#you can probably pinpoint the spot where i started running out of time

[bookshelf-in-progress]

Marks of Loyalty: A Retelling of Maid Maleen

For the Four Loves Fairy Tale Challenge at @inklings-challenge

Seven years, the high king declared.

Seven years’ imprisonment because a lowly handmaiden pledged her love to the crown prince and refused to release him when his father wished him to marry a foreign princess.

Never mind that Maleen’s blood was just as noble as that of the lady she served. Never mind that Jarroth had been only a fourth prince when he and Maleen courted and pledged their love without a word of protest from the crown. Never mind that they loved each other with a fierce devotion that could outlast the world’s end. A handmaid to the sister of the grand duke of Taina could never be an acceptable bride for the crown prince of all Montrane now that Jarroth was his father’s only heir.

“Seven years to break your rebellious spirit,” the king said as he stood in the grand duke’s study. “More than enough time for my son to forget this ridiculous infatuation.”

“This is ridiculous!” Lady Rilla laughed. “Imprison a lady of Taina for falling in love? If you imprison her, you must imprison me on the same charges. I promoted their courtship and witnessed their betrothal. I object to its ending. I am Maleen’s mistress, and you can not punish her actions without punishing me for permitting such impudence.”

Rilla believed that her rank would save her. That the high king would not dare to enrage Taina by imprisoning their grand duke’s sister. She believed her brother would protest, that the high king would relent rather than risk internal war when the Oprien emperor posed such a danger from without. She believed her words would rescue Maleen from her fate.

Rilla had been wrong. The high king ordered Rilla imprisoned with her handmaiden, and the grand duke did not so much as whisper in protest.

Lady Rilla had always treated Maleen as an equal, calling her a friend rather than a servant, but Maleen had never dreamed that friendship could prompt such a display of loyalty. She begged Rilla to repent of her words to the king rather than suffer punishment for Maleen’s crimes.

Rilla only laughed. “How could I survive without my handmaid? If I am to retain your services, I must go where you go.”

On the final morning of their freedom, they stood before the tower that was to serve as their prison and home, a building as as dark, solid, and impenetrable as the towering mountains that surrounded it. In the purple sunrise that was to be the last they would see for seven years, Maleen tearfully begged her mistress to save herself. Maleen was small, dark, quiet, hardy—she could endure seven years in a dark and lonely tower. Lively, laughing Rilla, with her red hair and bright eyes, was made for sunshine, not shadows. She loved company and revels and the finer things of life—seven years of imprisonment would crush her vibrant spirit, and Maleen could not bear to be the cause of it.

“Could you abandon Jarroth?” Rilla asked.

In the customs of the Taina people, tattoos around the neck symbolized one’s history and family bonds, marked near the veins that coursed with one’s lifeblood. Maleen had marked her betrothal to Jarroth by adding the pink blossoms of the mountain campion to the traditional black spots and swirls. Color indicated a chosen life-bond, and the flowers symbolized the mountain landscape where they had fallen in love and pledged their lives to each other.

“Jarroth has become part of my self,” Maleen said. “I could as soon abandon him as cut out my own heart.”

With uncharacteristic solemnity, Rilla said, “Neither could I abandon you.” She rolled up her sleeves far to reveal the tattoos that marked friendship, traditionally marked on the wrist—veins just as vital, and capable of reaching out to the world. The ring of blue and black circles matched the one on Maleen’s wrist, symbolizing a bond, not between mistress and servant, but between lifelong friends. “I do not leave my friends to suffer alone.”

When the king’s soldiers came, Maleen and Rilla entered the tower without fear.

*

Seven years, they stayed in the tower.

There was darkness and despair, but also laughter and joy.

Maleen was glad to have a friend.

*

The seven years were over, and still no one came. Their tower was isolated, but the high king could not have forgotten about them.

The food was running low.

It was Rilla’s idea to break through weak spots in the mortar, but Maleen had the patience to sit, day after day, chipping at it with their dull flatware until at last they saw their first ray of sun.

They bathed in the light, smiling as they’d not smiled in years, awash in peace and joy and hope. Then they worked with a will, attacking every brick and mortared edge until at last they made a hole just large enough to crawl through.

Maleen gazed upon the world and felt like a babe newborn. She and Rilla helped each other to name what they saw—sky, mountain, grass, clouds, tree. There was wind and sun, birds and bugs and flowers and life, life, life—unthinkable riches after seven years of darkness. They rolled in the grass like children, laughing and crying and thanking God for their release.

Then they saw the smoke. Across a dozen mountains, fields and forests had been burnt to ashes. Whole villages had disappeared. Far off to the south, where they should have been able to make out the flags and towers of the grand duke’s palace, there was nothing.

“What happened?” Maleen whispered.

“War,” Rilla replied.

Before the tower, Maleen had known the Opriens were a threat. Their emperor was a warmonger, greedy for land, disdainful of those who followed traditions other than Oprien ways. But war had always been a distant fear, something years in the distance, if it ever came at all.

Years had passed. War had come.

What of the world had survived?

*

Left to herself, Maleen might have stayed in the safe darkness of the tower, but Maleen was not alone. She had Rilla, who hungered for knowledge and conversation and food that was not their hard travel bread. She had Jarroth, somewhere out there—was he even alive?

Had he fallen in battle against the Oprien forces? Perished as their prisoner? Burned to death in one of their awful blazes? Had he wed another?

Rilla—who had developed a practical strain during their time in the tower—oversaw the selection of their supplies. They needed dresses—warm and cool. They needed cloaks and stockings and underclothes. They needed all the food they could salvage from their storeroom, and all the edible greens Maleen could find on the mountain. They needed kindling, flint, candles, blankets, bedrolls.

On their last night before leaving the tower, Maleen and Rilla slept in their usual beds, but could not sleep. The tower had seemed a place of torment seven years ago. Who would have thought it would become the safest place in the world?

“What do you think we’ll find out there?” Maleen asked Rilla.

“I don’t know,” Rilla said. “Whatever it is, we’ll face it together.”

*

It was worse than Maleen could have imagined.

Not only was Taina devastated by war and living under Oprien rule.

Taina was being wiped out.

The Taina were an independent people, proud of their traditions, which they had clung to fiercely as they were conquered and annexed into other kingdoms a dozen times across the centuries. Relations between the Taina and the high king of Montane had been strained, but friendly. Some might rebel, but most were content to live under the high king so long as he tolerated their culture.

The Oprien emperor did not believe in tolerance.

Taina knew that under Oprien rule, Taina life would die, so they had fought fiercely, cruelly, mercilessly, against the invasion, until at last they were conquered. The emperor, enraged by their resistance, ordered that the Taina be wiped from the face of the earth. Any Taina found living were to be killed like dogs.

Maleen and Rilla quickly learned that the tattoos on their necks and arms—the proud symbols of their heritage—now marked them for death. They wore long sleeves and high collars and thick cloaks. They avoided speaking lest their voices give them away. They dared not even think in the Taina tongue.

One night as they camped in a ruined church, Maleen trusted in their isolation enough to ask, “If I had given up Jarroth—let him marry his foreign princess—do you think Taina would have been saved?”

Rilla, ever wise about politics, only laughed. “If only it had been so easy. I would have told you to give him up myself. No, Oprien wanted war, and no alliance could have stopped them. No alliance did. For all we know, Jarroth did marry a foreign princess, and this was the result.”

Maleen got no sleep that night.

*

Jarroth had not married.

Jarroth was the king of Montane.

*

The wind had the first chill of autumn when Maleen and Rilla entered Montane City—a city of soaring gray spires and beautiful bridges, with precious stones in its pavements and mountain views that rivaled any in Taina.

Though its territories had been conquered, Montane itself had retained its independence—on precarious terms. Montane was surrounded by Oprien land, and even its mountains could not protect it if the emperor’s anger was sufficiently roused. Maleen and Rilla could not be sure of safety even here—the emperor had thousands of eyes upon his unconquered prize—but they could not survive a winter in the countryside, and Montane City was safer than any other.

“We must find work,” Maleen said, “if anyone will have us.” She now trusted in their disguises to keep their markings covered and their voices free of any taint of Taina.

“The king is looking for workers,” Rilla said with a smile.

Even now, Rilla championed their romance, but Maleen had grown wiser in seven years. Jarroth’s father was no longer alive to object, but a king—especially one surrounded by enemies—had even less freedom to marry than a crown prince did. Any hopes Maleen had were distant, wild hopes, less real than their pressing needs for food and shelter and new shoes.

But those wild hopes brought her and Rilla at last to the king’s gate, and then to his housekeeper, who was willing to hire even these ragged strangers to work in the king’s kitchen. The kitchen was so crowded with workers that Maleen and Rilla found they barely had room to breathe.

“It’s not usually like this,” a fellow scullery maid told them. “Most of these new hands will be gone after the wedding.”

Maleen felt a foreboding that she hadn’t felt since the moment the high king had pronounced her fate. Only this time, the words the scullery maid spoke crushed her last, wild hope.

In two weeks’ time, Jarroth would marry another.

*

As Maleen gathered herbs in the kitchen garden—the cook had noticed her knowledge of plants—she caught sight of Jarroth, walking briskly from the castle to a waiting carriage. He had aged more than seven years—his dark hair, thick as ever, had premature patches of gray. His shoulders were broader, and his jaw had a thick white scar. There was majesty in his bearing, but sorrow in his face that was only matched by the sorrow in Maleen’s heart—time had been unkind to both of them.

She longed to race to him and throw her arms around him, reassure him that she yet lived and loved him. A glimpse of one of her markings peeking out from beneath a sleeve reminded Maleen of the truth—she was a woman the king’s enemy wanted dead. She could not ask him to endanger all Montane by acknowledging her love.

Sensible as such thoughts were, Maleen might still have run to him, had Jarroth not reached the carriage first. When he opened the door, Maleen saw the arms of a foreign crown—the fish and crossed swords of Eshor. The woman who emerged was swathed in purple veils, customary in that nation for soon-to-be brides.

Jarroth bowed to his betrothed, then disappeared back into the palace with his soon-to-be wife on his arm.

Maleen sank into a patch of parsley and wept.

*

Rilla was helping Maleen to water the herb gardens when the purple-veiled princess of Eshor wandered into view.

“Is that the vixen?” Rilla asked.

Maleen shushed and scolded her.

“Don’t shush me,” Rilla said. “Now that I’m a servant, I’m allowed the joy of despising my betters.”

“You don’t need to despise her.” She was a princess doing her duty, as Jarroth was doing his. Jarroth thought Maleen dead with the rest of her nation.

“I will despise who I like,” Rilla said. “If I correctly recall, the king of Eshor has only one daughter, and she’s a sharp-tongued, spiteful thing.” She tore up a handful of weeds. “May she plague his unfaithful heart.”

Since Maleen could not bear to hear Jarroth disparaged, she did not argue, and she and Rilla fell into silence.

The princess remained in the background, watching.

When their heads were bent together over a patch of thyme, Rilla murmured, “Will she never leave?”

“She often comes to the gardens,” Maleen said. “She has a right to go where she pleases.”

“But not to stare as if we each have two heads.”

Out of habit, they glanced at each others’ collars, cuffs, and skirts. No sign of their markings showed.

“We have nothing to fear from her,” Maleen said. “In two days, the worst will be over.”

*

A maid came to the kitchen with a message from the princess, asking that the “pretty dark-haired maid in the herb garden” bring her breakfast tray. Cook grumbled, but could not object.

Maleen tried not to stare as she laid out the tray. The princess sprawled across the bed, her feet up on pillows, her face unveiled. Her height and build were similar to Maleen’s, but her hair was a sandy brown, and her face had been pockmarked by plague. Even then, her eyes—a striking blue, deep as a mountain lake—might have been pretty had there not been a cunning cruelty to the way they glared at her.

“You are uncommonly handsome for a kitchen maid,” the princess said. “You have not always been a servant, I think.”

Maleen tried not to quake. There was something terrifying in her all-knowing tone. “I do not wish to contradict your highness,” Maleen said, “but you are mistaken. I have been in service since my twelfth year.”

“Then you have been a servant of a higher class. Your hands are nearly as soft as mine, and you carry yourself like a princess.”

“Your highness is kind.” Maleen nodded her head in a quick, subservient bow, then scurried toward the door.

“I did not dismiss you!” the princess snapped.

Maleen stood at attention, her eyes upon her demurely clasped hands. “Forgive me, your highness. What else do you require?”

“I require assistance that no one else can give—a service that would be invaluable to our two kingdoms. I sprained my ankle on the stairs this morning and will be unable to walk. Since I cannot bear the thought of delaying the wedding that will bind our two nations in this hour of need, I need a woman to take my place.”

A voice that sounded much like Rilla’s whispered suspicions through Maleen’s mind. The princess was proud and her illness was recent. She would not like to show her ravaged face to foreign crowds, and by Montane tradition, she could not go veiled to and from the church.

Knowing—or suspecting—the truth behind the request didn’t ease any of Maleen’s terror. “No!” she gasped. “No, no, no! I could never…!”

“You will!” the princess snapped, sounding as imperious and immovable as the high king on that long ago day. “You are the right build—you will fit my gowns. You have a face that will not shame Eshor. You are quiet and demure—you will be discreet.”

“I will not do it! It is not right!” To marry the man she loved in the name of another woman, to show her face to the man who thought her long dead, to endanger his kingdom and her life by showing him a Taina had survived and entered his domain, it was—all of it—impossible.

“It is perfectly legal. Marriage by proxy is a long-standing tradition. I will reward you handsomely for your trouble.”

As she had defied the high king, so Maleen defied this princess. With her proudest bearing, Maleen looked the princess in the eye. “I will not do it. You have no right to command me. You will find another.”

“If I do,” the princess said, “there is an agent of the Oprien empire in the marketplace who will be glad to know the king of Montane harbors a fugitive from Taina.”

Maleen’s blood ran cold.

The princess smirked—a cat with a mouse in its claws. “If you serve me in this, no one ever need know of your heritage. I will even spare your red-haired friend. Do we have a bargain?”

Maleen bowed her head and rasped, “I am your servant, your highness.”

*

That night in their shared quarters, Rilla kept Maleen from bolting.

“We must flee!” Maleen said. “She knows the truth! If we are gone before dawn—“

“She will alert the emperor’s agent and give our descriptions,” Rilla said. “Nowhere will be safe.”

“If Jarroth sees me!”

“Either he will recognize you, and you’ll have your long-awaited reunion, or he won’t, and you’ll be well rid of him.”

“He could hand me over to the emperor himself. He is king and has a duty—“

If you think him capable of that, you’re a fool for ever loving him.”

Maleen sank onto her cot, breathing heavily. Tears sprang from her eyes. “I can’t do it. I’m too afraid.”

“You’ve lived in fear for seven years. I should think you well-practiced in it by now.”

“Will you be quiet, Rilla?” Maleen snapped.

Rilla grinned.

But she sank down on the cot next to Maleen and took Maleen’s hands in hers. With surprising sincerity, she said, “We can’t control what will happen. That’s when we trust. Trust me. Trust heaven. Trust yourself. Trust Jarroth. All will be well, and if it’s not, we’ll face it as we’ve faced our other troubles. You survived seven years in a tower. You can face a single day.”

What choice did she have? What choice had she ever had? She loved Jarroth and would be there on his wedding day, dressed as his bride. What came next was up to him.

Maleen embraced Rilla. “What would I do without you?”

“Nothing very sensible, I’m sure.”

*

The bride’s gown was all white, silk and lace, with a high collar, full sleeves, and skirts that hid even her shoes. Eshoran fashions were well-suited for a Taina bride.

When she met Jarroth on the road to the church, he gasped at the sight of her. “My…”

“Yes?” Maleen asked, heart racing.

He shook his head. “Impossible.” Meeting her eyes, he said, “You remind me of a girl I once knew. Long dead, now.”

The resemblance was not great. Seven years had changed Maleen. She was thinner, paler, ravaged by near-starvation and hard living. She had matured so much she sometimes wondered if her soul was the same as the girl’s he’d known. Yet the way her heart raced at the sight of him suggested some deep part of her hadn’t changed at all.

Jarroth took her hand and they began the long walk to the church, flanked on both sides by crowds of his subjects. So many eyes. Maleen longed to hide.

She glanced at her sleeve, which moved every time Jarroth’s hand swung with hers. “Don’t show my markings,” she murmured desperately.

Jarroth glanced over in surprise. “Pardon?”

Maleen looked away. “Nothing.”

At the bridge before the cathedral—the city’s grandest, flanked by statues of mythical heroes—the winds over the river swirled Maleen’s skirts as she stepped onto the arched walkway.

“Please, oh please,” she prayed in a whisper, “don’t let the markings on my ankles show.”

At the door to the church, she and Jarroth ducked their heads beneath a bower of flowers. She felt the fabric of her collar move, and placed a hand desperately to her throat. “Please,” she prayed, “don’t let the flowers show.”

“Did you say something?” Jarroth asked.

Maleen rushed into the church.

She sat beside him through the wedding service—the day she’d dreamed of since she’d met him nearly ten years ago—crying, not for joy, but in terror and dismay. He had seen her face and did not know her. He believed her long dead. She was so changed he did not suspect the truth, and she didn’t dare to tell him. Now she wed him as a stranger, in another woman’s name.

When the priest declared them man and wife, Maleen dissolved into tears. He took her to the waiting carriage and brought her to the palace as his bride. Maleen could not bear it. She claimed fatigue and dashed in the princess’ chambers as quickly as she could.

She threw the gown, the jewels, the petticoats on the floor beside the bed of the smiling princess. “It is done,” she said. “I owe you no more.”

“You have done well,” the princess said. “But don’t go far. I may have need of you tonight.”

