn unhappy for the last 10 years because of a certain murderous, incest-loving hipster.

Michael feels his heart jump out of his skin as he turns around to see Trevor leaning against the glass outside of his house. He watches Trevor give a small salute before walking over to let the taller man in.

“You can’t knock on the front door like a normal human being?” Michael asks, his voice dripping with mild annoyance. “What am I saying? Of course you can’t.”

“For your information, pork chop,” Trevor starts, walking straight past Michael to look through his fridge, “I do this to keep you young— keep you on your toes.”

He watches Trevor pull out the soup container they made a few days prior while hanging out. Like a reflex, he opens the drawer and pulls out two spoons while they wait for it to heat up in the microwave.

“Yeah, whatever. What are you even doing here anyway?”

“Can’t a guy come see his best friend without there being a reason? Not all of us are looking to gain something from their relationships, sugar.”

Michael sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “God, T. When are you going to let it go? Just once I’d like to spend time with you without thinking of our past. I said I’m sorry.”

“I know.”

Trevor’s eyes find his, and surprisingly, there’s nothing but understanding in them. They hold each other’s gaze a moment too long until the microwave’s beeps fill the quiet room.

Their companionship settles into a routine that even surprises Michael himself. Food will be cooked together, movies will be watched, bikers will be shot (you can’t blame Mike for getting involved sometimes most times— it’s in his blood).

The taller man’s presence becomes so normal in Michael’s life that even Jimmy and Tracey aren’t surprised to see Trevor walking throughout the house when they’re visiting.

If Michael didn’t know any better, he’d say the kids even missed their uncle— enough to visit the Rockford Hills house even when Mike himself wasn’t there.

“Argh! This game fucking sucks!”

Michael’s lips twitch into a small smile as he heads up the stairs towards Jimmy’s room. The sight in front of him doesn’t surprise him all that much considering Trevor’s cursing could likely be heard from across the street.

Michael stops at his son’s doorway, watching him and Trevor furiously tapping on controllers to try and shoot the on-screen targets.

“Uncle T,” Jimmy pipes up, cringing at the screen. “You’re standing too close to the bomb, you’re going die if you don’t—”

The blood of Trevor’s character splatters across the screen before Jimmy starts laughing uncontrollably.

“Shut the fuck up, kid! C’mon, Mikey. Let’s go do something actually worth our time.”

Michael chuckles, reaching over to fist bump Jimmy, before leaving the room with Trevor.

He’s not sure when it happened—or why— but every time he looks at Trevor and his kids while they’re together, he can’t help but think of them as a family.

Sure, Trevor is already family. His kids call him Uncle T for a reason. But that’s not what Michael means. He sees them as his family. Trevor, Michael, Jimmy, and Tracey— a family.

It could be the people of Los Santos getting inside his brain with their comments and assumptions. Every time the pair go out with the kids, there’s at least one person who calls them a “two-dad family.”

For some reason, though, it doesn’t bother Michael like it used to. He doesn’t feel guilty anymore, like he’s cheating on Amanda.

After realizing that, it hit him harder than Martin Madrazo’s baseball bat. He loves Trevor. He’s in love with Trevor, and he probably always has been. Why else would he feel like he’s doing something wrong to Mandy every time he’s with him?

He doesn’t want to even think about telling his friend, but he also knows he wants to be done keeping secrets from him forever. And apparently, he’s done keeping secrets from everyone.

“Dad,” Jimmy starts off nervously from his side of the couch. “So, like, can I ask you something?”

Michael shoots him a weary look. “If this is about me buying you that new game, I already told you no Jim.”

“No, no. Nothing like that. It’s more, ya know, personal.”

The silence drags on as Michael waits for Jimmy to continue, but he never does. “Spit it out already.”

“Look, are you and Uncle T, like, closer than you were before the divorce? You know, closer. Because, like, that’s totally cool with me. I have gay friends now, and I guess it’s better than you staying with mom and cheating. Maybe you and uncle T can, ya know, keep each other alive and shit but—”

“What? Jim! No! Trevor and I aren’t…”

Jimmy interrupts him. “But you want to be?”

“When did you get so observant all of a sudden? You sound like a fuckin’ psychologist.”

“Well, pop, you raised me in Los Santos.”

Jimmy, much to Michael’s embarrassment, prodded at him until he agreed to talk to Trevor about the “issue.”

It takes Michael another month, plus one more terribly uncomfortable conversation with Jimmy, to confess to Trevor.

“Christ, T. I think it’s possible that maybe…”

“I’ll be dead by the time you finish your sentence, sugar.”

Michael sighs. “Have you ever thought that there might be more to this?”

“More—” Trevor groans. “Can you just say what you mean for once in your life?”

“I love you, you asshole.”

Horns honking and police sirens can be heard from outside as the room becomes eerily quiet. Before Michael can truly panic, Trevor leans forward so fast that Mike’s sure he’s about to slam his head into his nose, but the searing pain never comes.

Instead, Trevor’s lips push against his while his hands tug Michael’s hair to bring him closer.

It’s cliché. It’s really fucking cliché. But, for once, Michael feels like he’s doing something right for a change.

“I love you, Mikey.”

After that, not much changes really. The only difference is that, now, when Trevor comes over after a long day of doing God knows what, Michael gets to sit on the couch wasting away with his boyfriend’s head lazily rested on his shoulder.

Or, sometimes, between his legs.

Telling Franklin and Lamar ended up being easy. Neither was all that surprised. In fact, Lamar even tried to start a bet once about when they’d “stop sucking as people and start sucking each other,” but Franklin put a stop to that real quick.

Other than that, Frank was supportive.

“I’m happy for you, dog. Maybe now you’ll stop being so miserable.”

Michael smirks. “I don’t know, but I think this is a good start.”

Telling Amanda and the kids was…interesting.

Jimmy, of course, knew already. But he was surprised that his dad actually grew the balls to do it.

Tracey was a little more shocked; she always thought the jokes about her dad and Uncle T were just that— jokes. Plus, she worried that her dad had been cheating before with him, but they assured her that wasn’t the case.

Tracey tried to act a little stubborn just in case her mom wasn’t okay with the relationship, but she was secretly happy for them.

Amanda, having found her own happiness outside of Michael, took it rather well too.

“This just started, right? You weren’t…together…during our marriage?”

“No, Mand,” Michael reassures her before sparing a glance at Trevor who is across the room talking to Tracey and Jim. “I only just realized it.”

“Well, I always wondered why on Earth you would stick by his side through some of the shit he has done,” Amanda says, her voice growing softer. “And now I know.”

Michael lets his gaze move back to his ex-wife’s. “I’m sorry I was such a prick to you.”

“I wasn’t perfect either.”

He’s about to respond when he feels a hand land on his shoulder. He looks up to see Trevor hovering above him while looking at Amanda.

“Hey,” Trevor points a finger at her. “You better accept his apology or I’ll be hearing about it for the rest of the year.”

Michael watches Amanda actually crack a smile towards Trevor. “He was always really miserable. But, lucky for me, he’s your problem now.”

Michael scoffs. “Hello, I’m right here!”

“Yeah, we know. It’s hard to miss you, pork chop.”

Despite Trevor’s remarks, Michael can hear the man’s smile as he walks back over to join Tracey and Jim, and that makes the sides of his lips curl into a small smile too.

“I’m not going to say I understand it completely,” Amanda admits. “But if you’re happy, then I’m glad.”

“I am. I think I finally am.”

#trikey #michael de santa #michael townley #trevor philips

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superfallingstars · 5 months ago

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Oooh I’ve been trying to find a good reason to bring up this (quite critical, but very interesting) blog post I read awhile ago about how the series “grows down with Harry” – meaning, how the overall tone of the series gets darker as the books go on and Harry gets older – and how this tonal shift unintentionally recontextualizes some of the elements of the earlier books. The author focuses on the differences between how Fred and George are framed in the earlier books vs. how the Marauders are framed by OotP to prove this, and points out how some of the twins' behavior is pretty dark:

The Twins do too many horrible things for me to list them all, but they are consistently depicted picking on those younger and smaller than themselves, usually, but not always, members of their own family. The most persistent victim is Ron. The Twins start with childhood ‘pranks’ (they give him an Acid Pop that burns a hole through his tongue, and try to get him to make an Unbreakable Vow that would probably have killed him) and continue into adolescence; they destroy his confidence when he becomes part of the Gryffindor Quidditch team so thoroughly that he can’t play properly until they’ve left the school. Their position as classic bullies who always ‘punch down’ is summed up by a conversation in book six, where Ron admits anxiously that ‘I’d better pass my [Apparition] test first time… Fred and George did.’ His older brother Charlie failed, but ‘Charlie’s bigger than me… so Fred and George didn’t go on about it much.’

Within the framing of the earlier books, these seem like harmless fantasy violence and classic sibling fights. But when violence is treated so seriously in the later books, these actions take on a more sinister tone. Though as we'll get to, not everyone's violence in the later books is treated seriously...

Like @neverenoughmarauders points out, that passage about Harry trying to rationalize James's behavior by comparing him to Fred and George is really interesting, and it speaks to why discussing morality in this series is so fraught (hello, never-ending Snape vs. Marauders discourse):

Reflecting on Snape’s worst memory, Harry compares his father’s behaviour to that of the Twins, and thinks that he ‘could not imagine Fred and George dangling someone upside-down for the fun of it.’ This positions the Twins as harmless pranksters and James as an exceptional bully. However, even though the intention of this paragraph is clearly meant to underline how bad James’s behaviour is, Rowling can’t quite stop there; Harry goes on to think, ‘not unless [the Twins] really loathed them… perhaps Malfoy, or somebody who really deserved it…’ Here, in a nutshell, is the moral sinkhole at the heart of the Harry Potter series. We know, by book five, that the Twins do things that are this bad all the time. As it happens, they bully people that Harry knows and likes, so even this doesn’t quite work out, but Harry admits here that this behaviour would be OK as long as it’s directed towards somebody who really deserved it. Unfortunately, in the world of Harry Potter, you ‘deserve it’ if you are Bad, and you are Bad because you deserve it. The Twins are Good, so they can’t be bullies, no matter how they treat other people. (emphasis mine)

I think this Good vs. Bad dichotomy explains so much about these damn books, lol (hello, never-ending Snape vs. Marauders discourse!). I don't think there's anything inherently wrong with writing a story like this – it's pretty much a staple of children's media – but when you start determining some characters' morality on the basis of their actions, and others' morality by the Side They Were Assigned To When You Introduced Them, then yeah, things start to get messy.

But why make James so complicated in the first place?

As an aside: I’ve been thinking about why Snape’s worst memory shows James as so cruel, when it sits so uneasily with the rest of the text, and when Rowling clearly isn’t interested in exploring the long-term ramifications of Harry’s discovery. By book six, James is Good again. The answer, I think, is that Rowling is, as ever, focused on plotting. Snape’s worst memory exists in the text as a clue, as something we can go back to when we discover, in book seven, that Snape Loved Lily. It’s not really meant to upturn everything Harry knows about his father. Snape’s worst memory is Snape’s worst memory because he argued with Lily and lost her friendship, not because of James’s bullying. Of course, what we also have to take away is that, for Snape, being humiliated, hexed and stripped in front of the school wasn’t the worst of his memories, because it simply happened too often.

So the author says that this chapter is so messy because JKR is unconcerned with the moral questions that her own text raises. James's behavior is simply not the point. But if that's true, then this scene poses a massive problem for those of us who are actually interested in the Marauders as characters and are trying to come up with Watsonian explanations for why they act the way they do!!!!

...Which I suppose was the whole point of the original post that I massively derailed. On that note, let me briefly address that:

I agree that Fred and George seem a bit more careless and showy than (how I imagine) the Marauders, if only because the Marauders had loftier, more specific goals (make a magic map of the school, become Animagi, etc.) and were likely more secretive about their biggest transgressions (as previously mentioned: the map, the invisibility cloak, Remus being a werewolf).

As for their, er, darker behavior, I think they likely saw themselves the way Harry saw Fred and George – as just having a bit of harmless fun. Maybe it was a nice way to blow off steam from working on their more complicated endeavors (!). I imagine their behavior was also shaped by rising political tensions and the looming war, with everyone becoming more entrenched in their respective beliefs and quicker to jump into a fight. Finally, there is one other element to the bullying that has no equivalent in the twins' story – James's romantic rivalry with Snape. (Come on, it's a coming of age story, they were both aware of the other's feelings toward Lily, and were 100% competing to demonstrate their masculinity.) So I think that overall, even when the Marauders engaged in petty pranks like the Weasley twins, they did that for different – and decidedly darker – reasons.

Anyway, that went in a thousand different directions, only to land on "JKR is a bad writer sometimes," which is basically the ultimate cop out, but also kind of true.

I'm so relieved we share similar opinions on The Marauders vs Fred and George! Every time I read an elaborate multi-step plan to dye Slytherin's robes red or something, I'd think "this feels off!". I try to find a middle ground in my imagination, because being a magic school, every day bog-standard mischief has got to look at least a little bit whimsical - and James and Sirius earned themselves a reputation of troublemakers somehow. But imagine they'd be more likely to get into trouble exploring the limits of the castle and its magic (not sure if you consider Cursed Child as semi canon, but trying to get out of a moving Hogwarts Express is a good example), and they'd be really smug about knowing how to get around the forest or the best spot to swim in the lake, but not that interested in cheering and applause from the great hall tables for doing some spectacular display of magic. The fact that the most advanced magic they achieved for their age (becoming animagus!) was a well kept secret has got to say something about their type of showmanship. But much like Fred and George (maybe even better), they'd 100% be in charge of throwing parties.

Yeah!! I agree, I definitely think they were darker in tone than Fred and George. Their public stunts seemed to be centred around hexing random students and they were definitely willing to be fairly vicious about it-- they were to Snape, and Bertram Aubrey's head swelling sounds comical but it probably wasn't for Aubrey-- so I don't see why they'd restrict themselves to silly harmless pranks of the sort F&G would pull. I never like reading fics where they have pranking wars or whatever haha.

And you're right that their greatest achievements were kept secret from everyone. They were defined by their secrets! The password-protected Marauders Map, the Invisibility Cloak, their Animagi status. Even their inside knowledge of Remus's condition is what I feel brought them together in a new way.

I almost feel like the times they got into trouble was out of carelessness or cockiness. They obviously didn't mind getting in trouble for attacking other students and the times they got caught sneaking around they were probably being reckless. Nobody ever figured out the map, the cloak, or that they were Animagi while they were at school, so they were careful when it counted.

#sorry this was SO LONG but i've been holding onto this blog post foreverrrr and i've had so much to say about it (obviously)#just had to wait for the right moment / when i finally had enough energy and clarity of mind to write something semi comprehensible #meta #the marauders #james #snape #fred and george

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thetomorrowshow · 3 years ago

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tenacious trajectory

me: gonna take a break from trust au to focus on my play!

me a week later: so i started an empires superhero au-

anyways i saw a tiktok about the trope where the villain turns up on the hero’s doorstep injured saying “i had nowhere else to go” and collapses and. uh. let’s just get into it shall we

cw: being experimented on, needles, blood, use and description of medical instruments, restraints, kidnapping, violence

Jimmy isn’t exactly a hero.

He’s never been properly been a hero, never been like Major, or Gem, or any of the more localized heroes in Empire City. He’s not a villain, though—he’s nothing like Xornoth, Major’s nemesis. Jimmy’s more of . . . he’s more of an antihero, something in between.

And for some reason, that makes heroes and villains alike despise him. He’s not even the only antihero—FailWhip is right there, and people love him. But somehow, Jimmy’s picked up the reputation of a bad omen, and where before he had been neutrally acknowledged in the city, now he’s outright hated.

He’s gone through a few different rebrands over the years. For a while he was Solidarity, the comic book superhero, but being a superhero is difficult for someone who accidentally causes chaos. As soon as it was clear he wasn’t welcome among the hero ranks, he tried out being a villain as the Codfather, but after a little while the villains told him (rather politely, for villains) that he wasn’t quite fit for being a villain, that he was too softhearted and should maybe try being a hero. So he went back to Solidarity, but there’s something wrong with his old superhero costume in the way that it just didn’t fit who he’s trying to be now (He’s still wearing it, though, because he doesn’t really have the funds for a rebrand). He can’t be a hero, he can’t be a villain, so he has to take up the grey space in between.

Jimmy’s just not very good at it.

His power isn’t an envied one. Jimmy has the unfortunate ability to influence fate, but without any influence. Like, fate changes around him without his input. Usually for the worse. Sometimes he’s lucky—sometimes a building falls on Mythics so that Pearl has a chance to superstrength-punch him into the ground and knock him out. Most times, though, a tornado hits out of nowhere and disrupts a battle, a house catches on fire and Gem has to flee the fight to save the family within, or on one terrible occasion, a meteor rockets down from outer space and lands smack on top of Aeor.

And that’s probably why the heroes now despise him. One doesn’t just kill the oldest hero in the city, the one who has a parade in his honor, the one who somehow won a Tony last year, and get away with still being on good terms with heroes. Jimmy had tried to tell them it wasn’t his fault, he couldn’t control it, it just happened, but it didn’t matter. Major especially hates him, threatens to arrest him every time Jimmy dares show his face around any intense fight.

He would love to just be a normal citizen. He’s always wanted to go to college, go on a date, just eat in a restaurant for once. None of those are options. He’s barely able to live in the apartment complex he lives in—it’s on the shadier side of town, and his landlord doesn’t ask where he gets the money from and why the building is considerably less structurally sound than it was before Jimmy moved in. It’s not like he can move into one of those superhero insured houses like Major and Gem and the new flower-type hero.

And he can’t get a proper job, either—it would blow his cover instantly. Which is why he’s still working on the antihero thing—he feels gross doing it, but robbing banks isn’t too hard and the few times a hero has tried to stop him the bank has just collapsed, so they don’t even try anymore. He doesn’t do much to try and help them anymore either—for the most part the villains leave him alone (unless he interferes with their scheme, in which case they make it clear to him that he needs to stay out of it), and the vitriol (and sometimes ice spikes or flying cars) that the heroes send his way aren’t always worth getting involved.

The other antiheroes don’t like him, either. FailWhip ignores him at every turn (when he asked why, the man had said something about Gem and leapt to the side as a car came barreling down the sidewalk), and the others don’t want to push their luck. Jimmy’s a dangerous partner in every situation.

Jimmy’s also a dangerous enemy, though, so he’s generally just. Left alone. He can’t stay in one place for too long, so he spends his days stealing around the city then returns to his trashy apartment, where he knocks on the door three times to make sure it won’t fall on him, then turns the doorknob (the key broke off in the lock forever ago) and lets himself in. He kicks off his shoes, leaves the lights off (which he’s done since the bulb exploded three years ago and he spent all night picking glass out of his arm), and fixes himself a bowl of cereal. Usually the milk doesn’t go bad, but on the off chance it does, he sniffs every bite before putting it in his mouth. He reads while he eats most nights, sometimes he scrolls through the news on his phone to make sure there isn’t anything dreadful going on that he feels the need to intervene in. Then he washes his dishes, makes sure everything is in order, and goes to bed on his mattress on the floor. He keeps his phone near his ear in case he receives an emergency alert late at night.

In the morning, he usually showers and throws on some jeans and a t-shirt and shoves his phone in his back pocket. He skips breakfast and does whatever chores need to be accomplished as quickly as possible, before heading home for lunch and eating whatever food he’s bought that day. He spends the rest of the day patrolling in his old superhero costume, mostly staying out of the way of anyone (and they generally stay out of the way of him). Then he heads home and the cycle begins anew.

He’s usually not interrupted. The evening it happens, he’s put out.

Then he sees who’s interrupting him. Then he’s scared.

He’s almost gotten to his apartment when glass shatters nearby. Jimmy glances around, already rolling his eyes. His apartment windows shattered about a week into living there and have been blocked with cheap blankets ever since. He keeps moving, sticking to the shadiest parts of the street. Hopefully nobody will notice that he’s been here and he can just move on without any trouble.

But then he hears footsteps. Jimmy turns around, about to apologize for whatever it is he’s broken, but before he can he’s being wrestled to the ground.

He’s still not panicking, not as the person pins him to the ground, not as his costume tears a bit on the sleeve. He’s still more put-out than anything; he’ll have to stitch that up in the morning, just another messy addition to his outfit.

He does start panicking, though, when a gruff voice hisses, “Here’s the chloroform, get him quick. We can’t have a building fall on us.”

That’s when Jimmy realizes he has to get out of there. He writhes, heart leaping into his throat, he has to get away—

A cloth presses against his face and he automatically breathes, breathes in something sweet and chemical-y and feels his brain go all fuzzy. He barely registers his body going limp before he’s out like a light.

When Jimmy wakes, he wakes slowly, groggily. His head is pounding, his mouth fuzzy. He doesn’t know where he is, what he’s doing, what’s happening. Within a couple of moments, though, he realizes that he isn’t anywhere familiar, and he’s tied to a chair.

Great.

He swallows a few times, trying to get rid of the numbness. He’s almost a little excited—he hasn’t been involved in a kidnapping in years, not since he tried to rescue the mayor’s daughter that one time. He wonders what the villain’s evil scheme is, who the hero they’re trying to bait is.

He blinks, clearing his vision. He’s in a classic basement set-up, a goon by the door. There’s no video recorder, but there are other ways to ask for a ransom. His stomach growls. How long has he been here?

The door slams open, and in stalks—

Uh-oh. Oh no.

Xornoth, the most dangerous villain in the country, let alone the city, enters the room. Jimmy feels the blood drain from his face, and where before he had been lightly testing the ropes securing him to the chair, he’s now tugging at them a tad bit desperately. Whatever Xornoth has in store cannot be good.

Xornoth stands before him, stares for a long time. Jimmy looks everywhere but their eyes, examines their weird antler things that may or may not be part of their costume, stares into their wide grin of teeth just slightly too sharp.

That grin opens, and an echoing laugh comes out. Jimmy flinches, eyes falling to the floor then back up in time to see Xornoth raise a hand.

