#yes I was looking into forms of intelligences and assigned one to each of my boys

[hellsdogs]

Mishima Sen, the Interpersonal Intelligence, Emotional Intelligence. Sen excels in interpersonal intelligence, the ability to deeply understand the emotions and motivations of others. His empathy allows him to sense and even manipulate the feelings of those around him, making him exceptionally perceptive. It is what makes him a good artist but also a good listener, a good shoulder to cry on, a good company, a good conversationalist. He sees and understands, he reads people/ His weakness: Sen's deep emotional awareness, however leads to obsession and compulsiveness. Instead of focusing on his own emotional needs, he often suppresses them, choosing to delve into the emotional states of others. This makes him compulsively interested in other people’s feelings, to the point where he loses himself and risks dangerous over-involvement. His ability to manipulate emotions, although is not always intentional, but if he uses that on someone, it can lead to darker, obsessive behaviors where he bends others to his will or spirals into unhealthy relationships. The more he feeds this need, the more likely he becomes a threat, both to himself and others.

Ueno Junji, the logical-Mathematical Intelligence.

Junji is the logical-mathematical intelligence, excelling in critical thinking, problem-solving, and understanding complex systems like geopolitics and societal structures. His intellect enables him to analyze situations which makes him an effective journalist with the ability to unearth hidden truths. His weakness: Junji's weakness is his lack of self-awareness, particularly regarding his own intellectual limits. While he is undoubtedly smart, his confidence in his intelligence leads to arrogance. It blinds him to potential errors in judgment. His belief that he can outsmart others leads him to lead grand schemes—assuming he can maintain a facade as a reputable journalist while secretly engaging in criminal activities. Ultimately, his inability to accurately evaluate his intelligence will bein his downfall, as he overplays and gets caught.

Yamazaki Dai, the Intrapersonal Intelligence, Business and Strategic Intelligence. Dai’s intelligence lies in intrapersonal intelligence, which is the deep understanding of oneself combined with business intelligence. He is aware of his strengths and weaknesses and possesses the strategic mindset to run a large criminal organization as efficiently as a corporate empire. Dai can think long-term, weigh risks, and make calculated decisions, blending knowledge of finance, and law with his inherited sense of duty. His weakness: Despite his self-awareness, Dai is confined by responsibility. He gres up with an almost uncontrollable violent side that conflicted with his duties. He must constantly manage and suppress his primal instincts as he ages, to remain a composed leader his clan needs. This internal conflict creates tension within him, where his responsibilities prevent him from unleashing his true self, a more violent and impulsive person. If pushed too far, he could snap, endangering both his leadership and the stability of the Yamazaki Clan.

Kimura Taketa, the Bodily-Kinesthetic Intelligence, Street Smart. Kimura is the bodily-kinesthetic intelligence, where his physical abilities and survival instincts are highly developed. His street smarts enable him to navigate the criminal underworld with ease, relying on adaptability, quick thinking, and hands-on problem-solving. He understands how to survive in dangerous environments by leveraging his experience rather than academic knowledge that he couldn't have. His weakness : Kimura's life of pure violence and lack of emotional intelligence are his greatest weaknesses. While his bodily and practical intelligence allow him to survive, fight and rise, they come at the cost of empathy and emotional understanding. He is cold and detached, treating survival as a game of brutality. This detachment leaves him emotionally barren, incapable of forming meaningful connections or understanding the emotional consequences of his actions. His worldview is devoid of empathy, which isolates him from others and makes him dangerous in a way too.

[lets-try-some-writing]

Oh god the vampire au you posted really scratched my brain in all the good ways!!!

But what if the decepticons took the kids? It's funny how they're after the three under the autobots care and doesn't bother with other humans I wonder why? I'd definitely want to see which decepticon each kid would be assigned to!! And how would they behave during their conversion!! Specially megatron there's no way he doesn't want one of his own

Arachnid would definitely be a spark eater! I mean do you see how destructive she is! She definitely prefers newly formed sparklings spark!!

Mwhaha, I do love the vampire AU and this ask. It gives me more concepts to play with. Oooh and yes Arachnid as a sparkeater makes a ton of sense.

And of course, ANGST (with a healthy dose of fluff)

Previous part here.

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It is a natural part of any Cybertronian's nature to feel the urge to bring more into the fold once their bloodline stabilizes and they find themselves mature enough to undertake the task. The Decepticons are no exception to this, but even with the number of Cybertronians falling into near extinction levels, they still have standards. Regardless of faction or frame type, Cybertronians are picky when it comes to their choice of who to bring into the fold. Bringing in adults is too risky due to their biological parts having settled and being unwilling to accept new components. Attempting to take in weak young is a waste of effort since they would not pass the aches and pains phase of the changes anyway. And then of course every frame type has their own unique specifications regarding what they are looking for in young as well.

Its such a hassle to the point where despite being on an organic world with millions to choose from, the Decepticons simply can't find it in themselves to sift through the countless young spawn. They have a war to win, trying to set up trials to find the perfect young is something they do not have the time or resources to do. Thus until the human children made their presence known, the Decepticons abstained from attempting to fold any human young for fear of having it backfire horribly. Soundwave was making valiant efforts to hunt down potential suitable young, but the going was slow with how much Decepticon forces needed to be focused on the war effort.

Potential sparklings needed to have certain traits in order to be worth the effort of attempting to fold. Not to mention every single mech on the Nemesis had certain parameters they needed to have met in order to even consider a candidate. It was simply too much work to meet the needs of every mech willing and wanting to bring more into the fold. But then the Autobots had to bring the human children into the mix and make the selection process FAR easier.

The children were intelligent enough to be of use to the Autobots during combat. They were strong enough to survive even amongst fighting giants and dangerous relics and substances. They were wise enough to learn and adapt, sticking to their partners and working as well as they could with their fleshy frames. Most importantly, each of three human young presented traits that matched the specifications of every frame type on the Nemesis. Any frame type that wanted the children would find success. They met all the parameters.

They were perfect.

Of course it took a degree of convincing on Soundwave and Starscream's parts to get Megatron to even agree that the idea was reasonable. However once confirmation was given to retrieve the children for the purpose of bringing into the fold was complete, those who wanted young readied to act. They were no fools, they could see that the Autobots had already laid down their claim, but there was still room to act. There would be no stopping the CNA contribution of the Autobots from sticking, but they could most certainly attempt to drown out as much of it as possible with their own bloodlines. And of course there were still rules to be followed.

Knockout and Breakdown had wanted to have a sparkling of their own since the very beginning and long before the war. The time for a journey to find worthy young simply never came before and during the conflict. Now though, there was a chance, and neither were willing to lose it. They needed an organic child who matched their grounder specifications, one who would be stable and level headed. With that thought in mind, they took one look at Jack and decided he was the one for them. But of course, they couldn't just snatch him. That would cause increadible damage to him during his development and earn them the ire of Arcee. No, such things happened on Cybertron too when different mecha took an interest in the same organic. There were protocols and rituals to handle such affairs, and while they were indeed on opposite sides of things, Knockout and Breakdown were going to follow the old rites regardless.

In accordance with tradition, Breakdown and Knockout sent a transmission to the Autobots and Breakdown covered up his Decepticon faction marker. Arcee was incredibly skeptical, especially with her boy still not knowing he was undergoing the first stages of the changes. However the rules have almost always been honored, and Breakdown at least was long known to be honorable. Thus with a great deal of apprehension and accompanied by most of the team, she went to speak with the duo on neutral ground. The discussion was... tense to say the least. But with neither of the Decepticons having earned Arcee's direct anger, an agreement was settled on despite the protests and arguments that went on amongst the team for over an hour.

Oaths were made, pacts agreed upon, and the rules set in place. There were a few quips and a few instances were discussions nearly fell through, but all those present were long since sick of the war. They wanted new sparklings, and Jack having additional caretakers would increase his chances of survival and developing well. As such the path was set and it was agreed upon that once the changes began in earnest, Arcee would allow Knockout and Breakdown to serve as secondary Sires. They offered her energon samples of their own, and as soon as the moment presented itself, she began offering Jack their energon alongside her own. He would still be HER boy first and foremost, but Knockout and Breakdown would feel the beginnings of the tie and slowly gain sway too.

As Jack's changes progressed and the time to take him away from his mortal family drew nearer, Arcee prepared to begin sharing as required. A carrying chamber was installed near her spark so that her young ward could be kept near to her and her Decepticon co-Sires were allowed to begin coming to visit their young charge when he was sleeping at base. Until he forgot his mortal life he could not be allowed to see them while awake, but their presence eased Jack enough that it was clear Knockout and Breakdown had a claim on him too.

Arcee tended to him during the day, but when he slept, Knockout and Breakdown were allowed to come and sing to him, holding him gently as he fell into deeper and deeper sleep with every passing cycle. Everything they did had to be overseen by Arcee and she was higher on the hierarchy of Sires tending to Jack, but so long as they listened, they were allowed to care for him. There were rules, and both Decepticons were obliged to offer Arcee deference regarding Jack in any capacity unless they were willing to fight her for for the right to be his main Sires. But neither saw the need, Jack was their too and that was all that mattered. And while they did sneak the boy a few gifts and run their digits along his small frame whenever they could get away with it, they kept to the rules and didn't make a fuss. When Jack forgot his mortal life they would be given more freedom to treat him with the affection they both wanted above all else to offer. June may or may not have found herself with more offerings she didn't understand in response to two additional Cybertronians taking an interest in her only son.

But of course it was not just Knockout and Breakdown who wanted a sparkling. Starscream saw the chance to have a sparkling and he was willing to do anything to take it. Soundwave too considered it, but he stepped aside the moment he saw Starscream's optics linger on Miko. He was not desperate in the way Starscream was and he saw no need to fight for the right. He could have a sparkling of his own in due time, and thus he did not interfere when Starscream watched Knockout and Breakdown somehow manage to make a deal and proceed to plan to do the same.

However unlike Knockout and Breakdown, Starscream was completely unwilling to take on a secondary role when it came to Miko. He was upfront when he landed before the Wreckers on the battlefield and made his intent known. Bulkhead and Wheeljack were of course unwilling to make a deal at first, but with how much care Miko needed, there simply wasn't much room to reject the seeker's offer. He raised dozens of sparklings with his trine prior to the war and was familiar with the Vosian methods of handling little ones. He had experience, a trait which both Bulkhead and Wheeljack lacked, especially when faced with the fact that Miko was quite likely to be a rather difficult sparkling to handle during the aches and pains phase of the changes. They hated offering any sort of leverage to Starscream, and Optimus was not at all pleased when they brought a slumbering Miko out for the seeker to see since neither were willing to allow Starscream into base.

Despite the numerous instances of Miko very nearly beating him into scrap with the Apex armor, Starscream was not at all malicious the moment he sensed that she was undergoing the changes. Bulkhead and Wheeljack kept a blaster aimed at his helm the whole time he cooed at Miko as she slept. However Starscream merely softened his voice and sung quietly to the sleeping child, running his digit through her hair to feel the faint resistance that came from flesh being turned to metal. There was an urge to take her and run, but Starscream abstained. She was tied to the Wreckers whether he liked it or not. It was best to wait until she forgot and then involve himself fully. So instead of fighting, he offered some of his energon and took to the skies with Bulkhead's commlink line. Starscream received pictures and updates regarding Miko's development from that point forward and he eagerly counted the cycles until she would be ready for him to become part of her life.

Seeing three of his inner circle begin making deals to have sparklings of their own, Megatron's carefully hidden desire for one to raise began to rise. Two of the three were already claimed, and while he could hunt down another human to bring into the fold, there was a more malicious part of him that was determined to try and take Optimus and Ratchet's little pride and joy for his own. Rafael was bound to them, that could not be changed, but Megatron might be able to gain leverage as well as a sparkling if he played his cards right. Optimus would never agree to share, not with him anyway. But the Prime allowed Breakdown and Knockout to associate with his team and begrudgingly offered updates regarding Miko. Who was to say that Megatron couldn't extend his own influence to gain a bit of a foothold?

It was not difficult to convince Knockout to bring a vial of Megatron's energon with him during his next visit to see Jack. The medic was downright terrified at the concept of trying to sneak Megatron's energon into Rafael's supplements, but he did not dare disobey when the threat of being kept from Jack was shoved in front of his face. Megatron could only smile in mixed joy and malice when he began to feel the faint pulls of a tie to Rafael blooming within him after around a month or so of having Knockout slip his energon into Optimus and Ratchet's contribution. He only grew more and more pleased when he received a message from the Prime demanding to know what he'd done.

Optimus: Megatron, what have you done to my sparkling?

Megatron: Nothing much Prime. I have simply assured that you will now have to agree to come to some sort of truce with me.

Optimus: I will do no such thing, not while you threaten Earth.

Megatron: Who is to say I will threaten Earth? This world is filled with young organics ripe for bringing into the fold. It would be foolish to destroy it.

Optimus: You have tried before.

Megatron: I have, but now I have an investment here. That sparkling of yours now has my energon flowing through his veins. He needs my aid too now.

Optimus: That is an egregious breech of sparkling developmental laws-!

Megatron: You and I both know those laws have been obsolete since Cybertron fell. Besides, what's done is done. Your sparkling is now also mine. If we do not come to some sort of agreement, he will die or end up like Arachnid.

Optimus: ...

Megatron: Well Prime? Do you wish to talk on equal ground or continue this game and risk the life of your young charge?

Optimus: How much do you wish to be involved in his life?

Megatron: I want to be a Primary Sire.

Optimus: That is too much.

Megatron: Is it? You still have Bumblebee do you not? You and your lapdog medic may have the sparkling for half of his development and I will have him for the rest.

Optimus: You are a monster.

Megatron: So what if I am? Our whole species has been regarded as such since the beginning. We steal the young of others to make into our own. How is what I am doing any different?

The team were quick to pinpoint Knockout as the one who put Megatron's energon into Rafael's supplements, but by that point there was nothing to be done. The changes were underway, the children were nearly ready to be collected and their mortal families fully compensated. The time for debate was over, now they needed to make some sort of truce or possibly lose the first sparklings brought into the fold since the height of the war.

[litcityblues]

'The Short Victorious War' --A Review

In my review of the last book in this series For The Honor of The Queen, I was hoping that Weber would start to push against the boundaries of the very solid, excellent formula he had developed in the first two novels of the Honor Harrington series. Not because it was bad- in fact, the first two novels are excellent starting points for the series and introduce you to Honor Harrington and give you a really good grounding in who she is as a person and what kind of commander she is, while only throwing down some hints here and there of her past, the politics of Manticore and it's Navy.

Now, with the third entry in the Honor Harrington series, we begin to see Honor develop more as a character- get glimpses of her home planet and family life. But we also get more insight into the People's Republic of Haven, actually seeing the inner workings of their politics and not just their navy. Does Weber get away from the 'rinse and repeat' of the first two books? To a certain (and welcome) degree, yes. I have a sensation, a prediction perhaps that he's laying the groundwork for a thorough break out into new territory with the next book, however, before I find out if that's true, we've got to get into the meat and potatoes of this volume, The Short Victorious War.

This volume opens with Honor at home on Sphinx, still recovering from the events of the previous book. The eye she lost defending the Protector's family on Grayson has been replaced with an implanted one that she's still getting used to but looks a little better than the eye patch she had to use at the tail end of the last book. She's also- and I like this a great deal- reflected and healing on another level as well and that's coming to grips with the immense casualties she has presided over in the first two books- first at Basilisk Station and then at Grayson.

However, because this is the Honorverse and our heroine needs something to do, the People's Republic of Haven has other ideas. Economically, they're in trouble. They don't want to go to war with Manticore, but they have no choice. It is decided that a short, (hopefully) victorious war is just what they need to calm their domestic situation. So, they begin to launch provocations at key points along the frontier with Manticore, hoping to provoke something.

Given the rapidly deteriorating situation, Honor is given a new assignment- command of the Navy's flagship, the Nike. She's the flag captain, which means she serves under Admiral Sarnow and they are sent to Hancock Station, a critical base for Manticore along the frontier. She is reunited with her old friend Michelle Henke from the Naval Academy who serves as her executive officer.

Her new ship, the Nike has some growing pains in the form of a flaw in one of the fusion reactors, which keeps Nike from getting her full operational runout when she arrives at Hancock Station, but reintroduces Honor to the senior engineering officer of Hancock Station, Captain Paul Tankersley.

Honor had met him before- at Basilisk Station serving under Lord Pavel Young, her hated enemy and would-be rapist from her Academy days- because of that connection, she does not initially warm to him, but eventually they warm to each other and kindle a romantic relationship with on and other.

The situation along the frontier continues to deteriorate, but by chance, Manticore happens on a stealth sensor platform that Haven has been using to gather intelligence on their forward deployments and manipulate them into responding to create weak points where they can attack in force. Once Manticore realizes that, they decide to do some manipulation of their own, setting up a nice juicy trap at Yeltin's Star to try and draw Haven there, but that leaves Hancock Station undermanned and underdefended.

Sarnow's fleet, unfortunately, includes some old enemies, including a Houseman, a relative of the diplomat Honor slapped around on Grayson (and when she slaps, she slaps, so it wasn't a small matter) and arriving to help is Lord Pavel Young.

However, overwhelming odds are where Honor Harrington shines and her unconventional tactics help Sarnow and his fleet hold off a vastly superior Havenite force long enough for reinforcement to arrive and deal them a crushing defeat, but not before Young panics and orders the fleet to scatter and refuses to get back into formation. Manticore's victory is overwhelming and Young finds himself removed from command, placed under arrest, and sent back to Manticore for a court martial. Tankersley is promoted to Captain of the List and ordered back to Manticore for reassignment.

On Haven, the government is overthrown by radicals, the entire government is killed in an airstrike using the shuttles of the Havenite Navy, which the radicals then use to blame the navy and form a 'Committee of Public Safety' to govern and begin a military and political purge to cement their rule.

Overall: This was exactly what I was looking for with this series. After a couple of novels of dancing around potential conflict with Haven, the two sides of this series get down to brass tacks and see the two actually scrap. But, more importantly, after planting some seeds and scattering some hints here and there throughout the first two novels, we begin to see some green shoots of character development, and new plot branches and possibilities start to emerge and it's exciting to see.

This is also the first novel where we get different points of view. Weber takes us behind enemy lines to Haven and their government. We see different commanders and Admirals all along the front line, including an especially heart-wrenching scene when a Manticoran ship on convoy escort duty sacrifices itself to give the convoy time to escape- the Captain leaving her husband and daughter behind on the convoy ship while she makes the ultimate sacrifice to get them to safety.

We also see Honor at the start of the book, spend some time healing from her physical and mental wounds which I thought was an excellent and needed touch. Honor has been through the wringer a bit at the start of this novel and acknowledging the heavy, heavy burden of command and the costs in human lives that have come with it is really important for her character development and makes her feel less like a heroic archetype of a Naval commander and more human and real as a result. This feels like a pivot point for the series so far I'm excited to see where we go next, but suddenly, the formula of the first two books has been left behind and the possibilities ahead of these characters and this universe are very interesting indeed. My Grade: **** out of ****

[taechaos]

Rightful Punishment

pairing: bully!Jungkook x nerdy!fem!reader

synopsis: You do Jungkook's assignments in exchange for his affection. You don't even perform as well in your own subjects, but you don't care because all you want to do in life is make Jungkook happy. But it gets complicated when he gets a bad grade because of you.

genre: drabble, smut, college au

warnings: degradation, dubcon, exhibition

word count: 1.4k

"Hurry the fuck up," Jungkook grunts in your ear as you try your best to write the conclusion for his essay. He took you to the library before his Literature lecture when you told him you weren't finished with his assignment, and he keeps pestering you in a hushed voice because of his limited time.

You don't take Literature, but you're dealing with the pressure of his grades for him.

"I'm almost done," you whisper as you skim over the contents of the long text that you stayed up scribbling because Jungkook's professor is a man from the older generation when online documents weren't a thing. It's a pain in the ass, but you don't dare complain. When you're confident that you've summarized your - his conclusion in perfect detail, you brightly grin and show it to him. "I finished it!"

He doesn't bother reading it and only runs his eyes over your handwriting to make sure it's intelligible. "Good girl," the corner of his lips tugs upwards in satisfaction when he makes out your analysis of some short story.

"Can I have my kiss now?" your eyes gleam with hope as you shyly look up at him. He's hovering over you with a hand on the back of your chair, knees bent to see you work better. He shortly pecks your lips and pats your head before walking off with your essay secured in his hand as he starts to read it without bidding you farewell. Your heart flutters as you watch him leave, your fingertip grazing his lingering kiss on your lips.

You do Jungkook's assignments in exchange for his affection. You don't even perform as well in your own subjects, but you don't care because all you want to do in life is make Jungkook happy. With the blessing of having academic smarts, you waste it on a man who only loves you when you give him what you need.

That detail doesn't sink in your head, because it doesn't matter.

Your heart aches when you have to admire him from afar. He doesn't allow you to interact with him in public unless he's delivering you a pile of work, which is every two weeks.

But it's different this time. Your face lights up when you're sitting on a bench outside your campus with a few friends and you notice Jungkook angrily stomping in your direction as he throws away a torn piece of paper on the green grass.

A smile graces your lips as you raise your hand to wave at him before he yanks on your wrist and pulls you out of your seat to drag you away. The sun is shining down on the both of you, and you're enjoying his bruising grip on your hand while birds chirp happily in the background. You're in bliss and you resist the urge to close your eyes until he's dragged you into an empty spot under the shade.

"You stupid fucking bitch," he spits as he pushes you against the wall. "That essay you gave me was bullshit! Are you playing me?"