*

That evening, Rilla wanted every detail of the wedding—the service, the flowers, the gown, and most of all, Jarroth’s reaction.

“You mean you didn’t tell him?” she scolded. “After he suspected?”

“How could I? In front of those crowds?”

“You’ll just leave him to that woman?”

“He chose that woman, Rilla.”

“But he married you.”

He had. It should have been the happiest moment of her life. But it was the end of all her hopes.

After dark, a maid summoned Maleen to a dressing room in the princess’ suite. The princess—queen now, Maleen realized—sat before a mirror, adjusting her customary purple veils. “You will remain here, in case I have need of you.”

The hatred Maleen felt in that moment rivaled anything Rilla had ever expressed. Not only did this woman force her to marry her beloved in her place—now she had to play witness to their wedding night.

The princess stepped into the dim bedchamber—her ankle as strong as anyone’s—leaving Maleen alone in the dark. It felt like the tower all over again—only without Rilla for support.

What a fool the princess was! She couldn’t wear the veil forever—Jarroth would see her face eventually.

There were murmurs in the outer room—Maleen recognized Jarroth’s deep tones.

A moment later, the princess scurried back into the dressing room. She hissed in Maleen’s ear, “What did you say on the path to the church?”

On the path?

Her stomach sank at the memory. She could say only the truth—but the princess wouldn’t like it. “My sleeve was moving. I prayed my markings wouldn’t show.”

Another moment alone in the dark. Another murmur from without, then another question from the princess. “What did you say at the bridge?”

“I prayed the markings on my ankle wouldn’t show.”

The princess cursed and returned to the bedchamber.

When she came back a moment later, Maleen swore the woman’s eyes sparked angrily in the dark. “What did you say at the church door?”

“I prayed the flowers on my neck wouldn’t show.”

The princess promised a million retributions, then returned to the bedroom.

The next time the door opened, Jarroth loomed in the threshold, a lantern in his hand. His eyes were wild—with anger or terror or wild hope, Maleen couldn’t begin to guess.

He held the lantern before her face. “Show me your wrists.”

Maleen rolled up her sleeves and showed the dots and dashes that marked the friendships of her life.

“Show me your ankles.”

She lifted her skirts to reveal the swirling patterns that marked her coming-of-age.

“Show me,” he said, his eyes blazing with undeniable hope, “the markings around your neck.”

She unbuttoned the collar to show the pink flowers of their betrothal.

The lantern clattered to the floor. Jarroth gathered her in his arms and pressed kisses on her brow. “My Maleen! I thought you dead!”

“I live,” Maleen said, laughing and crying with joy.

“And Rilla?” he asked.

“Downstairs.”

He put his head out the door and called for a maid to bring Rilla to the chambers. Then he called for guards to make sure his furious foreign bride did not leave the room.

Then he and Maleen began to share their stories of seven lost years.

*

The pockmarked princess glared at Jarroth and Maleen in the sunlit bedchamber. “You are sending me back to Eshor?”

“I have already wed a bride,” Jarroth said. “I have no need of another.”

The princess spat, “The emperor will be furious when he knows the king of Montane has wed a Taina bride.”

“Let him hear of it,” Jarroth said. “Let him go to war if he dares it. The people of Taina are always welcome in my realm.”

Jarroth played politics better than Rilla could. A threat had no power over one who did not fear it, and Eshor risked losing valuable trade if Montane fell to war with Oprien. The princess never spoke a word.

*

Maleen wandered the kitchen gardens with Rilla and Jarroth, luxuriating in the fragrance of the herbs and the safety of their love and friendship.

“Is this wise?” Maleen asked. “To put all the people at risk over me?”

“Over all the people of Taina,” Jarroth said. “My father was monstrous to tolerate it.”

“We will have to tread carefully,” Rilla said. “No need to provoke the emperor. No need to reveal his bride's heritage too soon."

"We can be discreet," Jarroth said. "But what shall we do with you, Lady Rilla?”

Rilla bowed her head in the subservient stance she’d learned as a kitchen maid—but there was a sparkle of mirth in her eyes. “If it pleases your majesties, I will remain near the queen, who I am bound by friendship to serve.”

Maleen took her friend’s hand and said, “I would have you nowhere else.”

[tunastime]

do androids dream of electric sheep?

I am nothing if not a vessel for self-indulgent docsuma, especially @shepscapades's dbhc self-indulgent docsuma. sometimes you fall asleep in the lab, and sometimes your friend feels compelled to make sure you're okay <3

(3964 words)

Doc sometimes slips into daydream.

It’s not unlike him. He’d been doing it for some time now, some fix halfway between awake and Sleep Mode. Not quite his mind palace, but still wedged into predictive processes, still trying to work to replay memories. In quiet moments, more often than not, he finds that it’s easier to slip away, to tuck himself into his work, drafting, or building, or walking thoughtful circles and let the mechanical parts of his mind slip away into calculation.

In those same dreams, he tries to calculate the probability of events with what he has, blocking out the movements of who he knows best, who he may be able to pinpoint. He works in quiet as his mind runs in the background, wondering how conversations may go, how actions could be perceived. He maps what might happen if someone got hurt, or if someone needed help, or if someone fell asleep in the lab. Someone. Just anyone. He tells himself it could be anyone, but he would be lying if he didn’t know who.

It was hard, right—it felt wrong if he didn’t. Something he was designed to do, put to waste because it felt silly to imagine waking his lab partner, his friend, making sure he was alright, helping him. Was it wrong to want to be helpful? Was it wrong to want anything? It feels—it’s silly. Want was such a human word. He’s not sure he can really want at all. The paper in front of him is getting fuzzy around the edges, though, as he forces himself back into his true waking mode, and focuses on the task in front of him, now a line of text in his eyesight.

Doc leans hard on his hand, cupped around the side of his jaw as he studies the plans in front of him. He’s long since set them to memory, easily recalled with the summon of command, but he works out the fine details of the draft in front of him, still unsatisfied with his new creation. He works quietly, mentally mapping the lists of supplies he might need, the time it may take. If he were to concentrate the slightest bit more on the display in the corner of his vision, he might note how late it had gotten. Without any windows down here, the night sky can’t leak in, which means Doc doesn’t know it’s gotten dark until Xisuma starts to yawn or he manages to peek outside. 

He sets his pad down, eyes skimming the surface. Right, and where was X, anyway? The space, ever growing, up, down, sideways, that he used as his lab had gone still and quiet some time ago. Enough for Doc to take note of. Enough to be a little odd, he would assume, even for him, and the behaviors he knows well from Xisuma. Xisuma didn’t just wander off without a word—he was much too narrative for that. Doc sits up, hand falling to the table. 

“X?” he asks, furrowing his eyebrows. The room stays quiet, aside from the hum of recirculating air and electronics. Doc taps his hand against the table—it was some sort of tic he’d picked up from Ren, a sign of his impatience. He couldn’t shake the habit of mimicking it while he was thinking.

Okay, right. Last time he saw X. He gathers up the recall of the path Xisuma would’ve taken from his side, checking over his work at Doc’s request, and around the lab itself, looping back to a series of benches to work on. Leaning from his spot, he tries to pinpoint the peek of green helmet or shoulder piece. He finds neither in the direct line of sight, though, and slowly, bracing his prosthetic arm on the table, Doc stands. 

It’s a gentle quiet that fills the room, nice and easy and soft to step through as Doc makes his way around the space. Despite having another work bench quite close, Xisuma had a habit of leaving his stuff about, flitting between projects as he saw fit. It was interesting, sometimes, to watch him move around the room—not that Doc had done any of that. He seemed to bounce from point to point, sometimes staying still for hours, unmoving, lost in work. It was in those hours that Doc found himself watching, just for a moment, studying the shallow curve of his nose and the way his hair fell into his face from behind his helmet. 

His office is here, too. Though it’s no different than any other working space in terms of equipment, the space itself is fully outfitted, lined with tools and a large work table, his computer, a desk with a chair. Through the glass, he can see the shape of Xisuma at his desk, likely too caught up in whatever he had been working on to notice Doc’s concern. Doc pauses as he slides open the door, standing in the doorway, announcing himself to the cluttered room.

“Xisuma,” Doc starts. “I know it’s late, if you want to head home, I’m sure I can finish…”

Xisuma is slumped over on  his desk as Doc enters. There’s a brief moment, no more than a second, where Doc’s mind spins a scenario hard and fast, the crumpled shape of Xisuma over his desk. But he can see the slow rise and fall of his shoulders. He registers the slow, steady heartbeat in Xisuma’s chest, and his shoulders sag with relief. He stands in the doorway for a moment. Xisuma looks small, head pillowed on his arms. He’s still running a series of code on the console next to him, which illuminates the back of his head in pale lines of data. His hair falls half loose across his shoulder, like he’d forgotten to finish tying it away from his face, and the slow, deep breaths make it seem like he’d been sleeping here a lot longer than Doc realized. He’s without his helmet, too, which sits beside him on the desk, discarded.

Long enough to get a sore neck and complain about his upper back hurting. Long enough to worry that he might not be getting enough oxygen. Doc sets his shoulders. There’s something in his chest that feels like it skips—regulator, pump, or otherwise. They work in tandem to produce whatever fluttery feeling invades the space where his ribs should be. He presses the heel of his synthetic hand against the depression of his chest, rolling his wrist. The feeling fades for a moment, shuddering through his wrists like it might rest there. He was never going to get used to it, was he?

He steps into the lab proper, sticking his hands into his pockets. He picks his way around the room, trying to walk quietly around it. Xisuma stays asleep, shoulders rising and falling in that even tempo. Doc crouches beside him—Xisuma is properly slumped, back curved forward as he rests. What little Doc can see of his face is soft with sleep, eyelids fluttering just so. When X doesn’t move, he rests his palm over the curve of his shoulder, gentle and slow. He tries not to focus on the fact that so much of his face is exposed to him, aside from just his eyes and the bridge of his nose. He’s seen him before, briefly, every so often, but it was so different watching him now, calm and comfortable. Doc forces himself to focus.

“Xisuma,” he says, voice dipping low and quiet. He runs his hand over the part of his shoulderblade he can reach. He pats the high of his back. “Xisuma, hey…”

X takes a long breath in, making a squeaky sort of sound high in his chest. Doc feels him hum out from under his hand.

“Doc,” he says, voice rumbling in his chest. It was a tired sort of rumble, just on the edge of being rough with sleep, just enough to bring that feeling back to Doc’s internal components, like thirium was sludging too quick too warm through him. He huffs a little breath, a sound caught in his throat.

“You fell asleep at your desk, X,” Doc says, not able to weasel the amusement out of his voice. He runs his hand over his back again, just to see Xisuma’s eyes open tiredly, and shut again. It was so unlike the version of him that he knew in his mind, seeing him savor the brief contact, even from Doc. Especially from Doc. Xisuma was always the one reaching out for him, repairing or correcting or studying. All with purpose. There was no lingering touch between them. And though this had its purpose too, Doc lingered, feeling Xisuma breathe under his hand. 

“Sorry,” X mumbles, finally moving to lift his head, to open his eyes. Doc’s hand slides away as X sits up, over his back and back to Doc’s side. Xisuma blinks, rubbing the sleep from his eyes with the heel of his hands. A frown comes between his eyes as he tries to focus the world around him a little clearer. Like it were mimicking the score across his cheek and nose, there’s a fine indent pressed into his cheek. Doc smiles at him, scrunching his nose in a way he’s seen X do a hundred times. 

Xisuma jolts, half reaching for the helmet beside him. If Doc were to really look, he might see the pink-red flush over his cheeks and ears.

“Sorry—I didn’t…”

There he lingers, halfway to reaching. Doc looks away from him, purposefully averting his eyes.

“I don’t mind,” he says. “You have to be comfortable too.”

Xisuma hums, smiling a little, hanging his head as he leaves his hand on the table.

“Hah,” he says, ears still pink. “Right. Sorry, sorry, Doc. Didn’t mean to worry you.”

“It’s okay,” he says. “I didn’t know where you had gone off to, so I figured I would come make sure you were okay.”

X nods. Doc watches him twist around, hearing the faint give and pop as his spine adjusts to sitting upright. 

“‘M alright,” he says. Then he laughs a bit—the sound is airy and half in his chest, enough to shake his shoulders but more of a wheeze than anything else. Everything fit so well to the timbre of Xisuma’s voice, it seemed, be it the way he moved about, or the way he laughed, or the way his shoulder sloped or face was shaped. Not that Doc had been looking. Regardless, Xisuma sighs, and smiles back at him.

“Just embarrassed is all,” he manages. “Thanks, Doc. I appreciate you.”

X leans back in his chair. Doc watches him resettle and hum to himself as he gets comfortable against the plush backing. Doc makes a clipped sound, reaches out and moves away again, halfway between shaking him awake and letting him sleep.

“X,” he says. “Would it not be more comfortable if you were sleeping in your spare room?”

Xisuma frowns. 

“Would be,” he says, eyes still closed, mumbling. “It just gets awfully cold in there. ‘N if I’m perfectly comfortable in here, why not stay tha’way?”

It’s almost amusing, the trickle of stubbornness that leaks into the tired slur of Xisuma’s voice. It’s almost endearing. He watches X fold his arms over his chest, armor only partly discarded, watches his face wrinkle as he notices and tries to rearrange himself. Doc smiles, something that he simply can’t help—it feels so right, considering how ridiculous this is. He considers his options and weighs the success rates, the action taking a fraction of a second in time, though the scene plays out in his head in full.

“Because you’ll hurt your back,” Doc says plainly. X frowns, clearly mulling it over. There—that’s one that Doc knows, that face, where X slips into thought and worries the inside of his cheek and works his jaw. Doc raises his eyebrows, as if to question him without saying anything, without Xisuma even looking at him.

“Mhh,” Xisuma huffs. He pulls his knees up. Somehow, he manages to fit himself into his desk chair, curling his tall body over his knees and leaning sideways into the back. Doc hums, makes the approximation of the sound he knows.

“Xisuma,” he says. “I’m not going to let you sleep in that chair, you know. You are being stubborn.”

“M‘kay, okay…” Xisuma wheezes, finally uncurling himself.

It takes him a second. Watching Xisuma stretch and blink awake is like watching him come to life. He stretches up and around, face pulling as he likely unsuccessfully shakes the tension from the line of his spine. As he twists, he freezes, face scrunching all at once as he winces, hand shooting up to cup his neck.

“Ow. Jeez.”

He can see it tight in his shoulders and neck, even as X deflates, looking up at him blearily, still slightly slumped in his chair. His eyes shut again. 

“Xisuma…” Doc says, mouth twisting.

X sighs.

“‘M fine, Doc,” he manages to murmur out. “Just’a sore neck. Mm’exhausted.”

“Sounds like you need a real bed, mm?” Doc replies, setting his hands on his hips. Xisuma peeks at him, one eye opening, and shutting again.

He sees the fraction of a smile lift the corners of X’s mouth.

“Sure, sure…”

Doc looks over Xisuma’s face. With his eyes shut, face softening, hair tumbling over one shoulder, he looks comfortable. It’s as if someone took a brush to his features and smoothed out any hard edge—either that, or the static has leaked back into Doc’s vision. He feels a chug in his chest and his joints as he locks up.

X hasn’t moved. Doc reaches out, tapping his knee. Xisuma huffs, clearly startled from the half-sleep he’d drifted back into.

“Too tired t’stand,” he manages. Doc makes a questioning noise.

“I think you can make it,”

There’s a beat of silence. Xisuma cracks an eye open again, shuts it, furrowing his eyebrows. Doc watches him curiously, mind running through the list of possible scenarios. He’s made it part way when Xisuma says:

“‘M using you t’stand, then.”

And he makes a little, amused heh, before he says:

“That’s fine.”

There’s something he means to say alongside that, but as soon as X’s very warm, very human hand makes contact with the fabric of his lab coat and the cool synthetic of his arm, he loses focus. He should be used to this—the amount of times X has performed his routine maintenance, sweeping his hands over the replaced shoulder joint to check for seams, or made sure the regulator functioned, or backed up personal data, fingers skimming the shallow port at the back of his neck. He should be, but that contact alone sends a prickling-warm jolt up his arm. It feels foreign to let the touch linger. But Xisuma lingers regardless, hand flat against the space where Doc’s left ribs should be. He’s gone from holding, to simply sitting there, arm bent at the elbow, held weakly up. 

“Mrghh…” he complains. Doc taps his elbow, trying to jolt him back awake.

“C’mon, X, you can get up.”

X shakes his head slowly, his hand finding the inner curve of his prosthetic arm, squeezing just once, like he’s remembering it’s there. Then, X leans into him, all at once, slumping into his chest. Doc lets out a wouf in surprise. He holds still, aside from the simulated breath in his chest. After a moment, Xisuma makes a small, tired sound, almost like a laugh.

“Houfh,” he mumbles. “I, mm, don’t…don’t think ‘m gonna make it, Doc.”

“Mhm…” Doc chides. 

Xisuma laughs again, lying still for a moment, voice still heavy with sleep. There’s a moment where he shifts, and there’s a small, painful noise that he makes.

“Ow, mrrgh—ow, okay—” he gripes. Doc’s synthetic hand finds the curve of his shoulder, patting gently.

“Oh, X—just…stay still, mhm?”

“Mm,” Xisuma says tiredly, “Alright.”

As much as he wants to move him, X is still wearing that damn armor.

Doc lets him lean into his chest as he tries to weasel off the bits of armor left over. It’s a struggle, keeping X comfortable and trying not to pull him around awkwardly, while trying to remove his chestplate with one hand. Once the armor pulls away, he resettles him, slowly scoops one hand under his legs. Something about this, about the way Xisuma leaned heavy into him, felt so painfully human he feels it curl up between the wires connecting his regulator to his side fans.