The doors on the side of the basement open again, this time ushering in a handful of scientist-types in white lab coats. Jimmy gulps when they approach him, eyeing the syringe in the hand of one of them. He jerks away as that man nears him, but not soon enough. The needle jabs into his neck, and with a feeling washing through his body similar to the chloroform, Jimmy is gone.

He’s not gone for long, though, because he wakes up as soon as he feels a burning on his chest. His eyes snap open but immediately close, a bright light above him. There’s a low mumbling of voices, the smell of rubbing alcohol in the air, and something tickling his nostrils.

Then his chest burns again, and he forces his eyes open and down to see—

There’s someone, someone unfamiliar, a surgical mask on their face leaning over him. In their hand is a tiny pair of scissors, which is inside of Jimmy’s chest. In a shallow dish set on Jimmy’s stomach, there are small bloody squares that seem to be his skin. Another scientist is using tweezers to pick up the squares and put them in biohazard containers.

Blood is steadily pooling from where the scientist has scissors in his chest, until suddenly a bit of it spurts up and the scientist curses, pressing a pad of gauze over the incision.

And Jimmy screams.

He jerks his arms only to find them restrained, he moves his legs only to find them restrained, he tries to sit up only to find his waist restrained. His superhero mask is stretching over some lump on his face, and that lump is pushing air into his nose, which must be an oxygen tube of some sort.

Both scientists over him step back, glancing around fearfully. A third from the background (which Jimmy just now registers, processes the others watching and washing hands and taking notes) steps forward, prepping another syringe.

No. No no no, he is not doing that again, he is not going to lose time again and turn up in some dark alley missing a kidney.

“No!” he gasps, trying to roll away. The container on his stomach shifts, threatens to tip over. “No, please, I’ll be quiet, I’ll stay still. Please don’t knock me out again.”

The woman freezes, and even behind her mask and glasses, Jimmy can see that she’s fixing him with a sympathetic look. “Mr. Solidarity, I don’t believe we can do that,” she says. “You’re a rather dangerous patient when not sedated.”

“Please?” he begs, going as still as possible. “Or at least—at least tell me what you’re going to do?”

The woman sighs, but shakes her head, approaching once again. Jimmy can’t help but whine, a keen escaping from between his teeth, as he feels a cold square of soaked gauze rub against his inner arm.

“We may need to put in an IV,” the woman says, all clinical now that she isn’t talking to him. “I’m not sure how he’s resisting this stuff, but it would be easier to just flush it through his system every time he starts to wake up.”

“Jordan, want to set that up once he’s out?”

“No problem, I’ll just go grab the—”

Everyone looks in the same direction. Jimmy cranes his neck, sees a door. Sees Xornoth.

Xornoth comes closer, closer and closer until they’re bending down beside Jimmy’s face, their noses almost touching. Jimmy barely dares breathe (only breathes because the oxygen tube is forcing him to), eyes wide as he stares into Xornoth’s black eyes.

“Nothing unusual?” the villain asks, their deep voice echoing around the room and Jimmy’s head. Various scientists mumble answers, which seems to satisfy Xornoth as they continue to gaze at Jimmy.

“Good. Keep him awake, then. I want him to feel it.”

Jimmy can’t help but shudder. A man with glasses raises a pencil questioningly.

“Sir, if he starts—”

“I’ll handle it,” Xornoth says, straightening. One of their gloved hands falls to Jimmy’s cheek, where it rests, heavy and terrifying. A scientist sighs (can Jimmy really call them scientists, or are they doctors?), then the woman who had just been prepping his arm places down the syringe and instead removes the oxygen tube from his nostrils. Xornoth’s fingers straighten out his mask, patting his cheek once it’s properly in place.

Then they’re back at it, and Jimmy’s biting back whimpers and cries as they cut into him with precision.

He’s been locked up in whatever facility Xornoth has for what feels like forever. Most of the time he’s not really conscious. Most of the time he’s lying on the concrete floor of his cell, the hard bed that he has out of reach for his non-existent energy. He drifts in and out of reality during those times, body burning where they last peeled back skin, head aching and eyelids drooping. There’s no ransom, he’s realized by now—he wonders why he ever thought there would be. There’s no one to pay it.

He doesn’t even protest these days when they lift him onto a gurney and wheel him out of his cell, back into the sterile white room where everything goes bad and blurry. He’s not sure what they’re doing to him—sometimes he looks down at himself and sees tubes sticking out of every part of his body, some days they shock him and take notes on his reactions, sometimes they just take blood and skin and tissue and then wheel him back to his cell, where he’s dumped unceremoniously on the floor. The days blend together, the worst ones marked by Xornoth’s presence.

When Xornoth is there, fear bleeds through the room. They never say anything, though: just stand silently, a hand carding through Jimmy’s greasy hair. Jimmy keeps his eyes squinted shut whenever Xornoth is there, despite every instinct screaming at him to watch them.

Whatever they do to him, on whatever day, it’s always painful. The pain more than anything drains him, leaving him limp and aching. They give him food, stuff that seems like military rations, but most of the time he’s too tired and his hands are shaking too badly to unwrap them. He thinks they’ve been giving him supplements through an IV every once in a while, because otherwise he shouldn’t logically still be alive, but his head is hazy enough that he can’t think logically. None of this makes sense.

One day, as Xornoth massages his head and a scientist is peeling away a strip of skin from his calf, Jimmy whimpers, “Why are you doing this to me?”

It’s the first thing he’s said since . . . in a while, and he’s not sure why he’s saying it, just that the pain is so so much and Xornoth is touching him and he just can’t. He blinks back a tear, gasps when the skin from his calf pulls all the way off. The gauze that the man presses down on it stings.

“Oh, little bird,” Xornoth murmurs, and Jimmy flinches at the almost—affection in their voice. “You’re going to be very useful to me.”

That’s all they say, and Jimmy feels a drop of something cold sink into his stomach. He tried the villain life, it didn’t work out. He’s not sure what they’re doing, what they’re trying to achieve, but whatever it is won’t be good.

When he’s later thrown into his cell, he can’t fall asleep like he usually does. Every word that Xornoth said is repeating in his head, over and over until all he can hear is Xornoth’s voice.

The rations are on the floor next to him, and he can’t sleep anyhow, so Jimmy tears open the package with shaking hands and takes a bite of whatever the contents are. It’s tasteless, and dry, and takes far more chewing than he has the energy for.

He picks up the water bottle that always comes with the food, but he can’t manage to twist his wrist hard enough to break the seal.

He needs to get out.

He’s not sure why it’s this that gives him the realization—maybe being forced to accept the fact that he hasn’t got the strength to open a water bottle just breaks him. He has to get out of here before things get any worse. Not just for himself—Xornoth is the most powerful villain Jimmy’s ever heard of. If he achieves whatever it is he’s trying to do, it could spell the end for the city.

Jimmy’s lying on the operation table, slipping in and out of consciousness. He thinks it’s strange that bad luck hasn’t fallen upon him yet. Maybe he’s too tired for his powers to activate.

There’s a tube in his right side, under his arm, and he’s not quite sure what it’s doing. Every five minutes or so, a scientist adjusts it slightly and presses a button, watches as a bit of blood shoots up the tube, then presses the button again for it to stop. There’s an IV in his bruised left arm, which is pumping something beige into his body.

It’s a quiet day in the lab, broken only by Jimmy’s occasional dry sobs as the tube is readjusted and the once-every-five-minutes beeping of the IV stand.

He just wants to go home. He just wants to go back to his trashy apartment where the lights are never on (this room is far too bright, always too bright) and he can eat cereal and peanut butter sandwiches and instant mashed potatoes. He just wants some time alone without any pain and his lumpy mattress and his stained couch and his blankets that smell like cigarettes and no one touching him.

There’s a loud crash from elsewhere in the building. The scientist doesn’t seem to register it, frowning as he squints at his laptop. He shifts the tube, pointing it more downward, and presses the button. Jimmy bites the inside of his cheek to keep from making a noise.

Another crash. This one jostles the tube set-up, the IV stand rattling. At this, the scientist looks up. After several moments of nothing, he returns to his work.

When the third crash hits, the man sets aside his laptop and strides out of the door to the lab. Jimmy’s grateful; he gets a moment’s reprieve, it seems.

He lies there, eyes unfocused. The IV beeps. Something rumbles distantly.

This is the perfect time to escape.

He’s not sure how or when he realizes that, but it gives him enough of a burst of energy to sit up (they don’t restrain him anymore unless necessary) and peel the tape off his arm. Carefully, his vision blurring, he eases the tube out of his arm and stares dumbly at it as a rivulet of blood weaves down his arm.

This is the perfect time to escape.

The tube in his side proves a little more difficult to remove, blood spilling everywhere as he grits his teeth and yanks it from his body. He isn't sure what to do with the blood, so he ignores it in favor of pulling the scientist's stereotypical white lab coat around himself, too foggy to discern the sleeves and wearing it more similar to a cloak.

Standing is the most difficult task yet, but he ignores the shooting pains in his body and the wobbly quality of his legs and manages to remain upright. He can do this.

This is the perfect time to escape.

He leaves without another thought, shouldering out the door and stumbling across that first room that he'd found himself in so long ago. There's a door on the other side that he knows leads to the room he's been kept in; but there's a door to his right that he's never been through yet many people have come from. He chooses this door, blinking back the heaviness of his eyelids.

Beyond this door is a hallway, and he begins to make his way down to the door at the end when he hears a crash just behind him. He freezes, pressed against the door.

"Give me good news, Doctor, or you may not return home tonight."

"We're making progress, sir, but it's slow. What we have to do to suppress his powers limits any—"

"I don't want excuses, I want him to be mine."

One voice is Xornoth, one is vaguely familiar, but Jimmy can't stand here listening for any longer. He has to get out.

At the end of the hallway is a door, a solid door with no windows and a red sign that he can't focus on, but he knows somehow that this is a way out.

He's not sure how he makes it down the hallway, not with his small amount of energy flagging with every passing moment. He keeps trying to send adrenaline through his body, imagining what might happen if they find him escaping, but he's feeling worse than he ever has. The lab coat is stained red from his still-bleeding side, draining his resolve with it.

Still, he makes it to the door, shoves against the bar and pushing the door open, into darkness and a gust of wind and—

An alarm blares, loud and shocking and Jimmy jumps practically a foot in the air, and there's the adrenaline he was missing—

There's an empty lot illuminated by one streetlight, and it feels so insanely good to be outside again but Jimmy doesn't have time to focus on that, he has to run. Closing the door behind him doesn't make the alarm stop, so he limps his way across the lot as quickly as he can before—

The door slams open, and Jimmy looks over his shoulder to see Xornoth, the air crackling around them as red tentacles sprout through the asphalt, whipping around as they grow.

"Come back, darling," Xornoth calls, anger tinging their otherwise calm words. "You'll be happy soon, I guarantee."

Jimmy flinches at the way his voice echoes and hurries on, tripping over the curb as he steps out of the lot and onto the road.

Xornoth growls behind him, and before Jimmy can even think to move, a tentacle tears from the ground and wraps around his torso. It lifts him off the ground and Jimmy flails, dry heaving as the ground quickly falls below him. He pulls at the tentacle with scrabbling fingers, desperately trying to find some way to get free. The limb tightens around him, cutting into his wounds—he hears something crack—he screams, vision flashing red then black then back to blurred—

The tentacle releases him and he falls to the road, skidding a little bit, searing pain hitting his entire body full-force. He tries to breathe through the agony, but the breath is stolen from him as the tentacle tightens around his ankle and lifts him back up until his hair is brushing the ground. He can’t help it—a sob breaks from his mouth. He’d been so close, he was about to escape. . . .

A driverless car speeds from nowhere and rams into Xornoth, driving him into the wall of the building. The tentacle drops Jimmy, who falls on his face and crumples to the ground as it withers and shrinks into the hole it created in the asphalt. The night goes still.

Jimmy struggles to his feet, head whirling with agony. His nose is stuffed up, something wet pouring from it, but he doesn’t bother with it. He has to get out, because surely Xornoth isn’t dead, surely he’ll be up in just a few seconds—

Jimmy’s not sure how he’s moving, but he is. More shockingly is that he knows where he is. He’s in a part of town he never goes to, afraid of being arrested or attacked or worse.

He’s in the high-end, public-funded superhero houses neighborhood. It’s across the city from his dingy apartment, he’ll never make it home . . . Xornoth will be coming for him at any moment. . . .

There’s one superhero Xornoth is afraid of, his mind blearily supplies.

He can’t go to Major. Major . . . Major despises him, has ever since the accident with Aeor. Aeor had been Major’s mentor, had taught him to hone and control his ice powers and helped him grow into his wings. Aeor had been everything to Major, and Jimmy had taken that away.

But there’s nowhere else for him to go, nowhere else where he’ll be safe, and what if Xornoth’s implanted some sort of tracker into him. . . .

Major is the primary protector of the city. His house is the grandest, in the center of the neighborhood, so it’s going to be a bit more walking, but Jimmy thinks he can manage it before he passes out.

He makes it, just barely. It’s a long walk, longer than he thinks it should’ve been, but he doesn’t have the focus to worry about it. He doesn’t have the focus to worry about anything but the pain.

It’s a beautiful house, one that Jimmy has been warned to stay away from countless times, but he stumbles through the garden of peonies and keeps his eyes down, as if under the impression that if he doesn’t look at the house, it won’t count as trespassing.

He leans heavily against Major’s intricately carved doorway, reaching up one hand to knock only to lose strength halfway through and just sort of pat his door. His arm falls to his side and he slumps, despair flooding him as he realizes it’s been too long, Xornoth will find him, there’s nothing to be done—

The door opens and Jimmy collapses, knees hitting the porch, head leaning against something soft. He looks up to see that he’s pressed against someone’s legs, then further up to see Major’s distinctive glittering white mask and angry blue eyes.

“Solidarity,” he says, tone bitter. “What are—” his voice changes as he properly takes in Jimmy— “Is that blood?”

Jimmy swallows, speaks, voice creaky from disuse. “I—I didn’t know where else to go. . . .”

He blinks, and suddenly he’s in a well-lit kitchen, white tiles bright against the dark wood of the cabinets. Major’s there, wetting cloths in the sink, and there’s a table beside him with a bottle of rubbing alcohol. Jimmy blinks at it, then down at himself. He’s shirtless, only wearing the shorts that they’d given him once they’d torn his trousers to shreds. His various cuts and bruises and missing patches of skin are on display, some scabbed over, others weeping blood. His arm and side are still bleeding as well, though considerably faster than anywhere else. More confusing than anything, there’s blood utterly coating his chest.

When he looks back up, Major is staring at him. “You’ve broken your nose,” the hero says after a moment. “That’s where all that blood is from.”

Jimmy doesn’t say anything. Any words might split his aching head in half.

Major dips his damp cloth into the rubbing alcohol, then pauses, hand hovering over Jimmy’s body. He seems to assess the damage, then kneels down and reaches for Jimmy’s side, gently patting the spot where he’d yanked out the tube.

“These injuries,” Major says once he’s bandaged that point with some gauze and medical tape, moving to Jimmy’s left arm to clean the exit point of the IV. “They’re strange. Clean, almost. Precise. And your arms. . . .” He holds up Jimmy’s arm, tracing along the bruises with a soft finger. “Burst vessels. IV points. These aren’t from a fight, Solidarity.”

Jimmy swallows. Major doesn’t miss it, steps away for a moment and comes back with a glass of water. He presses it to Jimmy’s lips, waits until he’s drunk a few sips to put it down. He moves to his nose, mutters a warning—Jimmy barely has time to tense before Major grips his nose over the mask and yanks, shoves it back into position as Jimmy lets out a hoarse cry at the burn. More blood spills out, and Major pulls his hands away in disgust before scrunching up a rag and shoving it under Jimmy’s nostrils. He holds it there until the flow slows, then adds a few pieces of tape over the mask to keep Jimmy’s nose in place before turning to other injuries.

He moves quickly and efficiently, cleaning and bandaging with the skill of one who’s done this before. Jimmy tries not to move too much, but he can’t help but jerk his leg away when Major lightly swipes a cloth over a particularly wide skin graft there. Major mutters something, then holds his leg firmly in place. He lets go before Jimmy can start to hyperventilate.

“Mind telling me what happened?” Major asks conversationally. When Jimmy doesn’t speak, he adds, “I mean, I’ve every right to arrest you. I shouldn’t have even let you in, but I happen to be a nice person. So you might as well share, if you don’t feel like waking up in a cell.”

Jimmy’s had too much of waking up in a cell lately. He swallows again, hums to make sure his voice works. “I . . . they hurt me,” he says lamely. His head is so foggy. He clears his throat and tries again. “They—they took me. And cut me. And took stuff. I—” a thought strikes him— “what day is it?”

“Uhhhhh, late Monday,” Major says absently, sticking some tape to Jimmy’s side.

“Date?”

“The 30th.”

“Of?”

“May.”

May. That can’t be. He was—the last day he can remember is the 25th of April, and he knows it’s been longer than five days, but surely it hasn’t been an entire month.

“I was . . . I was ki—taken. Late April,” Jimmy says slowly, the words falling like molasses from his mouth. Major freezes, looks up at him.

“You were kidnapped?” he asks incredulously. “That’s impossible. And nobody got struck by lightning or mauled by a passing bear? How?”

Jimmy shrugs. There are too many words involved in the answer for him to formulate it. “Xornoth?” he offers eventually. Major’s mouth curves down. He returns to patching Jimmy up.

“What would they want with you?” Major murmurs, almost to himself. “What would anyone want with you?” Jimmy tries to hold back a shudder and fails, the feeling of Xornoth petting his hair all too present. Major notices, and his mask shifts as he apparently raises an eyebrow.

“He . . . he wouldn’t stop touching me,” he says, and out of nowhere his eyes are burning. A tear slips down past his mask, dripping off his chin. “While the. The doctors hurt me. I don’t—I don’t wanna go back. . . .”

Major’s hands still. When Jimmy looks at him, his eyes are wide, wide and almost scared. Jimmy doesn’t think he can quite comprehend why. He just wants to sleep. His limbs are immobile, weighing him down. Everything hurts down to his bones, an ache that he doesn’t think will go away.

“I’mma sleep, ‘kay?” he slurs, then his chin hits his chest and he’s out.

When Jimmy wakes up, he’s hungry. Hungry and thirsty and exhausted and hurting, but he’s also alive and doesn’t feel like he’s dead.

He’s in a bed for once, and this certainly isn’t his cell or anywhere else he can remember ever being. The room is plain, undecorated apart from a dresser with a TV atop it. The only light is the sun filtering in through the window, bathing the room in an almost grey-orange hue.

He’s under a blue duvet in a very nice bed, and his left arm that lies on top of it is wrapped in bandages. It’s tough to take a breath in, something constricting his chest. He tries to sit up, gasps and falls back when pain lances through his chest.

“Good to see you’re finally awake,” a dry voice says from his right. Jimmy glances over, sees an open doorway and Major standing in it. Right, he’d escaped.

He’s free.

Major leaves, comes back a few minutes later with a glass of water and a peanut butter sandwich. These he sets on Jimmy’s lap, then reaches under the bed and retrieves a few pillows which he props under Jimmy’s shoulders and neck, helping him to sit up.

The water nearly spills, but Major flicks his wrist at it and it solidifies into ice just as Jimmy’s knee bumps it. Once he’s completely sat up, ribs twinging, Major waves his hand over the glass and it returns to water.

Unfortunately, Jimmy’s hands are still shaking too badly to grasp the glass on his own, so Major rolls his eyes and steadies his hold, allowing Jimmy to tip the water into his mouth. It’s easier to hold the sandwich, so Jimmy takes the food into both hands and bites into it, eyes almost rolling back into his head at how heavenly peanut butter tastes after so long without proper food.

Major leaves again, returns carrying a chair that he sets down beside the bed and plants himself in. He props a hand under his chin, watches Jimmy with those icy blue eyes. Jimmy’s almost halfway done with the sandwich already, tearing it apart so quickly the sandwich might as well be a blur.

Major’s hand latches around his wrist and Jimmy flinches away, drawing his arms close to himself. He—he doesn’t want to be touched, it feels bad, it burns, it’s scary. Major draws away as well, hands in the air.

“Apologies,” he says after several moments of silence. “I meant only to stop you before you got sick. You—well, you don’t look as though you’ve eaten in a while.”

Jimmy manages a raspy chuckle. “They gave me food,” he says. “I just wasn’t strong enough to open it.”

Major looks away. “You said,” he says slowly, voice unreadable, “that they—that Xornoth touched you. May I ask details?”

Jimmy feels the blood drain from his face. He really doesn’t want to talk about it, and now that his head is somewhat clearer than it’s been in apparently weeks, he remembers it clearer than ever. He self-consciously straightens his mask, probably getting peanut butter on it. “I—um—”

“I just need to know if they’re presenting a different danger than before,” Major continues. “I understand if it’s difficult to talk about, but if Xornoth is now sexually harming others, immediate action must be taken.”

Jimmy blinks a few times, processing that. Was Major implying—? “No, not—not like that,” corrects Jimmy, setting the remaining half of the sandwich down on the plate. His hands are trembling, and he clasps them together in an attempt to stop it. “I don’t think so. They would just—I would be on the table, and the scientists . . . cutting into me, or—or taking blood, or something, and they would just . . . pet. My hair. Or cheek. I didn’t—I don’t like—” he cuts off with a shudder, stomach turning. The sandwich before him no longer looks so appetizing.

When he looks back up, Major is staring at him. Major’s not wearing his usual blue-and-white skin-tight costume, he notices, the one with the intricate M on the chest and the white knee-high boots. He’s wearing skinny jeans and a t-shirt and a blue jacket, like a normal person. And suddenly, despite the grand house and fame and power, Major just seems like anyone else Jimmy might meet on the street, and he wonders if the man has a layman identity like he does himself.

