#who would not stop running his mouth about how much he hated sense and sensibility

[maddie-grove]

Obviously a language arts curriculum should take into account the students’ existing skills and interests, but some people’s critiques are just “I did not like the book I was assigned, which means that most people hated it and it was objectively a bad choice” or “I don’t like to read at all and I think it’s stupid that kids are sometimes asked to read in school.” Every student enjoying every book is not a feasible goal! I loved language arts/English most of the time, and I fucking hated Walden.

[megan-is-mia]

Could I ask for Peacock Vil with #209? Like he's in his mating season and she is rejecting all his advances.

(This one is kind of long sorry) 209. “The way you say my name feel so fucking good…keep saying it.” (Yandere! Peacock Vil Schoenheit x Fem! S/o) (WARNING NSFW AND NON-CON AHEAD!)

Ever since she was a young girl (Y/n) had known what her future would be. Born to a concubine in the Peacock King’s harem there was only one fate open to her: to become a harem-girl like her mother before her and serve her master obediently. This fact had been drilled into her since toddlerhood. Yet there was something that gave her hope and kept her from fully accepting her destiny. She had a special friend, a secret friend who lived in the castle as well. They’d never seen each other’s faces but spoke to one another every day through a hole in the wall between the two grand gardens of the palace. Her friend called themself Scélérat, and they loved two things: knowledge and beauty. Each day they would teach (Y/n) new things they’d learned from the books in the library.

With every scrap of knowledge (Y/n) gained she found new strength in herself. When she was with Scélérat she wasn’t just a lowly harem girl, she was a person who mattered in this world. Yet as the years went by things began to change, she began to be plagued with more and more duties to make her into the ideal concubine. Even worse the Peacock King’s son Vil demanded that she become his personal servant and tend to him daily.

“(Y/n) why do you stand so far from my side? Come closer darling I won’t bite” Vil cooed as he lounged back on the chaise longue and gestured for the servant to come closer. (Y/n) grit her teeth but obeyed, she despised the peacock-man and his father and everything they stood for. If it wasn’t for the king and the prince, she and her mother would not be bound to a life of sexual servitude.

Vil pulled (Y/n) down into his lap as she came closer, she had grown more beautiful than he could ever have hoped for. He still remembered with total clarity when he’d first met her, back when they were children still innocent of heart. She’d been crying in the garden and he’d spoken to her through the wall. (Y/n) had spilled out her sorrows to him and he felt his heartache for the first time in his life.

He hadn’t told her his name then, for that would have ruined everything. To her, he would be Scélérat, someone she could always depend on to be there for her and lift her up. But as time has gone by their meetings had grown shorter and less frequent, it was not her fault that she wasn’t able to meet him. (Y/n) was blooming into a beautiful young woman and therefore she had to know her duties as a concubine.

That didn’t mean he would let her slip away from him. Sure for now she may not love him as Prince Vil, but he would win her yet. He was sure of it, she had no choice in the matter. When he became king he would dismiss most of the harem that his father had amassed. Of course, he would make sure the concubines went to good homes but he would not need so many women to keep him happy. The only woman he needed to be happy was (Y/n), she would be his queen in all but name. He wished he could make her queen proper but he knew patience would be key to being successful in his endeavors. If he gave her that power before he knew for certain that she was loyal to him everything could go down in flames. Vil could not let the love in his heart cloud his judgment on the matter.

(Y/n) hated how intimately the prince touched her. His hands made her skin crawl and she felt like she needed to scrub her skin clean after every encounter with him. The other harem girls gossiped that she must be his favorite since she was the only girl he’d ever called to his chambers. However, she did not care whether or not she was the prince’s favorite for she would never care for him.

For her heart already belonged to another, her beloved Scélérat, yes they were her beloved. Though she had never had the courage to tell them of her feelings for them and now she was unlikely to ever have the chance to tell them with the prince hoarding her time and body. The only relief she had was the fact the prince and king’s mating season would soon start and none would be allowed near their rooms nor them. Perhaps in this downtime (Y/n) would gain from the prince’s season she’d be able to speak to Scélérat again and set things straight. However, until the season started she would be quite busy with Prince Vil. In the week leading up to his mating season, the prince began acting strangely towards her. One could almost call it affectionate, the way he spoke to her and tried to shower her in gifts of clothes and jewelry. “He must be trying to court you” another harem girl suggested when (Y/n) spoke of her concerns one evening. “The gift-giving, the affectionate words, the only sensible explanation is that his more bestial brain is piloting and he wants you to be his mate” she added making (Y/n) cringe with disgust. Her? The prince’s mate? No way! There was no way she would ever become the prince’s mate!

Yet despite her unwillingness, she found herself being locked in with the prince on the day his rut started. At first, he seemed totally unaware of her presence in the room, jerking furiously on his bed and grunting in a low voice. This was a side of Vil she’d never seen before, who was this unrefined creature unable to think of anything but sex? She could almost feel pity for him, almost.

(Y/n) was so deep in her thoughts that she didn’t even notice when the prince had given up trying to pleasure himself and was creeping towards her. Suddenly she found herself being pulled and forced down on the bed as Vil climbed atop of her with a lecherous grin. (Y/n) grimaced and tried to kick him off even as he leaned down to capture her lips in a hungry kiss and ran his hands down her sides.

“Finally, I have you where I want you… I’ve been waiting for this day for years” Vil said in a coo as he pulled away from the kiss. “Ever since we were young I knew you were the one for me my darling” he added leaning in for another kiss. (Y/n) turned her head away confused by the prince’s words. “What… What are you talking about! You aren’t making any sense!” she said, trying to kick him again. “Even when we’re this close to one another you still don’t recognize me? You cannot recognize your oldest friend?” the prince said, leaning down to speak in (Y/n)’s ear. “Your dear Scélérat sits before you and yet you do not see?” he whispered before pressing a kiss to her ear. This revelation froze (Y/n) to her core, the prince… he was the one she’d loved for so long? Impossible! She could not accept, she would not accept this to be true!

“I don’t believe you! You must be lying! Scélérat is a good person, unlike you! He would never let me remain a harem girl if he had the power to free me like you do!” (Y/n) said in a hiss. “Oh I have every intention of freeing you, just not yet… first I must become king so I can make you my wife” Vil said nuzzling the young woman playfully. “But such serious matters can wait until another day, let us enjoy each other’s company” he concluded.

(Y/n) knew exactly what he meant by “enjoy each other’s company” and she wanted none of it. She tried to push him away again even as he kissed down her front, yanking her top down to lavish her breasts with attention. (Y/n) had never had the curiosity to try touching herself in such a matter and as such her body jolted with the new sensations Vil forced upon her with his mouth and hands.

“You saved yourself for me didn’t you darling?” the peacock-man said with a croon, his hands darting further down (Y/n)’s body to run down her thighs. “I wish I had the patience to wait until our wedding night to do this… but I suppose there really is nothing wrong with getting started on making an heir right?” he mused to himself as the young woman below him felt her blood run cold. Her? Carry the prince’s heir? She couldn’t think of many things worse than bearing a child for this man! Perhaps she could stop him from doing this tonight? Maybe she could spare herself such a fate by taking command now? (Y/n) reached down clumsily searching for the prince’s cock and taking it firmly in her grip. Without hesitation, she began jerking him off quickly as he began to buck into her hold. “Mmmph fuck that feels so good” Vil said, his tail feathers spreading behind him as he fucked himself into the girl’s fist and let his head lol back in pleasure. It didn’t take long for him to cum messily onto (Y/n)’s body with a weak grin. “That was delightful darling, now allow me to return the favor” the prince said situating himself between the girl’s thighs. He pulled her undergarments aside before pressing his mouth to her cunt. This was not what she had wanted to have happen! She’d touched him hoping that it would be enough to please him so he wouldn’t impregnate her. He wasn’t supposed to try and return the favor of pleasuring! (Y/n) weakly kicked at the prince as he sucked on her clit and drove his tongue deep into her cunt. It felt like he was trying to clean her insides out with his mouth and she could feel her eyes rolling back in her skull. “P-puh-prince Vil!” (Y/n) squealed desperately and to her surprise, the peacock-man stopped. “The way you say my name feel so fucking good…keep saying it” the prince groaned out before he began tongue-fucking her again. It didn’t take long until the harem girl was seeing white and cumming all over Vil’s face. He licked up her release greedily before spreading her legs and scooting so his cock brushed against her pussy.

“I’ll try to be gentle, considering this is your first time… but I can't promise I won’t lose control” Vil cooed before starting to sink into (Y/n)’s depths. It didn’t take much before the young woman was squirming with discomfort. The prince was so big compared to her and his cock was just as proportionally big. The kisses that he pressed to her face did nothing to ease the pain he was causing her at this moment. “Hold on for me darling… I just need to get all the way in and then I'll make you feel really good” the prince promised. He continued to sink into her, stretching her like she’d never been stretched before. His fingers teased her clit made it almost bearable but still it wasnt enough to take the pain away. Finally, Vil was all the way in and let out a long gasp. He nuzzled (Y/n)’s shoulder before kissing it.

“You feel so tight around me… it feels amazing… I'm going to make you feel amazing too” the peacock-man said, his tail feathers shaking with delight. He pulled back a little bit before slamming back into (Y/n) with a grunt. He repeated this action over and over again each time striking a spot deep inside the harem girl’s cunt that made her see stars and moan for him like he wanted. Gradually Vil’s movements got faster and faster, gripping the bedframe as he fucked (Y/n) with all his might. The young woman came so many times yet the prince showed no signs of wearing out despite the many times he had also cum as he pounded her into the bed. “I’m gonna plant an entire nest in your womb darling… you’ll like that won’t you? Soon you’ll be a wife, a mother, and a queen just like you deserve…” THE END

[witchlyboo]

Definitely, maybe.

Part five: The one who belongs to someone else.

Introduction. Part one. Part two. Part three. Part four.

Paring: Latina!reader x Logan Lerman x Tom Holland x Ben Hardy x Timothee Chalamet x Pedro Pascal x Michael B. Jordan

Warnings: Swearing, angst, misspellings, some Spanish, me learning how to write properly, and NY stuff that I've learned from movies that we all agree to pretend are real.

Word count: 6.4 k

a/n: You been asking for smut, I know, I know, I just wanted to introduce you to all the boys first, and we're getting there, just one more ahead. Also, I'm working on a masterlist because we are getting too many parts already.

All body types and skin tones friendly. You can also enjoy it as a no Hispanic reader. Constructive feedback and misspellings correction is always welcome.

Red and blue lights flash the driving mirror.

—No, no, no, por favor que no sea a mi—You beg to the sky looking at the patrol that is asking you to park, or someone else, there's a lot of cars in this part of the city, there's a big chance is the panic who's controlling your senses.—Dios, mi abuela fue a la iglesia cada domingo de su vida y nunca te pidió nada, please let me have some of her divina recompensa.—But that's not how it works, you end up parking with just a few seconds to think what to say. There's a perfect explication of why you are driving a car that is not yours in the middle of the night and smelling like a minibar.

Then this ridiculous thought comes to your mind, you look expensive, you've never seen the daughter of a senator but you must be close to it, it would make you less of a feminist if you just use your attributes? Ugh, you feel sick just to think about it but don't have enough money to pay a fine, and the constant paranoia of being chased all the time as an immigrant will only get stronger.

You pull down your dress a little so your neckline can do its job but you regret it immediately, and you're pretty sure you look more like an expensive prostitute who stole the car of his lover than some influential men's daughter.

—License and registration.—You hear him say when he approaches your window. You don't like this but you have to play the dumb tourist, the pretty foreign girl that is too stupid to be dangerous, with the look you have tonight it shouldn't be hard. But damn you hate cops, any uniformed man that works for the government is your eternal enemy, and you don't know how long you could keep the nice dumb Latina game before spit on his face.

—There's something wrong, officer? ...You?!—Your sexy and fake high voice is ruined when you see the face of the man who stopped you. This night couldn't get worse.

—Wait, what happened with the party?—Evan interrupts you while you finish some notes for work, little remainders for later when you don't have an eleven years old kid running around you, he's not usually this energic and you have to blame yourself for that, you're describing a life of excess and eccentric fun, something you let behind so many years ago that your own son doesn't know even a bit of it.

—Ugh, a nightmare doesn't worth telling.—You remember vaguely most of it but what keeps fresh in your mind is bad enough to don't want to bring it back.

—But if Timothée is my dad I have to know the important things, including the bad stuff.—Sounds perfectly reasonable and that's what makes you groan at him. Sometimes you feel blessed that your kid is better than you in any possible way, and sometimes you want to kill his brain with video games and reality shows like the rest of the parents.

—Ok, cool, but I'll keep all the +18 content for myself, so this part of the story might be blurry for you.—It kinda is for you anyway.

You should’ve known this night was cursed, you had a feeling because a) your earring fell off at the same time Timothée texted you to give you the party address and say he can't pick you up. And b) he won’t pick you up. Your mother would say that’s reason enough to not go, a real gentleman wouldn’t make you go to an unknown place in the middle of the night on your own in a city like this. But you decide to ignore it because you are a modern woman and because it’s worth it. It better be.

The outfit must be something special. You always take your time to choose what to wear, even if just another regular day, and since this isn't the case you thought about it for hours, that made your mind busy enough to not thinking about Tom and the whole love confession. He texted you saying he'll come for you to go to class together on Monday, which is completely impractical because he's way closer than you but is progress and you're going to take it.

You wanted to ask for Sheep's opinion but you thought she might not care, has been a few days since she started acting strange like she's bothered just to see you breathe. You want to blame his boyfriend to take all her time and attention from you but is probably just her new job, she got a small role in a Netflix show, and even when you're so happy for her, that's the event that has changed her into someone completely different. But you give her time, stress can do bad things to people.

The winner is the exact copy you made of the black and white striped dress Cameron Diaz wore in "The Mask" beautiful, classy, and sexy enough without being too scandalous, not that you have any problem with that, but this isn't the occasion, you don't want to feel like you're being too much or too little, just enough, it's supposed to be easy, right? you were born for this. Just adding some big shiny earrings you got on a thrift shop that look like real diamonds and you're ready, not that you own any to compare. Red lipstick, dark eyes, and a messy bun to get that disinterested pitch every look needs.

Getting there wasn't a problem, you were in the rich part of the city, everyone know who, where and what just to brag about it. The excitement is growing with every second, you check your makeup like thirty times in the elevator and send texts to your mom just to let her know where you are, and because you have to share that moment with someone and you are limited of friends these days.

Timothée opens the door with red eyes, drunk, high, or somewhere in between, you know then you were right about the bad feeling. He jumps on you to kiss you and no matter how much you try to explain the delicacy of your lipstick, he does it anyway, leaving a taste of alcohol and shrimps in your mouth. Taking you by the waist he walks you to a group of people you don't know while you're trying harder to fix the red color of your mouth without a mirror.

—Here is the companion I bought, look at her, that's how five grand per hour look like.—They laughed but you were too disoriented to process all the things he said, it was supposed to be a joke? if it is, why isn't he correcting? Instead, his hand goes straight to your ass and presses it to get you closer to him.

—I'm actually an intern in the costume designer department of the new version of "Sense and Sensibility".—You wanted to mention your recent promotion to hairstylist and makeup artist but that might be too pretentious. Anyway, they don't seem to care what you are or not, in fact, they don't even see you, all eyes are on Timothée

—Oh, well, is easy to forget when you're paying them—All laughs again. Who is this person? Who are all these people, actually? You recognize some influencers, a few cast members but there's no sign of the director, other main actors, not even his co-star. You feel like an extra in a movie where someone will be killed in a luxury party, hopefully not you. You take his hand from your body and clear your throat.—I'm just joking my love, she looks stunning, isn't she? I’ll get you a drink.

He leaves and the group of people surrounding you suddenly dissipated like boiling water, you were on your own again and despite some judgmental gazes is like you’re not there, you’re sure you could just take your dress off and throw it to someone’s face and unless Tim says something about it, no one would care. You’re there as his companion, an ornament, and that’s not enough to earn their attention because it’s too obvious you’re the one in turn.

You walk to the only window no one is smoking and check your phone, you know, the thing you do when you pretend you have important issues to attend, but no, you end reading some old messages, pictures, texting your mom of how much fun you’re having at the party, and somehow you check your filed Facebook messages to find Logan’s name. You cover the screen so fast you hurt your nail, his name is enough to make you tremble like a Chihuahua, you haven’t talked to him since that night, you know from his sister he lives in the house he bought for you two and he’s having the happiest life without you. You want to believe that because that means you took the right decision but deep inside… no, you can’t be that person, you want him to be happier than ever.

You find the guts to open the message, and you read as slowly as is humanly possible. “My angel, I hope this finds you in perfect health…” Dios, just Logan could start a message like that, your smile is almost too big to fit in your face so you bit your nail to cover it a little. “I recently found one of the human body drawings you made for me to study, you’ll be happy to know…”

—That’s a fucking long-ass message.—Tim appears behind you and takes your phone from your hand, spilling some of his drink on your dress in the process. Apparently, he's been there long enough to read part of the message.

—Give it back.—You command in the most severe voice you have, your magical moment got ruined and you remember the hole of hell you are.

—"My angel, I hope this finds you in perfect health. I recently found one of the human body drawings you made for me to study, you must know I still use them now and then"—Timothée starts reading the message, and even when no one is close enough to hear it and you don’t really care about this people’s opinion, that’s not for anyone to read, that’s one of the few parts of your life you treasure the most and you’re not ready to get over it.—You little slut, are you cheating on me with a med student?

—Give it to me.—You repeat trying to take the phone from his hand but he’s faster and walks away putting it out of your reach.

—"I meticulously preserve them, I certainly know any piece of art made by you will be priceless in the near future"—You don’t want to hear it coming from his drunk mocking voice, so you try to ignore what he’s saying and put more effort on chasing the phone.—Should I had kept the jeans where you left the wet spot on? I didn’t know you were an artist, my love.

—Timothée, por el amor de Dios.—Now you're trying to climb him, it wouldn't be that hard to take him down, he's skinny and you're fierce. That's what you thought but he's not moving even with you are on top of his shoulder and his opposite long arm keeps the phone away from you.

—Who is this guy and why is he talking to my girl like this?—You see the olive eyes getting darker and the tone of his voice went deeper than you thought he could do. You desist from taking the phone, you know the bullies love the attention, maybe that's exactly what he wants and give it to him just makes it worse.

—I'm not your girl.—You claim fixing up your dress having enough of games, and you have no reason to keep worrying about losing your job, the filming is done, and apparently your relationship with him too. You don't care about any of that anymore, just want to read Logan's text.

Even behind all the alcohol and the eyes injected in blood thanks for who knows what kind of drug, you can see the disappointment and anger, but it's not a broken heart, Is the hissy fit of a child that loses his balloon and now everyone will pay for it, especially you.

—Are you sure about that?—You can see him swallow hard, almost looking vulnerable, but his voice is defiant and threatening to prove you wrong. He just has to stretch out his arm to reach the open window with your phone in hand, his intentions are clear and the only thing you can do is raise your hands as a reflex.—You were mine the moment you put a foot on my trailer, and I don't fucking share my stuff.—Before you can say a word he drops the phone from the fourth floor.

You know is senseless but you find yourself running out of the party and going to search the device, using it also as an excuse to get away from that place. This is the first time someone makes you feel meaningless, you know the famous' world is cold and lacking in empathy but this is ridiculous, they're a bunch of parasites fed by attention and power. By Timothée.

The screen is crashed and the rest of it is probably beyond repair, not that you're surprised, its life is longer than you've been in the country and you admit you should have replaced it much earlier but you're not the kind to throw away things that still work. However, is not the phone you are worried about, not as much as what it contains.

—That was obsolete anyway, I'll get you a better one.—You didn't know he was following you, his voice interrupts your self-wailing. He sounds calmer and a little embarrassed, but not enough to say sorry, you don't think he's capable of saying it.

You shake your head and start to walk away without a word, you don't want anything from him, not materially, at least.

—Don't make a scandal out of it, it's just a phone!—He yells erasing any trace of regret in his voice. He doesn't see the reaction he expected and that's when he runs after you and with a hand on your upper arm pulls you back, you gasped for the sudden bluntness.—That annoying habit you have of leaving when I'm talking to you.

You push him away with all the strength you have, which resulted in him almost falling on the ground.

—I don't care about the stupid phone!—You finally break, but sadly is not as satisfactory as you thought it would be.—You are mean, vain, arrogant and the worst part is that you enjoy being this despicable human because you have absolutely no consequences to it. Everyone around you just accepts it and I feel so sorry for you because the only possible way for you to fill the void inside is to be surrounded by that crowd of mules licking your steps—To your surprise, he has nothing to say, he's just standing there with no facial expression, whatever he feels is easily covered by his years of experience acting, even drunk.—I can't give you that and it's obvious they don't want me either. What am I even doing here?—You ask yourself thinking where would be the best way of getting a cab, is a rich zone, must be easy.

—Everything is better when you're around—His voice is thin and fragile, you have to process what he said three times in your head to understand his words. You're not willing to look at him yet.—You're not like the others.

—Pure bullshit. You love to repeat that misogynist discourse of girls being in a certain way because is easier than be responsible for the people you choose to be—You were hugging yourself the whole time, is a cold night, but not enough to be bothersome, you enjoy Fall weather—You got me for a moment, I give you that, you fooled me but I'm too tired of guessing what version of you is real—When you return your gaze at him, he doesn't try to hide the guilt anymore, but there's still haughtiness in there.—Now, if you don't mind Mr. Chalamet, I need to get a cab.

—No, you came with me, you leave with me.—There's no trace of alcohol in his voice anymore, a good scolding is enough to put you sober, you know that thanks to your mom. Oh god, you're becoming her.

—You didn't bring me here, gigantic head—You look at him and put your hand in front of him with the palm up. He stares at it for several seconds before put his own on it—Not that!—You shake it and start looking inside his jeans pockets until you feel the metal of his key car.—You can't drive and I have to get home. You'll find it in the studio tomorrow.

That's how you ended with a car way more luxurious than you expected, driving so slowly and carefully that the police stopped you. What a night, but at this point, you couldn't care less about anything that is not that message, is been months and you can't get over it, over him. Not even Ben moans, Tom's comforting arms, or fight with a movie star at 3:00 am. is enough to get him out of your mind.

—So is true, you don't wear anything that hasn't appeared in a movie, huh?—Michael B. Jordan is leaning on the car window with a mocking smile and a sparkle of satisfaction that you would love to punch but his uniform keeps you in line, where you come from police is not equal to justice, most of the times is oppression.

—You know where it's from?—That was kind of comforting, no one at the party noticed. Not that you care.

—Is The Mask, not some Adam Hitchcock's blurb.—He smiles and even when you really don't like him, it's nice to be with a familiar face, you are really tired of running away, scaping for problems that are a result of your null capacity to deal with emotions. Ugh, what a word.

—Is Alfred Hitchcock, actually.—You didn't want to sound priggish, but you correct him with no time to stop yourself, an old habit.

—You got me, smarty, you know more than movies than me. Where did you get this car?—You feel really nervous even when you got this legally, you have your documents and license on time and he's being nice enough to not want to run away in a car that you technically borrowed for yourself.

—It's not mine.—No shit, Sherlock.

—No shit, Sherlock, I was asking where did you steal it.—You wanted to laugh but there's something with the uniform that just doesn't allow you to be yourself.—Are you drunk?

—No, no, fuck, no, it's just, I don't feel comfortable with cops—He raises his eyebrows but that is his only reaction.—Listen, is my boss' car, I'm doing the favor to take it to the studio, and I'm really nervous because is fucking expensive, he's an asshole, I haven't drive un almost a year because you people only use cars if you're rich or your work and lives depend on it. I'm starving.—The last part came out of nowhere, you haven't eaten anything in almost 13 hours, maybe that's the actual reason why you are that moody.

He doesn't answer right away, takes his time to look at you, what makes you blush, he's really close, closer than he's ever been. Does he smell like green apples? Not the actual apples, the artificial smell they had given to them.

—Get out of the car.—Oh no, is he arresting you? Is he finally taking revenge for every time you make fun of his Hawaiian-type shirts? You know you have too much karma accumulated and a cop making you pay for it when you don’t believe in their sense of justice is kinda poetic, and evil.

You don’t want to discuss with someone with a taser, gun, pepper spray, or who knows what else. So you take your bag, the key car, and get off defeated.

—My turn is almost over, I’ll take you to eat something, c’mon.—He walks back to his patrol and you stay still for a few seconds still processing his words, you must look totally devastated for him to offer that. How you see it you have two options, go with him and spend an awkward hour with a person you don’t like or risk getting a fine, Tim can pay it, it’s not a big deal but you don’t want to owe him even the minimal thing.

You get in the car holding on to your bag to feel calmer, this is the first time you’re fully alone with him since you found him half-naked in your kitchen. Those defined abs may never leave your brain.

—Are you cold?—He interrupts your thoughts with his question, you didn’t notice you were shaking. He looks for something under his seat and gives you an NYPD hoodie, you hold it doubting your next move, is not like you don’t appreciate the gesture but it’d be easier to take if it doesn’t get that words printed—Is clean.—He says chuckling when he sees the way you’re looking at it.

—Is not that, just, you know, fuck the police, defund the NYPD, demilitarize the pigs and that stuff.—You say putting on the hoodie anyway, is a cold night and you won't help the institution wearing their propaganda.

—Yeah, I get it, but you can't change the system just from within.—You decide is not the right moment to have a political conversation so you shrug your shoulders and discreetly smell the hoodie, a mix of cologne, green apples, and cheap soap, you know is cheap because you buy the exact same, do its job.

—I'm in the mood for pizza.—You say casually, making a deal to yourself to try to be his friend, he is a small part of your life anyway.—Domino's is open at this time of the night?

—Tell me you're not consuming that shit, dear Lord, you been here for how long, two years? I can't believe your idea of a good pizza is Domino's. Stella hasn't taught you anything?—You're surprised by the level of condescension with a pizza and you mirror his smile, suddenly feeling embarrassed. Your school program includes people from all around the world so you don't have that much experience with actual new yorkers. Logan is rich, so he doesn't really count.

—What's wrong with Domino's? I don't buy much street food, is cheaper to buy things on the food market. Besides, all pizza is good.—The mention of Sheep makes you a little tense, so you don't say anything about it, is not a conversation to have with him.

—Don't blaspheme in the patrol, I just washed it—You laugh, finally, after a terrible weekend. You can see why she likes him, there is something about his voice, smile, and his eyes that feel... calm, like watching Friends after a marathon of Lord of the Rings.—There are rules to survive this city, and I'm surprised you have made it this far without a proper guide.

—Chill out Mr. Miyagi, I'm not from the jungle, and I've learned a lot by myself.—He gives you a lopsided grin as a request, and you put your fingers up ready to enlist your acquired knowledge.—Walk fast, like you're about to be stabbed, something that actually happened to me, with an umbrella—He nods and laughs being related to it.—Number two, no small talk, no one cares, even if they ask. Number three, if you look a stranger in the eye, especially a homeless person, you have essentially invited them to approach you.

—Number four, we never eat from Domino's, Papa John's, Pizza hut, or any other chain restaurant, only trucks and local places are allowed.—You roll your eyes but you get the point, is just, again, you're not much into street food, it doesn't taste like home and the only way to eat food like that is preparing it yourself.

—Fine, fuck capitalism, let's support local places—You make an obvious fake enthusiastic tone but he nods proudly.—Number five, you don't need a car to live here, not even know how to drive. I would have successfully avoided this police brutality if I had followed that rule.

—For someone who is about to eat for free, you whine too much.—He parks the car and gives you a sign to go with him. You see him go to a pizza truck and order, you realize at the moment how ridiculous you look, so before chasing him you let your hair down, take your huge earrings off, and roll up the skirt of your dress until your mid-thighs letting the hoodie cover the rest, and clean the red lipstick with a Kleenex from your bag. Now you look more like a college person and not a rich girl who just got seized.

—Here you go.—He says giving you a slice as big as your head, looks oily and spreading cheese everywhere. Perfect.

—Is it vegan?—You ask receiving the food with an obnoxious face. His kind grind turned into a dread expression and you give him your second laugh of the day.—I'm kidding.

You are about to give it a bite when you see passing next to you a huge rat with the exact same slice as yours in its mouth, running into the dark of the night happy to have obtained the food for its family. They use to scare you when you just moved out but now they're like any other pigeon in the sky.

—Rule... whatever, a rat with a slice of pizza is a symbol for good luck, congratulations.—He pets your head awkwardly, not sure if you're ok with the physical contact, which, surprisingly, you are.

—I see rats with bagels all the time.—Pizza and bagels, that's the main culinary wonders of the city, you like it, not much to object but is hard not to compare it with your home's food.

—Is easy to confuse a rough diamond with a simple rock.—You both eat in silence, enjoying the mixed sounds of the city and all the different smells, the whole situation feels like one of those lofi music videos. You remember thinking about moments like this before getting the scholarship, what would it be like to feel normal in the city of your dreams.

—How do you know that much about movies?—He asks after a few minutes when you take a break to drink something, that pizza is not easy to take.

—When I was a kid a spent much time on my own, so my dad bought me a used DVD reproducer, and at the corner of my neighborhood was this movie store where you could buy 5 pirate movies for one dollar. They were blurred, with a terrible sound, and most of the time with the wrong movie inside but they helped me to not feel lonely. Eventually, the store closed but I've watched everything in it by then—He gives you a warm smile, you never told that story to anyone, not because is too intimate to share, but because no one asked, it doesn't sound like a question with a complex answer.—Anyway, I watched Marie Antoinette when I was like eight, and I decided at that moment that however is done I wanted to be part of that magic.