“Ready?” he says, mostly to the top of Xisuma’s head.

“Mmh…” X murmurs.

He hefts him into his arms, settling him against his chest. When Xisuma sighs, it’s profound and heavy and he tucks his face into Doc’s coat. Doc can feel the remnant of heartbeat from where his arm rests behind his back, thudding away behind his ribs. His breathing stays even, though shallow. One of Xisuma’s hands clasps over the back of his neck, keeping him still.

It’s a careful walk to Xisuma’s spare room. Doc is careful not to bump anything, measuring the subtle rise and fall of his chest as he walks. He drifts back to sleep, though, through the lab, through Doc shutting the lights off. He’ll have to come back through to power down their various computers, but for now, the dull white-blue glow illuminates the room. He carries him into the halls and through and to his room. It’s smaller than the room in his base by a sizable margin—just enough for the essentials. X stirs as Doc pauses to flip on the lamp, the light warm and yellow briefly illuminating the room. This can’t be a daydream, now, with the way X sighs and wriggles himself free as Doc pulls back the quilts and lets him down. He sits down with him, and the warm shape that Xisuma makes curls toward him, just a fraction, as he pulls the blankets over him. 

Part of Doc knows that Xisuma won’t remember him carrying him to bed, or making sure he was warm, or keeping the light on so he wasn’t disoriented when he woke. Xisuma sighs, sinking into the pillows, expression relaxed and content. Doc hums.

“That’s better, yeah?” Doc says. He reaches out, instinct, want, desire, something, hammering away in his chest, as he brushes hair from X’s face, tucking it behind his ear. He brushes through the hair close to the base of his neck, across his cheek with his synthetic thumb. His dark hair is fine and soft and it must be a daydream—or it isn’t and he was right, because there have been moments like this in his head. Wondering if Xisuma would let himself succumb to soft comforts. He’s spent his own share of time lying next to him, ignoring the way Xisuma curls up next to him, pretending he himself didn’t move closer when Xisuma lies still. It was this dance that Doc didn’t understand, that he wasn’t sure if he was overthinking. Or overstepping. But Xisuma shifts, pressing his cheek to Doc’s synthetic palm, and Doc suppresses a shudder. It sparks something that could’ve been painful right up his arm and through his chest, bright and warm and staticky. 

Doc hums, smiling to himself. Something like a dull thrum knocks in that space of his pump, pushing itself a little further, a little harder. It was sweet. X trusts him, not only to see him without his armor, but to help him to bed, to help him sleep. But Doc lifts his hand away, feeling that ache, the nervous shudder through his system.

X makes a sound, then, something small, eyes fluttering as Doc pulls away. Doc pauses.

“Mhh,” X manages. Doc swallows—he shouldn’t have to. That’s not something he should have to do, or be able to do, but the action just feels appropriate. It goes right along with sighing and laughing, and as he does it, Xisuma says:

“Thanks,” in a small, soft voice, and, muffled, and slightly slurred with sleep: “Didn’t have’ta stop.”

“You’re supposed to be sleeping, Xisuma,” Doc says. He can feel his temperature tick up several notches, no doubt a blue flush coming to the high of his cheeks, the bridge of his nose. He laughs, just a bit. “Did I wake you up?”

X sighs, stretching as he does.

“No,” he manages. “No, y’didn’t…”

“Oh,” Doc says. “Were you awake this whole time?”

Xisuma nods slowly. Ah. Ah. Doc dismisses a temperature notification.

“A little.”

“Mm,” Doc hums. “Silly Xisuma.”

Xisuma laughs. The sound is high and a little fuzzy and a bit caught in his throat. His bright eyes blink up at him and shut again as a smile settles on his face. 

“Doc?” he asks. 

“Mhm?”

Xisuma yawns, smothering it with the back of his hand, just barely. He tucks that hand close to his chest, curling up further still under his thick comforter. 

“Could you…could’you do tha’again? The…” Xisuma lifts his hand, miming a brushing motion as he does. Another temperature warning, higher than the last, blips into Doc’s field of vision. It’s immediately dismissed, but he pulls in a breath, quiet, trying to turn it into a soft laugh.

“I can do that,” Doc says gently. Gingerly, he brushes his fingers through X’s hair, sliding back against his head. He combs through, lifting his hand to go back to his forehead, back to cradle his skull. X’s eyes fall closed again.

Doc can tell the moment that Xisuma truly slips into sleep. He lingers in his space, tracing out the base of his skull with his thumb, taking in the sensation of warmth and contact and stimulation, fingers flickering white up to his wrist. He wishes biting down on his tongue would do anything. He wishes that the hollow of his chest didn’t hold a weight that no diagnostic could fix. He felt too awkward and stilted and not nearly gentle enough. But as Xisuma stays asleep, he draws his hand away. He mumbles his good nights as he stands slowly, shutting out the light and wandering from the room. 

He makes his way back into the lab. He replays the memory of Xisuma’s small smile, the fine line of his scar as he’d pressed his face into the pillow, the way he’d relaxed against Doc’s touch. He replays the memory, again, and again. It has to be a daydream. Has to be. There’s no other logical explanation to all of that.

Maybe that would explain the ache in his chest, far too human to be his own.

Doc goes back to work. He sits down at the lab table, spreading his arms as he braces against the white tabletop. He furrows his eyebrows. Something doesn’t feel right, too warm or out of place. He feels gross. Not gross bad, maybe, gross different? Broken? Not broken, maybe. Weird. Wrong. Out of place. It doesn’t make any sense. Or it has, and he’s refusing the obvious answer. Xisuma didn’t ask for any reason. Xisuma asked because he was tired, and tired people do silly things, and silly people are a handful, and Xisuma is a handful—a lovely one. Doc shuts his eyes. His chest hurts. It’s an awful hurt, actually, less painful than it is just weird. He thinks for a moment he might be better off if he left, maybe the weight of whatever lingered in his memory would be better off if he were to take a break from standing in the same spaces. 

He sends Xisuma a message. From his office, he hears his com ping.

Docm77 whispered to you… Xisuma I’m stepping out, sleep well :-)

[celestie0]

gojo satoru x reader | college au [18+]

kickoff ch. 3 returning the favor

ᰔ pairing. college au - soccer player! gojo x film major! reader

ᰔ summary. gojo satoru is the most popular guy on your college campus. he's tall, funny, hot, not to mention he's the most talented soccer forward the school has seen in years. but he's also a frat dude, which puts him in a world very different from your own, as he spends most of his nights partying & drinking while you spend most of yours working on your annoying film major assignments. but when he reaches out to you for a favor, you realize that helping him out might have something in it for you too.

ᰔ warnings/tags. 18+, fem reader, fluff, angst, smut, college au, fraternities, sororities, partying, drinking/alcohol, mentions of weed, romance, jealousy, pining, slow burn, opposites to lovers, friends to lovers, she falls first he falls harder, gojo being an idiot

ᰔ chapter. 3/x (probably 12)

ᰔ words. 4.5k

a/n. hope you enjoy! i really had fun incorporating a lot of the other characters in this one.

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☾·̩͙꙳ moodboard no.1

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|| 9:21AM Gojo Satoru sent you a photo

|| 9:22AM Gojo Satoru: Here’s our practice schedule for the week. Honestly, it’s better if you come when we do practice games or something, since on other days we just do drills or strength training, but coach doesn’t really tell us what we’re doing beforehand so would probs have to play it by ear

|| 9:27AM Gojo Satoru: Oh yeah, we’ve got a big game in three weeks on the 28th. It’ll decide if we’re automatically seeded into the top 16 teams bracket, which is really crucial if we want to eventually bring home the championship. Not sure when your assignment is due, but that would be a good official game to come to 

|| 9:28AM Gojo Satoru: Let me know as soon as you can if you want to make that game. I’ll have to ask coach to get the referee sign-off for you to be on-field during play at least a week before

You look down at all the messages he was sending you during class on a Monday morning. After he sent you that house party details post from his fraternity’s Instagram page last week, their posts kept popping up in your feed and you saw one this morning with a bunch of the guys in the frat, Gojo included, shotgunning beers until 3AM last night. You marvel at how he’s somehow not hungover beyond repair and is texting you before noon. 

Pressing and holding on to his messages, you give him little thumbs up reactions and you decide on a heart reaction for the picture he sent you of the practice schedule. Then, you set your phone down and look at the video of the men’s soccer team highlights your professor was playing from the game a week and a half ago.

“Here, here, this right here. Midfielder #24 surveyed the field, spotting #13 making a run for it down the flank. Pinpoint pass to left winger, who starts steering through defenders, but loses the ball. Then, center forward #10 steals the ball back! He steals the ball, he fucking steals the fucking ball back!” Your professor was running back and forth in front of the projector screen, his finger following the movement of the soccer ball in the video. Your heart jumps a beat when Gojo shows up on screen, with his signature #10 jersey, and some people in the lecture hall stand up in excitement with the professor. “Beelines towards the goal, and BAM! Goalie stood no fucking chance, ball sent immaculately into the back of the net. Victory for UTokyo, 2-1, in the last seconds of the game!" Your professor cheers and jumps up and down. Some people cheer with him, others sigh, others are in awe, and some simply clap. 

Another entire lecture goes by where the professor spends absolutely no time going over film photography theory and instead just talks about how soccer used to be back in his day. You approach him after class, clutching your laptop case to your chest, and it’s only when you clear your throat in front of him that he finally looks up at you from the podium. 

“Oh, y/n, how can I help you?” He asks as he shoves his phone back in his pocket.

“Hey, professor. Bit of a request, could I have like two extra days for my assignment? There’s this event that I really want to use for the subject matter but it’s the day before the deadline, and I would need some time to develop my photos,” you say in the politest tone you can muster up.

“Yeah, sure. Just get it in before the end of the deadline week,” he says nonchalantly. “Looking forward to seeing it. Good work on the last one, by the way.”

You give him a smile and a word of appreciation before turning on your heel and making it up the stairs to exit the lecture hall, pulling your phone out of your tote bag. 

|| 9:53AM You: i can make it on the 28th. please get that referee permission for me

You press your lips together as you press send, and then type a bit more.

|| 9:54AM You: and thanks a lot

Your stomach is suddenly growling and you’re about to head over to the student hub when your phone starts ringing. You look down at the contact name that says Nobara and pick up.

“Hey, Nobie, what’s up,” you say as you make your way towards the heart of campus, enjoying the light breeze as the sun peeked through the clouds. 

“Where are you? Didn’t we have a Film Club meeting today?” She asks you, her tone a bit impatient. “We were supposed to discuss that collaboration with the school newsletter.”

Shoot. You forgot. These days, you were a bit too distracted by recent happenings, like Mina practically falling head-over-heels for a guy that was quite possibly the opposite of her type, the towering amount of class assignments that never seemed to end, and this whole arrangement you were trying to coordinate with Gojo Satoru. The Film Club meeting totally slipped your mind. You were supposed to head out of class a bit early to make it on time. “I’m so sorry, Nobara. I totally forgot about it. I’m unfortunately all the way on the other end of campus right now. I typed up some notes in the document, can you just run those by them? If we need anything else, I’ll reach out to them by email.” 

She sighs on the other end of the line. “Yeah. I’m not good at these conversations, but I guess as President I should be better at them anyways. I’ll let you know how it goes.” And then she hangs up. 

Mentally happy that you were at least free of one other obligation today, you prepare to make your way to the dining hall when your phone vibrates again.

|| 10:01AM Gojo Satoru: Will do, and sure thing. By the way, you free right now? Coach is having us do a practice game, probably for around 2 hours

You squint your eyes at his message, considering the opportunity. You didn’t have any other classes left for the day and were just going to grab something to eat before heading home, but now you wonder if you should make it to this practice session. He did say that you have to be flexible since he doesn’t even know exactly what they’ll end up doing before practice, so you figured this might be your only chance this week to practice capturing shots of them as they play, since it seemed like they had Tuesday & Friday off based on Gojo’s schedule picture. Unfortunately, you only brought your digital camera with you today since your film camera was too heavy to carry around unless you knew you needed it, but you can still do a lot with digital that would help for the film camera shoot. You could make it work.

|| 10:05AM You: yeah, i’m free. i was just gonna grab something to eat first, and then i’ll head over to the field in maybe 15 min. but i’m not exactly sure how to get onto the field, or where the entrance is…

He adds a heart reaction to your message which startles you a little bit. An accident, maybe?

|| 10:06AM Gojo Satoru: Lol, just meet me at that weird art sculpture they put up last semester. The one that cost like all of our tuition money. I’ll walk you to the field

You let out a sigh, somewhat nervous that you'll be seeing him again soon. The last time you saw Gojo was when you left him standing unceremoniously at the kitchen island with a somewhat offending comment. Nonetheless, he didn’t necessarily seem angry at you. Quite the opposite, actually. He’s been way more helpful than you had ever anticipated. You started to feel like the effort you put into getting Mina to go to that house party was nothing compared to the effort he was putting in for you to ace this assignment. 

Stopping by your school’s mini grocery store, you pick up a sandwich plus some strawberry vanilla soda, and take some bites as well as some sips as you leisurely make your way to the expensive art sculpture near the sports fields. As you get closer to it, you see Gojo from a distance talking to some people. A few of them were guys, a few of them girls, and he was laughing out loud at something one of the girls said. A part of you wonders what it’s like to be adored by so many people. 

When he spots you at the other side of the cross walk, he doesn’t break eye contact with you as he’s hurriedly saying goodbye to the group in front of him. Their heads turn to each other in confusion before turning their attention in your direction as he makes his way over to you.

“Hey,” he says as he lightly jogs up to the sidewalk you were standing on. You notice he’s wearing a black long sleeve undershirt with a short-sleeved blue one on top, along with some athletic black shorts and running shoes. When he brushes some of his hair away from where it had fallen near his eyes, your heart skips a beat at his handsome expression. A smile graces his face. “You ready?”

You nod, swallowing the mouthful of sandwich you didn’t realize you had stopped chewing, and follow his lead as the two of you cut across behind the batting cages of the school’s softball training area. Your eyes fell to Gojo’s back as he walked on the pavement. His shoulders were broad, shoulder blades pulling the upper half of the fabric of his clothing somewhat taut across as the rest of it freely flowed down to his lean lower back. The long sleeved shirt he wore underneath was pretty loose-fitting, but you could still see the thickness of his muscles. With every step that he took, his calves flexed in a way that made you realize he must really work out.

“What are you eating?” He says as he turns around to face you, walking backwards for a few paces as he looks at your hands.

“Oh, just a veggie sandwich,” you answer as you hold it up next to your face. “Campus delicacy.”

His smile widens. “And what are you drinking?” This time he asks with a bit more curiosity.

“It's strawberry vanilla soda,” you say as you juggle all of the things you were holding in your arms. 

“Can I have some?” He asks with a somewhat innocent tone. “The soda, I mean. I’ve never had that flavor.” 

You hesitate, but alas you were a people-pleaser. “Sure.” 

He halts his movements and so you do too, and he closes the gap between you two in one exaggerated stride. His hand gently pulls the soda bottle out from where it was tucked into your elbow to keep it from falling. You notice the veins on his hand get more defined as he squeezes & twists to release the cap and it sends something akin to a wave of arousal through your body, entirely startling you. But when he brings the bottle up to his lips with his head tipping backwards, drinking directly from it, neck bobbing as he swallows and a single drop trickles down the expanse of his jawline, the arousal directly hits you at your core. 

“Hm,” he licks his lips. “That’s pretty good.” 

You’re standing there in shock, your grip on your sandwich causing dents in the bread. He dabs the stray droplet of liquid at his chin with the back of his hand and turns around to keep walking ahead, making his way up the stairs onto what looks like a grassy field. It takes you a second to start moving too, and by then you need to do a light jog just to catch up to him. 

There’s a comfortable silence that develops between the two of you and when you glance at Gojo, you notice his eyes are closed and there’s a serene smile on his face, a gust of wind pushing the hair up out of his forehead and sending the blades of grass dancing across the hilly field. You smile too at the sensation of cool wind on your skin. It was a beautiful day outside with sparkling sunshine and quiet whistling wind.

“Can I ask you something?” You say after contemplating if you should interrupt his somewhat meditative state. 

“You can ask me anything,” he easily replies. 

“Why are you so willing to help me out with my assignment?” 

He turns his head to look at you with a neutral expression. “Because you did me a favor.” 

You sigh. “I know…but it really wasn’t that hard to convince Mina to go to that party. I feel like you’re helping me out way more than I helped you out.” A small ladybug lands on the fabric of your jeans and you marvel at it before it flutters its wings and flies away.

He’s silent for a second. “Honestly, when you agreed to help me out with Todo’s little crush, which by the way I had to do because I lost a bet, and you mentioned something about terms and conditions in your message,” he starts to say, a brief pause making its way between the sentence as if he was actively trying to relive that first night he was texting you, “I thought you were going to ask for something sexual in return.” 

Your mouth drops at his line of thinking, suddenly mortified. That’s how your message came across to him? Oh my God, you had to rethink how you texted everyone in your life from now on.

“I mean, weren’t you being a little flirty? ‘My terms and conditions will come later’. Or do I just have some weird sexual brain rot?” His eyes are still on you, his tone way too casual in your opinion for this sudden topic of conversation. You also realize that he thinks having sex with him would be returning you the favor. And then you try not to think about how good he probably is in bed. 

When you can’t think of what to say and just stare at him with wide eyes, he smiles and stretches his arms out in front of him as another gust of wind passes by. “Well, anyways, when you shared what you actually wanted from me and it ended up being a pretty earnest request…let’s just say I was emotionally moved by your dreams and aspirations.” He says that last part somewhat dramatically and you roll your eyes, sending him an annoyed look. “A little disappointed, but nonetheless moved.” 