“Thank you for telling me that,” Major says, standing suddenly. “I don’t know when you’ll be well enough to walk—”

“Oh, right—” Jimmy fumbles with the plate, sets it on the mattress as he flips the covers back and swings his legs over the side of the bed, despite the pain that spikes through his body. “I really ought to—”

“What do you think you’re doing?” demands Major, gesturing for him to lie back down. “You’ve been tortured for a month, your stick legs barely look strong enough to not be blown over in the wind, you haven’t stopped shaking since I brought you in. Now lie back down and recover before I make you.”

Jimmy looks down at himself, at his bandages and hospital-style shorts. His entire torso is wrapped, but he can see how starkly his ribs stick out. He really has been slowly starving to death, hasn’t he?

Aside from that, he feels suddenly embarrassed. He’s practically naked in front of Major, who is the city’s foremost hero, two-time winner of the Nobel Prize, already has a documentary and four biographies written about him, and is ostensibly attractive to men and women alike with his tall, muscular frame and his windswept blue hair.

He really needs to leave. He’s getting antsy, anyway—now that he can be outside, he desperately wants to be. Not to mention, he’s regaining strength—slowly, but surely. At any moment, disaster could strike.

“No, I really—I’d like to be home, if it’s all the same to you,” he stammers, flexing his feet and holding back a wince. “Not that I’m not—I’m very grateful, thank you so much—I just don’t want to impose any longer, and I—my rent is due—yeah.”

Major seems to be about to protest, but he pauses, and then shrugs. “Fine, I don’t care. Let me get you something to wear.”

Major exits, and Jimmy bites back a whimper as he stretches his trembling arms. His various bandages pull, his nose burns every time his face twitches, every limb aches to the bone. He has to get out of here, though—he’s likely recovered enough strength for his bad luck to strike. He has to leave before he does anything to make Major hate him even more.

Major returns with a pair of jeans and a plain grey shirt. “We’re about the same height, but they might hang loose,” he says distractedly. “I burned the thing you were wearing, sorry. It was gross.”

Jimmy doesn’t even remember what he was wearing. Probably not his superhero-turned-antihero outfit, that had been pretty much torn to shreds over the course of his captivity. Major tosses the clothes on the bed and turns around respectfully.

Jimmy doesn’t bother taking off the shorts, bloodstained as they are. He’s not got anything on underneath, and he’d prefer to not be totally exposed in the house of someone who hates him. Pulling the jeans on is rough, and he has to take frequent breaks as his vision repeatedly goes fuzzy. The shirt isn’t as bad, but he can’t quite get his arms up without a grunt of pain as it pulls on his injuries. His vision fuzzes again, but when he blinks the world back into focus his arms are in the sleeves and he can just pull the shirt down.

“I might have some shoes,” Major says thoughtfully when Jimmy gives him the go-ahead to turn around. “And of course you can have a pair of socks. I once didn’t wear socks to a fight and my boots came off and everyone saw, so I had a group that gathered sock donations for me. I gave most of them away, but I’ve still got a few pairs.”

Major does end up finding him shoes, an old pair of gardening shoes that have a hole in the left toe. Jimmy’s more than grateful for them anyhow.

“What part of the city do you live in? I’ve got a car parked about a block away, I can get you near to your house.”

“Um, yeah, that’d be—that’d be way more than I expected, thank you so much,” Jimmy says with a yawn. “I—you really don’t have to.”

Major fixes him with an unimpressed look. “Right. Because you’re going to walk all the way home when you take eight minutes and forty-two seconds to even get dressed by yourself. And you’re going to manage to do it without getting kidnapped again.”

Jimmy looks away, his face turning red. He doesn’t want to admit it, but Major’s right. One step outside of Major’s protection and he would be whisked away.

It’s a long walk to Major’s car, one that has Jimmy gasping for breath and limping heavily. His head spins, his eyes squint in the evening light, his arms end up clenched around his body as he shivers. Major, walking casually, hair pulled up under a beanie, rolls his eyes and shucks off his blue button-up jacket, tossing it to Jimmy. Jimmy shrugs it on, a noise of pain slipping out as it rubs against a cut.

He stumbles over a curb and nearly falls, Major catching him around the waist before his face hits the pavement. The man rights him, helps him over the curb, then moves on without saying a word.

Jimmy’s about to pass out by the time they make it to the car. It’s older, nondescript, windows tinted so darkly that it’s practically impossible to see into. Major unlocks it with a click of a remote, and Jimmy seats himself gingerly in the passenger seat.

When Major turns the key in the ignition, the clock flickers on.

6:28PM.

It’s late in the day, then. Jimmy had slept all through the night and most of the day. Not that he’s surprised, but this is a huge change from his seemingly randomized hours in the cell. He can get up and go to bed whenever he likes now. He won’t be woken by a door slamming open and his body being lifted.

Once Major has driven to the main part of the city, Jimmy breaks the stifling silence by pointing out directions. He considers for a moment directing Major to the wrong place entirely, but his energy is far too low for that. He can let Major drop him off in the neighborhood, just won’t let him know which complex he lives in.

The quality and upkeep of the buildings deteriorate around them, farther and farther until Jimmy feels at home. They’re about five blocks from his place now, so he lets Major drive a bit more then directs him down the neighboring street, stopping outside a random apartment complex that looks to be in about the same condition of his building. Major looks up at it for a second, taking in the bags of trash in the side alley, the dead grass in the front yard, the multitude of potholes in the road, the kids in too-big shirts running up and down the roads with a football in hand.

“Don’t villains usually live more . . . underground? Metaphorically and literally?” Major asks slowly.

“Oh, I gave up the whole villain thing a while ago,” Jimmy answers, rubbing his eyes through the holes in his mask. “I don’t make a great hero either, so I’m trying out sort of an in-between right now.”

Major snorts. “Yeah, I think hero’s a bit out of your range,” he mutters. Jimmy once again realizes just how surreal this is: he’s in a car with the top hero of the city who also happens to be the man who hates him more than anyone, both of them wearing masks, him wearing the hero’s clothes. He starts to pull off the jacket, but Major waves him off.

“Don’t bother, I was about to retire that one anyway.”

Jimmy nods uncertainly, unbuckles his seatbelt. “Um. I’ll be off, then. Thank you, for . . . everything, I suppose.”

Major nods, his eyes following Jimmy as he swings open the car door and gathers enough strength to stand. “Oh, and, Solidarity?” he throws out. Jimmy leans forward to hear him over the engine. “Next time I see you, I’m putting you behind bars. This never happened, all right?”

“Right. Yeah. Never happened.” Jimmy nods to himself a few times, looks up at Major before turning away, easing the car door shut behind him.

When Jimmy enters his apartment thirty minutes later (the lock’s never worked so he doesn’t have to worry about lost keys), he kicks off Major’s shoes, stumbles to his bedroom, and collapses onto the bed. He needs to change his bandages, he needs to throw out his milk and eggs and bread, he needs to purchase a new phone, he needs to email his landlord and pay his rent. But he’s exhausted, he’s so bone-tired, and he hurts so much, and he just wants to sleep. So sleep he does, drifting away almost as soon as he’s pulled his covers that smell faintly of cigarette smoke over his chin.

Across the city, Xornoth steeples their fingers as they watch over the shoulder of a woman in a lab coat. The woman is excited, explaining something, a breakthrough, but Xornoth isn’t listening. Their eyes are fixed on the information on the woman’s laptop.

Their little bird will soon be caged once again.

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mypoisonedvine · 4 years ago

Text

𝖙𝖜𝖎𝖈𝖊 II || professor!helmut zemo x reader

{𝖕𝖆𝖗𝖙 I}

𝖘𝖚𝖒𝖒𝖆𝖗𝖞 : your illicit relationship with your (former) professor forces both of you to consider if the risk is worth the reward.

𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖉 𝖈𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖙 : 9k (jeeeesus)

𝖜𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘 : smut (oral f and m receiving, rough sex, creampie, massive amount of dirty talk), zemo being super cocky, smoking (just zemo, not the reader), alcohol consumption (zemo and reader although the latter is moreso implied), angst (not a ton but yeah), strip chess (does this require a warning?), zemo’s friends being sorta sleazy, one mention of/implied anal, brief violence? (one punch)

part 3 coming asap!

You watched his eyes slowly scan the board, darting from his pieces to yours and back again.

“You’re stalling,” you accused, breaking the silence.

“I’m thinking,” he mumbled back right away, never looking away from the board as he rested his chin in his hand.

“Think faster,” you instructed with a groan, leaning back in your chair and looking out the window instead. When you saw movement in the corner of your eye, you looked back again, but he just sighed and moved his hand back into his lap without doing anything. “Oh my god!” you exclaimed, rolling your eyes.

“Wait, wait, I’ve got it,” he grinned, finally grabbing his knight and moving it forward. “Check.”

You looked around the board to confirm he was right, and he cleared his throat expectantly.

“I said, ‘check’,” he reminded you. “Stand up.”

“You’re really going to make me do this?” you pressed with a raised eyebrow.

“No, I’m not going to make you,” he smirked, “but you’re going to do it because your only alternative is to forfeit.”

With a sigh and a little smile of your own, you stood up and unbuttoned your shorts, sliding them down your legs and stepping out of them quickly. His face was irritatingly neutral as he watched you strip, only your bra and underwear left now, but his eyes gave everything away as they examined you with even more care than they had the chess board.

“You know, this whole ‘strip chess’ idea isn’t exactly going according to plan,” you frowned, sitting back down in the chair and crossing your legs.

“What do you mean? Of course it is,” he grinned. “Oh, you mean, your plan… yes, I hope my suit coat is keeping your entire outfit good company over there in the pile.”

You scoffed defensively. “If you wanted to get me naked, you could’ve just asked.”

“I know, darling. This was just to get you to slow down for once.”

You coughed a little, shocked by his brutal honesty. “Damn, shots fired,” you mumbled to yourself, and he laughed.

“Now, it’s your turn to see if you can get this tie off,” he smirked. “And do hurry it up, so I can show you what happens when I get a checkmate.”

His apartment was, unshockingly, so much nicer than your dorm; so it wasn’t so odd that you spent most nights here each week. Well, perhaps it was a little odd since you had practically moved in and you’d only been seeing him for a few months… but you were happy, and he was happy, and you were trying desperately not to overthink it.

Your schedule was carefully crafted so as not to include any Friday classes, but obviously as a professor his itinerary was a much more traditional 8-to-5 no matter the day of the week. As a result, it was typical for you to lay around his place through most of the day, working on your laptop or occasionally mooching off of his HBO Max account.

You were doing just that when you heard the key in the front door, and you scrambled to turn the TV off so he wouldn’t think you were being lazy… but when he entered, you were still laying on the couch wrapped up in a blanket, so you didn’t exactly look productive either.

“Hey,” you greeted, sitting up and resting your arms on the back of the couch as he took his bag off his shoulder and hung up his jacket.

“Hey,” he mumbled in return, sounding a bit distracted and not even looking back at you. You furrowed your brow as he sat down on the couch beside you, letting out a heavy breath and staring up at the ceiling.

“What’s on your mind?” you asked, pouting as you moved closer to straddle his lap and run your hands over his chest through his button-up.

“Well, the thing is,” he sighed, taking off his glasses with one hand to rub his eyes with the other, “tomorrow is my birthday.”

“Wh— that’s a good thing!” you scoffed. “Let’s do something!”

“My fortieth birthday,” he clarified. “Tomorrow, I will officially be twice your age.”

You sighed a bit. “That really bothers you, doesn’t it…”

“Does it not bother you? It should,” he snapped, deflating you instantly, and his tone softened. “I’m sorry. That was harsh… I just feel guilty, sometimes. I wouldn’t want to take advantage—”

“I’m a grown adult, Helmut, I know I’m younger than you but I’m not a child and I can make my own choices.”

He nodded. “You’re right.”

“So then what’s the problem?”

“I…” he paused for a moment, chewing his lip slightly as he gathered his thoughts. “I would just hate to see you regret this. And I think, when you’re older, you will.”

“Let me worry about that,” you frowned. “The future can be dealt with later, we should enjoy the present while we can.”

He laughed softly. “I think I have an idea of what you consider ‘enjoying the present’...”

You smiled as you leaned in closer, holding his face to press your lips against his. It was pretty innocent at first, until his hands began to rest at your waist and you sighed slightly, feeling your hips shift above him. He grinned, teeth gently nipping at your bottom lip.

“What do you know? I was right,” he whispered. “You’re turned on already.”

It made your cheeks burn when he called you out like that, like he was mocking you for how easily he could make you desperate, and you looked away in embarrassment. “I can’t help it!” you defended in a pout.

“I know,” he cooed, kissing your cheek and neck softly. “I think it’s sweet, really.”

That made your cheeks burn even more, and you looked back at him again to find his brown eyes sparkling. “Really?”

“Really.”

You trailed your fingers over his cheeks, scratching his beard a little bit which made him scrunch up his nose. “Well, I think you’re sweet,” you giggled. “And you know something else?”

He raised an eyebrow and you leaned in to speak closer to his ear.

“I think it’s sexy that you’re twice my age,” you whispered. “Well, that tomorrow you’ll be twice my age.”

“Yeah?” he pressed, fingers just barely grazing over your skin as they trailed down your legs.

“Yeah,” you nodded, moving your hands to his chest where you started to slowly unbutton his shirt as he sighed.

“That explains why you can’t seem to keep your hands off of me,” he chuckled, looking down to watch your fingers brush over the patch of hair on his chest and toy briefly with the necklace he wore.

“Well, that’s more just because I know how good you can fuck me, and I’ll never be satisfied by anything else,” you admitted, biting your lip.

“Darling, I don’t think you’re even satisfied by me… I already made you come this morning, don’t you remember?”

“Yeah, but that was different,” you pouted, “that was your fingers and it was right before you had to leave and I was still half-asleep…”

“Whatever it is that you want, draga, just say it,” he ordered in a whisper, holding the back of your neck and pulling you closer so you had to look back at him.

It was a lot harder to say with him staring right at you, but you swallowed and did your best. “Need you to fuck me. Wanna feel you inside me, please.”

His only answer was a quick nod before he kissed you, rough and dominating, letting you cling onto him while he stood up and carried you to the bedroom, falling with you onto the mattress.

He made a big show of kissing his way down your body, tearing your clothes out of the way on his path, eventually leaving you in only your panties which he examined with a grin as he held your legs open.

A shiver ran up your spine when he caught the lace in his teeth and used only a playful bite to pull them down your legs.

Once the panties were off your ankles and he had tossed them aside with a flick of his head, he held your thighs as he dove right in, lapping at you hungrily while you moaned and your back arched.

He purred against you when your fingers wove into his hair and tugged slightly, but you honestly didn’t even mean to do it: you just needed to hold onto something to keep yourself from falling back into oblivion, and it seemed like a more attractive option than the bedsheets.

His lips attaching onto you and sucking your clit hard was already overwhelming in its own rite, but then two thick fingers began to push into you and it was impossible not to cry out, your bottom lip falling from where it had been caught between your teeth.

“Fuck!” you yelped, hips shaking and trying to rock up against his face as he curled the tips of his fingers against your spot right away.

“Close already, draga?” he cooed, words muffled since he didn’t fully pull his mouth away from your body before he spoke. “I’ve only just started.”

You could only nod and feel your face heat up even more; at this point you had no right to be embarrassed by how sensitive you were when he’d already proven to you over and over that he could bring you to the edge in minutes. But still, apparently some little shred of shame was still left in you, and you could tell by the look in his eyes that he was determined to train it out of you.

“If you’re close then now would be the time to start begging,” he reminded you as he moved his fingers faster and teased your clit with the tip of his tongue.

"Please, Helmut," you sobbed as you writhed uncontrollably, "I'm so close— fuck me, please, I want your cock."

"So you don't want to come on my fingers, then? You don't want me to make you come with my mouth?"

"No, I want you to fuck me, please… you know I need to come around you."

Not one to let you down when you pleaded like that, he pulled his fingers out and suddenly flipped you onto your hands and knees, chuckling when you gasped.

“This is how you want it, isn’t it?” he presumed as you heard him finishing the undressing process behind you until you finally felt the head of his cock pressing against your soaking entrance.

“Yes,” you breathed, “just fuck me, please—”

You cut yourself off with a high-pitched noise when he shoved into you, this angle giving you no relief from how deep he was filling you. One of his hands was beside yours, keeping him balanced upright above you, and you watched it tighten into a fist while the other slid up to hold your neck in a way that was simultaneously intimidating and soothing.

When he started to move, each stroke rubbed against your swollen spot and you struggled not to fall apart right there and then.

“So perfect,” he breathed right against your ear, almost like he was saying it to himself more than you, “you feel so fucking perfect, draga.”

Of course that would make your back arch even more, pushing him deeper into you in search of not only more friction within you but more of his praise whispered to you.

Soon it was you pushing back against him more than him fucking into you, and you felt his proud smile press against the curve of your neck. “You need it that badly, darling?”

“Need you,” you whined back, not really capable of a full sentence at this point.

“I know,” he whispered, soothing you with kisses all over your cheek and neck and shoulder. “I know, poor thing, you just need to come, yes?”

Your mouth fell slack as you nodded, rocking back into him faster and more desperately than ever.

“You need me to make you come?”

“Yes, fuck, please!” you cried, hoping he wouldn’t get irritated with you becoming so demanding, but thankfully he obliged and held your body tight as he really fucked you then, hard and fast and completely unforgiving— exactly how you needed it.

Every part of your body seemed to tense up in time with each other: your toes curled, your hands gripped the sheets beneath you in fists, your walls fluttered and tightened around him.

When you opened your mouth to speak, you genuinely didn’t know if you should expect a scream or a whisper. What came out was somewhere in the middle, slightly choked and completely fucked-out. “Please, don’t stop…”

“Couldn’t if I wanted to, draga,” he groaned, his fingers rubbing your clit roughly as he fucked you even harder, slamming into the deepest parts of you until you were choking on your own sobs.

"I— hng, Helmut, I'm—" you tried to warn him, but you couldn't even put a few words together.

"I know, darling," he cooed, "shh, just come, go ahead and come for me."

He sucked hard on your pulse as your legs quivered and your body gave out; if it weren’t for him holding you tight against him, you would’ve fallen on your face onto the bed (and you may not have even noticed if you did, since you were suddenly going numb and tingly everywhere).

Just past the ringing in your ears you could hear him muttering curses against your skin, in a few languages you didn’t speak, before switching back to English to praise you in a growl. “I love feeling you come around me, draga, keep going— you’re squeezing me so tight that I can barely keep it together.”

Tears streamed down your cheeks from the force of it, and his hand reached up to wipe them away— a gesture much too tender considering the way he was pounding into you like he was out for revenge.

"Fuck, I'm close, so close," he breathed, grunting with every thrust into you.

"Come in me, I want it so bad, I need it…"

His teeth sunk into your neck, his lips sealing and sucking on the delicate skin, as he let out a muffled moan and began to fill you. The warmth of it was always indescribable, but perfect; a heavy exhale of relief sunk from your chest out your lips.

You were able to stay like that for a long moment before he let you go and you inevitably fell limply onto the bed, just barely beginning to catch your breath and come back down to reality.

“Fuck, that’ll leave a mark,” you groaned as you rubbed where he’d bitten you, but you were smiling, too.

You watched him get up and stretch briefly; you were pretty impressed he was still energetic enough to do anything but collapse onto the bed beside you, though you certainly didn’t mind the view as he walked to the window and acquired a cigarette and his lighter.

“Isn’t smoking after sex a little stereotypical?” you chuckled softly.

He smirked back at you as he placed the end between his lips. “It’s the only time I smoke, so I’m going to blame you for how many packs I’ve been going through,” he countered, words slightly muffled from holding the cigarette. He struck his lighter and carefully lit the end, taking a slow inhale before letting the smoke out through his nose.

“Believe it or not, I didn’t have such an… appetite, before you,” you admitted.

“You’d never had anything worth craving before,” he shrugged; how dare he be so casually cocky like that? How dare he be so accurate?

Deciding you definitely needed a shower (though you would’ve loved to lay there catatonic for a while longer), you managed to sit up and get off the bed. The only problem was that you severely overestimated the awakeness of your legs, and when you tried to stand on them, they buckled right away.

He dashed across the room to catch you, concerned at first but then smirking around his cigarette as he looked down at you in his arms. "Are you alright, darling?"

"Yeah, I'm good," you nodded breathlessly, balancing on his arms as you found your footing. "Thanks."

“You don’t need my help in the shower?” he pressed.

You rolled your eyes as you laughed, letting go of his hands. “We both know your ‘help’ isn’t going to get me clean.”

“You’ve got me there,” he admitted, raising his hands in relent as he returned to the window while you finished your delicate trek to the bathroom and reached into the shower to turn on the stream of hot water.

Though the shower thankfully did get the sweat off of you and (most of) the come out of you, it could never wash away the feeling of his touch, the little bruises in the shape of his lips or fingertips, and thank god that it couldn’t— your heart might break if they ever faded.

Of course, that made you start wondering which made you start overthinking (a common shower pastime for you) and suddenly a pang of fearful guilt started to throb in your gut as you wondered if your feelings were becoming too strong.

You pushed the thought away and finished up your shower, deciding now was not the time to worry where this affair was going. Didn’t you deserve to do something fun and crazy and a little bit dangerous for once? At least you weren’t in his class anymore so what you were doing was less ‘wrong’ and more just ‘probably a bad idea.’

But this bad idea had been going on for a few months now and sometimes it felt like you were barreling towards an inevitable breaking point. Could any relationship that began in the way yours had find longevity? Is that even what you wanted?

Okay, so maybe you didn’t really manage to successfully stop worrying about it, and you sighed absent-mindedly as you dried off with a borrowed towel. If anything could soothe your racing mind, it was coming back to the bedroom to find Helmut in bed, his cigarette finished and replaced with a book and his reading glasses.

The way he smiled when he saw you was infectious, and he extended his arm out in invitation for you to join him and, well, that offer was irresistible.

You beamed as you jumped onto the mattress, which had settled from its bouncing by the time you found a comfortable spot on his shoulder and lifted your leg to drape over his.