—You hear all kind of people chasing dreams in this city but is hard to find someone who actually deserves it.—You blush and you cover it with your hair but the smile on your voice is impossible to hide.

—Is that a compliment? You must really want me to like you to date Sheep.—You laugh but you can see his face tense, so you can guess your friend has been busy breaking everyone’s hearts.

—She hasn’t returned my calls in three days so I don’t think there’s much you can do—You nod, all this time you thought he was the reason she is ignoring you but apparently you are both in the same boat.—But yeah, I don’t know what I was thinking, what I should have said is, Marie Antoinette at eight? I can see where all the damage started.

You gasp and throw your napkin at his head, he easily catches it without even looking at it and laughs; that was unexpectedly attractive.

—Why a cop?—You ask, not sure where that question came from, maybe you authentically want to know more about him, he just bought you food, and honestly, that's the easiest way to win your trust.

—I wanted to be an actor when I was a child. This is the city of opportunities so you may think that if you want to chase the big wonder, this is the perfect place to do it. But I grow up surrounded by these people giving their entire lives to get something just given to one in a million so I decided is not worth it. For many years I wondered what I wanted to do with my life and the answer was really clear, my dad was a cop, a good one, or that’s what people say. I don’t remember much because he died when I was seven—Conversations about death are not your strength, everything can turn out uncomfortable if you choose the wrong words.—It might not be that glamorous but if my father died for it, it surely worth it.

—For the good ones.—You raise your almost empty can of Coke and he does the same with a grin that warms the cold weather of the night.

—For the good ones.

The next two hours passed like minutes talking about anything and everything. It just felt right to talk freely with him, you didn’t feel judged for your awkward family moments or your random thoughts, not even once because he told you his too. At some point of the night he borrowed you his gym sweatpants, any of you could just suggest going home but that was off the table, end that peace just for weather reasons would have been a tragedy.

—I read Timothée Chalamet is a dick. Is that true?—The mention of his name remains you of your life and everything that comes with it, including the middle semester project that you must dedicate your entire day, one that is about to start.—What, you can’t talk about it?

—He is a complete dick with no sense of privacy or human decency—And when he interrupts a deep kiss to look at your eyes, smile, and caress your chin, you feel like a character of his Victorian movies. But he didn’t ask that.—But the next week he’ll be no longer my problem.

—That’s why we have rule twenty-three, don’t ask for a picture of a celebrity unless they are local—You have heard about it before but you haven’t got the opportunity to decide if you like that rule because the only celebrities you have seen are from work and that club’s party opening.—That means you’ll be free to go to the Stephen Kings’ movie projection there will be for Halloween.

You don’t know if that was a proposition, a suggestion, or just a simple recommendation, and whatever it is, you noticed he was nervous to ask. Is it wrong? It feels wrong like you were betraying your friend accepting to hang out with his boyfriend without her consent. But he didn’t ask you to go with him so is safe to answer.

—Yeah, I guess—You get a moment, four seconds top, where you shared innocent, curious, and tenting gazes like three graders in the playground. And that’s the further you will allow yourself to go.—We better leave, if the sunlight touch me I’ll turn into dust.

You get off the car hood and go to the side door, but this time he opens it for you. You give him a “seriously?” Look, receiving a little push in your arm as a response.

↬☀︎︎

A distant voice asks you to wake up, softly whispers that turn into caresses on your cheek, your eyes feel so heavy, even when you are well aware of your environment your eyelids keep closed.

—Good morning, Princess—This is the first time Tom calls you that way, the change from silly nicknames to Princess is enough to get you out of hibernation. He is squatting beside your bed, his smile is the promise of a better day, and chasing that idea you give him one small back.—Your mom has been texting me desperately all day, she said you're not answering her calls and is worried.

—Fuck, my phone broke last night, can I call her from yours?—That’s an oversimplification but in the search for a better story, that's what you decide to believe and tell. Tom nods and gives it to you, he looks happy, beyond that, this is the first time you see that subtle blush on his cheeks and the eyes sparkling. You sit on the bed next to his body looking for your mom's number, slowly he moves between your legs, you have shorts and an oversized Back To The Future t-shirt, you got took the time to prepare yourself to bed last night and keep Michael’s clothes inside your closet to wash them, like The Tell-Tale Heart, a little innocent secret who feels dirty somehow

The conversations with your mom are always long, nostalgic and the tears are hard to hold for both parts; after a long life sharing almost every day with her, her absence never feels smaller. But this time is different, Tom is exploring the bare skin under your knee with his warm hands, asking for permission with curious eyes, and when you don’t object to the touch the British boy keeps his exploring mission cautiously, giving special attention to see your eyes in case something change. Is time to hang up when he gives a long and loving kiss to your knee, the less erotic kiss you could think of but so intimate to bristle your skin.

—Not nice to touch someone's daughter when is talking to her mom.—The protest of your voice loses strength at every word, he heard that and just straight his back to reach your face, the gap is almost extinct.

—We're okay, she likes me.—He assures holding your hips and pulling you a bit to him. Tom looks very comfortable with the new closeness authorization, you like it but are not very sure about it yet, most of you still think of him as your best friend.

—Did she tell you that? Are you talking with my mom behind my back?—You laugh when he does, almost like nothing changed.

—She adores me, I swear, I'm invited to Christmas, you know?—You're not surprised, she invites everyone, Logan was too but the first time he got family plans and didn't make it to the second.

—You should go, maybe we can do...—His lips touch yours in a peak at the middle phrase and makes you forget what you were about to say.—Man, the audacity to interrupt...—Then he kisses you again, deeply, using his tongue to taste your inner lip and his hands holding your shirt in fists. That's a twist of events.

—Is that ok?—You hear a weak whisper coming out of his voice but you got so mesmerized on his lips that decided to ignore it and kiss him back instead. He responds to your touch and starts to lean over you to make you lay on the bed.

Jesucristo bendito, is this happening? like, actually happening? you must look like trash, you barely took all the makeup from the night before and didn't take a shower, you start to get so worried about smells, feelings, and what that'll mean to your already too much-spoiled friendship.

However, the time of doubts is done when Sheep starts yelling in the living room, you both reacted running to the sound and looking for your blonde friend. Michael is there but doesn't look like the same as a few hours ago, is annoyed and tired for the lack of sleep, a look that doesn't match him at all.—What did you do?—You ask him fast assuming she's mad for something he did.

—Just in time, the star of the movie, I was wondering how much it will take you to be the protagonist of this.—That is Sheep's voice talking about you and what must be your heart breaking from her words.

—Excuse me?—You wish your tone would be less savage but you can't help respond the same way she did.

—Logan wasn't enough, then you got the drummer, fucking Timothée Chalamet, Tom and now my boyfriend. I'm so glad I didn't leave you alone with my dad or I'd be calling you mom now.—You have no words to that, Michael doesn't even dare to look at you, he must have told her something she misunderstood, but Sheep, or well, Stella is saying things she actually thinks and keep to herself. Tom walks in front of you whispering things to her to calm her down but she is not looking at him, you didn't tell her anything about Tom either so he's taking responsibility this time.—Go ahead and fuck the whole city, Michael if that please you but you're crossing the line with Tom and you know that, you're going to ruin him as you ruin every man that enters in your life.—She has a very you moment having the last word of the dispute and getting out of the apartment with Michael going after her but not putting much effort in it.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

Taglist:

@eridanuswave @cjand10 @deluxeplanteater @rorodendra @navs-bhat @coxxxxxpi @leviosatothestars

Thanks for all the love and support, if you have opinions, suggestions, or want to be part of the tag list (Or don’t want to be part anymore) let me know, I appreciate every message.

[nobodyfamousposts]

My-Crack-ulous: Aku-Maid

In which I am a horrible person...

No seriously. Don’t read this.

For @mermain123, for bringing up the cursed image that started this mess in the first place.

Mermain: i said i was suffering

Mermain: i didn't want you to make the internet suffer

Me: That sounds like the internet’s problem.

Also for @bloody-writes. You know why...   ; )

_________________________

Hawk Moth was a supervillain who had been terrorizing Paris for the better part of two years.

But no one could really argue that not all of his ideas have been good. Or well thought out. Or in any way sensible even.

Like the time he akumatized a baby.

Or the time he akumatized a girl to transform people into exact replicas of herself.

Or the fact he keeps akumatizing Mr. Ramier for going on 29 times at this point…

Or the other time he akumatized a baby…

Times that he destroyed Paris. Times that he nearly destroyed the world. Times that he gave people powers that were completely contradictory to the goals of getting the Miraculous he was after by erasing the heroes from existence or transforming them in ways that made the Miraculous inaccessible.

But none of his akumatizations had ever gotten him as much hate, caused as much misery, were were ultimately as pointless as this most recent incident.

Aku-maid.

It was known the instant she was akumatized. As soon as she was transformed, a wave of power enveloped the city. And within that wave, half of the people of Paris were transformed as well. 

…the male half.

Her power was to transform all the men of Paris. She didn’t even have a weapon or attack that did it, it just happened almost instantaneously. All men suddenly found themselves changed.

Or rather, their outfits…

“Ah!”

“What the hell—!?”

“I can’t get it off!”

One by one, every male in Paris suddenly found themselves in a much different state of attire. What had just been a normal day full of various styles and appearances had all suddenly become very…frilly.

“WHY AM I A MAID?!”

Much as implied her namesake, the akuma’s power involved transforming whatever any man was wearing into some variation of a maid outfit.

Every man.

All over Paris.

From Andre Bourgeois, who has refused to leave his office to make an official statement…

“ANDRE!” Audrey shouted, banging on the door. “Get out here this instant!”

“But, honey, I can’t be seen like this!”

To Roger Raincomprix, who has tried to continue his normal duties despite the…change of uniform…

“Stop in the name of the law!” Roger shouted, reaching into his pockets in an automatic reaction to try to get his handcuffs. While the dress he was wearing did still have pockets, the only item they procured was a cleaning rag, which was notably less threatening as the suspect in question stared for a moment before deciding to take off.

“HEY!”

And yes, even to…

“I’m a Macrophage!” Adrien gushed happily as he lifted his lengthy skirt to give a twirl.

…even to Adrien Agreste, who was apparently the only one to find anything pleasant about the current crisis.

Nino stared.

“Dude. Seriously?”

“I’ve always wanted to cosplay!”

Nino, having been long-since exposed to his friend’s deep love for anime in its many forms, at least knew what a Macrophage was. But even so, he couldn’t help but feel there was something odd about the way Adrien took to the long pale dress and cap.

Kim rested a hand on Nino’s shoulder. “Just let the guy enjoy this.”

“At least somebody is.” Nathaniel muttered bitterly as he tried to hide as behind his sketchbook. It was a futile attempt, of course, as he at most only covered his face, leaving the red dress, white apron with pockets, and knee-high boots on full display.

“I don’t understand how he can.” Max complained. He tugged at his own skirt in vain, looking at Adrien’s ankle-length ensemble enviously. The skirt was much shorter than he would have liked—reaching a couple inches above his thigh and almost seemed to be defying gravity to stay that way despite his attempts to get it to either flatten or otherwise lower. “I question the design choices.”

“But you look just like Misaki from Maid Sama! And Nathaniel looks like Lizbeth!” Adrien insisted. “It’s totally a cosplay!”

Max just stared incredulously. He was wearing a black dress with puffy sleeves that tapered off just shy of his elbow, white apron, a cap, and thigh-high black stockings and knee-high boots, it seemed Adrien did have a point.

Max, in all fairness, didn’t particularly care in favor of the problems that came with suddenly finding himself in a short dress, heels, and a corset.

“I just can’t peg where Kim or Nino’s outfits are from.” He continued, studying the outfits in question contemplatively. “But give me a little time! It’ll come to me!”

The boys had been having an afternoon hangout session in the park. No girls. No teachers. No Gabriel Agreste or bodyguards to whisk certain teen models away. It was supposed to be a normal non-drama-filled day.

…which was naturally when it became something less than normal and certainly more than drama-filled.

“I think I get why girls complain about this sort of thing now.” Kim said, looking at his shoes. “These heels are kind of uncomfortable…”

“Are you sure it’s the heels and not the flippers?” Nino asked, annoyed.

Sure enough, Kim was wearing flipper-heels. They were black and also had black ankle straps with a little bow on each. This strange footwear did seem to go with Kim’s talent in swimming, which was also emphasized by the ruffle maid swimsuit they matched with.

“Nah, it’s definitely the heels.” Kim insisted.

So this was what their all-boys’ afternoon had come to.

Kim was wobbling on unsteady heels.

Nathaniel groaned and kept his ever reddening face covered.

Max was questioning where they could procure jackets. Long jackets.

Adrien was giggling to himself and asking if they could do a full Cells at Work group cosplay.

And Nino paled, suddenly realizing something.

"Guys. Guys, we have to hide!"

"Why?" Kim asked. "It's annoying, but this akuma doesn't seem really dangerous."

"No, you don't get it!" Nino hissed. "If Alya catches us, we will NEVER live this down!"

Nathaniel looked over the edge of his sketchbook. “Alya wouldn’t actually post pictures of us to the Ladyblog, would she?”

A long pause followed.

The boys paled.

Except for Adrien, who turned to them with a gasp of excitement. “Do you think she would? We could do a group picture!”

All the other boys paled even more, looking downright ill.

And immediately took off running.

Or at least as well as they could with heels. None of them made it very far without tripping, stumbling, or simply struggling to stay upright as they still tried to move away from the area as quickly as the heels would allow.

“But what’s wrong with—?”

“JUST RUN, ADRIEN!”

“Who thought maid outfits with high heels was a good idea?! How can anyone be expected to clean in these things?

“I will never draw high heels on a super heroine again.”

“I can’t breathe! Who created corsets?! What objective does this achieve besides crushing one’s lungs?”

Nino groaned, still running. “I hope Hawk Moth is suffering as much as we are!”

_____________________

If Nino Lahiffe had the ability to break the fourth wall and peer into the events happening outside of his immediate vicinity, he would be happy to find this was actually the case.

And he would laugh.

Oh, how he would laugh.

“Sir…?”

“Don’t.” Came the dark growl from a very unhappy supervillain. “Don’t say anything, Nathalie..."

This was an akuma that impacted every male in Paris. Every male.

…even to Hawk Moth, himself.

“Why did this happen?”

It would appear that even Hawk Moth was not immune to Aku-Maid’s power as he had been similarly transformed. And unfortunately, due to the change, he could no longer access his Miraculous. The Butterfly broach had disappeared, having been transformed along with his outfit.

And his outfit had…actually left much to be desired.

Which was truthfully just a nice way of saying it was ugly.

Really, really ugly.

Normally the picture of stoicism, Nathalie had to pretend to cough to avoid reacting.

“Can’t you order the akuma to undo it?” She eventually was able to ask.

He lowered his head and closed his eyes in concentration. “No. It’s no good. I’ve lost the link!”

His eyes widened and he clutched his chest in a panic.

“Where is the Miraculous?!” Hawk Moth demanded, trying—and failing to pull at the tasteless dress. But as others across the city had already discovered, the clothes were magic and would not be removed or displaced. Not even the frock or the cap he now wore.

“Sir, you were transformed when you changed. It looks like the Butterfly Miraculous was transformed along with you.”

He froze, eyes widening in horror. “But that’s—”

He grasped at the empty place on his chest. Where once had been his lapel and pin now only had ruffles and a leathery texture. His mask remained in place, though it was now fully black except for the openings around his eyes and mouth, which were bordered with a lighter grey color. The material and outfit overall had a shine to it that could be found on any wetsuit.

To put it nicely: he looked atrocious.

To put it bluntly: he looked like some sort of BDSM role-player with a maid kink.

So it was fortunate, perhaps, that no one else in Paris would have to be subject to the sight.

Except Nathalie. Who was probably going to have nightmares.

Or a coronary from the laughter she was trying to hold back.

It was admittedly a bit hard to tell.

But it seemed she was handling the situation a bit better than Hawk Moth, despite the fact that the man was currently unable to see himself or the full extent of the monstrosity he now wore.

…this was probably for the best. Given the man’s fashion sense, there was really no telling whether he would be horrified or inspired, and nobody would want to find out.

“I can’t contact the akuma! And I can’t call it back!”

He moaned, covering his…already covered face with his hands. “I’ll never be taken seriously again!”

Nathalie resolutely held back from pointing out he was barely being taken seriously now.

“It’s…not that bad?” She tried. Not very well, but she tried.

Hawk Moth clutched his head in horror. “Unless Ladybug and Chat Noir can stop this akuma, we’re doomed!”

“Sir, it’s just an akuma that puts men in maid outfits. It’s really not that bad.”

“DOOOOOOMED!!!”

__________________________

The akuma, for her part, was unaware of her benefactor’s misery, too busy enjoying the abject misery of everyone else around her.

Nobody knew just what had set the girl off to get her akumatized in the first place. Her comments about men being “the eye-candy now” suggested an argument. The maid outfits involved suggested what the topic of the argument had been regarding.

To be honest, nobody had actually realized she was the akuma responsible. She did appear fairly normal by akuma terms, dressed in a seemingly authentic Victorian era dress more befitting as an authentic Lady’s Maid compared the frillier, lacier varieties that the men around her had suddenly found themselves in. What would normally have gotten her a few odds looks was mostly ignored in the face of the sudden change. Few even took notice of her dark purple skin or black hair. Or the fan in her hand.

��THAT’S RIGHT! SEE HOW YOU LIKE BEING OBJECTIFIED!”

The yelling…was a bit harder to miss.

It was the first thing that drew the attention of the three girls settled at the cafe.

The second thing was the various cries of horror as several of the men around them suddenly discovered their state of dress transformed into…well…dresses. Of a variety that made the little cafe appear more like a maid cafe than anything.

The third thing was the appearance of a familiar face running down the road, holding up his long white dress to make running easier as he looked for a place to hide.

Marinette stared.

“ADRIEN?!”

Adrien Agreste was running around in a long white and pale cream Victorian-era dress and cap, looking like Cinderella running from the ball. Except a maid.

A quick glance to her companions showed that both Alya and Kagami were similarly staring in befuddlement, so this was neither her imagination or a fever dream.

“Adrien? What’s going on?” Alya asked for everyone.

“It’s an akuma!” He replied, quickly. “She’s putting everybody into cosplay!”

“…cosplay?”

“Yeah!”

“…everybody?”

He paused, glancing around. “Well…all the guys, I think?”

Marinette stared.

“…Just that?” Alya asked, thankfully taking over while Marinette’s brain started to become aware that this WAS Adrien she was talking to. “She’s not doing anything else besides putting guys into…‘cosplays’?”

He blinked in confusion. “I…think so?”

“She isn’t…I don’t know…commanding you or anything?”

“Well, she hasn’t yet. Which, really, isn’t so bad for an akuma if you think about it.” He said with a frown before he noticed the strange look on Kagami’s face. “Kagami, are you okay?”

Kagami made a strangled sound.

“Marinette?”

Marinette pretended to choke on a drink from an empty glass to avoid speaking.

“Can I add to your order?” The waiter came by, seeming unconcerned by the ruckus or the act that he was now wearing a rather cutesy maid outfit the likes of which would be seen in a maid cafe in Japan.

“You don’t seem put off by this.” Alya pointed out, noting his relatively unfazed attitude compared to the panicking of the other men around them…or the gushing from Adrien.

The waiter took it in stride.

“It’s okay.” He replied blankly. “I’m already dead inside.”

“Oh.”

He turned to Kagami. “Do you need anything else, Miss?”

Kagami was still staring at Adrien, blushing furiously.

“I think I have a problem.”

“You mean a kink?”

“A. Problem.” She spoke through gritted teeth.

“Story of my life.” The waiter replied as he refilled her glass of water, either unaware or uncaring of the specific nature of her trouble.

Alya gasped in sudden realization. “Wait! If this is happening here then…” She turned to Adrien. “Where were Nino and the boys?” He blinked, curious. “Oh, they decided to head home. Why?”

An almost sinister smirk formed on Alya’s face. One that would have anyone it was directed at cowering in fear. And strong enough to be felt from several blocks away.

Unbeknownst to them, Nino felt that smirk like a trail of cold fingers down his back, and promptly threw himself into his room and slammed the door shut behind him.

As if she sensed this, Alya slammed several bills on the table and dashed out the door.

“GOTTA GO!”

Realizing an akuma was about, Marinette was right on her heels. She found a nearby alleyway and immediately prepared to transform and face this latest threat.

“Oh my god. OH MY GOD.” She broke down, letting out the laughter she’d been trying so hard to hold in. “He’s a dork! The boy I’m crushing on is a complete DORK who is in to cosplaying! He thinks maid outfits are COSPLAY!”

…or she would be.

“And here I’ve been driving myself nuts with anxiety over just asking him out and he doesn’t even—”

Any minute now…

“Marinette!” Tikki hissed. “You need to stop the akuma!”

“Can’t I just take a picture first?”

“MARINETTE!”

“Oh fine…”

_____________________

Luka didn’t realize anything had happened. He felt a bit off balanced for a moment, and a bit colder, but attributed that to being on the Liberty. So he simply shifted his stance to be a bit more steady and continued playing. It wasn’t until the drum stopped that he realized something was actually wrong.

The look of shock from Mylene and the following shriek from Ivan cemented it.

He spun around, not sure what could have elicited such a cry from his fellow bandmate. And at first, he couldn’t really tell what had happened. Ivan was crouched behind the drum set, covering his face with his hands and trembling in what appeared to be mortification.

Then he noticed the mobcap on Ivan’s head, which he was pretty sure hadn’t been there before. And Ivan’s shirt seemed distinctly…fluffier and frillier than he remembered seeing a few minutes ago. He tried to move closer to offer help, only for his own balance to be off. And when he looked down…

Oh.

The dress was new.

As were the stockings.

And the notably thinner and sleeker heels on his boots.

He hummed to himself, considering the change.

“Akuma?” Juleka asked him.

“Most likely.” He replied.

Mylene had rushed up to their practice stage and to Ivan’s side, even as he moaned for her to not look at him. The poor guy was completely red in embarrassment. Seeing how upset he was, the other three had backed away, leaving Mylene to try to help her boyfriend.

“Luka, are you okay?” Rose asked worriedly, trying to respect Ivan’s need for space while also checking in on their other effected bandmate.

“I’m fine. It was just a surprise at first.” He replied.

It wasn’t every day that you suddenly found yourself in a maid outfit, after all. It was a simple outfit. White off the shoulder puffy sleeves with black frills. A black tube skirt. White apron. And…he reached to his neck where a weight was, feeling a choker.

Huh…

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

Honestly, he could be in worse.

Rose seemed surprised at that. “Really? Even with those shoes?”

He looked down at the shoes in question. The boots were his style—surprisingly, given it was an akuma. The higher heels were definitely different from his norm, and clearly what Rose was referring to. In any other circumstances, she would be right.

But...

Luka smiled, shifting his stance and resting a hand on his hip. “Well, someone had to teach Jules to walk in heels. And I couldn’t show her if I didn’t know how myself.

Juleka huffed. “Don’t say that like you didn’t enjoy playing dress up.”

Luka merely curtsied, not only showing off more of his slightly ripped and punk-looking fishnet stockings, but almost proudly displaying his ability to move fluently in heels.

Rose appropriately “oo-ed” and “aah-ed” at his display. Juleka merely shook her head and smiled. Ivan was still recovering from his panic attack and had resolutely refused to come out from behind the drums, despite Mylene’s reassurances.

“So it has to be an akuma, right?” Rose asked.

“If it is, I want a picture or two, at least.” Juleka muttered as she admired Luka’s outfit, mumbling about commissioning Marinette to recreate it in her size. She hadn’t known maids could come in this style.

Mylene nodded from her place at Ivan’s side. “Though it seems rather fortunate if this is all the akuma is doing.”

“We don’t know if that is it, though.” Luka warned. “For all we know, there could be some other ability she has if she catches us. It would probably be safer if we hid out inside until this is over.”

The others agreed. And Anarka, bless her soul, actually came up with a large blanket for Ivan to wrap himself in to preserve his dignity. Then she and Mylene helped the taller teen to safely relocate to inside. Much like Luka, Ivan’s shoes had changed, but he was substantially less able to maneuver in them. And no amount of effort or force on his part could seem to separate the heels from his feet.

Once he and the others were inside, Luka moved to follow. He hesitated, however, at the sound of something landing behind him.

“Viperion? We’ll need your help.”

He turned to see Ladybug standing tall. And was that perhaps a hint of blush on her face?

Oh. 

A shame.

It looked like Juleka wouldn’t be getting her pictures, after all...

_____________________

KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!

He shuddered, backing away from the door as far as possible.

“Ninoooooo…”

It was a fight for survival.

“C’mon, Nino. Just open the door.”

The survival of his dignity, but still!

He’d lost track of the others and immediately rushed home and to the safety of his room. His room, which he could lock and hide away in until this all blew over.

“I have a key!” Came Chris’s voice. “Somewhere…”

“Give it and I won’t take any pictures of you.”

“Deal!”

His room, which his traitorous little brother was willing to allow the enemy entry into.

Under any normal circumstances, he wouldn’t be this desperate. But if Alya caught him like this…

Black dress. Puffy at the shoulder, sleeves that extended to his wrists and were bound by white cuffs. A white smock tied back with a white ribbon. White bow at the neck and white frills along the bottom of the dress?

Oh yeah…Alya would never let this go…

He knew he shouldn’t have gotten into all those anime Adrien pushed him into! So what if the maids were cute? And sure, he’d admit he's had a thought or two of Alya in such attire...

But how was he supposed to know Alya had such thoughts as well? And in the complete opposite direction! Clearly this was the akuma’s magic punishing him!

Nino looked to his window.

It would be a long fall, but it was his only escape.

But would the broken legs be worth it when Alya would soon figure out what he did and be able to catch up to him easily?

Maybe he could try to climb up instead…but in these heels? It was suicide!

“Fufufu!”

…screw it. 

He opened up his window, only to meet a new pair of eyes.

Ladybug stared in surprise from her place at his windowsill, a certain box in hand.

“…hi?”

“Oh thank god!” He exclaimed. He took her by her shoulders, half leaning out and half pulling her in. “Alya’s insisting on taking pictures! Please tell me you have my Miraculous with you!”

“Actually, about that—”

“I don’t care! I’ll do anything! Just please—SAVE ME!”

Ladybug looked back behind her to a distant rooftop and the other allies she’d left behind.

The sound of a key jingling could be heard and Nino stared up at her, pleadingly.

Well, she could never resist the eyes…

By the time they’d gotten the door open, the room was empty.

Nino was gone.

_____________________

Six heroes stood assembled.

Ladybug.

Chat Noir.

Carapace.

Viperion.

King Monkey.

Pegasus.

Six heroes.

Five of whom were male.

And…still wearing some semblance of feminine maid-like outfits.

Ladybug wasn’t sure if she should be impressed or worried.

“What the hell?! I thought the Miraculous were supposed to change us into our hero suits?” Nino groused.

Contrary to his hopes and expectations, using the Miraculous had not transformed him into his normal Carapace look, but had rather simply given him a different outfit. The dress itself was green and had a turtle shell pattern, while the apron and waist belts were a brown color. The bowknot around his neck was a dark green and a brown to match the apron. He wore stockings. And to his very limited relief, his shoes were flats instead of heels.

“Well, at least this skirt is longer.” Pegasus said, now wearing a dark brown blouse and bicycle skirt. The skirt went to just above his ankles, for which he was grateful. But this seemed to be countered by the increase of height to his heels.

Plus no corset. The outfit was still fit tightly and not very comfortable, but at least he could breathe now.

“Though I believe we’re getting away from maid-wear now.” Chat said, conversationally.

Pegasus gave him a flat look. “I’m not complaining.”

If Chat had witnessed his earlier ensemble, surely he would understand.

King Monkey, for his part, seemed somewhat appeased with his Miraculous suit. It was a notably more Eastern style of dress, appearing more like robes worn by palace servants. He wore a light brown waistcoat with wide sleeves over a blouse and a wrap-around skirt. It looked heavy, but Kim seemed to have no trouble with it. Maybe it was made of a lighter material…?

And Viperion’s dress was different in style as well. Whereas his maid outfit as Luka had been more punk, this was more sleek. Wearing a green sleeveless dress and white smock, as well as what appeared to be a green corset. The dress had a slit at the sides, giving more maneuverability for his legs…as well as more show, given the appearance of a garter belt and stockings. His shoes were high heeled but including a beautiful snake design that wrapped around his ankles. To finish it off, rather than remain bare, his arms were covered in what appeared to be loose green sleeves that started at his elbows and extended to his wrists.

…maybe a picture or two wouldn’t hurt? Or three? Because the amount of details on these outfits were amazing and she was just brimming with ideas now…

Ladybug broke out of her musings when someone tugged on her shoulder to get her attention.

It was Chat. Chat who, much like the other heroes, as dressed in a fantastical outfit. Though a maid outfit, it was definitely more cat-themed with a giant paw-like gloves covering his hands, a paw print on his apron, and bow and bell on his tail which rang as he shifted.

What material was that made of, anyway? She kind of wanted to give it a feel and see if she could find something to compare it to. Maybe a quick sketch?

Oh. Right.

Akuma.

Maybe if she was lucky, they could finish this quickly so she could rush back home and take notes while she still had the ideas bouncing in her brain.

…maybe someone would have gotten pictures by then…?

“Ladybug?” Chat whispered, snapping her back to reality.

“Yes?”

Chat frowned in concern. “Is the Guardian okay with this?”

Ladybug froze.

“PSST! Ladybug!” Came a voice from a nearby rooftop, drawing her attention.

“Master Fu?”