“Wow, you’re the type of person that would trade favors for sex?” you ask him with a sneer to your tone. 

He sends a lazy smirk to you over his shoulder to where you’re trailing behind him now. “Not really, no, can’t say I’ve ever done it before,” he says slyly, “probably would’ve made an exception for you, though.” And then he’s giving you a wink.

You can’t help but blush a little. He was definitely just teasing you, some hobby of his that he does just to constantly get a kick out of the people around him since he knows he just has that much of an effect on them, so you try not to let his words get past your skin to the more vulnerable parts of you. He’s reading your expression before he speaks up again.

“We’ve already started this little return favor of yours, so no take-backs. It’s an eye for an eye. Not an eye for an eye and throw some casual sex in there, too.” He makes his way up what seems to be the largest hill across the field and he stops at the top, peering out at whatever was across from it. When you made your way to the top too, your eyes widened as you saw an expanse of flat grassiness covered in orange cones, green land markers, white chalk outlines, and netted goals. Oh, and a lot of men. “Alright, you freaky little photographer. Here are your muses.” 

You let out the breath you were holding in and smiled, hands immediately reaching for your digital camera case within your tote bag. A wave of creativity and inspiration hit you as you were finally able to lay your eyes on your subject matter and setting, and you couldn’t wait to get started. 

Gojo makes his way down the hill and you stumble after him. He high-fives a couple of his teammates that were leaving the first wave of practice and makes his way over where the second-wave practice players were stretching on the field and running laps.

“C’mon, Itadori, I’ve seen snails with a more urgent sense of direction than you! Pick up those goddamn knees!” You hear a loud voice from a few feet away from you and flinch, eyeing the scary looking man that had a…Pomeranian dog in his arms? He was wearing a black athletic jumpsuit and had extremely tinted, thick sunglasses on. His facial hair was a bit jarring and you immediately decided you were scared of him, despite how gently he was petting the little dog cradled in his arms. 

“That’s coach Yaga,” Gojo says beside you with a smile on his face and his hands on his hips. “Real nice guy.”

You turn to give him a suspicious look and he just returns it with a wider smile. 

“Hey! It’s y/n,” you hear a somewhat familiar voice call out and you glance at the direction it came from. You see Geto standing next to Nanami and he whacks his hand against the blonde's chest to get his attention when he makes eye contact with you before jogging over. You see Gojo put his hands in his shorts pockets in your periphery. “What are you doing here?” 

You give him a shy smile, suddenly embarrassed by the attention. “Here to take some photos.”

“Are you with the school newsletter?” Nanami’s smooth voice says as he approaches Geto, standing next to him. They both were wearing matching blue tracksuits. 

“No, I’m not. Just here to…take some photos for one of my classes. It’s for a film photography assignment.” You suddenly wished you were part of the school newsletter committee, so that you could at least provide them with some positive publicity with your photos. You wondered if they would think you’re just using them. As if Gojo could read your mind, he patted Geto harshly on the back and let out a loud, obnoxious laugh.

“Hear that, punks? She wants to try and take some nice photos of you lot. Be grateful! Of course, your grotesque appearances cannot simply be fixed by any technology yet known to man,” Gojo says rather loudly, continuing to smack Geto on the back. Geto has a small pitiful smile on his face and Nanami just looks annoyed. You feel lighter somehow, less tense. 

“Okay, cool, let us know if we can help in any way,” Geto says kindly as he sits down on the grass to continue stretching out his legs. “Oh by the way, Satoru, Chosou’s out sick today so you might need to cover for goalie.” 

“What? Why’s that fucker always getting sick?” Gojo says as he walks towards one of the duffle bags on the bench, and you assume it’s his. He pulls out a water bottle. “He needs to stop eating that goddamn grocery store sushi.” 

“Oh! Oh! It’s you,” another somewhat familiar voice calls out from ahead. You see a guy wearing a dark blue jacket that had a red hood approaching you from the inner field. Then you recognize he was that guy at the entrance of the house party that called you a- “It’s casual tomboy!” 

Your eye twitches slightly as you take in your appearance. Sure, you were wearing jeans again, but your top was somewhat stylish and feminine. He arrives in front of you and notices the digital camera hung at your neck. “Hey, what’s that?” He points directly at your midriff where the camera sat. He almost pokes his finger right through the delicate attachable lens that cost you nearly two months of rent.

“A little rude, Yuuji,” Geto says, grunting as he switches from one stretch to the other. 

Yuuji gets closer to you to study the camera and you instinctively lean away from him before Gojo is grabbing him by the hood of his jacket and yanking him away from you, Yuuji’s arms flailing out in front of himself in a struggle. “Hey, get back to practice. You’re not allowed to talk to pretty seniors.” 

Coach Yaga grunts and crosses his arms from where he stood a few feet away, the tiny pomeranian now barking at his feet. “I never said you could stop running laps, Itadori! Get your ass back out there! I’ll be sending you to recreational soccer for the rest of your freshman year if you don’t get your damn head straight!” Gojo lets go of Itadori’s hood and the poor boy is scrambling across the field to join what seems like the other first-years for their warm-up laps. Coach Yaga turns to you and gives a hmph before vaguely gesturing to you. “May I know what you’re doing out on my field?”

“Coach!” Gojo says, making his way over to the scary man. He slings his arm around his neck and the man just continues to glare at him through his sunglasses. “She’s with me today. Photographer y/n will be taking some handsome photographs of you that you can send to your wife, and then maybe your wife will actually want to-”

Coach Yaga puts Gojo in a headlock and Gojo’s instantly tapping on his back to get him to ease up. “I dare you to finish that sentence, boy.”

You let out a small laugh. This was certainly a lively bunch. Nanami approaches you and expresses interest in your camera. You lift it up for him to take a closer look. He pinches his chin between his bent index finger and thumb, as if he was a detective analyzing a crime scene. “I see…so this is a film camera.” 

“Ah…” you laugh awkwardly. “No, this is just a digital camera.” 

“I see…so this is a digital camera,” he repeats, equally as intrigued. 

The time eventually comes along where all the players start the practice match. There’s obviously not enough players out on the field for full teams on each side, but they’re split into 1st & 4th years vs. 2nd & 3rd years. You learn that the second wave practice group has the talented players at the top of each of their year groups. Gojo doesn’t seem to participate in the practice match despite one team having to omit having a goalie since the coach requested he sit out to watch the plays and make suggestions.  You’re a bit sad you don’t get to see him play, but figured you’ll have a chance in the future. You take a few snapshots as one of the other first-years, a quiet boy named Megumi, kicks the ball towards the goal that ends up bouncing off the goal frame. You spend some time tweaking the exposure, zoom, and focus until you feel like you have a pretty good idea of the settings you’ll need to get some fluid shots. 

When you look up over the field again, raising your digital camera to your face, you notice Gojo looking at you from across the field where he stood at the sidelines. You both keep your gaze on one another for a couple of seconds, and you boldly lift the camera up to your eye, taking a few snapshots of him. When you pull it away, look down at the results on the small screen, and then glance back up at him, his eyes are slightly wide. Something stirs within you when you remember his words from earlier: I thought you were going to ask for something sexual.

Your mind wanders back to the party from last weekend, and the feeling of him leaning down next to your ear in the kitchen as he said “Thanks, I owe you one. Find me later, ‘kay?” The memory itself made your cheeks feel warm. Did he…think that something was going to happen that night at the party? Probably would’ve made an exception for you…Disappointed, but nonetheless moved. Somewhere in the haziness of your thoughts, you realize that meant that Gojo would’ve wanted to sleep with you if that was indeed your condition.

When you look to the other side of the field again, Gojo’s eyes are still on you but his handsome face looks a bit troubled, eyebrows furrowed and lips slightly pursed. You couldn’t really tell what he was thinking, but for some reason you felt like he could tell what you were. When you raised an eyebrow at him, his face relaxed and he slowly shook his head as if to say it's nothing. 

Coach Yaga’s sharp whistle cuts through the silent conversation you two were having as he yells, “alright, boys. Practice over! Go stretch yourselves out.” 

You quickly stuff your digital camera back into its case and collect your things into your tote bag. In your peripheral vision, Gojo’s making his way over to you and when he’s right next to you, you can’t bring yourself to look at him.

“How’d it go? Get some good shots?” he asks, sounding genuinely interested.

“Um, yeah, I think so.” You’re still not looking at him, pretending to fiddle with something in your tote bag. He leans down a bit to look at your face more clearly when he notices you’re not meeting his gaze, but you still struggle to make eye contact with him. “I’ve gotta go, can you tell the guys I said bye?” And then you’re making your way up the hill.

There’s a beat of silence as confusion washes over him from your behavior. “Hey, wait, y/n, do you know how to get back to campus?”

You spin to face him when you're at the top of the hill, finally looking him in the eye. There’s a concerned expression on his face. “Yes, I’ll be fine. Thanks a lot for today. Let me buy you a strawberry vanilla soda sometime, okay?” Flashing him a small smile, you turn around and run down the hill, ignoring the fast beating of your heart.

a/n. thanks a bunch for reading!

➸ take me to chapter four!

[starogeorgina]

Killer queen

Warnings: Incest, swearing, childbirth

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen × Targaryen OC

1.07

Your breathing was slightly staggered as you rubbed at your very swollen stomach. The maesters expected your labor to start any day now as the baby had reached full term. You had exhausted yourself by moving the heavy chair you were currently sitting in to face your large bed. You had spent the last few hours softly singing lullabies in high Valyrian, hoping it would help settle your son, who was softly sobbing down. Usually you would have happily sat underneath the bed with your son to find out what was troubling him, but due to the size of your bump, you could hardly kneel to the floor. Luckily, you had managed to calm him down enough for him to stop crying. Although he wouldn’t come out of his hiding spot, he did accept the drink and slice of lemon cake your lady-in-waiting sat down on a small tray for him.

“Ser Criston,” you look up as the knight enters your chambers. You try to push yourself to stand and greet him properly, but struggle to get your footing. “Gods!”

Immediately, he was by your side, offering you an arm to take while his other hand rested on your back. His eyes move around the room as he tries to pinpoint where the whimpering noise is coming from. “Princess, you sent for me?”

“Yes, I wanted to know if you have any further news on the silver-haired children who were seen in fighting pits,” you say quietly.

Criston nods. “I have, in fact. Two boys who have allegedly been fathered by Prince Aegon have been spotted running in and out of one of the brothels in flea bottom.”

“They children are in a brothel?” you ask, horrified.

“Some of the madams allow orphans to sleep in their brothels if they clean the rooms for them. What do—” His eyes shift to the bed. “Is that the young prince making so much noise?”

The lightness in the older man's voice makes you smile. “Yes, my son is hiding underneath the bed and won’t come out. I’ve tried to coax him out for hours, but he’s refusing.”

Ser Criston lets out a soft chuckle before kneeling down and speaking softly to Tré. He’s patient enough with your son and eventually manages to convince him to come out from under the bed. Your cheeks are puffy and red from crying so much; your poor little boy has been extremely stressed out over something. Tré seems to relax a little when Criston picks him up.

“Oh dear,” you said, smoothing Tré’s silver hair back before kissing his cheek. “What is wrong with my little princeling?”

He sobs, “I saw what Kepa did.”

“What do you mean?”

“He was yelling while flying on Vhagar!”

Criston gives you a look similar to the one your mother would gave you when you did something reckless as a child when you held your arms out to take Tré from him. Hesitantly, he hands Tré over to you. The maesters made it clear you were no longer to hold anything heavy for the remainder of your pregnancy, which is probably why he was being so cautious,but your son needed comforting. “When was this, sweet boy?”

“During the night.”

“I think you’ve had a nightmare; your father was here the whole night.” You kiss Tré on the top of his head before placing him on the bed. “I’ll just be a moment; don’t move.”

You motion for Ser Criston to follow you far enough away from the bed that your son could no longer hear you, but you could still see him. “Thank you; I feel much better now that I can see him.”

“It’s quite alright, princess,” he smiles. “I’m sure the young Prince just has a vivid imagination.”

Tré had been having nightmares for some time now, and you hope he'll grow out of them soon. Once the knight was gone, you’d let your son sleep beside you. After you explained to him that there was nothing to be frightened of, first you’d need to figure out how to help the young boys, who were more than likely Targayren. “Could you?" Your hand moves your lower abdomen when you start to feel cramps. “Discreetly bring the boys to the keep; I'll figure out how to help them then.”

“Princess, are you okay?”

You let out a deep breath, and you take the knight's arm to sit back down. You can't help but smile, seeing the fear etched into his facial features. “Perhaps you could send for the midwives, then my husband, before you find the boys.”

—

You let out a deep groan as your contractions became closer. Both Helaena and your mother were waiting with you until it was time to push, although your sister was talking in riddles, putting her in a more irritable mood than normal. Aemond was in the nursery with your son, who was still a little scared of his father despite your best efforts to reassure him. Aemond had been coming in and out of the room to check in on you, but the midwives told him childbirth was no place for a man.

You accidentally brush your sister’s arm as you waddle by her, causing her to turn to you with an almost venomous glare in her eye. She says, “He’ll lose more than an eye.”

“Of course he will, sweet girl,” you say, not fully listening to her.

You knew she meant nothing malicious; she just behaved oddly at times. Your mother rubs at your lower back until they are asked to leave so the midwife can check how far along you are. She announces it’s time for you to lay down on the bed and begin to push, but you refuse.

“No, I'm not laying down again. I've already fucking said that!” You snap, frustrated that nobody seems to be listening to you.

There was no law saying what position you needed to give birth in, and you would not allow anyone to hold you down again while you screamed helplessly. Feeling something happen, you kneel down with your arms and head resting against a leather chair. Tears roll down your cheeks as the maester and midwives continually tell you to reposition as you start to push.

“Princess, I–”

“Aemond!”

You don't even realize your husband is in the room until he is told to leave. “This is no place for a—”

“And which one of you is going to remove me from this room?” he asks, his voice full of ice.

Of course, nobody tries to stop him as he kneels at the side of the chair, so the midwives still have space to work behind you. He kisses your hand and says, “I'm right here.”

“One final push!”

You scream loudly, pulling your hands away from Aemond’s so you can dig your fingers into the leather of the chair roughly as you bring your second child into the world. You bring the back of Aemond’s hand to your mouth and kiss it gently as your wailing baby is checked over. The fire inside you had only ever burned for him until you became a mother, and now you couldn't imagine it burning out. Wincing, you turn yourself around once the cord is cut, so you could sit down on the ground, your body throbbing as you do.

“It’s a girl, princess.”

You're taken aback as you hear Aemond's voice shake as he asks, “Healthy?”

“Yes, kicking like a goat, my prince.”

The moment your daughter is placed in your arms, you begin to sob, “She’s so perfect.”

Aemond sits down beside you, clearly unbothered by the blood and other fluid covering the ground. He kisses the side of your head and says, “I’m so proud of you, Ashara.”

You rest your head against his shoulder, smiling down at your baby girl. “She’s so perfect; I love her so much.”

—

You blink awake slowly, your body fighting the exhaustion that still consumes you from giving birth only a few hours prior.

Aemond is fast asleep, with Tré sleeping with his head resting against his father's chest. It seems the excitement of having a sister overshadowed the memory of his nightmares. Hearing your daughter stir, you slowly get out of bed and go over to her crib, which was at the foot of the bed.

Daenerys, your precious girl.

“Shh,” you say, making a shushing noise to soothe her while picking her up. You kiss the back of her tiny hand multiple times. “My sweet babe, you’ve no idea how loved you are.”

When Tré was born, you were so ill from the loss of blood that you weren’t able to even pick him up yourself without help, and it made you feel like a failure, so being able to do it yourself now meant a lot. You look at the bed, hearing the bedsheets ruffle, and chuckle to yourself, seeing that your son has taken your spot on the bed.

“I will always do whatever it takes to keep you safe; so will your brother, and so will your kepa.”

[the-soliloquies-of-sadists]

#348

“Good morning bitch.  Did you sleep well on that fag mat?  That’s too bad, but you’ll get used to it.  If not, I don’t want to hear about it.  I just realized that I didn’t go over your alarm duties.  Every morning, I want to be woken up at a set time.  You will wake me up with either a blowjob or a rimjob.  That all depends on which my dick or my shithole is more accessible for your toilet mouth.  Right now my shithole needs to be wrapped around your tongue.  Get back there and do your duty.

“Wait, get back here.  Let me see that cage.  I don’t like that your clitty is pushing out the cage in its attempt to get hard.  I think a more restricting cage and with deterrents, such pinpoints on the inside.  You are not entitled to a hardon.

“Get back there.  We’ll worry about making your clitty permanently useless later. 

“Climb on.  Get comfortable cause you are going to be back there for some time.  Get used to how I smell back there.  Take note of everything.  You want to survive your time with me, you need to know every square inch of my ass.  Rimming my ass is not just a job to do, but it is your way of life.  I would take a rimjob over a blowjob any day.  Other than to wake me up or to get my dick hard in order to fuck, blowjobs are boring.  I can’t remember the last time I shot a load from a blowjob alone.

“Now a rimjob, fuck.  So may faggots do it wrong.  Pay attention to what I say, cause I am going to tell you what you need to do to make my hole feel tingly.  When my hole is tingly, I’m a very happy man.  When I am happy, you are happy.  So follow along.

“First thing you need to do is to clean my crack.  You know I work out a lot; it’s going to be musky there.  I don’t care to know if its dirty or not, just take care of it.  Flatten out your tongue and run it up and down my crack.  Like that.  Taste my ass hairs.  When you lick for a very long time, those hairs will start to feel like razor blades slicing your tongue.