"What?" you panic as your lips part. You hate seeing Jungkook upset. "But I-I worked so hard on it-"

"Hell you did," he grits, "I got a fucking C minus. I kissed you for that essay, only to get a C?"

"I'll rewrite it!" you instantly compromise in an attempt to please him, "please let me do it again. I promise I'll get you an A this time!"

His most common grade: A plus. Jungkook wants to become a paralegal without working a day in his life, and you're so willing to be taken advantage of that he doesn't even feel bad. The only form of appreciation you receive is a kiss or praise.

"He's not accepting retakes," he grumbles with a subtle snarl. "It's only 5% of my grade, so he thinks it doesn't matter." He scoffs at the audacity of the professor and you. "Get on your knees."

You stop scowling at the ground out of disappointment in yourself at his command and immediately obey. Your eyes grow wide when he starts unbuckling his belt. "What are you doing?"

"Shut the fuck up," he orders as he unzips himself. "I'm putting you to use, you dumb whore."

Your heart pounds as you convince yourself that you deserve the insults he throws at you; you did something wrong. He's just giving you the rightful punishment, you think when he shoves his cock inside your gaping mouth. Your scalp stings when he grips your hair to stop you from moving as he thursts in and out of your cavern. A gag rips out of you at his harsh movements when he sinks his length down to the hilt and his balls smack against your chin.

"Can't even do one fucking thing right," he snarls as he sharply breathes in and out through his nose. "Gonna fuck your brains out if you even have any."

He starts groaning when you swirl your tongue around him, disregarding your brimming tears and aching jaw. "Keep doing that," he demands while panting, and you wrap your lips around his length as he keep thrusting into you with your tongue desperately licking the underside of his shaft. "Fuck, yes," he moans under his breath.

"I thought about replacing you," he reveals while running his fingers through your hair as his hips begin to stutter. "Find someone smarter who can get one good fucking grade."

The tears you held back start streaming down your face as your heart sinks. You grow more desperate and hold onto his thighs, rubbing them up and down and pull your mouth away. A string of saliva connects you to the head of his cock as you whimper, "please don't. I'll do better, Jungkook, please!"

"I told you to shut up, didn't I?" he growls as he yanks on your hair and you whine at the pain. "Make me cum and I'll consider keeping you."

You start nodding frantically and swallow the pleads that beg to erupt from your swollen lips. You know what to do when he nods at you without moving his hips, so you start to pleasure him with your hand on his balls and your tongue teasing the slit on his tip. Your other hand pumps his throbbing length, and you moan to please him further. You're so needy, so desperate to make it up to him, and he knows it; he gets off on it.

He knows you love him with all of your being, but he doesn't realize that loves you just as much, if not more. He just wants to use you, and you're not doing yourself any favors with how feverishly you're sucking him off.

It resounds in his ears, all the noise you're making in an effort to satisfy him. You don't even care you're in a public space, and it turns him on to the point of sighing at the thought of fucking you in front of everyone.

"Go faster, don't you even know how to suck a dick properly?" he taunts and you take his balls in your mouth as your hand pumps him swiftly. You know he's reaching his high as his breaths become more audible, and you return to his tip to leave kitty licks. He's groaning at how feverous you are, and it's not long before cum begins to ooze out onto your tongue.

You lap it all up as he continues to release in your mouth while moaning breathily, loudly. "Shit, shit, shit," he hisses when he grows sensitive, bordering on overstimulation, and he pushes your head away to stroke himself to spurt out all of his cum.

You try your best to catch all of it, but a few drops land on your face and you collect them all with your finger. When he's finished, he holds himself up by leaning on the wall you're pushed up against. You're staring at his jaw and the way his chest inflates with each breath from under him. You swallow all of his release and it tastes slightly bitter on your tastebuds.

After he collects himself, he adjusts his pants and buckles up without saying anything.

"A-Are you going to leave me?" you meekly ask, but he doesn't reply. Only when he walks away as if nothing happened do you feel the pain on your knees that scraped against the cement from the force of his thrusts. You wipe the spit on your mouth when you take in your surroundings. A few students pass by you in the alley, only a few feet away from your campus.

Even though he humiliated you, you still love him and with a dull ache in your heart, you hope he doesn't leave you for someone else.

And you can't help but yearn for another lesson from him.

[ladyeliot]

Fragile [1/3]

Part Two

Based on The Falcon and the Winter Soldier

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Summary: Who would have thought that fate would bring you face to face with your father's killer? 13 years old, an orphan girl who was taken under the protection of the United States, who was educated to serve the nation and who was now assigned by the CIA to guard what was once one of the most dangerous men in the world.

Warnings: Mentions of murder, psychological problems, violence.

Word count: 2463

A/N: Post Endgame. Sorry for my spelling and grammatical mistakes, English is not my native language, I am learning.

You are waiting for a plane, a plane that will take you far away. You know where you want to go, where you need to go, but you really have no idea where that plane will take you. But it doesn't really matter now, nothing matters because you've lost everything, you have nothing left. Whatever fate throws at you you are willing to accept it, after all you leave nothing behind. That's what you told yourself when in 2009, at the age of thirteen, you boarded that plane that took you out of Iran, when your nuclear engineer father was brutally murdered by someone you could never put a name or a face to. It was not until much later that you discovered the truth of that moment that marked your life forever.

Call it fate, call it chance, but that plane paved your future path. Your destination was the United States, specifically the city of Washington. At the age of 13, when you were a minor, you were detained by the government, assigned to a foster family, preparing you for your future, which already seemed to be written. At 18, the CIA had your position waiting for you, you had been educated and trained for the job, you never had a different opportunity in front of you, but you didn't really want it either.

Your first years within the Central Intelligence Agency you had to learn and live with all the events that that group, called the Avengers, dropped on the nation and the whole world. However, you were not a part of it until it was all over, for like the vast majority of humanity your body vanished from the face of the earth and did not return until years later. That's when it all began. When your superior assigned you a case, his case, to be the shadow of James Buchanaham Barnes, also known as the Winter Soldier, who was going to rejoin society after being pardoned by the government. You didn't know what that meant, what that entailed.

Your move to New York was sudden, the neighbourhood the man had selected to live in was in Sunset Park, a New York borough of Brooklyn, one of the best known ethnic Chinese enclaves. It was really nice, but the building was far less comfortable than the neighbourhood. When you arrived with barely any hot water, you figured that assuming the building looked like it might collapse at the drop of a hat, the plumbing would be no less so. But at least your CIA team had been able to provide you with comfortable furniture and the necessary equipment to do your job.

You had a plan, the plan, you had been analysing Bucky Barnes, his exits from the building, the places he frequented, which were pretty scarce apart from the therapy sessions and the restaurant across the street, and his social relations, which were even scarcer, however he had forged a small friendship with a neighbour in the same building, Yori Nakajima originally from Japan. You didn't have to work out your first meeting, any self-respecting neighbour would help a newcomer to the building during the move.

A dozen cardboard boxes were scattered around the hall of the building, you looked at them with a thoughtful gesture while biting your nails waiting for your dear neighbour to arrive from the laundry next door. You had kept track of the time, and just as you predicted, he came in through the front door with a basket of clean clothes. You continued to look at the boxes, took a breath and exaggerated your gesture of concern, just as he focused his gaze on you.

"Do you need help?" he asked, putting down the laundry basket and approaching you.

You turned your face, still biting your nails, but pretended to be surprised to find him there.

"Oh, don't worry, I only just realised that this building is so green it barely has a lift," you said with a smile, causing Bucky to grin.

"Yes, we like to do our bit for the environment," he said, putting his hand behind his head and then offering it to you in greeting. "Bucky."

"Susan," you smiled and shook his hand, then returned your gaze to the stacked boxes. Evidently that wasn't your real name, it was the name of the person you had invented yourself.

"Come on, let me help you," abandoning his laundry basket he approached your belongings and with barely a reproach he picked up two stacked boxes.

"Oh, God, don't you think you should...?" you began worriedly as you looked at the weight he had taken into his arms.

"Don't worry," he added. "Do you think you could take my clothes?"

That was how it all began. Maybe it could have started some other way, perhaps a chance encounter at the laundromat next door, or when you came out of your government-assigned therapy, or maybe a night at the Japanese restaurant, but no, it was that way. You had no idea how things were going to develop, you had no idea why you were assigned to the case, you were so innocent that you thought it was because of your positive attitude, your willingness to do something relevant, but there was too much hidden behind it that you had hardly a clue. You and that young man were connected, a blood-soaked red thread linked you, but it wasn't until some time later that you discovered it.

Before you knew it, the boxes had gone from being stacked in the hall of the building to being in your small living room. You barely had to feign the surprise you felt as the young man had climbed all four floors in record time.

"OK, who are you? You don't work for a moving company do you?" you laughed and headed towards the small kitchen that was connected to the living room. "If so leave me your card because you'll be the one I call."

"No, not really," he put his hand behind his neck and looked away, he seemed nervous as you tried to start a conversation with him.

"A beer? It's the least I can do," you said, opening the fridge. "Well, and it's the only thing I have apparently."

"Better another time," he commented looking at the basket of clean clothes you had left in the middle of your living room and approaching it to pick it up.

It was at that moment that you noticed the black leather gloves covering his hands, you guessed the fact, surely they were to cover his left hand which complemented his vibranium arm.

"Oh, of course," you closed the fridge the same way you had opened it and leaned against the kitchen island to watch him in the middle of the room with the laundry basket offering you an awkward smile. "Then it only remains for me to thank you again."

"It's been a pleasure," he said without moving from the spot, which made you bite your lip smiling at his awkwardness. "Uh... welcome."

"Thank you," you added, watching him clumsily walk out the door and close it behind him.

The image of Bucky Barnes you had formed in your mind collapsed as soon as you met him. Everything you had seen, read, heard about the man had nothing to do with what you found that morning. Who was this person and what had he done with the Winter Soldier? As soon as you closed the door you opened the box marked 'FRAGILE' and extracted all the archival material that the CIA had compiled for you, and opening your laptop you began to generate your first report on Bucky Barnes, totally contrary to what you had expected to do.

The following days you took it upon yourself to generate spontaneous encounters in the most common places the two of you might frequent. The laundromat or the supermarket were the best selected, you discovered that his lifestyle could be that of any ordinary New Yorker, there was nothing strange, nothing out of the ordinary. You had explained to him the story you had created for Susan, a young immigrant girl who had been adopted at the age of 5 by an American family and had left her small town in the state of Ohio to come to New York looking to live the New York dream. Bucky didn't really talk much, but he was a really good listener. He tended to be quite expressive with his face and as we met, it wasn't so often that he looked away from you, only when you stared at him, which was quite common as his blue eyes tended to evade you too much.

Two months later you received the desired psychological analysis that the therapist had been working on during her sessions with Bucky. Throughout your years of life you had been trained not to engage in any kind of emotional relationship with the cases you were assigned at the CIA, you didn't realise it at first, but it was too big for you. When you opened the envelope, sat down on the couch and began to read each of the reports you felt it, a slight sigh propitiated what was happening, you had felt compassion for him. But who couldn't feel compassion reading that? Session after session, talking about the numerous nightmares that kept him awake, endless lists of his victims he had killed, the tortures HYDRA put him through... it all made your insides churn.

You dropped the papers on the table and thoughtfully paced around the room biting your nails. You had been longing for a case like this for a long time, you had practically begged for it, and now that you were inside it you didn't know if you would be able to face it with a cool head. It was a difficult two weeks, where every conversation with Bucky provoked associations with what you read in the therapist's reports and that made you think too much about what you were doing.

But something happened, one Saturday like any other, your doorbell rang while you were preparing a report to send to your superior, you closed everything running and approached the entrance. As you opened the door the figure of Bucky stood in front of you, while behind him loomed the small body of Yori Nakajima.

"Hey..."

"Come on we don't have all day!" exclaimed Yori tapping Bucky's back with his particular cane.

"I'm coming..." chided Bucky turning his face towards his friend and neighbour.

"Come on!" exclaimed Yori again.

The situation was quite peculiar even for you, who were used to encountering all sorts of situations in your work. Your eyebrows were arched as you leaned against the doorframe waiting for what Bucky was supposed to say. Your two neighbours made a comical but endearing pair. Bucky seemed hesitant to speak, being rather nervous as he fiddled with his gloves, so Yori tapped him again with the cane to push him aside.

"What he wants to tell you is to go on a date with him," Yori said bluntly, to which Bucky exasperatedly sighed and put his hand to his face.

"A date?" you asked arching your eyebrows even more and blinking rapidly.

"Well, it's not exactly that..." began Bucky but again he received another blow from Yori's cane, "Hey! Stop it," he refocused his blue eyes on yours. "I'm sorry..."

"For what, needing help asking me out on a date?" you asked smiling slightly, causing him to do so as well. "Had you come up with any concrete plans or did Yori have to find it for you?"

Your question caused Yori to laugh and leave the place alluding that his work had already been done. You continued to watch Bucky with your arms crossed as you slumped against the door frame. The whole situation was getting too out of hand without you even realising it. You lied to yourself that it could be good for your mission, but none of it was good. At that moment you were just a young girl getting carried away, being asked out on a date by a guy you found really attractive.

"Maybe... tomorrow at eight o'clock? If not..." she asked, putting her hand behind her neck, causing her white t-shirt to ride up and reveal part of her naked lower body.

"Why tomorrow? Why not tonight?" you asked showing complete confidence in your voice.

"Or... sure, tonight," she rectified, nodding.

"All right," you said, smiling, and closed the door, leaving Bucky standing there.

In the back of your mind you were trying to convince yourself that this would be helpful to the investigation, that what the CIA really wanted was for you to maintain contact with him, that he was under your control, that he wouldn't do anything that the government would regret offering a pardon for, and apparently he was. What you didn't know is that it was you who was falling under his control.

Your love life is not what you could call it, you were not someone of long realizations, someone who opened her heart easily, you had never really opened it to anyone, apparently at the age of 13 your heart was broken and of that loving and shy girl there was hardly anything left. Relationships, yes, you had had them, but they were based only on physical contact, no feelings, no emotions, only physical contact. You were stubborn, obstinate and sometimes a little presumptuous, a trump card you played with Bucky, but the innocence was still inside you even if you could hardly notice it.

But believe it or not, those months you were spending in that practically ruined building in the middle of that Brooklyn neighbourhood were changing the course of your destiny, they were connecting you with the loving girl you had once been. Something inside you prevented you from writing reports providing the information the CIA was asking for, it seemed really absurd, but for the last two weeks you had offered details of the conversations you had with Bucky, you were just giving ordinary data, useless to the government, who expected you to relay everything the former Winter Soldier said or did. You would never have thought that anything, or anyone, would have limited your ability to tackle an investigation, but there it was, Bucky had done it in just a few months. You felt so empty, it was easy to connect with someone as empty as you, him.

To be continue...

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[tipsydipsydo]

Der Geliebte

Pairing: Jungkook x artist! Reader

Gender of the Reader: female

Word Count: 6.4k 

Rating: 16+

AU: non idol! Jungkook x artist! Reader AU!

Genre: strangers to lovers AU; friends to lovers AU! (idiots to lovers AU!); love at the first sight! AU; soulmate to lovers! AU (kinda?); unbelievable amount of fluff; a little angst (fluffy angst!!,); tiny amount of smut (one paragraph xD)

Warnings: tiny bit of smut/some sexual tension between both of them; Jungkook is a poor shy thing and is fucking nervous around the reader all the time; teeth rotting fluff; both are so in love with each other that they’re getting stupid to not realize it; both are insecure that they’re not meant for another... just fluff, fluff, fluff and painfully obvious pining over each other! 

A/N: Hallelujah, I finally did it! After I made Sibi @borathae​ wait over three months for her Christmas + Birthday Fanfic I finished it two weeks to late for my sweetest Darlings Birthday! I am so incredibly sorry that I made you wait for such a long time and really, Sweetie, you have all the rights to be still mad at my stupid ass! Nevertheless... I love you so goddamn much and I hope the fic made at least a little bit up for it... Love you!!!! 💕 💕 

Summary: You and Jungkook met right at the first day you opened your own atelier in Seoul after you had to leave your old home behind you. You love paint canvas with landscape motives, other people just roll with their eyes when they hear that you choose such usual, almost boring things to paint. Not so Jungkook, he seems to be different than most of visitors. It’s almost like he can read your feelings through your paintings...

Status: Edited (I am sorry for any still existing errors in here!) 

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「© tipsydipsydo」

This following story is my intellectual property and belongs only to my blog tipsydipsydo.tumblr.com!

I’ll not accept any kind of reposting, stealing or using/editing my work!

That includes reposting my content on other social media platforms too, even when you link me as the original author.

Thank you.

* Jungkook’s POV * 

"In what are you getting yourself into, Jungkook?"

 I quietly ask myself as I get rid of my clothes behind the paravent and throw the dressing gown over his body which you laid out for me. My hands are sweaty, they tremble slightly and my heart beats wildly, as if it wants to jump right out of my chest. Excitement spreads throughout my body, leaving a faint feeling in my stomach and a certain blush rises in my cheeks. I still can't believe what I've gotten myself into . But... you looked at me so pleadingly with your dear and downright innocent eyes that I would have done anything for you with that look of yours. I want to make you happy, see that happy and contented smile on your lips, which always makes a whole horde of wild butterflies break out in my belly. 'Normally I was the shyness and silence in person and with you... with her, I feel for the first timesomething like peace and security. Especially when I consider how shy I usually am around women.', I ask myself and I don't really know the answer to that. But what can I do against my feelings? I don't really know, on the one hand they scare me, on the other hand they feel so exciting and new that I don't want to eliminate them at all.

I don't even know exactly when the whole thing started. In which moment my feelings for you grew, when I felt more than just fascination and admiration for you and your artwork. Six months ago, a small studio had opened in my district, your own studio. On the day of the opening I simply went to it of pure curiosity, I had always had such a weakness for art and photography.

I can still remember exactly how I stood in front of one of your works and was literally speechless and overwhelmed by this picture and all his small details. This painting represents a classic image of the countryside, which was often to be found everywhere. But this work was different. So full of small details and ornaments. It was so much more... As a viewer you can see a beautiful clearing, which is surrounded by trees and protected from too many curious eyes. The ground of this clearing is overgrown with dense and lush green grass, which from the incoming sunlight almost invites you to let yourself fall into the grass. It reminds me instantly of my carefree childhood, when I rolled in it without overthinking my actions too much and those times when I playfully wrestled with my best friends around until our clothes had grass stains all everywhere. I could almost smell the scent of wild, untamed nature. The longer I look at the picture, the greater the longing became. Maybe I could visit this beautiful place one day, together with my partner, my significant other. Playing around with each other, chasing your beloved one until you fall into the grass breathless laughing and cuddling. Maybe we could have a picnic there and feed each other with homemade sweets? 

I didn’t know that such a "simple" landscape painting could touch and awaken so much more in me, in my soul. Suddenly, such a wanderlust came over me that I gasped for air and a heavy lump formed in my throat. My whole body was tingling and my heart was literally screaming to get away from this dreadfully grey and monotonous daily routine of my boring single life, for at least some weeks. I want to go to this place, where I could draw the warm and fresh, natural air could deep into my lungs and pamper myself with homemade delicacies. Just to let the soul dangle and don’t stuck with my closely clocked work life. Maybe sleep until 10 o'clock in the morning and then maybe have a nice nap later. Enjoy the warm nights and hear the crickets chirping. This longing was... irrepressible. This particular wanderlust for nature, just to be out of the city, this longing for exactly this abandoned and untouched forest clearing literally overwhelmed me. What was it for an artist who could trigger such feelings and emotions in me?

I had been so absorbed in the artwork that I had not even noticed that a person step next to me. "Do you like the work?", asked a soft melodic voice, which spoke perfect Korean, but was pervaded by a light accent, which I could not quite assign. I flinched a little, but this bright, happy laugh gave me a tingling goosebumps all over my body. What a beautiful laugh... I turned to the person who was the owner of this beautiful voice. I was startled when I realized that the artist and owner of this studio was standing in front of me personally. I recognized her again, as I had seen a small photo of her in the newspaper article that drew my attention to this beautiful studio in the first place. Already in this picture she had radiated something so strong, colorful, cheerful and lively, which caused an excited flutter in my stomach. 

I admit, I already laid an eye on her just by her appearance. Unfortunately I always had a hard time getting to know people ever since, let alone to talk to women. And now having you, Y/N, personally standing right in front of me, made me feel fluffy and excited in my stomach. Nothing is left of this otherwise so sassy and self-confident  man that I used to be. Only a nervous and stodgy twenty-three-year-old idiot, who did not know what to say or wanted to say, now stands in front of this stunningly pretty and intelligent woman.

Her eyes sparkles like jewels, full of joy, struck me with interest and a playful smile lays on her lips. "Did you not understand my question?", she asked kindly, but nobly reserved. Immediately a rosy puff settled on my cheeks and I stuttered nervously: "Y-Yes, excuse me! I... I was just somewhere else with my thoughts and was completely surprised that they were addressing me personally.... Your works are truly unique! They still show such ‘usual’ motifs and yet they are so special because of these finely elaborated details and this passion with which this work of art was painted. They really are... Unique artworks that you do not forget so quickly. Even for untrained eyes as my owns, I can see that a talented artist has worked on it. I am very impressed by your work, especially this work here!" You could hear the honest admiration from my voice and my heart leapt as she reacted bashful to all of my compliments.