“Ladybug! Here’s the Miracle Box. Take as many allies as you can and resolve this as soon as possible!”

“Master? Are…you hiding in a box?”

“No questions! Just go!”

“…he’s fine.”

Chat seemed uncertain, but decided not to pry.

“Let’s just split up and find the akuma.” Ladybug said. “But don’t engage until we’re all together!”

With that, the six split into three groups, with Chat and Carapace going one way and King Monkey and Pegasus going another, leaving Ladybug and Viperion searching together with the former trying not to get caught stealing peeks at the latter.

“Is something wrong?” He asked with a smile.

…trying. The key word was trying not to get caught.

“No! Nothing!” She replied quickly. “I’m just…surprised that you can still move so quickly in those heels.”

“I’ve had practice.” He explained, still smiling. He even lifted one leg behind him, managing to stand perfectly balanced even on one leg in heels.

“I…see.”

Part of her wanted very much to laugh. It was the same part that had found this entire day ridiculous. The other part of her was her inner artist at work and really wanted to make a few sketches inspired from the presented outfits. Like Viperion’s sleeves…and those shoes with a snake coil wrapping around the ankle…

“Ladybug!”

Gaah! Focus!

She turned towards the shout to find King Monkey and Pegasus stumbling towards her.

Her fingers twitched. She ignored it.

“We found the akuma.” King Monkey reported. “She doesn’t seem to be doing anything. Just…kind or roaming around.”

“And laughing.” Pegasus added bitterly. “She appears to be doing a lot of that.”

“How’s THAT for ‘doll them up’?” Came a shout from street level. “HOW DO YOU LIKE THAT, HUH?!”

As if on cue…

Ladybug and the others peeked over the edge of the roof.

“Has she displayed any other powers?” She asked.

“No.” Pegasus replied. “From what we could see, her power has already been activated to…obvious effect.” He hesitated, resolutely avoiding mentioning his new outfit or the indignity he’d already suffered. “She has only been laughing. And tripping the occasional person while searching for someone in particular—possibly the one responsible for her ire.”

Ladybug nodded. “At least she’s distracted and doesn’t know we’re here. We just need a plan of attack before we try to fight her.”

“No problem!” King Monkey said with a grin as he reached for his weapon. “We can just do a head on attack with our weapons and—”

They stared.

In place of his staff was a broom. A normal cleaning broom.

They sent cautious glances to each other before they checked their own inventory.

Said inventory consisted of a broom, a bucket, and a feather duster.

“I believe that constitutes as a problem.” Pegasus stated worriedly.

“That’s no fair!” King Monkey exclaimed. “Adrien was able to summon a machete!”

Ladybug blanched at that. “A what?!”

Pegasus pushed up his glasses. “I believe it’s a component of his…‘cosplay’?”

“Pfft!” Ladybug covered her mouth with her hand.

“Ladybug?”

“I-it’s nothing!” She replied hurriedly.

Viperion raised his eyebrow at her but didn’t comment.

King Monkey at least seemed to take it in stride.

“Now we just need a plan for attack!”

“With what?!” Pegasus questioned, waving the feather duster in frustration. “Our weapons don’t work!”

“More like our weapons aren’t actually weapons.” Viperion said, considering his bucket.

“I could smack her.” King Monkey offered, holding up his broom. “Maybe your feather duster has dust on it and could make her sneeze?”

Pegasus gave him a flat look.

“I think the broom is the best weapon we have right now.”

“Don’t knock a bucket!” King Monkey commanded, resolutely. “I got one stick on my head one time and it took hours to get it off! Buckets are evil, man!”

Pegasus sighed and rubbed his head. “It concerns me that you’re the second person I know whom that has happened to.”

Ladybug coughed, discretely trying to draw attention off that particular subject lest identities be at risk. “Anyway, I think I have a plan...”

______________________

To be honest, it wasn’t that difficult of an akuma. Especially not with six of them teaming up against it.

Akumaid truly see to have no ability other than the initial one of transforming what any male in Paris was wearing into something embarrassing...unless you were Adrien, apparently. Aside from that, she showed no other power—neither over the clothes themselves or the people wearing them. Well, she wasn’t controlling any of the victims or shrinking the clothing to choke them at any rate...which if you think about it, was rather lame for an akuma in the power department.

The only real disadvantage in battle came in the difficulty the boys had moving freely in their current outfits. And the afore noted lack of proper weaponry.

Their advantage of surprising was ruined by Chat’s bell ringing before they could ambush her, and both Carapace and Pegasus losing balance with their heels and falling over. King Monkey’s outfit, while longer, also meant more fabric to flap about and resist his movements regardless of how light it may have been, so he wasn’t able to get a hit in fast enough before the akuma turned on him and knocked him away.

Chat was able to get a hit in though.

With his…Kitty Wand…

“THIS IS MAGICAL PUNISHMENT!” He shouted as he smacked the akuma over the head.

“Chat. Chat no. Chat why?”

And Ladybug had hopelessly lost her composure by this point and was laughing. Just laughing. Laughing so hard she was crying actual tears as she smacked her own thigh in her struggle to breathe. Viperion was trying to help her stay standing, keeping an arm around her to support her as she half leaned and half chuckled tears into his chest.

“What’s going on? Does the akuma have some power over Ladybug, too?” King Monkey asked.

…

Viperion sighed.

“Sure. Something to that effect.”

Ladybug wheezed.

“LADYBUG!”

“Lu-haha-lucky haha-charm!”

It said something when her own Lucky Charm magicked up a paper bag. With Ladybug still victim to her fit of giggles, Viperion simply put the bag over her face and had her try to breathe.

“A paper bag doesn’t help with out of control laughing.” Pegasus noted as he forced himself to his feet.

“Do you want to try to figure out the Lucky Charm?” Viperion bit out in annoyance, Ladybug still shaking in his arms.

Pegasus coughed and backed away. “No, thank you.”

Ladybug let out another giggle.

“All right, enough! I’ll stop her!” Carapace shouted, reaching for his back. “With my…serving plate.”

His shield.

His precious shield was gone.

“…Carapace?” Ladybug asked.

The newly rendered Turtle Maid sighed and simply threw the plate as he had his shield, not expecting much.

…the plate slice flew through the air at a surprising speed, but missed the akuma entirely. Instead, it sailed past her, hitting a light post.

Ladybug had expected it to bounce, but instead there was a sound of shredding metal as the serving plate actually tore through the lamp post and into the concrete itself.

The lamp post, now detached, tilted and fell over—conveniently on top of the akuma before she had the time to realize what was happening and move out of the way.

SLAM!

It fell on top of her and she hit the ground.

“Huzzah?” Kim asked.

“Well…that’s one way to defeat an akuma.” Pegasus marveled.

“Great. Now can we fix this already?” Carapace asked impatiently. If they took too much longer, someone was bound to catch them.

That someone would probably be Alya.

And that was the last thing he wanted at this point.

“But I kind of wanted to make a sketch at least…” Ladybug muttered to herself, holding the paper bag Charm to her chest.

“LADYBUG!”

She waved her hands insistently. “I’m on it!”

But she could dream…

“MIRACULOUS LADYBUG!”

It was with some disappointment that the Miraculous Cure wiped away the outfits of the other heroes, returning them to their original costumes.

“OH THANK GOD!”

“That was…horrible…”

“Corsets were invented as a torture method, I swear…”

“Shieldy!” Carapace exclaimed, hugging the shield in relief. “Never leave me again!”

“You okay now, Ladybug?” Chat asked her in worry.

“I’m fine.” She said, even though she wasn’t really. She felt like she’d missed a chance, even if it was for the greater good. But it would have been an abuse of her power to be taking pictures of the guys in that state and she already felt bad enough for breaking down laughing in the middle of the fight.

In that moment, however, the loveliness of ladybugs that made up the Cure returned from their task of restoring Paris to flow over Ladybug herself before vanishing, leaving her holding an envelope in their wake. Curious, she opened the envelope…

She gasped.

Inside were a multitude of photos of the other heroes. From different angles. In different positions. All of them in their new outfits.

Ladybug bit the inside of her cheek to keep from responding and drawing attention to herself.

…Thank you, Tikki.

Best. Kwami. Ever. “Ladybug…” Carapace said in growing wariness. “What is that?”

“Nothing!”

“Ladybug. That better not be what I think it is…”

She shoved the photos back in the envelope.

“It’s nothing at all!”

“Why don’t I believe you?”

Noticing the stand off, the others approached as well.

“It was just something I was missing, yeah.”

“Then let us see it.”

“Can’t.” She replied, clutching the envelope to her chest. “It’s…Ladybug stuff.”

“Hand it over. Right now!”

"NOOO! THESE ARE FOR THE FUTURE OF FASHIOOOON!”

“GIVE US THE PHOTOS!”

“Wait—did she get any of all of us in a group cosplay pic?”

“NOT NOW, CHAT!”

Unfortunately, that small distraction was all she needed to get away.

Viperion, the only one having been pretty nonchalant this whole time, simply watched her leave and the others shout after her.

“…isn’t she going to take our Miraculous back?”

_________________________

Angela sighed, already dreading what was to come.

It was a humiliating end to an already humiliating week as the former akuma victim had been forced to return to her job to go over the updates for the new Ladybug game with the rest of her team.

Said updates were apparently to include maid outfits for the female heroes thanks to one particular coworker who had decided to work on maid outfits for the female heroes instead of the level he was assigned. It had been part of the reason she had been angry enough to be akumatized.

The fact that he was insistent on shoving his maid fetish into the game for no good reason other than having them be eye candy was the other part.

The images in question that he insisted on bringing featured the three female super heroes of the city: Ladybug, Rena Rouge, and Queen Bee.

But not as anyone had ever seen them.

Instead of their usual hero suits, the three girls were portrayed in sultry, even provocative poses. And most notably, all three were wearing some mockery of a French Maid outfit…as what would be believed by Americans, no less.

They might as well have been the initial sketches of pinup posters.

“You can’t still be serious!”

“Hey, I’m not the one who got akumatized just because I was jealous that someone else had a good idea.” He said bitingly and giving her a pointed look, perhaps still a bit bitter of the aforementioned experience that her akumatization had caused.

“It’s not a good idea, John.” Angela countered. “There was no reason to have the girls be running in maid outfits.”

He shrugged. “We could just say an akuma did it. After all, we did just get an akuma who did exactly that.” He said, giving her another look.

She clenched her fists and was about to retort when their team lead entered the room.

The meeting commenced and she’d been forced to bite her tongue. Each of the team members went over their progress and updates for their contribution to the game. Level design. Enemies. Testing.

And then came his grand achievement. Instead of the level he was assigned, he gave scantily clad designs for three of the eight known heroes.

What effort.

“I was thinking we really need to include something to make our game stand out, so I made some extra skins for the heroes.” He bragged, sending her a smug look. “The appeal would sell plenty of copies.”

“Or the controversy.” Angela muttered back before turning to the team lead and hoping that the man leading their group had more empathy…or sense.

The team lead looked over the designs with an analyzing gaze. Tiffeny, despite the initial impression his name would give, was a rather buff man who took no shit. But was also a guy. Who liked guy things. But did those things include young women in maid costumes?

After a moment, Tiffeny dropped the pictures on the table and looked at John incredulously. “You know, if you were going to base skins off recent events, you could at least have been authentic.”

John stared. “What?”

“It was the guys who were affected by Akumaid. Not the girls. If we’re going to do maids, we need to keep it true to life, just like the rest of the designs we’ve included. We talked about this when we started this project.”

“But it’s what the audience wants!” John argued.

“Do you know who comprises the majority of our audience?” Tiffeny asked. “Girls. Girls, gay guys, and those who are exploring their interests. Guys in the outfits would sell leagues more than the girls.” He started ticking his fingers “It’s different. It’s original. And it’s based in actual events. People would love it.”

“But…they’ll love this!”

“Man, if people wanted to see sexy girls in skimpy clothing, they’d play literally any other game! Or watch porn.” Tiffeny explained. “But what game do you know of has had guys in maid outfits?”

“Well...”

“Exactly. We want to stand out. And we even have recent events as justification. So if you’re going to be wasting time you should be spending on level-making to put people in maid skins, then get those male heroes some maid costumes.”

“But that’s not fair!” John exclaimed.

Tiffeny paused at that. “Hmm…you’re right.”

With that, he turned to her. “You’re good at designing. Make some butler outfits for the girls. Something dashing to serve as a counter for the guys.”

Angela blinked in surprise for a moment before smiling.

“Sure thing!”

“You know…” one of the other workers noted. “While we’re on the subject, I WAS thinking of some medieval armor designs for the girls and princess dresses for the guys.”

“Hey yeah! Like a light green for Viperion!”

“Maybe teal might be better?”

“Ooo! How about…”

Soon enough, everyone seemed to be invested in the new plan.

Everyone that is, except John.

“Lovely!” Tiffeny said cheerfully. “Plan it out and bring the concepts to me later.”

With a new task in hand and John’s pouting to forever be a memory to hold onto, it seemed her day was looking up…

_________________________

“That was some akuma battle.” Marinette said as she slid into her seat next to Alya.

The reporter, however, only looked annoyed. “Ladybug had apparently called all the male heroes and I completely missed it!” She groaned and leaned back in her seat, bemoaning the lost opportunity.

If she’d hadn’t been so focused on tracking Nino for the purpose of collecting blackmail ensuring his safety, she would have been able to catch all of the male heroes in their maid outfits.

Marinette smiled. “You know…I may have a connection…”

Alya gasped.

“No.”

Marinette giggled and slid over her phone with a picture showing.

“NO WAY!” She cried out before staring up at Marinette in shock. “Girl, you have to send me these!”

“Wait—you have what now?” Nino had arrived, initially hopeful that he had avoided the worst of that day only to have those hopes immediately dashed upon arriving to see the two girls sharing what could only have been one thing…

“I have pictures of the heroes in their new outfits.” Marinette replied cheerfully as she swiped through her phone. “Oh look, Nino! You’re in here, too!”

“WHAT?! NO!” He shouted, rushing forward.

Marinette quickly grabbed back her phone and hid it in her pocket with an overly sweet and not at all innocent grin.

“Mari, come on, no! Don’t do this to me!” He begged.

“Don’t do this to ME!” Alya cut in. “You can’t just show me that and take it away! That’s just not fair!”

“Don’t worry.” Marinette assured them. “It’s going where all my blackmail material goes.”

“Wait what?”

“Since when do you have blackmail material?”

“Since somebody started a game of ‘let’s take pictures of Marinette while she’s asleep and post them online’.” Marinette replied dryly.

Nino groaned. “Come on! I said I was sorry!”

“And now I can be just as sorry.” She replied blithely.

Which was to say: not sorry at all.

“Come on! Alya made me do it!”

“It was just in fun! Marinette! Please!”

“Do you want me to beg? Cry? I’ll cry.”

“I’ll pay you! Pretty please! At least the heroes if nothing else!”

“Oh no you don’t!”

“My blog NEEDS this!”

Marinette smiled at the minor chaos she had caused as the normally happy couple bickered with each other.

Sweet sweet music.

“Hey, Marinette!”

And speaking of sweet…

She turned to look up at a certain blond-haired model as he arrived at his own desk. Though he seemed to be a bit distracted by the arguing couple.

“Hey, Adrien!” She greeted, for once with no stutter to speak of.

“Hey, um…are they okay?” He asked, gesturing to the two.

“Oh, they’re fine.” She said, waving them off. “Just…a bit excited over the recent akuma.”

At that, Adrien brightened. “Wasn’t it awesome?”

She nodded, trying to keep her laughter inside.

“You…ah…enjoyed yourself then?”

Adrien shrugged, looking a bit sheepish. “Well, it’s not often I get to dress up in a way that’s ‘silly’. Or in anything that isn’t promoting Father’s brand. And I’ve never gotten to cosplay. So it was…really fun.”

Oh. Ouch. Okay, that one kind of hurt. The poor Sunshine Child…

“You know…” Marinette said, leaning over her desk and smiling at him. “I’ve seen a bit of that one anime you mentioned.”

“Cells at Work?” He asked, brightening up.

She nodded. “Mmhmm. I could make you a jacket based off the lead Red Blood Cell. And if you like, I can keep it so you can wear it whenever we hang out.”

He gasped. “Really?”

“Sure! Maybe you can come over sometime so we can try a fitting. We could even play Mecha Strike.”

Adrien beamed. “That sounds great! Thanks, Marinette!”

She waved him off and went back to full sitting in her seat.

Alya and Nino both became distracted from their arguing by the miracle they had just witnessed.

Marinette Dupain-Cheng had just spoken to Adrien Agreste…and not a stutter to be heard!

“What the heck, girl?” Alya whispered, sliding into her seat beside her friend. “Since when could you do THAT and why haven’t you done it sooner? I could swear I saw hearts in his eyes!”

Marinette shrugged, grinning sheepishly. “After seeing Adrien Agreste in a maid dress, I kind of wondered why I was so scared of talking to him to begin with.”

Alya laughed. “Well, at least something good came out of this, then.”

“You know...more good WOULD come out of this if I had pics of those heroes..." 

“Really, Alya?”

“You’re pretty much the only one who managed to get any shots of the male heroes!” Alya exclaimed. “Seriously, how?!”

Marinette giggled.

“Just lucky, I guess.”

________________________

OMAKE 1:

Knock! Knock!

“Felix?” His mother called on the other side of the locked and barricaded door. “Will you be coming out?”

“That depends. Do you have a camera?”

A pause. Which was all the answer he needed.

“Then no.”

OMAKE 2:

Fortunately, in the midst of their searching, the team had managed to find the akuma and her primary target, getting between the two.

“So what happened?” Ladybug asked him.

John gripped his skirt, nervously. “She’s my coworker in developing a new video game and she didn’t like my input.”

“What set her off?”

The guy rolled his eyes. “She’s one of those types who wants to take the fun out of video games.”

“What?” Ladybug blinked.

“Okay, so I wanted to put some maid costumes in the game! It was just for fun! Besides, it would have added a bit of pizazz! Something for the players to enjoy!”

“You could just try making a good game.” Pegasus pointed out. “If you have to rely on a cheap gimmick to get buyers, it may not be a good product.”

"I'm sorry, really! I mean, sure, I'm still going to put it in the game, because who wouldn't want hot maids, but still! That doesn't mean I deserve this!"

The akuma raised her fist and shouted at him. “THEY ARE HEROES, DAMMIT! THEY DESERVE BETTER THAN MAID SKINS JUST BECAUSE THEY’RE GIRLS!”

Ladybug blanched. “Wait…is the game about me?”

Pegasus coughed and looked away. “There have been…rumors, yes.”

Viperion tilted his head. “That seems like a double standard though…since we’re the ones in maid outfits...”

“Not the point, Viperion!”

Ladybug frowned.

“I don’t think I want to help now.”

“Ladybug!”

[raggaraddy]

The Basement: part one

Anon request: Hi can I request an assassin!yoongi one shot where yoongi gets jealous over reader somehow even though I know he isolates her so she depends on him but maybe she somehow stumbles into a colleague of his in his living room or a friend and the friend is 👀 looking not so respectfully

A/N: Enjoy lovely. 💜💜💜 Part two

Summary: For the first time ever there is someone else in the house with you and Yoongi. How could Yoongi expect you to resist speaking with him.

Trigger warnings: Violence, intimidation, kidnapping, imprisonment, yandere themes.

Yoongi

Yandere! Yoongi

Assassin! Yoongi

It may only be a few hundred square meters, but this house is your entire world. You know every creak, every floorboard that squeaked, how each door closes, everything. So in the middle of the night when you are woken by an almighty thump, at once you could recognize how out of place it was.

Cautiously sneaking downstairs and peering around every bend, you are just in time to see Yoongi slamming the basement door shut behind him.

Putting your ear to the entrance, you could hear the sounds of banging, of the chains, of low spoken voices. Over and over in your head, you told yourself to ignore it. To go back to bed and let it be. But the signs that there was another person down there with Yoongi were clear, and the temptation of that was too much to bear.

Your lesser instinct winning out, you open the door, instantly coming face to face with an ascending Yoongi. And behind him, in the place where you had been chained up many times before was a hooded man. Seated on the floor in a slumped position. His hands fixed against the wall keeping them high.

"Out," Yoongi demands, shoving your shoulder lightly to push you back through the doorway.

"Who-" is all you can gape, disbelief printed on your face.

"Not your concern." He refuses, closing the door. Continuing to push you back into the kitchen. "You do not go down there. Am I clear?" A finality to his expression not allowing any room for discussion or expansion.

Nodding, with a small pout you look at the basement one last time before faking a smile and returning to bed.

You were awestricken. Not once in nearly 8 months have you seen or heard another person in this house. Also not during the 6 months stretch before that. No one had visited. Not a single person had come past the house or had even driven up the driveway by accident. Your curiosity was burning you from the inside out. Your longing to see, to speak to another human aching your very soul.

Yoongi had gone into town, leaving you alone with the unlocked basement door. You'd always been chained up if he kept you down there, so it had never needed to be locked before. And the very idea of taking a quick peek was so tantalizing. However, on the more sensible side of this debate, you knew that Yoongi's word was final and you had never disobeyed him before.

You would like to say you were smart enough for this to at least be a difficult decision. But you swiftly threw common sense to the wind and went downstairs the second you heard the car pull out of the garage. Your body buzzing as you approached the new man.

With a heavy breath and timorous movements, you pull the hood back from the man's head. Black, straight, short hair. Dark, full brows, a perfect heart-shaped face, and ears that stuck out just a little too far. From head to toe, he's largely built. Taller and wider than Yoongi, making you astounded to think about how dangerous he really was.

For a few seconds, the both of you look equally surprised to see the other. Your pulse coursing through your ears, mouth slightly agape, looking at another human for the first time in forever.

"Hi," you squeak, nothing else coming to mind.

"Who are you?" He snarls.

It's spoken with so much hostility, but that question is one that brings you so much relief. You break down, pouring out your entire story in a rampant monologue. Telling him in detail everything you could about you, Yoongi, this place and your abductions. Fully spilling all that you had been so desperate to tell.

He, however, gives you nothing in return. For nearly 10 minutes you ask him question after question and he declines them all. Not even his name slips loose. He explains once that he can't know if your working with Yoongi, or that lunatic as he called him, and he is not going to tell you a single thing. Every question afterwards is only met with a solemn stare or a shake of refusal.

"If you won't tell me anything," you mope a little, "well, you look like a James Bond character, so I'm going to call you Mr Spy. The Spy? 007. Spy-man? I'll work on it." You mutter completely senseless and giddy from this rare moment. Continuing to overshare and divulge.

"Okay, Y/N. With everything you've told me, we're on the same page. So, if you help me get out of these," he rattles his hands, "Then I can get you out of this place."

The thought is alluring. But also more than you signed up for when you came down here. Firstly, Yoongi always keeps the keys for these chains on him. But secondly and most importantly, if you attempted to escape, if you tried to leave again Yoongi would never forgive you. You can't get away from him. You know you can't. And if you tried he would lock you up and throw away the key. You couldn't- You can't.

"I'm sorry, but no. I can't." You sadly brush his offer aside. Feeling awful denying him help like that. "I have to go back up before Yoongi comes home," you mumble.

Leaning over him you bring the hood up. You need to return him to how he was. He doesn't fight or argue, seeming to somberly accept his fate, but his eyes do dart to the top of the stairs at the last second.

Reacting to his troubled expression, you spin around seeing Yoongi already home, standing at the entrance.

At once your body tightens becoming flushed with sweat. Scrambling back from the man you stand in the middle of the room, trying to keep your breathing slow and deep to hide your fright.

"I thought," He starts to lower down the stairs, punctuating each point in his sentence with an additional step. "I said. You could not. Come in here."

"I'm sorry," you hush as Yoongi snatches the hood from your hand. Your head lowering in surrender.

"You want to save her?" He turns his attention and building anger towards his new prisoner. His fists are tight, knuckles cracking as he clenches and twists them. "You want to get her out of this place?" The challenge, the hash way he spits the words spoken about you is making the hairs on the back of your neck stand. Goosebumps flittering down your skin.

Lurching forward Yoongi's knee bashes into The Spy's head. And again. His foot following down booting him in the chest. And again.

"You think she wants to go with you?!" He growls, beating his fist into his head, over and over. The skin breaking, blood erupting all across his face. The Spy's restrained position not allowing him to protect himself in any way, only able to groan and splutter through the abuse. "You're too weak to even get yourself free. You think you can take her!" Yoongi steps back and lifts his leg, stomping the heel of his boot into the curled up fist of The Spy. Making him explode in a pained howl as you hear the bones crunch.

Not wanting to show any reaction, you stay coiled and fixed. Praying for this to end quickly. You had seen this level of violence and sadism from Yoongi before in the outside world. He doesn't acknowledge or accept any interference and he will only finish on his own terms.

You can't help but think if this is this how cruel and viciously he treats everyone else?

Stomping down again, this time he lines up The Spy's ankle. Throwing all his weight, all his force into the joint. The man's screams turning into cries as he wails in agony.

"No. You're not taking her anywhere." Yoongi straightens up, blowing out a heavy breath. Running his fingers back through his black hair over and over pulling it out of his face. "You're gonna tell me everything I wanna know. And then I'll finally let you die." He swallows hard, rearranging his clothes and loosening his muscles. His fiery explosion now quenched.

You can't lift your eyes as he drags you to the top floor. The basement door sealing, muffling the tears of the man below.

"Yoongi. I told him- I told him I couldn't-" You're starting and stopping, trying to sufficiently explain or plead your case. He's never shown anything near that level of violence towards you, but you were still sure he was about to lock you away endlessly for disobeying him.

He steps into you, silencing and making you jump back, smacking into the wall. Trapped between it and your hovering captor.

"I heard you." He speaks deeply and softly. In complete opposition to how he was moments ago. "Well done." His coarse pronunciation is abandoned as he speaks these words very clearly. Making sure you hear his sincerity.

His hand runs softly over your hair, stroking and cupping your head. Making you fight not to melt. Making you look up at him with big eyes. Any sort of affection from Yoongi instantly impacting you greatly, making you emotional and needy for more. Your bottom lip quivering, you whimper lowly as you lose the internal struggle and lean into his hand. Your eyes scrunching tight, hating yourself for how much his gentle touch affects your heart.

"Come with me," he holds your hand having you trail him upstairs. Taking you into his bedroom where he extends the affection and intimacy. Being with you so tenderly and kindly as your mind and heart tears back and forth between the softness you can feel now, and the horrors you saw him do before.

Despite the risks, your head fills with how and when you could see The Spy again. He was hurt, and he needed your help. And you were too eager to see him again. But when you wake the next day, you find a hefty padlock keeping the basement door sealed.

Yoongi at once reading your reaction. "You should thank me for locking that door Y/N. You don't know how dangerous some people can be."

Part two

[strange-lace]

Macaque

I was in the mood to make more content for Inverted AU, so here’s a short-ish fic of how episode 9 would go in this AU with Macaque, Wukong, and MK! Enjoy the shadowpeach!

Another demon defeated but still no sign of Sun Wukong. Macaque let out a sigh before rolling his shoulders to bring relief to tense muscles. Oh well, he'll just have to keep looking, not like he hasn't been at it for years now. At least this city he wandered to was quite nice with pleasant people, nothing too out there aside from demon attacks.

"Hey! Hey you! Shadow monkey man!" Macaque wouldn't deny that the sudden voice made him jump, considering he was on top of a pretty tall building. Apparently not tall enough to stop the young man from climbing up the side, somewhat out of breath yet that didn't deter from the determined look on his face. He simply brushed his messy hair out of his eyes and adjusted his teal backpack, which looked surprisingly heavy. Macaque couldn’t help but be somewhat curious as to what was in that thing.

Wait was that the Monkey King's staff in his hands?

Indeed it was, he'd recognize that weapon anywhere.

“Ah, you must be the Monkie Kid I’ve been hearing so much about, am I right?” That got him a look of suspicion before the young man also seemed to remember the staff in his hands, causing him to let out an amused huff at his own paranoia.

“Yeah, the staff kind of gives it away, don’t it? Name’s MK though. Now whomst is you? Most of the time, demons who ask me who I am are five seconds away from trying to kill me.” Macaque couldn’t help but chuckle at that, already finding that he was starting to like this little guy and his attitude. Perhaps if a person like MK was chosen to wield Wukong’s staff, then perhaps that meant his love had finally started turning things around for the better. Maybe it meant he finally stopped being someone he wasn’t all for the sake of keeping a memory alive.

“The name’s Macaque, though, the Six-Eared Macaque is actually my full name. But what brings you up here exactly bud? I doubt you’d climb up this high just for anybody.” MK’s face showed that he wanted to argue that point out of principle before remembering his purpose for coming up here.

“Simple, teach me.”

Wait what?

“What what?” MK scoffed at the question.

“I want you to teach me to fight, like how you fought that demon back there. I don’t intend on leaving you alone until you do and that is a threat!” Macaque didn’t doubt that he meant it that way and could very easily follow through on that. Sensing he wasn’t going to get out of this, he let out a sigh before giving MK a smile.

“You sure your mentor won’t have a problem with me teaching you?”

“Bold of you to assume Wukong’s disapproval will stop me.”

“Well alright then, I think we’re gonna get along just fine, bud.”

---

“I see what you’re trying to do, you’re afraid of holding back and giving your enemy the opportunity to win. But the first strike isn’t the most important one. Every strike counts. Other people may tell you that patience and focus don’t matter but a fool allows himself to rush without restraint. While you have power inside you, you have to use it carefully. Take the power to defend others, not just destroy those who stand in your way. You’re not a weapon kid, you wield the weapon above all else.”