Your head found a place on his chest while your fingers traced over it, trailing down at one point to his stomach where you delicately traced over the scars there— the ones you’d been too afraid to ask about before now.

“What happened?” you asked softly. “The scars…”

“A dog mauled me when I was little,” he remembered flatly as he turned a page in his book.

“Oh no!”

“Not as bad as it sounds, I can’t even remember it now,” he shrugged.

“Anything interesting?” you asked, motioning to the book and looking up at his profile as he returned to his thoughtful reading.

“Something horrifically boring,” he answered flatly, looking over at the bedside table when his phone vibrated on top of it. Setting the book down and grabbing the phone instead, he squinted as he looked at the bright screen.

“What is it?” you asked after a brief struggle not to be nosy.

"Another professor in the department is offering to take me out for drinks, for my birthday," he explained as he examined the message.

"That's sweet of him," you smiled. "You should go!"

"Well, actually it's a 'her,'" he corrected.

Oh no, there it was, stirring in your stomach: jealousy, for no good reason, with no right to start stirring in your chest. Of course in your mind, this female professor was sexy and sophisticated in a way you couldn't be, someone who could keep up with his discussions about history and politics that you barely understood, someone who could do all those things you couldn’t do.

Including, you know, going to bars… like the one she was inviting him to now, on the night of his birthday.

“Well that’s… nice,” you mumbled. “Is it just you and her, or…?”

He paused as he processed the question, before suddenly smirking and setting his phone down to stare back at you. “Do you think she’s asking me on a date?”

You couldn’t parse at first if he was asking you because he thought you were being ridiculous for thinking it, or because he genuinely wanted your perspective— as if he would be happy if she was. It made a lump form in your throat that you couldn’t quite swallow down. “I… I don’t know, maybe?” you shrugged. “How old is she?” you, morbid curiosity getting the better of you.

“I don’t know, 30-something? Like I will be for the next—” he paused to puff his cheeks with a sigh and glance at his watch— “5 hours or so.”

You tried to hide your disappointment that he didn’t give a number like 60 or more. “I don’t think you’re allowed to say 30 ‘something’ when the ‘something’ is 9,” you snorted.

“Okay, she’s in her late 30s then,” he decided.

“Well, that’s…” you trailed off.

“What?” he pressed.

“I guess it’s probably a date, then,” you decided.

“It’s definitely not,” he shook his head.

“Does she know that?” you shot back, regretting it once you said it.

“Seriously?” he laughed. “Do you think something is going to… happen between her and I, at this bar?”

“Well, maybe not at the bar, she’ll probably drive you to her place in her BMW or whatever,” you scoffed.

“Draga, she’s a history professor, she can’t afford a BMW,” he smirked, kissing your forehead.

“Okay, but she has a car, and an apartment, and a job— you know, maybe she’s more ‘in your league’,” you proposed.

He laughed again. “Yes, maybe she is. And maybe you’re out of my league. So I think we’ve established that it would be entirely uneconomic for me to be with her instead of you.”

You noticed the way he said ‘being with’ and not ‘date’ in reference to this. Because you two weren’t, technically, dating, even if he did take you on what could be considered dates by most of the population. “People do uneconomic things all the time,” you mumbled back, and he let out a little sigh as he looked down at you.

“Darling, I am entirely disinterested in pursuing another woman… as well as physically incapable. I can barely keep up with you, how do you expect me to entertain somebody else?”

You swallowed, feeling a bit guilty for bringing it up at all. “I’m sorry, it’s really none of my business,” you sighed, “I didn’t mean to ask you for anything, you can make your own decisions and I know we said this wasn’t—”

“Shh,” he interrupted to hug you tighter, “you’re overthinking again. I’m not going to sleep with someone else—”

“But I’m saying you could, if you wanted to, I’d just want you to tell me since we aren’t using condoms and we would probably just call it off—”

“Baby,” he smiled, making you look up at him as he reached down to hold your face in his hand, “I just want you.”

You choked on nothing in particular, feeling so vulnerable so suddenly. “O-okay…”

He held your head close to his chest and wrapped his arms around your shoulders, while you were still reeling from that statement; you didn’t know exactly what it meant— it certainly implied exclusivity, but not necessarily any romantic contexts, right? To ‘want’ someone can mean a lot of things… sexual, mainly, which is what you assumed he was referring to.

And you were definitely not disappointed if he only wanted you in only that way, but you couldn’t swallow down the longing stirring inside you, the unforgettable knowledge that you wanted him in every way that could be meant. Best of all, you wanted him all to yourself, but you were too self-conscious to bring up the exclusivity talk and you were too happy now to risk messing it all up with pesky emotions. It was just amazing sex, between two people who thankfully managed to get along well outside the bedroom as well, and there was absolutely wrong with that.

If nothing else, you knew a lot more about history than you did a few months ago, so if it all ended tomorrow, at least you would have some fun facts about Sokovia to show for it.

When your friend Kacey told you there was a house party this weekend, you were originally going to say no… but the house in question was actually just down the block from Helmut’s apartment, so you knew if you hated it you could leave easily. Maybe getting out would do you some good, and it was the same night that Helmut was going out with his friends for his birthday so the timing was convenient. He encouraged you not to wait for him alone and bored all night; this seemed like the perfect way to avoid that.

And maybe if you were getting dressed up all sexy to go out to a party at the same time he was supposed to leave for the bar, you could convince him to ditch them and spend his birthday fucking you senseless.

When he caught a glimpse of you while he walked past the bathroom, he stopped suddenly and you grinned as you turned to face him. "Whaddya think?" you asked proudly, letting him get an eyeful of your outfit.

“You look…” he trailed off, scanning the skin-tight dress with wide eyes. “Do you always dress this way for parties?”

You shrugged. “Most of the time, yeah.”

“Remind me to take you out more,” he nodded. “Or never let you go out without me again.”

“You don’t think it’s too revealing, do you?” you teased, stepping closer.

“Oh no, don’t play that game with me,” he laughed. “Don’t try to make me jealous just so I’ll get rough with you.”

You frowned, crossing your arms.

“Does that tactic usually work on whatever boys you were seeing before me?” he smirked, and something about the way he called them boys made you feel all tingly and suddenly you were not the one in control anymore. You nodded shyly and he stepped up to you, pulling you into a soft kiss. You tried to deepen it but he moved back too soon, leaving you wanting more like he could do so effortlessly. “I’ll see you tonight, have fun at your party.”

He left you with one more kiss, to your forehead this time, and you were almost more impressed than irritated at how he managed to make sure you’d be thinking only of him all night long.

Not too much later after he’d driven off, you left on foot for the party— though you definitely considered cancelling last minute and just moping around his apartment, staring forlornly out the window wondering when your husband former professor turned not-exactly boyfriend would return from the war bar.

But you had a point to prove to yourself, as well as Helmut and Kacey, and so you finished primping and found the walk rather pleasant in terms of scenery (if irritating in terms of fashion).

As far as house parties go, it wasn't quite a rager but not exactly a casual hangout either; you could hear the music from across the block, though faintly, as bass reverberated through the ground and into your platforms while your friend waved you down from the porch, calling your name.

She met you at the sidewalk just in front of the house, pulling you into a tight hug; you had been worried at first that you were overdressed (or, in a certain sense, underdressed), but her outfit was significantly more revealing than yours; a two-piece with her stomach and belly button piercing exposed.

“You look hot,” Kacey beamed when she pulled back from the hug.

“You think so? I’m a bit out of practice,” you admitted.

“Glad you could dust off the heels and join us,” she winked.

“Us?”

She glanced back towards the house. “Yeah, Pia’s here— somewhere…”

Another junior in your major; as the most social girls in the computer science undergraduate stratosphere, the three of you were sort of forced to be friends, but thankfully it wasn’t for naught and you got along well. Sometimes Kacey could be a bit… effervescent for your taste, in the sense that she was one of those bubbly outgoing types and had more energy than you knew what to do with. Pia was more reserved but acquiescent, which meant she ended up pulled along on whatever adventures Kacey got herself into you. And then there was you, who had been blowing them off every weekend with a list of increasingly-absurd excuses: sick dog, sick cousin, sick self (both migraines and menstrual cramps), heavy homework load— you know, the usual suspects— all in the name of hanging out with Helmut.

You considered yourself lucky that they still wanted to hang out with you, after you’d been AWOL this long, and you feared that they would understandably want an explanation.

Following Kacey inside the house, you tried not to wince at the volume of the music— a live band, it turns out, and not a very good one— and grabbed a stray drink from a table on your way to wherever you were being guided.

Pia was sitting on the arm of a couch, listening to a very stoned young man talk about the meaning of life and the universe, but she smiled when she saw you and Kacey, getting up to greet you.

“Hey, I haven’t seen you in forever!” she frowned playfully, hugging you quickly.

“Yeah, sorry about that,” you mumbled.

“We should catch up! How have you been?” she pressed, tilting her head.

“You’re sure you don’t wanna miss this TED talk?” you snorted, glancing over at the guy who had changed topics slightly and seemed to have confused string beans with string theory.

“I’ve heard better philosophy from the back of cereal boxes,” she laughed, but right as she said it the band finished their song and everyone glanced in your direction, including the heartbroken hippy himself. “Uh, sorry,” she winced, and Kacey laughed as she guided the three of you away.

“I’m gonna get us some drinks, wait here,” Kacey decided once she found a new corner to lounge in, but Pia abandoned you soon afterward in search of a bathroom, leaving you to do what you did best at parties: stand around and avoid everyone’s attention.

You were surprised to hear your name from behind you, and when you whipped your head around you saw a tall guy with a wide smile looking down at you.

“Professor Zemo, right?” he asked with a raised eyebrow, and you nearly choked on your drink.

“Wh— what about him?” you stammered out.

“We had his class together,” he explained. “I sat behind you.”

“Oh!” you smiled, relieved. “Right, um, yeah…”

“Trey,” he finished for you.

“Trey!” you repeated, nodding. “I knew that… hi, Trey, good to see you.”

“How’s life been treating you since you set the curve in that class?” he grinned.

“I don’t think he even graded on a curve,” you mumbled. “But, um, good. Just… livin’ it up,” you decided, cringing internally at your own wording.

“Yeah? I haven’t seen you in any other history classes,” he noticed.

“Oh, I’m not a history major,” you explained quickly. “Computer science.”

He chuckled incredulously, wrinkling his eyebrows. “What were you doing in a history seminar?”

Fucking the professor. “Elective,” you shrugged.

“So you’re just a hobby history buff then?” he presumed.

“No, I actually kinda hate history, I prefer to live in the present,” you decided, “but, y’know, underwater basket-weaving didn’t have any seats left…”

He snorted out a laugh, a little too hard for the quality of the joke, and you realized this was probably flirting. You’d never really seen it up this close, so you couldn’t be sure… and considering how he looked in his jeans with the shirt half-unbuttoned, you weren’t exactly mad about it…

But it made you feel sort of sick to your stomach. It made you feel guilty, on behalf of Helmut but even moreso for Trey who was totally sweet and smart and deserved to be spending this energy on somebody who could appreciate it.

“Want another drink? Looks like yours is almost empty,” he motioned to your red plastic cup.

“Oh, um, I would but… I think my friends are coming over here,” you dismissed, hoping he would take the hint without taking it too hard. He seemed to understand, giving you a nod and a wave before he disappeared into the crowd right as Pia grabbed your arm.

“Who was that?” she asked right away, giving you a look that you chose to ignore.

“Trey, he sat behind me in my history class last semester.”

“He’s cute,” Pia winked, leaning against the wall beside you. “And definitely into you.”

“Well, that’s… good for him, I suppose,” you stammered.

“Are you gonna go for it? Get his number?” she pressed.

“Uh, probably not,” you decided, “I’m gonna get another drink—”

Before you could walk away, she grabbed your wrist and pulled you back. “Hey, what’s the deal? You seem kinda out of it.”

“Oh, well, I just— I guess I’m not as much into the party scene as I used to be.”

“I’m using my psychology major mind-reading powers,” she warned, waving her fingers at you like she was casting some mystical spell while you leaned back and squinted.

“Um, that’s definitely not how that works—”

“You’re acting weird becaaauuuusee… you’re totally hung up on somebody else and feel guilty flirting with guys here even though you know you shouldn’t,” she announced, crossing her arms proudly when your dumbfounded expression gave away her accuracy.

“How did you—?”

“Lucky guess. So who is it?!” she grinned.

“Uh—”

Kacey, summoned by the smell of gossip, seemed to appear from thin air at your other side. “Who is who?” she smirked.

You glanced around at the crowded room of students and decided this was definitely not the place to talk about such an illicit affair, taking them by the hand and dragging them into a more private room of the house. Finding a seat on a chair as the girls gathered around you (oddly reminiscent of a childhood storytime, except this story was going to be a lot more mature than those), you prepared to answer as many of their questions as you could.

As a European, Zemo was quite well-practiced at going out to bars with friends, but in America it was a very different experience. It took him twice the alcohol to get half as drunk as his colleagues, meaning by the time he was feeling a decent buzz, everyone else had foolishly tried to keep up and ended up totally sloshed.

The person who had initially suggested this event (as well as the one you had foolishly felt some sort of jealousy for), Dr. Josten, had actually respected her own limits and left first while she was still good to drive, meaning Zemo was left only with men who couldn’t hold their liquor or their tongues.

Case in point, a bunch of his fellow professors were now trying to convince him to go up to the bar and flirt with a woman in a red dress.

“No, no way,” Zemo shook his head, “I’m not doing that.”

“You could totally take her home, just tell her it’s your birthday!” Professor Bram, from the English department, suggested with an elbow digging a bit too hard into Zemo’s side.

“Does that normally work?” he asked bewilderedly.

"I mean, not for me… but it could work for you! Ladies love an accent."

“You’ve been teaching stateside for over a year now, Zemo, it’s time for you to experience American women,” one of them laughed.

“Who says I haven’t?” he mumbled to himself before another sip of his vodka, but unfortunately some of the others heard him as well and he got a playful punch to the shoulder.

“I can’t believe you didn’t say anything! Was it just a hook-up or what?”

“No, I… well, I’m seeing someone, I suppose is the way to put it,” he clarified.

“How long?” Kacey asked you first, right away, as she leaned in excitedly.

“Um, a few months now,” you realized.

“No, I mean how long,” she smirked, gesturing with her hands to indicate length, and you snorted.

“Jesus, I’m not telling you that!”

“Buzzkill,” she rolled her eyes.

“Plenty long enough, that’s all I’ll say,” you laughed.

“How’d you meet her?” Professor Carpenter (another history department veteran) asked. “I mean, you’re never anywhere but work… is it someone you work with?”

“In a sense…” Zemo trailed off.

“So, is he in one of your classes?” Pia wondered aloud.

“Um, he was, last semester,” you agreed. It wasn’t false, by any means, but definitely not the entire truth, either.

"So, another lecturer,” Professor Chen (Zemo was about 80% sure he was in the political science department) nodded thoughtfully.

“Gotta be somebody from the Women’s Studies department,” Bram smirked proudly, despite it not being a statement to be proud of at all.

“Or is it that woman here on the visiting scholar program, the temporary lecturer in neurology?” Carpenter jumped in.

“No, he said she was American, c’mon, keep up,” Bram frowned as he slapped Carpenter on the padded shoulder.

“Delta or Sigma?” Kacey squinted, like it was an interrogation.

“Not a frat guy, some of us have standards Kace,” you scoffed.

“Hey!” Pia gasped, offended on Kacey’s behalf.

“Nah, she’s right,” Kacey soothed.

“She’s not a lecturer, okay?” Zemo hissed, tired of having basically every department of the university listed to him (including some he didn’t realize existed). “She’s not faculty.”

“...staff?” Chen posited.

“What, you mean like the janitor? No, not staff,” Zemo rolled his eyes. “I shouldn’t have said anything. It’s none of your business.”

“It doesn’t matter! What’s with the secrecy?”

“I haven’t told anyone about it yet, and I don’t think I’ve had enough alcohol to start now,” he frowned.

“Which of your classes was he in, then?” Pia asked, shifting her line of questioning (and unfortunately looking in the right direction).

“Um, that history thing I took last semester,” you answered.

“That guy from before was in your history class! Should we just ask him who it is?” Pia grinned mischievously.

You cursed yourself for giving away too much.

“I’ll go find him and see if he’s going to give us more to work with you than you,” Kacey decided, already standing up to walk out of the room.

“No, wait!” you yelped, pulling her back; you didn’t want to tell them anymore, but you couldn’t afford if someone like Trey found out. Telling Kacey and Pia wasn’t ideal, but at least they could be trusted with a secret. “I’ll tell you, okay? Fuck, I don’t even know how to say this…”

Chen tossed up his hands in defeat. “Alright, the only reason you could be so weird about this is if it’s somebody totally forbidden—”

Zemo’s chest tightened as he worried they would figure it out.

“Like, I don’t know, an adjunct or something.”

“An adjunct? Are you out of your mind?” Zemo spat.

“Hey, no judgment in brainstorming,” Carpenter defended.

“You think I would be this protective about it if it was an adjunct?” Zemo continued.

“Listen, we’re not gonna think less of you, whatever it is— and we’re not gonna tattle on you,” Bram assured. “Just get it off your chest while the liquor’s flowing, half of us aren’t even gonna remember it tomorrow anyways.”

“I’m dating a professor,” you blurted out.

“She’s a student,” he finally interjected, the entire table suddenly going dead silent.

“...a grad student?” one of them pressed, making Zemo swallow uncomfortably.

“Um, no… she’s actually… twenty,” he admitted.

“Holy shit,” Pia gasped. “You actually did it…”

“We bow to your hoe powers,” Kacey spoke reverently, clasping her hands as if in prayer. “We’ve all dreamed of bagging a hot professor and now you made it a reality. Please, O Queen, teach us in your ways.”

“It’s not like that,” you defended.

“Is she at least getting a better grade out of you for it?” Carpenter joked.

“No, it’s not like that,” he dismissed, “she passed my class with flying colors quite some time ago.”

“Okay, but was that before or after you slept with her?”

“It was irrelevant to the fact that I slept with her.”

“So, after,” Chen assumed with a smirk.

“Yes, after,” Zemo finally admitted, “but she’s not my student anymore.”

“Is she your girlfriend then?”

You gnawed on the inside of your cheek. “We… haven’t really had that conversation yet. I keep meaning to, but then… one thing always seems to lead to another…”

“Oh really?” Pia grinned. “So what’s he like?”

“Sensitive…” you mumbled right away, “patient, weirdly funny though I don’t think he realizes it.”

“I know I’m going to sound like every creep who ever preyed on young women, but she’s very mature for her age,” Zemo explained. “Incredibly thoughtful. Wise beyond her years.”

“No, no,” Johnston shook his head, “what’s she like.”

"It's nothing like how it is with guys our age,” you gushed, clutching your blanket tighter to your chest. “He's so attentive, and sensual, and he can go for hours," you explained as your teeth sunk into your bottom lip at the memories playing on repeat in your mind.

"You must understand that she's nothing like women our age, at least not any that I've met," he nodded as his friends set down their drinks to lean in close. He was sure this was more attention than he'd ever gotten for one of his lectures. "She's… insatiable. She wants to go again and again and I'm just trying to keep her from getting injured or something, poor thing."

"So she likes it rough?" one of them presumed with a toothy grin.

"She's so inexperienced she doesn't really know what she likes yet. She's learning with me. So we try everything."

"Everything?" one of the girls repeated as she widened her eyes.

Your face warmed up as you cleared your throat. "I mean… yeah…"

"So, anal?"

You choked on nothing, which said more than any answer could.

"I shouldn’t talk about this with you,” he decided, shaking his head.

“Come on, you don’t have to tell us everything, just give us something to work with here,” Carpenter pleaded.

“I don’t want to know what you mean by work with,” Zemo shuddered.

“At least tell us how you got her to sleep with you,” Chen compromised.

“Or let us do a guest lecture in your class so we can try to find our own undersexed sorority girls,” Bram added.

“Jesus, how many times do I have to say it’s not like that?” you frowned. “I’m not turning this into some fucked up teacher-student dating service.”

“You keep saying what it isn’t like but you won’t tell us what it is,” Kacey noted. “I mean, is it serious?”

“All I can say for sure is that I feel pretty serious about it,” Zemo tried to explain.

“...are you in love with her?”

He cleared his throat, suddenly deciding now was the perfect time to finish his drink.

“Love?” you repeated, voice cracking. “I don’t… know about that,” you stammered.

But the really upsetting thing was that you did know, and you hadn’t let yourself think about it until now. It hadn’t been long enough to justify feelings like that, and the last thing you wanted to be was the naïve girl who caught feelings when all the guy was looking for was sex.

“It’s not just sex,” he announced. “It’s something really real. I didn’t know that I could—”

He stopped himself.

“I haven’t felt this way since—” he began, but stopped again. “I don’t know. Just, be careful how you talk about her.”

“Oh, you’re really whipped,” Bram chuckled.

“She’s incredible; you’d understand if you met her.”

“Then let us meet her!”

For a moment, he actually considered it; he wasn’t sure if you thought that you were at the ‘meeting friends’ stage, and considering the cultural difference it was going to be a unique one for sure. Would you ask him to hang out with your friends? He didn’t even know what that would look like.

“She seems like someone worth getting to know,” Bram agreed, and Zemo grimaced at the predatory look in his eyes.

“Fuck off,” he sneered, and Chen patted him on the back.

“Good move. I’d be keeping her to myself, too… otherwise she might end up upgrading to a tenured professor like myself,” he beamed.

“Better watch out before Chen here steals your girl, Zemo,” Carpenter warned.

“She can’t be stolen,” Zemo assured.

“Yeah, you say that now…” Bram trailed off.

“Care to finish that sentence?” Zemo snarled.

“Well, think of it this way. Most students wouldn’t fuck their professor,” Bram explained. “But those that would, usually wouldn’t only fuck one.”

He didn’t punch him in the face because it was crude. Sure, that was a factor, but it wasn’t the real reason. He punched him in the face because it sounded like it actually made sense.