"Thank you, really, thank you so much! I really appreciate to hear such nice words like yours, even if it is rare. I am often criticized for my ‘lack of creativity’, caused by my chosen motives. I just love the rough, almost untouched landscapes of my hometown, I try to depict the ‘normal’ as something beautiful, unique. I would like to ‘really see’ what we already take for granted again. As a wonderful creation, a work of art. Nature is a wonderful example of this, or the architecture of buildings as well. Architects are also artists, although unfortunately they are not seen as such. I just want to offer the obvious things a more meaningful space again.... People like you have become rare. I have observed how you have recognized the true meaning, this beauty and aesthetics in such a ‘usual-looking’ motif. And this pleases me so much that you can read 'between the brushstrokes'. Oh... Excuse me, I always talk way too much when someone shows an interest in art or music, my personal passions. Besides that, I have not introduced myself to you yet, I am Y/N! I was obviously so pleased to see your understanding, empathetic look at this work, if you understand what I mean... Anyway... I can guess that you knew my name already, don't you? What about you? May I know your name?", asked you, beautiful artist, with her really stunning smile.

I swallowed nervously, never before had a young lady mixed my emotions so much in me. Even the picture of her in the newspaper article, which I had read out of boredom in one of my lectures, got me so emotionallyconfused. I didn't want to say it in front of my teasing friends, but I had been really excited when I set off this Friday night. And now the creator of these works of art stood before me and seemed to want to have a longer conversation with me. My heart beats to my throat and I got sweaty hands from this nervousness in my poor body. Honestly, as soon as I wasn't surrounded by my clique of friends, I automatically turned into a nervous, slightly abashed blushing and stuttering guy who behave like an inexperienced teenager. 

In private life, without my best mates by the side, I am not so confident and daredevil. After all, I always had someone who could cover my back when things get tough, while I am on my own without anyone I know. You could usually only believe and trust, not control. That's probably why I struggled with interpersonal relationships. I always overthink too much and have some struggles with my self-confidence.

And now this attractive young woman looked at me with such interest and joy, just me. I was actually the reason for her interest. A joyful and blissful tingling seized every pore, every fiber of my body. Yes, in fact it was just me! Not my best buddy Seokjin, whom I have known since childhood and always sought the attention of everyone. It was no exaggeration to say that he was perhaps a little narcissistic, but only to cover up his own insecurities. Never would I have thought that someone would manage to get this personification of self-love under control. I admired his wife for standing up to Seokjin and keeping him and his dad Jokes at bay. Believe it or not, she of all people had the pants on in the house and knew how to deal with my best friend.

My gaze glided over the figure of the person in front of me and once again I took a sharp breath. I was so nervous to face her personally, a person I already deeply admired and had quite a respect for. I simply did not want to do anything wrong, even if this charm of hers was almost tangible and paralyzed my entire brain with its function. I can already picture how my mind waved wildly goodbye to myself and went to the summer holiday in the Caribbean.

This carefree smile and these beautiful eyes harmonized wonderfully with your complexion. Your features were awake and alive, seemingly always a slight smile surrounded the corners of your mouth, which provoked almost paradoxical reactions in my body. Your smile awake countless butterflies to flutter around in my stomach, which made me quite nervous and at the same time you radiated such a sense of security and calm, as if there was no reason not to get a word out of shyness. My gaze, which I hope examined you unobtrusively enough, wandered to your hands. You had long fingers, I could really imagine how they elegantly held the handle of the paint brushes and worked on these small details extensively in such a calm behavior. Which satisfied and concentrated calmness you possibly radiated while doing that...

A small, noble clearing of your throat again tore me out of my fantasies and speculations. God, what was I today but inattentive! How rude I must have seemed to you...

"Oh, sorry... I... I have not been able to keep my thoughts together all day..." I lied to seem at least a little more credible. Nervously, I pulled on the knot of my tie to loosen it up a little before I have a circulatory collapse. Before I went here, I thought for a long time about what I should wear for this occasion. Jeans and T-shirt were out of the question, too casual and almost an insult for your atelier. A complete suit, however, seemed too overdressed to me and so I decided for a black dress pants and a dark blue dress shirt.Understanding, Y/N nodded and gave me a cheering smile, which made my body tingle again. This woman drove me half crazy alone with his friendly gestures. How could it be that this polite lady got me confused right away?!

And somehow, it gave me a frenzy to leave my secure, anonymous side as a visitor to her exhibition and irrevocably reveal my true identity to you.

"My name is Jeon Jungkook."I answered in a slightly trembling voice, hardly daring to look into her eyes and rubbing my neck unobtrusively.

* Jungkook’s POV *

If only I had guessed what would change in me, how you changed me. That so much more would develop from a pure interest and a simple formal business contact... that you want to make me one of your artworks.

I take another deep breath before I dare to step out from behind the dark red paravent. It is pleasantly warm in this room, I should not freeze, if I am already so freely clothed. My gaze wanders through the small room with the huge, floor-to-ceiling window, which floods the entire room with light. The walls of the room have been painted in a dark orange and red colors and dark wooden planks lay out on the floor. It looks so comfortable due to the warm, dark tones. The orange-yellow evening sun dipped everything into something so cozy... sensual. Somehow into even a little erotic?

Y/N wants to work a lot with the light of the evening sun in this painting, which could be a little complicated if it is not suitable or if it is cloud-covered. But if you have put something into your head, especially in relation to your art, then you do everything you can do to go through it! Also the changing forces of nature cannot stop you from trying to realize your idea. Sometimes, you’re  someone who is quickly frustrated and dissatisfied with yourself as well, especially when something doesn't work as  you wants it to. Nevertheless when it comes to your passion, drawing and painting, you don’t let your idea go away, if you want something, you’ll find a way to make it happen. These are qualities that I know all too well of myself and thus my fascination about you only grows even more. The more time we spent together and I get to know more and more sides of you, the more attracted I became to you.

Your art means a lot to you and you’re quite tough in this respect, can not be overcome by the reproaches and the crushing criticism. That’s exactly what I admire so much about you, having the courage to stand up for personal passion. When I get criticized, all too often I think about really giving up on it, so that I don't have to endure all this criticism anymore. And then I look at you. How focused you are in this moment and carefully prepare for your next project. How you adjusts you easel to the right height, let your self-stretched canvas snap into place, spreads brushes of all sizes and shapes on the small side table next to you and prepares youracrylic colours. I swallow again, as I watched this happen. I am about to become one of your next artworks.

A little uncertainly I walk towards Y/N, the thin dressing gown tightly drawn around my body... never before have I felt so naked and vulnerable. This here is something else. I feel something about it... I feel something for you. For this pretty lady, who sprays her cheerfulness around her and could conjure a smile on the lips of even the most grumpy person. This joy almost kills you, completely engrossed this person and gives you the feeling of floating. You will get the feeling of being welcome at Y/N. To be accepted, with all the flaws and weaknesses that one has. She just smiles at you so gently and lovingly and just says, it's okay. It's okay to be the way you are. Imperfect.

"It is precisely this imperfect, this contradictory and also unpredictable thing that makes us human. That makes us an individual and also interesting. If we were really all as we are expected to be, it would be boring and monotonous. The surprise is only a real gift. Each of us is a very individual gift to a very specific addressee, who is the only one who can truly appreciate this gift. Only then did the recipient find the right person as his gift... Well, if the recipient knows about his gift...", Y/N once said with such a certain look at me, when we went out to dinner together in a restaurant in the evening to clarify some details. I wanted to help her find good contacts in Seoul and help her sell her works.

I can still remember it exactly... it was a quite... extraordinary evening. I was of course once again incredibly nervous and excited. At that time, I did not want to fully realize how much I already like you. Secretly, I had observed my opposite. Your positive and friendly disposition had turned my head all around... and in addition, this beautiful body and her elegant fingers, which already haunt me in the most erotic way unintentionally in my dreams. 

I could not prevent my dream pictures from shooting through my head, which is why my cheeks turned dark red in embarrassment. These fucking fantasies in my head! My eyes stare at the cutlery as if it were incredibly interesting because I didn't dare look up. There were scenes in my mind that made my ears turn red and I would’ve loved to hide behind the menu card. Your body, which made her look like a Greek goddess.

Naked, body covered in sweat, your body shook in lust, you sit up with a wonderful moan... You are on top of me, I could admire your beautiful, almost divine body as you sat on top of me... and rode me. This breathtakingly beautiful distorted face of yours, as if all this pleasure you feel is carved in marble... lids closed, your lips, swollen from all the kissing, are slightly opened which let    your lustful whimpering escape. This grace and elegance, as you rose from me and  then lowered yourself again... as your hands glide erratically over my stomach, searching for support... you suddenly threw your head back and clenched even more tightly around my length. The addicting sounds you’ve made... it’s like the most beautiful melody in my ears... squelching noises and even more of yourjuices gushing out of your sweet, so sweet pussy when you came...

An all-too-familiar laugh tore me out of my extremely indecent thoughts, which quite relieved me at first. Until I raised my head and not too far away I recognized no one but my best friend Kim Seokjin, who made very questionable hand signals in my direction. Oh my God, no! I knew that he had recently changed his job and got accepted for a position as a chef in a new restaurant... but not in this Restaurant! He will never let me life after he found out I was on a “Date” with a woman...

Even though Seokjin was on the other side of the restaurant, I could almost feel his smirk on my own skin. Fuck it, just pretend as if you do not know each other and hit him really hard tomorrow morning in the gym where we meet up for our work out. I quickly turned all my attention back to the person sitting opposite me and tried to ignore Seokjin as best I could.

It was only at the end of the evening, when I had said goodbye to Y/N, that I realized that this meeting had much more of a date than a "business dinner". How familiar we had talked with each other... how much I had thought about licking Y/N the drop from the chocolate sauce of her lava cake from her lips... how it would be... to kiss and touch you...

A noticeable blush has settled on my cheeks as I attended our first meeting together... or even Date in this Restaurant thought back. Four months had passed since then and I suffered from longing for you. You would never see me like I saw you. The reason you wanted to draw me was simply that she needed someone as a model. In addition to landscapes and cities, you want to devote herself gradually to more other motifs. And since I have been the first inquired. Your pleading eyes made me say yes. But I know that for me you have  no more than the feelings for a casual friendship. It hurts to see how you flirt  around so casually with all those other people. I would never be the gift for you as you are for me. If only the recipient would notice that there is a given heart laying in your hands...

"Ah, Jungkook! I’m glad that you're ready!", your cheerful and melodic voice cuts through the silence of the room and you’re walking towards me with excited shining eyes. "Come~," you say and lead me to the chaiselongue, which is placed in front of the large window. The soft, orange light of the evening sun falls on the wine-red fabric of the restored chaiselounge in baroque style. The upholstery has frames covered in gold and also the lion feet on which this historic furniture stands are gilded. Everything was decorated with so many Details, it looks so incredibly elegant and luxurious. On the left side there are some cushions in the same color and an elegant design is carved on the backrest, literally inviting to get used.

"Surely you know the movie 'Titanic', right? Do you remember the scene where Jack used charcoal pencils to draw an nude coal picture of Rose as she laid on the sofa? I would like to draw you in a similar position. I hope it's okay for you if I look at you more closely without a dressing gown... i want to get an overview of your body proportions.", you say, looking me straight in the eye. I notice that you’re very concerned about my privacy and does not want to overstep any of my personal boundaries without my consent. I nod slightly at first until I get a clear yes over my lips. She looks at me silently for a few seconds before reassuring me once again that we can always stop at any time if I feel uncomfortable. Especially your patience and mindfulness of my boundaries shows me how important it is for you as well and how I actually relax noticeably. Y/N smiles cheerfully at me and I slowly loosen the belt of the dressing gown and let the last garment slide to the ground. I feel her in-depth look at me... he is not uncomfortable... only... exciting... in a few different ways.

I swallow again and lie down on the chaiselongue as instructed. You correct my arm and leg position, also rearrange all of the cushions correctly. To my own relief, you put a red cloth over my crotch area. Not that I am ashamed of anything, I am more than comfortable with you already... I just have some worries that I will get a visible problem if I constantly feel your look on my bare skin.

 "It should be able to guess something, but not be allowed to see everything right away...", she whispered with a smile, before her fingertips unintentionally glide tenderly through my happy trail. One of your last smiles are... not really to interpret. Then you return to your easel.

* The Reader’s POV *

Carefully you sit down on your old painting stool, already quite worn out on the edges and stained with the most different types and tones of colors. It had originally been dark brown. You smile dreamily when you think back that you’re used to dangle your legs around when you were a little kid because it was way too big for you back then. For eighteen years now you have exactly this stool and this easel. They had been a gift from your grandfather for your fifth birthday. He had awakened the passion of painting and drawing in you and passed his talent on to you. A certain melancholy seized you when I thought back to how you used to paint your first real picture on canvas with your new easel in the old music room in your grandfather's country house. 

It had been the old, dusty grand piano, which must have been more than a hundred years old at that time. How the country house survived all these wars unscathed, you ask yourself to this day. Perhaps there had already been something magical about it at that time, which should remain untouched. Perhaps the small estate should remain an inconspicuous symbol of hope, the hope that at some point the sun and peace will return when the unbearable suffering and sorrow of this cruel time is over. When the wars were over and all those seeking protection who had fled to this country house were able to return to their own homes again. This house, this estate you can explain your childhood with a single word. Home.

You lift your thought-lost look from your empty, folded hands and look to Jungkook. He takes your breath away every time you see him. He is so special, such a wonderful and yet you firmly believe that he has not been chosen for you, such an ordinary woman as you are. He would belong to someone else with whom he would be happy, although he is the only one who was able to understand and read your works, the language in them. It... it had been such a beautiful moment when, six months ago, he stood in your newly opened studio, so absorbed by the painting of the forest of your childhood. All the other visitors had only looked at it briefly and smiled wearily at the fact that it was again only a landscape painting, but did not grasp what the story behind this work was. Why the artist chosed this very motif, to see, to feel what the creator wanted to communicate through the work. 

But Jungkook had been different. He had given the work, your personal heart, a chance to unravel the true meaning behind it. He did it slowly, bit by bit with his eyes... grasped with his whole mind and heart and finally let himself be influenced as a whole. You could tell from his body reactions that he felt exactly what you had felt when you painted it last summer. Longing. Infinite Longing. Mixed together with melancholy, a little homesickness and sorrow to a unique emotional color. The day you painted it was the last time you saw the house in your official possession. Your grandfather had left it to you. But unfortunately you lacked money, you had to pay some debts and with the best will you could not earn the money in other ways. So you had to sell it with a heavy heart. Your beloved birth and childhood home and the associated lands, you had to sell your true home away. The picture is the only thing left of it. And Jungkook was the only person who understood what you wanted to express with the painting. Longing. My Homesickness.

When all these sensations came upon him, he involuntarily clenched his hands tightly, his chest lifted and lowered quickly, his Adam's apple hopped repeatedly. His eyes were glassy. He experienced your longing as directly as you did. He... is so special. So infinitely amiable. He... he is the only person who’s able to read your true feelings in your works. He is able to read between your brush strokes.

So today you will try him... to paint a confession of love with this act. Maybe he could read... what you feel for him. Even if you know that you will probably never see him again. Because you would not be the recipient of his love and affection. He's just too... too... gifted for a simple artist like you. He would never be your gifted person.

Your gaze glides tenderly and caressingly over his body. Trying to absorb every little detail of his body, his charisma and his character into you and let it flow into the painting. Every birthmark you want to put on the canvas and hold on. You want to show Jungkook how beautiful he is. How godlike he lies before you on this majestic chaiselongue, how masculine and muscular he is, as if he wanted to embody an Adonis. You want to paint every muscle, even the smallest visible muscle, on the canvas in a realistic manner, you want to capture the strength and security that he conveys to you over and over again and make it visible to him. And yet... his gaze often corresponds to that of an intimidated, insecure fawn, which does not dare to want to get up on his legs on his own. The fear of falling again is too big. Through this painting you want to show Jungkook what he really is, what he represents for you and what you feel for him. He is... so contradictory. He is strong, godlike, powerful... and at the same time, so infinitely uncertain, vulnerable... almost pure.

Silence enters your little studio, only the regular breathing of the other and the muffled noise of the busy world outside the door could be heard. Here... here, it feels like time is standing still for a moment for the two of you. Your shared eternity had begun.

To your happiness that it is summer right now and it stays bright for a long time. Today you take more time than usual to mix colors. You want to mix a shade that perfectly matches his skin tone. You want to get the exact color of his black hair down onto the canvas, and the perfect brown for his beautiful eyes. The evening sun and the leaves of the huge treetops in front of the large window conjure up the most beautiful patterns on his immaculate body. A game of light and shadow. It seems to you that Jungkook's body, every single pore of his body has a tiny diamond, so that he begins to sparkle in the sunlight like an infinitely precious jewel. The evening sun warms him, lays a thin layer of sweat over his body. Every detail you try to bring to the canvas, every feeling, every movement of my heart, everything you feel for him, you want to bring to this canvas. You want to make him a masterpiece. Because for you, he is the most beautiful specimen, the only true crown of the human creation.

Some black strands have come loose from his manbun and have fallen on his forehead. It looks stunning, to see him like that. I had never seen him with a messy or even completely open hair... but even now these strands loosened from the braid make his facial features look so much softer and more relaxed. In it, the adult and strong man united with a young, vulnerable, shy boy. The result is... infinitely beautiful. He possesses both sides, so he makes the seemingly inexhaustible divine human being.

His eyes, drawing his eyes with that expression in them, cost you a lot of nerves. Too often you misunderstood this infinite longing that you find in his dark, brown eyes. Again and again you have to restrain yourself, not just to get up, to go over to him... and to kiss him.

This longing look you misinterpret is as longing as you own... according to your closeness, your touch, your affection... according to your love. Because you love him. You love everything about him, his sheepish laugh, the way of rubbing his neck shyly, the way he speaks and explains his point of views about things, how he smells... just everything... every blemish he blames on himself, you think it’s like an artwork on him. He is so perfectly imperfect that you just fell in love with him.

The sun has already set and only the last pink and purple streaks could be seen in the sky, with which the past day says goodbye to the world. One last time you can hear the velvety stroke of the brush over the canvas before you finally put the brush aside. It is finished. You have given everything that is in your power, used all of your artistic abilities and knowledge to the utmost and you have incorporated everything that you feel and think about into this artwork. And what you see put a smile on your lips, but also makes your pulse rise. What will Jungkook say when he looks at it? He will see it... can he read what you feel for him in it?

With a trembling voice, you call Jungkook and look at him one last time. The last time the sight of this male beauty was granted to you. One last time.

After Jungkook has wrapped himself in the dressing gown again, he slowly comes towards you and your easel. Your heart is throbbing as if it really wants to fearfully flight and jump out of your chest. Your body gets hot and cold at the same time and suddenly your hands get sweaty, the dried color on your skin mixes with the sweat to a uncomfortable mess in your palms, which somehow makes you even more nervous. Then he stands next to you. Looking at the canvas for the first time himself. The last brushstroke is still drying.

Once again there is silence, which makes you incredibly nervous and with every second that passes, you want to follow your instinct to escape. Jungkook's pupils are dilated and blown out, whether with bewilderment or horror, you can not recognize. One of his hands shoots up his mouth, he trembles all over his body. Suddenly you hear a suppressed, throaty sobbing. Surprised and a little appalled, you look at Jungkook, who has shut his eyes tightly and presses the palm of his hand even harder on his mouth, as if he wants to muffle every sound. Tears escape the corners of his eyes. This is a reaction... which you would not have expected...

Gently, mindful of any kind of resistance, you wrap your arms around his neck and hold him. He doesn't say anything, he doesn't sob, he doesn't whimper. He just cries. Tenderly, consolingly you hold him, without wanting to distress him. He literally presses his face into the crook of your neck. Salty tears drench your blouse, but it doesn't bother you. The reason why he had such an emotional outburst, you just don't understand. But still... it's okay. It is valid.

As he slowly calms down and his breathes becomes regularly again, he carefully lifts his head out of the crook of your neck and wipes the last tears out of his eyes dry in slight embarrassment. He slowly releases himself from your embrace until you finally stand silently in front of each other.

"What title you’ll give this artwork?", he asks softly, in a rough, throaty voice. You swallow . "It shall be called 'Der Geliebte'. ...it is german and translated it means... ‘The beloved’ ", you say barely audibly and lower your head. After this confession, you can no longer look him in the eyes.

Jungkook takes a sharp breath in and you're actually just waiting for a devastating response from him that would be like a death threat. But nothing of this happened. Instead, your chin is suddenly raised by his fingertips and you look into Jungkook's beautiful eyes. He bites his lower lip a little uncertainly,his own gaze falls on your pretty shaped lips. 

"Do you... do you allow me to kiss you?", he asks quietly... barely audible for you even though you’re standing so close to each other. He doesn't dare to look you into the eyes after such a question, he is too afraid that you deny his request. But you can hardly believe your luck, a high pitched ‘yes!’ flew over your lips and before you can control yourself, you press your own lips right onto his. They are incredibly soft and kiss you back in such a delightfully and endearing insecure and shy manner as no other could ever have done it.

Your heart beats full of joy and bliss and in your belly, the butterflies fly somersaults of all different kinds that your whole body began to tingle. Your mind cannot get a grasp of all this yet, but this... you don't need any more of it at this moment anyway.

The kiss is tender, shy and somewhat uncertain from both sides. Jungkook is very insecure and shy, but before he can escape like a frightened deer again, you put your arms around his neck and let your hands rest in the nape of his scalp. Again and again you detach yourselves from each other only for the fraction of a second to get a breath of air into your lungs in order to find each other lips again... until you stopped for a few seconds.