“When worshiping my shithole…  And worship is how you should view it.  You are getting access to my most private spot.  You should feel honored that I trust you to pleasure me.  Know that when your tongue or your lips touch my shithole, you should feel this is where you belong, and that nothing else in the world matters.

“Now run your tongue across the ridges of my hole.  Flatten your tongue and lick it like you would an ice cream cone.  You need to vary your techniques when you do.  Switch it up to using your pointed tongue to run around the hole, across the folds of skin.  Oh that feels good. 

“Use the tip to run along the slit.  Wiggle it in place, starting up slowly and then go faster.  Oh man, just like that.  Fuck, your tongue was made for this. 

“There are two ways I want your tongue to enter my hole.  First is to swirl your tongue, all around and side to side.  Like that!  Fuck yeah.  Your goal is to use your tongue to massage the sides of my hole without going inside.  This is probably my favorite way to be stimulated.  And you are doing it exactly how I like it. 

“The other way is to tongue fuck me.  Pull your tongue out.  Now shove it in; extend your tongue as far in my shithole.  No no no.  Don’t push your face into my crack.  Slamming your nose or chin into my taint aint working.  Let your tongue do the fucking.  Get it in as far as you can and hold it there.  Feel the inner lining of my shithole roll down your tongue.  Pull it out and tongue fuck me again.  And again, and again.  Hell yeah boy. 

“Now when you are slurping my hole, focus your attention on varying your style.  I get so fucking bored when a faggot does the same thing over and over.  Spend some time doing one technique, about a minute or two,  then change it up.

“It doesn’t have to be all your tongue.  You can suck on my hole while your tongue is working inside.  Not all the time, but suck.  You can even use your teeth to scrape lightly across my lips.  You can even use your lips to kiss me on the lips very tenderly. 

“Your neck will probably get tired.  I don’t care.  Long rimming sessions are usually done with you under one of my rim chairs, where you will be expected to go for hours.

“On a day where I will use you as an alarm, I’ll probably last ten to fifteen minutes before I get up and shove my cock into your cunt to begin our day.  But today is Sunday, I’m going back to sleep.  I fully expect you to continue rimming me while I sleep.  You got that?

“Oh and remember to breathe.  Speaking of breathing, hold still.  Ripping one in your mouth is my way of blowing you a kiss.  Treat it as a gift.”

[tempest-ghoulette]

Out of Luck

You'd done runs like this hundreds of times before but of course this was the one time where everything went to shit.

Warnings: mentions of injury, character death, suicide, hurt no comfort, angst

Wordcount: 1.2k

A/N: Literally wrote this at like 12 at night because I was in an angsty mood and was having trouble with my other fics so if I suffer you all must suffer with me.

It was supposed to be like any other run. Sneak out, make a little trek to the pickup spot, get the goods, sneak back in and sell the product. You, Tess, and Joel had done this type of run at least a hundred times, but of course this was the day everything went to shit.

You’d run into another smuggler and his crew while sneaking out. Which inevitably led to a scuffle, your group managing to scare them off, but not without suffering some cuts and bruises plus your now sprained ankle.

Tess and Joel debated whether or not to turn back, and although you would’ve loved to turn around there was important supplies in this drop and who knows when you’d have another chance to sneak out.

So off you went, for a little while everything was fine, sure it was going a little slower than usual with you trying your best to not to let your ankle slow you down, but other than that everything was going fine.

It started to sprinkle not even halfway to the drop and sure that was fine, until the sky practically opened up and unleashed a torrent of rain down upon you all. Which caused your group to duck into a building you weren’t familiar with to escape the downpour.

Now drenching wet you had to sit and wait out the storm and figure out what to do. Your supply drop had probably already been washed away or was water logged to shit so that was no longer an option. So it was decided to at least explore the building to possibly find some things to sell.

It was dark and musty and you swear a rat ran over your foot at some point during your exploration but you at least managed to find some stuff. You thought that your guy’s luck must finally be changing for the better but of course it wasn’t. Thunder shook the building so hard you swear the whole thing was going to come crashing down, and that would’ve been preferable compared to the resounding screeches and cries that followed.

The three of you froze where you stood, guns raising as you looked around trying to pinpoint where exactly the noises were coming from. Joel motioned his head back to the entrance of the building, signaling that it was more than likely clear. You hadn’t even taken more than a couple steps when another rumble of thunder permeated the air. This time though the screeching that followed was much closer, right in front of the fucking entrance. Any other time you probably could’ve ducked for cover before the runner saw you, but today it seemed all your luck ran out.

The runner let out a cry as it ran towards your group, Tess sinking three bullets into the thing before it dropped. 

When more runners and a clicker rounded the corner. You had no choice but to run, Tess dragging you by your pack and pushing you in front of her to get moving. It hurt to run, your injured ankle slamming into the ground with every running step you took. You were so concentrated on making sure that your ankle wouldn’t give out when an infected burst out from a side hallway, barely having enough time to dodge from its outstretched hands, scrambling away. 

Casting a quick glimpse behind you, you see Tess disappear around a corner with the infected not far behind. She can take care of herself but you can’t help the pit of worry that forms in your stomach. Making your way through the twists and turns of hallways, you start recognizing the way towards the entrance. You’re almost there when you feel your injured foot get caught in something, a snapping sounding as you fall to the ground. You don’t even register the pain at first, only seeing your foot stuck in the floor. It’s only when you glance towards your shin that the pain starts to register in your brain. Your pant leg covers most of the damage, but it’s not hard to distinguish that whatever pokes up at the fabric is more than likely a bone.

Trying your best to stifle the noises of pain coming from your throat you carefully try to extract your foot from the hole it broke through, a clicking noise halts your movements. Freezing where you are, trying not to alert the clicker as you try and find something to throw so you can distract it but it’s to no avail as it starts charging at you. It hurts like a bitch as you try and yank your foot free, desperate to get away from the clicker but of course your foot won’t come free. Trying to drag yourself away as the clicker falls onto your back, your pack acting as a protective barrier as it claws at you. It doesn’t last long though as you feel claws dig into the flesh of your back, only one word leaving your mouth in a blood curdling scream as you feel the clicker bite into your shoulder.

“TESSSSS!”

You must’ve passed out from the pain at some point because when you woke up, Tess had you half propped up on her lap. Your back felt like it was on fire but you could only focus on the tears streaming down her face. Tess never cried. In all your time together you had never seen her shed any type of tears. You so badly wanted to make her stop crying but everything hurt so damn much. She was saying something to you, her lips moving but you couldn’t make out any sound over the rushing in your ears.

She was speaking over her shoulder then, Joel appearing a second later in your field of vision. You could tell by the look on his face that it wasn’t good, hell you knew that yourself, but seeing that look on his face just solidified everything.

Tess wasn’t looking at you, still talking to Joel trying to get him to help, but he was still looking at you. 

He gently eased you from Tess’s lap, and it hurt seeing the hopeful look on her face that they might get you out, only for a look of shock to replace it when Joel hefted her over his shoulder. Tess was kicking and beating at his back as they made their way towards the entrance, you could tell she was screaming, glad that you still couldn’t hear a thing, not wanting to hear her pleas that they could save you, that they could still get you out.

More infected appeared chasing the duo. With all your might you pushed yourself into a sitting position, noticing a gun right next to you, Joel must’ve placed down one of his guns without you noticing. Five rounds in the chamber, and you were damn well sure going to make every shot count.

5 

a shot in a runners head

4

another lucky shot to the side of a runners neck

3,2

two shots to take down a clicker

Tess and Joel were out. The pain becoming to much as you let your body drop back to the floor. You still hear infected lurking around, no doubt hearing the gunfire, making their way to your location. 

God this day fucking sucked. Out of all the days that you had lived post outbreak, this was at the fucking bottom. Fuckin infected.

1

[floralcyanide]

𝐂𝐚𝐦𝐩𝐮𝐬 ∿ 𝐄𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐋𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐫𝐲

Ethan Landry x Gender Neutral!Reader

On Ethan's first day at his university campus, he gets a little lost. Then, you notice how lost he is and decide to help.

warnings: none!

word count: 668

author's note: I wrote this in like, 30 minutes but it's okay lol it's cute and fun and I hope ya'll enjoy this!

masterlist | add yourself to the taglist here

To say that Ethan was panicking was the understatement of the year.

He had been to campus several times over the last few weeks to get comfortable with his surroundings and pinpoint precisely where his classes would be. Ethan had over-the-top anxiety about being late, embarrassing himself, or not knowing where things were. And he was all of those things right now because one of his classes switched locations at the last minute. So here he is, in the literal middle of campus, looking around like a lost and confused puppy.

“Fuck,” Ethan mutters, glancing down at the schedule he had printed out, running a hand through his hair.

He has officially crossed out the location for his history class, but where is it now? Who knows. He went to the original spot, but there was no note on the door or anything. He also has checked his email about twenty times. A moment after rechecking his phone, it dings, and sure enough, Ethan’s history professor finally sends an email to the class about the new classroom. He sighs with relief, darting his eyes around to see if he can locate the Hardin Hall anywhere around him. 

Checking his watch, Ethan wanders to the small campus directory by some benches. He narrows his eyes to search the board for Hardin, trying hard to avoid the thought of people staring at him for being lost. Even though in the back of his mind, he knows that probably no one gives a shit.

You’re on your way to your history class on the first day back to campus. It feels like the billionth one you’ve taken, but you have been in college for a few years now. You’re on your way to Hardin Hall with earbuds in your ears and your pace quick as the class starts in 5 minutes. But a tall, cute boy hopelessly staring at the directory catches your attention. You usually keep to yourself on campus, but something urges you to help him.

“Where are you headed?” you ask, pulling out an earbud.

Ethan turns to you, flustered that someone noticed him all but floundering at the map.

“Hardin Hall, I think?” Ethan furrows his brow, staring down at his phone, “Yeah. Hardin.”

Ethan takes a closer look at you and decides you’re reasonably attractive and doesn’t mind your help. He hopes that you’ll run into him again on campus by some stroke of luck, despite the university being quite large. Then, Ethan can awkwardly invite you out for coffee or tea and stutter his way into a date. He’s always thinking too far ahead, but he can’t stop staring at you and your amazing eyes.

“That’s actually where I’m headed right now! Professor Moore’s class?” you smile, motioning for him to follow you.

“Yeah,” Ethan blinks, a little stunned that the universe is working in his favor for the first time today. 

“Cool. Is this your first day here?”

“How could you tell?” Ethan half-jokes, scratching the back of his neck as he follows you.

“I was very lost on my first day here. It’s a large campus for sure,” you chuckle while pointing at the building, “It’s right there, hidden behind Brackett Hall if you tilt your head a little.”

Ethan tilts his head as suggested and spots the old brick building, letting out a small “Ah.”

You lead the way as you ask Ethan where he’s from and his major. Before you know it, you’re outside the classroom, right on time.

“Well, I’ll see you after class? Maybe?” you purse your lips together, hoping you aren’t being weird.

“Yeah, sure,” Ethan smiles, opening the door for you.

Syllabus day feels like ages, but your professor lets the class out early when she finishes. Then, you and Ethan swing by the library coffee shop before your following classes. Little do you know, going there after history class will become an everyday thing. But you don’t mind. It’s nice knowing someone on campus for once. 

[runawaymun]

what’s the premise for your sci-fi story? Do you remember what inspired your oc N’Sin Mabon-Sedai?

??? HELLO

a question about my original work??? Nonnie can I kiss you on the mouth??

I'm bad at summarizing things, but as best I can explain it, the sci-fi series I am working on with @the-commonplace-book is set in our distant future when humans have left earth and spread out through the universe, terraforming other worlds. It's set on a space station that originally begun as a center for trade, but rapidly grew into a "planet" of its own right and then expanded out into an empire. Worldbuilding-wise, it's a hugely socially stratified world that runs off of a caste system. It's fantasy-sci-fi, so there are elements of superstition, magic, and fantasy religions. The culture itself is modeled a lot after Ancient Greece & Egypt tbh and then it just kind of Went Nuts from there. It's got about 3.5 conlangs coming together at this point, two of which with their own alphabets, and several world maps, religious systems, etc. etc.

But as far as what it's about... well, it's a multi-generational ensemble cast story that's going to span a long time, and follows a global shift in the planet's culture, the collapse of some major ruling Houses, and the rise of new ones. It's very socio-political based, basically, with some interplanetary politics involved and a war in the middle of it. There's also a lot going on between some major (and minor) religions, with old gods re-emerging as major powers and causing some big things to shift around, I guess is the best way to put it. And there's a Sinister Corporation that's lurking in the background as well. We've got a lot of enemies-to-lovers plots, arranged marriage plots, etc. etc. as well! And at a smaller level...it's about family, and learning to navigate cultural differences, grief and loss, growing up, justice & choosing to do the right thing even at danger to yourself or even when everybody...literally everybody...not even is against you but just is complacent or thinks it won't matter in the long run because that is the way things are and the way things have always been (but it's unjust and wrong and at times downright evil and it needs to change). And about hope and healing, because my work is always about that :)

Cast of characters includes a Traumatized Sad Boi(tm) Prince who is struggling between his own personal moral compass and the traditions of his House (this may sound familiar lmao...favorite character archetype of mine tbh), a woman from another planet that gets married into a major house & starts to Fuck Shit Up (both positively and negatively...she's kind of a mess but her arc is incredible and that's all down to common-place-book!) :D , a gay queen (literally she's a queen) who has to deal with her own corrupt government, a slave girl who grows up to launch a coup and try to overthrow a god, and a bunch of others (those are just some pet favs of mine).

N'Sin Mabon-sedai...in terms of what inspired him as a personality, I'm not really sure? It's always hard for me to pinpoint where any of my characters come from! If I really thought about it I could probably find a "character seed" from something I've read or something I've watched in my distant past (or not so distant idk)... whenever I think about these things I can usually pinpoint a "seed" of something from some piece of fiction that I've consumed. (Or an almagamation of things). His religious practices were directly inspired/bastardized from the oracle of Delphi, and there was just a point in the plot where we needed a Bitchy Priest(tm) and he kind of appeared on the page fully-formed, lurking in the corner. I have a soft spot for characters like him though and his arc is one of my favorites! He has a big chip on his shoulder and Stuff To Prove, and boy...does he. Lol.

Thank you so much for giving me an excuse to ramble about my work aaaa! <3 we're working on actually throwing together the very first draft of the first novel right now. It is...slow....to say the least...there are SO many moving parts!

[blaacknoir]

Part 3 please god is it over yet can it be over yet 💔

Bill you dumb shit why are you looking in the sewers

HE IS STILL A CHILD WHAT ARE YOU DOING

While I love McAvoy's range, when he talks in this, all I can think is "Hey, that's Dennis Hoarde-Split."

As much as I love this moment of Bill connecting with (and then terrifying) a local kid, I preferred Ben's interaction in the book, realizing that he's actually a stranger now. He's become the grownup that people tell kids to avoid. (I also miss the "You can't be careful on a skateboard" line.)

Wait is Ben in school during the summer break?

Why is Beverly so into Ben heOH okay she's Pennywise.

I know the "hair is winter fire" is why "Beverly's" head is on fire, but all I can think of Hades from the Hercules cartoon 😭

"Kiss me fat boy 😩" That is exactly what that looks like :'(

Honestly I understand the teeth but visually, they're starting to get boring. Go back to Grandma Flappytits.

So you're expecting me to believe this movie takes place in 2016, and Ben Hanscom, a grown-ass adult, was just allowed to walk into a high school in the middle of summer???? I mean I know it's Derry, but come on guys.

Watch this guys. You can actually pinpoint the second when his heart rips in half. Aaaaand… now.

City-sponsored fursona

Poor Eddie 😭 He just got ballooned in the face.

I genuinely liked Mr. Keene. I feel like they took the goodness from him. Who the fuck is this girl.

"It's not gonna pop it's a mole." RIP 😭

"Thanks. For the pills, not the dick thing." God why is this guy the funniest character 😭 I don't remember him being this funny in the book.

I don't like this scene and I don't think it's in the book. Although I do like the woman who plays his mom. She's a great actress and I love the 80s windbreaker suit she's in.

This whole spooky basement shit just Did Not Happen and I hate it. Also, what this is leaving out is the "leper" actually was real at one point. It wasn't just a random fear he invented, it was based on a run-in with a homeless guy who probably had syphilis.

I'm pretty sure I've asked this once already, but where is Audra? Like. That was a *whole thing" in the book.

Ben: At least I got Richie to stay.

Richie: *climbing out the window*

What the fuck is happening here? It was Mike that got attacked by Bowers. Eddie went down to the sewers with them. He died there Are they going to kill him too, on top of everything else???

Bill don't you know how to navigate a funhouse. One hand on the wall at all times.

This movie is not epilepsy friendly. I'm getting a headache from this. 💔

Oh thank god it's over.

I'm curious the fact that there's a synagogue in Derry, because it was made abundantly clear that part of the reason that Stanley was an outsider was because he was the only Jewish kid there.

I'M SORRY ARE THEY SAYING THAT MIKE'S DAD CAUSED THE FIRE AT THE BLACK SPOT? IT WAS A FUCKING WHITE SUPREMACIST HATE CRIME IN THE BOOKS AND NOW YOU'RE TURNING IT INTO SOMETHING MIKE'S DAD DID????? Oh I am going to go fucking ape on this. I am so fucking mad.

I love seeing Stanley do Jewish things. Best part about this movie.

LSKDF RICHIE CLAPPING AT THE END OF THE BAR MITZVAH SPEECH 😭 it me

That reminds me, I also hate seeing that Mike actually just like… lives at the library. In the novel, he actually does have a house. Bill stays there at the end! He just stays at the library, showing how much this whole thing has fucking consumed him.