---

It started with a fairly innocent question from MK after one of their training sessions, him slowly going through a water bottle given to him by Macaque while the monkey made them something to eat. He needed a distraction to stop himself from taking over the cooking, years of feeding others making him feel guilt the moment someone else took over.

“So Mac, how exactly do you know the Monkey King?” To his credit, Macaque only fumbled the slightest bit at that sudden question and was able to save the plate before it crashed to the floor.

“Oh um well… funny thing about that is, well… we used to be together actually. Like y’know… together-together,” he explained while he plated their food, wincing internally at how awkward he sounded. With his back towards MK, Macaque didn’t notice him go tense and grip the couch arm so tightly that the wood underneath cracked at the pressure.

“Used to be together, huh? What happened?” Macaque couldn’t help but shiver at the chill which traveled down his spine. MK’s voice was perfectly even and calm yet he was filled with an overwhelming fear that warned him to not turn around and remain perfectly still until the danger passed.

His ears twitched at the sound of sparks behind him, magic power permeating through the air.

“I… I messed up honestly. We had an argument about something, I don’t even remember what it was so long ago. But I had to leave to just get some space and air before I said something I’d regret, something I couldn’t take back. It was only meant to be a couple hours but some stuff out of my control happened and by the time I got back… Wukong was gone. I had been looking for him for centuries after that and then… well then you found me.”

“What, you hoped getting on my good side would mean that you’d win the Monkey King back?” His tone promised nothing good if Macaque kept digging himself a deeper hole.

“No! No, nothing like that at all. I don’t expect Pe-...Wukong to take me back or anything like that. I just… wanted the chance to apologize to him is all. If he wants anything to do with me afterwards, then I want that to be his choice. Nothing more, I swear.”

MK remained silent behind him before the sudden tension in the air dissipated as quickly as it appeared. Macaque let out a sigh of relief, slowly turning around to see MK still sitting on his couch, placing the staff back in his ear nonchalantly.

“Fair enough, sounds like you both were just idiots who don’t know how to communicate. If you actually intended on using me to get to the Monkey King, you’d have actually mentioned him during our training and yet you haven’t. And you can’t lie to save your life anyway. Just don’t be an idiot again alright? Monkey King… Wukong, he’s a mess and I don’t think he could handle thinking he’s been abandoned again.”

Macaque could feel his heart break at the idea that his Peaches, his love, thought that he had left permanently. He wanted nothing more than to run to him now and make things right. But that was Wukong’s decision to make, nobody else’s.

The two ate their food in silence after that.

---

Sun Wukong may have supposedly “lost his edge”  but he was by no means dense or oblivious.

And while he was certainly happy about his successor’s vast improvement over the past couple weeks, a part of him sensed something was off. Like his successor was hiding something from him. And those moves he watched MK use to absolutely demolish the old mural, the Monkey King swore he had seen them before.

But it couldn’t possibly be. He hadn’t seen him in centuries. Not since he… left, like everyone else.

“I’m impressed, my boy! Tell me, how did you do that? Have you been seeing another mentor perhaps?” Wukong asked, his typically serene smile straining the slightest bit at the idea of his son student learning from someone who wasn’t him. The sensible part of his brain was gently poking at him, reminding him that it seemed silly to get upset about such a thing as, if anything, MK had appeared significantly calmer during their training compared to when they started. This could be a good thing, it told him.

Yet it was silenced by the majority of his brain which ran on fatherly protectiveness and had immediately been plagued by images of the worst case scenario. A demon had approached MK, promising him to make him stronger while also poisoning his student as a bid to turn him against the Monkey King before stealing his powers or, Heavens forbid, harming him.

No, Wukong refused to even allow a chance of that happening, logic and reasoning be damned.

“Hey, you’re the one always going on about ‘patience and focus’, I’m just finally putting what you said into practice,” MK answered, the picture of being casual which only set off further alarm bells within Wukong’s head. But before he could question him further, MK’s phone dinged to tell him of a new text message which he quickly read over, his eyes widening slightly at the message.

“Welp, looks like I gotta cut things short for now Wukong, something came up and I gotta head out. See ya later! Don’t forget to eat something tonight and sleep, I will know if you don’t.” And with that, MK was off through the hole he had created in the wall where the mural was before the Monkey King could get a word in edgewise. 

Wukong waited long enough to allow MK to get a reasonable distance away before transforming into a bird, flying after his successor.

Something fishy was going on and the Monkey King was determined to find out what it was.

---

“Why exactly are we climbing up to this giant mountain again Mac?” MK wheezed, hating to admit it but this hike had genuinely winded him despite all his training. He had immediately gone to Macaque’s place the moment he got his text only to be told to follow the six-eared demon, leading them to where they were now.

“Well, consider this your ‘final exam’ bud! I want you to use everything I’ve taught you to fight against me, no holding back. Think you can do that?” MK couldn’t help the twitch at the corners of his mouth at the sight of Macaque’s genuine excitement as he explained, all six ears twitching while his tail was wagging like a dog. A demon who was centuries old and had fought countless powerful demons had no right looking that endearing, but here MK was looking with his own two eyes.

MK gave a chuckle before straightening himself out, wordlessly pulling the staff out his ear.

“You sure you’re comfortable getting your ass kicked by me, Mac?” With a smirk, Macaque summoned his own weapon in a flash of purple with the beginning of two shadow clones pooling at his feet. They shyly peeked from the ground from behind their master.

“Oho, a couple training sessions with me for a month and you think you have what it takes to defeat me, bud? Well then, bring it Monkie Kid!” MK didn’t hesitate to charge forward with Macaque mirroring him, weapons at the ready and adrenaline already running through their veins.

“Enough!”

A sudden force landed in between them with enough force to send them both flying backwards.

MK and Macaque recovered in time to see who decided to interrupt their duel.

Both of their hearts nearly stopped at the sight of the enraged Monkey King but for vastly different reasons.

“You have 5 seconds to explain yourself for trying to harm my-” Wukong’s rage quickly deflated as the dust cleared enough for him to truly see who it was he had thought was attacking MK. “Mango Flower?”

“Um… hello again, Peach Blossom. It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” Macaque joked, voice weak as he restrained himself from acting out of bounds even if he wanted nothing more than to gather the other into his arms. It had been so long, far too long. 

He nearly broke at the sight of tears beginning to form in Wukong’s eyes.

His resolve finally shattered as the Monkey King ran towards him, arms outstretched, and before Macaque knew it his legs were moving on their own. The wind was knocked out of him at how tight Wukong squeezed him yet he returned the embrace back with gusto, ignoring the groaning of his ribs. He simply buried his face into the other’s fur, the smell of peaches still there even after all these years. Faintly, Macaque realized he was also crying once he felt a wetness on his cheeks.

Macaque let out a squeak in surprise as Wukong picked him up in the hug and spun him around, the sound of his laughter echoing throughout the mountain. The sight of such unabashed joy on his face was enough to make the six-eared demon to start laughing too, joy contagious in the best of ways. 

MK would deny it unless under the threat of death but he couldn’t help but smile as he watched the two monkeys get lost in their own little world. It made the guilt which nagged at his chest at having to manipulate the two to make this meeting happen ease up, seeing how happy the two were.

“It’s been so long…” Wukong whispered as he placed Macaque back on his feet, gently cradling his face as if afraid that if he stopped touching the other, that he’d disappear again. “But, why are you here? I had thought that you hated me, isn’t that why you…” Macaque went stiff in shock before taking the Monkey King’s hands into his own.

“What? No! If anything, I thought you hated me for leaving instead of talking things out and that’s why you were gone when I came back. I always intended on coming back to you Peaches, I swear on it.” Wukong’s eyes went wide at that, extremely close to crying again a second time that day. “I had been looking for you for centuries now to apologize.”

And now the warm feeling was gone, leaving MK to bite down on his staff to stop himself from screaming at how much those two had failed at the simple of communication.

“We’ve both been absolutely foolish, haven’t we?” Wukong couldn’t help but laugh at it all, which only worsened as he noticed all six of Macaque’s ears turn red in embarrassment.

“Yeah, I guess we have been-” His words were cut off as the Monkey King grabbed his scarf, pulling him into a sudden kiss that made Macaque jolt in surprise before he practically melted into the other’s arms. A purr rumbled in his chest and neither noticed their tails wind around each other.

The sound of MK clearing his throat, loudly, was enough to get them to break apart in embarrassment.

“If you two are done being romantic idiots, I have to beat the shit out of Macaque to prove that I’m better than him. I mean ace my ‘final exam’.” The grin on his face showed that he was lying through his teeth.

“Don’t think I forgot about all your trash talking, young man. How about it Peach Blossom? You willing to go all out with me and the kid?” 

Wukong’s face was the epitome of ‘Every part of my body wants to say yes but I shouldn’t.’ He was already terrible at saying no to MK and now with Macaque’s endearingly earnest face, he knew he was done for, at least with these two working together now.

“...Oh alright.”

The two mutual cheers at his agreement made Wukong feel slightly less guilty in letting his lessons go for a brief moment. But not completely.

But that was okay, Wukong was used to living with constant guilt.

[brekkerism]

BASIC INSTINCT (Part 2- A Spencer Reid Series)

Part 1 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

A/n: this beautiful fic just won’t let me rest until I write it. It’s been hammering my brain all day so it could get written. So here it is. My beautiful, monstrous, funny looking BDSM baby. And of course, it would never be possible without my lovely @imagining-in-the-margins I swear she’s not only the best writer on this app, but also the best beta, and all around coolest human. So give all the love you can to her! And please enjoy and be ready for the next part soon <3

Couple: Spencer Reid/Reader

Word count: 4240 words

Rating: NC-17 or E for really fucking explicit

Content Warning: 12+ years age gap, intercourse, masturbation, dom/sub dynamics, brief not proper BDSM etiquette, cuckolding, cheating kink, a lot of swearing, and just all around dirtiness

******

I couldn’t look away.

There’s a scientific reason why we can’t look away during car crashes, or any other type of disaster. This was like that. Something about flight or fight, our basic instincts or something just as primal. I don’t know if I could explain it to you, but the man in front of me probably could.

Then again, he’s extremely busy fingering a girl right in front of me.

So what else could I do but stand there, paralyzed, my mouth hanging open, and my hands cupping myself, outside my panties?

He still hasn’t turned around. He still hasn’t turned to me. I could make a run for it and pray that he didn’t see me; pray that he kept to his everyday constant of pretending that I was invisible. I just had to open the door,it was right behind me. I was leaning on it. I could make it–-

But then, as if he knew, he turned, and for a moment, his eyes were only on me.

Fuck.

Fuck.

What the fuck am I supposed to do when I catch my coworker, who kinda hates me and who I-definitely-don’t-have-a-crush-on, in a bdsm dungeon, dominating a girl, while I almost masturbate to it?

The sensible, rational thing would be to get the fuck outta there and run away to a different country all together to avoid the embarrassment.

But then again,

I was never a very sensible and rational person. So, I looked back.

I looked directly at him, mustering all the bravado and defying I could.

And after months, after days and weeks and hours, he finally looked back – .

Not with disinterest, not with boredom, not with a blank, far away stare, no, he looked at me with such confidence, such playfulness in his eyes that, I seriously thought this was just a look alike.

This couldn’t be Spencer Reid. Because Dr. Spencer Reid doesn’t look at me. He doesn’t smile at me, and he doesn’t come into BDSM dungeons and tie people up and let audiences watch.

At this point there was nothing I could do; I couldn’t move my body even if I wanted to. All I could do was watch and listen and pray –

pray that God granted me mercy and made the earth swallow me after this was over.

“Get up.”

He finally took his eyes off of me, and it was like I could breathe. It was like I was drowning. It was like I was on fire. It was like going I was crazy.

Look at me again. Look at me again.

Don’t. Don’t.

I watched. I watched as he untied her hands from the head board, only to tie them behind her back, and the girl, his sub, got up on shaky legs and just stood in front of him. Waiting. Waiting for his every word, his every command.

Like he owned her.

“Get on your knees and turn your back to the audience.”

Fuck.

I wanted to get that smirk off his face. That didn’t belong there.

The sub did as he commanded, got on her knees in front of him, the only view we had was of the back of her head, and her tied hands. I could see how she bounced on her knees; how eager she was to please him, and how roughly he grabbed her hair. I could see it all.

I could almost feel it. I could almost taste it.

Then, Spencer Reid started to take his pants off, and I honestly thought my brain stopped fucking functioning.

It was like seeing something forbidden, something holy, something I was never, ever, supposed to see.

He slowly unzipped, and I realized that I knew this pair of pants. That was part of his suit. The suit he wore to work today.

The party with his friend. The fucking party. His girl friend. This was the fucking ‘party’ he was going to with his ‘friend,’ and he came dressed in one of his suits, like this was just normal. Like he just regularly used his suits not only for work, but for going to sex clubs.

Shit. I was never going to be able to see him wearing a suit ever again, was I?

Slowly, his pants came down, and he still took his hands off her hair to fold the piece of clothing neatly, like a perfect Boy Scout. Like the good and proper Spencer Reid would.

What he did next wasn’t proper, and I was starting to suspect, he was definitely not good.

In the blink of an eye, he not only discarded his boxers, but he grabbed her by the hair again, more roughly and urgent.

Fuck. Shit. Dammit all to fucking hell.

I could see his cock.

I could see his cock, how big it was, how hard it was. I could watch the precum making the pink head of his dick glisten.

How was I going to survive all of this? How was my heart supposed to keep beating on my chest? How was I supposed to breathe or live or exist now that I knew what Spencer Reid’s dick looks like?

“Now. Show me you can still be useful and let me use your mouth, hm?”

“Yes, Doctor.”

No. Motherfucking. Way.

She called him Doctor.

And there goes another thing I can never do again.

Before I could even really process the implications of that, he was fucking her mouth. He was holding her down, and making her choke on his cock, and not letting her up.

And he did it all while he looked at me.

And what could I do but look back? What could I do, but not take my hands from where I was groping my covered pussy, never really touching myself, but giving me enough pressure that I could feel the wetness soaking through fabric, to the point I could almost get my hands moist?

And he knew. He knew that’s what I was doing because he watched me just as much as I watched him.

Finally, he pulled the sub away, letting her breath and stopping the relentless pace.

“Are you loving this? Are you loving the pleasure I’m giving you?”

I knew those words were not for her.

He quickly untied her hands, but she remained so glassy eyed and compliant, I don’t think she even felt it.

“Get on all fours on the bed and face our audience. They’ll really want to see what comes next”

Her face was covered in spit and tears. It was red and almost swollen. But still, she smiled. She smiled and her eyes were glistened over with mischief and happiness and pure bliss.

It took me back. It made me crave. It made my knees buckle.

Because I knew what that felt like. And I wanted it again.

Spencer got behind her, turned towards the other voyeurs along the walls in the room straight on. Facing me straight on. I almost forgot about the other people in the room, touching themselves and watching with glee.

How were they not paralyzed with me? How was the world still spinning, how were they so unaware?

Spencer Reid was going to fuck a girl while he looked at me. How couldn’t anyone else see how absurd that was?

“I’m going to fuck you now. I’m going to make you feel me. But I need you to do something for me.”

A sense of dread filled me. Because deep down, I knew he wasn’t talking to her. I knew I was playing into some twisted game. I knew where this fucked up road would lead me.

“I need you to prove that you can be good girl, and touch yourself for me.”

It was too much.

“Make me proud.”

And what else could I do but obey?

He started fucking her while looking so deep into my eyes I thought I would combust right then and there.

I don’t even know how I got my hands inside my panties so fast. But I finally, finally touched my wet cunt, and it was so wet it was so easy to just put two fingers inside myself, I didn’t hesitate.

It was so good my legs almost gave out. I didn’t even know if it was just the relief of touching myself, or the pure ecstasy of hearing his voice, seeing his eyes looking at me with so much lust, obeying him. Finally getting a chance to prove to him how good I could be.

The only thing I could do to stop myself from moaning was biting my other hand.

The look he was giving me turned angry just as soon as I did. “Let me hear you or I’ll stop right now.” His voice came out low, but I was close enough to hear it, to hear the command in it.

Apparently, so did his sub, because she got a confused look on her face, even if it was just for a second.

She wasn’t holding back on her moans.

The order wasn’t for her.

This was so fucked up. This was wrong. This was filthy.

I stopped biting my hand. I kept looking at him, and I let him hear me.

God, I’m so fucked.

I was going to come. I was going to come, while looking at Spencer and letting him hear me moan. While he fucked another girl.

God definitely couldn’t save me now.

His pace started to get erratic and quicker, and there were words coming out of his mouth but I was so lost in the desire, the need. I knew I would have to look while he came inside her, but kept looking at me.

I slipped another finger and hopped he wished he could feel how wet I was. How close I was, how tight I was getting, how lost in the pleasure and how it was building, and building, and building. How I couldn’t even stop my fingers from slipping out from how wet I was, and how I wished they were longer and thicker, how I wished it was another hand entirely.

Fuck. Fuck. I had to come. I had to come.

Not until he lets you.

That voice. That tiny voice in my head. The one that was as natural as breathing once upon a time. The one I hadn’t heard in over a year. Shit.

And now I couldn’t. I couldn’t come until he told me I could. Not until he allowed me to make a mess of myself.

I looked into his eyes with all the pleading I could muster, silently asking him, and hoping that he would understand. Hoped he was merciful enough to let me.

And he did.

“Come for me. Let me watch you coming for me right now.”

I couldn’t hear anything else. I couldn’t even see if he came too. All I could do was be swallowed up by the white noise and the darkness behind my eyelids.

Bliss. Heaven. Nirvana.

I was made for this.

*********

I honestly don’t know if I passed out. I didn’t care if other people saw, I didn’t care what I must look like, slumped against the door with cum running down my thighs. All I could feel was the pounding in my head. When was even the last time I had an orgasm like this?

‘You know when the last time was.’

I did. But it was not time to hear annoying, imaginary voices in my head.

It was time to open my eyes, get up, and get out of here.

If I could only get my body to obey.

‘He got your body to obey just fine...’

No! No! I could do this. I could.

I could hear movement beside me so the scene was most likely over and people were going to want to leave, and I had to stop being stupid and get up and stop blocking the exit. I had to leave, before I have to look at him.

And so, I did the most pathetic thing possible.

I grabbed onto the doorknob for leverage, opened the door, and half crawled/half threw myself out of the room

Real subtle.

Thankfully, it was not that unusual to see people on their knees or doing weird ass shit. This wasn’t exactly the most conventional of places.

I got myself up, even if my legs were shaky and I was dirty and covered in my own cum. It was fine. I could walk and I could leave. I just had to get my things, and go, get to my apartment, and immediately buy plane tickets and flee the country. That’s what my trust fund and a limitless credit card were for right?

But I had to be reminded that fate didn’t like me. That my life wasn’t easy, and that nothing could go right for me.

Because as soon as I got myself walking away, a hand stopped me.

Please God, please let it not be him.

“Hey, where did you run off too? Is everything okay? Did you find a good scene?”

Amara’s sweet voice and face and beautiful Celeste beside her.

Thank you.

“Fuck, you guys scared me ‘mara! And I-“

And there he was, coming out of the room I was just in, just a few feet from me, with his perfect suit, like nothing had happened. The only thing separating us was my friends.

He looked both ways on the hallway, and finally spotted me.

And I did the only thing I could do.

I grabbed both of my friends hands, and practically ran to the opposite direction, to the main room, so that I could get lost in the crowd. So he couldn’t find me.

“(Y/N) what’s the rush? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Celeste was joking, but it’s kinda like I had. It’s kinda like being in the skin of a different girl. One I had put to sleep in a hidden corner of my mind.

“I kinda did.”

I looked deep into Amara’s eyes, the only other person that knew, and hoped she understood the look.

“(Y/N), it’s not him right? He’s on the other side of the country and he couldn’t get in here even if–-“

“No! God no. It’s just. Something happened. Look I need to get home, I’ll tell you everything later but I need to leave”

“Ok, but you drank and you look to shaken up to even be by yourself, let me at least call you a driver. I’ll get your keys from the front desk and I’ll drop your car off, ok?”

She tried to hug me, but I felt so tired and weird I just shrugged it off. I knew Amara understood me better than anyone and wouldn’t be mad. I prayed I could get out of there fast enough. I just needed to get my purse and coat and get out. I could do this.

The coat room, which was more for guarding clothes for people who didn’t exactly feel like leaving in a full latex body suit, was strangely empty. Not even an employee in there. I was too eager to wait or question it, so I just went in and hoped I could find it fast enough. thankfully it was easy enough to find and I could almost cry with relief.

Except...

The hairs in the back of my neck were raised.

Goosebumps.

What was that again about instincts and the human body being able to sense disasters...

I slowly turned, already know what I was going to see.

Spencer Reid was there, blocking my only exit.

Well, fuck.

This one isn’t gonna be easy to get out of.

********

“W-we have to talk.”

Stuttering?? He was STUTTERING??

How could he even switch from a dom who could make me ignore every rule and boundary I set for myself for the last year and a half and command me to cum while looking at him, to a nervous, fidgety and awkward mess, just like that?

“We don’t actually. You have to get out of my way and let me go home.”

I really tried to muster any semblance of authority, but I was still dirty, cum was drying down my shaky legs, I had make up all over my face and the sight of him still made my head spin.

“(Y/n) please. Please, talk to me.”

That made me freeze. In the little time that I have worked with this man, he has never, ever, called me by my first name. I didn’t even think he bothered to remember, and that says a lot for a man with a eidetic memory.

“Doctor, I am asking you to step aside.”

I knew that was a low blow after what I witnessed, but if he wanted to play with me, I would make sure I win.

“Don’t call me that in here.”

And there he was.

“What? Is your sub the only one allowed to say it? Where is she anyways? Did you remember to at least give her after care?”

I was just digging myself deeper and deeper into this hole.

“I did actually. Unlike you, I wasn’t worried about cleaning myself off my thighs and crawling away.”

Now that was a even lower blow.

“Yes. Running away. Now get off the door and let me do just that.”

Please don’t make me do this.

“We have to talk about this. We are coworkers, and we may not be friends, but we’re on the same team and I have a responsibility to resolve this. Because if you look at me like the way you’re doing right now in the office, they will know something is wrong.”

I took a deep breath and tried to ignore that he was right. It was the only thing we could do. For all of my talk of running away or quitting, I loved this job. I wanted this job. And I knew neither of us wanted to quit it.

“Fine. So talk.”

Let him be the one to come up with a solution. I was too angry and tired and confused to do so.

“We’re actually holding up the room, and the coat check worker will come back from his smoke break at some point, and I don’t think the music and sex are exactly the ideal background for this conversation.”

I could not go somewhere with him. I already did too many stupid things while we were in a room full of people, so what would I even do if we were in a proper room alone...Together.

“N-not a room here or anything. We can talk in my car and I’ll drop you off anywhere you want. I just want to talk about this calmly and as quick as possible. Weekends off are never guaranteed, and we could get a case tomorrow. The last thing I want is for anything that happened today to get in the way of our job. I cannot let that happen.”

I knew he was right, but it was still hard. I mean, how do I talk to a guy that went from not acknowledging my existence, to making me come in a bdsm BDSM club. It’s not exactly a smooth transition.

“Just lead the way already, Reid.”

He didn’t think twice, afraid I would back out, and finally opened the door. I quickly texted Amara to cancel the car, saying I called an Uber already. Here’s to hoping she bought that bullshit.

Breathing the outside air was kinda dizzying. After so long inside, and after all that happened, it was like coming out of a parallel universe. It was like coming though a portal to the real world.

It made the dread and fear set on my bones way quicker than usual.

Fuck. Fuck! How was I going to do this. I still had cum on my legs. My knees were dirty from the floor. I was a mess. What the hell was I thinking? Fuck, fuck, fuck.

We finally got to his tiny, old car. It was pretty, in a way vintage cars are pretty. It seemed so clean and pristine, and I just felt like I was going to ruin the seats.

Spencer got in first, unlocking the door from the inside for me.

I was really doing this. I was really going to sit in a parking lot, in Spencer Reid’s car, and talk about how he made me come, so that working with him wouldn’t now be the most awkward thing in the planet.

Like it would matter. Like it wouldn’t be awkward either way.

I got in, and he started the car, if only for the sake of turning the heater on.

And then there was silence.

Was he not going to start the conversation?? Did he expect me to start?

“I really–-“

“I didn’t–-“

Fuck. I should have just stayed quiet.

“Reid, I can’t. I need you to start first, and I need you to solve this. Just....”

“I-I... I didn’t know this was the place you came too. The chances of stumbling into anyone I know at this particular place are miniscule. The percentage is so low I never feared it. I truly did not know. I never intended for anyone to see this side of me. This is something extremely private, and that It’s part of the little personal life I have outside of the team. I don’t let it affect my work or who I am. I have been doing it too long to let it. I have not told anyone outside of my partners and the extremely few friends I have made in the scene. So when I say I need this to stay a secret, I mean it. This is the only thing I have for myself, and I intend to keep it that way.”

That was it? We weren’t going to talk about the actual thing that mattered?! He just wanted me to keep my mouth shut?

“Reid, believe me when I say this part of the conversation didn’t even need to be touched on. This is something that will never tell, to anyone, because I would never out you like that. How would I even explain how I saw you here in the first place? This is my personal life as well. Now, if you dragged me here just to tell me to keep my mouth shut, I’ll call an Uber and go.”

My hand reached for the door, but he touched my shoulder, keeping me gently in place.

How was this the same hand that was slapping and fingering subs? Hands that dominated?

We both looked at it and he quickly pulled his hand back.

“There’s a reason why I’ve ignored you from the moment you stepped in the BAU”

Now that got my attention. I could actually feel myself holding my breath. Was I finally gonna hear it? Was I finally gonna get a reason, so that I could stop laying awake at night, trying to figure out what I did wrong?

“I will not tell you why right now, as frustrating and unfair as that is. I still have to have something for my own and it’s not entirely relevant for what happened today.”

He had to be fucking kidding me. So I was supposed to what, just die of curiosity? That wasn’t even slightly fair.

“I don’t know what happened to me when you walked into that room. I’m not one for cuckolding or cheating kinks, so I don’t know why I would disrespect Madison like that. You don’t have to feel guilty or bad by the way. She’s into it, she’s just annoyed it wasn’t anything discussed or planned beforehand, and she’s right to be. But then again, I didn’t plan on any of that. I honestly thought I was going to stop the scene and ask you to leave or leave myself when I saw you.”

I still couldn’t get words out, or even reply to him.

“But I didn’t. You didn’t leave, and I didn’t ask you to. And I looked at you and knew we were going to do something extremely stupid. I don’t like feeling not in control in that space, so I just took it back. And that meant looking at you and making you touch yourself. That meant making you moan for me, making you come for me and making you want me. So yes, I’m not proud of what I did. It was unprofessional, fucked up and stupid.”

That was it huh? He did it just because, and it didn’t mean anything? He expected me to just go back to normal life after–-

“But I still can’t bring myself to regret it, or to stop wanting you as bad as I do. So I do not know where we go from here.”

Well, fuck me. Literally, fuck me. How was I ever going to leave here intact if he talked to me in that voice, saying stupid shit like he wanted me?

“Please, say something.”

I took a deep breathe, and I said what I wanted to say ever since the moment I stepped into that stupid room and saw him dominating a sub. Hell, maybe even from the moment I first stepped in the BAU.

“Just shut up and fuck me already, doctor.”

*********

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[why-this-kolaveri-machi]

whumptober day 10: crying

slightly more straightforward h/c this time!

summary: set after the ric grayson/joker war arc in nightwing. 

dick’s been missing for two months. jason finds him first, but it’s just the first step in finding how very, very lost dick really is.

warnings: SPOILERS for the aforementioned nightwing arcs. plentiful cursing. moderately graphic descriptions of injuries.

crying

The last time Jason received a family-wide SOS to help them rescue Dick, the guy was a twice-brainwashed mess whose brain was being pulled in opposite directions by the Court of Owls and the fucking Joker, and that was after said brain had been shattered by a fucking sniper’s bullet. (And a period of being left to fend for himself with a broken brain in between, but Jason doesn’t really like to think about that.) This time, he doesn’t know quite what to expect. He can’t imagine things have gotten even worse than the last go-around, but then again, Jason knows from personal experience that there’s no end to the list of ‘things that are worse than dying’.

Besides, the alert came from Babs. And, in quick succession, Tim, Bruce, Duke, and Cass. If nothing else, Jason is curious.

Dick disappeared from Bludhaven about two months ago. The reason the oh-so-precise Bats have the word ‘about’ in that statement is because nobody can really pinpoint the exact date it happened. Donna can recall dropping by his place ten weeks ago. Tim maybe exchanged a few emails or text messages a few weeks ago but didn’t really get alarmed about Dick not responding to his messages until the radio silence stretched for over a month. Bruce had his trackers on (that bastard) but Dick hates them and is known to destroy the ones he finds. And they can’t even really depend on reports of Nightwing sightings in the city because having his brain knocked around and pulled apart like taffy means Dick takes regular holidays from patrols if he’s not feeling particularly steady that day. (Look what being sensible and having a smidgeon of a sense of self-preservation got him.) And the CCTV in his apartment complex was shit, so. 

It’s almost like it was a planned thing, like he was kidnapped, but honestly it’s how things go and how they’ve gone for a very long time: they drift in their own worlds for long periods until an event brings them together, and then it’s back to being scattered across the country again (or sometimes the world, or sometimes the galaxy). Dick is more prone to this than most; he’s probably gone undercover more than any of them, and he’s lived the longest on his own as well. 

Even after the clusterfuck that was the last year and change, it’s nothing new. And if that isn’t the most fucking depressing thing that Jason’s had to think about today, it turns out that not only have the Family figured out where Dick is, but that Jason is the one that’s closest to his location. 