"I like you... I like you really, really much, Jungkook... I even dare to say that I fell on love with you.", you mutter softly against his lips. His shy, happy smile was too much for you, so you immediately kiss him again. Perhaps because of the sheer joy and maybe of the certainty that he feels the same for you, the next kiss turns into something more passionate than before...

[omgsquee2001]

Extreme Aggressor: Part 3

Warnings: Mentions of r*pe and m*rder

Please do not repost anywhere without my permission!

~~~~~

A golden retriever barked at Spencer, causing Spencer to jump. The owner quickly silenced the dog. 

“Sandy, no, no, no. I'm so sorry.” The owner said, petting Sandy on the head. Aaron smiled and shook his head. 

“No, it's ok.” Aaron said. While Morgan and Gideon were at the latest dumpsite, [Y/N], Aaron and Spencer had gone to Heather’s brother’s house, to question David about what Heather had done the day before. [Y/N] smirked and nudged Reid. 

“It's what we call the Reid effect. Happens with children, too.” She said, earning a chuckle from Hotchner. 

“I'm Agent Hotchner,” Hotch started to introduce. “These are Special Agents Garcia and Dr. Reid.” Hotch introduced [Y/N] and Spencer. [Y/N] smiled and nodded to David in greeting. David looked at Spencer and [Y/N]. 

“You two look too young to have gone to medical and law school.” He said as he lead them into the living room. [Y/N] smiled as she gently stroked Sandy’s head, helping David try and calm down the gentle animal. 

“I have a PhD.” [Y/N] said. 

“They're PhD's. 3 of them.” Reid said. [Y/N] sighed. And here we go again. David looked at Spencer. 

“Are you a genius or something?” He asked. 

“I don't believe that intelligence can be accurately quantified- but I do have an I. Q. of 187 and an eidetic memory and can read 20,000 words per minute.” Spencer said. David looked at Spencer like he had two heads, making [Y/N] chuckle slightly. Reid then nodded. “Yes, I'm a genius.” Reid said. Sandy let out another bark at Reid. [Y/N] knelt down to Sandy’s height, stroking the dog’s fur. 

“Sandy, you get a lot of attention, don't you?” She asked, smiling. David smiled. 

“Yeah, Heather loves this dog. I feed her when Heather's away. Usually, she's fine, but, lately, she won't eat. It's almost like she can sense something's wrong.” David said, a worried look on his face. [Y/N] looked at him. 

“Not sense. Smell.” She said. David looked a them, confused. Spencer nodded.

“She’s right. Our apocrine sweat gland releases secretions in response to emotional stress.” Spencer said. Hotchner looked at David. 

“Sandy's worried because she knows you are.” He said, dialing down the scientific words that Spencer was using. [Y/N] walked over to where Spencer was looking through some magazines. Spencer looked at her. 

“Look at this.” He said quietly. He showed them a magazine advertising a car. [Y/N] narrowed her eyebrows. 

“David, does your sister drive a Datsun Z?” She asked. David shook his head.

“No, but she's in the market for one. How'd you know?” David asked. Hotch looked over at them in confusion. Spencer held up the magazine. David looked down at Sandy. “Come on, Sandy.” David said, leading Sandy into another room. Hoch walked up to the two. Spencer was flipping through the magazine. 

“There's an immediate relationship established between a buyer and a seller, a level of trust.” [Y/N] said. Spencer nodded. He looked at Hotchner. 

“If I want to coax a young woman into my car.” 

“Offer her a test drive.” Hotchner said, making the two friends look at each other and back at the other agent, nodding. 

~~~~

Both groups had since returned form their assignments. Morgan, Reid, [Y/N], Hotchner and Gideon were all in a room, going over what they had all learned. Morgan was pacing back and forth, tossing a ball up and down in his hand.

“Okay, then how about the fact that on one hand, we have paranoid psychosis... But the autopsy protocol says what?” Morgan asked. Spencer was currently sitting cross legged in a chair and spinning around and around.

“Adhesive reside shows he put layer after layer of duct tape over his victims' eyes.” Spencer said. [Y/N] smiled, watching Spencer spin like a child when they went to the office with their parents. [Y/N] then sighed. 

“He knows he wants to kill them, but he still covers their eyes.” She said, resting her head against her hand, her elbow leaning against the table. 

“He doesn't want 'em looking at him, apparently.” Morgan said. [Y/N] sighed and nodded. 

“Okay, but then he takes the body and dumps it right out in the open, murder weapon nearby.” She said. Reid looked at [Y/N]. 

“Not the M. O. of a paranoid convinced he's being watched or surveilled.” Reid said. 

“Paranoid psychosis, but behavior that's not paranoid.” Morgan said. 

“All right, enough.” Gideon said, making everyone look at him. “Let's tell them we're ready.” He said. [Y/N] looked at him in confusion as Gideon walked out of the room.

“We're ready?” She asked. Reid quickly wrote something down. Morgan looked at Reid and [Y/N]. 

“Reid, [Y/N]. You’re both good with this? We've got a woman who's only got a few hours left to live, an incomplete profile, and a unit chief on the verge of a nervous breakdown.” Morgan said. Gideon quickly opened the door again and grabbed something.

“They don't call them nervous breakdowns anymore.” Gideon said. The three agents looked at the door. 

“It's called a major depressive episode.” Reid said.  

“He knows, Reid.” [Y/N] said, smiling at the Dr. Reid smiled back slightly. Morgan left the room. [Y/N] sighed and rubbed her eyes slightly. Reid got up from his chair and looked at her. 

“Hey, you okay?” He asked. [Y/N] sighed again and nodded. 

“Yeah. Just tired, you know.” She said. Reid smiled slightly and nodded. [Y/N] then got up and walked over, lacing her arm with Reid’s. “Come on, genius. Let’s get going before Morgan starts teasing us again.” She said, smiling. 

~~

“The unidentified subject is white and in his late 20's.” Gideon said, beginning the profile. They were sitting in a conference room, Gideon standing in the middle. “He's someone you wouldn't notice at first. He's someone who'd blend into any crowd.” Gideon explained. “The violent nature of the crime suggests a previous criminal record- petty crimes. Maybe auto theft.” “We've classified him as an organized killer- careful. Psychopathic as opposed to psychotic. He follows the news, has good hygiene.” “He's smart. 'Cause he's smart, the only physical evidence you'll find is what he wants you to find. He's mobile, car in good condition. Our guess- Jeep Cherokee, tinted windows.” “The murders have all involved r*pes. But r*pe without penetration is a form of picquerism, and that tells us he's sexually inadequate.” “Psychiatric evaluations will show a history of paranoia stemming from a childhood trauma- death of a parent or family member. And now he feels persecuted and watched.” “Murder gives him a sense of power. Organized killers have a fascination with law enforcement. They will inject themselves into the investigation.” Gideon said. “They will even come forward as witnesses to see just how much the police really know. That makes them feel powerful, in control. Which is why I also think, in fact, I know, you have already interviewed him.” Gideon said. 

[dreamingofaizawa]

Powerful Ch. 4

Yakuza! Shouta Aizawa x Fem! Reader

*Mafia AU*

Warnings: A little fluff, misogyny (not from Shouta), descriptions of body part removal, blood, a teeny bit of gore (sort of), violence, a dagger, reader is a little bit crazy, so is Shouta tbh, there's a tiny bit of spice (it's like two sentences idk), swearing

Word Count: 4.2k if you read the violent part, 3.3k if you don't.

Author's Note: Okay, so I decided to make this a full part with the option of skipping the kinda graphic part. Yes, reader is a little insane here, yes, this reflects my level of crazy. HOWEVER, the only reason it's like that is because the man being de-tongued is a piece of shit and deserves everything that came to him.

ANYWAY, enjoy~

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3

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*

*

As the months pass you’re getting more comfortable with Shouta, more comfortable with the physical touching and the closeness that comes with the relationship. He’s always on you, a hand always on your lower back, around your waist, he’d even begun holding your hand. You appreciate this side of him that only you are allowed to see, the soft beneath his rough, calloused exterior.

So far you’d attended at least six more meetings, only one ending in another incident. It was you that made the final threat, this time without unsheathing the dagger. The tactic seemed to be working, there were less men outwardly demeaning you and your assigned title has been the only one you’d heard when being addressed.

The power trip is honestly a little intoxicating, knowing that more began to respect you and the ones that don’t have fear in its place. Knowing that you have the freedom to tell off overly rude men, can wave your dagger at whoever dares touch you and have Shouta backing you always.

And you know Shouta will back you up. You may be on a bit of a power trip but you still have your wits about you. Both of you know you’ll never step out of line, never needlessly flaunt your power or antagonize for no reason. Shouta understands that whatever you do, it’s for a reason. Because that’s just how you operate.

Logic resides over most anything else in your brain, which is why you’re so good at concealing your emotions. Before the engagement, your family’s success depended heavily on wits and intelligence rather than sheer force. Having been taught all your life to use your brain and logic to help you in and out of situations, logical thinking has become a habit, as subconscious and natural as breathing.

Of course, that doesn’t mean everything you do is logical. You’ve had your fair share of rash decisions and emotional slip-ups. And you’ve learned to sharpen your words, make them sink deep and tear at your target’s weakest points, or even their strongest points, making their argument and resolve come tumbling down like a rockslide. Needless to say it’s immensely satisfying to see someone get so thoroughly humiliated by your words alone.

You have to admit to yourself sometimes, you can be a cruel motherfucker.

* * *

You’re woken up by movement. Your eyes open just as Shouta is leaning over you, carefully pulling his arm from beneath your shoulders as you’re placed on your back. When his eyes meet yours he sighs through his nose, he was clearly trying not to wake you. Calloused fingers brush a few stray hairs from your forehead before he leans down and presses a kiss there.

“Go back to bed, little one. I’ll wake you up in a few hours.” Your eyebrows knit together and you let out a small groan.

“What time is it?” His soft hum nearly lulls you back into dreamland, but you manage to keep your heavy eyelids open.

“5 am. Sleep.” He kisses your forehead again before slipping out of bed and disappearing out the bedroom door. You do try to go back to sleep, let your eyes close and snuggle up in Shouta’s leftover warmth. But then you smell coffee. You take a deep breath, soak in the scent, and suddenly you’re not tired anymore. With a new motivation you get up and make your way to the kitchen to find a shirtless Shouta pulling a mug from a cupboard and taking out creamer and sugar. You sneak up behind him and wrap your arms around his trim waist, pressing your cheek into his back.

“I thought I told you to go back to sleep, little one.” You hum, squeeze him tighter.

“I smelled coffee.” The muscles under your palms jump with his deep chuckle, and he takes out another mug for you. The two of you work in comfortable silence, savoring each other’s company. You sit at the dining table first, watching the man as he returns everything to its place. You can’t help but admire his form, how every muscle ripples under his inked skin, how calm and graceful his movements are despite his rough-cut reputation. You can’t help when your gaze drifts south, gray sweatpants sitting low on his cut hips, and your face burns as you realize exactly what you’re looking at before ripping your eyes from him.

He joins you at the table soon after with his mug held in one large hand. There’s still only silence, and you keep your eyes locked on your own mug, occasionally bringing it up to your mouth and taking sips of the hot liquid. Shouta’s eyes are on you, watching every small movement and sigh that escapes you after a sip of coffee, how your mouth turns up after your tongue peeks out to lick your lips, the flutter of your lashes as you savor the taste of the bitter drink.

You don’t notice until your eyes flick up and meet his, and you freeze in place for a moment, confused as to why he might be looking at you. He thinks you look so cute, your doe eyes big and round and your head tilting to the right. Do you even know you’re tilting your head like that? His heart nearly bursts in his chest when you blink a few times and nibble at your lower lip.

“Shouta?” He hums and averts his eyes, resting his elbow on the table and his head in his hand.

“I apologize for staring, little one.”

“It’s fine. I’m just not used to the attention, that’s all.” An eyebrow raises, a tiny smirk tugging at his lips.

“Really? A pretty little thing like you, not used to attention?” You blink. Is he….flirting? You can’t stop a smile from working its way onto your face, your eyes dropping to focus on your coffee that was suddenly the most interesting thing in the world. A man had never done this before, you never had any romantic attention because you were never allowed to date. Something warm settled in your stomach, making you feel a bit fuzzy and happy. Is this what butterflies are supposed to feel like? Shouta speaks in your flustered silence.

“Well it isn’t my fault I’m the only one with an amazing taste in women. At least now I know I won’t have any competition.” You had to stifle a giggle at his antics, shooting him a sceptical look.

“Shouta Aizawa, are you flirting with your fiance?”

“If I were, would you say it’s working?”

“That answer will depend on the end goal.” He hummed, glancing up at the ceiling as if it held the answer.

“I’d say the end goal is to get my fiance to like me back.” You cross your arms over your chest, faking a pout and turning your head away in false disgust.

“Well then it’s failing. Miserably, at that.” He places a hand on his chest, furrowing his brows in mock offense.

“Now why would you say that?” You stand, taking your mug to the sink with a playful swing of your hips and a dramatic lilt in your voice.

“She is unhappy, your fiance. You’ve neglected her!” With the mug in the sink you lean back, throwing your head back and placing your hand on your forehead, closing your eyes for dramatic effect even though your back is to him.

“She is hungry, Shouta! There is no food in her stomach!” Without a sound he’s suddenly behind you, pressing his chest into your back and leaning over to place his mug next to yours. You’re a bit shocked at the sudden proximity, jump just a bit when an arm wraps around your waist and he grabs the hand that was on your forehead. His breath is hot on your neck, voice soft and sultry in your ear.

“Well she’s not the only one that’s hungry.” Teeth nip at your ear, sending a shiver down your spine and heat to your belly.

“But we can fix that pretty easily, don’t you think?” He leaves a searing kiss beneath your ear before he’s releasing you, cool air washing over you where his body had been pressed only moments ago. You’re left flustered, breath stuttering and skin hot. It’s almost laughable, the reaction he’d pulled from you. He asks what you want to eat, says he’ll have it brought up so the two of you can relax until the meeting at lunch.

But you aren’t really listening, still trying to calm yourself from what he’d just done.

____

When you don’t answer him, he peers over at you still standing at the sink. At first he’s confused, not sure why you’re so still and unfocused. But then he watches as your chest rises and falls just a tad faster than normal, lower lip tucked just barely between your teeth and your body very stiff in the same position he’d just left you in. You’re either extremely flustered or very uncomfortable with what he just did. Before he can apologize you suddenly turn on the sink and splash your face with cold water.

“Are you okay?” It’s cute, how you jump at the sound of his voice. It’s almost like you forget he’s there, too focused on whatever had been swirling around in that beautiful mind of yours.

“Yeah, I uh...I’m fine.” The nervous little chuckle you let out said nothing of your emotional state. He’d have to ask himself.

“I apologize if that was too forward, little one. I’d hate to make you uncomfortable.” You waved your hands in front of your face, eyes going a bit wide. It’s odd, seeing you outwardly, and frantically, expressing emotion like this when you’re usually so calm and rational.

“No, not at all!” You stopped, dropping your gaze and clasping your hands in front of you, your voice getting softer as you speak.

“I mean, I wasn’t, really. I… didn’t hate it so… yeah.” Ah, so you’re flustered. It makes sense, seeing as you said you aren’t used to receiving attention. The real question is why you hadn’t gotten attention from potential suitors. You’re a beautiful woman, a goddess in your own right, and on top of that you’re intelligent and flexible, easy to get along with. Were you just surrounded by extremely stupid boys your whole life that couldn’t tell the difference between a rock and a diamond if it were sitting in front of them?

Well it doesn’t matter much anymore, because you’re his now, and he’s not going to let you go.

____

Ultimately, the two of you decide on a simple breakfast, eating and relaxing afterward just as Shouta wanted. Soon you’re both standing outside a large hotel, the restaurant at the top serving as today’s meeting venue.

You’re greeted at the door by an escort, a woman in a beautifully tailored suit, who then guides you through the hotel and to a secluded elevator and up to the restaurant. The entire floor remained empty and silent, save for the one chef and waiter and the ten other Yakuza men seated at a large round table.

At this point you’ve gotten used to the sudden silence as you approach and sit at the table with Shouta. For the past few meetings that’s the only real acknowledgement to your presence aside from the occasional headbow and a quick address to both yours and Shouta’s titles. It’s a small step forward, recognition, and it’s better than you had expected by now.

However, it becomes obvious that the recent halt in outwardly opposing voices were only the calm before the storm. Nothing you’d seen or heard yet matched what happens next.

“Shouta, old friend, why have you brought a woman to this meeting? Or any meeting for that matter?” Well shit. Someone really wants to die today. Shouta doesn’t seem to move at all, though his eyes flicker over to the man who had spoken. He seems around Shouta’s age, light brown hair short with an undercut and deep brown eyes. A scar cut through his face, from his right temple through his eye and across his nose to his left cheek.

The fact that he’d addressed him so casually meant he must have a rank close to Shouta’s, there’s no possible way he was a real friend. Shouta makes his viewpoints clear, the only person you’d see him refer to as ‘friend’ is Hizashi Yamada, who’s just as much of a feminist as he is, though the loud blonde is radically louder and more flamboyant than Shouta.

“You are not my friend, nor I yours. We may have known each other for a long time but that does not change how much I despise you. You’re lucky I don’t carve your tongue out for what you just said, so I suggest you be extremely cautious choosing your next words.” The man doesn’t seem affected by the threat, but you know Shouta’s tone of voice. He’s dead serious. The brunette only succeeds in digging himself into a deeper hole.

“Oh don’t be like that. You know as well as I do you can’t do anything to harm me for no real reason. Besides, it’s obvious she doesn’t belong here. She probably has close to no experience with such power, let alone being able to keep up in a meeting of this caliber. You’ve chosen poorly, my friend. My sister would have been a much better match for your wife.”

Now you’re seething. He’s openly insulting you, which is plenty grounds for Shouta to react negatively. Shouta’s word is law after all. Of course, he waits a beat for you to react first, and you do, speaking with a venom reserved specifically for assholes like him.

“‘She’ has a title, and you’d be wise to use it.” Shouta leans back and crosses his arms over his chest as he watches the events unfold. The brunette only scoffs.

“Like I’d use such a ridiculous title for you. Being Shouta’s fiance doesn’t change your rank at all, you’re inferior. Even disregarding rank, you’re a woman, you don’t belong here anyway.” You’re still deadpanned, only a single eyebrow raised.

“As far as you’re concerned I do belong here. And the title is anything but ridiculous. By refusing to address me at all you’re disobeying Shouta’s direct order. I wonder, what kind of punishment does that entail?” You look over to Shouta, who opens his mouth to speak, but is cut off by the other man. All the while the other nine men sit back in silent horror as he digs his own grave.

“No punishment at all. A bitch like you is hardly worth a title, let alone be addressed by name. You’re lucky I’ve even allowed you in this meeting.” At that you stop, letting out a low ‘ah’. Shouta is smirking, an evil thing that you had never seen up until now, but you know what it means all the same. It means you get to have fun. You take your dagger and slide it across the table to the man, who looks at it with confusion.

“Cut out your tongue.” Your words catch him off guard, his eyes wide before he starts laughing.

“You really think you can do that? Shouta, put her in her place will you?” Shouta only gives a dark chuckle.

“You heard her. Pick up the dagger and cut out your tongue.” He scoffs, clenching his jaw.

“That’s nonsense. You can’t do that.” Shouta stands, beginning to remove his tie.

“I can do whatever the fuck I want, Masa. Now, you either pick up that dagger and slice your own tongue off or she can do it for you. You’ve disregarded my explicit order to refer to her with her assigned title, and then you insulted her directly. A woman above your rank commands more respect. On top of that, you’ve failed to address me with my title after I’ve told you to do so several times in the past, which is grounds enough for you to lose several teeth.”

Shouta stands behind him now, and you’re making your way over as well.

“Now, what’s it going to be, Masa?” You fully expected him to drop to his knees and apologize, beg for mercy, because it would be a damn pain to clean up the blood after taking out someone’s tongue. He only sat there and scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest in a show of defiance. Looks like he’s losing his tongue.

“Alright, then,” Shouta speaks louder now, addressing the entire room, “Let this be a lesson well learned. Masa here has refused to obey my order, and then continued to insult my wife. For his transgression, he’ll lose his ability to speak for the rest of his life.” Shouta grabs his collar and rips him out of his chair, manhandling him and tying his hands behind his back with his necktie. You make a mental note that he called you his wife just then.

Meanwhile you go over to the chef and ask him and the waiter to lend you their largest apron and a pair of gloves. Once you have them you ask them to have someone bring up a small tarp or something to cover the floor, and not to return to the floor for the rest of the day. It’s only a few minutes later you’ve got an apron over your dress and latex gloves on, a small blue tarp on the floor and a stack of towels on the table.

**The chaos starts here, so if you’re not all that crazy or averse to blood you can just scroll down and skip it**

You grab the dagger and waltz over to where Shouta has Masa on his knees, Shouta’s hand yanking his head back by his hair and the other hand squeezing his cheeks, forcing his jaw open. Shouta raises an eyebrow at you.

“What’s with the doctor’s getup?” You playfully roll your eyes at him.

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. Blood is hard to get out of clothing and the smell of death is rancid. I really don’t wanna deal with the cleanup this is gonna involve. I’ll try not to get it on your suit, too.” He shrugs.

“I can pay for another suit. Don’t worry about it.” You pout.

“But I like that suit. It looks nice on you.” He groans, a very faint blush on his cheeks and at the tips of his ears. It’s rare to see, but it makes you giggle every time.