He punched him in the face because he couldn’t understand why it made him so angry; so what if he was just one of your exploits? What difference did it make? After all, you’d just said the night before that he was free to pursue others, and he couldn’t quite appreciate yet why that didn’t feel like freedom at all.

From a certain point of view, he knew he should just appreciate that you were with him at all, irrelevant to whoever else you might be with or would potentially be with in the future. But from another, and much more salient, point of view, he wanted you all to himself. And he hated that.

Like all good anger, his anger in that moment was born of fear, and he’d never been so afraid that he was just the lucky target of your promiscuous phase. As selfish as it was, he wanted to think of himself as more than that.

And now that he was getting thrown out of a bar on his own birthday, contemplating the paperwork he would have to fill out tomorrow after punching a coworker tonight, he’d never thought of himself as less.

Much to your delight, he returned relatively early for a guy coming back from a bar on his birthday— 11:57 p.m., specifically— but it made sense for him being a responsible professor and all.

Well, mostly responsible. After all, he still had his former student waiting for him when he got back, perched on the couch expectantly. As fun as the third degree had been with Kacey and Pia, you wanted to be here when he got back— and now that they finally understood the real reason you were leaving early, they were more than supportive (perhaps a little too supportive, with their rather graphic suggestions and… hand gestures).

You didn’t stay on his couch for long, though; you got up and met him at the door as he slipped off his coat and hung it up nearby.

“How was your night out?” you asked softly, reaching up to rub his chest through his shirt.

“Um, it was good,” he nodded, “I missed you though.”

“I missed you, too,” you sighed. “I was here all by myself thinking about the present I want to give you.”

“I told you not to get anything for me,” he remembered, gasping slightly when you pushed him back against the door.

“Just be gracious and accept your gift, okay?” you whispered, starting to kneel down and open his belt.

“O-oh,” he breathed.

You palmed his cock through his trousers, biting your lip as you felt it swelling already. “I didn’t wrap this gift… and I forgot to get you a card to go with it.”

“Somehow I think I’ll find it in my heart to forgive you,” he chuckled, though his smile dropped when you pulled his cock out and stroked it slowly. You had meant to tease him a bit but you found yourself sucking on the head already, too desperate for even your own plans; not that he had any issue with it, you could hear his breathing quicken as you bobbed your head slowly and stroked what your lips couldn’t reach.

He was still getting harder and the feeling of it on your tongue was so hot it was almost distracting, it made you want to reach down under your dress but you knew you were going to need your full attention on him if you were going to do this properly.

Closing your eyes, you kept taking him deeper and deeper until your lips met the base of his cock while his tip was lodged deep down your throat.

“Fffuck,” he hissed, “where did you learn how to do that?”

You pulled back and took a breath, stroking his cock as you responded. “I’ve been practicing, all for you.”

It made his cock flex in your hand to imagine you gagging on your fingers or a toy in hopes of learning how to deepthroat him, let alone to know that it worked.

You took him in your mouth again, swirling your tongue around his slit until he reached down to grab your hair— not hard enough to guide your movements, he was still letting you set your own pace, but hard enough to tug at the roots and make you moan around him. Slowly, you sunk down again, humming and swallowing around him, and he sucked in a sharp breath.

“You’re too fucking perfect,” he sighed, watching closely as you pulled off of him even slower, running your lips and tongue over every part of him. “You— fuck, you really don’t need to do this.”

“I want to,” you breathed, darting your tongue out to give a wide lick to his head. “I’m already so wet just from this, Helmut… I want you to fuck my face.”

“Shit,” he cursed, gripping your hair tighter. “You’re sure?”

You smiled and nodded.

“Then open your mouth."

Never one to turn down an instruction like that, you let your mouth fall slack and hummed a bit as he pushed his cock forward past your waiting lips. After that it was just a matter of letting your throat relax and focusing on your limited chances to breath as he held your head and guided you.

Whatever discomfort came from having your throat filled so deep was heavily outweighed by the incredible feeling of being used— it sounds debasing, but the way he stammered out praises made you feel anything but degraded.

“So good,” he grunted, “look up at me, darling, show me how good you look choking on me— fuck, you’re so beautiful.”

You were trying to be sexy, here on your knees in this tight dress and heels, but he had you feeling small and delicate saying things like that.

“Such a good girl,” he breathed; you had to shut your eyes then because you couldn’t hear that and look up at him or you were going to end up having to throw these panties out.

The volume of his moans was one thing, but the desperation in them was another; and both of them made it clear he was close, and you wanted to finish him off like this more than anything.

“Fuck— I’ll come,” he warned, “is that what you want? To swallow it?”

You hummed in appreciation, hoping that would get your message across well; and it certainly seemed to, considering he bucked up into your throat more erratically than ever, moaning loudly with each thrust.

Hot come painted the back of your throat, so deep you never really got a chance to consider the taste although you imagined a night of drinking wouldn’t have done him any favors there. Not that you minded; it was him and that was enough to make you moan with delight as he filled your mouth.

“Fuck,” he sighed, pumps of come slowing down to a stop as he relaxed against the door and caught his breath. The moment of calm didn’t last as you started to gently suckle on his softening cock, making him tense up and suck in a sharp breath through his teeth. “Nonono,” he chuckled breathlessly, pulling you off of him as you smiled mischievously, “it’d be a shame if I died on my birthday.”

“But what a way to go, hm?” you laughed as he helped you up from the floor. “Not your birthday anymore anyways,” you noted, tapping on his watch, “it’s 12:02.”

“I hope you don’t think that means the party’s over,” he smirked, picking you up suddenly, making you laugh in surprise as he started to carry you to the bedroom. “I’m officially a man in his forties with something to prove, so we’ll be going all night, draga.”

#taglists coming later im too busy to do it right now #helmut zemo x reader #baron zemo x reader #professor!zemo x reader #helmut zemo smut #baron zemo smut

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fruggo · 3 years ago

Note

Hello ! I saw the enemies fo lovers things and I wanna request if possible

“ rich coming from the guy who tried to kill me three days ago. “

With frank if you would and thank you

yessirrr i love frank sm it’s not ok. also umm i may have accidentally written friends to enemies to lovers or something idk. and though i wouldnt necessarily call you friends at the start, you werent really enemies yet???? idk🐸just ummm yeh i love frank

also help how do i not go overboard???? i feel like i made this way too long, please help and i am sorry

warnings: canon-typical violence, swearing, frank being a bastard but then you’re like awwww he’s a cute bastard aaaaw

Things were weird with Frank, and they always had been from the moment you stepped foot in the Entity’s realm. He always tunneled you relentlessly, and that made you think of him as a big asshole, but there were some strange details tacked onto the sentiment that greatly confused you, should you think about it for more than three seconds.

Sometimes, it seemed like he went easy on you in chases, like he put in no effort. He would chase you for a while, let you waste his time, and then leave without even getting a hit on you when he definitely had the ability to.

And you hated saying this, but when he handled you, it almost felt…gentle. Granted, he was a killer, and his job was to murder you, but your experiences with him did not quite line up with those of the other survivors.

They always described trials against Frank as “stepping on legos in the middle of the night” or something akin to that. You never felt like that, though—when he chased you, it felt fair. Almost as if he played nice with you. And more often than not, the killer would let you go when he caught you. The reason remained a mystery to you until quite a bit later.

This trial, Frank was in 100% bastard mode. You had begun to think of his trials as quite easy due to his seemingly calm nature around you, so you were rather caught off guard when he downed you in the first 30 seconds of the match and tossed you onto a hook, no gentleness whatsoever.

You wanted to yell at him and ask what the fuck was wrong with him until you realized this was his fucking job, and this is how he should have been treating you all along. Maybe you had just been imagining it all, but you could have sworn he used to leave you alone more than this. Something just felt different.

After you were unhooked, he went for you again. And again. And then you were dead, completely wiped out of the trial. Frank had demolished you with no remorse.

You knew it was silly to feel betrayed, but you really couldn’t help it. In such an insane and hellish place, anything that could be even remotely perceived as kindness seemed like so much more of a big deal than it truly was. So Frank’s supposed “gentleness” with you had felt somewhat like a friend doing you a selfless favor. Of course, it was not a selfless favor, and it was certainly nowhere near kindness, because he was still a killer chasing you with a knife, but your standards had really lowered in this place.

After that trial, you were back to hating Frank for tunneling and bullying you (like you probably should). You began to understand the survivors’ saying about the legos—and you hoped that Frank would step on some legos too, because he fucking sucked sometimes.

And for a while, that’s just how it was. You nearly forgot how he used to go easier on you, and how you used to do okay in his matches. Now every time you were pit against each other it just felt like you were being stuck with a bunch of pins; you never had any time to breathe or rest or do literally anything. He just went after you until you were gone, and there was next to nothing you could do about it.

Everything changed very suddenly during a trial at Ormond.

You were expecting the same old routine with this asshole—chase, blah blah blah, die. You hardly had energy to fight back anymore.

So when he arrived out of breath at the killer shack, somehow knowing you would be here, Frank was surprised to find you relaxing under the window with your arms loosely crossed, a disapproving scowl upon your countenance. It was enough to make him hesitate in his tracks.

You let out a deep breath, refusing to break eye contact with his mask; you kept up that menacing frown for as long as you could, trying to make him feel guilty (who knows if it was even possible for him to feel guilty? But it was worth a try).

“Just kill me,” you said, voice steady and seemingly unbothered. Underneath the surface, you were trembling, but you stood your ground. “That’s what you’re gonna do, isn’t it? You’re going to chase me until I’m miserable and kill me off as soon as you can?”

Frank went still, not even fidgeting with his knife like he usually did; he was intrigued by your sudden confidence.

You went on. “I’m really sick and tired of you, you know that? I’m sick of you and your bullshit. Why can’t you treat me like everybody else? At first, you went easy on me. Now you just torture me with your stupid mind games, and frankly, I’m sick of playing! I’m done with you—I don’t care anymore! Just kill me, and I’ll get out of your way, okay asshole? Mori me if you want. I don’t give a shit.”

You put your hands up exasperatedly, fully expecting him to take the offer and just send you back to the campfire right then and there. But the man sighed, pocketed his knife, and sat down right next to you as if this were a normal thing for him to do.

You scooted a few inches away out of instinct. Frank noticed, but he chose not to say a word about it.

It was a long time before he said anything, and when he finally did, you wanted to punch him so bad.

“It’s complicated,” he mumbled. And that was all.

Oh, yeah? It was complicated? You scoffed, hanging your head with a bitter smile. “Oh, okay. Sure.”

Silence again.

Awkward, suffocating silence.

And then Frank got up and left. You were unbothered for the remainder of the trial, not even a scratch or bruise on your body.

Sometimes you simply did things, and you didn’t know why. This thing that you just did was irrational, stupid, unplanned, unwise, and everything in-between, and you knew it was, but frequently you just had no impulse control. Perhaps it was the Entity’s influence, or maybe you had always been this way—you couldn’t really remember.

How did you get here again? Why were you laying on the ground? And why did your leg hurt so fucking much?

Oh, yes. Yes, yes, you remember now.

Funnily enough, it seems as though the Entity, along with certain killers, did not like it when survivors tried to enter their side of the forest! But you did it anyways, and it appeared that you had suffered the consequences. It’s not like you had put much thought into it; where was the point in that when nothing mattered anymore and you were stuck in an endless cycle of death?

You remembered entering the killer’s woods, looking around, and doing…something. What was that something? You couldn’t be sure, but then you remembered somebody coming up to you and probably definitely hurting you. Yep, your leg definitely was in a lot of pain. You couldn’t even look at it. Did you pass out for a while? Maybe. How long were you out for?

You lay still there for a while, thinking. Man, it really hurt, and boy, were you miserable. Maybe more miserable than you’d ever felt here. The Entity normally healed wounds immediately, but perhaps you had just angered it so much you deserved to suffer.

Oh, dear! You seemed to be passing out at this time. Yes, that was almost certainly what was happening. Black spots danced across your eyes as your body began to feel distant and numb, but you didn’t feel very worried about it. In fact, you felt like making jokes right now, but you had nobody to make jokes to and you probably couldn’t even speak.

Just as you began to accept it, there was a strange thumping sensation vibrating through the ground growing closer…and closer…

Footsteps! That’s good!

Oh. Not if it’s a killer. That’s not good, probably.

But you had no way of protesting when you felt yourself being picked up, because those black spots in your eyes were dancing a lot faster now, perhaps something akin to an Irish jig, and you also couldn’t feel your limbs.

Then you were fast asleep again, dreaming of Irish dancers who were actually big fluffy cloud people wearing leprechaun clothes. Nobody but you would ever know this, and it was going to stay that way.

On the bright side, it made it a lot easier for your rescuer to carry you to safety like this.

When you awoke once more, you were horrified to find yourself in the Ormond lodge of all places. You knew immediately what had happened and were determined to escape as soon as possible.

Your injured leg proved to be a huge problem, however, and you collapsed the second you attempted to find freedom. Trying again, you collapsed once more, and probably maimed yourself further in the process.

Hearing the commotion from the second floor, your least favorite member of The Legion descended down from the main stairs, refusing to look directly at you even as he scooped you up and plunked you (gently) back onto the couch, which was rather comfortable (not that you would ever tell him that).

So he was playing it cool, huh?

Okay. You could play it cool, too. You were cool. Smooth as butter.

No. You really couldn’t be cool in a situation like this, and plus, your mind was still a little woohoo since whatever accident had occurred. Suddenly you blurted out, “Frank, I hate your guts.”

And he had the audacity to laugh. He laughed at you! He did the man chuckle thing, as if what you were saying was funny. No! You were completely serious! You did hate his guts!

Perhaps your face showed how upset you were, because he started to apologize (still laughing).

“Maybe you should go back to sleep,” Frank said after calming down a bit.

No. You couldn’t go back to sleep. You did not want to experience dancing cloud people dressed as leprechauns ever again in your life, for the rest of eternity. Never again.

So you shook your head violently, refusing to give an explanation, which just provoked Frank to anger all of a sudden. If you went back to sleep, he could have some alone time while the rest of The Legion was gone. He kept pushing, and you kept resisting, and he pushed and you resisted, until finally he gave up and let you off with a warning. If you made him mad again, he was throwing you out in the snow.

Fine with me, you said. Okay, I’ll do it right now, he said. No balls, you said.

So then Frank casually went to scoop you up in his arms again, and you started to freak out and beat your hands against his chest until he put you back down. He was was awfully mindful of your hurt leg for someone who was about to throw you into the snow.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry—please don’t throw me out,” you fussed. You thought he wouldn’t actually do it. You didn’t know it, but you were right—he was just messing with you because it was funny seeing you scared.

After a bit more griping back and forth, Frank began to grow concerned about your leg. He didn’t know how to bring up the topic because things were so odd between the two of you; this was your first interaction since the brief encounter in the shack. But he swallowed his pride, because the wound seemed to be getting worse by the minute.

“Hey, do you want me to, uhh…get some supplies?” Frank asked awkwardly. When you didn’t understand, he continued, “Your leg? It looks like it hurts…I could fix it if you want.”

You barked out a laugh at his words, unbelieving of this shift in attitude. “Rich coming from the guy who tried to kill me three days ago,” you snickered, genuinely finding it amusing.

Frank took offense. He was trying to be nice for once, and you thought it was funny. And his situation really was complex, whether you chose to believe it or not. Maybe he should just tell you to get it off of his chest.

“Listen,” he said, voice laced with seriousness. “When I told you things were complicated, I meant it.”

Sensing the mood change from his tone and body language, you stopped smiling and decided to pay attention to him. Just this once. Never again. After this you could go back to hating him.

Frank continued. “The Entity was going to start…well, hurting me, if I didn’t start doing better in trials. I really didn’t want to sacrifice you, which is embarrassing to admit, but I’ll say it. And I don’t think it liked that.”

You were surprised. And also relieved that you had been right all along—he had been going easy on you at first.

“Why me, though?” you asked, confused. “Why wouldn’t you want to sacrifice me? What about the other survivors?”

If the slight tilt of his head at your question didn’t answer it for you, the way he started tapping his feet and cracking his knuckles so nervously did.

Boy, if looks could kill, you would have died instantly at the scowl Frank sent your way; you grinned pridefully at the realization that this man was down bad. You couldn’t see the expression behind his mask, though, which Frank was thankful for.

He hated every second of this, but you loved it. You reveled in his embarrassment.

Leaning forward on your hands, you begged, “Tell me more! I want to hear all about your feelings for me.”

“I could stab you right now, you know that?”

“But you won’t. You liiiiike me!”

“What are you, eight years old?”

“No, but I am severely injured and have lost a lot of blood so I am not necessarily in the right headspace at the moment.”

“You make a fair point.”

“So tell me! What’s your favorite thing about me?”

“Your ass.”

“No, really.”

“Okay, your ass and your hair.”

“You know what, Frank, I still hate your guts.”

“No, you don’t.”

You paused for a moment. It was probably the blood loss talking, you decided later, but you said, “No. Maybe I don’t.”

#:) i kinda rly like this ahaha it was fun #i hope it’s okay <3 #fruggo writes #requests #enemies to lovers prompt #frank morrison x reader #frank morrison #the legion x reader #the legion #dbd x reader #dbd oneshot #dbd writing #dead by daylight x reader #dead by daylight #dbd #dbd frank

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sleeping-on-cracking-ice · 4 years ago

Note

did i just bingeread everything you posted? absolutely. do i regret it. absolutely not. ✨you are an amazing writer!!!💕 And while we’re at it can i request a scenario where Niragi goes crazy and scares his s/o really bad but he gets kinda soft and tries to comfort them later? If that makes sense haha And also a giant thank you for writing in gender neutral!!🥺💕

Thank you so much for reading my fics! I’m honestly really flattered haha 😅 Here is you’re request!

Comfort From A Tormentor | Suguru Niragi

{Alice In Borderland Masterlist}

Character(s): Niragi (ft. OC)

Summary: Niragi tries to comfort you, his S/O, after you witnessed his murderous behaviour for the first time

Warnings: toxic relationship, blood, murder, graphic violence, pushy behaviour, reader watches someone being killed, going into shock, panic attack, quite intense trauma, slight abuse of power

Word Count: 2.4k

*reader is gender-neutral

You always knew that Niragi wasn’t the kindness at The Beach, which was quite blatantly obvious. When people heard you guys had gotten together and were now in an established relationship, you had many people express their concerns privately with you, labelling him as an evil and violent character. You always shook it off, because you’d seen nothing of the sort during the time you had spent with him.

The worst you ever saw him say or do was a threat, or a short punch to the ribs as a warning, but even then the victims usually deserved it. You hadn’t experienced one of Niragi’s ‘outbreaks’ that people have discussed with you about. You started to believe it was all rumours to keep you away from him until he lost it one night in front of you, causing you to believe everything you had been told about him.

It was a usual night at The Beach, people parading around the pool and filling their brains and sinuses with alcohol, allowing them to forget their shared hardships for the evening.

You sat in a small booth that was excluded from the rest of the crowd. Your head was leaning on Niragi’s broad shoulder as you watched everyone dance to the blaring music. You felt the bass vibrate through the ground and in your chest, making you excited from the fun atmosphere.

Niragi lifted his hand and pet your head softly. “You okay little mouse?” he checked, bringing his face closer to yours and placing his lips on your cheek. You turned your head towards him and brushed your lips on his. “Yeah, I’m just tired,” you whispered. Niragi smirked and rubbed his hand along your bare leg. “We can go to bed soon, let’s just stay a little longer.”

Niragi shifted underneath you and stood up, making you lean back against the cushioned backrest. “I’m going to get a drink,” he stated bluntly before picking up his rifle from the small table that sat in front of you. “Don’t let anyone touch you otherwise you’ll regret it.”

You felt uneasy at his threat, but you knew if you just listened to him he would never carry through his brutal promises. He wasn’t that hard of a personality to figure out.

You watched as he strolled away towards the bar, leaving you by yourself and cold in the booth. You moved your eyes from him and looked around to everyone else, watching a few people jump into the pool and laugh together. You wished Niragi had less of a important placing at The Beach so he could relax like everyone else instead of constantly having to deal with stupid drunken dickheads causing trouble.

You looked over towards the bar again to see if you could spot Niragi, but couldn’t see him from where you were sitting. You needed to go to the bathroom and you were wondering if you could make it before he returned. You shrugged your shoulders and stood up on your feet to leave. It wouldn’t be that long, and besides if he did some back to you not being there, you were sure he wouldn’t mind. It’s just the bathroom.

You quickly made your way past the few crowds of dancing bodies. The smell of sweat and alcohol filled your nostrils as you pushed through, making your face scrunch up in disgust. No matter how long you spend there, you would never grow used to the party smell.

You made your way to the lobby to get to the bathroom located there. It was a quiet walk and hardly anyone was in the halls. It made you more calm, knowing that no one was around to bring you a hard time.

But unfortunately, you thought too soon. As you arrived at the lobby and were crossing the main lounge area, a young man with jet black hair and blue board shorts stood up from one of the couches. You failed to notice him earlier due to him being hidden behind the backrest.

“Oh hey!” he exclaimed your way excitedly. “I thought you’d come here. I saw you drink a rather large cocktail earlier so I just guessed you’d show up some time soon or later.”

You froze in shock, looking the man up and down with confusion written on your face. “What?”

He shook his head as he slowly made his way over to your frame. “Forget it. I wanted to get you away from your psychotic side piece so I could get a chance with you without being killed.” His smile was a bit too creepy for your liking, bringing an unpleasant tingling feeling up your back.

You stepped back as he attempted to reach out and grab your hand. He slowly recoiled with a frown on his tanned face. You shook your head and hands, denying his movements towards you. “No thanks actually. I’m not interested,” you insisted, turning your back to try and escape into the bathroom.

You felt your heart drop from the sudden grip on your wrist, pulling you back towards the annoying man and into his chest. He lifted your chin so you were looking at him and crashed his lips onto yours.

You panicked, ripping your arm out of his grip and pushing him away from you. He stumbled back a bit before smirking at your angered expression.