So here he is, shivering, on a particularly icy night on the Gotham docks, scoping out the warehouse where Dick’s supposed to be. It’s not very well-guarded, which either means there’s nothing in there and this is a massive waste of his time, or that it’s a trap and what’s waiting on the other side is a fucking bomb or something even worse. It’s not a great situation to be in either way, and Jason’s got half a mind to have Tim or even Bruce take over--but it’d take too long for them to get there and Jason’s never been fond of the idea of handing over to someone else anything that he could potentially do by himself.

Besides, like he said, he’s curious.

He crouches down at his vantage point overlooking the warehouse and presses the communicator in his ear. “Two guards in front but nothing else; the place is practically abandoned. Infrared picking up three people inside.” He shifts his weight from one foot to another, bracing, ready to spring. “I’m about to go in.”

Tim grunts. “I’ll be there in fifteen, give or take a couple.”

“Twenty,” Bruce says. Then: “Hood, you--” An uncharacteristic pause, and Jason can feel the sudden, uneasy chill across the entire comm channel. Bruce clears his throat. “Be careful. Assess the situation first. Don’t engage alone unless it’s an emergency.”

There’s a thanks for stating the obvious on the tip of Jason’s tongue, but something about the gravity of the situation, the mildest quaver in Bruce’s voice (he’s been missing for two months, god, two months) has him say, instead: “Roger that.”

Jason makes quick work of the guards in the front, leaving them in unconscious heaps on the ground before he creeps in. They’d hardly put up a fight, which just makes Jason’s stomach twist in anxious knots. The anxiety is made worse by the complete lack of resistance when he’s actually inside: there are only two huge, cavernous rooms, and one of them has two of the three people that he’d detected. They scatter as soon as they see him and Jason considers chasing, but now his nerves are stretched so taut that he thinks he’s going to vomit if he doesn’t see Dick now--

The night-vision on Jason’s helmet catches a figure sitting, slumped, in the corner of the room. A chain connects a manacle around its ankle to the wall, and another between the same wall and… a collar around its neck. Jason’s blood is already boiling before he steps closer and recognises the figure as Dick. His hair is long and shabby, having grown past his chin, curtaining his face. He’s shirtless but wearing ripped, stained jeans. His hands are cuffed in front of him, the thin metal biting into his wrists enough to leave his hands puffy and slightly purple from the lack of effective circulation. He looks considerably thinner--Jason can just about count the ribs under his skin--and every visible part of his torso is painted in bruises in various stages of healing. And--

--and he’s breathing.

Well, thank fuck. That’s a start.

Jason crouches in front of Dick and presses his comm again. “Found N. Little worse for wear, but alive and safe.”

He ignores the immediate clamour of questions from the others to focus on trying to get Dick awake. He brushes Dick’s hair aside and gently lifts his chin to have a look at his eyes. 

Dick smiles at him. “Hey.”

Jason is beset by an onslaught of emotion that’s part relief, part incredulity and part anger, so much so that he thinks he’s going to fucking burst with the pressure of it. Of course that would be the first thing out of Dick’s mouth--hey--like he’s meeting Jason for cocktails after work instead of being rescued after two months of captivity and torture! Well he can take that hey and shove it right up his fucking--

“Is there anything else here we need to worry about,” Jason says, busying himself with picking the locks on Dick’s manacles so that he doesn’t snap and say something he’ll regret.

Dick shakes his head. He’s got a shaggy beard going and he stinks of sweat and urine and filth, but there’s a sense of… togetherness to him, like he’d always known that Jason was going to show up at this exact minute and that had always been part of his plan. “They scattered as soon as they got word that you guys were coming,” he says, voice thin and raspy. “I guess not enough of them were curious to stick around to find out why so many capes would be coming for me.”

Jason pops the manacles and collar loose and goes to work on the cuffs. “So you weren’t taken as Nightwing.”

Dick sighs, then winces as the motion pulls on the gigantic bruise around his neck. “I wasn’t taken as Dick Grayson, either.”

The cuffs come off with a click. Jason stares at him. “So… what, you were just some poor mug they picked up off the streets to… torture for shits and giggles?”

Dick is silent for a moment. His eyes flick to a point behind Jason and back again. “They knew me as Ric.”

It takes a moment for the name to click in Jason’s brain, but he finally remembers that it was what Dick called himself during his brain-injured year in Bludhaven. “Why would Ric have enemies?” he says, without thinking.

There’s that smile on Dick’s face again, but this time it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Ric did have a life, Jason. And friends. And… enemies.” He begins to move, bare feet shifting against the floor and shifting his weight onto his hands as if he’s trying to figure out a way to stand up, but barely manages an inch of elevation before he runs out of energy, breathing heavily. “Ric--I used to fight. Street fights. Involved a lot more money and people than I remembered, and… apparently a lot of people felt betrayed when I just up and left the city one day. I’ve been fighting matches here almost every day.” A sudden, sharp grin. “I haven’t lost yet.”

Jason--stops. Utterly freezes, hands midway to helping Dick sit upright, because there’s something terribly, terribly wrong here. “Why didn’t you ever try to escape? And how--I mean, in the first place--”

How did you even get caught?

To Jason’s horror, tears start rolling down Dick’s face. His expression doesn’t really change, so Jason’s not sure that Dick’s even aware that he’s crying, but right now Jason is already halfway to being mortified. “I was on my way back from the gym,” Dick says finally, “and I think I--I blacked out. It happens sometimes.” Dick gives a wet laugh. “Talk about bad timing.”

“And--and what, you blacked out for two months?”

At this Dick’s face crumples, and suddenly Jason gets it: this is a man pushed and pushed to the end of his rope and beyond, utterly exhausted, past the point of caring who knows about it or why. “I guess…” Dick swallows. “I didn’t really see the difference. Between--between here and out there.”

Jason wants to scream, shake his shoulders--a shameful part of him even wants to hit Dick--and tell him that of course it was different outside of this stupid, dank warehouse: he has friends and family and a lifetime of experience to support him while he flies free. It’s ridiculous to even compare the two, and Jason is ready to put these words down to the effects of too much pain and too little food.

Except--

(plucked you right out of one life and stuffed you into another, didn’t they? treated you like a puppet without a past and a future, didn’t they? didn’t let you entertain the idea of a different life even for a minute, did they? punished you for straying, reminded you there was just too much at stake, and that those stakes were always, always bigger than you or your health or your happiness or your future--)

“Dick, I--” Jason really doesn’t know what to say. Tim says, “ETA five” in his ear while Bruce says, “Right behind you, Robin” and Jason knows, just knows, that this isn’t how they would want to see Dick, and more importantly, this isn’t how Dick would want them to see him.

He gathers Dick in his arms and presses him to his chest. Dick freezes for a second, surprised, then melts into his embrace. His shoulders shake, hands coming up to weakly grasp at Jason’s jacket. The sobs reach a crescendo quickly, a pathetic keening muffled into Jason’s chest, before tapering away and Dick is still, just… breathing. 

Jason breathes with him.

That’s how Tim and Bruce find them a couple of minutes later. Dick peels away and somehow musters the energy to reassure them. Bruce helps him up and carries him to the car while Jason follows; just as Dick’s lowered into the backseat his hand shoots out, grasping Jason’s arm in a silent plea. 

Jason gets in with him. Neither he nor Bruce say anything through the whole drive at the tears that continue to pour down Dick’s face, but Jason doesn’t let go of his hand for the whole ride.

[hello-im-not-a-possum]

" Leave! Me! Alone! " (for the prompt thing :3)

*Fully dusts off BATIM Monster AU due to it being the spooky month* You know, I don't think I've pinned down what type of monster Thomas was when I started this...

And I recently realized that I have a strong lack of vampires in this AU.

The GENT Mechanic wasn't a full-on monster hater. He had no interest in joining any monster-hunting group that sniffed him out, he often rolled his eyes at small-town preachers who looked down at them, and he mostly minded his own business when it came to the tricky relationship between humans and monsters.

But he also wasn't anywhere as enthusiastic about the studio as Joey and Allison were. He was a sensible man, he knew that monsters were dangerous and that it was stupid not to only trust them at an arm's length.

He could admit that he admired that his client could go as far as to start an entire animation empire just to ensure that his friend (and many others he had met along the way) would be in a place where they weren't seen as outcasts and wouldn't stop doing what they loved because of their circumstances, but he couldn't help but feel... wary of the majority of the studio's strange inhabitants.

Nobody would blame the human mechanic for avoiding the music department as often as he could, knowing the Music Director and how he viewed humans, it would be like blaming a mouse for avoiding a lion's den.

At the same time, he would get funny looks from others as he never went near the studio without a silver cross, an iron ring, a small bag of mixed herbs that was dubbed 'monster bane' due to it being a mix of various monster-repelling plants, and a bag of salt. Because of this, Thomas was not a popular person in the mostly-monster populated studio, but that didn't matter to him.

This wasn't his circus, it wasn't his monkeys, and once his contract ended, he'd probably never go there again. At least, that's what he would tell himself until the day wearing his cross started to burn himself.

--------

"It's a good thing that Allison found you in this state and threw your... wards away imminently." Dr. Hackenbush sighed as he continued to apply the numbing paste to his still twitching patient's neck. "Due to the secrecy surrounding vampire covens, their reluctance to talk about their various races' weaknesses as they're a monster hunter's favorite prey, and the many different types of vampires in the world, it's actually hard to determine what can and can't kill a recently turned vamp. Especially when one can't remember the circumstances of their change."

Tom was partly focusing on what the doctor was telling him, partly freaking himself out by trying and failing to remember how and why he had turned, and mostly keeping an eye out on the entrance to the infirmary as if he expected something to fly in and finish him off.

"Vampires in general might be notoriously hard to keep down for the count, but the process of the metamorphosis from human to vampire is extremely exhausting on the newly made fledgling." The doctor stated as he moved on to put more of the paste on Tom's other injured areas. "While this wouldn't be lethal to an older vamp, it's still extremely painful to them and considered to be torture among many of their races. In your current state and judging based off of the traits I've seen so far... ...I strongly suspect that the cross would've eventually burnt your head clean off your neck if you had not been found in time."

Thomas absentmindedly put his hand where his cross would normally be and gritted his teeth.

Nobody visited him yet, nobody aside from Allison even approached the door before the doctor shooed her out. He wasn't in the state to receive visitors yet, but he could already feel the parade of smug monsters gawking at him. He could already hear them laughing at the loss of his humanity, he could already picture several of them sticking their noses up at his misery declaring 'serves you right!' at him.

"...Could you open your mouth for me Mr. Conner?"

"Huh?" The mechanic snapped out of his day-nightmare and acknowledged the doctor's request. "Oh yeah, sure."

"Thank goodness, it seems that you've been brought in just at the cusp of changing..." While Tom didn't close his mouth on the doctor, he did look at him funny when he began to paint a different paste in his mouth, specifically, on his gums and teeth. The stuff made his mouth feel strongly like static in a matter of seconds. "Comment all you want, but you'd be thanking me if you knew exactly how much of a bitch it would hurt if you had to go through this without the strongest painkillers mankind could make."

"Well I ned mure af ha stuff if I turn inta a baht manstah?"

The mechanic half sarcastically asked through an extremely numb mouth as soon as the doctor was done putting the paste in there.

"No, unlike a werewolf who will transform based on the position of the moon, a vampire's ability to turn into a bat is normally rooted in the said vampire's willpower and or their mental and emotional state. It will not hurt unless you will it to. But turning into a bat and back again will use up a lot of energy and burn a ton of calories, so I don't recommend it as of right now. For similar reasons, I also wouldn't recommend swimming twenty miles and running a marathon back to back either."

The doctor did a once-over on his patient's treated injuries and checked his vitals before giving him his normal clothes back.

"Alright, it seems that everything's up to order..." The doctor proceeded to write down a list that he handed to Thomas. "Don't eat anything until after you can fully feel your mouth again, otherwise you might accidentally cut out your own tongue. If you have any questions or concerns, feel free to either come to me about it or ask around the studio for either werewolf packs or vampire covens. The latter's rarer than the former but werewolves and vampires have been known to get along well due to the pair often engaging in a symbiotic relationship."

"I thawt tat Wahwoles an vamhires hated each other..?"

He was internally grateful that the staticky feeling of his mouth was subsiding just enough for him to be able to talk normally again.

"That's a common misconception that came from World War II I'm afraid; American soldiers who happen to be vampires hate Nazis who happen to be werewolves and vice versa."

Thomas frowned as he stopped to read the list, it was basically a bunch of common vampire dos and don'ts, mostly don'ts; avoid sunlight, religious symbols and texts, mirrors in public areas, etc. He ran his tongue against his top and bottom canine teeth and while his tongue still felt off from the medicine, he could tell that those teeth were longer and sharper.

He knew that with each passing second, he was becoming more and more like one of the studio's many monsters that he was wary of, and he felt gutted because of it.

"...Thanks for everything, doc. I... I'll go ask Joey for some time off to adjust to all of... this."

-------------

Instead of going to Joey, Tom had spent the rest of the day trying to carry on with his daily tasks and work as usual, fixing up the pipes, checking on the Ink machine, mostly just trying to bury the knowledge of his vampirism in work.

Thankfully he was unbothered by the studio's workers, so it mostly worked out fine for him. Until he got to his least favorite part of the studio to work in: The music department.

Part of him was tempted to just make Wally do this, but as a werewolf, Wally would sense that he wasn't wearing silver or wolf's bane anymore and would be curious as to why he wasn't wearing any. He didn't want to lie to him but he also didn't want the Janitor to find out about his ...condition, he wasn't ready for that yet. In fact, he didn't want anyone in the studio's wolf pack to find out about this. He had goosebumps on the outside and inside just thinking about how they'd react.

He knew that they wouldn't be smug about it like how he assumed other monsters would, even worse than that. They'd know that he didn't have a coven as he was only recently turned, so they'd probably welcome him into the pack with open arms, especially if he was one of those vampires that was able to turn into a wolf too. They'd freely and willingly accept them as one of their own, a monster.

He tried to shake those thoughts away and continue to work on pipes that had been bitten into by the godforsaken raven monster. He cursed about Sammy under his breath as he fixed them as usual. He could feel the music director's presence as he did so, but unlike how this normally went, he didn't sense any hostility or hunger coming from the looming shadow of the beast in human's clothing.

Thomas had his back turned away from the normally wrathful monster, he wasn't seeing what the man's expression was. He didn't know if the damned bird was proud of his lost humanity, looking at him like he was now worthy of being an underling of his, or if the musician simply pitied him for god knows why.

But the mere presence of the beast alone was driving him crazy.

"Leave! Me! ALONE!" The vampire mechanic spun around and half-shouted half-hissed at the confused looking music director. "I DON'T CARE WHAT YOU'RE THINKING ABOUT ME, BUT I DON'T NEED YOU TO LOOM OVER MY WORK AND RUB IN WITH YOUR PRESENCE THAT I'M A FUCKING UNDEAD, BLOOD-SUCKING, FANGED FREAK!"

Thomas wasn't sure which reaction he was excepting from the beast, but he felt a mixture of goosebumps and anger as the director stepped forward and looked at him with intrigue.

"...Do you mean a vampire?"

"Yes, of course I do." The mechanic rolled his eyes as he fought back the urge to fight the raven. "What gave it away?"

Sammy smiled at him, not in that hungry 'I want to eat you but know that I can't' kind of smile, but also not a smug 'haha! you're a monster too now!' way. Before today, Thomas wasn't sure that Sammy was physically capable of smiling like that and it both creeped him out and made him angrier about this situation.

"Nothing, you simply told me that yourself."

"...Then why were you starring at me like that?"

The Bird monster shrugged.

"I was just wondering why your presence didn't seem to harm anyone anymore." He stated as he turned to leave Tom to do his work. "I guess I know why now."

[madaras-housewife]

A bridge between love and duty

This took me a long ass time to write and holy I’m glad I’m finally done with it. I enjoyed writing it and I also hated it, but I’ve sure learnt a lot from it. Nonetheless, I’m infinitely happy about giving Hashi the love he deserves.

This one shot is a part of a server collab organised by the lovely @bakubabes-hatake. 

pairing: Hashirama Senju x female reader

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep.” 

prompt: Hanahaki disease

length: 5.7k words

tw: none

Red camellia: “You are a flame in my heart”  

The muffled sound was the first thing she heard in the darkness of her slumber. As her consciousness steadily gathered, she took a deep breath and realised what it was. Her heavy eyelids peeled open, but they quickly closed back.  A warm bed; a mask covering her mouth and nose. 

The woman groaned and rose up to sit straight. Her chest was slightly aching, but it was not as bad as usual. A gentle beam of sunshine tried to peek through the blinders. How long had she been out? It was then that she started reminiscing about the failure of her life with a resigned sigh. But what stirred in her heart was not fear, nor anger. A strange melodious tune of relief coursed through her body. It was over. 

Nevertheless, her thought process was interrupted by the door creaking open. 

A woman in a white coat walked in and looked her up and down with hawk-like eyes. She seemed better than the state she was in at her arrival. The medic formally introduced herself and asked the patient the routine questions, before using her medical ninjutsu on her. 

_____ did not mean to ask who brought her to the hospital, but she felt the need to inquire about other matters.

“How long have I been asleep?”

The nurse did not spare her another look. “For about 5 hours. Hashirama-sama wasn’t here for too long after leaving you in our care.”. 

“Ah, I see.”. A nearly awkward silence ensued between the two, but the medical worker seemed to have read her mind. 

“He was here until you became stable.”. Those words visibly relieved the patient, to which she reprimanded, “Your condition is grave, you know. You should have gone to the doctor a long time ago. Chance is that you will have permanent scars.”

_____’s shoulder stiffened, but those words seemed to go through her. Despite the accuracy of her statement, she did not want to feel scolded by a stranger, albeit a medical professional. 

The woman in white pursed her lips. “Hashirama-sama should be back soon. I will send word that you have awakened. Until then, you should get some more rest.”

With a nod, the nurse was dismissed and _____ was left alone in her room. She could now relish in the mess that she made, recollecting her mistakes from the very beginning. 

Following the end of the Warring States era, the shinobi world found that the easiest way to forge peace between the clans was through arranged marriages. So for _____, being chosen as a bride for the Senju clan was an opportunity for her own brethren to gain respect and recognition in the newly founded Konohagakure. 

A few moons after the official inauguration of the Leaf, the clan elders deemed it urgent to hold an internal conference. Most of the distinguished families showed up, so it was deemed necessary for her to be there, too. In their characteristically tedious manner, they spoke of traditions that needed to be upheld, as well as something related to their reputation and prestige, a subject that no one was particularly interested in.

 However, the discussion slowly built towards the matter of Hashirama’s marital status and how he was to marry a kunoichi from a different clan as soon as possible, as the elders thought it sensible for the leader of the village to have successors. 

A stale atmosphere of monotony clung to the room, except for the chair where _____ sat. She tried imitating the mannerism and facial expressions of the other members to no avail. The tension surrounding her became almost palpable, but the scowl lingering on Hashirama’s face gave her hope of him denying the proposition.

“I will consider it.” 

Regardless of all her years of training, she couldn’t control the furious wriggling of her digits on the table, something which did not go unnoticed by the participants. Their impassive, yet judgemental eyes burnt countless little dents through her with enough ease to make her feel like nothing more than a decaying puppet which had long outlived its usefulness. The shame was suffocating, unbearable, virulent and yet the only thing her decrepit body could perceive was the subtle stifling of her chest. 

Hashirama shot her a curious glare before his attention returned to the elders, who seemed to be more full of crap than they usually were. She retracted her hands under the table with a servile frown. 

She was grateful that her husband, Hitoshi, wasn’t there. 

Would he think of her any less than he already did? His attempts at hiding it were half-hearted at best. The contempt he held towards her was the second thing that haunted her the most. Yes, the eyes never lie. 

It would have been inconsiderate of her to blame Hitoshi for his indifference. Not only had he accepted it, but he also allowed her the undeserved decency of not addressing the farcical, yet frequent, circumstance of forced wedlock. Maybe that, too, was a form of consideration and love for her, but the notion was baseless, a conjecture, which, unfortunately, could not make her heart sway in his direction, regardless of its verity. 

Once the clan meeting was over, _____ was the first one to leave her seat. She did not have the strength to even look them in the eye, so instead, she turned on her heels and flung the door open.  

“What’s wrong, ______?”, Hashirama asked. He wanted to reach out to touch her shoulder, but stopped himself mid-way. The somber aura clinging to her made him. Taking a closer look, he could almost feel the scent of illness, one he had been familiar with his entire life.

 In all fairness, he had his suspicions. Being the head of his clan, he was privy to certain information and, judging by the manner in which Hitoshi spoke of his marriage, he was sure that it had something to do with that.

When she turned around, he made out her sickly pale complexion, which was poorly coated in make-up. She was spent. 

She found herself twisting the ring on her hand. It was ordinary for diplomats to lie for the sake of appearances, but to her, deceit had become the strongest weapon. Whatever sense of self she had left, she wished to use to the best of her ability. 

“Everything is alright, Hashirama-sama. I just happen to be a bit overworked.”, she affirmed, “Nothing that a good night’s rest can’t fix.”. Even a small grin found its way on her dry lips. 

When he was nothing but honest, all she could offer him was emotional chicanery, bland lies and formal words. After all, it was the thing she was best at, wasn’t it? She tried focusing on something, anything else that would diverge her mind from guilt, but she couldn’t look away. Instead, she stared right back at him with a stilted glare.

Her assertiveness almost persuaded him, if it hadn’t been for the folded hands on her lap; fingers squeezed together, trembling, wincing, as if it was the last day on that wretched world.

“You don’t seem well. Would you like me to take a look? I’m sure I could help.”

“I said, I’m fine. There’s nothing to be worried about.”. Her words came out harsher than she intended, but bold enough to startle him. And as such,  her duplicity endured, once again. Every word seemed to embed a metal needle under her skin, until her entire body itched violently. The sensation was so familiar to her, she realised her medication had run out. “Now, I must go back to my husband.”, turning around, she silently apologized for the dismissal.

That was the last time. The sting of tears overtook her unexpectedly. She squeezed her eyes shut and bore a growing lump in her throat in the way she taught herself. It wouldn’t be long now.

Hashirama frowned and debated letting her go. It was clear that she did not want to open up to him. And why would she? She had no reason to impart her private grievances, no matter how much he would have liked to think otherwise. 

Still, fate seemed to have other plans. She felt its brute force as she clutched her stomach in pain, and, unwillingly, she let it all out. The mask had slipped off. Crimson petals leaked from her mouth and he was by her side, placing a gentle hand on the small of her back, in less than a moment’s notice. He immediately activated his medical ninjutsu, but the coughing wouldn’t stop. It went on and on, until her hands were stained, until her own tears mixed in with the fruit of her disease, until she realised her failure. In her hazy, broken state, she couldn’t make out why she was crying, when, almost effortlessly, she purged her own chest the same way earlier that day. Was it the product of her illness or that of her sorrow? 

The answer wouldn’t amount to anything. 

When her ailment finally decided to give her a temporary reprieve, she stood straight, quickly wiping off the tears and the stains of blood on her loose dress, but it was too late. The mask had already shattered. 

She hadn’t even noticed that his hand was gleaming green on her back. As relief coursed through her body, scant breaths became regular. Her shoulders slumped when the warmth of his body enveloped her. Hashirama’s powerful chakra aroused tingles on her skin, making her reminisce that night they first met. A tint of pink brightened her complexion and she allowed herself to relish in the moment, without paying attention to him.

Hashirama was speechless and did not know what to make of the situation. Allowing her to ease up, he inspected her up close: the dried tears, the rosy cheeks and the darkened puffiness under her eyes. But then, he suddenly remembered it, too. That night, which he unsuccessfully tried to forget, was always following him, nearly haunting him.

***

The two met at her wedding reception. She hadn't been formally introduced to him at the time, so she approached him. Hashirama humbly presented himself, speaking with such frank familiarity that it made her feel awkward, at first. Given how the disingenuous and monotone courtesies of the ceremony bore her, she subconsciously lingered closely to him. 

Being physically close allowed her to feel his chakra prickling her body like a warm touch. It awakened a stream of goosebumps on her skin and _____ guessed that he was forced to keep it at bay due to its intensity. One couldn’t live in the Warring States period without hearing stories of Senju Hashirama’s legendary might on the battlefield. 

Throughout the night, they held each other's company whenever they could. The conversations flowed naturally as the time went by and at one point, both of them were so inebriated they couldn’t even tell what they were talking about anymore. Hardly anything was distinguishable besides the loud giggles and hiccups and the aroma of heat that surrounded them. 

Their eyes intertwined in a silent dance, again and again. His were almond shaped, she remarked, a mellifluous whiskey brown that never failed to mirror his gentleness. When contemplating her questions, he turned his head away, squeezed his eyes shut and knitted his thin brows together with a finger cocked under his chin. That was when she could ogle innocently at his features. The man’s tan skin was visibly flushed and yet, flawless. The shinobi world was not a merciful one, considering how most warriors had noticeable marks on their bodies, worn with pride. They symbolized endurance and experience in warfare, like an insignia gained through hardship and struggle. In contrast to that, Hashirama’s face bore no scars, no blemishes, no wrinkles that weighed on it and, despite barely knowing him, _____ could safely tell that the head of the Senju clan was not a man of appearances. He was undefeated in battle, after all, to the extent that not even his responsibilities seemed to burden him. 

Whenever a gust of wind pervaded the backyard, the woman couldn’t help but admire his hair; a soft raven mane that cascaded on his broad shoulders and his back. Shinobi were rarely interested in looks, so they often kept their hair short or tied, even more so when it could be a hindrance in battle. But, once again, Hashirama distinguished himself. His hair reached mid-back and seemed to flow freely in the wind, like him. He was not bound by the grudges that had been passed down to him and he was not afraid to challenge the world’s beliefs, that much she realised. No, he was a man of his own, unlike everyone else at the wedding reception, unlike her. _____ acknowledged that she herself was confined to the laws and traditions of the shinobi world; it became apparent upon meeting the head of the Senju clan. He truly was an eccentric, but a charming one at that. 

He was so alluring, she compulsively moved closer to him, until their shoulders brushed against each other, as he mindlessly accepted it. Her touch was so brief it could have been called a mistake, if it wasn't for the girlish bat of her eyelashes and for the delicate, faint chuckles which suggested otherwise. When their eyes made contact again, the atmosphere shifted into something else. Neither of them said a word, but she was almost sure that time had gone still. Her breath hitched when Hashirama subconsciously trailed his eyes over her body with a gaze so intense, she felt her knees melting. They eagerly took in the modest cut of her dress, with the moonlight highlighting her collarbone. In that moment, he was certain that her body had been sculpted by the gods. The jewelries seemed to adorn it and he wanted nothing more than to see it all, right there, where the sensual beam of light accentuated her beauty just barely enough for him to realise what it was that he yearned for.

The man took a step closer and unwillingly heard the sound of her gulping down, but she didn’t budge. Instead, her feet stubbornly planted themselves into the ground as the crackling sparks in her eyes turned into a fire so incessant and heated, he felt it on his flushed skin, all the way to the tip of his fingers and toes. He knew then that she yearned too. 

And so, the next moment had her eager lips pressed against his own, as a tingle of impatience ran down her spine. He returned the passion tenfold as his arms draped around her frame and pulled her in. An intense, almost violent hunger coursed through his veins, their tongues intertwining as he claimed her mouth. By the time she realised how weakened her legs had become, he was already supporting her, pushing her body against his own. 

A surging tide of warmth pulsated in her chest as all thought ceased, intoxicated by the taste of his lips and the alcoholic breath invading her nose. She tugged on his hair so addictively that he groaned in her mouth, the vibrations descending to her stomach, where tension started coiling up. The way their teeth clashed and their bodies drowned together sent wild tremors to her nerves, kindling in her emotions she had never known she was capable of feeling.  His earthy scent aroused her to no end and, as if time had stopped right there, both Hashirama and _____ forgot to breathe, forgot that there was anyone else in the world but them, forgot about the fact that anyone could walk by and witness how they melted into each other, needing to become one. 

With a last lick of her lips, he slowly pulled away, drunk on her and the sake she consumed earlier that night. Their ragged breaths almost deafened the crowd in their vicinity, all of whom were unaware of what had just transpired. Even so, it slightly pulled Hashirama out of their bubble of passion. He blinked once, twice, and then his eyelids started fluttering in disbelief.

His eyes unwillingly darted over to the Senju clan badge on her shoulder, which made him completely stop in his tracks. Almost instantly, and, yet, reluctantly, Hashirama put physical distance between him and the flustered bride, his gaze not daring to meet her hypnotised eyes. At first, she was confused, but it hit her as well. What the hell was she doing? The brunet bowed his head with a short whisper of an apology, followed by a formal statement of good wishes, before she was left all alone.

The rest of the evening had been just as awkward. Out of respect for her and her new husband, he decided to stay, with the condition of completely avoiding her. Hashirama even found solace  in the nearest bottle of sake, which he wished would also quell his thoughts about her. _____ followed in his example and allowed herself to succumb to a few more drinks, before she could not even remember the rest of the night. 

***

At any rate, it didn’t take much for Hashirama to put two and two together. The reception, her illness and her suddenly relaxed state. He needed no more than a direct confirmation from her. 

“What is this?”

She expected that question. Nonetheless, the ever present sting of shame, whose face she knew too well, did not seem to crawl under her skin. Instead, she felt something she had only experienced once before, upon the consummation of her marriage to Hitoshi. She welcomed it. 

“I love you, Hashirama.”