“Just hurry it up. We still have a meeting.” You nod. Poor Masa is now starting to thrash, and the other men are either shaking their heads in disappointment or looking down at him with little more than disgust. He must have been quite a douchebag to earn the ire of this many high-ranking Yakuza.

You peer down at him and brandish your dagger, reaching down to pull his tongue out. He starts trembling, shaking his head and garbling out something that sounds like ‘please’ and ‘no’ and ‘don’t do this’. You almost pity him, and being as merciful as you are you release his tongue.

“Why are you so afraid, Masa dear? I was under the impression you wanted this to happen, considering your attitude earlier.” His words were slurred with Shouta’s grip on his jaw, but they were coherent enough.

“No, no, no I didn’t I swear! I’m sorry, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean any disrespect!” You coo down at him, crouching and cupping his face in your free hand.

“Oh sweetie, I think you did mean to be disrespectful. You see, we had warned you, and you didn’t take that warning to heart. Looking down at your hands now, I can see you’re missing the pinky and ring finger from your left hand and the pinky from your right as well. You must be in serious debt to several oyabun right now, so I have no idea why you’d be so careless. You clearly haven’t learned your lesson, so now it’s my job to teach you isn’t it?” He thrashes some more, shaking his head as much as he can in Shouta’s grip.

“No! No please! I promise I’ve learned!” You coo again.

“Aw, sweetheart. You want to keep your tongue? Is that it?” He nods furiously, tears beginning to prick his eyes. You look up to Shouta, who looks incredibly amused at the scene unfolding.

“Oh Shouta, don’t laugh at the poor thing. He wants to keep his tongue, you know. He looks desperate.” Shouta rolls his eyes at you.

“Yeah right. Stop toying with him. You’re just being cruel at this point.” His voice is playful, and you can’t help but playfully scoff at him.

“Rude! I’m not that cruel. It’s fun when they get desperate. Besides, I’m not completely heartless. Adrenaline helps with the initial pain, so it’ll hurt a bit less. What better to get the heart pumping than some false hope and then ripping it away?” The brunette, whose face still sits in your palm, nearly growls.

“You’re fucking insane, woman.” You look down at him, slightly shocked that he’d just said that and subsequently dug himself into a deeper hole. Then you giggle, almost maniacally.

“Why thank you, dear Masa. You know what they say, all the best people are crazy~”

With that you reach into his mouth and grab his tongue, quickly slicing it off. There was little resistance thanks to your dagger being as sharp as it is, and there was a moment where everything was still. The sound of his severed tongue hitting the tarp rang loud through the room, then the bloodcurdling scream sent everything back into motion.

Shouta released him and he doubled over, blood spilling from his mouth like a waterfall as he hacked and tried not to choke on it. You grabbed Masa’s bloodied face and tilted his head to look up at you, then grabbed a towel and stuffed it in his mouth before cleaning up his chin.

“It’s over, Masa dear. I’m sorry I had to do that, but you just refused to listen. Hopefully you’ve learned your lesson now. Try not to upset anyone else, okay?” Shouta untied his hands and you stepped away to let him take care of his wound.

You remove the bloodied gloves and apron and wipe the dagger clean with a towel, discarding them onto the tarp before grabbing Masa’s phone and holding it out to him, having him dial his own medical team and explaining the situation to them. They arrived shortly after, taking the bloodied tarp and everything else with them as they tended to Masa’s wound.

**The morbid ends here**

When all is said and done the meeting carries on as normal. Afterward you and Shouta went home, got comfortable on the couch in pajamas and turned on a shitty romcom. It really was pretty shitty. You turn to Shouta, who had started munching on popcorn.

“You think he'll be okay?” He raises an eyebrow at you.

“Who? Masa? That prick will be perfectly fine. He might have to learn sign language being unable to speak and all, but he dug himself into that mess.” You hum and nod.

“Why are you worried about him?” You hum again and think about the answer to that question.

“Well I’m not really worried, just more curious I guess. I have no clue how a wound like that is supposed to heal so I guess I just wanna make sure I didn’t kill the guy by accident.” Shouta’s chuckle is low, his chest and stomach bouncing as he laughed.

“At least now I know you can take some blood. Remind me to let you do the dirty work from now on.” You groan.

“Oh come on, Shouta. That shit takes forever to prep and clean! I don’t wanna have to do that a lot, it takes so much energy and time.” He scoffed at you.

“It took less than five minutes to have the tarp down and you completely decked out. That’s not ‘forever’. You’re just lazy.” You roll your eyes.

“Yeah? And so what if I’m a little lazy? A girl can’t take a break?” He chuckles.

“Don’t be like that. We both know you enjoyed removing his tongue.” You sigh, then lay down and put your head on his lap.

“Fine, you caught me. I did like it a little.” He chuckles a little, but doesn’t say anything else on the subject.

“What do you say we get to bed, little one?” You peer up at him as he brushes hair from your face. He’s so gentle with you it’s hard to believe he’s the same man from earlier. Though you’re sure he could say the same about you. A completely different side of you emerged today, the side that craves violence and relishes in bloodshed. You always knew it existed, but you wondered if it was just in your mind or if you really did want to be able to do that sort of thing. Turns out it was the latter.

You smile up at Shouta, and he gives a small smile back.

“Sure. Let’s go to bed.”

[lrissa]

Save Humanity For me

summary: the expedition to take back wall Maria doesn’t go as Levi hoped when he saves his battered lover.

warnings: angst

✧ ೃ༄*ੈ✩

There you were, standing on Wall Maria as you stared off into the horizon. The sun was still coming up from its slumber as it spilled hues of orange and red over the sky. You stood beside Erwin, Levi, and Eren as the rest of the scouts clanked their blades against the stone to find our enemies. Thinking it was a waste of time you persisted on staying standing on the wall.

From the corner of your eye you saw Levi, his raven hair swayed in the morning gust of wind as he stood broadly, his shoulders rolled back into place as always.

You have known Levi for what felt like eternity, you both equaled each other in the perfect ways, you were the brains he was brawns despite him already being intelligent and witty. There even sparked a romance between you two that began when you both went together to take back Eren.

Turning your posture to face him, you raised you hand and set it on his forearm. His gaze flickered to you in an instant. As you were about to speak a loud shot rang through the air as red smoke flew through the sky. Right below you.

A gust of wind flew past you as the last thing you saw go down the wall was a dark green cape and raven hair. Unsheathing your own blades you took hastily step forward until Erwin put his arm out to stop you.

When you looked down you saw Reiner and a blade jammed through his neck, along with an angry Levi that stuck another blade through his chest. Your face contorted into one of disgust and shock.

You saw Levi retreat back to the wall as Reiner began to arch his back in the ground.

"Levi!" You yelled just as a large beam of yellow lightning crashed onto the ground and erupted snakes of yellow electricity and large gusts of wind.

There laid the armored titan, your eyes hyper fixed on the titan as Erwin began to spew orders at the scouts.

"Keep on the lookout! Locate his allies!"

Yellow beams of light and dirt shot up from the ground surrounding the outer village immediately. Breath hitched in your throat as you quickly realized you were trapped, by hundreds of titans and a monkey.

Levi swung up from the wall and landed neatly behind you, putting a protective hand on your back as he himself analyzed the danger we just got ourselves into.

Erwin stood dumbstruck as the scouts began to shout worries and yells for Erwins next plan. You and Levi stood quietly behind him as you felt Levi rubbing your back softly, a gesture he does often.

"Are you finally ready to say something. I could've had breakfast during the wait." Levi remarked with a monotonous voice.

Erwin turned around and began giving distinct orders. Levi and Hanji's squad were meant to be taking down Reiner.

"...Give your hearts!" Was the last thing you caught from his speech as everyone began to departure, Levi's hand leaving your back.

"Wait, Armin, Levi, Y/N" Erwin commanded as you halted in your steps, turning around.

"I did say Levi's squad but I need you and Y/N to stay."

"To protect the horses and not Eren?" Levi shot back

"Yes, and strike him down when the time comes." Erwin unsheathed his blade and pointed at the beast titan, shivers ran down your spine.

"Understood" Levi cooly spoke "Since I failed to kill that armored brat earlier."

"Y/N." Erwin stated as Levi was nearing the edge of the wall, curious as to where you were assigned to so if needed he could help aid you.

"Do not let a single titan near those horses." You nodded "Of course." Pulling the hood over your head you ran to the edge of the wall beside Levi and jumped off together.

Nearing the separation time you and Levi looked at one another, exchanging nods that held the words 'please, be safe'. Taking off in separate directions you flew forwards as Levi spun around on his ODM gear, spinning in the air as he unsheathed his blades to take down the titan below him.

Racing forwards you stared at the beast titan, it looked as if it was staring daggers at you. Shaking your head you gazed down and found a titan running.

Unsheathing your blades you stared down at the demon as you unleashed your ODM on it, the slight nick in its shoulder made it spin its head at you. It had huge blue eyes and a small frown on its features, if only you cared was all you could think when you diverged its hand and spun around it, spinning backwards to fixate yourself back on your target. Releasing your ODM on its nape as you readied to strike, tearing your blades through its nape and exiting hastily.

This carried on for only about 15 minutes until you landed on a rooftop, titan blood finding itself on your clothes and face, steam fluttering into the air.

Looking around the rooftops you spotted a certain raven haired man, a slight smile plastering on your features. You released an ODM and began to race towards him.

Until, bits of rock flew past your eyes. Time began to slow as you turned your head at the cause. The beast titan.

A rock nicked your arm as you let out grunt and shot your ODM behind a building, hiding in the small alley as blood cascaded down your arm.

"What the fuck.." you muttered

Seeing the rocks stopped you shot your ODM at the top of the building and flew up, as you soared above the buildings momentarily all you saw was red. Corpses were stuffed under rocks, faces half missing, blood and guts stained scout uniforms.

"Levi!" you yelled once you landed on a roof, noticing the beast titan reach for a new rock.

"Levi!" you yelled louder this time, just as you see a raven head fly past you. His eyes caught yours for a moment and they widened a fraction.

He was going straight for the titan, why is he going straight for it. These thoughts screamed at you in your mind as you shot to follow him.

When he heard the shot of ODM gear he never expected you to follow him, why would this brat girl follow him into a clear death zone.

The beast titan threw a new round of its rocks, you had still been mid air when he sent off this blow. Considering your chances of survival you shut your eyes, small tears had formed at the corners of your eyes. You released your ODM and tried your best to maneuver into a small ball.

As you awakened your new demise you couldn't help but hear screaming, screaming from the scouts who had lived up until now to die, everything they've done in their live to die in this moment. But one scream stood out, it wasn't screaming to scream but rather at someone. Ah, Levi, my new romance would have to come to an end. It's sad, being the last thing you hear are the curdled screams from your blossoming lover. Tears were streaming down your face now, it's time, isn't it.

Just as you predicted you felt a stone shard rip right through your uniform and flesh, lodging itself into your stomach region. This time you screamed.

You lost control of your ball formation and fell straight for the ground below you, turning in the air so your stomach laid up as you clutched it tightly, screams still emitting from your mouth.

The hard ground never met you, but instead arms, shaking arms.

"Brat... idiot.. why, Y/N" You groaned and lifted a hand off your stomach, clasping his white shirt with your bloody hands.

"Levi.." You eventually mustered as he found a safe spot, leaning you against the wall comfortably as he crouched down in front of you.

"Brat, what were you thinking." He almost yelled, but it never faltered your smile as you stared at him, taking in his features one last time for your keeping. He had tears cascading down his cheeks, dirt covering his face and his hair was disheveled.

You slowly raised your hand and planted it onto his wet cheek.

"Levi.. live.. for me" You gave him a smile, before wrenching over and coughing up blood, you furrowed your brows in pain and leaned back once more.

"No.. shut up, shut the fuck up brat" He cried out as he his went to his belt, you watched with sad eyes until you realized what he'd grabbed. The case.

You shook your head, it was the liquid to make you into a titan. "No-.. Levi." You said as clearly as you could, pushing the case back to his chest as he stared at you with a look of pain.

He even knew it was a waste of a liquid, but still, he would still do it if she had agreed. Levi placed the case onto the ground and brought his hand up to caress your face.

"I'm sorry...." He spoke with a cracked voice, his usual personality faltering as he stared into your eyes. He knew he would never get you back and it hurt him, bad.

"Save.. humanity.." you felt your grip on his cheek falling but Levi raised his hand and kept it there, he didn't want you to leave yet, not ever.

"I will." He nodded sadly as he watched the life leave your glistening eyes.

"I love you Y/N" He got out before tears fell freely and he wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you close to him as he sobbed into your shoulder, gripping you tightly, just to feel the last of your living and breathing touch.

"I love you.... Levi." You said slowly, your last breath being his sweet name, it's all you could've hoped for as you finally left this hell.

Everything was still, Levi knew you were gone now, he knew he was holding the corpse of the woman he loved and entrusted with his life. But yet he couldn't let go as he continued to cry, his eyes were red with tears.

"I love you so much.." Was all he could whisper to himself before pulling away from the corpse, it's head falling limp once it left his shoulder.

He picked your body up gently, the tears were gone now. Leaving the small alley his heart clenched, surveying the broken town. He shot his ODM gear up to the wall were Levi assumed he'd find Erwin.

Reaching the top he stood staring at Erwin, the commander turned to look at Levi, his eyes widening when he found the body of Y/N.

No words were spoken between the two as Erwin looked up at Levi again to study his facial expressions, his eyes shadowed and his cold and stoic expression was back.

"Let's murder that fucking titan."

[herenortherenearnorfar]

This Tornado Tolerates And Respects You

A little story about Gothmog and orcs that I’ll probably put on other sites later. But for now, a tumblr exclusive! CW for the terrible reproductive politics of evil (implied reproductive coercion, forced childbearing, light eugenics), orc awfulness, disdain for incarnates, radiation poisoning, chemical weapons, Fingon’s fate, mentions of cannibalism, malnourishment, ear cropping, and all of the above with the implied harm to children.

Orcs, Lord Melkor’s special pet project, a blasphemy first and a strategic asset second, didn’t make the best troops. They could swarm over a target in a useful mass of bodies but they lacked skill and drive. For the Captain of Angband’s own force of fire and shadow, spirits sprung free from the tyranny of the Valar, orcs were a sea of troublesome bodies, cluttering up the field of battle. More flesh to whip through, barbed wire quick, more lungs to choke with lime gas. An annoyance, not an ally.

He didn’t have very high expectations of them as a source of soldiers and there were very few individual orcs who he respected. Gorfaunt was one of those rare exceptions.

They’d fought on the same battlefield under the taunting stars, in those blissful days before the heavens changed, and he’d been impressed by the orc commanders ability to marshal troops. Very few in that division ended up trampled beneath Balrog feet. Even the retreat was prompt, almost orderly, without sacrificing that wild spirit which was one of the orcs’ few redeeming qualities.

When it came time to capture the stripling-king of the elves he’d requested Gorfaunt’s orcs in particular. Once again they’d proven their mettle and the commander had become of of the Captain’s favorites. If orcs had to be stationed next to their betters it was preferable that it be Gorfaunt’s orcs, who knew how to comport themselves and could fight near Balrogs without dying in droves.

Now with the latest glorious battle (and another successful collaboration, the Captain still glowed at the memory of the Noldor’s latest king cracking open to spill his red insides over his silver banner) behind them and Lord Melkor demanding Nargothrond and Gondolin, they met once a month to strategize, share intelligence, and complain about everyone else. To an outsider they might have passed as friends. There was less formality between the two of them than another high general of the iron fortress might have demanded, they sat at the same table and spoke freely.

(The Lieutenant still asked commanders to bow before him; that was why even his own troops called him Sauron behind his back. Gothmog was a superior appellation, less insulting, more fearful, but he still didn’t hasten to encourage its use.)

Despite their surface level amicability and the handful of tried-and-true inside jokes—mostly having to do with how enemies had died— they could bat at each other, they knew very little about each other’s lives. Meat and smoke only mixed when making a brisket, trying to relate two such different ways of being seemed impossible.

But when he saw Gorfaunt waddling into their monthly kvetch with a belly round and swollen like a tick’s, the Captain felt driven to say something. He was the marshal of Angband, he couldn’t let his king’s forces go to seed.

“Are you ill? Cursed?”

Gorfaunt managed to pull out a chair, made for a Balrog three times the size of an orc, and hoist themselves into it with rangy arms. “No? Just five months with a baby kicking around in my insides. The little bugger’s finally starting to show itself.”

That took a second to decipher. “You’re having a baby?”

Of course the Captain knew the basics of how incarnates made more of themselves. It was a topic of great fascination in the old days, when Yavanna was first figuring the system out, and of course the Lieutenant would prattle on about warg breeding to anyone who’d listen. They had sex— another thing that did not come naturally to beings of spirits, though some Maiar had made astounding progress in the field, for pleasure was pleasure and even Nienna’s acolytes sought catharsis and comfort—then there was lots of squishy biology on a level invisible to the incarnates themselves, then a little parasite was somehow blessed with Erú’s fire, to be nurtured until it could nurture itself.

He also knew that orcs, like elves and dwarves, had little distinction between men and womenfolk. Useful when it meant you could channel your entire adult population to battle. Startling when you realized that a key ally had been quietly pregnant for months without you, a greater being able to perceive stalactites growing and the scales on insect wings, noticing.

In truth he’d been doing a lot less noticing of late. His senses were dulling. Perhaps it was the light of the cursed gems, which painted everything in blinding, indistinguishable holiness. Or he was just losing his touch.

If he focused now he could see it. It was easiest to sense on the plane of wraiths. There was Gorfaunt, a guttering candle; wheezing, weak. All orcs had that fire, however dim. No one had managed to fully extinguish it though it had been much suppressed. Tucked against her, nearly imperceptible, was a little spark. Not much yet but given tinder and carefully fanned it could grow. “You’re having a baby,” he marveled.

Gorfaunt’s face was… orcs were hard to read at the best of times, bubbling over with noisy pain and anger that obscured their true emotions, prone to skin diseases and horrendous eye infections that muddled their expressions. She didn’t wear her gas mask around him anymore, though most were quick to cover up around any Maia of Morgoth. It helped little, her face was still opaque as the mountain itself. “Yep, Captain.”

“Good?” You congratulated an ally on a new weapon, a new bond, a promotion. Which one was an infant classified as? What was the correct form?

“Hopefully it’ll be over and the little goblin will be in the caves with the old’uns by the time we find either of the cities.” Gorfaunt provided, only barely contextualizing his felicitations. She was chewing on the inside on her cheek; sometimes she would gnaw until she spat black blood. “Terrible time for it. Terrible time. But the high ups are worried about reinforcements down the line, I suppose.”

Orcs came from orcs. It was a fact so simple it barely bore considering. Another department handled it. The new ones just showed up, springy and long limbed, faces still soft and unmarred. “Goblins” he’d heard older orcs call those fresh pale creatures. Barely even monsters, more like stunted, crepuscular versions of the elves and dwarves they fought.

“How much longer?” They had a few good leads on Nargothrond, a promising word about Túrin Turambar. The Captain could not sack that city himself, the honor had already been promised to the sulfurous worm. Apparently they wanted to test the mettle of these dragons. But Gothmog could assign a few good orc commanders to supervise, make sure the worm was not overstepping his bounds.

Dark blood trickled out of the corner of Gorfaunt’s mouth. “Five months, I’m told. Could be more, could be less. Then I have to wait until the thing is independent enough to leave alone, that’s another few months.” She was probably counting months as the orcs had started to, by the moon. Wretched traitor, Tilion, who’d laughed with them at the idea of running away then turned his face when the time came to flee for freedom. They hated it as much as everyone else but in their hatred they were aware of its cycles. They rejoiced when it went dark.

“You’ll still be able to manage your underlings?” Orcs, and freed Maiar, were fractious. They did not respect a leader who lacked the strength to force them to obey. It could be exhausting. And Gorfaunt was already so round. The Captain did not wish to lose her support over one orcling.

“I think so. So far… in old days you’d den up somewhere for a year, avoid everyone prowling for blood, but I don’t want to fight my way up the ranks again. I’ve got an ax and I’m using it.” Despite that she sounded tired.

Long heartbeats stretched between them, that exquisite embarrassment of two coworkers suddenly forced to talk about private affairs.

“This is your first,” the Captain didn’t reach the tone of a question with that one.

“Yes. The recruiters were getting growly so I grabbed a fellow. I’ve been avoiding it for too long.”

“You don’t want a child.” Again, not quite a question. He was feeling it out as he goes along. This is the longest conversation about orc reproduction he’s ever paid attention to, for the Lieutenants diatribes we’re always dull.

It was no matter to him, except that this was the only orc commander he could tolerate working with and she was chewing through her own cheek in discomfort.

“They take something from you,” Gorfaunt admitted. “Dame and sire both, but worse for the dame since she has to carry the clot. You go… stretchy. Bleached like old bone. I’ve seen soldiers and after twenty children they’re not good for anything but shoving onto a line of pikes. Raw meat for the wargs.”

That didn’t make sense to him, but he was never a scholar of flesh or spirit. He knew how a skull split and how a soul fled, how this matter-sprung life withered, how it died. That was all that counted. He also knew how to value a resource.

“There won’t be any after this,” he said firmly. “Not if you don’t want them.” If need be he’d escalate to Lord Melkor, frame it as sapping strength from their command structure and propose making officers off limits from breeding programmes.

“As you command, Captain,” she said with a bowed head, but she looked gratifyingly relieved, and their conversation could finally move on to the latest stories of occupied territories and the search for the hidden cities.