“What the fuck was that?!” you screamed at him, wiping his saliva off of your mouth in disgust. “Did no one ever teach you what no means?!”

Before the man could respond, a piercing sound of gunshots rang through the room. You covered your ears and dropped to the ground in fear of being hit. You looked towards the man and saw him crouching as well with a few bullet marks scattering the carpet around him. They barely missed him.

You kept your head down low in case of another load being shot at any moment, but you were grabbed by your upper arm and pulled up roughly after a few short moments. Niragi stood there, angered expression on his face and tightening his grip on your arm. You felt your blood pumping with adrenaline from his movements.

“What the fuck did I tell you?” he hissed into your face, being way too quiet for your liking.

You didn’t know what to say. Your words were trapped in your throat, being held there by the shock of the gunshots and Niragi’s anger towards you.

“I told you to not let anyone touch you. And how hard is it to stay in one place for five minutes?!” His fist moved from your arm to your jaw, holding it tightly so you would face him. Tears were developing in your eyes. You tried to stop them from rolling down your cheeks in fear of angering Niragi more, but the pain throbbing in your jaw made it nothing but more difficult. This wasn’t the Niragi you knew. He’s never laid a violent hand on you before.

“Niragi, stop,” you whimpered out, holding onto his wrist that was hurting you. “It hurts.”

“I don’t care. You deserve to be hurt after not listening to me.” Niragi finally released his grip from your jaw. You dropped to the ground, clutching your face in pain and letting out quiet sobs. The look in his eyes was menacing, making him seem unpredictable. You were terrified, pushing your legs against the carpet to separate yourself from his tall frame.

You watched as he turned away from you and walked towards the young man, who scrambled to his feet to try and run away. But Niragi leaped towards him and grabbed his shoulder before he could do so. He pulled him back harshly onto the ground and placed a boot on his chest, keeping him there. The man struggled until Niragi held the barrel of his gun against his forehead, making the petrified man freeze underneath him.

You watched in horror as he leaned down and pressed harder and harder on his bare chest, making the defenseless man cry out in fear of breaking a rib. “You’ve made a huge mistake my friend,” he growled, sticking his tongue out and showing off his piercing. “You dare touch what’s mine, you suffer the consequences.”

You leant up against the concrete wall, feeling too weak and in shock to stand up. You cried and screamed as you watched Niragi stamp his foot incredibly harshly on the man’s head several times. Blood poured down the side of his face and he put his hands up in defense, which deemed useless against Niragi’s strength. Niragi didn’t stop, moving his aim from the man’s face to his chest, hands, stomach, groin and thighs. His screams of pain and suffering echoed around the room, ringing in your ears and making your heart ache. Yes, he did attempt to force himself onto you, but hearing another human screeching out for help when you could do nothing was one of the most painful things you could ever inflict on an empath such as yourself.

You shook violently and covered your eyes with your hands, not wanting to see anymore. You wanted to disappear, to evaporate into the wind. You wanted to wake up back at home, in your safe warm bed from before the Borderland. You felt sick from the contrasting differences between the world in your head and the one you were physically in. Why couldn’t you just fade away?

You felt a presence in front of your shivering form, and you slowly peeled away your hands to reveal the abuser in front of you, looking into your eyes worryingly. Your stomach dropped from catching a glimpse of the blood splattered lightly across his attractive features. You felt nausea building in your stomach, making you want to throw up.

“Baby? What’s wrong?” Niragi lifted a hand and tried to place it on your cheek, but you flinched away violently and screamed as you crawled onto your hands and knees, attempting to quickly escape him. It was deemed almost impossible to do considering the emotional state you were in at that moment. You just watched your lover beat a man until the light left his eyes, you weren’t going to recover from the shock quickly.

You cried as he grabbed your ankle and roughly pulled you back. You struggled against his grip and tried to shake his hands off of your shoulders and waist desperately. You were terrified that he was going to hurt you, beat you until you were dead just like his other victim.

“Baby! Why are you so scared?! Hold still!” Niragi cried, attempting to hold your thrashing body against his to quiet you down. He was feeling desperate and helpless, what was happening to you? You’ve never done this before. He thought maybe you were in shock and thinking that he was the man trying to force himself on you.

“Y/N! It’s me! I’m here, you’re okay!” he cried in a frightened tone. He managed to pull you roughly by your waist into his lap and held the back of your head against his chest area. He began to shake himself, being so worried about your emotional state. He felt you suddenly stop struggling in his arms, hearing your soft sobs of fear against his shirt.

“What’s going on baby? You’re scaring me,” he groaned into your neck. You shivered against him, feeling too weak to even push yourself from his chest. You could do nothing but sit in his lap, terrified of the man who was attempting to comfort you.

“It’s okay. He’s gone now. He can’t hurt you anymore,” he cooed, stroking your hair in an attempt to calm your rapid breathing. He let out a shaky breath, being on the verge of tears. He felt his heart rapidly pumping in his chest, thumping against his ribcage. He was at least comforted at the fact that you were back in his arms, away from everyone and everything that wanted to separate you from him.

He leaned his head back and looked at your face tucked into his chest. He saw your tight hands scrunching his black and white button-up into themselves, making him feel soft at how vulnerable and small you looked.

“It’s okay baby. I’ve got you. I’ll always protect you.”

You tried to level your breathing, listening to Niragi’s heartbeat to focus on something else other than the fact that he had just murdered someone in front of you.

Everything everyone had said was true. Niragi was purely an evil person, filled to the brim with violence and murderous impulses. You repented your doubts so badly, wishing that you had listened. But you chose to give him a chance to be a good person for once in his life, and he threw it out the window. Only now, you couldn’t escape him. You had to now live with being the object of a murderer’s desires.

You felt Niragi snake his arms underneath your knees and shoulders gently, standing up from the ground with you in his arms. You clutched onto him from around his neck, tears still slowly travelling down your face.

“Let’s get you to bed, hmm? My little baby must be so tired after all that.”

‘After all that’. He said it like it was nothing more than a bad day. Your boyfriend just killed someone in front of you and then just forced you back into his arms. This wasn’t a bad day, it was a traumatic experience that would stay with you for the rest of your life, remembering every detail and image of the event vividly.

“Niragi,” you mumbled. He glanced down to your weak frame, face going soft from the tired expression across your features. “Shh, don’t speak. Just go to sleep. I promise I’ll be here when you wake up.” He leaned down and placed a tender kiss to the top of your head.

You didn’t want him to be there when you woke. In fact, you didn’t want to wake up at all. You felt miserable and defenseless in his arms, wishing for nothing more than to wake up and for it to be all some horrific dream.

But you didn’t wake up, because it was your reality. Niragi’s delusional, obsessive and abusive mindset was nothing new anymore, it was normal everyday life for you from then on.

#alice in borderland #alice in borderland imagines #alice in borderland imagine #alice in borderland one shots #alice in borderland x reader #aib #aib imagines #aib imagine #aib one shots #aib scenarios #aib x reader #niragi #suguru niragi #niragi imagines #niragi imagine #niragi one shot #niragi scenarios #niragi x reader

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inglorious-purpose · 3 years ago

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Loki and trauma

One major shortcoming of the Loki show is the framing of his motivations and personality. In episode 1, Mobius asks Loki “why do you do what you do?” and Loki admits that he hurts people because he sees himself as weak, and thinks that violence is the only way he can attain power. Although Mobius seems to see Loki’s potential for goodness, at various points in the series Loki is presented as an arrogant, spoiled princeling who has betrayed his loved ones because of his narcissistic self-absorption. He’s reduced to little more than a one-dimensional, power-hungry villain (albeit with a bit more self-awareness than your average bad guy).

However, those of us who’ve watched the 2011 Thor movie way too many times know that Loki is far more nuanced; his villainy comes from a place of self-loathing and family trauma. Kenneth Branagh, Tom Hiddleston, and the writing team for Thor1 created a compelling, sympathy-inducing origin story for Loki, which is largely ignored in the Disney+ show. In Thor1, before he learns of his Jotun heritage Loki is self-effacing and even meek, unable to stand up to either Thor (”know your place, brother!”) or Odin (”Eeeaarghh!!”). (If anyone in that family is a narcissist, it’s Odin ... but that’s a subject for another post.)

Loki feels like an outsider in his own family, and when his adoption comes to light, he discovers to his horror that his otherness is quite literal. Many fans sympathize with Loki precisely because his trauma stems from the perception that he’s an outcast. Those of use who struggle to fit in with our family, our social group, or society in general -- whether due to LGBT+ issues, a toxic or abusive parent or sibling, or cultural/political differences -- understand Loki’s brokenness in a way that is difficult, if not impossible, for people who have never experienced this sort of agony.

Loki’s treachery and penchant for betrayal is essentially a bad coping mechanism on steroids. In the Loki series, Mobius’ so-called “therapy” session forces Loki to take a hard look at himself -- which is a necessary first step on his path to heroism -- but never addresses the root cause of his problems. In order to become the best version of himself, Loki must face the self-hatred that underlies his insecurities, come to terms with his past, and figure out who he wants to be going forward. While the Loki series skirts close to this -- Loki comes to admire Sylvie, who is ostensibly another variant of himself -- the message stumbles due to the romantic undertones (romantic love is a very different beast than self-love; the metaphor simply doesn’t work) and problematic framing (Mobius calls their relationship “sick and twisted”; Sylvie mostly treats Loki with contempt and yeets him through a time door when he no longer serves her needs). By the end of the finale, Loki has become the voice of reason against Sylvie’s self-centered revenge quest, but his own pain and trauma haven’t been dealt with.

By glossing over the tragic circumstances of Loki’s fall from grace and depicting him simply as a selfish brat, the show’s creators discarded the very things that make Loki such a beloved and relatable character. Instead of truly delving into his psyche and allowing him the compassion to heal, the show punches down hard -- sometimes literally. His love interest barely returns his affection before finally betraying him; his one “friend” vacillates between avuncular and sinister in the first four episodes and never apologizes for being a dick. Aside from a few tender moments, Loki is more often than not bullied, humiliated, and scoffed at. At the end of it all, Loki may have made some progress toward feeling like less of an outcast, but his connections with others seem tenuous at best.

Perhaps the gravest error committed by Loki’s family in Thor1 (and the following films, for that matter) was their total disregard for Loki’s mental welfare. He was just expected to roll with the whole adoption thing, be cool with Odin’s favored treatment of Thor, and keep a stiff upper lip when Thor’s friends gave him the side-eye for sitting on the throne (which Frigga actually told him to do, and deleting that scene was some bullshit). Yet in his own show, Loki’s well-being is once again neglected as he endures his “character growth,” whether that be kneeling and begging Sif for mercy, or showing an enormous capacity for forgiveness when Mobius finally lets him out of the torture time loop chamber. (Wow, someone stopped trying to actively hurt him! New friend opportunity!) (To be fair, Sylvie does ask at one point if he’s ok, but a few minutes later she watches with no visible concern as he’s pruned by Renslayer in the Time Keepers’ chamber. Does she really care? Meh.)

Loki’s tribulations are played for laughs, which works (and I’m using the term “works” very loosely) only if we ignore his prior trauma. Casual MCU fans may find this acceptable. However, those of us who identify with Loki’s tragic backstory are more apt to find these scenes truly disturbing.

#loki #loki show #loki series #loki meta #thor1 #tom hiddleston #kenneth branagh #bless you kenneth branagh #mobius #sylvie #MCU #marvel #loki series critical #loki series criticism #hey if you liked the show more power to you #i'm not judging you #just writing my own opinions on my own blog #you do you

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the-iceni-bitch · 4 years ago

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Merry Christmas, Bucky

Pairing: Nomad!Steve / Fem!Reader / Bucky (Stucky)

Words: 5114

Summary: You and Steve are worried about Bucky and don’t know how to fix things.

Warnings: Angst, Explicit language, explicit sexual content (threesomes (MMF), vaginal sex, unprotected sex, oral sex (M and F receiving), anal sex, double penetration), explicit descriptions of consensual violence, age appropriate alcohol consumption, SMUT!!!, 18+!!!

A/N: Merry Christmas and hoe hoe hoe! My promised filthy treat for you all: my very first Stucky fic! This was a lot of fun to write but ended up way different than I had originally imagined. The smut is actually pretty fluffy (as fluffy as you can get with a threesome I guess). This is technically a continuation of my original “Birthday Gift” Nomad!Steve fic, though it takes place like a year later. I hope you all enjoy and have a very merry holiday!

“How’s that feel, Buck?” You asked, setting the arc-welder back on the tool bench as you sat back.

He flexed his fingers, testing the repairs you made to the neural link. “Good. You know you didn’t have to stay with me. I could’ve handled it on my own.”

The rest of the team was out on a rescue mission in Sri Lanka while the two of you hung back at your compound. His new arm had been on the fritz for the past few days, and he didn’t want to risk it crapping out on him in the middle of an op. He hadn’t planned on you staying, too, though you’d never joined the team on any of the other missions so he didn’t know why he was surprised.

“Right, you’re the one with years of experience with Wakandan tech. I’m sure Shuri would love to have a little conference with you about the intricacies of vibranium based neural networks.” You scoffed at him, rolling your eyes.

“Well, you don’t have to be mean about it.” He pouted, half-heartedly. It’d been a while since the two of you had some alone time, and he missed the banter.

You grinned at him. “Aww, Barnes, that’s nothing! Let’s test it out. C’mon, up.”

His smile disappeared quickly. “No, Y/N, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Jesus, Barnes. I’m not some little doll. We both need a workout. Besides, none of the other idiots ever wanna play knives with me. I know you miss it.”

You were right. Steve didn’t like relying on anything other than his fists since he gave up the shield and Nat and Sam definitely preferred guns if they were going to use any sort of weapon. But you and Bucky had a shared appreciation for the weight of a good blade in your hand.

“Fine.” He sighed. He knew you wouldn’t let up until he gave in, so he resigned himself to his fate.

He dragged his feet as he followed you to the gym. He’d been doing his best to avoid any close contact with you for the past few months. They’d been with you a little over a year now, ever since Siberia. When they found out about your history, Bucky bonded with you quickly over your shared tragedies.

But that only mattered so much, because you had Steve. And that was slowly killing Bucky.

He didn’t know how many more nights he could listen to the two of you. Granted, you managed to keep it down enough that the rest of the team didn’t notice anything, but his damn super soldier hearing made it seem like you were right next to him. The sounds of your wanton whimpers and low moans kept him up all night, his cock aching as he writhed in his sweat soaked sheets. He always had trouble looking at the two of you the morning after, and he could tell that things were slowly starting to get strained, but it was just too goddamn hard to be around you when he couldn’t have you, not that he would ever try. Steve was his best friend.

Of course, you had noticed how strange Barnes had been acting over the past few months, and you and Steve were starting to get worried. You were hoping that having some time, just the two of you, would help him loosen up and let you back in.

He arrived in the gym a few steps behind you and found you bouncing a sparring blade off the palm of your hand. You shot him a grin over your shoulder and tossed it to him, and he plucked it out of the air easily, giving a sigh at the familiar feeling as he spun it through his fingers. It would be nice to lose himself in a good spar.

“One or two, Buck?”

“One is good.” He said as he started to stretch himself out.

“Great.” You murmured, unzipping your hoodie and setting it aside before picking up a blade of your own and tossing it quickly between your hands, acclimating yourself to its weight. “Music ok?”

“Fine.” He didn’t know why you insisted on listening to music during your spar sessions, but he could admit it lent your fighting style a certain artistic flair.

The sounds of alt-J’s “Left Hand Free” came over the speakers and you let out a small sound of satisfaction. “Ahh, perfect. Alright, Barnes, I promise I’ll go easy on you.” You grinned at him as you tucked your blade against your wrist and dropped into a fighting stance.

He snorted at you as he headed to his corner. “Right, we’ll s… fuck!”

You barely gave him a chance to turn around before you were on him, your knee driving towards his midsection before you extended it at the last second to try to kick the knife out of his hand. He dodged at the last second but you were already ducking to sweep his legs out from under him. He dropped the knife in surprise as he went down and you caught it before it hit the ground and pounced on his chest, pressing both of your blades to his throat.

“Ha, that’s one for me!” You grinned down at him as you dropped his knife onto his chest before standing back up and heading back to your corner.

“You’re a cheater, Y/N.” He growled at you as he gained his feet, pissed he let you catch him off guard.

“Just preparing you for the real world, darling.” You shot him a wink as you shifted your weight back and forth, waiting for him to signal he was ready, this time.

His gut clenched when you called him that, and he had to steel himself. He was determined to not let you get under his skin today. He didn’t want things to get any more awkward.

You let him make the first move this time, and he ran at you full force, whipping his arm around to try to ram the blade into the side of your ribs. You blocked him with your forearm and he dropped the blade to catch it in his opposite hand and deliver a backhand blow to your side, which you just barely dodged. He brought his now empty fist up and drove it into your elbow and you dropped your blade with a grunt. He scooped it out of the air with the same hand as he sank to a kneeling position and brought the flat of the blade to rest at the juncture of your inner thigh on instinct, where your femoral artery would run. When he realized where his hand had landed, he drew it back with a hiss, dropping your knife at your feet.

“One for me.” He murmured, trying to cover the flush creeping over his face.

You didn’t notice, you were enjoying yourself too much. You flipped your blade up into the air with your toe and caught it before charging Bucky.

He barely had a second to prepare before you were flying off the mat towards his face. You looped one knee over his shoulder and the other around his upper back as you clenched your abdominal muscles then released them, whipping yourself back and flipping him over you until you landed on the mat with a slap and were straddling his chest. You started flipping your knife through your fingers when he brought his metal arm up and wrapped it around your waist, flinging you off him as he brought his knees to his chest and whipped himself into a crouching position.

You windmilled your legs until you were in a crouch of your own; chest bent low over one bent knee, your other leg extended to your side, holding your balance with one hand on the mat. He dove at you, trying to drive his blade towards your throat but you managed to wrap your thighs around his arm and your shins around his neck as you extended your legs and gripped his wrist, keeping in a hold. He brought his free hand around and punched you in the hip, knocking the air out of you as you buckled.

You managed to roll out from underneath him before he could bring the blunted blade to your chest and got him in a partial arm bar with your blade at his ribs at the same time he pressed his blade to your throat.

“Draw?” You asked after the two of you had stayed in that position for a beat.

“Draw.” He agreed as you released each other, rolling to his feet with a groan as you stayed on your back, breathing heavily. “Let’s take a quick break.”

“Yeah.” You sighed at him as you slowly climbed back to your feet and went to towel yourself off.

He grabbed a cold water bottle from the fridge and tossed one to you before he started to chug. You held yours to your neck before taking a drink.

He watched you hungrily. You were damp with sweat and he was mesmerized by a stray bead of condensation that was traveling down the line of your neck to the valley between your breasts. Your hair was plastered to your scalp and your chest was still heaving. He imagined this was what you must look like after sex and had to school his thoughts immediately before they headed further down that path. He splashed himself in the face with some of his water to try to cool down.

You breathing had started to return to normal and you shot him a small smile, failing to notice how uncomfortable he was. “What d’you say, Barnes, one more round?”

He knew he should say no. He was having a hard time keeping his thoughts tamped down and was worried how his body would react if he had anymore close contact with you, but it was hard to care about that at this point. How much could one more round really hurt?

He tossed his empty bottle into the recycling bin and stalked back to his corner, not taking his eyes off you as you tossed your towel over the back of a bench and walked opposite him.

The two of you prowled around each other like a couple of cats, eyeing the other’s movements and trying to determine what your moves were going to be.

Bucky saw your eyes flick to the window for just a second, distracted by something outside, and he took his chance. He pounced on you, rolling the two of you over each other as he gripped the hand holding your knife and bent your wrist back until you dropped the blade. You wrenched your head back and connected with his face at the same time you drove your elbow into his diaphragm, causing him to release you.

You twisted your torso around and flipped yourself forward, bringing your knees to his shoulders and carrying your momentum forward to bring him to the mat with you kneeling on his chest.

He dropped his knife in the exchange but managed to bring a hand under your thigh and roll you until he had you in a half-nelson with top scissors, his upper body curled around yours as he pinned you to the mat.

His face was buried in your hair and he was inhaling your scent deeply before he could help himself. You were still struggling to get out of the hold when he tightened his grip around you with a growl. He could feel his cock hardening as it was pinned against the swell of your ass, but for the moment he didn’t care. He didn’t even feel you stop struggling, he just continued holding you in that position.

“Um, Barnes.” You murmured, your face pressed into the mat.

“Mmmm…”

“Bucky.” You said, more firmly this time.

“Shit.” He hissed as he released you and scrabbled backwards on the mat, holding one hand out to keep you away from him. “I’m so sorry.”

“Buck, it’s ok. It happens.” You said softly, a look of concern coming over your face when you saw how distressed he was.

“No, it’s not fucking ok. Goddamn it!” He drove his metal fist into the mat hard, making you jump. “I’ve gotta go.”

“Wait, Bucky…”

“No, just, leave me alone.” He said over his shoulder as he rushed out of the gym, determined to seclude himself in his room for the foreseeable future.

“Hey, Buck, how’s the new arm… whoa. Something happen?” The rest of the team had arrived back at the compound and Steve had come to check on the two of you. Bucky just charged past him without acknowledgement. “Everything ok, sweetheart?” He turned his intense blue eyes to you with concern. He had hoped you two might be able to get to the root of the awkwardness that had seemed to be growing between you three, but things sure seemed to be worse now that he was back.

He wrapped a massive arm around your waist to help you up from the mat and gave you a soft kiss on the forehead.

“I dunno, baby. I’m pretty sure I figured out what the issue is. We should set aside some time tonight to talk. I think we should also lay off the PDA for a bit.”

He scoffed at that before taking a good look at you. “You’re serious.”

“Yeah, we’ll talk about it later.”

It took Bucky almost two days to come out of his room and when he did, he did his best to avoid you and Steve. Tensions in the house were high and it seemed everyone was walking on eggshells. You were hoping that a little Christmas celebration might help everyone loosen up.