The man’s face turned bright red. He seemed to have lost all sense of dignity when his lips parted and his eyes widened. She placed a shaky hand on his shoulder and gave it a warm squeeze.  

Following that night, they frequently engaged in short conversations at clan meetings. As per Hashirama’s typical attitude, he tried to mend their inhibitions, wishing that it would be as easy as it was back then, but his eyes always hid behind a wall of hesitance, and, although it could not stop her from craving, it made her realise that it would probably never come down. At that moment, however, something was different. 

An amused chuckle echoed through the hallway. “The last time I’ve seen you this flustered was when I kissed you. Perhaps I should have brought a bottle of sake. That face of yours could definitely use a cup or two.”

The strain in her voice made him snap back to reality. He took a step back, figuring out her vain tactic. Would he judge her? Perhaps not outwardly.

“How long have you been hiding this for? How much longer until…?”

“I thought they would go away, these feelings of mine. He knows, too, but we don’t talk about it. ”, she chose to look at her feet as she spoke those words. Even for a second, she wanted to avoid the burning, pressuring sensation on her back.  _____ subconsciously fiddled with her fingers, almost as if she was trying to scratch away at the humiliation like a piece of paper. 

She had a place to call home. Shouldn’t she have been happy? She had the firm earth under her feet, the pride of her clan on her back, a name to carry, shouldn’t she have been happy? She had a dutiful husband, shouldn’t she have been happy? And the warm food in front of her nose, the calm rains and sunshine blessing her, the smiles and laughter of children, so then how? How was she still not happy when she had peace? 

It was not enough.

His own eyes drifted to her hands. Playing with her own fingers was a tick he had grown to learn about her. Hashirama would watch her peculiar habit during their meetings. After having seen it so many times, he understood its meaning and knew how frequent it was. What merit was there in a life without happiness? 

He frowned and wondered if there was anything he could do. But just as quickly as that thought came, a wave of emotions crashed into Hashirama’s consciousness. It was his fault that she was in this state. The man’s expression then deepened, but she quickly sensed and rebutted his contrition: 

“This is my cross to bear, Hashirama. It’s the only thing I can do for my clan, the only way I can honor their name. So, please… I can handle this myself.” she said half-heartedly. And there it was, that dull pain in her chest, again. Was that what she really wanted? 

Despite her comforting words, his lips slightly curled downwards. The brunet saw it as nothing more than cordial rejection, so he judged it to be the perfect opportunity to draw her in. Reaching out his hands, he grabbed her smaller ones, squeezing them reassuringly, with a gentleness he didn’t think he was capable of. 

His gesture was unexpected, but not rejected. She squeezed back, barely. The hesitance in her grip only fueled his fire. 

“This village… This place we have built is supposed to put an end to meaningless pain, ______. My entire life I have seen only suffering and loss and I want… no, will to put an end to it. I promise I will find a way to make things work out, if you choose to abandon your marriage. ”. The determination in his eyes was almost intimidating. He himself sincerely despised the prospect of an arranged, albeit necessary, marriage. 

Those tender, reassuring words made her heart skip a beat with a fondness so profound she could revel in for the rest of her life, but as much as she wanted to believe his commitment, the woman deemed it to be nothing more than wishful thinking. 

Perhaps, that was why she found herself thinking about him time and again. And for months on end, she was unable to make anything of it. Even though she knew that her wedlock was but a small compromise for the greater good, ______ felt less and less complacency as time went on. The fulfillment of her noble duty no longer comforted her at night, when she felt frigid and abandoned. Instead, she found warmth coiling in her gut whenever Hashirama crossed her mind. To her, he was a paradox; a way to escape her own condition when she could no longer bear it and, yet, its cause. It became difficult to endure, the more complicated her disease became. She could almost feel the numerous camellias blooming in her chest, a sickening sensation that her rudimentary medication could barely alleviate anymore. 

This is my punishment, she confessed to herself time and time again. When the leaflets coiled up in her trachea and choked her, the woman could almost feel an intangible force wrapping its hand around her throat. Regurgitating the putrid and picturesque corollary to her emotional infidelity, ______ found herself imagining what could have been if she hadn’t been chosen as a marital pawn, but instead of offering her some type of temporary, albeit imaginary, release, it only made her clench her fists and her weakened shoulders shudder. And by the time her guts were briefly drained of bloody flowers, all that was left was a disgusting portrait of feebleness, lamentation and illness, a symbol of her true self; not a kunoichi, not a member of the Senju clan and certainly not a wife. At times of bitter realisation, such as those ones, she thought to herself that maybe, blaming him would be easier; that maybe, putting it all on him would ease her guilt a little and even diminish her feelings for him, but Hashirama didn’t deserve that. He did not deserve to be the target of her selfishness. 

“I would lose status in front of both of our clans, I would be rejected by my own clansmen, abandoned by my husband. And for what...? Stop speaking of such a pipe dream. Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Hashirama.  ”, the weight of her words sent a pang of conscience in her chest, where she felt it squeeze her lungs in a punitive manner. She could not tell whether her dubiety or her Hanahaki were taking their course on her body.

No matter how hard she tried to deny it, she wanted it; a way out. She felt guilty even for thinking about it. She did not deserve any more than she already had, anything better than she was cursed with, that seemingly worthless duty of hers, like a puppet on a loose string.

Her vision gradually darkening, she didn’t notice the man’s bottom lip jutting out. Instead, his sunken eyes made her realise that her harsh words definitely struck a nerve. She tried taking a deep breath, which would have resounded with regret, but all that came out was a short gasp before her chest tightened. With balled fists, she tried her best to ignore it by pressing on and apologizing, before being delayed.

“Don’t speak that way, I know-”, the plea was interrupted by the woman’s head unnaturally bowing forward, her body trying to follow. It was so abnormal that it made him instinctively grab her shoulders. She was shaking, he noticed.

The room began to spin as consciousness gracefully slipped from her grasp. She allowed the darkness to embrace her as her frail body suddenly limped, but was caught before it could touch the ground. Hashirama’s arm pushed her closer to his chest while his other hand gently pressed itself against her dry, ashen cheek. Those eyelids dropped heavily and unhesitatingly. It was as if she had already given up.

He kneeled and activated his glowing chakra to quickly inspect her state. Eyes wide and heart nearly bursting out of his ribcage, Hashirama knew he couldn’t waste any time. The thought of it being too late for her crossed his mind and it made him run faster than he thought he was able to. Please make it in time...!

Later that day, Hashirama found himself sitting on the highest point in Konohagakure. The freshly carved stone face of himself still felt unfamiliar, yet he found a strange sense of tranquility and peace in that spot. He could gaze at the entire settlement and it was there that he indulged in the sweet gift of solidarity. Even a man such as Hashirama enjoyed it sometimes. It helped him clear his mind and contemplate, when his office became too crowded and uncomfortable to fulfill that purpose. 

Every now and then, he could even feel his friend’s presence next to him, one which he dearly missed. He was painfully aware that he could not stop Madara from leaving. Hashirama could not prevent, nor mend, his mistrust with the village. Madara renounced his place as a shinobi of Konoha with a sinister promise of his return. But it would not be a peaceful one, Hashirama knew. He needed to be prepared to protect the people the way he knew best.

Protect, huh? his mind drifted off to ______. He reminded himself of her arranged marriage and her honorable sacrifice. The flowers gushing out of her throat, right in front of him, and the way she desperately clung to him for air, for a reprieve. He would not forget the way her ailing body caved into him and how loose her clothes were that day. Never quite understanding why they almost limped on her body, he was aghast when he felt her bones poking through her skin. 

Now that he considered it, she looked a little different every time he saw her at their conferences. The woman’s garments heavily contrasted the proud wear of the Senju. Instead of vibrant and estimable, her clothes were prosaic, almost dusty. Even so, the clan crest always decorated her figure, displaying her high status. It almost served as a ridicule, for she became nothing more than a meaningless symbol of welfare. Something festered in him each time he saw her and yet, he didn’t realise how she was slowly withering away. A memory of her in her wedding gown flashed before his eyes; the way her eyes twinkled and her hair danced in the wind; those plump, enticing lips of hers. She was exquisite. How could he not notice it? 

The aftermath of the events that took place at her wedding reception never quite left the atmosphere. It went unmentioned. It would not have done neither of them any good to bring it up. What would they even say? Would they confess to their sins? Lament over the moment of their forbidden passion? 

  If it was exoneration that she sought, she wouldn’t solicit it from the one she ferociously kissed, but from her family, her clan and her husband.

 She was always in the back of his mind, on the good days and the worse ones. Though humiliated about it, the memory of their passionate moment made his cheeks flush. He touched her that night ー a married woman ー and despite the circumstances, he did not regret it. 

 The man understood her responsibility, her drive to do what is best for her village and its citizens. Is that all there really is to life? Liability? Duty?, the Senju pondered.

 Hashirama was a person who could not tolerate the prospect of peopleー human beingsー being used as pawns. It made him stiff with anger. After all, his childhood revolved around his utility on the battlefield. To the Senju clan leadersー his own father, nonethelessー, the 4 siblings, as well as many others, were nothing more than numbers; peons, to be used for mindless warfare that had lost its meaning long before they were born and before their father’s fathers own births. 

Who would he be if he abandoned someone when they needed him, again? 

It would be an insult to his people and his loved ones to let someone walk away, again. Even when so many people looked up to him, he felt ashamed. He could not even remember all his mistakes, all his sins, all the deaths he was responsible for. So Hashirama decided that he would not fail another time. He was aware of the repercussions he would face not only from both clans, but possibly from _____, too. Except, it could never sting as badly as the grim image of death knocking at her door as she squandered whatever was left of her life for a scrap of dignity and pride.

 Her reminiscing was perturbed, once again, by the sound of the wooden door being flung open.But this time, she readily turned her eyes to the other side of the room, where they met his. 

“How are you feeling?”

“Certainly better than before. I’m sorry for… you know, fainting on you.”, a small, ashamed chuckle was let out, which he imitated. However, his eyes softened to such a degree that she felt her entire face suffuse with red in front of them. 

He strode towards her bed, where he sat and took a moment to study her. “That’s good news. I’m relieved.”

 One of her hands snuck over the blanket and lightly squeezed Hashirama’s. She was hoping that the peaceful silence would last longer. Muttering a few words of appreciation, she wished nothing more than for things to stay that way.

His eyes were fixated on her hand, but he did not return the gesture. “I don’t think you should thank me yet.”

“What do you mean?”

“After I left you here, I had a… conversation with your husband and the elders.”. His tone was almost meek, but there were no hints of regret coating it. “It’s over.”

 The small gasp that followed did not surprise him in the slightest. Despite the sound being distorted by her mask, it bore just as much distress as he had anticipated. He had mentally prepared himself for every possibility.

Her mind raced aimlessly. Although her hand did not move, her eyes turned away, deciding to focus on the weather outside, behind the open window. In the aftermath of  her failure, she realised that there was no other way for it to end, but with shunning and disgrace. Although she would never admit it, she knew it from the moment she chose to kiss him.  

 Nevertheless, the world kept spinning, the sun kept shining, and, for the first time in a while, she felt its warmth and comfort, a blessing she had denied herself for so long. It was really over. Her dessicated lips curled into a smile. 

“I knew I should have asked you first, but I-”

“Thank you, Hashirama. It’s alright now.”

The moment their orbs connected to each other, she felt the hot tears welling up, reflecting a thousand emotions and he silently listened to them, accepting them. It was then that his marred hand reached back to hers and gently intertwined his fingers with her own.  Hopefully, the fidgeting would stop. But they knew it would not be as simple as that.

_____ brought her fingers up to her face, removing the somewhat bothersome mask. She bent forward towards Hashirama and placed a tender peck on his cheek. Even the burden on her chest seemed to slowly dissipate.

Hashirama’s hair smelled earthy, she remarked, the same as back then. Inhaling his scent, she relished when his free hand slightly pulled her closer and he rubbed her back.

 Her crime weighed heavy. She was aware she would be cast out for leaving her husband, for failing her clan, for owning herself. 

What was done was done. The new-found sense of freedom made her heart play a tranquil, bittersweet tune, an unfaltering rhythm that finally set her eyes on the horizon, one which she would definitely chase this time, no matter what came next. 

Maybe, if she let go of what she was, she would become more like him. Bolder, more unprejudiced, more independent. 

If one’s brave, they listen to the heart. If one’s a coward, they obey their head. But for cowards, there is no paradise.

[lassieposting]

Any alive! Skulduggery hcs that you haven't shared? I live by your version of him tbh

Hi anon! I think I covered skug's backstory up to when he signs up to fight and then skipped ahead to when he meets his wife, so you can have the Early War Years

- so when we left skug, he'd been on the pirate adventure and essentially moved in with ghastly's family at age 16, and that's where he stays for the next three years. Ghastly's father introduces him to taking pride in his appearance, Ghastly introduces him to Hopeless, and Ghastly's mother Saoirse introduces him to three things: motherly love, household chores, and the back of her hand for swearing in the house. He settles into the family, flirts with the prettiest local girls, develops an allergy to manual labour, and starts Experimenting™ with Ghastly, who's absolutely besotted with him.

- at 19, he has his surge, and it's bad. Ghastly has his a few months earlier, and it wasn't pleasant, but Ghastly was always going to be an elemental. He was sick and achy for a few days and howling in pain for just one or two. Skug expects much the same: he hasn't used necromancy in years, and he's had the best elemental tutors his parents could find.

- But he's inherited an insanely strong necromancy gene from his biological father, and an insanely strong elemental gene from his mother, and his surge ultimately comes down to two branches of magic trying to destroy each other to be the last gene standing. His temperature skyrockets as the elemental gene tries to burn the necromancy out of him. What looks like black blood seeps from his eyes and his nose and the corner of his mouth. His veins go black as the shadows retaliate. It goes on for days. Ghastly's mother is beside herself trying to get water into him so he doesn't die of thirst.

- If he hadn't also inherited the extremely rare genetic abnormality responsible for magical ambidexterity, his surge would've killed him. But he did, so it doesn't, and eventually he comes out of it and spends the next six months or so just recovering.

- at this point, the sanctuary is pushing recruitment. Ghastly doesn't look twice at the posters, but skug does. Ghastly's whole world is his family, their farm, and his father's tailoring business. But skug's father is a diplomat, he's got extended family involved in the war, he was supposed to go to a fancy French university that ended up being burned down during an attack by some pro-Mevolent riots, he's had to field questions from smaller siblings about when - and if - their dad would be coming home. He's highly educated, politically savvy, and emotionally involved. He decides he wants to sign up to fight.

- Saoirse does her best to talk him out of it, but skug is skug, and he digs his heels in and insists this is what he wants to do. He's going to join the war effort.

- Ghastly and Hopeless think it over and decide to join up with him. Hopeless, because he's an idealistic young man looking for glory, and Ghastly because someone has to watch skulduggery's back and keep him out of trouble, or he'll get himself shot long before he gets to set foot on a battlefield.

- honestly, ghastly isn't expecting skug to last long in the army. Skug is a pampered spoiled rich brat, and he's about to be surrounded by people who will scream in his face and make him do drills and expect him to obey orders, and he thinks it will take a few weeks tops before skug wants to desert

- that is. Not what happens

- like. none of them like it very much to begin with. hopeless has never had to do this much exercise in his life, and he hates it. ghastly is lonely and homesick and just wants to go back to dublin. and their first CO decides he hates skug on like, their first day of training, because he's a smart-mouthed arrogant asshole who's never had to be afraid of anything but his own father, and he does not react well to being ridiculed during drills. skug's ego takes a good solid battering because the other enlistees don't appreciate being given extra chores as punishment for him mouthing off, ghastly has to crack some skulls to make sure he won't be bullied for his scars, hopeless doesn't quite fit in and gets some nasty ribbing over it

- but also? they've got untapped talent, all three of them. they end up black ops fighters for a reason. hopeless tops the class for intelligence and undercover operations, because he can become anyone. ghastly is strong and level-headed and does well under pressure. and skulduggery is a natural leader, a ruthless tactician, and has a tendency to pull off insane plans that would go horribly for anyone else.

- they survive basic training. they get sent into the field. and ghastly and hopeless find that they're actually pretty good at this. they earn the respect of the rest of their platoon. and skulduggery? he starts to thrive

- this is the era of wealthy aristocrats buying their way into leadership positions they don't have the experience or common sense to do well in. almost none of the lower-class soldiers have any patience for it, but as a fellow aristo Skug has the social standing to call them out on it, so he still has a habit of making enemies of his commanding officers. he resents being handed orders by men who are less than he is, less clever, less observant, less capable. he goes out of his way to prove that his way of doing things is better.

- and? it works for him, sort of. he gets promoted several times - first he's pulled out of the enlisted ranks to be trained up as an officer, then he makes lieutenant, then captain - partly because he's Challenging to deal with and partly because he's becoming incredibly competent. it's fairly common for skug to get a flogging (for disobeying orders) and a promotion (because it worked out well for him) simultaneously. he has quite a few stripes by the time he meets wifey. when he starts being given command of a squad of his own, he takes ghastly with him as his number two, and hopeless comes along for the ride.

- at some point, skug gets palmed off on then-colonel corrival deuce. it's phrased as "oh here i'll give you some of my best men", but corrival is experienced enough to recognise "god please take this one off my hands im begging you" when he sees it, and sure enough, he butts heads with skug almost as soon as they're introduced.

- by this point skulduggery's men have developed a reputation for being a bit wild, and they're very loyal to him, so corrival has his work cut out. but? he's got a bit of a different approach to a lot of his fellow officers, because he came up through the ranks himself. so instead of locking horns with skug and trying to flog him into compliance, he turns skug into his pet project, his protégé. he gives him a loose rein, defends his decisions to the higher-ups, and doesn't interfere too much with how skug runs his team, but he also doesn't tolerate backtalk, bullshit or cheek. he's the stern-but-fair mentor figure - the Captain Holt/Captain Pellew/Lord Wellington to skug's Peralta/Hornblower/Sharpe. and skug's never had a very involved father figure, because ghastly's father is massively introverted and his own was short-tempered and perpetually disappointed in him, so corrival trips his "kids want boundaries" switch and actually wins him over.

- corrival hangs onto him after that. as he gets promoted and moved around, skug goes with him, and by extension so do his team. corrival learns to use the sensible members of the group - ghastly and hopeless, then erskine - to triangulate skug and stop his temper getting the better of him. he's incredibly proud of his chosen men, and all three of them really come into their own under his guidance. skug turns down promotion a couple times because it would mean a change of CO, and he knows there aren't many people he'd take orders from anymore.

- and then skug meets wifey.

- when skug gets married, neither his mother or father attend. they don't approve of wifey or her pitiful dowry. they assume, as does kenspeckle, that he's marrying her to Do The Decent Thing because he's knocked her up, and his father reassures him that he doesn't have to marry the girl, just send her somewhere far away and send her money to support her brat, and this whole sorry indiscretion can be put behind him. skug is. furious. he was smart enough not to take wifey with him to announce the engagement, and he ends up having a screaming match with his father that ends with him a) walking out and b) getting disinherited. he marries her anyway, and despite mr and mrs pleasant senior snubbing the whole event, he's got a full complement of parents there all the same - ghastly's parents turn up, and so does corrival.

- it's a military thing - skug's in his military dress uniform, they cut the cake with his sword - the parade sword, at least, the one he's never actually used, they walk out of the venue through the sword arch and skug's team do the rifle salute. ghastly's mother drags him to one side, pulls him down by the shirtfront to fuss over his hair and try to make it lay flat, licks her thumb and wipes a smudge off his cheek, embarrasses him in front of all his friends. then corrival snags him while they're waiting for the bride, tells him off for not having perfectly shiny buttons, redoes his collar for him, and tells him, "You'll do" like he isn't about to cry a lil. he offers skug some whiskey from his flask "for courage" and without really thinking skug says he doesn't need it because he's never been so sure about anything in his life and corrival is just. he's fine. he's not choked up at all. stand up straight, boy, for god's sake.

- he also makes a speech ghastly still brings up hundreds of years later, because it's the soppiest the old man ever got with any of them. along the lines of "i never had a son, and if i had, i like to think he would've turned out absolutely nothing like you, because you are single-handedly the reason i am going grey several hundred years ahead of schedule. that being said, i couldn't be prouder of the man you've become; you are at least half as stubborn and annoying now as you were when i met you, and i think i can claim at least some of the credit." and then, to wifey, "as to you, my dear, you have freed me, this monster is yours now. to your health, and my heartiest hopes that your future children turn out like you, because one of him is plenty."

- wifey laughs until her sides hurt and she's wheezing. skug pretends he's offended. ghastly wolf-whistles noisily and gets clipped round the ear by his mama. corrival tears up a little in the middle of his speech and clears his throat to hide it. and when it's all over and they're about to leave, wifey thanks him for coming because she knows it meant a lot to skug, and he promises her he'll do his best to bring skug home safe and sound until this damnable war is over.

(he wishes he'd been able to keep that promise until the day he dies)

[masterjedilenawrites]

The Sniper and The Medic: Chapter 9

Starring: Crosshair, OC Joan Vo

Chapter Warnings: Some angst

Taglist: @proadhog @skippyhopperwisdom

AO3 Link (In case you like it better over there, it’s okay, no judgement)

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Chapter 9: Insult to Injury

Crosshair had never been one to run from conflict. Whether it was with weapons, words, or something in between. Even though he hated it, he hated being ridiculed or attacked, he hated losing or feeling less than, he still embraced the fight. Oftentimes he even started one, just to get ahead of the inevitable confrontation.

This thing with Joan, though, he couldn't bring himself to face. He did everything he could to avoid her. Avoid seeing her, avoid thinking about her.... He managed to make it a whole week, but just barely. It was somehow a harder week than the one he'd spent without seeing her before. He'd liked her then; he'd had hope. Now all he had was his wound pride, and a little nagging voice in the back of his head that wondered if maybe he had overreacted.

But now there were only two days left before their training ended and their lives as soldiers began. And he had to see her. It was required.

He sat on the examination table, the same one he'd sat on all those weeks ago when he'd first met her. He had dreaded that moment, not knowing he'd be dealing with someone like her. Someone so kind and caring toward him and his brothers. Someone who was honest and fair and didn't take crap from anyone. Someone beautiful. He tried not to remember how he'd felt when he'd first seen her, and all the feelings he'd acquired since then. But his stomach churned in protest, the room containing too many memories to simply be ignored.

Doctor Joan strode into the room a few minutes late, wearing her full-length blacks and carrying a datapad. She plopped it unceremoniously onto the table next to him. He planned to not look at her, keep his gaze fixed on the opposite wall, and to not respond to any of her attempts at conversation, only offer short answers to any questions necessary for her final assessment. He expected her to either be upset by it, or just not care.

But instead, Joan was silent. He didn't see her move from his periphery, only stand with arms crossed looking at him with a very neutral expression. He wasn't normally bothered by silence, but this one eventually became unbearable.

He finally glared over at her, and she immediately spoke.

"How are you?"

He snapped his gaze back to the wall with pursed lips. Nope. He wouldn't give in.

"Crosshair."

Usually he'd have to fight to keep his heart steady when he heard her say his name. But she was mad, he could hear it in her voice. His name did not sound so sweet to hear now.

"I'm fine," he said, hoping that would shut her up despite knowing it wouldn't.

"You asked to see me last week," she regarded him with narrow eyes. "And then you blew it off. Hunter says you're busy but I know you're avoiding me. You are not fine. And unless you open up and tell me about it, I don't know how to help you."

She had spoken just long enough for Crosshair to get worked up. He couldn't stop himself from breaking his own resolution to stay silent.

"Just stop," he snapped and her eyes grew wide. "Stop acting like you care. Like you're not just doing a job and none of us matter."

"But I do care," she said slowly.

"Just like you care about the regs?" he dismissed with a snarl. "Calling them your brothers, flirting with them.... You have no idea what they are really like. How... how condescending and spiteful and... and cruel they can be."

He was really worked up now. He jumped off the table and began pacing aimlessly. Words spewed from his mouth, far more than he'd ever said at once before, and he wasn't sure any of them were making sense but he suddenly had a need to get them out.

"The things they say, the names... They call us the bad batch. Bad. Because we're different and so that means we're good for nothing, right? Even though I can shoot a moving target from a thousand meters away, it doesn't matter. Still not good enough." 

"Cross..." she started to say softly. But he didn't want her sympathy. He stopped pacing and whirled to face her.

"You don't get it. You don't know what that's like. Everywhere you go, you've got everyone tripping over themselves to get your attention. Me included. And you just eat it up. Like it's a game to you. Acting like you enjoy my company, like I'm special, and then turning around and doing the same thing with some reg."

Joan's look of surprise through his ranting now turned into one of confusion. "I'm sorry... what?"

"Don't act like you don't know," he scoffed. "I saw you laughing with some regs in your office, when you were supposed to be meeting with me."

He was done now. He'd said more than he should have and he didn't like how she still didn't seem to understand. He clenched his jaw and refused to look at her, burning holes into the opposite wall with his gaze instead.

"Wait," she said, tying to wrap her head around it all. "This is about... you're not seriously... jealous?"

"No," he quickly snapped. Maybe a little too quick.

"Okay, good," she stated, starting to come out of her confusion and settle back into her usual, sensible tone. "Because that'd be pretty ridiculous, getting jealous over me being nice to people."

He knew that. As soon as she'd said the word, as soon as he had a name for the emotions he'd been fighting all week, he knew he was being completely and utterly ridiculous. He'd never minded her kindness to his brothers; in fact, he'd admired it. But seeing her with the regs had definitely made him feel jealous. Threatened. He still hated them, he would never budge on that, but he'd had no right to project his anger and insecurities onto Joan.

"I mean, what do you think I do with my time?" she continued, still appalled this was why he had been upset with her. "Just sit around and wait for you to need me? Sure, the clone force is my main responsibility, but there are other ways I'm useful here."

Crosshair lowered his gaze to the floor but kept his posture tense. He wasn't sure what to do now. How could he possibly take back everything he'd said? The foolish and immature way he'd been acting?

Maybe Joan could sense his guilt as she slowly moved closer, like she was approaching an injured animal. He sure felt like he was, albeit, his wounds were of his own fault. She stood just in front of him, silent again, though this time not to coax him into speaking. He looked up at her to see her eyes casting about, thinking of what to say.

"My parents were doctors," she eventually began. "They would travel to underprivileged communities all over the galaxy, even as far as Wild Space. And they'd take me with them. I might not have understood the technical parts of what they did. I'd learn all that on my own later. But they did teach me how to care for people. All peoples, no matter who they were, what they'd done. It's not just my job, but my duty to make people feel better. I can, so I must. Whether it's helping someone recover from an injury, or laughing at a joke that isn't that funny."

She gave him a little smirk, and he found himself falling for her all over again.

"I'm not going to apologize for being nice, especially to those who will probably never meet someone willing to treat them kindly again."

He shook his head rapidly. "No, you're not the one who needs to apologize. I...."

He hesitated with the word, it wasn't one he said very often. He remembered being in a similar situation not too long ago, where he'd snapped at her unfairly, and he'd walked away with only a smile as an apology. She deserved more from him now.

"I'm sorry," he said, trying to say it clearly and confidently. He held her gaze and repeated it for good measure. "I'm sorry, Joan. I shouldn't have been jealous like that. I have no right to tell you how to treat others. And you really are so good to everyone. That's... one of the reasons why I like you."

He didn't say the last part as confidently, dropping his voice low and almost stuttering it out through a suddenly shaky breath.

She smiled and nodded, accepting his apology just like that. No strings, no deals. He wasn't worthy of such simple forgiveness. But he would take what he could get.

"Well uh, just so you know," she said, tucking her hair behind her ears and looking down at the floor. Crosshair felt that familiar wave of warmth rising from his chest, the one he'd been ignoring all week, and thought he'd never get to feel again. He was careful not to get too carried away this time, though. He didn't want to read into anything. He would wait patiently for her to tell him and he wouldn't jump to any wrong conclusions.

"I do enjoy your company. When you asked to see me... Well, I hadn't been having a good week, and that day.... Let's just say I didn't expect to be able to do much. But I ended up looking forward to you coming by. I was worried when you didn't show. It made the day that much worse."

She was still looking downward, and he let his gaze follow hers. Her fingers were twisting the hem of her shirt.

"I know I don't fully understand. Your life, what you've been through. But there's some things you don't know about me, either."

Her hands were so close to his. He reached out for them, carefully testing her reaction as he let his fingers brush against hers, gently loosening them from her shirt, and intertwining them with his own. She seemed hesitant to accept his attempt at comfort, but she wasn't retreating. Not yet. Encouraged, he held on a little more firmly. For a few seconds, she let him, and then she finally withdrew.

"In this room, you are my patient. I have to treat you the same as all my patients. Professionally." She took in a measured breath, her eyes finally looking up into his. "But outside of this room, I'm allowed to have friends. Or enemies. Or... other things."

Her lips twitched into a small smile and so did his. He wasn't sure how he could misinterpret her now.

"What are you doing tonight?"

Her smile grew and she let out a breathless laugh. "Nothing."

"Well, maybe we could get to know each other a little better? Since we've clearly had such a hard time understanding each other so far."

Joan nodded, starting to take a few steps back toward the table, ready to get the examination underway. "I'd like that. What did you have in mind?"

He followed her and sat back atop the table while he thought about it. "Sector 11, just to the right of the double doors. I'll meet you there."

"Okay. I should be wrapped up with all this testing for you boys by eight."

She held up a syringe with an apologetic look.

Oh right, he groaned internally, now snapping back to reality. The dreaded testing....

[mvrtaiswriting]

Don’t worry. - Jotaro Kujo.