The next few months Gorfaunt somehow managed to get bigger and bigger, until she was no longer able to swing herself into a chair and had to take their meeting standing. Her leather armor no longer fit and with just a thin layer of rags over her distended stomach it was easy to see the squirming creature inside.

Ferocious little animal. It would go so still and then kick out again, as if it could burst free of its creator by force of will alone. The kernel of its mind was forming too, a hazy bubble of sensation and half formed emotion. He could see what had the Lieutenant fascinated. It wasn’t his field but it was morbidly interesting, seeing the shape of something new and moldable come together right in front of you.

But he had not been made a sculptor or a craftsman. He’d been born a wild thing, a tornado, a volcano, every disaster meant to fell cities, and though he had not known the words yet he’d sensed in his core, seen in glimpses in the song, that he was a creature of war. Like many other wild things—Ossë, the simpering coward tied up in Uinen’s tresses, excluded— he’d found his way to Melkor in the end. Oh, he’d idled for a time with Vána, heard Námo’s dolorous call, but it was Melkor who he came back to and Melkor who he picked in the end.

Melkor taught him so many more ways to be. The smoke, the blood, the screaming not in sorrow but in anger. He taught the others who came to him as well. In the Captain’s little squad alone there was one who learned the slaver’s whip and the threat of fire, one who learned the ooze of pus and malodorous air, one who came to appreciate the ravenings of rabid beasts. From the dragons in the treasure-caves to the cat in the kitchen to the vampires in the highest towers, they were all Melkor’s creations.

Gorfaunt, born and raised here in the shadow of his ancient power, was even more Melkor’s than most. This was how the Captain rationalized his continuing fondness for her as she weakened, his interest in her spawn. Works of the same maker might gravitate together. They could see parts of themselves in each other, the way he could once see himself in other Ëalar born of the same bit of song.

When Gorfaunt came in four months after their revelatory meeting with a sagging belly and a bundle nestled against her chest he was excited to finally see what had been made.

It took a bit of coaxing to get her to show him the baby but no orc would outright refuse an order from anyone stronger than them, they knew better than that. The newborn was dutifully unwrapped and presented, though Gorfaunt’s expression suggested that she considered this all a silly waste of time.

It was a rumpled wet creature; mostly skin and bones, with a cranium as big as its rounded torso. Small too, barely bigger than Gorfaunt’s hand, and Gorfaunt was smaller than all elves and many humans; based on overheard complaints failure to grow was an ongoing issue with their kind. When it was unswaddled sticklike limbs flailed out and began batting at the air ineffectually. Despite this wriggling its face remained in a sleepy scowl. It wasn’t until Gothmog moved one cherry-hot finger closer to it that it opened its hazy grey eyes and tried to focus on him. Even then the dismayed frown stayed put.

An unscarred orc was always an interesting sight; for it revealed the scale of their reworking. How much orcishness was self-replicating, as the Lieutenant liked to claim, and how much had to be beaten in? This one had a droopy brow bone and already peeling corpse-grey skin but it did not look much like an orc besides that. It even had hair, which most orcs lacked (aside from a few lank patches). The fine red down covered its whole body, thickest on the head and face and arms.

“It’s supposed to fall out,” Gorfaunt said, “Everyone says it’ll fall out soon. Even the prisoners lose their hair after a while, especially in the deep mines.”

That was probably because of the miasma of decay that emanated from the ores of Angband. Not macro-decay, of skin and bone (that came later) but the infitesimal decay. Every piece of metal— every piece of existence, when you got down to it— was made of little stars. There was a gaseous center of energy and little orbiting specks around that, spinning in probabilistic loops. Like stars some were bigger and some were smaller and some were ready to collapse. Ilmarë loved to speak of supernovas. The yellow and blue metals below the mountain were full of little stars collapsing, reforming, giving off energy in great sums as they did so.

The Captain had noted the negative effects of this energetic output on incarnates some time ago. Elves sickened and humans just died— Lord Melkor had moved the man he hoped would give him the location of Gondolin far from those mines for a reason. A few of the spirits with natures inclined towards metal, salt, and industry had already incorporated the burning energy into their signatures. The Lieutenant doubtless had some wicked little experiment running with it. It was a part of life here, that background hum of a trillion crumbling particles, and the Captain never thought of the effect on orcs, though they were exposed from birth.

Now that he focused he could see the little crumbs of decay glancing off the baby.

Hmm.

It would probably be fine.

It was already rubbing its eyes and going back to sleep, one hand curled next to a crumpled, not-yet-cropped ear.

“Are you recovered?” he asked Gorfaunt.

“I’m fit enough to fight,” she said shortly, defensively, as if afraid he’d snatch her command from her. “I’ll be better soon when this thing is gone.”

The Captain’s huge palm hovered over her infant. He knew better than to touch; his ability to change forms was not what it once was, he could not stop being a bipedal avalanche, to strong, too close, too dangerous. Even just containing the noxious gases— the pustulent yellow and choking green— simmering inside this war shaped body was difficult. If he kept a few feet distance the chaotic heat of his skin faded into the air and the baby wriggled contentedly in the ambient glow, like a little lizard.

“And how long will that be?”

Gorfaunt’s hand twitched. Another few months, till it can manage worm meal and listen to the grands.”

It seemed impossible that anything could be big enough to leave alone in such a short time; but incarnation was not the Captain’s specialty. “And that’s the accepted practice?”

“A little young, but safe now that the master put a stop to the baby eating problem.”

“I wouldn’t want it to be a concern,” the Captain said very seriously, even though his fingers curled slightly around the baby’s limp body. “We can make modifications if the child must stay longer.”

Gorfaunt glanced down at her sprawled offspring. “I don’t— I don’t want this to last any longer. I’d rather have my life go back to normal.”

That, at least, he could understand. It has been a rather troubling experience overall. Revelations are not always useful and though he’s gained some knowledge it’s not very practical stuff.

“One more question, commander, then I’ll drop the matter. What is it named??”

That nascent mind bubble had sharpened with time and experience but was still comprised mostly of sensation. He could not even grasp at a basic sense of self. The child’s mother should know what if calls itself, if anyone did.

(He wanted to remember the name, for forty years from now, when he needed more good orcs. All those rants about the fundamentals of inheritance left him with some ideas about how incarnates develop traits. Another Gorfaunt would be a helpful tool to have on hand.)

The question left Gorfaunt unimpressed. “It doesn’t name itself anything yet, it hasn’t got the common sense. And no one’s given it a name because it hasn’t done anything interesting.”

“It has an interesting look” the Captain pointed out, “Tell them to call it Red Cap,” he slipped into the elf tongue, which had better color words than the one the Lieutenant devised, and in the process accidentally named the child after a former king of the Noldor. “Or something like that.”

Gorfaunt apparently had a better memory for politics than he gave her credit for, or perhaps just a distaste for the elf cant, because she quickly translated it back into Angband’s crackly tongue . “Rotbint.”

“Yes.” A Balrog, even the chief of Balrogs, could not give much to something so soft and incarnadine. A name, incorporeal, existing in the plane the Captain knew best, was the only thing he could offer. “Now, to business?”

Gorfaunt wrapped the little creature away— it woke halfway through the rolling to stare at them once more— then tucked it against her chest.

The Captain was sad to see it go, though he couldn’t say why.

He remembered that he had come to this physical world for a reason once. He had wanted to see all there was to see, to feel and taste everything, chew chunks of Arda up and spit it out new. Disasters hungered as much as anyone. Yet all he’d had lately was war fare; blood-soaked mud and rage-tinged fear.

Deprived of fresh experiences, he clung to the potential, the novelty, of new life.

Perhaps Gondolin would see him out of his funk, he thought. It couldn’t hide forever.

“We’ll find it, Captain,” Gorfaunt assured him stubbornly. “And we’ll tear it down brick by brick, raze their gardens, fill their streets with blood.”

Even with a baby trying to gum her collarbone her firm tone allowed no questions.

Orcs were, as a rule, bothersome, unruly, walking corpses. Fractious, ugly, difficult, bothersome, recklessly stupid. The Maiar serving under the Captain were sometimes stereotyped as simpleminded brutes but at least they were able to perceive the world around them, even if few bothered to use that perception. In comparison orcs were stumbling around in the dark. They were inefficient as well, you needed three of them to take down any decent enemy. But when they were well made they were well made. Those were the ones that made it all worth it.

It had to be worth it. This was freedom, after all.

[jennsmischievousmind]

Chaos Therapy

Session #4

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!reader

Summary: You were assigned to a field mission, with particulars co-agents, Sam Wilson and Bucky Barnes. One mission turned into multiples. After each missions you are debriefed by a therapist, Dr Noach just as Sam and Bucky. Thing is, they don’t know that you are much more than an agent.

Warnings: pining, bit of angst, Buck/Sam bickering, violence (fights against enemies), mild swearing (still real bad at warnings)

Published: 2021-02-21 Completed: 2021-03-30

“Lettonia?” You fastened your weightlifting gloves looking back at Bucky.

“We have a lead on Zemo.” his face fell a little

“Hey” you searched for his eyes “kick his ass for me,”

His smile returned a hearthy chuckle leaving his lips, hesitantly his hand reached your forearm brshing down to your fingertips, he took a step forward and pressed a kiss to your temple, your eyes closed on their own and you squeezed his hand in yours, he let his forehead rest against yours.

"See you in a few days," he whispered, you nodded and he took a step backward,

"Don't kill each other," 

"noted,"

You watch him go, his broad back passing the gym door. Your stomach immediatly churning, "Buck!" you ran out the gym, he was waiting at the elevator, "Bucky!" he panicked seeing you ran to him.

"Doll,"  your fingers interlaced with his dog tags, you stopped the motion your face inches from him, his eyes fall on your lips. A tug on his dog tags and your lips collided, his arms circled your back, a hand splayed on your waist the other   slowly going up your spine to your nape as your free one caressed his face, feeling the pricks of his beard under your delicate fingers.

“Bucky, I .. “ the ding of the elevator distracted both of you for a second “I’ll have to tell you something,”

“you’re okay ?” the worry in his eyes had you tongue-tied, your hands tightened on his shirt. “Yea, yea just .. be careful out there,” the smile you gave him unknitted his brows, his hands brushed your arms.  You couldn’t bare to tell him, not now, he will know the truth soon enough anyway. He hesitantly leaned in pecking your lips before getting on the elevator. 

“What’s going on ?” Sam squinted his falcon eyes at Bucky who did everything to avoid his scrutinous look.  “Oh, oooh you and Y/n finally!!” Sam let out a proud laugh, clasping Bucky’s shoulder.

  “Y/N what do you make of their duo?”

“It works somehow. I know it seems unbelievable especially when you see them from the outside. The thing is, they both lose Captain Rogers, the person that believe in them both and now they can only count on each other and believe in each other that’s why it works. Sam believe in Bucky being able to heal and get redemption, while Bucky believe in Sam being worthy of the Shield. The constant bickering is their way of showing their affection. They have a strong teamwork.” you conclude.

Noach nods, all the while analyzing your features.

“Thank you, they’re another mission coming up_”

“Yes ma’am. But I’m not allowed to join them for this mission,”

“I know, I’ve talked with the Director, that’s a shame, it’s a big one,” you both stand up and she walks you to the door “Y/N” she stops “I’m planning on ending the therapy when they come back from this mission.”

“What is it?” she says seeing your face fell.

“You know exactly,” you passes your badge on the elevator sensor. 

“It was necessary,”

“They won’t like it,”

“They? Or he?” you gave her a grave look, “You want me to say that I shouldn’t have engage anything with Bucky,”

“No, I don’t blame you, you’re both human attraction is normal. Though now a long discussion with him awaits you.” Your head tilt back knowing too well she was right.

Sam and Bucky were back from Lettonia, you had some undone work back in the cave you didn’t have the time to greet them yet.

“Now, in order to round off our work here, I needed a closer look at your teamwork and general relationship,”

“You bugged us, Doc?” Sam scoffed, you facepalm behind the one-way mirror.

“Not exactly. I need you to know it was necessary to prove that your duo was fit for combat,” she turned to the mirror behind her nodding. Your cue, clenching your hand on the door handle, the voices inside increased as you pushed it.

“Agent Y/F/N mission was to evaluate your compatibility and capacity to work as a team, outside those therapy sessions. Agent Y/L/N beside her I.T work is a trained therapist,” 

“That’s some fucked up therapy,”

“Mr, Wilson,_” you blocked their discussion as you were focused on Bucky’s reaction. His clenched fits on his thighs, his locked jaw and his gaze fixated on the wall before him. You jumped slightly as he stood up and left the room. Noach and Sam looked at you stopping their discussion. “I’ll be right back,” quickly walking out, you breathe in deeply. Bucky’s back facing you, the tension in his stance visible.

“Bucky,..” he glanced on the side

“I’ve been lie too for a longtime Y/n, ..” taking a step forward carefully you observed his side profile “I guess you can hurt me in the end,”  his voice melted with anger and sorrow stopped you, the lump in your throat getting bigger, the prickling in your eyes accentuating.

Biting your lower lip, you tried to find your voice back. Like approaching a wild wolf, you were on edge yet cautious, reaching his shoulder you softly pulled on it “Please look at me,” he turned around but his eyes never reached yours, his hands on his hips you took them gently, interlacing your fingers with his. Against what you thought he didn’t reject you. His eyes still cast away, you rested your forehead on his chest, closing your eyes, you felt his hands twitched in yours, his chest heaving a little faster.

“You have to understand,…” your murmured feeling your throat tightened.

“you could have told me!” he spoke quietly yet the tightness in his voice showed his anger.

“Really though,” an anxious smirk reached your mouth for a millisecond “it was my mission Buck. I .. I didn’t plan on falling for you, it changed a lot of things.” He stayed silent at your confession; panic took over, his silence giving you the chills. Clearing your throat after an odd silent long second, you let go of his hands, taking a step back, and took your most serious professional voice “Please come back in the room, Dr Noach has some more questions.”

Noach arched an eyebrow seeing you enter the room alone, you sat next to her, facing Sam. Like Noach predicted Sam was “easier” to get by, he was still reluctant obviously but not closed to discussion. Bucky never came back in the room, before leaving Noach gave you gentle smile squeezing your upper arm.

“You won’t have to see much of me now, don’t worry,” you said to Sam who slowed down to a stop next to the elevator.

“Well, we’re not through it yet, the director of intelligence asked to see the three of us,”  you stepped into the elevator with him.

 “As you know the image of super-heroes is not at his best. After the few events with the flag smashers and the chaos in Lettonia” he looked at the boys gravely “the governments are not willing to brush this away as nothing happened. Moreover, rumor has it flag smashers are still quite upset about the docks operation. I suggest you lay low for a few days, weeks maybe. I can’t have you fighting flag smashers around the country, and cause much more mishaps,”

Sam clapped is hand all of sudden, turning to you and the silent Bucky next to you “Mi casa es su casa,”

You look at them wondering, Bucky avoiding your eyes. “I don’t think it’s a good idea.” you left the room after the director dismissed you.

Starting your way to the elevator you paused hearing your name, “Sam’s house is safe, and you will be safer with us,” Bucky’s concerned warmed your heart.

“Hurts me to say it but tincan’s right,”

Although you knew they were 100% right, spending 24/7 with them, moreover around Bucky, it would have been great if it wasn’t for the fact that he totally despised you at the moment.

Passing by your place you grabbed a backpack and shove a bunch of random clothes in it. Sam and Bucky were waiting in the car. Seating down on your bed, the exhaustion caught up with you, your mind going blank, staring into the void.

Bucky look in the rear-view mirror “She’s taking too long,” Sam hummed. “Maybe we should check on her,”

“Maybe,” Sam looked at Bucky, pushing up his sunglasses onto his nose, reclining his seat and crossing his arms. Bucky rolled his eyes opening the door with a bit too much force that it cried out.

A knock on your door made you jump, blue eyes met yours, he was standing there at your bedroom door. He looked around taking everything in, if you were both in another mindset it would be thrilling.

“We have to go, the longer we stay here_ “ 

“I know, sorry,” grabbing your pack you slide down your bed, opening on your drawer near the door you grabbed the gun in it, slipping in your pants. Bucky eyed you, hands in his pocket. 

He didn’t budge as you passed by him. His aura embracing you, overwhelming your senses. Daring a glance behind at him, his eyes were lost on you, his lips moved as he was about to say something but as soon as he refocused his jaw clenched a second. “Let’s go,” he walked to the door, you squint your eyes unwilling to see him past you so coldly. A warmth enveloping the hand holding your bag brought you back, his flesh hand brushed yours as he grabbed your pack, then left without looking back.

“So, we’re just going to follow orders?”

“It cannot hurt,” Sam glanced in the rear-view mirror “we all need some time off...” The ride was so awkward Sam was trying to loosen up the mood every so often, you tried to keep up with him but at one point you were too exhausted and fell asleep.

Bucky kept glancing at your sleeping form curled in the backseat. “When we get there you two will talk!” I’m not spending a week or more with a depressed cyborg and a torned beautiful woman!” Bucky frowned at Sam, “I haven’t dealt with that kind of problem, in a while.” he sighed the all sentence.

“Well, get with it!” Sam’s voice woke you up, “Good timing, we’re here!” The light blue and white big house appeared before you. “Sam that’s a really nice place!”

“Thanks, in the family for generations!” he was rightfully proud of the building.

“Rooms are upstairs,” he turned around letting his duffle bag hit the ground, the both of you standing awkwardly 2 feet apart.

“I don’t want to hear anything…” his look paused on you then Bucky his look insisting. You rolled your eyes at the insinuation. “I’ll be upstairs if you need me.” You drag yourself up the wooden stairs.

“Dinner at 9, Everyone pitch in to cook, house rule,”

“Believe me Wilson, you don’t want me near fire and sharp knives.” You yelled from the landing, missing Bucky hiding a smile as he joined Sam in the living room.

“Here,’ Sam walked down the pier, handing a bottle of beer to Buck who was watching the sunset.

“You know she had to keep it from us,” Sam calmly said, his VA side resurging.

“I know,”

“And that she wouldn’t feel so bad if she didn’t care about you,” Seeing Bucky staying silent his brows knitted, Sam stood up “Man, you got to talk to her, she reached out it’s on you now,”

“You realized it’s not that easy,”

“It is, you walk up to her, show or tell her what’s on that cyborg brain of yours, and that’s it, avoiding her it’s not the right way to do it.”

After a good shower you sat by the window overlooking the pier, the boys were on the dock enjoying a beer. “It’s gonna be fine,” you pep talked yourself eyes trained on Bucky’s silhouette.

Session #5

MASTERLIST  

Published: 2021-02-21 Completed: 2021-03-30

[lunasphantom]

Mission:Rise of Rivalries

Chapter 0

masterlist

Synopsis: Phoenix, a top assassin from a very secret group, the definition of girlboss.gaslight.gatekeep.No one knows her name but they call them Raven. A very intelligent killer whose kills have been studied by many (some very entertaining by the way). Studied by people like Dream. Dream, a mysterious detective,works with the government. The only person who found Phoenix,she was hard to track but in the end he did find her. Now, these two establishments come together to take over a shared target, Sleepy Bois Inc. A family who has gotten into illegal business. How will these two sworn enemies, Dream and Phoenix, take over the most powerful family.

“Absolutely not.” Dream yelled from one of the rooms to George. He had just heard about the assignment and his partner in crime, Phoenix . A sworn enemy of his and the government but now they have to work together.The report of “Finding Phoenix” was messy, but an entertaining one.No one knows Phoenix's real name so they had to come up with a nickname for her. One day at a crime scene she left the story of a Phoenix which inspired her name. Dream had to approach her in a different way, in a more emotional way. At least that’s what he said in the report. George and Sapnap knew better. He was more lively before Phoenix, still mysterious but less cold. Now it feels like he needs a botox for his crease that formed because he is constantly furrowing his eyebrows. George rolled his eyes over his childishness before he could argue Sapnap defended George’s alliance “It’s not like this is temporary, we really need their help and yes especially Phoenix’s help. They are literally trained for this. They have the upper-hand on this case.” Dream let out a loud huff “I am also trained for this.” he grumbled. “Yes but they work cleaner and better. SBI is getting stronger every day and we need to move.” While the argument continued on one side, on the other side things were a lot more calmer.

“You already know a lot about SBI and you know how Dream works so I think you’ll be fine.” Niki said to Phoenix as she sat down and took a sip from her coffee cup (which definitely had wine in it). “I don’t think he is going to agree.” “Well, they need him not that he is amazing or anything. They want to show him off and scare you a little bit. A constant reminder that you need to do things in a civilized manner and not go killer mode.” Puffy said while she was still looking through the files. Phoenix was sure that she went over them a thousand times just to find a typo or something that's missing. “When did killing bad people become uncivilized?” “Since the establishments made their own villains.” Niki said in a nonchalant manner. There was a knock on their door and the Dream team arrived.

A stranger who knew nothing about the detective and the assassin, even to them, the tension in the room was apparent. Dream and Phoenix locked their eyes and everything flashed before their eyes. Phoenix pulled out of her train of thought and got up “Shall we get over the basics?”

The meeting went fine. The constant death glare that Dream sent Phoenix was noticeable but it didn’t look like she was phased by that at all. She could feel it but didn’t let it get over her head. He hated that. He hated how she didn’t stare back. He hated that her hand also went to her scar. He hated many things about her and none of it seemed to phase her. Their first task was to get close with Karl Jacobs and Quackity. “I already like him.” said Phoenix when she heard his nickname. Karl and Quackity did the groundwork for SBI, if they could get in with groundwork they would find their way into the SBI. Their headquarters were in Mexico even though the SBI family lived in London. Hotels were arranged, files were given, fake names tagged on each file. “We need you to act as a couple.” “No” Dream argued “I won’t mind finding another person on your bed I can join if you want.” Phoenix said while still reading the file about Quackity. “Dream stop being a dick, get over this cause your attitude is going to ruin this whole thing. Trust me Phoenix wants this family to go down as much as you do maybe eve-” “Puffy that’s enough” Phoenix raised her voice and finally looked at Dream “We don’t need to prove anything to you, suck it up and be a good boy.” Phoenix got up from her seat “You know where my apartment is, pick me up at 09:45 don’t come up.” and she left and silence followed her exit.