Are you fucking kidding me. They made his parents fucking drug addicts too???

Okay, that's it. I can't watch this anymore.

Okay I would absolutely love an I ❤ Derry beaver hat 😭

Adrian Mellon, you were too good for this world, and I hope Webby and his cronies rot in hell.

Getting anxiety thinking about all the balloon waste that these films must have created 💔

The fact that Don is dressed like... just a regular guy here, instead of the caricature of a gay man he was in the novel is great actually, and it makes the scene in the novel that much better.

Bill just appeared on screen and all I can think of is this post 😭

"You said you needed another day and we're shooting this tonight!" "Yeah but that's like... 17 hours."

"People loved your book, but they hated the ending." "You said you liked the ending..." "I lied."

"I love you mommy." "What." "Myra."

Oh I really could have lived without Richie "throwing up" on me. 💔

I really like Richard as a stand-up comedian instead of a DJ. If they had to change the time period, that was a good move.

OH NO WHY DID THEY HAVE TO MAKE GROWN-UP STAN A BAB??? :C💔

"How long has it been?" "27 years." NO IT WASN'T! THE CYCLE WAS SHORTER BECAUSE THEY STOPPED IT!

No, the scar faded. It only came back when they started to remember.

Get his ass, Beverly! GET HIS ASS!

(That being said, because of the names and the fact that they're both redheads, Adult!Beverly always looked like Beverly Crusher to me 😭)

Do you really expect me to believe this guy hasn't updated his hairstyle in 27 years. I mean, I know they probably didn't exactly let him choose how he wore it in Juniper Hill, but that he'd still be rocking a mullet in 2018?

Mike: *enthusiastic hug greeting* Bill: Uh.... do I know you..... (It's me, I'm Bill.)

God I love Adult!Eddie so much. I would kill and die for you, Eddie Kaspbrak.

"I ended up becoming a risk analyst." No you didn't you drive a limo.

I would like to nominate James McAvoy as Greatest Actor Of Our Time here. Because the range on this man is fucking insane.

While it's completely different than the novel, the fortune cookie scene and everyone scrambling to figure it out is kind of killing me :'( ❤

RIP the poor Chinese restaurant employee 😭💔

"Plus, I just remembered I grew up here like, two hours ago!"

NO NOT THE LITTLE GIRL ADRIAN GAVE HIS TOY TO :C

Okay well this is all I have the energy for tonight. Catch part 2 of part 2 tomorrow. 😔

[animeyanderelover]

Requests are open you say? WELL, how would Shisui, Madara, Obito, and Itachi Uchiha, Run from Akame ga Kill,Dazai Osamu and Chuuya Nakahara react to a s/o that confessed thier feelings to them on Valentine's? S/o is confident that their feelings will not be returned but they just want to get these feelings off their chest so that they can move on with their life! But, jokes on them, that person likes them back! Just before they can run away the yandere grabs their wrist and won't let them leave, forcing s/o to become a blushing mess!

I'm curious to see what you'll do with this!

I am really glad to see someone requesting Akame ga Kill since I love that Anime a lot. Love all of your work, btw💝.

Tw: Yandere themes, unhealthy mindset, unhealthy relationship, possessiveness, obsessiveness, stalking, clinginess, delusions, paranoia, stalking, smugness

Darling confesses their feelings on Valentine's Day

Madara Uchiha

🌑This man probably does not waste much time on such silly trials as Valentine's Day, he grew up in times of war and is not someone known to be sappy. So he does not want to give this ridiculous day where everyone around him starts to grow crazy, a certain friend of his as well, too much thought, but sadly he has his own obsession that occupies his mind more than he would like to admit. Madara is made out of pride so he struggles a bit with his feelings which are rather intense and the fact that s/o seems to trigger a soft spot inside of him. He's quite possessive and confident though so he's sure he will be able to make darling his one way or another since he always gets what he wants.

🌑He probably gets a few confessions on Valentine from some people from his clan, including potential brides the elder from the clan have picked for him. He bites his tongue through it all, his clan is important to him after all, he rejects every single person though. But he did not expect you to suddenly seek him out and confess your feelings for him. He's not someone to just hope for something silly as having his wishes fulfilled but he is definitely not complaining! He just feels like he accomplished something big, feeling all smug and amused as he watches you collecting all of your courage that it takes to confess your feelings for him. What bravery from your side to actually confess to him and show your interest first, in regards of courting he would have liked to take the first step, but this is fine as well.

🌑The only bump really is the part where his s/o suddenly admits with a confident tone that they're sure that he doesn't like them back and is about to turn around and walk away, causing a flicker of irritation to flicker inside of him. Honestly, you do not expect him to let you leave after what you just blurted out, did you? He's some sort of sadist so seeing his darling turning all red has him cracking a smug and bright grin, especially since knowing that he has this effect on them. Poor darling, seems like he hasn't made his interest in you clear yet. With the sudden love confession his possessiveness will tenfold and the need to bring his point across that he returns darling's feelings and they're his will push him to act on impulse. So long story in short, he ends up kissing his darling then and there, letting actions speak rather than words, not caring who else might be watching and leaving s/o completely flustered and blushing is a sight worth it.

🌑It's really just over for everyone after that day, he will make his point to everyone in his clan clear that he won't accept everyone except darling as his partner and if people from his clan have to say something it's wasted air since Madara is just so stubborn. If he has to pinpoint down every single reason why you are better than every other offered bride, so be it. He doesn't really hold back after that day on his love for you either, willing to express it more openly to really just show everyone who you belong to. He's a tease as well so he will never let his darling forget about the fact that their brain pretty much stopped functioning after he returned their confession in his own shameless way.

Obito Uchiha

🔥Before he was mentally fucked up, he probably was sappy boy no.1, time changed everything for him though and for the last long couple of years he had no time at all to waste even the slightest thought on Valentine. Or any celebration at all. His joy and hope was crushed the day Kakashi pierced Rin with the Chidori, shattering Obito's sanity together with her. He believes himself to live in hell where everything is meaningless and his point of view didn't change until he somehow stumbled upon his darling angel. And as a terribly delusional, possessive and obsessive Yandere, this man loses his shit quickly so kidnapping is at one point, sooner than later, unshunnable. With new love blossoming in his previously dark life, part of his teenager sides pop up again, warped but there.

🔥 So when the declared day of love comes around, Obito finds himself falling back into the tendency of daydreaming and fantasizing about confessing to his darling and them admitting that they feel the same. Part of him wants to act on his fantasies, a painful pang in his heart reminding him that he already never got to tell his first love his feelings, part of him is terrified of the thought of being rejected though. He's mentally unstable and if you were to turn his confession down, he'd suffer from a meltdown and wouldn't be able to control himself. He just freezes the moment his s/o actually drags him somewhere and starts confessing to him, watching them with wide eyes as his heart starts leaping inside his chest.

🔥The borderline of overwhelmed with his emotions swirling around inside of him until s/o says with firm determination that he most likely won't feel the same for them. That's when icy and searing panic shoots sharply through his heart and before s/o can run away from him, his arms just reaches automatically out and grabs their wrist. Honestly, he doesn't know what he should say. He just knows that he can't let you leave him and that's why he holds so firmly onto you. Once his emotions finally burst out of him, he just pulls them into a bone-crushing hug, eyes tearing up a bit. To say that he's happy is an understatement, he's far over the moon, his heart going wild in his chest. Obito just feels so blessed to have someone like you in his life who loves him with all his scars and after he gets over his first emotional reaction, he is so determined to have you believe that you mean in the literal sense the world to him, the slight crack of his voice might hint that he's horrified to having even awakened another impression in your eyes.

🔥He's on cloud nince for a while after, joy overtaking his senses and giving him the feeling that he's floating before his fear settles in again. A normal relationship with Obito won't last for long given his broken sanity and the way he twists things in the way he believes them to be. In his eyes his darling is the only ray of light he has in this world and he is scared, just scared, that someone will extinguish you as well. He can't and won't handle it if he were to lose you too, having deluded himself into thinking that he is the only one who can protect you and keep you safe from the brutal nature of the world.

Shisui Uchiha

🍂It's not like he wouldn't like enjoying special holidays like Christmas or special days like Valentine's Day, the problem is that Shisui is incredibly busy. He has a lot of things he has to take care of, from duties for his clan up to the missions and tasks handed to him from the Hokage. Being the loyal guy he is, he will forgo personal enjoyment if it means fulfilling his duties and protecting the Leaf and the people living inside of it. He stays focused most of the times, it's just that sometimes when he sees other people having fun together and spending time with their loved ones that he finds himself wishing that he could have more time to spend with you as well. He just feels so bad since he feels like he neglects you constantly.

🍂Shisui is a romantic at heart so he did contemplate if he should confess his feelings for you on Valentine or not, even if it is the cliche per se. Being talented in spotting emotions people might try to hide from him and on top of that being a stalker, even if he tries to draw a limit, it's not that unlikely that he caught on to your feelings for him as well in which case he would choose to wait at first a bit before acting. Even if that should be the case, it won't take away the butterflies freely dancing around in his stomach when you approach him with a nervous yet excited expression on your face. He's somewhat giddy to be able to surprise you by telling you that he feels the same, though it still saddens him to hear that you never considered him feeling the same.

🍂The signs he hinted aren't the most obvious, if someone would look close enough they would have it figured out though, Shisui doesn't hold it against you. The sincere and reassuring smile he gives his darling after having prevented them from leaving has them most likely only getting more flustered. He's a light tease at heart so he finds the sight of your cheeks heating up adorable, he'll leave the teasing for later though. Because once he's made up his mind about telling his darling how he truly feels, he turns serious, he wants to clarify that he reciprocates their feelings. In a darker way, darling must never know this though. For the rest of the day, Shisui and s/o will spend the day together since Shisui finally has time on his hands and he just jumps on the chance to take you on a date, the day is just perfect. He's not even really trying to hide his excitement, he wants to do as much as he can with you and given the fact that he never truly gets the chance to enjoy such times at all makes him a little bit overeager.

🍂He’s in such a happy mood after and Itachi merely counted one and one together to get the right idea of the cause of his friend’s euphoria. Shisui, despite his wishes to announce his relationship with darling, hesitates for a bit and given his position he has a reason. He’ll sort it out though, he has good connections after all and his possessive strike on him as well, only better hidden. It’s due to the fact that he can hide his darker side so well and is so sly about it that barely anyone notices, he’s so sweet and doting to his darling after all and knows how to erase his traces.

Itachi Uchiha

🍡He can do really anything except spacing out and thinking about Valentine’s Day with the path he is walking down. He has no one to really celebrate with to begin with, the person he’s closest with is Kisame. There are still times where nostalgia hits him and he recalls memories of how he used to spend special days such as the love day with his family and the people in the village. There’s only little time to get lost in such thoughts before he has to focus back on his work. He avoids society pretty much and is aware of the danger he puts his s/o in by simply spending time with them despite them not even being supposed to know of him. It’s a sweet and guilty pleasure for him. Even if he is so careful and cautious, there’s the slight weight of paranoia that someone will eventually find out.

🍡Itachi is realistic so even if he seems to pay more attention the moment Valentine is just around the corner, he doesn’t really expect anything from s/o. He’s a criminal and already lucky enough that you don’t condemn him for it, asking for more would be too much. It’s due to that way of thinking that he is caught off guard when darling rambles out their feelings on that special day, obviously nervous yet determined to get it out of their chest. Itachi…just stares at them with conflicted emotions building up inside of him. He’s not gonna lie about the fact that he’s majorly flustered, happy and touched yet his rational side warns him that a more intimate relationship will mean more troubles and grief for you. It would be safer for you if he would let you keep the belief that he doesn’t return your emotions, he’s a true enigma after all.

🍡Something inside of him, a more selfish part of him, refuses to let you go though, now that you made it apparent that you like him very much as well. Itachi, a little bit shocked that his self-control slipped just like this, is left looking at you for some time, arguing in his head what he should say, whether or not he should just lie to you for your own safety. He finds himself unable to do so in the end, deeming it to be too cruel after looking into your flustered and red face, hope still glimmering in your eyes. How can he say no to you when you’re looking at him like this? Still somewhat insecure and worried, Itachi will still end up explaining to you in what dangers you would get yourself into and that the chances of him being gone for long times or even dying are likely and that he is a criminal who kills. It’s only after you firmly telling him that you still love him despite his flaws, the serious glint in your eyes promising that you have thought it all through, that he finally carved in, murmuring something about you being terribly stubborn with a small smile on his face.

🍡Itachi has to keep the relationship a secret just as much as you do, for your safety and ability to live a fairly normal life together with friends and family of yours. Meetings between you two are always somewhere where no one can spot you two and Itachi, despite his consciousness still telling him that this is too risky for you, melts whenever you shower him with affection and love. It’s the sweetest sin he has committed so far. It doesn’t look all that bad at first since Itachi is a fairly laidback person, even if sometimes he cracks a bit and displays his more paranoid side.

Dazai Osamu

🤎Dazai as the double suicide lover he is has probably viewed Valentine’s Day as an ideal day to die together with the person you love. So far he hasn’t succeeded, after meeting his lovely s/o he was truly thankful for that fact though. Dazai’s darling stands for him as a purpose to live and for that reason he is fiercely determined to make them his, ready to use less lawful ways if he has to do so. There’s a fool for romance somewhere inside of him which means that he would prefer not using force against you if he has too though, he isn’t necessarily a terrible sadist as long as you don’t give him a reason to be. Instead he’s just floating somewhere on the clouds of infatuation and for that Valentine’s Day seems like such a perfect opportunity to confess his feelings.

🤎Partially he’s also not too fond of the thought of someone else confessing to you, even with him already keeping a sharp eye to quickly get rid of possible competition whilst at the same time ensuring you don’t fall hard for anyone that isn’t him. He did fantasize about you confessing to him as well, chuckling at the cute imagination of his, not sure if that would even happen. The actual thing is so much sweeter and more adorable though and Dazai finds himself highly pleased to know that his s/o only loves him as well and he listens with a grin, on the inside really giddy. That’s just perfect, you really are just the most precious in the world, aren’t you? Starts already planning what he wants to do after you finish, though his joyful mood is for a millisecond interrupted when he hears the last part.

🤎Maybe it is really just his fault for not acting on his feelings sooner that you mistook his interactions with you as something else, you won’t get away very far anyways. No, no, darling. Dazai would be an idiot if he would let you go right now, still looking at you with that grin on his face that only appears to widen when he sees how flustered you become. He has to let you know after all that he loves you as well as he takes both of your hands in his own. He’s a charmer and a sweet talker, his own confession sounding almost like the ones of a worshipper. Asks you out for a date instantly after, still with that stupidly happy grin to which you simply can’t say no before Dazai eagerly drags you alongside with him, monopolizing all of your time for him. His clear joy and satisfaction, not to mention his now obvious adoration, is made clear within this one day only so you finally see it as well. He invites you to food, gets you small presents and is daringly bold yet in such a lovely way that you only feel your face heating up more, something Dazai only gushes about.

🤎Dazai would keep the relationship a secret from the Agency at first as well unless they don’t already know about it. He’s a bit concerned about the Port Mafia and what they might consider if they find out about his sweet obsession, though he would go above and beyond to prevent any harm from touching his s/o. Even if the Agency shouldn’t be yet aware though, they are no fools either and especially since Dazai is practically beaming with joy the days after the first date hint that something happened. Dazai just acts perfect, he’s sweet and devoted, though a little bit clingy.

Nakahara Chuuya

🟠Chuuya doesn’t bother much with thoughts about Valentine’s Day, there is simply no time for him to do so. He works for the Port Mafia as one of the Executives, his life is one with tainted hands as well and he simply didn’t have anyone he wished he could spend Valentine with. His darling managed to destroy his order of things and that changed things for Chuuya. Now, with Valentine around the corner, he seems to finally notice some of the appeal people have for this day. He’s quite confident in himself and his ability to court his darling, his possessive side would like to have them as officially his as fast as possible to top things. Chuuya just doesn’t want to be too rash yet, though the thought of confessing on this day is incredibly alluring.

🟠Even with his tough behavior, it would be a lie to say that he doesn’t indulge in sweet daydreams about him and you confessing to each other. He knows how to differ between daydreams and reality though, even if it makes him feel just a tiny bit sour. Apparently dreams do come true though, at least his becomes reality the moment darling sucks in a deep breath and lets loose of all their emotions inside of them. Chuuya, who wants to downplay his emotions to not embarrass himself, fails at doing so. Words seem to fail him, his eyes are slightly widened, his heartbeat skips and the small blush creeping up on his face are telltale signs of how flustered he really just is. However, knowing that s/o believes that he doesn’t like them back hurts him.

🟠You see, this man is insanely loyal and devoted to his darling and it’s not like he didn’t drop a few hints about his romantic interest, he feels somewhat wounded in his pride. You wouldn’t have gotten anywhere after such a stunt anyways, Chuuya far too thrilled to just let you leave his side and also ready to clearly explain to you that he feels the same, so much more actually. So even with still slightly burning cheeks, the serious look on his face has darling pausing and waiting for whatever he is about to say. Only to have him taking their hand in his and pressing a gentle kiss on it, only flustering darling further, especially once that smug killer smile returns on his face. With his confidence boosted, Chuuya won’t shy away from asking his s/o out on the spot either and they’re going to get spoiled quite a bit with gifts from the Executive’s side since he feels like the happiest man right now. He ends up stealing a real kiss during the date as well.

🟠Falls asleep that night whilst replaying the confession and the date over and over again in his mind, eliciting a smile from him. As proud as he is to have accomplished a romantic relationship with his darling, he’s unable to tell anyone about it. People still tend to notice that he’s radiating with a glow of happiness around him if they observe a bit more, they won’t get answers out of Chuuya as of now though. Adores it when he gets to spend time with his darling since he can forget all of his worries for a bit when he’s with them.