HELLO! As promised, here’s one of my works. It’s based on Jojo’s bizzare adventures: Stardust Crusaders. Its main character is Jotaro, although I’ve tried to include everyone; even Holly and Suzie Q. Let me know what you think and please feel free to request anything. Hope you enjoy reading it!

F reader x Jotaro

Jojo’s bizzare adventures: Stardust Crusaders.

SFW

Hi! Are you a new reader? Check my masterlist for more content!

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It’s been 5 weeks since your journey to Egypt started – and so much had already happened to you.

All the difficulties you had to go through helped you and the boys creating an intimate bond, which was really helpful considering how much time you had to spend together and the delicate mission you were on – harmony within the group was essential. So far, you had created a wonderful, particular bond with Kakyoin. The two of you just happened to have a lot of interests in common, and he was so nice to have around: he would often take care of you, putting his jacket on your shoulders whenever he thought it was too cold for you, training with you and helping you to know your stand better. You two had managed to create a wonderful friendship and always spent so much time together, talking about books, films and about all the stand you had met since the start.

5 weeks ago, you arrived in Japan with Joseph. He found you when you were only a baby in a park on a cold night of November and decided to take you home with him and to treat you as if you were is second daughter. Him and Suzie Q were the only family you had ever had and known, and you would have done everything for them and Holly.

You were only some months older than Jotaro and had met him throughout the years – however, your memories with him weren’t much and they weren’t vivid enough to say you’d know him. Over the years, you had kept contact with Holly through numerous calls, and only heard about Jojo through her. When you arrived at the Kujo’s home, Holly greeted you with a warm hug. She always considered you as a niece and nothing less, she really loved you and never failed to show you. Contrariwise to Jotaro, who welcomed you by staring at you with his piercing aquamarine eyes, remaining silent. You weren’t sure whether he recognised you or not, but it never really mattered.

The two of you had an argument almost immediately after meeting each other; he called his mother a ‘stupid bitch’ when she was only trying to steal him an hug and that made you too mad to keep your mouth shut.

Holly had always been such a sweetheart and was always so caring, there was no point in behaving like that.

Your cheeks flushed, quickly turning red. 

‘What gives you the right to talk to her like this? There was no reason for you to be this rude, how can you treat your mother like that?!’ you said, raising an eyebrow while looking at him, who didn’t even bother looking at you.

He smirked, fletching the left corner of his mouth upwards. ‘I’m not going to take advices from someone who doesn’t even know who her real mother his.’ he answered coldly, readjusting his black hat so that it would fit better on his head.  That was the first time he saw your stand. You quickly projected it ready to attack him – and you almost did. Joseph stopped you at the right time, placing an hand on your shoulder. That soft touch from the man you’ve always considered a father was enough to make your stand disappear. You shook your head nervously, looking furiously at Jotaro one last time, before leaving the room and following Holly to her little house tour. At the sight of your stand, Star Platinum appeared too – but it didn’t seem to have an aggressive approach; it had an admiring expression on his face while looking at your stand. You weren’t quite sure what Jotaro reaction was when you were about to attack him, and you didn’t care. You decided that the first words you heard from him after years were enough to make you stay as far as possible from him. You two had completely different energies and it was tangible to everyone.

Once the journey started, Jotaro seemed to have softened a bit. He was clearly worried for his mother’s life – despite the cold approach he usually had towards her. You began to understand that his brute-like attitude was only a way to cover his soft, sensible side; but again, you weren’t quite prone to know him better. The same couldn’t be told for him. You would often hear him asking his grandad about you and the way he brought you up. He could clearly see you could fight and he was curious to know about your training with Joseph trough the years – but not curious enough to ask you directly.

You couldn’t blame him. In the rare occasions you two actually talked to each other, you'd argue over something he said or over something he did. You were never afraid to confront him and that, at first, really caught him off guard. You never stepped back and never seemed intimidated by his behaviour or appearance. Not even him towering over you trying to scare you was enough to stop you from challenging him. He admired that of you; you were the first girl he met that didn’t make horrible, fastidious and squeaking sounds when looking at him and you were brave enough to fight him without thinking about it twice – which was unusual for Jotaro, a delinquent who threatened everyone in his school. He was used to people running away from him just at the sound of his footsteps; but you were different and didn’t care about his reputation or his façade, and that made you interesting in his eyes.

It wasn’t like you hated each other – you just didn’t seem to get along. Sometimes it felt wrong to you: he was family too, after all.

It was after a fight that the two of you stopped constantly battling each other. After defeating one of the numerous stand users sent by Dio, you were visibly tired. Your breathing was heavy and you could barely stand still, blood covering your face. It was a very challenging enemy and it took you a lot of strength to defeat him. You encountered him while you were walking alone towards the food market of the beautiful, exotic city you were in and were lucky enough to defeat him. You knew the other crusaders had started to look out for you in the numerous roads of a city they didn’t know, that fight took you too long and you just prayed a familiar face would come close to help you as soon as possible.

Ironically enough, the first one to find you was Jotaro. Star Platinum immediately recognised you and ran towards you almost independently, wrapping his strong arms around you, allowing you to relax your body completely in his strong hold. Jotaro arrived seconds later, quickly substituting Star’s arms and holding you close to his chest. You had never seen him so worried and scared. A feeble laugh left your lips, while the two of you just stared at each other. His look didn’t seem as cold as it always did, and his face was way more relaxed than usual. ‘What’s there to laugh? You’re bleeding.’ he said in a strangely soft and calm tone. ‘I’m sure he bled more than me,’ you said confidently. ‘Yare yare daze..’ he said, while removing his hat and putting it on your head, covering your face as he started walking towards the hotel, carrying your small figure in his arms, not willing to listen to you anymore.

That was the last time the two of you had shared a beautiful moment together and spoke to each other for more than five minutes.

You weren’t quite sure how Jotaro managed to be so close to Kakyoin. You knew him well him enough to know that he didn’t have anything in common with Jojo, yet they seemed to understand each other without even talking. Kakyoin told you from time to time how much you and Jotaro were actually alike, but you never truly believed him. Not because you didn’t trust him, but because Kakyoin was so naive at times – you just didn’t believe he could be right about such thing. What made you and Jotaro meet was a sad coincidence, nothing more could unite the two of you.

But as time passed, and you and Kakyoin became closer and closer, you would start to notice Star hanging around you more often than before. Sometimes it would play with your hair while you were reading something in your hotel room, other times he would just sit next to you and Kakyoin listening to your conversations, letting out some cute ‘oras’ every now and then. Your stand would occasionally come out and enjoy Star’s company; the two of them getting more along than their owners.

Star’s presence in your life or in your room never bothered you. It made you feel safe and comfortable, at ease. You’d never ask him to leave, and during certain nights you just wished he was there. Kakyoin had a strange theory, and believed that the reason why you’d get so along with Star Platinum was because you and Jotaro’s were, in some kind of ways, soulmates. He would often point out how your stand would look for or spend time with Star Platinum, emphasising the fact that a Stand simply was the projection of a soul.

You never thought it that way, but although Kakyoin’s theory made some sense you just couldn’t believe it. The way you felt when Star was near was completely different from the way Jotaro made you feel. Yes, he made you feel safe – but you never felt completely comfortable whenever he was around. You often felt judged and could never decipher what he thought about you.

Kakyoin’s words however somehow managed to stick to your mind, and the more you thought about them, the more you would look for signals from Jotaro – to either confirm or disprove the strange theory your best friend had come up with. And the more you looked for these signals, the more you started to get mesmerised by Jotaro’s aura.

 He was undeniably handsome, and after all the time you had spent together you started to understand him a bit better – and this time it didn’t act as a repellent. The more you didn’t know about him, the more you wanted to discover. Every tiny occasion of seeing his soft side made your heart skip a beat or two, and it was starting to become evident to everyone. You’d occasionally blush whenever you felt Jotaro’s piercing eyes on your figure, and Joseph and Kakyoin were the first to notice. Polnareff would often joke about it, telling you that you should rather focus on French guys – but he eventually gave up on that, and started suggesting you to ask Avdol for one of his predictions.

Jotaro’s attentions towards you were increasing day by day. He would always choose the hotel room closer to yours, and purposely sit next to you during car rides, offering you is shoulder if you ever felt tired – and you never declined it. He would randomly join you and offer you a cigarette, making the two of you enjoy 5 minutes of comfortable and relaxing silence, often under the stars as both of you suffered from a bad insomnia.

Kakyoin kept insisting: Jotaro actually felt something for you, and he was convinced you did too. You always denied it, but deep down you knew a strong emotion was slowly growing in your heart.

But you would have always kept it for your self – it would have been to awkward to admit it and you just preferred to dig this feeling as deep inside you as possible. He was Joseph’s nephew, and although you two weren’t related in any way, Joseph was like a father for you. He was stubborn and annoying, and sometimes he was able to drive you mad. How could you even feel something for him? You shook your head, hoping these thoughts would be wiped off your mind too.

You were sitting on the railing of the balcony on your hotel room while the same exact thoughts, as almost every night, were running through your head. Star had been sitting next to you for the whole night and you naively talked to it about your feelings; maybe because it represented the soul of the boy you were so caught up with, maybe because you knew that it would have kept your secret safe. Sweet ‘oras’ were the only words you have ever heard from him and somehow those words were way more heart-warming than anything else.

That moment was interrupted by the clicking of your room’s door. You quickly turned, facing the entrance of your door from the terrace and revealing your stand, ready to fight. Next to you, without you noticing, Star had disappeared. The door silently closed and heavy footsteps paved the way reaching to you.

‘Yare yare.. You never change, do you? I’m sure you’ll kill me one day.’ a soothing, familiar voice broke the tension in the room before the figure revealed itself in the darkness of the night, illuminated only by the moon and the city’s lights. You relaxed your shoulder and took a deep breath, retiring your stand.

‘You could always knock before entering a room, Jotaro.’ You said, seemingly irritated.

 In reality, you were only happy to see him there with you. He fixed his hat as he usually did, before coming closer to you, resting his back on the balcony. ‘Isn’t it dangerous to sit on there? You could fall.’ He said, looking at you. 

The usual height difference was now minimalised as you were sitting on the balcony’s railings, allowing you two to perfectly look in each other’s eyes. You shrugged, while Jotaro carefully put an arm behind you as a precaution. You followed his movements before making a new eye contact with him. For a second, you couldn’t breathe. He was breathtakingly beautiful; his aquamarine eyes were shining and the soft moonlight gracefully highlighted his facial features.

‘What are you doing here? Can’t sleep?’ You asked, forcing yourself to come back to reality, breaking the silence and not answering his pervious question.

He shook his head, whispering a ‘no’ before biting his bottom lip and hiding his face under his hat.

 You hated that hat – it allowed him to make his emotions indecipherable (as if he wasn’t good enough at it) and it also hid his beautiful, slick black curls, which you’d only seen once or twice. You took his hat off his head, receiving a sharp look from him. If looks could kill, you were sure you would have been dead by now. He didn’t try to stretch and take his hat back from your hands to avoid making you lose balance and eventually fall from the balcony. You put the hat on your head smiling, looking at him proudly. He looked at you and you swore you saw a little smile on his face, as if what you did just softened him.

‘How come?’ you asked, your eyes locked on his figure. ‘Someone was busy talking to Star Platinum.’ he said, clearing his throat. ‘You know, it’s hard to fall asleep when a conversation is so interesting.’ he said in a challenging way, while he looked up at the sky doing his best to not look at you. Hearing those words made your heart stop. How stupid could you be? How could you not think about the possibility that he would somehow know? Your cheeks turned as red as a cherry while you breath started to shorten and become quicker. Your mind started running wild trying to find a good excuse, leaving you speechless. You gulped, creaking the bones of your fingers with one hand trying to remain calm and collected. He looked at you and helped you getting down from the banister of the balcony, placing his big hands on your waist. He gently moved you in front of him, his hands firmly grasping on you. He leaned towards you, putting his forehead against yours. You were completely hypnotised by his actions and didn’t manage to say a word since he last spoke, your body shaking. You were too busy rehearsing all the things you said about him to Star. He lifted your chin up placing his index finger under it, forcing you to look at him for seconds that felt like an eternity. He took a deep breath before speaking again. ‘Don’t worry. It’s mutual.’

Before you could elaborate what Jotaro just said to you, he placed a passionate kiss on your lips, tightening the grip on your waist. Despite the surprise, you didn’t think twice about reciprocating the kiss, putting your hands on his muscular chest.

[purplerose244]

Irrational - Chapter 4: Study

Fourth day of the @spacecampweek, here I come! We’re talking ‘Freckles’! 😍

This is a short, fluffy one, with the participation of head over heels Seamus and oblivious Krel! Enjoy!! 💙💙

Summary: It had started as a random subject of a research during his free time. It had turned into a realization science could hardly explain.

Read it on the AO3

Krel was finally ready to put an end to this.

After all, at first, it had been all abound finding a way to pass time while Mrs. Janeth explained her limited understanding of math to the class. In all honesty, it could had been anyone else in that room, every single human might had caught his eyes during his desperate effort to find something interesting to do. It had turned out to be him probably because having another person besides himself appearing this bored – to the point of falling asleep, impressive – had been almost comforting. Giving a look had been normal, staring a natural consequence.

Then, he had noticed them.

Despite what absolute new environment was this planet, he had taken his time to discover a bit about this place. It had turned out that biological bodies possessed quite the variety of features, and those red dots were only a minuscule part of it. They were called ‘freckles’, defined as extra patches of coloring or pigment under the skin: a hereditary trait, typical of humans with clear skin and called ephelides by professional human healers. They apparently emerged as an over product of melanin, and they reacted to ultraviolet radiation – if their morning star was such a problem, how come they had not worked on a planetary shield yet? Ay ay ay, these humans.

Even with this knowledge and the awareness that it was nothing more than a few points, Krel hadn’t been able to look elsewhere. There was something fascinating about seeing theory applied into reality, even for a matter as simple as this – besides, anything was better than this lesson.

It had started like this.

Then, it had become a constant. A regular occurrence to hold on to.

His life was the very opposite of normal, his existence alone would have gained him that infamous ‘weirdo’ nickname even without his own apparently unnatural personality. There had been hardly a time where he had the benefit of having something to hold onto, his sister was his rock but with the arising danger the risk of losing her as well as their parents had made him grown restless. His mind was too much sometimes, highlighting every single thought. He had needed a distraction.

A study.

Of course, it was so simple! There was clearly a reason why that freckled face was so captivating to him, he needed to research, as always! When something other than fixing their ship to go back home had made its way into his mind, life had turned out to be a little less stressful.

Getting a good look at Seamus during lunch was awfully easy, the blonde himself always seemed interested in him – not sure why, perhaps Krel’s way of eating was almost too human like –, and it seemed like every time those red points doubled. He was sure of it, even during the skelteg situation, seeing him run away had been enough to notice the change – that occurrence had been particular, especially since Mary had given him such a smirk, was she aware of his experiment? –, concluding that there was definitely something going on. Between bounty hunters and school, the chances to take a look had been quite numerous, to the point he had noticed Seamus staring back sometimes, a scowl on his face – hard to tell if it was threatening or his natural expression.

Then the math duel had happened, some pleasantries had been exchanged, the subject had turned out to be someone he might had been interested even as a friend – hearing him looking at him in amazement later in Battle of the Bands had definitely helped –, yet somehow Krel had managed to forget to check on his face the entire time. Which was ridiculous, since he had been unable to think of anyone else but him, even after the delson was over.

What was worse, observation had turned out to be extremely difficult from that moment forward.

It was clear, the blonde was now aware of his study and was doing his best to prevent him from doing it. That had involved covering his face, turning away from him when he was around, and most of all activating biological defense mechanisms. Turning his face red in order to hide his pigments, a truly advanced tactic.

Luckily it worked only when Seamus noticed him staring. Seeing his freckles over his nice, relaxed, pink skin was quite the moment. Even a pleasant one.

More delsons had passed… more than they were supposed to.

Krel was still not back to Akiridion-5. They were still not home.

Not only that, but everything in his life was crumbling. Morando was still out there plotting who knew what, the Mothership was grounded with little chance to go back to fly, Varvatos was a traitor and had almost died for them and now had disappeared. It was piling all over, one brick over the other, it was getting hard to deal with everything. Aja had said it was going to be okay and that had been nice at first, but somehow infuriating later. What did she know? What if it wasn’t? what if it wasn’t going to work out, and they were only stalling the inevitable??

At the end, behind all of these problems, all uncertainties about the future, everything came down to this stupid, insignificant thought into his mind, the one that kept making him inevitably interested into that guy. His own most serious issues weren’t going to be solved anytime soon. If he could at least stop stressing over one thing, it was going to be for the best. It had started as a way to spend free time, but now… he was afraid of what it implied.

Steve had been useful for once, explaining to him where to find Seamus – “Good luck lovebird!”, he did not need that name after the birdie encounter. The theatre was not very crowded for now, he had been able to lean against the wall to wait without being bothered by humans. Today it felt like he could had lost his patience very easily.

At some point a group of guys exited the building, blues eyes crossed his.

There they were, those freckles. They were more than ever. He truly didn’t understand what was happening, why couldn’t he give it a rest and- ah, there it was again, that defense ability of his. Biological beings were such a mystery.

“Tarron?” Seamus blinked at him, confused. “Huh, uhm, hi, what are you doing here?” His friends waved at him with little grins, leaving them alone.

Krel breathed out, feeling the weight of everything ease a little from his shoulders. Huh.

“I am here for an experiment. I have been conducting it for some time now, I am sure you have noticed.” Judging from his confusion it seemed not, which made no sense considering his responding attention to his movements. “I have a certain fascination towards an aspect on you, and I would like to conduct one last test before leaving out the question once and for all. I am dealing with a difficult situation, I do not want any other problems getting in the way.”

“Problems…? Wait, f-fascination?” Oh, apparently there was no limit on how red this human could get. If only he wasn’t there to end his research he would have gladly tried to pick on this new topic. “F-for me? Huh, I mean… what experiment?”

“I will need you to stay still for me. I promise I will not harm you.”

“Whatever you wa- I mean, uhm, s-sure no problem!” Seamus was still staring, a little red, nodding his head. He looked in a way Krel couldn’t described. Not bad. Very nod bad.

“Very good. With your permission.”

It was only a study. He had weirder stuff in the past, especially during his skelteg interest phase – he had enough of those bugs for now –, this was nothing. Observation had brought him nothing, there was a chance tact was going to be useful and lips were the most sensible part of the human body. It only made sense, so he held Seamus’ cheeks and pressed his mouth over his freckles, between his eyes and his nose. Nothing. No difference in texture, nothing he could reasonably conclude. There really was no point into his tests. Despite the feeling of failure, there was something pleasant into touching warm human skin like this.

When he pulled away, a wave of shame hit him, as this problem wasn’t going to be solved and was going to be add to all the others. Then he looked up, seeing the freckles disappear once again, and the largest grin he had ever seen appear.

Seamus was giggling, eyes glimmering.

“That… that was… eheh.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “… nice.”

“Nice? Really?” Krel was confused. Was his failure a joy for others? This human couldn’t be that cruel. “It is good to know I guess, because my study was a complete failure.”

“Your what now?”

“It does not matter… I should go.”

“What?! No, wait!” Humans could be quite swift. Even strong, at least judging from the way Seamus had clawed his shoulders. “You didn’t! I mean, I have no idea what this is about, but it wasn’t a failure, I promise!” There was still no trace of the freckles. It felt like this entire experience was place outside his comfort zone, Krel was starting to shake. Curiously… he didn’t hate it. “I liked that, I swear, I’ve been thinking about doing stuff like that with you for a while now!”

Krel widened his eyes. Stuff like that? Stuff like what? Checking the subject of his study? Allowing others to perform tests on him? Why was this confusing, he was never confused!

“I don’t understand…”

“You kissed me, you do understand! And it felt good, and I would like to do it more!”

Kissed?… wait.

“It felt good? Really?” Seamus nodded vividly, looking like he was dying to be understood. But… but that was ridiculous, it was only a brush between human skins. How could it be something pleasant to experience? “Does it truly feel this nice?

Seamus widened his eyes. He swallowed, stepping closer.

The prince felt a sudden wave of tension hit him.

“Yeah, it does. It’s like, well…” The blonde swallowed again, slowly holding up his chin. “It’s… it’s probably clearer through practice than theory.” His finger was shaking. Krel was also shaking. His blue eyes were getting closer and closer, bigger and deeper, something he had always known from the very beginning. Huh. Perhaps he didn’t notice his freckles alone. A sekton later they were closed, and the prince felt a pressure over his cheek. His entire body was enveloped by flames. His mind was emptied, finally free from pressure and pain. “… s-so?” Seamus was looking again, still with those enormous eyes, expecting a conclusion.

Krel was frozen. Oh. Huh. That was new. Feeling stupid. That was very new.

Those freckles were never multiplying, nor they were particularly engaging on a scientific level. They were Seamus’, he was getting closer. That had always made the difference.

A little smile arrived, because at last, he did have one answer.

“You’re right, it does feel nice.”

Seamus breathed out, looking relieved and so, so happy. So very endearing.

“Good. Great, awesome, I mean…” He reached out for him again, embracing him, close to his chest. Krel could hear his human heart. It was beating. What a very fascinating topic again. “D-does this mean the experiment is still on? Are you still gonna watch me during math class and all those times?” He did notice. He really was smart. Perhaps he wasn’t completely accurate at determining exactly the topic of the research, but he was close enough. Krel really liked that aspect of him. “Because, well, in case you want to go beyond observation and deepening the study, we could, I don’t know…” He laughed nervously, his hold tightening. “Uhm, deepening the research? Maybe d-during lunch or something?”

It felt like reaching a very high point in science. It felt like at least one thing was going right into his life. He was right, the research was still very much open and able to develop, it only had a wider subject now: the entirety of the Seamus Johnson.

The prince slowly smiled, welcoming the feeling of warmth over his face.

“I’d like that.”

[arysthaeniru]

...I hear you’re doing drabble giveaways? :) I would love some nishitani/majima!! I saw you wanted to write a nishitani lives au and i hope you end up doing it because I would love to see how you write them ❤️

Aaaahhhh, thank you for this request <3 I hope you enjoy this little snippet, I really like Nishitani’s dynamic with Majima, because it’s so much about temptation and vices and flagrant hedonism that makes Majima value himself more as a person. Nishitani’s whole shtick is about pleasure and when Majima of Yakuza 0 is convinced he doesn’t deserve that, it makes for an excellent dynamic. 

Somehow Nishitani has found Club Sunshine. Majima notices him on one of their busiest days, on the tailend of dealing with a problem customer, who'd had issues with the quality of their champagne. He's cloistered himself in one of the back booths, entertained by Saki-chan.

Majima snaps to attention and rushes over to the booth, even though Saki hasn't made the hand signal for help yet. He snaps his fingers, once, twice. "Out." He says, shortly, and feels a slow curl of rage within him as Nishitani just turns to give Majima a once-over, slow and lingering, smirk spreading over his face.

"Majima-kun, I didn't think ya'd turn down a payin’ customer." Nishitani drawls, with a self-satisfied grin.

"Payin’ customer or not, yer trouble. Out." Majima snaps, stiffly.

Saki turns to look at Majima, anxiously, but she doesn't seem especially perturbed by Nishitani's presence. What is it about his charm where somehow, girls who dislike being taken for granted, are magically alright with Nishitani's presence? The girls at the Grand too, had been surprisingly unfazed by Nishitani breaking Majima's 'Look-Don't-Touch' rules. "Majima-san..." she says, in that tone that means she's worried about him.

"Ya all good here?" Majima asks Saki, gently. For all that she's a strong woman who is used to taking care of herself, Majima wants her to know she can rely on him to defuse anything uncomfortable for her.

"Don't be so paranoid, Majima-kun. We're getting along just fine!" Nishitani squeezes Saki's bicep, in an overly-friendly way, and Majima scowls when Saki just giggles, not even vaguely discomfited.

"Not talking ta you, am I? Shaddup."

"I'm fine, Majima-san." Saki says, with a sunny smile.

Majima grimaces to and turns his gaze on Nishitani. It's a busy night. He really can't insist on running Nishitani away, not if he's going to behave himself and get them money. He's got other girls to take care of. "One step outta line, and I call the police, pronto. Ya won't get ta fight me at all." Majima says, firmly, and turns on his heel to walk away, before he can get a response.

Inbetween getting refills for Yuki and towels for Erranda, Majima hears snippets of their conversation all evening.

"I like my lovers strong, intent. Makes everything more fun, ya know?" "Nothin’ draws the eye more than a girl who's confident in herself." "Gotta love somebody who can take care of 'emselves."

The whole time, Saki just laughs, handles herself with her usual graceful aplomb, steers the conversation in pleasant, easy directions, showing off her prowess as the former star of Club Jupiter, perfectly adept at handling rougher types.

Majima seethes, quietly and tries to not watch them, listen to them. But he can't help it. Whenever he has even a momentary breather, his peripheral senses can't help but turn towards Nishitani. He justifies it to himself as keeping an eye out for trouble, but if he's being really honest with himself, that's not the primary reason.

Majima's always been drawn to strength. It's the one thing that has always shaped his path, shaped his destiny. It had been what had drawn to him to Saejima, like a moth to the flame, in the middle of those Tokyo streets as a youth. It had been what convinced Majima to chain himself to Shimano’s yoke, get the man’s motifs and markings all over his back. It had been what made Majima so comfortable in Fei Hu’s shop, and so familiar with Lee’s rough approach. A mixture of sheer adrenaline, blood-thumping through his entire chest, a shot of courage, fury and wild chaos, and desire, slow and cloying, curling up in the pit of his stomach, making him light-headed and short of breath. Majima’s life has been defined and drawn around strength, power, desire, ambition.

And Nishitani’s powerful. He’d felt the surges of his strength, precision and cleverness throughout that short fight through the Grand’s centre-stage. If Majima had slipped even once, if Majima had been anything less than perfect, propelled by the fury of confusion, he would have died to Nishitani’s blade.

That shouldn’t be as much of a turn-on as it is.

Especially not when considering Nishitani’s about twenty years past his prime. He’s from the same generation as Shimano, Sagawa, those old fucks who’ve caged him in, trapped him down. With freckled sun-spots smattered over wrinkling skin, and touches of grey to the roots of his hair, and his scarred, calloused hands, Majima shouldn’t be drawn to him in that way. Old, pervy fucker, he should represent everything Majima hates most about the generation of yakuza above him.

But he can’t help it. Nishitani’s presence is like a livewire, electrifying, dangerous, addictive. And Majima couldn’t look away, even if he wanted to.

When the evening shift draws to a close, Majima leaves Youda and Yuki to be in charge of wiping down the place and saying goodbye to the last of the customers. He dips out for a smoke instead, to try and gain control of his fraying nerves, to pull himself back into a modicum of calm. He can’t lose himself in this.

He’s not yakuza anymore. Just a man desperately trying to stay alive long enough to let Saejima kill him. And a man trying desperately to preserve any sense of goodness, keep that fragile spark of a girl safe inside that cold warehouse... none of him has room for Nishitani’s advances.

And yet...

“You ever consider lettin’ yer hair free, Majima-kun? Just for a moment?” Nishitani drawls, voice dangerously close to Majima’s. They’re outside the club now, and he’s not a paying customer anymore. That makes this interaction dangerous.

“No.” Majima says, puffing out a cool breeze of smoke straight into Nishitani’s face. The fucker doesn’t even flinch, just grins, that lightly mocking smile.

“Not even once? Shame that. Pretty things like you only gets better when they cut loose a little, live free.” Nishitani says, sauntering around to prop himself up over Majima, trapping him into the wall. It’s at once a threat of aggression, and a threat of something else, something more sensible. His hand comes in close, as if to caress Majima’s hair, but he stops just short of doing it, balances it against the wall instead.

Perhaps he senses Majima’s internal tension, perhaps he knows that Majima will deck him the moment Nishitani lays a hand on him. Or maybe it’s something like respect for Majima’s rules. (Majima dismisses that thought immediately, Nishitani wouldn’t know respect if it came up to him and sucked his dick.)

Despite himself, Majima swallows a little, as he takes another deep inhale of the cigarette. “The fuck do you want? I ain’t tellin’ you where Makoto is.”

Nishitani grins. From up close, Majima can smell the alcohol on his breath, whiskey, cigarettes and something else, a little deeper. It’s not exactly a good smell, but it’s a familiar smell, a comfortable smell. Nishitani is the epitome of the yakuza lifestyle that Majima had grown up desiring.

“Don’t worry, Majima-kun. I ain’t here for that today. Got a little proposition for ya, instead.” he says, licking his lips. Majima can’t look away from his mouth, the slight pinkness of his tongue against his surprisingly dark lips, and so he almost misses Nishitani’s next sentence. “Got a job I need ya ter do for me.”

Majima frowns. “The fuck would I do that for?”

“Issa job only you can do” Nishitani grins, and waggles his eyebrows. “Compensate ya handsomely, of course.”

Majima rolls his eyes, but honestly, for cash-money, he’ll do just about anything for anybody, short of prostitution. Anything to get his debt to Shimano and Sagawa square. “What?” he asks, pretending to be bored, pretending none of this interests him.

“There’s this gambling club I run that’s been real trouble, lately. Won’t listen to a damn word I say, and they seem to be squirreling some cash away, some big winnings they managed to poach from a pack of fools. Can’t have that sort of shit on my turf.” Nishitani says, with a casual ease. “I’d send my boys in, but ya see, someone seems ta have done a number on ‘em, and they look about as threatening as a flock of pigeons, all covered in bandages like they are.”

“You could do it yerself.” Majima says, gaze darting down to Nishitani’s feet. Just over the edge of his socks, Majima can see the bandages, and he’s noticed that Nishitani holds himself with a limp. He’s clearly still injured from their fight, when Majima had shoved his fucking knife right inbetween his tendons.