[roanniom]

Phillip and Miss Perfect

Phillip Altman x Reader

Word Count: 2,866

Part 1/?

Summary: Back in high school you were a perfectionist and he was a charming douche. You’ve spent years suppressing the feelings he awakened in you senior year because you’re better than that, right? You’ll sure find out now that you’re back home for the holidays right in time to run back into him.

Warnings: NSFW. Language. Masturbation (F/M kinda). Gratuitous Altman charm.  

Phillip Altman had long been the bane of your existence. Phillip and his cheeky grin and his gaggle of older siblings whose mere existence somehow afforded him an untouchable cool status amongst the weaker minded of your peers. A status you’d always felt was completely unearned as he swaggered through the halls of your high school, winking at pretty girls and tossing innuendo-laden comments to his fawning admirers.  

Yes Phillip Altman, you’d decided long ago, was the bane of your existence.

Handsome and arrogant and too smart for his own good, not that he ever applied himself, for crying out loud. It was senior year that solidified your loathing for the boy. Mr. Weathers had paired the two of you together for the group-project winter final. Only a sadist would assign a group project for a final, so you should have seen it coming. Always the instigator, the old man had been thoroughly entertained by the way you and Phillip would constantly bicker in class. Though “bickering” probably wasn’t the right word considering that the interactions were less a volleying of insults and more a pattern of Phillip smoothly complimenting you and you spewing vitriol back in response.

“My place or yours?”

Your head had snapped up hard when you heard the baritone voice laced with amusement too close for comfort a few moments after Mr. Weather’s class had ended.

“Altman. What have we said about my personal bubble?” You made sure your voice dripped with venom. Phillip straightened from where he had leaned to whisper in your ear as you placed books into your locker.

“Your personal bubble is your own and I am not allowed inside it,” he rambled off, as though reciting a vow from memory. After a breath he wiggled his eyebrows and added, “unless expressly invited.”

“In your sticky dreams,” you shot back.

“Every night, Miss Perfect,” Phillip said, giving a roguish half-smile that you wanted to slap off his face. Instead you slammed your locker door and stalked off.

“So, your place it is then?” Phillip called to your retreating back. You ignored him. He cupped his hands over his mouth and shouted after you, making sure that everyone in the hallway could hear his humor-tinged voice.

“Parting is such sweet sorrow, Juliet!”

“We’re presenting on Hamlet, moron,” you said, shooting him a look over your shoulder as you continued to walk away. “That quote you just bastardized is Romeo and Juliet.”

Phillip had just laughed and walked in the opposite direction. Leaving you to fume on your way to the bus while wondering seriously to yourself if murder would be enough to make colleges take back the early acceptances you’d already received.

~*~

And so you two had spent one blustery weekend in early December holed away in your bedroom. You trying desperately to keep Phillip’s tiny attention span from wandering to your panty drawer long enough for a presentation on the themes of Hamlet to miraculously get written. Phillip trying desperately to get into said panty drawer and avoid the slaps you repeatedly sent his way. To the surprise of absolutely no one, you both failed tremendously on all accounts. Your mom certainly didn’t help matters by bustling in with Christmas cookies and cooing comments to Phillip about how cute he was. True to form, he thanked her through a mouthful of gingerbread before throwing an infuriating wink your way. That was it. You knew you and your perfect grades were doomed.

And yet on the day of the presentation, something crazy (a miracle, if you’re sappy) did occur. Phillip pulled – out of his ass, presumably – a 180 and gave a performance to rival anything old Willy-Shakes could have staged. Not only did he express a genuine and insightful knowledge of the themes of the play, but he was also a generous presenter, setting you up for and supporting you in points that even made you, the top of the class, look better. As Mr. Weathers complimented the two of you on your efforts at the end of the presentation, you couldn’t help but stare at Phillip, struck for the first time by the way his hair curled a little at the ends and the way his eyes sparkled under the attention of the class. You didn’t like admitting it to yourself, but your stomach was in knots. Phillip parading around like he’s god’s gift to high school girls? Gross. Phillip confidently presenting literary analysis and showing a glimmer of genuine intelligence? Fucking hot.

After class you’d felt a little intimidated at the prospect of talking to him. You weren’t sure why. It was Phillip Fucking Altman, class clown and grade-A pain in your ass. You watched him out of the corner of your eye as you slid your books back into your bag. His frame stood out amongst the small circle of his friends, his dumb, tall body making it so that you could always see him from far away.  

You gripped your bag close to your body and walked briskly toward the door, deciding against any further interaction with the boy whose eyes had suddenly made your cheeks grow hot for the first time in all the years you’d known his stupid ass. As you walked by, however, he broke away from his friends and chased after you, calling your name. You didn’t stop until you reached the destination of your locker down the hall.

“Hey, so it seems like we killed it in there.” Phillip leaned against the next locker, slightly breathless from having jogged to catch up with you. It was after sixth period on the last day of the semester, and the last few stragglers filtered through the hall on their way to the sweet freedom of winter break.

“Yeah, I guess we did alright, didn’t we?” you said noncommittally, refusing to look up from organizing the inside of your locker.

“Alright? Pretty sure Weathers jizzed his pants when you brought up biblical allegory,” Phillip let out a bark of a laugh.

“Only you could make academic achievement sound vulgar, Altman,” you said, trying but failing to hide the smile that broke across your face.

“It’s not as hard as it seems. All of those stuffy writers were pervs. You know Mary Shelley fucked Lord Byron on her mother’s grave? And that horny bitch wrote Frankenstein!” His smile lit up the corner of your vision and you looked up, blushing at how cute his stupid crooked teeth looked all of a sudden.

“She fucked Percy Shelley on her mother’s grave, not Lord Byron, you idiot,” you replied, rolling your eyes. Phillip’s eyebrows had shot up and his smile had grown wider.

“Well, well Miss Perfect. Never took you for a girl who reads the naughty books, too.”

“Shove it, Altman.” You punched out at his arm, but he successfully dodged, finally demonstrating fast reflexes for once after years of similar assaults from you.

“Well either way, we did it! We made Lit our bitch – up top!” He offered up a hand which you high fived reluctantly. Before you could pull your hand away, his large one wrapped around yours and he yanked you forward. Your body crashed into his and before you could flail, he wrapped his arms around you in a tight hug.

You were too shocked by the action to move, too surprised by the feeling of his strong arms twisting around your back and his hard body against your breasts. You’d always known Phillip was hot, it was one of the things you hated him for. But feeling the evidence of that hotness against you? You felt the knot in your stomach from earlier drop a little lower.

Phillip ducked his head down to the crook of your neck, his warm breath blowing on your ear. You became hyper aware of the silence in the empty hallway, marveling at the fact that there was no one there to witness the sudden intimacy of this weird moment. Was there a memo you’d missed about a Christmas Fair that everyone had rushed off to? Damn. You took a breath to speak but Phillip cut you off, the vibrations from his rumbling voice sending shivers down your spine.

“Yeah, yeah I know. Sorry about your personal bubble.”

You bit your lip, not trusting yourself to speak during this odd experience that balanced precariously in a space between uncomfortable and enticing.

“It’s just that…” Phillip began, but trailed off. Your heart beat in your throat, and somewhere lower, as he began swaying your bodies a little in place. This couldn’t be real, though nightmare or dream you couldn’t decide how you’d classify it. You felt his ribcage expand against you as he went to speak again, barely aware that your own breath was held captive in your chest in anticipation.

“I, too…jizzed in my pants when you brought up biblical allegory.”

It took a few seconds for his words to register in your mind before you reacted. Your hand connected with his face so hard you scared yourself with the volume of the sound. Both of you stood frozen and staring at each other for a moment after that. Him with his hand on his cheek where it had flown to shield his stinging skin and you with your hand suspended in air where it had reverberated back after impacting with his face.

Then Phillip began to laugh.

It was a full sound that echoed off the walls. Your face screwed up in response, immediately feeling shame heat your ears and cheeks. But then you noticed that his smile held no derision, no malice. He was genuinely entertained by the fact that, after all these times slapping him, you’d finally hit the mark dead on.

Your hand flew to cover your lips, dozens of emotions dancing on your features as you began to register the humor of the moment as well. However, you also felt foolish. Not a second before he’d let loose the comment that broke all your physical self-control your mind had been toying with the idea of losing physical self-control in a very different way. The hot, knotted feeling in your lower belly had not gone away with this turn of events, it had merely intensified. Your palm tingled where it had made contact with Phillip’s cheek.

The rush of emotions, so many and so dissonant, overwhelmed you. So you did the only thing you could. You slammed your locker door, ducked your head down, and ran for the door, leaving a very confused Phillip still chuckling to himself in your wake.

~*~

That night, laying in bed, you had chastised yourself for feeling what seemed to be every feeling but your usual hatred toward Phillip. This wouldn’t do. You were the top of the class. You hadn’t gotten this far for this long by having twisty turny feelings for stupid beautiful boys with crooked teeth and lots of charm.

Somewhere in your self-admonishment, however, your thoughts turned back to the feeling of his hard body against yours. His arms, large and muscled, containing you with such ease and solidity. The planes of his large chest as they pressed into your soft curves. Without even thinking much about it, your hands moved under your sheets, squeezing those curves.

The knotted feeling from before returned, but this time it was less of a knot and more of an ache. You knew the feeling. Had willed it away while watching movies where hot actors sucked too convincingly on the necks of their leading ladies. Had clumsily tried to remedy it with fumbling rubs and twisting legs on nights when the tension got to be too much.

But that night as you’d thought about Phillip Altman’s arms around you, your pointer finger moved to your clit, rubbing small circles around the sensitive nub. As you thought of Phillip Altman’s lips as he rambled confidently in front of a crowd, and Phillip Altman’s big nose scrunching as he winked at you across a classroom, and Phillip’s dimples as he laughed at one of your personalized insults, and Phillip Altman’s dick as it could be seen outlined in his athletic shorts during gym….

The ache inside grew and you felt your pussy clenching around nothing, desperate to be filled by something you hadn’t known you wanted. Haphazardly you thrust a finger inside your folds, the hand not preoccupied with circling your clit reaching up to grab one of your breasts.

You tried to imagine Phillip’s large hands replacing yours. Tried to imagine how he’d fill you, how he’d squeeze you. You could almost hear the way he’d put that already dirty mouth of his to good use.

“You want to cum, Miss Perfect? Hmm?” You imagined him saying. The vibrations from his deep voice rang through your mind, left over from when it had caused you to shiver earlier. “Want me in your personal bubble now?”

You whimpered in the darkness of your room, speeding up the friction on your clit and thrusting two more fingers in your slick heat. You imagined his lips at your neck, at your clavicle, at your sternum, sucking at the skin and tickling you with the stubbling facial hair he’d only been sporting since last summer.

“You’ve always been such a good girl,” the Phillip in your mind practically purred. You felt yourself reaching a precipice you’d never quite attained before. The muscles of your legs quaked and your squeezed your nipples, needing more of something.

“Why don’t you be a good girl for me and cum?”

Your whole body convulsed against the mattress and your muscles seized, your fingers trapped inside your pussy as it contracted over and over. You felt absolutely euphoric for a moment, almost nothing passing through your mind but the image of Phillip, smiling at you with that same, familiar, cheeky smile.

But as you came down from your high, your sweat ran cold with a realization. It had been your first orgasm. Phillip had caused your first orgasm. A mixture of shame and anger flooded your system as you curled into yourself. It wasn’t enough Phillip Altman was the golden boy of the school, it wasn’t enough that he could – and did – have any girl he wanted, he had to have your orgasm, too?

You felt silly but you also felt indignant. You had prided yourself on not being affected, on being above him. After all, why go after the boy who had it all and who only teased you because it felt like an accomplishment to make the smart girl squirm under his gaze?

No. You hated Phillip Altman and you wouldn’t let him have this. You silently thanked whatever militant non-secular whacko had pushed the Christmas agenda on the school system so hard that you had two weeks off now to help distance you from any interactions with the boy who plagued your mind.

You had drifted to sleep that night, unaware that several streets over, in a room very much like your own, Phillip Altman was tugging at his hard cock, groaning over thoughts of the girl who challenged him, the girl who yelled at him, the girl who slapped him. The one girl he was so sure he’d never get with, but who he wanted most.

~*~

Now, twelve years later, you wander down the baking aisle of the local grocery store, praying to all that is holy that you won’t bump into someone from your high school. After graduation you had peaced the fuck out, leaving for college on the opposite coast. You’d spent years convincing your parents that you were too busy with undergrad and then grad school and then publishing deadlines to ever make the crazy trip back to your hometown, instead baiting them into visiting you for warmer holidays that smelled of the beach and your new life. Two consecutive shitty breakups on your part and one knee replacement surgery on your mother’s part combined to turn this into the year that your parents insisted you finally made the pilgrimage home.

Which is how you find yourself on a winter night browsing the alternative flour selection, having been sent to look for the perfect gluten-free option that will make your mom’s gastrointestinal system “not blow up like a friggen balloon.” It was funny how not even a medical diagnosis could deter that woman from her festive baking habits. You’re deep in thought over the differences between coconut and almond when a deep voice rumbles out from your deepest memories, reverberating right into aisle four.

“You know I read your latest book.”

You look up and almost drop your two flours to the ground. Instead you fumble, gripping them tightly to your chest and causing vaporized coconut and almond to puff into the air in front of you.

As the powder settles out of your line of sight you see him. Phillip Altman. Twelve years older, with more facial hair and a couple laugh lines, but it’s him alright.

“Hey there, Miss Perfect.”

His nose crinkles as he winks at you. You intake breath sharply.

And choke on some flour.

It tastes like coconut. And you know then that you should have just trusted your gut and gone with almond.

You also know that you’re in trouble.

~*~

Tagging some very kind people who have been very welcoming: @mariesackler​ @direnightshade​ @safarigirlsp​ @sacklerscumrag​

[harryspet]

ahh i love your writing and your dark!peter fics are the best, could we get a darkfic of peter bullying/harassing the reader and then things escalate if you know what i mean ??

rude boy | peter parker

[Warnings] dark peter parker x reader, bully peter, verbal/physical harassment, noncon/dubcon, fingering, public sex, mentions of intercourse/oral sex, peter being a jerk, fish sticks

A/N: I combined your ask with another bully peter request I got! I’ll post that asks right after this. Hope you like this!

In which Peter can’t make up his mind about whether he loves or hates you. 

word count: almost 3k

Your gaze fell down to your lap as he entered the classroom. Everyone else’s seemed to lift, admiring their classmate who famously saved the world several times. It was safe to say that the fame had gone to his head. You nervously played with the ends of your skirt as you waited for the commotion in the room to die down and for the class to start. 

That didn’t happen because an unfamiliar person slid onto the stool beside you and you lifted your head to see Peter. He gave you a bored look as he looked you over, “What’s up, fish sticks?”

Your eyes shut tightly as you winced at the name. He knew it got under your skin and loved to watch you squirm. He nudged your arm, “Hmm?” 

Everyone remembered that time in fifth grade, on the trip to the aquarium, where you threw up your packed lunch on one of the employees. Your mom had packed you fish sticks and, as you sat through one of their fun presentations, one of the presenters picked you to come up to the stage. You were shy, even back then, and as he asked you something you learned that day, you completely lost your lunch on his shoes. This all led to one of your classmates shouting, “She barfed up her fish sticks!” and laughter ensued. 

Even Peter seemed to think it was still funny, “You’re not my partner, Peter,” You said, not meeting his eyes. 

“Now I am,” Your heart skipped a beat as you heard him, “I can’t work with Ned anymore, he sucks at cooking and I need a good grade in this class.”

You looked back at Peter’s normal seat to see your family and consumer science partner sitting with Ned. You liked her and she always did her fair share of the work. You were sure the opposite would be true for Peter. 

Peter faked a smile at you, “So what are we cooking today? Fish sticks?”

You took a deep breath, your hands tapping nervously at the table, “You could try looking at the board,” You felt him scoot his stool closer to you, his body leaning over the counter. 

“I think I’ll just look at you instead,” Your breathing hitched in your throat as he leaned into your ear. Just as he did, your teacher entered the room. You thought she was a good teacher, she graded easily, and Peter must’ve been a complete idiot to not be doing well. Clearly, this wasn’t his subject of expertise. 

The room was set so each station had its own oven, stove, and appliances. This unit was all about cooking and today you were making dessert. Your teacher gave you a list of instructions before adding that you should all make sure you’re following safety protocols. 

You stood up from your stool, mostly just to get some space from Peter and walked over to grab an apron. 

The assignment went much worse than you expected. Peter refused to even lift a spoon or even wear an apron. He sat by as you did all the work, only offering to lick the spoon clean when you were finished with it. The times he got off his butt were to walk over to Ned’s table to chat with him. 

“You’re good at this,” Peter said, as you poured the batter into a cake tin. You were a little out of breath from running around to grab supplies, “You should come over and make me a sandwich sometime.”

You bit down on the inside of your cheek, trying to keep yourself from responding. 

As soon as you got your cake into the oven, you took a deep breath, taking a look at the clock to see if you were going to finish on time, “Can you chill? You’re stressing me out.”

You rested your hands against the counter, “I’m …” Your voice raised only for a moment before you lowered it, “I’m stressing you out?”

Peter noticed your frustration and smirked, “Awe, I’m joking fish sticks. You’re doing great,” He winked. 

Maybe you could talk to the teacher, tell her that you and Peter were not a good fit together. She’d ask you why you didn’t want to be partners and then you would have to tell her … and facing Peter after that would be a nightmare. You shook your head at the thought and convinced yourself you could go the rest of the semester doing the work all by yourself. 

+

You were going to get into a good school, especially with the number of clubs you were a part of and the one that you created yourself. A book club because you loved reading and school was lacking one. There were four members in total including you and your friend Jess. If you wanted your club to seem serious on college applications then you needed more members. 

Jess had the idea of hanging up banners and flyers during the free period and, of course, you were all in. 

You went around the school with a ladder the janitor lent you and hung up your homemade posters. You were hanging a large banner towards the front of the school when the bell suddenly rang, ending the free period. 

“Just a few more inches to the left,” Jess instructed you and you slowly moved the poster to the position she wanted before Jess reached up to hand you the tape. 

There was something about you that Peter couldn’t quite wrap his head around. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t attracted to you. It was something about the snooty, preppy way you dressed that he a distaste for but turned him on to you at the same time. You were so intelligent but corruptible still. It was quite frustrating knowing you’d only see him as a nuisance. 

He watched the back of your legs, your skirt slightly rose as you taped up your poster. He thought about those baby pink panties you were probably wearing. 

You were admiring your work when suddenly the ladder shook and, for a moment you thought you might fall back until you barely caught yourself. A sharp shriek left your lips and the hall went silent until everyone was staring at you and then chuckling. You felt your cheeks warm as you quickly stepped down the ladder. 

You looked around the culprit and found Peter walking backward in the other direction. He smiled, “See you at book club, fish sticks!”

Your hands formed a fist at your side as you gave Jess an incredulous look. 

“Sorry,” She apologized, but you were already marching away. 

+

Two weeks later, you were in a crowded subway car heading to school. Some soft pop song was playing in your headphones and you were swaying your head slightly to the music. Your eyes traveled around as you people watched.

You had done this route every day but you found yourself getting nervous now when you thought about school. Peter had seemed to take a special liking to you and wouldn’t leave you alone. He made you do all his work in family and consumer sciences and he’d make sure to shout something embarrassing at you when you saw him in the hall. 

A few days ago you were heading to your lunch table with your tray when he walked up to you, “Sit with me today,” He had told you, eyes more serious than you had ever seen them. 

“Why?” You asked.

“Because I said so,” He continued and you raised an eyebrow.

“I don’t think I can take any more fish stick jokes,” Anger settled over his features and it scared you, “No, but thank you.”

Any day before this, you would’ve said yes just because of how much he scared you. He was a superhero and what were you? Nothing. And everyone saw you that way. You were just tired of him torturing you. 

You should’ve trusted your instincts because as you walked around him, you lost your balance, and tripped over his outstretched foot. The cafeteria went quiet and you moaned in pain as you pulled yourself up. Your spaghetti was now staining your bright colored sweater.

Peter leaned down, “Forgive me for trying to be nice to you, Y/N,” He held out his hand for you to take and, you only stared at him, before standing up yourself. Jess rushed over, napkins in hand, but you were already running from the cafeteria, tears stinging your eyes. 

You shook your head as you tried to stop thinking about it. As if you had unconsciously summoned the devil, you felt a hand on your waist. You jumped, of course, and thought some middle-aged man would be standing behind you but it was even worse. 

“Turn back around,” He spoke huskily in your ear and you shook your head. His arm wrapped around you, his hand wrapping around your throat as he pulled you back into him, “Don’t struggle. Wouldn’t want to make a scene, right?”

How long had he been watching you? How long had he been following you?

Your eyes darted around, looking for anyone who had noticed what was happening to you but you saw no one. Everyone so packed together and clearly focused on whatever was going on in their busy lives. Peter’s other arm wrapped around you, under your arm, and settled on your stomach. 