Run

🪶Run as a Yandere is as dangerous as very few might really believe, simply because he's so sly and cunning. Not one to lose his patience or composure, a talented actor, a strategist and a charmer on top of that. He is aware of Valentine's Day, didn't really think he would pay much attention to it. Run has a a goal, to change the Empire and pours all his time and duties to reach that goal. To fall in love with his dearest was unexpected yet also very welcomed, the sweetest emotion that leaves him breathless. So Valentine seems to be much more worth paying attention to since Run has most likely already made up his mind to confess. He's known you for long enough and vice versa, charm and manipulation have pushed you to grow closer to him.

🪶 I don't cross the possibility out that he gets some love confessions on Valentine's Day, he's attractive and caring after all. He lets everyone as polite as possible down though, sadly his heart already belongs to someone else. Those who have known him long enough might notice that he seems to glow with excitement and confidence today. Darling is one step faster though and if he was already in a good mood before, now he's beaming for sure on the inside, his heart jumping up and down and golden eyes glowing with adoration and love. He's sure this day couldn't turn out more perfect by having you confessing your feelings to him first. Until you add at the end with an awkward tone that you don't believe him to return your feelings.

🪶Now where did that come from? Run's sure that he has hinted a couple of times in the past that he has a romantic interest in you, this little scratch won't damage his overall joyful mood though just as much as you won't get to run away from him. You just sparked his eagerness to make you aware of just how much he adores you, he's less discouraged than he is encouraged by your statement. There's a moment where he gets lost in your bashful eyes though, wondering if this is perhaps a very vivid dream, it's almost too good to be true. He remains dazed for only a few moments though before he goes on with his original plans of confessing first and he relishes in the fact how darling grows even more shy, each gaze of his basically a whole love poem dedicated to only you and his words like the finest nectar, touches feathery and gentle. He whisks his s/o away for the day and he guarantees that they have a good time, hands softly interwined with yours the whole time.

🪶Insists to walk his darling back home after the first date, causing their heart to skip a beat when he surprises them with a soft kiss before heading back. He displays a small and gentle smile the whole time, going through the events of the day with warm butterflies in his stomach. He just can't get over the fact of how precious his s/o is and with them having confessed their love to him, he's only more determined to keep them safe and happy. Run, for the most part aware, is not above deluding himself to think that he has to protect you from this corrupt world and the filthy people inside of it.

[kashimos-hajime]

definition of a good boy | a.a.

summary: literally you just peg the FUCK out of armin arlert. that’s it. and he looks real fucking pretty taking it.

WARNINGS: smut (18+), switch!reader (but majority femdom), switch!armin (majority sub <3), PEGGING, edging, anal fingering ahgnfkld, safe word (not used), oral (fem-receiving), overstim, praise kink, minor dacryphilia bc that shit HITS pairing: armin arlert x fem!reader word count: 3.7k

a/n: if armin no like peg, why he look like THAT last episode? ANYWAY this is who i represent now. just,,, pegging men and making them cry

crossposted on ao3

You wonder how many times Armin’s thought about this before. Or even, the first time at least. 

Was it when you rode him until he was crying for relief, your hands around his throat and your lips ravaging his own? Or maybe that time you had riled him up until he had you pinned in an alleyway just outside a fucking embassy, panties swept aside by the crook of his fingers and cock sheathed inside your wet folds as you cried out into his shoulder.

Which in itself was a feat. It’s probably the most difficult thing in the world to irritate Armin Arlert to the point where he wants to fuck the attitude out of you, and it had started with a dress that had a slit up to your thigh, and you tugging at his tie in the middle of his conversations, and ended with bruised collarbones, jelly legs, and fucking Connie texting you, WOW GOOD JOB!!!!! SASHA OWES ME TWENTY.

But you digress. You could probably pinpoint a million times he’s thought about it, a million times more when you have. It doesn’t matter now. What matters is that Armin Arlert is laid out right in front of you, flushed, sweating, eyes closed shut and mouth shamelessly open as you jack him off. His cheeks are red, the blush spreading down his neck and chest, but nothing compares to the shade of his lips as you swallow down his moan, tongue dipping into his mouth. Your other hand pins down his shoulder as he lets out a soft whine, and you smile, drawing back just as quickly as you came.

“You look so pretty, baby,” you whisper, brushing the hair fanning across his forehead back. The golden strands glimmer in the warm light of their room as Armin lets out another strangled noise when you squeeze the tip of his cock, the precum warm underneath your palm. “You think you’re ready?”

“Yeah.” His hands are on your back, fingers scratching the skin and sending shivers down your spine, yet now, one travels to the back of your neck and pulls you down for another deep kiss. Their mouths meet messily and his other hand trails down to your hips, your thighs by his waist, and squeezes. “I’m ready. I trust you.”

Pulling back, your gut clenches and you wish you’d taken up his offer to ride the edge off on his thigh, but you’d been so excited that you had refused. Now, nervous energy mixes with the heady arousal surrounding them you pull off of him, fingers giving one last pump to his hard cock. Sitting aside with the lube, you watch as Armin rolls over, revealing a muscled back ripe with tension and you immediately crawl over to him.

“Tense?”

“Nervous, yeah.” His fingers dig into the bedsheets as you place a gentle kiss on the back of his neck. His blond hair tickles the apple of your cheek and you situate yourself right over him. Squeezing a sizeable amount of lube onto your pointer and third finger, you smear it down to your base knuckles and glance at Armin again. His cheek is pressed against the mattress, his sedated face betraying the hunger in those blue eyes. His hips twitch against the blankets almost imperceptibly but you let it slide—they both need a moment to just…

“Safe word?” you ask.

“Conch,” he replies dutifully. “Don’t worry so much or I’ll start to worry.”

“I just don’t want to hurt you or for you to hate this.”

“The most important thing is that we tried it, alright?” He reaches back to grab your hand, and you look down at his fingers wrapping around your wrist. Twisting to hold onto him, you kiss his fingers before he lets go, resumes the slow grind against the mattress and you watch, transfixed at the rolls of his hips. Reminded of the slick glistening down your thighs, you clench your legs together as a soft moan is muffled by Armin’s face buried in the sheets. His knuckles are white as his thrusts grow frantic, but they both know that nothing on this bed is enough friction for what they both want.

Too many nights with disappointing outcomes have taught them better—silk is good for hair and skin only, it seems.

“On your knees,” you murmur, and he freezes, face turning slowly to reveal blissed out face and a panting mouth. Stomach fluttering at how obedient he is, you situate yourself right behind him as he rises to his knees and elbows and you spot the wet stain where his precum had soaked into the sheets. Smiling, you rise up on your knees, lean over, and kiss his spine, settling a hand on the small of his back. “Relax, baby.”

Your fingers slip between his cheeks and rub along the hole, the heat emanating from his skin incinerating. Gently, you sink your fingers in and he lets out a choked noise at the stretching as you scissor slowly to give him time to get used to the burning. His fingers sink into the mattress, claw-like, and his back tenses up but you lean forward, running a soothing hand between his shoulder blades.

“Are you okay, baby?” you whisper, the resistance making you pause so he can get used to it. He lifts his head, gasping before nodding to the wall.

“I’m okay.” Forehead to the sheets again. “Keep going.”

Kissing his hip, you nod and push forward as your hand on his back spreads out, and you feel the moment he relaxes because something inside him eases, too. Your fingers sink in despite how tight it is, near-choking as his legs twitch against your thighs. You watch the back of his head keenly, catch the speedy rise and fall of his shoulders as you slowly draw your fingers in and out, getting him used to the sensation.

Tiny sounds escape his mouth as he rests his cheek against the bed, his sharp gasps whenever you push in deeper than before music to your ears and to the growing drip of arousal between your legs.

It’s when Armin’s legs shoot out from underneath him, his whole body collapsing and a loud moan comes out of him that you really snap awake. Your hand ripped out from between his asscheeks, you jump back, eyes widening in fear and you crawl up so you can spot his face. His eyes are wide enough that you can see a ring of white around his blue, blue eyes, and he’s coated in a fine layer of sweat over his pink cheeks. A hand is slapped over his mouth and you hear his raspy pants through his nose, desperate and rapid as you lower yourself to his eye level.

“What happened? Are you hurt?” you ask but he lifts a wet hand from his mouth, and you watch slowly as he grabs your wrist tightly. Lube from your fingers drips onto your hand as he yanks you close.

“Why’d you stop?” he groans. “If that’s how it feels every time I hit your g-spot, I wish we started this sooner.”

Electricity zaps through your chest and your lips pull into an incredulous smile as he lets go of your wrist and cups your neck, pulling you down into an open-mouthed kiss and you moan into his mouth as he pushes himself up onto an arm, tongue exploring your cheeks, his hand sliding down your back. It’s decidedly slow, unpretentious, intimate, and you remind yourself that there’s still a task at hand, no matter how persuading Armin can be with his eyes, hands, tongue, or otherwise.

Parting, your heart pounds like a damned drum as he squeezes your ass but you pluck his hand off of you, pushing him back down onto all fours.

“Elbows and knees, Arlert. I’m not finished with you yet,” you murmur and you see the shiver in his body at the idea. He does as he’s told, lowering himself until his face is against the mattress and his ass is up in the air, and you migrate to his end again, through the molasses air until you’re where you were before. 

A hand on the small of his back, you ease your fingers in again, and this time, when he lets out a sharp whine, you know not to give up but to give in, push against the spongey flesh at your fingers that sends his hips jolting back into your palm. Peering at a pretty blond head, you frown when you see his palm has found its place over his mouth again and without thinking, your hand on his back trails to his ass, giving it a light slap before squeezing the flesh.

“Let me hear you, pretty boy,” you croon as his back arches with a choked ah! that fills your stomach with butterflies. Pushing down on his spine, with every whine, moan, desperate more, every pleading deeper, baby, you reward him with another thrust of your fingers that makes Armin writhe with pleasure you can feel everywhere in his body. Heat licking at your own face, you get so lost in the rocking of his hips, the sheets twisting under Armin’s fists as he tries to chase his own high, that you nearly miss the signs of his coming orgasm.

Classic: he starts swearing like a sailor.

“Fuck—hngh!—C’mon, baby. Come on. I’m so close.”

And the panting that’s so noticeably heavy and fast that it’s a wonder he can even breathe with how much he’s begging and squirming by the pressure of your fingers alone. 

Those two things echo in your head as you pull your fingers out just as he stands on the brink of his eyes rolling back from the black-out euphoria he must’ve been on the edge on because when you stop, he lets out the loudest fucking curse you’ve ever heard in your life.

No, fuck! Baby!” His whines are music to your ear as he buries his face in the silk. “Baby, I was so fucking close! You, you—“

“I? I?” you tease, a thrill igniting underneath your heart at how he sweats and arches underneath your hand. “You’re just so pretty for me all needy, Armin. Not every night I get to edge you.”

“It could be,” he pleads, his hips lowering to the mattress again as he reaches forward for a pillow to shove between his legs but you smack the hand away as you stretch for the nightstand. “Baby, just let me cum. Let me cum and I’ll let you edge me every night. Please, please, please—“

“Armin,” you censure, although the words are enticing and you know if you brought it up to him outside the bedroom tomorrow morning, he’d blush and have to accept his own vow. But you’re not that cruel. “When have you ever given in to my pleading?”

Maybe you’re worse. You don’t mind that at all.

“Sometimes, I do. When you’ve been a good girl.” His hips begin to rub against the silk sheets as you grab the strap-on and buckle it up comfortably around your hips. Armin’s oblivious to it all and you let him have his moment of faux relief, pretending you don’t notice. He’s going to need the breather after you’re done with him. “And I’ve been good. I swear it.”

“Really?” Grabbing the lube bottle that’s been lost in the sheets, you squirt a hefty amount all over the silicone and run your hand up and down the shaft, warming it up. “I don’t think trying to fuck yourself on silk sheets like you’re a prince without a whore is going to help you much now is it, hm?”

His hips freeze and you chuckle to yourself, the power trip making you dizzy as you hum appreciatively and lean over him, the tip of the strap leaving a wet trail from between his cheeks down his spine. Your lips find the knob of his spine, mouthing at it warmly as his entire body goes taut and you reach blond hair, nosing it away and sucking a mark onto his neck. He lets out a soft moan, lifting his head and reaching up a hand to wrap around the back of your neck. 

Bracing yourself, you smile and find the sensitive spot right underneath his jaw, biting gently.

“Armin,” you whisper huskily against the shell of his ear, nose drawing along his temple. “What’s that again about being a good boy?” You return your mouth to the juncture of his neck and shoulder, grinning wickedly when his back arches and he lets out a helpless whine. Inhaling the smell of clean soap, you crane your head to look down between your bodies. He’s laid out bare in front of you, and you wiggle your hips, nestling the strap back between his ass cheeks, just to get him used to the sensation.

Tearing yourself away and back up, you cup his thighs and pull him back up to his knees.

“Anyway,” you continue, as if remarking on the weather, “I don’t know if you do deserve this anymore. Seeing as if every time I stopped touching you, you’ve gone to rutting the bed like I wouldn’t notice.” The tip presses against his hole and you feel his shiver. You tilt your head. “Nothing to say now, huh.”

“No, no, please. Fuck! I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I won’t do it again. I promise. I really promise, baby.”

“Right.” You don’t believe him, but nonetheless, you smile. “Why don’t you prove it and relax?” A soft noise keening from his mouth, he nods and lowers himself deeper. Counting silently to yourself, you wait until he gets comfortable.

When he does, you set a hand on his hip, another on his back, and slowly push in. 

“Ah!” His head snaps up, knuckles blanching as he grasps the sheets. Breathing quickening, he stiffens but you hush him quietly, stroking soothing shapes into his skin. You slowly ease out again and he exhales. A heat sears through your chest and the urge to slip your fingers in, to push against the spongey part again until he’s begging, not for you to stop or for you to continue, but just crying begging for you, causes you to groan to yourself.

“You don’t know how pretty you look all like this, Armin,” you murmur as he shifts back and you laugh gently. “You really want this, hm?” You push back in gently, and it goes easier this time. Your hips nearly press flush against his skin as he lets out a choked noise. “Lemme hear you, yeah? God, I wanna hear you so bad, baby.”

“Hngh! Ah—“ You draw back only to sink back in again, bottoming out and you know you hit it when his elbows slide out from under him, cheek against the bed. You pause, tip pressing against the prostate until he’s blabbering, voice going raw with desperation. “Baby! Baby, baby, baby, oh God—“

Guts tightening, you bite your lip, trying to hold back your own moan as he tries to jerk back. 

“You want me to move, baby?”

“Yes! Yes, please. Please, please, please.” His hand claws at his face, caging his mouth but doing nothing to muffle any of his noise as you push harder. His eyes roll back and you smirk, pulling back. “Baby!”

“Alright, alright. Since you asked so nicely.” And you sink into him, faster this time, hitting your mark so easily that when his moans arise, it’s only incentive for you to continue thrusting, your movements sloppy but quick. Hips against his ass, your fingers dig into his hips as he begins to rock back against you, settling into an unsteady rhythm only they can begin to understand.

You watch in delicious satisfaction as Armin falls apart, raising his ass higher, sinking deeper into his chest. A soft whine rises with every movement as he gasps out, “Harder,” and you nearly fucking lose yourself in the high-pitched rasp in his voice. His voice begins to thicken when you listen, and you catch sight of his cheek, glistening with tears.

“You close, baby?” you pant at the sight. Fuck, he’s so fucking pretty; it’s otherwordly. Your hips beginning to tire, the smack and slide of their skin the only other thing you can feel besides how hard and tight he is as he nods, red lip trapped between teeth. “Yeah? You’re doing so well, you know? God, I’m so proud of you.” He lets out a whiny mhm! A harsh throbbing between your legs, you squeeze his hips. “C’mon, baby. C’mon. You’re so pretty. Pretty boy crying for me.”

“God, I love you,” he cries out, body beginning to shake as his breath hitches in his throat sharply like a ragged gasp after nearly drowning. “I love you so much. Please, let me cum. I wanna be good. Lemme be good for you.”

Lurching forward, you plunge as deep as you can into him and he lets out a hoarse wail as you sink your teeth into his side, at his ribs. Your arms wrap around his waist, holding him flush against yourself and he shudders, head raised as he claws at the sheets, riding off his own orgasm on your strap, shamelessly, with reckless abandon and you press your face into his shoulder blade, rocking with his moves.

Soft, airy moans fill the silence as he stubbornly tries to keep going as he falls back on his knees, in some yoga pose you can’t remember the name of, and you draw yourself back up, shallowly rolling your hips against his until he’s crying into his arm, ears red, cheeks red, everything red and warm and slick.

Sighing, you finally pull out and he lets out a whimper at the loss. Sitting back on your ankles, you begin to unbuckle the strap, climbing over his shaking leg to grab the towel on their nightstand. Wiping off the lube and juices from the silicone, you glance over your shoulder at your dazed boyfriend, and a soft smile pulls at your mouth as he tries to catch his breath. Back rising and falling, he wipes at his face and you chuckle, abandoning your cleaning efforts to crawl over to his face. Leaning down to kiss his cheek, you hum.

“Pretty baby,” you murmur as his blue eyes rake over your face, down your body covered in a fine layer of sweat. You lay down beside him, mirroring his position so you’re on your stomach, chest resting on your forearm. Your other hand lifts, fingers brushing through hair that falls over his eyes lazily. His irises are still blown out with lust, the residual pleasure still occupying his face in how lax his face is, how he barely keeps his eyes open. “You okay?”