“I could, but ya see, they know my face. They’d gear up for trouble the moment I stepped within a five-foot vicinity. You on the other hand...” Nishitani leans in, that smug grin only getting bigger.

Majima snorts, before he can stop himself. “Ya say that like everybody in this town doesn’t know my face, too.”

“Lord of the Night.” Nishitani agrees, and his voice hums with approval. “But ya see, yer reputation precedes you. Everybody knows ya don’t start fights, ya end them. So if you started a fight at the gambling parlour, not a damn soul would expect it.” There’s a crazed glint to Nishitani’s eyes, reflecting off the neon signs from the bars around them, and Majima shouldn’t be considering this at all, but he is. The thought of going in and smashing heads of people who actually deserve it always gets Majima’s blood simmering. He can’t help himself. He’s a creature nurtured on a diet of violence, and the Hole has changed him. It shaped him in the image of its own cruelty, and Majima had let its madness into his soul, or he would never have lived to see the sunlight again.

Majima wonders what had made Nishitani this way.

“The fuck would I jeopardize my rep for? For you?” asks Majima, dangerously.

“I’ll owe ya one, just the pleasure of seein’ ya go crazy in there.” Nishitani says, leaning inwards, mouth just centimetres from Majima’s ear. “Whatever ya want, name it.”

Majima’s skin is alit with goosebumps, he feels like a leaf in the breeze, one touch would undo him, undo all of Majima’s tightly laced boundaries, would unravel everything that has kept him safe and alive. If Nishitani pressed even an inch closer, Majima would agree to just about anything he asked. And they both know it, it’s the electric spark between them, Nishitani’s complete understanding of how fragile everything about Majima’s existence is.

But Nishitani doesn’t touch him, just lets his breath caress the inner curve of Majima’s ear and pulls back, eyes glinting with maleficent amusement.

He wants Majima to make the step on his own. He wants Majima to come apart at his own behest. Fucking sadist.

“Well. Let me know. Ya know where ta find me.” Nishitani says, slow and languid. “Be seein’ ya, Majima-kun.”

He saunters away without a care in the world, and Majima lets the cigarette drop from his mouth and presses his back against the wall outside Club Sunshine, desperately trying to quell the fire within him that blazes in indignation at letting Nishitani just walk away from him.

[aloysiavirgata]

In The Gale

Title: In The Gale

Author: Aloysia Virgata

Rating: PG

Category: MSR

Author's Notes: For @perplexistan, who asked and helped me make it better. This is shortly after settling into the Unremarkable House. I tried making sense of their legal status, but it’s simply impossible and I gave up.

Our heroes quote from Melville, Shakespeare, Sagan, Baudrillard, and (Emily) Dickens.

***

Because I know that time is always time And place is always and only place And what is actual is actual only for one time And only for one place I rejoice that things are as they are and I renounce the blessed face And renounce the voice Because I cannot hope to turn again Consequently I rejoice, having to construct something Upon which to rejoice

And pray to God to have mercy upon us And pray that I may forget These matters that with myself I too much discuss Too much explain Because I do not hope to turn again Let these words answer For what is done, not to be done again May the judgement not be too heavy upon us

Because these wings are no longer wings to fly But merely vans to beat the air The air which is now thoroughly small and dry Smaller and dryer than the will Teach us to care and not to care Teach us to sit still.

T.S. Eliot, Ash Wednesday

***

She recites The Raven to herself on the drive in, lists all the state capitals in alphabetical order, and goes through the periodic table. Her body fizzes like a shaken soda, tiny anxious bubbles rising through her blood. They’ve done so much for this, called in so many favors. Mulder put his book on hold for a month, quizzing her with dog-eared notecards. 

“Immediate treatment of myocardial infarction,” he’d call, and she’d say “MONA TASS.”

She feels a pang for the simplicity of the other life, the hiding one, where she just had to ring up cigarettes and herbal Viagra at gas stations.

***

She’s the new girl at the cafeteria table, awkward and alone. Mulder had prepared her a lunch like it’s the first day of school, and she stares at it, wishing for an appetite.

From the corner of her eye she sees two colleagues - an MRI tech and an obstetrician, she thinks - talking softly and glancing over. Scully thinks she hears “FBI,” and she looks up and smiles, uncertain.

They blink at her, look away.

***

Ybarra comes around the corner, gliding in his cassock like a disapproving ghost. “Dr. Scully,” he says, in his pinched voice.

She smiles thinly. “Father Ybarra.”

“Nurse Mossing was looking for the chart for Mrs. Sullivan. Imagine my surprise when I found it in Room 314 instead of Room 413. That’s a potential HIPAA violation, Dr. Scully. That’s a federal law.”

Scully curls her hand so that her nails dig into her skin. “I’m so sorry,” she says. “Father Ybarra, please forg-”

He holds up his palm. “It won’t happen again,” he says, and glides onward.

Scully closes her eyes and leans against the wall. She breathes through her nose until the ringing in her ears stops.

***

She wants to collapse into his arms and cry when she gets home, but that would be giving in. It would be letting them down.

“How’d it go?” he asks. He’s wearing basketball shorts and a Knicks shirt, a five o’clock shadow.

She smiles brightly. “It was good. Learning curve, but good. I think Father Ybarra might be a tough nut to crack, is all.”

Mulder rubs his cowlicked hair. “Put your feet up, Scully, since you won’t wear sensible shoes.”

She does, and accepts the glass of wine he holds out. “Thanks. I’ll sleep well tonight, anyway. There are miles of hallways.”

He sits next to her on the couch. “I wrote a few pages,” he says. “I deleted a bunch, but I think there was a multi-paragraph net gain.”

“I’m glad you’re able to stop focusing on my stuff now,” she says. “Both back in the saddle.”

“Go team.”

She clinks her glass against his. She drinks her wine too fast.

***

Ybarra had come in during her rounds that morning and startled her into knocking a metal bedpan onto the floor. Scully thinks the reverberations of that sound will follow her to the grave.

She’s now in the chapel, tucked into a back pew. She’s been staring at the small altar, at the stained glass windows flanking the crucifix. The Blessed Virgin smiles beatifically down at her, a wretched sinner.

Scully laces her fingers on the back of the pew in front of her and bows her head against them. “Please,” she whispers. “Please.”

***

Mulder wakes her with tea and eggs. “You haven’t been eating,” he says, brow furrowed. 

She rubs her eyes, yawning. “What?”

He sits next to her on the bed, sets the plate and mug on her night table. “You just push your food around your plate, you hardly talk when you get home. What’s going on, Scully?”

She sits up, looking at his worried face. He’s sun-browned and tousled, beautiful, with a mouth that still makes her weak in the knees. “Nothing. It’s just a lot to jump back into.”

“I’m sure it is. And I still want to help you with it.” He pulls the flash cards from his pocket, touches her wrist with his other hand. “Let’s see - causes of upper zone pulmonary fibrosis?”

She looks at the ceiling, back at him. “I don’t need help.”

Mulder blinks, stung. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude. You just don’t need to hover over me. You have your own things to work on. Work on your book, patch up your henhouse. ” Her voice sounds snappish to her own ears.

His changeable eyes, now mossy green, darken. He chews his bottom lip, nodding slowly. “I thought you were one of my ‘things.’ Sorry to bother you.” He rises, walks downstairs.

“Mulder,” she whispers.

The tea goes down fine. Scully tries to eat the eggs but feels bile rise in her throat. She flushes them down the toilet instead of leaving them behind, because that is love.

***

She arrives at the nurses’ station on the second floor with three dozen donuts and two cardboard boxes of coffee. She deposits them on the desk. “Good morning, Annabel,” she says.

“Anneliese,” the woman says.

Scully nods, walks away.

*** 

He slides his hand up her pajama top, tracing circles on her ribs, sliding his fingers around to her breasts. He kisses the back of her neck. “Scully,” he whispers, his breath warm and ticklish in her ear.

She wants to pretend to wake up, to turn towards him and lose herself in his body. She wants to tell him everything, to be held and loved and petted and reassured. She wants him to remind her that she once stared down Congress, that some backwater priest and his prickly staff should be a joke to her. She wants them to laugh together at these silly, petty people.

But she can’t, she can’t disappoint him. He’s been so proud of her.

Scully stays still, breathes evenly until his hands move away and she’s alone again.

***

Her car rattles over the driveway, through shimmering waves of heat that rise from the crisping grass. It is the kind of late July afternoon where the sun is a hazy white ball in the west, and clouds of gnats are a permanent feature of the landscape. 

Scully parks, avoiding a puddle in which a peacock is standing. Mulder has recently become enamored of yard fowl. She narrows her eyes at it while opening the car door. 

“Good boy, Kevin,” she calls to it, wary.

Scully picks her way over the gravel in her thin heels. The peacock mews an alarm as she approaches, but doesn’t charge. She lets herself inside, shuts the heat and sun and wildlife outside. The house smells of coffee and microwave popcorn.

She walks into Mulder’s office and finds him hunched at his desk, typing. “Hey,” she says, and drops a kiss on his head. There’s a sketch of Baphomet taped to his monitor, her worn flash cards atop a tome about Raëlism.

He turns in his chair. He puts his arms around her hips. “Hey.” 

“Kevin behaved himself,” she offers.

“You two will be friends yet, you’ll see.”

She peers at the computer. “You get a lot done today?”

Mulder shrugs. “Eh, a bit. Waiting on a few emails, and I had to run that tubing to drain the sump down into the woods. Ate up most of the afternoon.”

Scully shakes her head in admiration. “I don’t know how you manage all the multitasking.”

“Well, the book helps me avoid the house, and the house helps me avoid the book. It’s a perfect system. That Ybarra guy still riding your ass?”

She chews her lip. “No,” she lies. “I think we’re okay now.”

“Good,” he says. “I’d hate to have to beat up a priest.”

***

Scully gazes at herself in the empty locker room. She looks thin and tired, and her hair is frizzing up, even pulled back like this. All her makeup has sweated off except for smudged crescents of mascara. Her bra is the color of a Band-Aid, her underwear white and sensible. Between the two is the hard white rose of her gunshot scar, like a second navel, an artifact of a second birth. It is numb when she touches it, indifferent. There are no stretch marks from William, a tale missing from the anthology of her skin. She unhooks her bra, lets it slide down to the damp floor. Scully turns to observe her body in profile. The scar is gone this way, the tattoo hidden as well, and she smooths her hands along her ribs. Her breasts seem out of place to her when they are unbound, frivolous somehow. Vestigial. 

She looks away.

***

The hospital is labyrinthine, having been constructed of various additions when funds allowed. There are dead ends, pointless staircases, and a mysterious storage closet filled with old televisions. She makes little maps on notepaper. 

“So where did you work before this?” an orthopedic surgeon asks her.

A diner in Wyoming. 

“I was out West for a while,” she says.

***

A week in, and Mulder has made a cake to celebrate. A bouquet of Kevin’s shed tail feathers ornaments the table.

An offering, Mulder calls it, tickling her chin with one.

A week down, she thinks, and blows out the candle. She wonders when she’ll stop counting the time.

***

Shy, he gives her a chapter to read. It’s good, and she tells him so. It’s very good. She hears his voice in her head when she reads it, his passion. She loves the esoterica tucked into his gyri and sulci.

“Your prose was never this clear in your reports,” she remarks. 

“Hey if you can’t blind them with brilliance, baffle them with bullshit.”

Scully laughs. “You want to read a few medical reports?”

He looks at her, suddenly serious. “Yeah,” he says. “I would. It would be nice to hear about your day for once.”

She wonders if love is the weapon that lets them wound so casually.

***

“You’re late,” Ybarra says softly. 

She doesn’t explain that she’d somehow ended up at the TV closet again, that the room numbering system in this hospital had been designed by nihilists, that the nursing student had Dermabonded her glove to a patient’s forehead.

She lowers her eyes like she did at Catholic school. She promises to do better.

***

“What’s going on?” Mulder asks her for what feels like the hundredth time. “Talk to me, Scully.”

She presses her hands to her face for a moment, drops them to her sides. “Nothing,” she says again, frustrating them both. “I’m tired. It’s a hard schedule.”

He places a throw pillow on his lap and pats it. “Come here,” he says. “Please.”

She acquiesces, curling on her side with her back to him. He runs his fingers through her hair, traces the Fibonacci spirals of her ear. She wants to relax, to melt into his touch. She indulges in a Mulderesque conspiracy theory that the hospital microdoses the water with tetanus toxin to keep everyone rigid and tense.

Scully gazes at the windows, at the hard white light of summer streaming in. The curtains are blue with an arabesque pattern, and they looked very chic in the store. She wonders now if they seem desperate in this odd little house. She thinks of Meg March, dressed up in borrowed finery at the Moffats’ ball.

***

Scully clomps up the steps to the porch and kicks her rain boots off next to the umbrella stand. It contains four umbrellas and a gnarled hickory limb that Mulder claims is going to be polished into a fine walking stick one of these days. She goes into the house and is dismayed to find it stale and stifling and dark. Dust motes waft in Brownian motion through shafts of sunlight, undirected by fans or air conditioning. 

“Mulder,” she calls, and there is silence.

She twists her hair into a bun as she pads upstairs, old wood satiny under her bare feet. She pushes open the bedroom door, and the air is hot and still. 

“Mulder?” She needs his help with her zipper, but there is no reply.

She wrestles herself out of her silk sheath, sticky and irritating, and lets it puddle on the floor. Her bra follows. She feels guilty, as Mulder has turned out to be a surprisingly diligent housekeeper. His office is filled with perilous stacks of home improvement books and arcane journals about lake monsters, the walls papered with clippings and blurry photographs, but he seems able to quarantine his own entropy.

She is trying to do the same.

Scully pulls on soft cotton pajama shorts, a gray tank top imbued with the compressive powers of Lycra. She uses lotion to rub away the mascara beneath her eyes. She goes downstairs and out the back door, shielding her eyes against the piercing sunlight. A mosquito whines at her ear and she pinches it out of the air.

“Still got those reflexes, kid,” Mulder says from somewhere off to her left. 

She turns and sees him crouched next to the hulking green block of the transformer. “All the lights are off, and the house feels like a rainforest. I take it you’ve had an eventful day?”

He sighs. “Not really. Well, not the event I was hoping for, which is the power coming back on. There was a pretty heavy thunderstorm around one and that’s when the electricity blew.”

She sits on the bottom step, knees drawn up. She likes to watch him working, a side of him they’re both still learning about. There was never much call for home maintenance at Hegal Place, or living out of cash-only motels. “You call the power company?”

He huffs. “Yeah, they told me they had no reported outages and the power should be fine. I explained that I was trying to report an outage and that it definitely was not fine and she promised someone would be here between tomorrow and eventually.”

Scully smiles. “And that’s why you’re out here toying with death?”

“Not much else to do, really. Can’t write with the power out.” Mulder sits back on his heels and shrugs. “You, uh, have a good day?”

She hadn’t. “Yep. Starting to feel like part of the team.”

“Good. You need to get your career standards as high as your standards for men,” he says, getting to his feet.

“Oh, well, that’s an obviously unattainable bar.”

“Obviously.” He sits next to her on the step. “You wear that to work? You know I think bras are a tool of the patriarchy and you shouldn’t bother, but I’m just surprised Our Lady of Perpetual Shame takes such a liberal view.”

She laughs a little. “I figured as long as I tossed a lab coat over it, I’d look like a real doctor. It worked when I was a kid.”

“Hey, that’s what I did with my badge half the time. Listen, Scully. The house is pretty tropical. You want to bunk up in a hotel until they get the power sorted out?”

Scully thinks about the convenience it would afford. Maids and room service and maybe a pool, depending. But she is tired of hotels, even nice ones. She is tired of polite signs that remind her that the pillows and towels and hairdryers aren’t hers, the tiny toiletries an indicator of her temporary status. She is tired of living out of suitcases and dressers that made her clothes smell strange, tired of running from her own life.  She wants to be home.

“Nah,” she says. “We’ll manage.”

Mulder looks surprised, but doesn’t question it. “I’ll call Lowe’s about getting a generator delivered tomorrow. We ought to have one anyway out here.”

She’d always had a vague idea that Mulder had money - it was the only explanation for his complete disinterest in it. But when they’d come back, when they’d talked to his lawyers, she'd been staggered. The Vineyard house alone explained his casual international jaunts. They can have things now, endless things, and there is something frantic in her that wants to spend the money. Bingeing chocolate bunnies after Lent.

Mulder peels his shirt off, wadding it into a limp ball. He tosses it so that it hooks over the doorknob. “Still got it,” he says. He preens.

“Does the NBA realize the tremendous talent they’re missing out on?” she asks. “Do they even know that, at this very moment, a six foot tall middle aged white man is out here flinging his clothing a distance of several feet?”

He snuggles up to her, wrapping his sweaty arms around her shoulders. 

“Ugh,” she says, and pushes at him. “Mulder, you’re disgusting and it’s a thousand degrees out here.”  

“Hoping that cold, cold heart of yours might cool me off.” She sniffs disdainfully, and he releases her. “Scully, how do you feel about bees?”

“We have a history, bees and I,” she observes, tapping the back of her neck.

Mulder curls his hand over the scar, kneads the muscles there. “Well, these wouldn’t be fancy bees.”

“Hmmm,” she says. “I’m not inherently opposed. Why do you want bees, Mulder?”

He shrugs. “I’m getting older, and I’ve got to consider funeral plans. The last one didn’t really go as expected, so I thought maybe I’d mellify myself this time.”

She nods. “Makes sense. I mean, of course, there’s no actual proof that mellification actually occurred, but that’s never stopped you.”

“I also like honey,” he adds. “And bees are good for the planet.”

“Honey often contains botulism spores,” she remarks. “Botulinum toxin is the most lethal toxin known, and it’s estimated that as little as 40 grams of it would be enough to kill everyone on earth.” She doesn’t say you shouldn’t give it to babies, that she sweetened her smoothies with dates and maple syrup so that -

“Well, nobody better piss off my bee army and me,” he says darkly. 

“Everybody eventually pisses you off. Mulder, is that old tent in the shed still? We could sleep in that tonight.”

He shakes his head. “Heavy mildew and dry rot, so I threw it out. We could sleep out here if you want, though. We’ve got that big air mattress.”

“Let’s do that,” she says. “We can put it on the porch. Tell you what - you get stuff together, and I’ll even make dinner.” Scully doesn’t like cooking, but she wants to create order, to complete a finite task. She can be domesticated again, like a lost house cat finally returned to a hearth.

“We having eggs or peanut butter?” he asks, smirky.

“I’d hate to spoil the surprise,” she snips, and goes back into their sauna of a house. 

In the kitchen, she stands in front of the open fridge, letting the delicious leftover cold soak into her skin. She’ll deal with the spoiled food later. Eggs had, actually, been her plan but it’s just too hot. The stove doesn’t work, and she doesn’t have the fortitude to turn the grill on. She finds some leftover shrimp pasta that Mulder has made, some vegetables, and assembles it all into a passable salad.

There, she thinks, pleased. I’d pay twelve bucks for that somewhere. She uses her foot to scratch a mosquito bite on her calf.

Her skin is clammy, hair stringy and damp from sweat. Maybe they should just go to a hotel after all. Perhaps she should stop ascribing symbolism to every damn thing and enjoy herself once in a while. But she thinks of packing, of driving, of unpacking and somehow it’s all too much and her eyes start to fill and her sinuses sting.

Scully pinches her wrist until it passes, feeling weak and hating the weakness in herself. It’s the heat, it’s the exhaustion, it’s the heavy mental load. She considers going outside for a dip in the pond, but suspects the water will be unpleasantly warm. Instead, she drags herself back upstairs for a cold shower.

She sits on the edge of the bed, weary, and stares at a framed picture of a sea turtle on the far wall. If she lets her eyes drift out of focus, it looks like it’s swimming. She tips her head back for a better angle, watches it float across her vision. It slips away then, into the black of the deep waters.

***

She startles awake when he touches her shoulder, gasps.

“Jesus,” Mulder says, and sits next to her. “Bad dream?”

Scully sits up, dazed. “What? No, was I asleep?”

“You’ve been out cold for over an hour, but I wanted to make sure you got some food. Water at least, it’s too hot up here.”

She blinks, confused. “I don’t remember,” she says. Peering to her right reveals night outside.

Mulder holds a hand out and she grasps it, letting him pull her to her feet. She wavers and he steadies her, arm about her shoulders. 

“I just need some water,” she says, defensive.

He guides her down the stairs and out the front door onto the porch. The air outside is substantially cooler, a light breeze kissing her face. She settles into a chair, stares deep into the felty dark. She still can’t remember falling asleep. 

Mulder hands her a water bottle from the little table and she rolls it between her palms, the plastic crinkling. “Hey, I thought you were setting up the air mattress out here,” she says.

“No air flow behind the wall,” he replies. “Drink that up like a good girl and I’ll show you what we’ve got.”

Scully obeys and feels better. The water tastes stale, but it’s cool and wet. “Maybe you should have my job,” she says, looking up. “Caring for live people is so much work.”

“Everybody eventually pisses me off,” he reminds her. “Come on, Doc.”

She follows him down the steps and around the side of the house. Their property is vast and feral, pocked with mole burrows and rabbit nests. The floodlights are out with the power, and the house is nearly swallowed up by the vast night. Scully glances up at the Milky Way, at the waxing moon, and marvels again at the sky they have out here. We are star stuff, she thinks.

“Moonstruck?” Mulder asks.

“The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars.”

“As long as you can tell a hawk from a handsaw,” he says, and tugs her along.

She follows him to the back of the house and then stops, smiling. Mulder has hammered some old two-by-fours into a frame, draped the structure in white bedsheets. Inside, the air mattress is piled with sofa pillows. Outside, camping lanterns, candles, and two strands of solar lights make it into a kind of fairy circle.

“Mulder,” she says, delighted. “This is ridiculous.”

“Indian Guide saves the day,” he says.

“Your architecture badge is definitely more impressive than your fire badge,” she says, walking over to the little tent. He’s brought her salad inside, and there is a cooler packed with ice and water bottles. Cans of bug spray sit at the flap. She crawls inside, suddenly ravenous. 

Mulder joins her on the mattress, which bounces in response. “Remember my water bed?”

She laughs, piling food on a plate for each of them. “What a swinging bachelor you were.”

She remembers the water bed fondly, the leather couch and the fish and the postage-stamp bathroom in his apartment. It shouldn’t hurt still, but it does. She knew herself there, her place on the map. She eats her salad, wistful for Chinese food and beer at that battered coffee table.

“Scully,” he says.

“What?”

“Scully.”

“Just middle-aged nostalgia, I suppose,” she murmurs.

He reaches out to take her hand. “You’re scarcely middle aged.”

She smiles, squeezes his fingers. “If you go by life experience, we’re both about two hundred years old.”

“Like those Galapagos tortoises. But you need to tell me what’s going on at work. You won’t disappoint me.”

It can be very disagreeable to live with a profiler.

Scully drops his hand. She bites at the fleshy part of her thumb. This is real, she thinks. This place. It is not down in any map; true places never are. She can only deflect for so long, and her armor is rusting away. “I’m afraid,” she whispers, then chances a look at his face.

His eyes are soft, searching. “Why?”

She shakes her head. “I don’t know, I don’t…” Her sinuses sting again and she presses her palms hard into her eyes. “Please.”

Mulder’s hand on her back, in endless, gentle figure eights. He pulls the elastic from her hair and lets it tumble down to her shoulders. He shifts so that her back is to him, his long legs on either side of her body.

“Mulder, what -”

“Shhhh,” he says, and gathers the hair at the crown of her head. “It’s not a real sleepover if you don’t get your hair French braided.”

Scully blinks. “Since when do you know how to braid hair?”

“Little sister, absent parents. Now stop moving and talk.”

She keeps her head very steady, thinking of her own sister’s deft fingers when their mother was too busy for anything but ponytails. Mulder tugs at another little section of hair. Scully thinks she might be okay if she isn’t looking at him, if she can’t read herself in his eyes.

Moth shadows dance across the white sheet wall, drawn to the flickering candles outside. It fascinates her that they never figure out that fire burns.  “I don’t know how to do this,” she says, and her voice is thick.

“To talk, or to be still?” he says in his Oxford psychologist voice.

She isn’t sure of what she means either. “Yes,” she says, with a hiccupy laugh. “Both.”

“Me too,” he says, slipping his thumb through the strands behind her ear. “I don’t know how to do this.”

She swallows hard. “I just...I’ve always had something to consume me. I had the FBI, we traveled all the time, and then we were running and I thought it was hard but it was so easy to just survive. There were no decisions. I didn’t care about, I don’t know...plates.”

He pauses in his work. “Plates?”

Scully chews at a hangnail, frustrated. “Just things, the things you buy for a house. Long term things. I did with William and then…” she trails off, her chest tight. “I feel like I’m playing a game sometimes, like improv theater. Fox and Dana Build A Home.”

“Fox and Dana?” he repeats. “Surely not.”

“Well, we’re hardly Mulder and Scully anymore, are we?” Her stomach clenches and that’s it, she sees. That’s the fear.

He finishes the braid and fastens the elastic at the end of it. “Of course we are,” he says. “We are who we are.”

She turns to him then, the whispering anxiety back with a roar. “And who is that, Mulder? I was plain old Dana Scully until I met you. And we had this life, this strange and wonderful and terrible life where I was Scully because I was your partner and now that’s over. It’s all nothing.” She’s crying openly now, quietly, and it feels cleansing.

“You’re still my partner,” he says, and his eyes are shining too.

She wipes her nose with a paper napkin. “Am I? At what? I go to work and see patients but I forgot there’s no closure with the living. People get sick and get better and get sick again. It doesn’t end. And this house, the power is always going to go out and the chickens will always be hungry and -“  she stops, feeling hysterical.

“You don’t have to work,” he says softly. “The settlement from the FBI, my inheritance…”

She shakes her head. “You know I have to work.” 

He sighs, rubs her knee. “I know you do. But it doesn’t have to be this. It doesn’t have to drain you.”

He’s right, of course he’s right, but he’s also so terribly wrong that she wonders if he knows her at all. She has to be a doctor for her father, for William. For him. She has to see something through. Scully smooths her hand over the back of her head, feeling the even ridges of the braid. Mulder is so competent with everything he does, so easy with himself. He’ll get his damned bees and become some kind of honey magnate in no time.

“People at the hospital, they ask me what I did before. And I don’t know how to answer. How can I possibly answer that question? I just say I was with the government, but that isn’t really the answer, is it?”

Mulder shrugs. He’s never felt the need to explain himself to people. “It’s true.”

Scully stretches out on her stomach across the mattress, chin on the pillows, watching the moths again. They tumble like acrobats, untethered in the thick air. “There’s this number called Graham’s number, used in Ramsey Theory, which is, well, nevermind. It doesn’t matter. Anyway, it was in the Guinness Book for being the largest specific number used in a proof at the time. And Mulder, this number is so big that writing out all the digits would exceed the bounds of the known universe.”

“Nobody likes a math nerd, Scully.”

She rolls onto her back to glare at him. “Yes they do, they give them Nobel prizes. Anyway. A whole new notation system, Knuth Notation, had to be developed to express these massive numbers. Graham’s Number, Tree(3), et cetera. And I feel like that at times. That there’s this endless amount of vital, inexpressible information inside of me that is so essential but that I have no way to share.”

She blinks a few times, spent by this unburdening.

Mulder stretches out next to her, propped on his side. “You can express it to me,” he says, massaging her temple with his thumb.

Scully closes her eyes. “I feel like a ghost sometimes. How do you do it, Mulder? How do you just keep moving forward without getting lost?”

He sighs. “I don’t know how to tell you this, but you have a tendency to compile people into perfect specimens, then measure yourself against that imaginary standard. It’s the precession of simulacra.”

She looks at him, indignant, then realizes he could be right. “Well,” she says. “It’s possible. But Mulder, is that such a bad thing, to want to hold myself to the highest goals?”

He tugs her onto her side so that she’s facing him, nearly nose to nose. Her lips feel tingly. “Yes,” he says, stroking her hair. “When the goal isn’t attainable. And when it puts everyone else on pedestals where we’re ill equipped to balance. And when it puts you in a constant state of frustration and anxiety. No one is perfect. Not even you.”

“I don’t want to be perfect,” she lies. “And I don’t need you to be either.” That part is true, at least.

He laughs in reply. “Apropos of being Galapagos tortoises, Charles Darwin once said ‘I am very poorly today, and very stupid and hate everybody and everything.’”

“He rode the tortoises,” Scully says, calming. “I can’t defend his methodology.”

“See? You’re better than Charles Darwin.” He kisses her forehead.

“Well,” she says. “Well.”

“Scully, look. You’re not alone here, feeling at sea. I went to the feed store and some guy picked a fight, shoved me pretty hard with his shoulder. And this reflexive part of my brain wanted to grab my badge, stick it in his face, and put him against the wall for assaulting a federal agent. But I ignored it and bought the chicken feed and just headed out. And I felt like, is this who I am now? Some pushover with yard birds and home improvement books?”

“You made a little fast and loose with your authority sometimes,” she says, thinking of Roche. She curves her palm against his cheek, thumbs the fine ridge of his zygomatic bone.

He bumps her nose with his. “You broke into a secret morgue.”

“You made me.” She sniffles, laughs a little. “The good old days.”

“These can be the good days too,” he says. “They can, if we work at it.” He traces her mouth with his finger.

“Okay,” she says. Hope stirs in her, a thing with feathers. “Partners?”

“Partners.”

He kisses her, in their small tent, in their ring of light.