You started to shake your head as his fingers trailed against the top of your skirt but his grip on your throat tightened, “What color panties are you wearing?” He whispered in your ear, “Hmmm?”

It was clearly rhetorical because, with every word you spoke, his grip tightened. You had to keep still in order to breathe. His hand slid between your skin and the waistband of your pastel skirt and he felt between your legs. A small whimper left your lips as his fingers rubbed your sex through your panties. 

His nose pressed into your hair and he took in your scent as he began rubbing circles against the fabric of your underwear. 

Peter had to see for himself if you were really what he wanted and he was tired of hiding his attraction. The confusion and tension in his mind had finally stopped. He was going to have you.

You had rarely even touched your private parts yourself so, the feeling rising in your core, felt completely foreign. A second later, he was dipping his fingers in the fabric of your panties. Your face completely warmed and you couldn't help how your body flinched at the sensation. 

“You’re mine from now on, to do whatever I please,” You ran from the feeling, from the pleasure, for as long as you could but Peter’s fingers worked like magic. Your chest heaved up and down as your breathing became more erratic. You were nearing something and that scared you even more. Peter held you steady and kept you from going anywhere and you were forced to face whatever he had unleashed inside you. 

“There you go, that’s it, Y/N,” It was a giant explosion deep inside you, and Peter moved his hand around your neck to cover your mouth as you orgasm. 

You were shaking as his fingers still played with that sensitive bulb in your panties. When he finally released you, you felt more disgusted at yourself for feeling such pleasure. 

Peter turned you around and you were so dizzy that you couldn’t even push him away as he slammed his lips against yours. Anyone around you would’ve saw it as annoying PDA by a couple of teenagers but, really, a predator had just sunk its teeth into its prey.

+

You sat with Peter at lunch from the day forward. You decided it was better than him humiliating you in front of the entire student body. 

You weren’t sure what exactly you were to him. He seemed to want a personal punching bag as well as the intimacy you could provide. He’d tease you constantly, especially in front of his friends, but he’d want to make you cum right after being the jerk he was. 

He’d invite himself over to your house so you could help him with a school project or rather have you do it for him. Then he would … use his tongue against your private parts and make you lay with him for hours. 

One weekend, while you were walking home from a late-night study session at Jess’s house, a figure landed right in front of you. You hated how he loved to make his entrances by scaring you. Completely clad in his red and blue suit, Peter looked you up and down, “Why are you out walking so late?”

You took a cautious step back, “My apartment is three blocks away.”

“I’m aware and that doesn’t answer my question.”

“Can I at least have the weekends to myself, Peter?”

Peter cocked his head to the side and you wished very much to see whatever devilish look was. As he took a step forward, you took another backward, which caused him to laugh, “I’m offended, Y/N. I’m just a friendly neighborhood spider-man trying to help a poor, lost girl find her way home. There are sickos out this late.”

“Peter-”

Peter suddenly raised his hand and you saw a web shoot out into the distance. Before you could follow where it led, Peter’s arms were around you, and you were flying with him in the air. You squeezed him for dear life, your lungs unleashing every scream within you, as your stomach rose and fell with the swinging motion. 

When you finally landed on your feet, you were standing on the fire escape just outside your bedroom. You lost your balance but Peter was there to catch you again. Peter pulled off his masks and you saw his tired face and messy hair beneath it. 

He smiled at you, “Gonna puke, fish sticks?”

You tried to pull away from him, anger boiling up inside of you, “I-I hate you! I hate you, Peter!”

Tears were streaming down your cheeks and you were punching at his chest. It had no real effect on him and he simply grabbed your hands and held them in place. He pulled your hands down and pulled your forward, kissing you hard. 

You seemed to calm as his soft lips moved against yours. You hated it but it did. Your hands calmed and he let them go. Peter’s brown eyes narrowed into yours when he finally pulled away. He grabbed your face then, “I’m sorry to hear that, Y/N,” He wiped a tear away from your face, “But I don’t think I can let you go just yet.”

He kissed you again and you started to move your lips against his. It was easier that way. You stayed there for a long time, your lips on his, as your tears began to dry. He wasn’t going to leave you be so you thought you might as well enjoy it. The most popular boy in school, in New York, wanted you. Shouldn’t that make you feel good?

Peter moved to open your window, “Peter … my parents.”

“I’ll be quiet,” Peter insisted as he slipped inside. You did the same and you watched as Peter slowly shut it back. 

You moved over to the bed, taking off your backpack, and preparing for what Peter usually wanted to do. You looked up, surprised when you saw he was taking off the suit … all the way. 

“Peter, I’ve never-”

He shushed you, “I haven’t either,” That surprised you to hear. He approached you on the bed, only wearing his boxers, and your eyes raked in his exquisite physique. A lot has changed for him in the last few years, “But I’m sure I can figure it out.”

He kneeled down by your feet and took his time removing your shoes and then your socks. He wanted to take his time admiring you and this made you feel like a piece of art, “Why me?” You asked hesitantly.

“I have this awareness of my surroundings, like something in the back of my mind,” You weren’t expecting an honest answer but Peter’s eyes were completely earnest, “When I’m around you, it goes haywire and when I don’t have it, I’m vulnerable. I hate that.”

“So you do this to me b-because you hate me?”

Peter stood up, leaning forward as he pushed you down towards the bed. You slowly moved back towards your headboard as Peter crawled on top of you, “Not anymore. I like feeling certain things … when my defenses are down.”

His face was hovering above yours now, his fingers trailing over the waistband of your underwear. He started to pull them down and you stared with wide eyes because he didn’t even look away from you.

“Oh,” was all that left your mouth as he spread your legs. Everything about him confused you but it was useless to argue with him. You reached up to touch his shoulder which surprised him, to say the least. You touched the skin there and then the hardness of his chest. 

Peter tossed your underwear to the side, positioning himself between your legs. His eyes darkened as he looked at you and, suddenly, he was pinning your hands above your head. He kissed you as he used his other hand to pull down his boxers, letting his member spring free. He rubbed its tip against your sensitive bulb, trailing it up and down to tease you. 

When he finally entered you, it was slow and patient despite the hungry look in his eyes. He watched as you winced and moaned in pain as he stretched you for the first time. He’d bury himself deep inside of you for the rest of his life if he could. He’d make you tighten around him as he gave you orgasm after orgasm. 

“You make me feel human again, Y/N,” Peter grunted into your ear. After all, he had lived through and what he was meant to go through now, he’d use you to bring him down to earth. You were a toy, a tool, but maybe you could learn to enjoy the closeness. The intimacy.

Human. 

Peter both desired and despised the feeling. 

+

I hope you enjoyed this! Please be sure to like, reblog and let me know what you think! Check out my harryspetrequests tag for more of my requests and my master list for more dark peter fics!

[ca-8]

Teen!Nigel Uno x Teen!Reader Scenario (When You First Meet)

The glowing sunlight shined through the window and bathed the back of a highschool student. (Y/n) sat in the near-back of the classroom with her head resting on her hand, and doodling in her journal with the other. She was hardly paying attention to what her history teacher was saying and felt that she didn't need to, since she already had her notes jotted down. She just let her mind roam free without any care in the world...

"...(Y/n) and Nigel, you will be working together," Ms. Davis said, interrupting the sixteen-year-old's thoughts.

(Y/n) finally, put her attention onto the teacher as soon as her name was called. When she did, her gaze caught a boy secretly staring back at her, but after their eyes met, he quickly faced forward.

Once the teacher was finished with the list of names, she said, "Your history project will be worth half of your grade, so it'll be best to plan on what you're going to do. For the last ten minutes of class, get with your partner, and discuss what you'll be doing."

With that, everyone moved to the people they were assigned to. (Y/n) assumed that the boy looking back at her was her partner, so she grabbed her notebook and moved to the front of the class.

"Yo," she greeted, and the boy shot his dark eyes up to her. (Y/n) sat down next to him and he looked as if he tensed up. "You're Nigel, aren't you?"

The boy cleared his throat and looked at her with new confidence. "Yes. And you're (Y/n)..." he answered in a strong British accent. "...Correct?"

"Nah, I'm actually an undercover spy with a totally different name."

Nigel froze in his spot while his eyes widened. (Y/n) let out a breath as a form of a laugh. "I'm kidding. Yeah, I'm (Y/n). So, uh, what're you thinking about doing for the project?"

He relaxed for a moment, and (Y/n) thought she saw the disappointment in his eyes for a brief second. "Oh, well I was thinking that we could do the Vietnam War, and each of us can have a turn on doing the slides. Do you want to do the voice over or the research?" he asked.

(Y/n) blinked. "Ah, uh, I guess..." she mumbled.

"...You didn't pay attention, did you?" Nigel predicted, and (Y/n) nervously laughed.

"Yeah, hehe..." she said.

To her surprise, Nigel chuckled. "It's alright. Basically all we're doing is a slide presentation with voice over," he explained with a smile.

"Huh. Sounds easy enough," she said.

Nigel's eyes then trailed over from her and to her notebook where all of her little notes and drawings were exposed. (Y/n) looked over to where he was staring at and blushed, and quickly hid it behind her back.

"SO you wanted to do Vietnam?!" She talked fast, raising her voice.

"(Y/n), please keep your voice at an appropriate level!" the teacher scolded before going back to her computer.

A wave of embarrassment washed over her, and (Y/n) blushed and sunk in her chair while Nigel was about to burst out laughing.

"If you didn't want me to see your notebook, then why did you bring it over here?" he asked, his hand under his chin.

"I was just gonna read my notes to you..." (Y/n) grumbled, her voice softer than before.

Nigel was going to open his mouth to say something else, but the bell suddenly rang before he could. (Y/n) stood up and gave Nigel a calm smile with the notebook. "Guess we'll have to try again tomorrow. It was nice meeting you, Nigel," she said.

His eyes softened to the point where they almost seemed sad, and his grin seemed like it was wider.

"It was nice to meet you too, (Y/n)," he said.

"Nigel."

The two turned their heads over to see a boy standing in front of Nigel's desk, his backpack over one shoulder. Despite the fact that his blond hair was covering half of his face, (Y/n) could feel the seriousness that was radiating from him.

Nigel frowned and quietly grabbed his stuff. He gave one last look at (Y/n) before he exited the classroom. The boy with blond hair gave her an emotionless stare, then followed after him, leaving her with a suspicious on her face. 'Um...alright.'

~

"(Y/n), can you take the trash out?" (Y/N)'s mother called from the kitchen.

"Okay!" (Y/n) replied, then took her headphones out from her ears and made her way to the kitchen. Passing her mother, who was doing some sort of paperwork on her desk, (Y/n) took the almost overflowing trash out from the bin, tied it up, and went towards the back door.

"Oh, and the trash bin is in the front yard," her mother mentioned, pointing her pen towards the front door.

(Y/n) nodded and changed her direction. While moving to the front door with the trash bag in her hand, she thought about the boy in her history class.

She has seen before in the hallways in the lunchroom. (Y/n) didn't pay too much attention to him, but she did note how he had this intelligent-sounding attitude in his group of friends, including that blond boy from earlier. Nigel wasn't exactly rude, but instead strict like he never joked around in his life. That was the main vibe (Y/n) had gotten from him. Even when he was around other people, he would act the same.

Yet, whenever (Y/n) saw him glance at him, the seriousness in his eyes would vanish in an instant. If that wasn't weird enough, every time she saw his eyes, a faint feeling of nostalgia took over her.

(Y/n) opened the front door and closed it behind her, feeling the cool autumn breeze. The streetlights illuminated the dark street of her neighborhood along with the bright full moon. The calming night soothed (Y/n)'s suspension of her classmate, but not completely.

As she walked to the large trash bins that were on the corner edge of the driveway, Nigel's attitude was still stuck with her. (Y/n) expected him to tell her everything he wanted her to do as soon as she sat next to him. Yet he was so calm...

'Maybe I'm overreacting,' (Y/n) thought, opening the trash lid. 'I mean, why should I dig so deep into this? I hardly know him. And he probably just wanted to be nice, or something-'

"MMF!" (Y/n)'s voice of surprise was muffled when something was suddenly put over her mouth. Her vision faded, and her grip on the trash bag was loose as her body quickly went limp. Before drowning in complete darkness, all (Y/n) saw was a wicked smile.

Her vision was blurry, but (Y/n) could still see a figure not too far away from her. It was a tall person who had something white over their body. The room they were in had some tables and some sort of equipment she couldn't see.

The figure was saying something she couldn't hear. It walked to the right and grabbed something off of the table, which looked more like a colorful handheld weapon once her vision started settling in. (Y/n) then felt a helmet snap onto her head. She shook her head, and her heart stopped when she realized a man in a lab coat was pointing a gun-like device right at her.

"...And everyone on Earth will bow down to their new master!" the man said, and he put his finger on the trigger.

BOOM!

The door blew open and flew right past (Y/n). While the scientist was turned around, (Y/n) used the opportunity to try to stand up, but her entire body was sore and the helmet was like a boulder on her head. Two people ran into the room and shoved the scientist aside, then quickly went to (Y/n). Her head was still spinning, so she could only see the people's goggles and magenta hat.

"Are you alright? Can you walk?" the person with goggles and a familiar voice asked. (Y/n) groaned in response.

"Come on, we don't have much time," a deeper voice pointed out. (Y/n) felt her arm being swung over someone's shoulders, and with the people he felt like she met before, she exited the room.

The next room they went in was dark. (Y/n)'s head was pounding, so she closed her eyes and let her head hang down. "Is she okay?" another voice worriedly asked.

(Y/n)'s eyes opened slightly. "Nigel?" she asked, feeling her body trembling. A blurry that looked exactly like him appeared in her vision.

"I'm gonna take you home, (Y/n)," he said, almost in a whisper. He turned his head and barked orders to whoever else was in the room.

She didn't know what happened next, but (Y/n) felt herself being picked up in bridal style and hearing deafening noises of things crashing and exploding. One moment, her body felt as if it was thrusting in all sorts of directions, and in the next, it felt as light as a feather.

(Y/n) looked up and saw the person with the goggles. Her body was bouncing, so she thought the person carrying her was running. The cool breeze hit her skin again, and when she thought she was safan explosion flying out of the person's arms. Her head was hit against something hard, and she was sent back to sleep.

(Y/n) eyes fluttered open. Her vision was a little more clear and she could see Nigel standing above her. Something soft was below her, and the room they were in was hers.

Her eyelids slowly drooped, feeling an abrupt wave of sleepiness. Her bed moved slightly, creaking, and something soft was pushed up against her forehead for a second. (Y/n) opened her eyes once more, seeing that she was the only one in the room.

[charlietheepicwriter7]

Hey, Little Songbird

Chapter 11 - AO3

D-Day.

M. Devereux, the history professor, was handing back their projects, finally graded. Felix, of course, knew that his and Marinette’s deserved nothing less than a perfect score.

What grades other people got… well, that was their own business. If they decided to share that information with the class, then he’d take pleasure in it.

He and Marinette received their own before certain other people. He flipped open the professional black binder to reveal their perfect score on the cover page. Marinette’s smile was blinding and Felix found it hard to breath for a second as a soft smile that only existed around his mother began to form on his lips.

“What!?” A screech flung from the front of the class. His smile morphed into a smirk as Rossi stared at M. Devereux with horrified eyes. “How did we get a failure!?”  

“If you have any questions about your results, I will address them after class, Mlle. Rossi.”

“B-But we used Lila’s notes!” Cesaire replied unable to stop a glance at those in the back. In her hands, clear for everyone to see, was the rose-imbedded binder Felix had ‘lost’ the week previous. “It should have been perfect!”

“After class.”

Rossi shot a glare at them—pathetic, she thought she still had a chance—and burst into a symphony of fake tears. “I-I knew I shouldn’t have let Marinette look at our project! She probably swapped the contents of our binder when I wasn’t looking!”

The class turned back to look at them, but M. Devereux would have no accusations of plagiarism in his class. “While it is possible someone could have switched your assignment, it is because both you and Mlle. Cesaire’s names were only on the title page of your assignment. M. Graham de Vanily and Mlle. Dupain-Cheng’s names were on each page in the header, as the formatting instructions required.” His eyes narrowed. “Please refrain from shouting in my classroom.”

“T-Then!” Rossi’s voice cracked unpleasantly, “They must have re-typed the assignment!”

Felix rolled his eyes. “That’s too much work.”

Marinette nodded, then frowned. “Hey… isn’t that the binder you lost last week?” She asked, her voice the perfect picture of innocence, drawing the class’s attention to the rather memorable piece of leather. “The one you reported to lost and found but never heard back from?”

“Yes, I think it is. Why do you both have it?”

Rossi snatched the binder from Cesaire’s arms, clutching it to her chest. “No it’s not! It must be a different one!”

One of the other classmates spoke up—a blond one, the Princess Fragrance girl. “But it has the same rose on it!” By holding it against her chest, Rossi revealed the memorable rose backing to the world. “I remember it because I thought it was so pretty!”

“Y-Yeah, that’s why I bought one just like it!” Rossi’s smile was flawless.

Felix cocked an eyebrow. “You bought a hundred-euro binder that looks exactly like the one that went missing?” Some strain. He shrugged. “Sure, I’ll buy it… if you can provide the receipt.”

“Huh?”

“The receipt, Rossi.” Felix dug around in his back for his receipt pouch and pulled out the one for the binder; it was ready at the front just for this purpose. “I have my own, for my binder. Provide yours, and I won’t report you for stealing.”

“I bought it online,” came the swift lie.

“Then show proof of purchase on your phone,” Marinette quickly rebutted.

“Not that she can,” Felix added. “Since this store doesn’t sell it’s more expensive items online, only in person.” He grinned, watching as the rusty gears in Rossi’s head began to smoke from the pressure. “So how’d you manage to do that?”

“It’s not from the same store, obviously.”

“So another store just so happened to be carrying the exact same handmade binder?” he snorted. “Just tell us the truth, Rossi; some of us want to go to lunch.”

“I… I…” Her eyes were darting around the room, meeting friendly and unfriendly gazes alike when she suddenly burst into tears. “I’m sorry!” she wailed. “I found the binder in lost and found! It, it was so pretty, and I didn’t know it was yours, Felix! Please forgive me!”

The few hostile classmates seemed to be on the brink of doing so, but before Felix could interject, Marinette said, “So you stole it from lost and found? How is that much better?”

“That’s not the same, Marinette,” Adrien said, narrowing his eyes at her. So he would defend the liar and not his own cousin’s stolen property? How shameful… and utterly expected. “It was just lost and found. If it was important to Felix, he wouldn’t have lost it, would he?”

“I’ve found Markov in lost and found; are you saying that he’s not important?” The Gamer boy’s jaw dropped, before he leveled a glare at Adrien. “And Alix’s skates, and Nathaniel’s sketchbook, and Rose’s perfumes. Are you saying those aren’t important?”

“No!”

“Then why isn’t it important when it’s your cousin’s things?”

“That’s enough!” M. Devereux spoke above her voice. “Students, you are dismissed for lunch. Mlle. Cesaire, Mlle. Rossi, stay. We have something to speak about.” The students hesitated, unsure. “I want this classroom empty now.”

Felix and Marinette escaped in the max exodus, Felix gloating inwardly at the scowl Rossi shot him. It felt good to irritate her. They separated from the class to head towards the bakery.

As soon as they were out of sight, Mariette let out a little giggle. “They didn’t even check it!”

“Shows their average intelligence then, though I wasn’t really expecting them too. I did insinuate that the project was complete, after all. And who proofreads the assignment they stole?” It was a bit tedious, go through their own assignment and altering the dates and names so that only half the timeline was correct, but he considered it well worth the effort.

“So that’s what you two did.” They stopped and turned. Adrien had been following them, a stern scowl on his face. Felix felt Marinette falter at his side. “You deliberately made them fail.”

“Well, I wouldn’t say deliberately.” Felix quickly shielded her with his body. “It was more of a happy accident that they didn’t check. My real plan was to use the binder from the start.” No one buys a binder like that unless they wanted it to be remembered, after all.

“But you still let them turn in a false assignment.”

“That they stole. They didn’t have to steal it. They didn’t have to turn in work that wasn’t theirs. They chose this outcome.” Felix tapped his chin. “Or rather, Rossi chose this.”

“They couldn’t choose anything, they didn’t know anything! Lila was probably just… worried about her grade. If anything, you two should have helped her!”

“If she needed help, she should have met with the teacher. Not steal another person’s assignment. If you must, think of it as a prank. Or karma.”

“It’s not karma when you make other people suffer for her actions!” Adrien snapped. “Now Lila’s probably going to get akumatized again!”

“And how is that our problem? We’re kids, we don’t have to deal with akumas.”

Adrien’s argument seemed to stumble, his eyes growing wide. “C-Chat Noir will have to! I’m just trying to keep down the amount of work the heroes face! Although—” Adrien’s eyes gained a rather cruel glint to them— “You wouldn’t know much about that, would you. In fact, if I remember right, you make their jobs harder.”

Felix failed to hide a wince at the thought of the triple akuma he caused. But before he could return fire, Marinette spoke up from behind him, though her voice was too low to hear.

Adrien frowned. “What was that?”

“I said—” Marinette brushed past Felix, her eyes shining wetly with rage. “That’s a LOW BLOW, Adrien Agreste!!” -----------------------------------------------------------------------------

A/N: Before you leave, I have made a spotify playlist for this fic. You can find it here. Feel free to leave suggestions for the playlist, as it is mostly musical songs at this point (I even surpassed my hatred of Dear Evan Hanson to put a few of those songs on it, so I need suggestions, please). Thank you!

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