It barely helped. Buck just sulked in a corner, nursing a glass of vodka and glowering at everything. At least everyone else seemed pretty cheery. He was at least grateful that he hadn’t had to listen to you and Steve fucking each other like animals for the past week. He had actually been able to get some sleep. But now the two of you were acting cagey. You kept giving each other longing looks before glancing furtively in his direction and he was pretty sure his restful nights were over. Everyone else started drunkenly up to bed once the early morning hours hit and it was eventually just the three of you sitting there in awkward silence.

You kept looking at him like you wanted to say something but didn’t know what, and all he could feel was a hollow ache in his chest every time you made eye contact.

“Well, I’ll leave you two alone now. I’m sure you have your own celebrations you want to get to.” He said bitterly when Steve came to stand behind you and rested his hand on your shoulder.

“Shit, Buck, just wait.” You pleaded as he turned to go.

“No, Y/N it’s fine.”

“It’s not, Bucky.” Steve rumbled, his brow furrowed with worry.

“God, not you too, Rogers.” He said, exasperated.

“Bucky, please.” The catch in your voice startled him, and he turned back to you. “Just, come with us.” You whispered, extending a hand to him.

He wasn’t entirely sure he had heard you right, but then you were standing in front of him, brushing your mouth along the hollow of his throat as your hands rested against his chest.

He looked at Steve questioningly and was just met with a small smile as he started heading down the hall to your room. You drew Bucky along with you, softly kissing his neck as your hands wandered under his shirt to explore the plains of his back. He felt like he was in a dream state, his mind wrapped in a warm cocoon as he let you pull him along.

You reached your room and he felt you close the door behind you. He only had a moment to register Steve resting on a chair in the corner before your mouth was on his and all his other senses abandoned him.

You tongue moved past his lips softly and massaged his, drawing a moan from his chest. He wrapped his hands around your shoulders and buried his hands in your hair, holding your face to his like you were giving him oxygen.

He was drunk from the taste of you as he reluctantly pulled away to draw in a breath. Your scent filled his lungs as he sucked down air and he moved his hands to the front of your blouse as he ripped it open and slid it down your shoulders, exposing your breasts and making you sigh. His hands moved to swell of your chest as he ran his thumbs softly over the slope of your breasts, brushing them over your nipples and raising them to sensitive buds as he gazed at you.

He pressed his mouth to yours once more, running his tongue along the cushion of your bottom lip before his lips started traveling down your neck. His hands pressed against the small of your back as he guided you onto the bed. Once he had lain you down, they slipped down to your hips, following the band of your jeans to unbutton them and slide them down your thighs with your panties as his tongue laved over your nipple and you gave him one of those whimpers he had only heard through the walls before. The sound of it made him groan against your chest as he nuzzled you softly before kissing down the flat plain of your abdomen.

His hands brushed against the insides of your thighs as he worked his mouth lower and when they reached their apex he found you soaked with your arousal.

“God, you’re beautiful.”

“Mmm, Bucky.” You sighed as his tongue brushed against the folds of your sex.

“Sshh, pretty girl.” He murmured as his fingers pulled you apart and exposed the small bud at the peak of your slit. He pressed his tongue against it softly before wrapping it in his lips and sucking.

“Oh, god.” Your breath rushed out of you as you arched yourself into him and you wound your fingers in his hair. His tongue massaged your clit languorously as he drew a single finger through the arousal at your entrance before inserting it into you and curling it. You gasped as he stretched you from the inside and bit your lip, fluttering your eyelids closed in absolute bliss.

He added another finger and you let out a soft cry, wrapping your thighs around his neck and begging him for more as his tongue increased its pressure and speed. The taste of you was like a drug on his tongue. He felt heady with pleasure as he drew more soft sounds from you. You clenched around him when he added a third finger and he eagerly lapped up the evidence of your continued arousal that seeped out around them as he fucked them into you.

You felt your desire coiling in your core as he curled his fingers against that sweet, secret spot over and over and when he wrapped his lips around you again and sucked, hard, you were finished. You let out a thin wail as your muscles seized with pleasure before trembling in your release. He felt your release seep over his fingers and coat his chin as you came down, slowly relaxing the muscles leading to your core. He slowly drew himself up to gaze down at you as he removed his own clothes, watching you twitch as he drew his shirt over his head as your release continued to pulse out of your cunt. He tossed his shirt to the side and dragged his jeans and briefs down his legs before kneeling between your thighs on the bed.

He tucked one hand under your neck and the other under your hips and drew you up until you were cradled in his lap. You felt the length of his cock sliding through the slick that was coating your pussy and you screwed your eyes shut with a moan, pressing your forehead to Bucky’s.

“Hey, open your eyes.” He whispered before nipping at your bottom lip, pulling it into his mouth with his thumb on your chin. “I wanna look at you.”

You dragged your heavy lids open and stared into his eyes. His pupils were lust-blown and just left a thin ring of ice around endless pools of black. You felt him guiding himself to your entrance and he slipped himself in slowly, sliding you down on his length until he was fully sheathed in you. You let out a gasp when you were full of him, loving the feel of being stretched around his full length.

He started moving his hips slowly, grinding them against you as he brushed his lips against yours, never breaking eye contact. You matched his delicious, slow rhythm and sucked his bottom lip between your teeth, nipping it softly.

“I love you, Bucky.” You sighed into his mouth.

“Oh, sweet girl.” He pressed his mouth to yours hungrily, his tongue tangling with yours for just a moment before he broke away. “I love you too. You ok with me moving?”

You nodded your head and sucked in a breath as he moved a hand to your hip and fucked up into you suddenly. He picked up the pace quickly, rutting up into you and making you gasp. He fought to maintain eye contact as he felt your breasts bouncing against his chest each time his hips moved, but he wanted to watch you as you came apart around him.

One of his thrusts had his tip kissing your cervix and you let out a hiss at the sensation. He felt you clench around him as you neared another orgasm and moved his hand from your hip to strum at your clit. Your breath started hitching as he brought you closer and closer, the muscles in your abdomen twitching as you neared the brink. One hard drive of his thumb was all it took to send you over the edge and you collapsed against his chest, screaming his name as your torso rolled with the waves of pleasure that were wracking you.

Once he felt you relax he drew your head up for one more kiss before laying you back against the bed as he moved his hands to your hips and pulled you into him over an over. He gave Steve a nod and turned his attention back to you, mesmerized as he watched your perfect tits bounce with each thrust of his hips.

You gazed at Steve through heavy lids as he stood from his seat. He was already undressed and had been watching intently as Bucky fucked you, stroking his length as he watched him take you apart. Now he stalked over to you like a cat. He knelt down and pressed a hungry kiss to your lips as your head hung over the edge of the bed.

“You ready for me baby?” He asked, cupping your cheek in one massive palm as he stared into your eyes.

You nodded eagerly and bit your lip, not trusting your voice at the moment after all your screaming.

He gave you a quick peck before standing back up and bringing the tip of his cock to your lips, swirling the precum that had collected there around before he pressed it into your mouth.

You drew his into your mouth eagerly, swirling your tongue around his tip and moaning at the taste of him before he pressed himself into you a little further. Bucky hit you at a new angle suddenly and you let out a thin whine around Steve’s cock, making him hiss.

“Shit, I don’t think I can go as slow as I thought, sweetheart, get ready.”

You took a deep breath through your nose as he shoved himself all the way into your mouth. You hollowed out your cheeks as he started fucking your throat in earnest and tears started to leak from your eyes. You did your best not to inhale the drool that was running from your mouth as he rutted into you faster. Bucky had picked up his pace too and you felt yourself winding up for another massive orgasm. You were worried the combination of rhythms and lack of oxygen was going to make you pass out.

As you drew closer, you felt your two soldiers starting to twitch.

“Fuck, baby, I’m close. Buck?”

“Yeah, me too.”

“Do you need us to pull out, honey?”

You absolutely did not. You wrapped your legs around Bucky and your arms around Steve as another orgasm took you and you almost choked on the pleasure, your body writhing between the two men as they picked up their paces. They were seconds behind you. Bucky came first with a feral growl and you felt his spend spurting inside you, warming you from the inside as your cunt drew it all from him. Steve was last and caught himself on his left arm as his release ran down your throat, his cock twitching as you swallowed around his length.

Bucky collapsed beside you to your left, flinging an arm across your abdomen and pressing his face into your neck. Steve sat down heavily beside your face before twisting himself to lay on your right side, wrapping one of his massive legs in yours and placing a soft kiss on you lips before laying beside you.

You gave Steve a smile before turning over your shoulder to Bucky and nuzzling your nose against his, running a hand through his hair.

He pressed himself into your back and brought his metal hand up to cup your cheek as he kissed you deeply. His other arm wound itself underneath you and pressed you closer to him, splaying over your abdomen.

Steve started brushing his lips across your chest as he brought a hand to cup one of your breasts. You felt arousal starting to pool between you legs again at the gentle attention they were giving you. You brought your hands down to palm their cocks and felt them begin to harden in your hands.

“God sweetheart, you’re insatiable.” Steve chuckled against your neck. “Good thing we have Buck here now or you’d wear me out.”

You felt Bucky laughing against your hair as he started grinding his cock into your ass. You felt his hand move between your ass cheeks and gasped as his fingers brushed against your puckered hole before running through your arousal. “Where do you want us, love?” He whispered as he pressed one soaked finger at the tight ring of muscle before inserting it quickly, making you gasp. “I think she’s good with where we are Rogers.” He grinned at his friend over your shoulder as he stretched you slowly, waiting for you to relax before he inserted another finger.

“You sure, baby?” Steve asked after pressing a soft kiss to your lips.

“Fuck, yes.” You hissed at him as Bucky inserted another finger and you felt a fresh rush of arousal seep down your legs.

“Alright, beautiful.” He said around a grin as the three of you moved into a seated position.

Bucky was planting soft kisses over your shoulders as he dragged his erection through your folds, coating himself in your release before he pressed the head of his cock against your anus, and suddenly you were drawing him into you until he was bottomed out.

“Shit, sweetheart.” He hissed in your ear, his fingers digging into your hips as you moaned at the sensation of being filled with him and leaned your head back against his shoulder.

Steve brushed his tip against your clit before sheathing himself in your sex and your brain short-circuited for a second, your eyes rolling up into your head.

“Fuck, Y/N. Stay with me.” Steve hissed at you, concern coming over his face.

“I’m good, baby. Just needed a second.” You grinned at him once you came back to yourself.

“Alright, honey, we’re going to move.” Bucky warned you as his hips drew back before thrusting forward.

“Oh, God.” You could tell this was going to be short work. The contrasting rhythms they were setting was driving you to your breaking point faster than you thought possible and their mouths tracing your chest and shoulders was only adding to the sensation. You felt yourself already clenching around them and came suddenly, digging your fingers into Steve’s biceps as every muscle in your body seized and you vibrated with your release between the two of them.

They started picking up the pace then, humming as their lips brushed against your skin and you went into sensory overload. Your skin felt like it was on fire and every nerve was singing. Wherever their fingers touched you felt like you had been shocked with electricity. It was getting to be too much and you started to mewl unintelligibly as they moved inside of you.

Bucky nodded at Steve as you felt them starting to twitch inside you. “Almost done pretty girl, where do you want it?”

“Mmmm, inside me.” You whispered, completely fucked out as another orgasm wracked you.

Bucky pressed a kiss behind your ear and Steve pressed one to your lips as their hips suddenly stilled and they came inside you at the same time. You sighed as you felt their release leaking out of you and down your thighs and you let yourself collapse backward against Bucky’s chest. He carried you backwards until you were laying on top of him while Steve headed to the bathroom.

Bucky murmured soft praises against your hair as he rolled you over until he was spooning you, his metal arm wrapped around you as his other hand ran up and down the outside of your thigh. You sighed against the pillow when Steve returned with a damp cloth and ran it over the inside of your thighs to clean you off before he crawled into the bed with the two of you, pressing the front of his body to yours and pulling the sheets up over the three of you as you nuzzled yourself into his chest.

“Love you sweetheart.” He whispered, planting a kiss on the top of your head as you started to doze off.

“Mmm, love you Steve. Love you Bucky. Merry Christmas, boys.” You murmured before falling asleep between your two super soldiers, absolutely content wrapped in their warmth.

“Merry Christmas Barnes.”

“You too Rogers”

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the-weirdos-mind · 3 years ago

Text

League of Villains X Teen! Reader: You’re Gonna Go Far, Kid

Songfic of the song with the same name by The Offspring. Here’s the reader’s quirk:

Quirk- Manipulation

Type- Emitter

How it works- Similar to Aizawa’s and Nighteye’s quirks you have to look someone in the eye to get them under control. They’re unaware that you’re controlling them but still aware of their senses. When you have someone under control you can do whatever you want with them until you either look away from that person (it doesn’t always have to be eye contact), blink, or release them. Whenever someone is under your spell, it’s like being trapped in a room with one-way glass. They are aware of what’s going on but, can’t get help.

Drawbacks- If you use the power for more than an hour you’ll get a headache. If you push yourself you’ll get a migraine. You can choose when to activate it and for how long but the time still adds to an hour no matter how many times you activate it in the day.

Trigger warnings: Blood and use of violence, if I’m missing anything then let me know so I can correct it

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Show me how to lie You're getting better all the time And turning all against the one Is an art that's hard to teach

You followed Giran down the hallway to an unknown place. You had the hood of you (F/C) on to hide your (H/L) (H/C) hair with your eyes on the ground. You watched as foot after foot in (F/C) shoes put pressure on the dirty ground. You mentally sighed as you reflect your life choices. You didn’t want to live this life but everyone around you saw your quirk as one thing; villainous. You got tired of the words and became what they wanted you be. You realized that heroes are worthless and they didn’t care that a young (boy/girl/person) was heading down a dark path. You glanced up to see the man opening the door. You immediately looked down and followed him in the room.

Side glancing at the room you noticed it was a bar. There was a purple cloud like man with yellow eyes in a suit and a metal brace around his neck. He was polishing a glass behind the bar. On a red stool was another man holding a glass of alcohol. He had his pinky raised away from the glass though and you silently raised an eyebrow. Is this because of his quirk or is he British? His shaggy blue hair was covering most of his face but when he turned to face the two, you saw a pale hand covering his face and his red eyes glaring at you. You glanced down at the floor. Not yet.

“You seriously brought a child?” He asked setting the glass cup down. “You do know that this is for mature adults? And (she/he/they) can’t stare at me in the eyes? How rude.” His voice was raspy and you concluded he was holding the glass like that was because of his quirk.

“Shigaraki, this is (Y/N), I brought (him/her/them) cause (he/she/they) need some training with (his/her/their) quirk.” Giran said and took a drag from his cigarette. He exhaled and a smoke cloud came in the room. “(He/She/They) is getting better at it but, (he/she/they) still needs some help.”

You rolled your eyes at him. “At least I don’t treat kids like they’re nothing.” You mumbled still bitter about Shigaraki’s comment.

“What was that?” The blue haired man asked, dangerously.

“So, you’re deaf huh? I thought an excellent leader would treat a new recruit with respect no matter the age they are.”

Another clever word Sets off an unsuspecting herd And as you get back into line A mob jumps to their feet

“Shut up.” Shigaraki muttered and scratched his neck. He was stressed about the trouble this kid was causing. Sure he and Dabi didn’t get along but he liked being in control. “(He/She/They) is mature for (his/her/their) age.” Giran said. “Maybe with (him/her/them) as leader it won’t be bad.” He added. He knew what you were doing. If you get him mad enough to get him to look at you in the eye then you can show off your quirk. You did keep your mouth shut as the man stood up and walked over to you. You looked at him in the eye and a (F/C) hue came to your (E/C) eyes. His eyes begin to fog up a little, not enough to appear blind but enough to look suspicious.

Now dance, ****er, dance Man, he never had a chance And no one even knew It was really only you

Shigaraki barely saw the change of your eye color. He was so surprised to started dancing. His feet moved in a fast pace in place. “What the ****!?!” He yelled, only in his mind. Dabi started laughing again. The scarred man leaned over clutching his stomach. He’s laughing so hard he might start crying, or blood will fall from his destroyed tear ducts, if he’s not careful. After a few minutes of dancing you blinked to end the curse on him. They didn’t know that you caused it to happen. Giran smirked and patted you on the head. “What the h***?” The man asked looking around, wondering what just happened.

“That is (his/her/their) quirk at work.” He man said before the other could get angry. “With a power like (hers/his/theirs) would be useful for heist situations and causing diversions wouldn’t it?”

“What is (his/her/theirs) quirk?” The wisp man asked.

“Manipulation.” You said. “Whenever I look at someone in the eyes it activates my power. I can hold control of them for at least an hour before I get a headache. Best part is no one knows that they’re under my grasp.” You said.

“I’ll admit that I’m impressed.” Shigaraki said. “Welcome I guess.”

Giran smiled. “You won’t be disappointed.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

And now you steal away Take him out today

After a few weeks of joining the League you’re on your first solo mission. Before this one you were mainly paired with a blonde haired girl named Toga. She was pretty nice when she wasn’t obsessing over blood or trying to stab you. Other times you were paired with a man named Twice. He would say two different things and it would give you mixed feelings about a job well done.

You walked through the area of the city to a hero agency. Your job is to find maps of the inside and steal them. Shigaraki didn’t care if they were on paper or not all he cared about was getting them, It’s pretty simple to do but considering this is you, you had a knife and a handheld gun just in case if things went south. So far it was going well. You got a security guard under control and using him you were able to get a computer with the building’s layout on it. Pulling out a flash drive that Compress had given you, you stuck it in the computer and start downloading. Unfortunately, you looked away from the guard and he glared at you.

“I don’t know your plan here kid, but it’s best if you leave now.” He said. He did try to alert someone but it was useless, he was trapped in his mind until you looked away. You looked at him and put your hand in your pocket with the knife.

“I don’t think so.” You said. Before he could call for backup you pulled the knife out and threw it at his chest. He gasped at the impact of the knife and slumped to the floor. Blood was falling from the wound fast, staining his shirt and forming a puddle. Thankfully there was a ding as the data had finished uploading to the flash drive. You walked over to the computer and pulled it out. You smirked as you pocketed it and pulled the knife out from the guard. You left the building leaving behind a guard slowly bleeding to death.

Nice work you did You're gonna go far, kid

You walked back into the hideout and put the flash drive on the bar next to Shigaraki. He nodded at you when he saw it. “Good job. A win for us.” He said and carefully pocketed the piece of tech.

“And in an hour too.” Spinner said.

“That’s really impressive!” Twice said. “It’s not that impressive.”

You feel a hand clamp on your head and ruffle your hair. “Not bad, kid.” Dabi said. He could tell you’re gonna go far in the villain industry.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

With a thousand lies And a good disguise Hit 'em right between the eyes Hit 'em right between the eyes

You had gotten in the school with one of the best lies you have, your parents went there. It wasn’t U.A. but it’s also training people for the hero industry. The plan was to get the best marks in the school and transfer to U.A. as the highest in your class. Giran came into play for making fake documents that pass off as real.

The one on one fight that took place with some kid you didn’t even bother to know was annoying. His quirk was something water related and you almost drowned a couple of times. You finally looked at him in the eye and ordered him to stop. You ran up to him and punched his face, in the between the eyes a couple of times. The first one stun him while the other knocked him out.

When you walk away Nothing more to say See the lightning in your eyes See 'em running for their lives

You panted and wiped the sweat away from your forehead. You walked away from the ring where the training took place and looked at everyone else. They looked away from you in fear and parted like a body of water. You swore you saw someone running for their life. You smirked to yourself and took your seat on the bleachers. Pride danced in your eyes like lightning.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Slowly out of line And drifting closer in your sights So play it out I'm wide awake It's a scene about me

The first thing the infamous Class 1-A noticed about you is how secretive you were. You shared nothing about yourself other than your name and quirk. They noticed that you did some… shady things to put it mildly. Some noticed you snuck out of the dorms at night. Idia, Miydoriya, Bakugo and Todoroki had followed you to an alleyway and heard you talking to some shadowy figure there. Both spoke in soft whispers that they couldn’t tell who you were talking to and whether or not they were male or female. Other than that occurrence, they didn’t get anything else.

About a week later, the League attacked UA. You had managed to get them in through your student ID and gave them full access to the school, by a really good copy of the little plastic card. Five minutes prior to the attack, you had excused yourself from math, who needs it anyways, and went to the bathroom. While the lockdown was going on, you met with Toga in the halls. The plan was to get to All Might and kill him, the typical plan made by the man child of a leader you have. You both heard footsteps running towards you and saw it was the class president, Iida. “(L/N), get away from her!” He yelled, doing his hand chop thing. You smirked and took out the dagger the blonde handed you. “No, I don’t think I will.” You responded. Time to shine.

There's something in your way And now someone is gonna pay And if you can't get what you want, Well, it's all because of me

He stood there, shell shocked at the sight before him. His classmate was a villain? You couldn’t use your quirk yet, anyways. You decided to let the scene play out. You let a dark chuckle seeing his face. “All my life I’ve been told that I was best suited for a villain. You know, you could’ve used the time you knew me to get to know me but, everyone treated me the same as before! It’s too bad that things had to end like this. Wait, no it’s not that bad. You and your class are gonna pay!” You yelled. You lunged at him and he dodged as he snapped out of his shocked state.

“(Y/N), it doesn’t have to be this way!” He said and continued to dodge the blade. He was still surprised and didn’t attempt to fight back because he couldn’t believe the suspicions about you were true. You growled in frustration. “It’s too late for me anyways. You can’t turn me to the light.” You said and looked at him in the eyes and yours started glowing (F/C). He almost let out a gasp but it didn’t leave his body as his eyes fogged up a little.

Now dance, ****er, dance, man, I never had a chance And no one even knew, it was really only you And now you'll lead the way

You smiled as the class representative had fallen for your trick. “Now, we’re going back to the class, and you’re going to act like everything is alright.” You ordered.

He nodded. “Yes, (Sir/Ma’am/Other).” He said, voice coming out robotically. He set off to find his class and you followed him, due to your power. The irony of the situation was almost amusing to you. Almost. The head of the class, now a puppet. A puppet that can dance to whatever twisted moves that you have set for it.

Show the light of day Nice work you did You're gonna go far, kid Trust deceived

You followed him down the twisting paths of the hallways to the rest of the class. Your gaze fixed on the back of his head. You knew Toga was going to inform everyone else that everything was according to plan. Finally, the two of you reached the hiding area where everyone else was. “Thank goodness you found, (him/her/them!)” You heard Izuku said. Then he noticed that something was off about his classmates. You were refusing to look at anybody else than the boy in front of you and Iida’s looked dazed. Like he was… under someone’s control.

The greenette’s eyes widened. His classmate was… no. He had his suspicions but the truth is hard to handle. Before he could say anything, Iida gave him a swift kick in the face.

With a thousand lies and a good disguise Hit 'em right between the eyes Hit 'em right between the eyes

They stood there in surprise and shock. A blanket of fear had covered them, making them stand there like statues. The only sounds were the groans of Miydoriya and the thud of his body hitting the ground. “I-Iida.” Ochaco stuttered in fear. No one had expected the class president to attack their classmate outside of training. The blue haired boy then hit the nearest person, Mineta, giving him a punch to the cheek. No one really reacted to that. In all honesty, the grape had it coming.

When you walk away, nothing more to say See the lightning in your eyes See 'em running for their lives

While they were distracted, you used the opportunity to leave. It didn’t matter if Iida was going to spill the secret you kept from them. That s*** was already out. You smirked to yourself knowing which side of the street you belong in.

Now dance, ****er, dance, he never had a chance And no one even knew, it was really only you So dance, ****er, dance, I never had a chance It was really only you

The mission went out as planned. It was only a ploy to strike fear in the hearts of citizens. After all, an attack with no causalities is far worse with ones that do. You now sat at the bar, a bottle of water in your hand. You may be a criminal but the age of drinking consent is something that you can’t argue with. No matter how hard you tried. The news was on talking about the event. Everyone was able to get away without anyone being caught. Call it luck or whatever but, you’re thankful that they did. The anchorwoman was talking about how a student was involved with the League and helped out. A picture of your face appeared on the screen and you smirked. It wasn’t a school photo but a mugshot from a previous capture. One you managed to get away from. No one even suspected you, or so you think, but regardless it’s wonderful to see.

With a thousand lies and a good disguise Hit 'em right between the eyes Hit 'em right between the eyes

You couldn’t help but chuckled remembering the looks on each of their faces. What they thought was a classmate was really playing a part. A perfect disguise if you asked yourself. You have the innocent looking (boy/girl/person) appearance and if anyone who didn’t know you found out about your job. It would’ve made you laugh as not everything is as it seems.

Your fists tingled as they remembered the feeling of their face contacting your skin. You placed the hand that held the plastic bottle on top of the other’s knuckles. The feeling is something you’re going to remember for a long time.

When you walk away, nothing more to say See the lightning in your eyes See 'em running for their lives

A pair of footsteps came walking in and you dropped your hands to your lap. You see Shigaraki walking into the bar holding a folder, with a finger away from it as always. You know it could only mean one thing. “Another mission?” You asked, voicing your thoughts. The boss nodded and handed it to you.

“Go over it and be ready for when the time comes. You did good on your last mission, keep up the good work. You’re a valuable character.” He said before walking away. You weren’t sure if the last sentence was a praise or another video game term but regardless you nodded.

“Will do.” You said and opened it up, wondering what will be to cause more fear in the people. And more pride in yourself. Each success makes you happy.

Clever alibis, Lord of the Flies Hit 'em right between the eyes Hit 'em right between the eyes

You almost busted out laughing seeing which role you were supposed to play. An innocent citizen who loves all the hero crap. You won’t be alone this time, having Toga to accompany you on this one. You felt excited for the mission. It would mean more people will realize what idiots heroes truly are. The truth will knock them down from the clouds.

When you walk away, nothing more to say See the lightning in your eyes See 'em running for their lives

But right now, it’s time for a nap. The last mission tired you out. You took the folder with you and walked to your room. All that matters right now is a bed, a blanket, and wonderful dreams of a world where people run in fear from you.

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rocorambles · 4 years ago

Text

Perks of the Job

Pairing: Oikawa x Reader

Genre/Warnings: Yandere, NSFW, Non-Con/Rape, Bullying, Coercion, Abuse/Violence, Sexual Assault, Degradation

Prompt: “I wonder what he’d do if he knew you were with me right now.”

Summary: You realize far too late that you should have read the fine print of your job contract, questioned the golden egg that had fallen in your lap a little more as you stand face to face with the man you thought you had left far behind in your life.

Author’s Note: This is my contribution for my HQ Discord Server’s NSFW collaboration. There are so many talented writers on the server and I highly encourage you to check out the collaboration masterlist here to see how everyone decided to run with this prompt. (Masterlist goes live Sunday, December 6th!)

Big thank you to @sawamooora for beta-reading this~

Even by his first year of high school, Oikawa is used to the attention, used to girls smiling and giggling at just a well practiced wink he sends their way. And although no one catches his interest, he thrives on the power he feels, the way he knows he has people so easily wrapped around his fingers with just a few rehearsed lines and a dash of his natural charm. So he’s surprised when he first encounters you.

Unlike everyone else, you don’t even pause as you pass him in the hallway, don’t even bother to turn for a quick look in his direction. Unlike like every other female, you keep your face focused forward and continue to class, completely tuning out the gaggle of giggling girls he has surrounding him. And suddenly his interest is peaked as he watches your retreating figure, a sharp gleam in his eyes and a new conquest in sight.

He uses every trick in the book at first, shooting coy smiles and flirtatious winks your way, cheerfully greeting you each morning at the front gates and walking you right to the doorway of your classroom, sometimes lingering around to exchange small talk if there was time before class started. You’re polite about it, although a bit hesitant, unsure what about you has caught his interest, uncomfortable with the glowering attention you’re receiving from the females around you, but he grits his teeth in frustration when you never reciprocate with anything more than a small smile and superficial words.

There’s only so long that one can keep a facade, even if it is almost like a second skin and bit by bit, Oikawa’s sheep-like fleece weathers down until snarling fangs and bared teeth are all that remains. You wince as he sharply tugs at your hair, glare as he purposefully knocks the items off your desk onto the floor, and lash out at him to his amusement when he repeatedly closes your locker on you. And although there’s bitterness inside of him that he’s had to resort to such uncouth methods, he can’t help the self satisfied smile when he has all your attention, when your rage filled eyes are locked on him and him alone, when you’re spitting venomous snarls just for him to hear.

So, he’s quite displeased when third year comes around and suddenly it’s like everyone’s biological clock has suddenly started to rapidly tick. Things are different now that they’ve officially entered adulthood.

His fangirls are touchier, more clingy, and although he rolls his eyes as they purposefully hike up their skirt and press their bodies against him when they talk, he doesn’t pull away. It wouldn’t be good for his image. And besides, being an adult means having fun doesn’t it?

So, to the dismay of Iwaizumi and the hoots and hollers of Hanamaki and Matsukawa, he has his fun, sneaking girl after girl into the locker room, the club room, even the equipment room.

But what infuriates him the most is the way seemingly every male suddenly has their eyes on you, the way your locker is filled to the brim on a daily basis with love notes, the way you’re now always surrounded by a flock of groveling boys all clamoring for your attention, the way he can’t even get close enough to do anything to you anymore, the way you seem to forget he even exists.

And that’s unacceptable.

He sends his fangirls to do his bidding and although it’s not nearly as satisfying when he’s not the one personally wreaking havoc in your life, when he doesn’t get to see the look of pain and anger in your eyes up close and personal, there’s still a sense of contentment when he sees your tear stained eyes and ruined uniform from afar, the way you seem to shrink in on yourself in shame and embarrassment when you come out of the women’s locker room, the restroom, places only other female students can get to you, where there are no other eyes to protect you.

But his nails dig into his palms as his fists clench when he sees his fellow male classmates bending over backwards to comfort you, to help you, draping their uniform jackets over your shoulders to hide your disheveled uniform, cooing at your injuries as they gently lead you to the nurse’s office.

And if there’s anything Oikawa hates in the world, it’s losing.

He slams his fist in frustration as he feels you slipping further and further away from him, as he loses against Ushijima, as he loses against Kageyama, as he loses any chance of seeing his dreams of Nationals come true, as he loses in everything that ever mattered to him.

Maybe that’s why he drinks far more than he should at the third year house party, an early graduation party of sorts, a last hurrah before all of you go your separate ways. Maybe that’s why when he sees you, his eyes narrow in determination as he chugs the rest of his drink, despite Iwaizumi’s growl at him to slow down his intake. Maybe that’s why he seeks you out like a bloodhound looking for prey that it’s caught wind of.

And all he can think of as he corners you in an abandoned section of the house, forcing your body against the wall, feeling you helplessly push against him, watching fear and confusion fill your eyes, is that he needs a win - just one win.

But of course life has different plans for him and just as he’s shoved his legs between your thighs, just as one of his hands has slipped underneath your shirt to roughly knead one of your breasts, just as he’s crushed his lips against yours in something far too brutal to be considered a kiss, he’s being torn away from you. It’s only Iwaizumi’s familiar voice and face that keeps the ace from getting punched in the face as he snarls at Oikawa to get the fuck away from you and sober up. And all Oikawa sees is red when he briefly glances back once more before turning the corner, only to see his own best friend kindly hovering next to you, gently taking care of you and fixing your clothes for you, an uncharacteristic softness in green eyes as he looks at you.

Betrayal like he’s never felt before suffocates him as he watches the two of you tentatively begin to dance around each other in an awkward yet endearing courtship. He watches as he loses his best friend, watches as he loses the only woman who’s ever caught his interest, watches as the two of you walk off into your fairytale sunset together, hand in hand, never even glancing back at him as you both go off on your merry way together.

He’s not proud of the cruel smile that naturally stretches across his face when he hears that the two of you have broken up years later, a brief comment that Hanamaki slips into one of their happy hour catch-ups as the ex-Seijoh third years share a bottle (maybe a few bottles) of sake. But he fakes a look of concern and consolement, trying to conceal his curiosity as he lightly questions Iwaizumi about the break-up, airily asking what the reason was.

And he secretly grins as he excuses himself to the restroom when he thinks about the depressed slump of the ex-ace’s shoulders, the downcast look on his face. He cherishes his dear friend, but it’s nice to see someone suffer the same way he had, to share the pain of loss, to share the agony of losing you specifically.

But maybe lost things are meant to be found, he thinks, as he scans the resume handed to him when he enters his office the next morning, chocolate brown eyes gleaming when they see the familiar name neatly typed on the top of the page.

You're desperate.

After Iwaizumi and you had broken up, you had insisted on moving out and living on your own. Never mind the fact that Iwaizumi was paying for the majority of your old rent. Never mind the fact that you don't make nearly enough income to survive on your own. You had just wanted a clean break from the handsome man who had been such a large integral part of your life and despite the small part of you that pleaded to give this relationship another chance, to take him up on his offer to stay with him until you're in a better place to support yourself, you packed your bags and left.

And now here you are, living in an awful part of town, sirens blaring every few minutes, struggling to pay rent for the old decrepit studio that's barely big enough to fit even just your modestly sized bed. But you determinedly make do, putting on your one nice interview outfit and applying your makeup as best as you can despite the cracked bathroom mirror and flickering lights, before taking a deep breath and exiting your apartment.

You're not even sure how you landed an interview at such a prestigious company. Although being a secretary for one of their higher ups doesn't exactly sound like your dream job, when you saw what the salary range was, you leapt at the opportunity. Screw your pride. If faking a smile and acting like a glorified maid for a disgusting old man meant you were finally able to afford a decent quality life? So be it.

Nerves eat at you and your heart pounds as you anxiously wait for the interview to begin, but you're shocked when an employee steps inside the room only to distractedly ask you generic questions, questions you're sure just about anyone could answer, not even pretending to pay attention as he fiddles with his phone in front of you. You can’t help but wonder if this is a good or bad sign. Were you so unqualified that you were just a waste of time? Why even bother bringing you in for an interview if they had intended to turn you away right from the start?

But to your surprise when the quick and simple questioning is done, the interviewer just stands up with a smile and nonchalantly tells you that they'd be in touch soon. And true to his words, your cell phone rings not even a few hours later that same day and you gape as they extend an offer to you with a salary even higher than you had ever imagined, which you eagerly accept, not a trace of doubt or hesitation in your mind.

You meekly follow the friendly receptionist who leads you through the intimidatingly large office, the smell of coffee and the sounds of keyboards clacking and voices chattering swirling around you as you’re led further and further until you’re finally facing a solitary office, far from the bustling crowd of the main floor, reeking of status and power. And you force a tight smile on your face as you’re left alone, taking a deep breath before timidly knocking and opening the door when a voice beckons you in.

Nothing could have prepared you for the sight in front of you and if you were jittery before at the prospect of a new job and a new boss, then you’re positively shaking now, trembling like a leaf in the wind when you see a face you hoped you would never see ever again, a face that still haunts you to this day, that brings back painful memories of a tormented childhood. And you wonder if you should quit right here, right now, cursing yourself for not asking more questions about exactly who your employer was, who you’d be working side by side with as their executive assistant.

You’re so lost in your panicked thoughts that you don’t register the tall figure approaching you, head whipping when your name is called in that lilted sing song voice of his and you shudder as familiar brown eyes gaze down at you.

“Oikawa…”

He smiles at your shivering figure and your frenzied wide eyes when you register exactly who you’re now working for. Pride soaring in his chest when he sees the impact he still has, the effect he still has on you, even after all these years. And he can’t help but circle around your frozen figure, admiring how you’ve grown and matured since he’d last seen you, purring at the way you instinctively lower your head in unconscious submission, not daring to meet his eyes as he closes his office door, flinching at the sound of the lock clicking in place.

It just wouldn’t do for anyone to interrupt such a special reunion.

You’re so predictable, it’s almost laughable. Oikawa has to fight the urge to roll his eyes as he leans back against the closed door, blocking your one escape route out of this hell hole you’ve gotten yourself trapped in. It’s amusing listening to you stutter out some feeble attempt at a resignation, listening to you try to convince yourself and him that this must be a mistake, that surely you’re someone else’s secretary, not his, never his. And as cute as it is watching denial and pure terror dance across your face, he tires of your endless blathering and he maliciously grins at how quick you are to snap to attention and silence yourself when he barks at you to shut up.

But what he isn’t expecting is the sudden fire in your eyes, the resolved steeliness in your demeanor as you glare at him head on and maybe it’s a good thing that you’d spent so much time with Iwaizumi because this is going to be so much more fun than he could have possibly imagined.

The wolf inside of him gnashes his teeth and howls in amusement as you furiously give him a piece of your mind, rebuke him for how horrible and awful he was throughout highschool, haughtily tell him that this is the real world now and that you’re not going to let him just walk all over you, let him do whatever he wants. In fact, you’re leaving right now. You don’t need him or this stupid job.

And his grin sharpens as you hold your head up high while you make your way towards him and the door, not even hesitating as you move to shove him aside. But then he pounces and you can’t even scream as you’re suddenly shoved down, gasping as you painfully hit the ground.

He has to give you some credit though. Clearly dating an athletic trainer has done you some good and he winces just a bit as you thrust your knee into his abdomen, surprised by the force behind it. But the pain only fuels him more, the sharp pang grounding him, helping him concentrate as he pries apart your legs, his knees achingly pressing down into the sensitive flesh of your inner thighs as he puts all his weight on top of you, chuckling when you wail at how his kneecaps painfully pin you down.

And he almost coos proudly at you as you try to sit up, as you try to support your upper body off the ground with your forearms and hands, as you try to find some leverage to get yourself out of your undesirable position. But all it takes is him digging his knee even further into your bruised leg and with a yelp you fall back down, snarling at him with pretty tears welling in the corner of your eyes as he leans forward, pinning you fully with his arms now trapping your wrists on the floor on either side of your head.

“Don’t be like this, cutie. You’re the one who accepted the job. Not my fault you were too dumb to even look into it carefully. But I guess a dumb bitch is always a dumb bitch.”

He smirks at the way his cruel words have you twisting and writhing underneath him with renewed fervor, but like an animal sensing that it’s nearing its end, you surprise him with a last vehement action as you spit in his face when your futile struggle falls flat. And as the thick glob slides down his face, his facade cracks and a sharp cracking sound pierces through the air before you’re suddenly seeing stars as heat rushes through your face from the impact of his palm.

“Listen to me. You’re going to shut the fuck up and behave. You’re going to stay as my secretary. You’re going to do every fucking thing I tell you to do. You know why? Because I own you. I could ruin your entire life with a single phone call - with the snap of my fingers. Your entire career, over, with just a single email. Good luck trying to afford even your shitty little apartment when you’re blacklisted from every corporation in this city.”

Oikawa hums in satisfaction when you finally still, fear and uncertainty twirling in your eyes as your bottom lip begins to tremble, liquid pooling in your tear ducts as you shakily stare at him. But he outright laughs in your face when you latch onto your one last hope.

“Hajime! I’ll tell Haji-”

You break off into a squeal when sharp teeth bury into the crook of your neck, tears streaming down your face as Oikawa leaves a mark that will last for at least a few days and you cringe at the feeling of his warm wet tongue tasting you, staining you.

“Iwa-chan? I wonder what he’d do if he knew you were with me right now. Would he trust his longtime childhood friend, his best friend who he still talks to and hangs out with almost everyday, especially now that you’ve left him all alone? Or would he trust the woman who broke his heart, who led him on for so many years, only to tell him you just “weren’t feeling it” anymore when he was about to propose?”

He lets out a derisive snort at the hurt in your eyes, the guilt he can practically see smothering you at his words.

“It’s okay, cutie. Of course you weren’t feeling it with Iwa-chan. You were just waiting for me all this time, right? So don’t worry. Relax. Let me make you feel good and make up for all the lost time, okay?”

And he beams when you don’t even resist in the slightest as he removes your clothing, as he hungrily explores every inch of you, calloused fingertips, lips, teeth, and tongue tracing every bit of you, tasting and feeling everything that’s been out of reach for so long.

A victorious grin spreads across his face at the slight moan you try to quickly muffle as he drags a wet trail to your nipples, tongue lightly flicking the hardening bud before his lips swoop in and harshly suck. He groans as your hips instinctively buck when his hand begins to toy with your other nipple and he grinds his straining cock against you.

But he lets out an irritated tsk as your hands feebly push at him, as your quivering voice begs him to stop, quickly silencing you with a rough twist of the nipple between his fingers and a feral warning look as he slides down his pants and boxers just enough for his throbbing cock to spring out.

And he briefly relishes the way your watery eyes are suddenly captivated by the sight of his impressive length. A sick sense of pride bubbles in his chest at the way you nervously gulp when he lines himself up with your entrance. You barely even have time to blink before he’s brutally slamming himself to the hilt inside of you with one rough thrust.

He hisses at how tight and warm you are, grits his teeth at the feeling of your nails clawing at his back and arms as he slams himself even deeper. Your pathetic cries make him even harder as you desperately scramble to accommodate his size.

He drowns himself in the intoxicating feeling of your walls clamping down on him, the sound of your strangled voice screaming his name mixing with the clapping sound of skin meeting skin as he pistons in and out of you relentlessly, starting a brutal pace right from the start, ignoring the terror and hurt laced in your screams as he hones in on your sweet voice repeating his name over and over again, hones in on the fact that every ounce of your attention is on him, that he’s all you can think of and feel in the moment and he wishes this moment could last forever.

But that’s impossible and he can feel his end approaching, his rhythm becoming erratic, his body tensing, and with a few more slams of his hips against yours, he’s spilling deep inside of you, moaning as he makes a mess of your insides, careful not to let even a single drop escape as he pulls out and quickly slips your panties back on you, trapping his essence inside of you.

You’re still limp on the floor as he stands up, casually stretching his arms above his head with a yawn before tucking himself back into his pants, brushing himself off as he makes his way to his desk. And he hums as he turns on his computer, not even glancing at the pathetic sight you make, sprawled out, naked aside from the pair of panties he had generously helped you with, your face a mess of dried tears and saliva, your hair a tousled mess.

But you flinch when he finally speaks as you muster the will to slowly dress yourself, the will to ignore the pounding ache and dripping mess between your legs, his carefree tone tearing your self-esteem to shreds as he just continues typing emails all the while.

“Hurry up and get to work. That’s what you’re getting paid for after all. You can consider what just happened a perk of the job and I’ll be sure to give you a lot of extra bonuses while you’re with me. Looking forward to working together.”

Bile rises in your throat at his flippant words and the flirtatious wink he sends your way. For a second you hesitate, staring longingly at the locked door. But even with your back turned to him, you can still feel his piercing gaze boring holes into your soul. You know deep down in your gut that his threat isn’t just empty words, that as hard as life is now, it would be complete and utter hell the moment you stepped out of his office without his permission. You know that in the end, you’d be left with no other option than to come crawling back to him, groveling for mercy when your bank account is running on less than empty, when you’re forced out onto the streets.

So, as humiliating as it is, you limp over to the smaller desk situated in the corner of the office, every step a crushing blow to your self worth and pride, grimacing as you begin to feel something thick and sticky threaten to leak from between your thighs. And you obediently sit, blinking back the tears as you turn on your own company-issued laptop, shifting uncomfortably as your aching body comes in contact with the solid surface of your chair, raising the ringing phone to your ear.

“This is Oikawa Tooru’s office. How may I help you?”

#haikyuu smut #yandere haikyuu #haikyuu yandere #yandere oikawa #oikawa x reader #oikawa smut #oikawa #oikawa tooru #haikyuu!!#haikyuu #haikyuu fic #haikyuu writing #haikyuu x reader #tw: abuse #tw: violence #tw: noncon #tw: rape #tw: bullying #tw: coercion

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