“More than okay.” His voice is nothing more than a mumble as he turns to plug his eyes with his forearm and you laugh, scooting closer to kiss his ear. “I dunno if I can walk tomorrow, though.”

“I did go a bit hard on you, didn’t I?”

“’S okay. I asked for it.” He lifts his head with a cold breath, and he looks at you again. “I wanted it. So badly. You did so good, baby.”

“A-Armin—“ His name is swallowed up by his lips and you let out a noise of surprise as he cups the back of your neck. Pushing you onto your back, he deepens the kiss and their legs tangle up as his other hand runs down your side. A soft moan spills out of your mouth into his as he trails inward, exploring the slick pooling down your legs. Without a second to waste, he sinks a finger in easily to the first knuckle, curling sinfully and your legs spasm against his.

“Maybe you liked it more than me,” he hums, lifting his mouth from yours. Before you can refute that claim, he’s travelling down your body, free hand adoring every single curve and line. You let out a small protest as he slips his finger out but it’s almost instantly replaced by his mouth suctioning onto your cunt. Heat splinters through your body and your legs wrap around his head immediately.

“Fuck, Armin,” you sigh, hands buried under the pillow above your head as he laps at your slit and when you raise your head to see him peering back, you groan at the sheen covering his chin and lips. His eyes are still blown out, darkened with lust, and he dips his mouth again as the coil inside you tightens and just seeing him beneath you again has your eyes rolling back. His hand squeezes your thigh as your breath hitches and you feel it coming, harsh, white, and hot.

Chest blistering tight, your eyes flutter shut and your fingers scrape at silk as your hips rut against his face. You’re so fucking close—fuck, fuck, fuck—

“Armin!” You let out a hoarse scream as he slams a hand over your mouth and your back arches as his other hand presses your hips down. Eyes rolling back, your hands wrap around his wrist as he sucks on your clit, massages you through the crashing waves that run through your body. Legs trembling, you try to move away but he only huffs a laugh, kissing your slit before licking a stripe up. The overstimulation makes you whine, shaking as he continues to tease you out, drinking you, eating you as if you’re his last meal on death row.

His name spills out of your mouth in shameless babbles, praises about how good he is for you coming out raw as you try to catch your breath but he won’t let you. Not even for a second. 

Armin only breathes you in—hums against your soaked thighs, biting gently on the flesh, and your hands fly to your face, one over your mouth, another over your eyes as a helpless, incoherent plea spills out of you. You feel the smirk in his cheeks as he pushes himself closer and your hips nearly lift but he pulls you back down to the bed, chuckling.

“Am I good boy now?” he asks huskily against your cunt. Shivers shoot up your spine and he inhales deeply, squeezing your thighs like he’s never seen something so fuckable. “Or do I need to prove it to you again?”

[clefairymuke]

Kylieeee. I fucking adore your work. I fuckiiiiing adoreee it omg. Probably the best dom Levi writer ever. I know your probably super busy with Eloquent right now but maybe we could have a part 2 of that nanny fic? With Levi taking our anal cherry? Or a seperate fic I don't really mind. I've just barely seen any dom Levi fics where he destroys our asses.

aaaa you're amazing!! ty so much!<3 dw about me being busy, i'm obsessed with smut requests rn. i hope you love it!!:)

nsfw under the cut

the nanny > pt. ii

<part i

PAIRING: levi x reader

WARNINGS: implied age gap, vag. sex, anal sex (f. recieving), fingering (f. recieving), overstimulation, dumbification, degradation, name calling, gangbang mention, finger sucking, choking, levi is mean, daddy kink, dom/sub, impact play, crying

WORD COUNT: 1.7K

↣ dilf!levi wants to see how far he can push his pretty little babysitter.

requests | masterlist | personal blog

Maybe you’re still totally fucked out from the first time, but Levi just cannot help himself. As you spot the clock in your peripheral, you count out another two or so hours before you should expect his wife to arrive home. You’re sure he’s just as aware of that fact as you are. It’s not long enough — like there is such a thing.

You’re on top of him despite your exhaustion, legs on either side of his hips. Judging by the way the head of his cock is pounding against the deepest, most touch-starved places inside your quivering cunt, he doesn’t mind that you’re practically limp — you’d go as far as to say that he prefers it. His hands knead roughly at your breasts as he fucks into you, stopping once in a while to toy with your nipples, or to land a hard smack against one of them just to hear the loud squeal you reply back with.

“Still so fucking wet for me,” Levi moans into your neck, letting his sharp, pearly whites prick into your skin and slapping one of your tits again. You stopped being able to think a long time ago, just whining out a hardly audible stream of please and daddy and Levi. “You still want to be used, filthy girl?”

A nod — you can manage a nod. Your head lolls up and down while his cock stays driving steadily into you; you could cum at any moment, and all he has to do is tell you that you can. It’s an overwhelming feeling, and it’s one you’ve battled for the past twenty or so minutes that he’s spent abusing your dripping, over-sensitive cunt. A jolt runs through you as you feel his middle finger, slick with spit, running a circle around the rim of the tight, untouched entrance a bit further back. “Are you sure about that?” he taunts, biting harshly at the sensitive skin beneath your ear.

All you can do is nod again. Seconds later, you’re face down on the soft mattress with your ass high in the air. The freezing chill of the lube pouring between your cheeks would have normally snapped you back to life, but you’re too far gone now. You feel the walls of your cunt stretch back around his now-familiar girth as Levi’s hand snakes around your leg to rub quick circles on your near-numbed clit, drawing a high-pitched, grateful moan from your mouth. The more it hurts to cum around his impossibly thick cock, the less you want to stop — though you can’t quite pinpoint how. He spreads you open a little wider, burying his length to the hilt and making the room spin around your tingling head before he speaks again. “Have you ever done this before?” he asks, popping a little smack on your swollen nub before returning to his torturous circles.

“No,” you whimper out, gasping when his thumb starts massaging your rim again. Mr. Ackerman’s cock — diamond wrapped in warm, slicked velvet as it drags along your tired walls — starts to stroke slower and deeper, keeping you nice and relaxed as the digit dips past the unbelievably tight ring guarding your virgin hole. As he submerges it to the knuckle, a beautifully overwhelming feeling runs all through your core, and a desperate whine rips through your heaving chest.

Levi fucks into you a little harder, feeling both of your holes clench around him as he leans down over you. “I knew you would love it,” he whispers in your ear. “My hungry little slut.” Another wonderfully painful, mindless orgasm shoots through you as he spanks your swollen clit a few more times, making your toes curl so hard you think they might be broken. “Wanna see if you can take my cock, baby?” he asks, planting wet kisses up and down your neck.

You nod again, murmuring, “Please, please, please,” as his violent assault on your clit continues to render you useless. His thumb pulls out from your silky walls although they threaten to hold him in, and you feel more of the cold, slippery lube pour over your hot skin. An intensely hollow chill rushes through your core as his cock slides out of you, the cool air stinging your abused pussy as his hand slides over the top of yours. Lacing your fingers together and attaching his lips to your earlobe, Levi lines himself up at your tight, slicked asshole, barely pressing himself against you.

“Are you ready, pretty girl? ‘S gonna hurt at first. I’ll try to start gentle,” he murmurs, slowing his circles on your clit until you moan just the way he likes it. Another drooling nod from you, and you feel his teeth flash into your neck. “Fuck, I want to keep you forever. Such a good little whore.” Two of his long fingers plunge into your cunt as his thumb stays pressed against your nub, fucking them into you slowly as the head of his dick pushes past the suffocating threshold. He lets out a low, animalistic growl in time with your surprised gasp.

Just the head is too much, but you push back on Mr. Ackerman’s thick cock regardless. The constant waves of pleasure from his fingers working away at your exhausted hole distract you from the pain as he slides in slowly, a long string of deep, raspy moans escaping his lips while he sheathes half of his massive length. A sense of fullness floods from your scalp to your toes, and you can’t help but let, “More, daddy,” sound from your aching throat as your nails dig deeper into the mattress. Levi’s grip on your hand gets tighter.

An intimidating chuckle slips out from the man behind you when he starts to move again, quicker to bury himself in your ass as the silky-textured walls choke his cock and your thighs shake beneath him. This time, he pulls his dripping fingers out of your pussy and returns to his harsh smacks against your clit. “Beg,” Mr. Ackerman demands, stopping an inch from the hilt and listening to every high-pitched yelp as he spanks your soaking cunt. It’s not fair — all you can do is moan — but he already knows that. He’s just looking for a reason to pop his palm against your engorged little nub more harshly. “You don’t know how to speak, do you? Ditzy little slut. Poke my leg if we need to stop, okay?” He waits for a nod, and you give it to him. “This is the part where I make you cry for me, princess,” Levi promises, putting his hand on either of your ass cheeks and spreading them so far apart it stings.

His cock plunges in to the hilt, and you see fucking stars. What once were whines are starting to sound more like screams of ecstasy as he starts thrusting into you roughly, each stroke slow but hard as he pulls your ass back to meet his hips halfway. “You like that, huh?” he taunts, smacking your ass with one hand before gripping it tight again. Your endless moans answer the question for you. “Nasty little bitch. You’d lay here and take it all day long.” Levi laughs to himself as he starts to pick up the pace, using one hand to shove your face into the mattress. “I should have a few friends over next time Petra’s out, yeah? We’ll see how much my pretty girl can handle. Pass you around for a night.”

Sliding out of your ass, Mr. Ackerman flips you over roughly, grabbing your ankles hard enough to leave red rings around them as he yanks you to the edge of the bed and steps gracefully off the side. He pushes your legs together and straightens them, your feet ending up just below his chin as he wraps his strong arm around tight. His hand closes around your throat, eliciting a few gags as he pushes back into your still-resistant hole and submerges his length completely.

This new position makes you feel even tighter around him, your core pulsing as another orgasm approaches from the feeling of fullness alone. Before you can process it, he’s pounding into you relentlessly, holding your shaking legs still as you suffer yet another vision-whiting, ear-popping orgasm under Levi’s brutal care. “Shit,” he moans, lips hanging apart as he stares down at your crossing, watering eyes. “You’re so tight for me.” Two of his fingers shove into your mouth when his hand leaves your neck, tickling the back of your throat. “Give me one more, sweetheart. I know you can. Just one more.”

Salty tears start to slide down your cheeks as his cock drives into you, one of his hands going to your already-tortured clit to rub more methodical circles. Every ruthless thrust into your used asshole sends a muffled scream vibrating through Mr. Ackerman’s fingers, your legs falling to rest on either of his shoulders as he lets them loose. “Ah, Levi — Need to cum, daddy,” you mumble, half gibberish as he pushes his digits further down your throat.

“You can cum. I got you, baby. Let me have it,” he coos, his thrusts getting sloppy as his own orgasm approaches. You climax together, his hot, sticky fluid filling up your ass as you clench around him, his name the only word on your lips as Levi lets you release for the final time. It’s the only word you know.

Although he turns you on your side and cuddles up close, Mr. Ackerman doesn’t pull out of your throbbing hole. He leaves it in, feeling every little twitch and squeeze around his dick as you drift off for a nap. You keep it nice and warm for him for another half hour as you sleep before he can finally convince himself to shake you awake and take you to the shower.

As your numbed mind starts to return to normal and Levi works the expensive, floral shampoo through your hair, you can still feel his cum leaking out of you.

[horatio-fig]

I studied something called Toxic Beta Masculinity for my Dissertation. I covered toxic fan culture, gatekeeping and incels, inspired by my experiences in the Star Wars Community. I could talk for hours about so much stuff, but I want to talk about Syril Karn.  

I basically studied men like him, so seeing it playing out on my screen every week has been truly wonderful. TV and film only ever show the extreme vilified side of things when actually, it’s much more subtle and nuanced and harder to spot in real life.  

(I’m gonna use some very broad statements here but I can clarify anything if people want. I want to make it very clear I am not defending anyone’s behaviour, this is just purely my take from an academic point of view)

What we’re seeing is something called Toxic Beta or Toxic Geek Masculinity. Masculinity is not bad. When you break down the core values of what makes a ‘successful man’ a lot of them are positive.

They’re things like “be able to provide for your loved ones”, “be physically fit and healthy”, “Protect your loves ones”. This translates to simply, have a partner, have a good job so you have money, have money so you can buy a house, etc. People who can do these things are categorised as Alpha males, those who cannot are Beta.  

(Again, using very broad terms here)  

Due to modern life, ‘Beta males’ are becoming a lot more common. A lot of us can’t afford our own place so we have to move in with our parents. It’s a lot harder to find any sort of job, and finding a good paying one is almost impossible. We’re stuck in bad jobs, living with our parents, making barely enough money to survive.  

Just because you are in that situation, does not mean you are toxic. But it's very easy to fall into that trap.  

Toxic Beta masculinity happens when these men realise that they do not possess the traditional masculine tropes. But instead of accepting that, they choose to vilify and blame those who do have them, or decide it’s someone else's fault. However, they’re not going to try and attack alpha males, because they are higher up than them. So, they instead project hate towards people who they think are below them (women, POC, Queer people) This is why the Star Wars Community has such problems with bigotry and it’s where gatekeeping comes from. (I’ll probably do a more in-depth post about this one day) Sometimes it’s malicious, but a lot of the time it is subconscious and they won’t realise they’re even doing it.

But, we’re not talking about that, we’re talking about Syril.  

Going back to the living with parents and no money thing. Millennials and younger generations will very likely never own property or make investments. After our living expenses, we are left with very little money and very little time to indulge in our hobbies. So, we have the choice to try and save up, or, what mostly happens is, we invest our money and time into something that brings us joy or we deem important.  

However, when we do this, we’re essentially deciding that our passion for something outweighs everything else and naturally we get defensive and over protective over the things we love. This passion can manifest itself in different ways, from a need to become an expert in it, to a need to lash out and be aggressive.  

Syril is this situation now. His life has started to crumble and worst of all he can pinpoint the exact moment when it happened. He can see all the people who are to blame, Cassian for killing his crew, His mother for pushing him too much, Meero for not letting him get any further in the investigation. The fact that all of these people are minorities is subtle, but very important.  

(He has nothing but respect for the older white men of authority he runs into, whether it be his old boss, or his new one, and always does as he’s told. But when it comes to people who are ’lesser’ than him, he feels that entitlement to take what he wants. Yes, he respects Meero as an officer, but not enough to respect her boundaries.)

We see he has figurines in his room, much like a lot of us do. He has become obsessed with justice and fighting for what is right in his own warped way and he has started to become fixated and defensive about it. His beta masculinity is starting to become toxic.

He is not an Incel, he is not a racist bigot or a raging misogynist. Yet. He has the capacity to be all these things, but that doesn't mean it’s set in stone. There are all the pieces for a truly great redemption story, or a truly powerful descent into villainhood. We’ll just have to see how the writers choose to go.  

I hope Star Wars Fans watch Andor and see themselves in Syril, and view his descent as a warning. I am not ‘defending incels’ or playing devil's advocate, but there are a lot of stages before someone gets to that point that I think people need to be more aware of so that you can spot it in yourself, or in someone else and act before it’s too late. You can stop radicalization, but it is very hard to undo it.

Anyway, it’s truly wonderful seeing the thing you studied and nearly went insane over being portrayed on TV and being portrayed in such a brilliant way. People are not binary, there is no black and white, no one is 100% good or bad. Anyone is open to radicalization. Andor has captured this better than any piece of media I have ever seen and I am so grateful for its existence.

[dialovers-translations]

Diabolik Lovers LOST EDEN ー Shuu Ecstasy [07]

CHAPTER MASTERLIST

ー The scene starts on an open field

Yuma: ...Uu...

*Rustle rustle*

Yuma: Ah...? The fuck...?

( Where am...? )

ー A flashback ensues

Vibora B: Yes. This man is a rebel...He deserves no better than to be publicly humiliated like this.

*Thud*

*Caw caw caw*

Yuma: ...

Vibora A: How dare you kill Zweig-sama...Now perish as soon as possible!

Yuma: ...

*Flap flap flap*

*TIMESKIP*

Yuma: Uu...

Ugh...It’s cold...

( ...Seems like I survived somehow... )

( I better run while I can... )

ー The flashback ends

Yuma: ( Sure, I got away and all but where am I...? )

*Caw caw caw*

Yuma: ...Ugh, what’s up with this place? Smells like shit in here...

*Caw caw caw*

Monologue

It took a few days,

before the Familiar sent out by Shuu-san,

managed to pinpoint Kino-kun’s location.

ー The scene shifts to the big hall at Eden

Yui: Rotigenberg...? 

( I’ve never heard of that place before, but I guess that’s where Kino is. )

Selection

→ Ask for further explanation (❦)

Yui: Is Kino-kun by himself?

Shuu: No, I don’t believe that. It seems like Rotigenberg is pretty much his homeland. 

Yui: ( Homeland...Which means that Kino-kun would be at an advantage, right? )

( I’m worried... )

→ Stay quiet

Yui: ...

Kou: Is Kino all by himself? Or does he have allies...? 

Shuu: Allies...? I guess he probably has. It seems like Rotigenberg is pretty much his homeland. 

Kou: Then we should probably approach with caution...

Azusa: But...I can’t wait any longer. Let’s quickly depart... 

Shuu: ...Yeah, you’re right. But I don’t think it’s a good idea for all of us to go together. 

Reiji: In that case, I shall go. Rotigenberg...I have heard about it before. 

Shuu: No. Reiji, you will stay behind. 

Reiji: ...Here? But why...? 

Shuu: I’ve decided that if something were to happen to me, I will pass these powers down to you. 

So I’d rather not have you follow me without permission like you did the other day.

Reiji: ...

Shuu: ...If anything, I feel like that would have been the best outcome from the very beginning.

No matter how you look at it, you’re much more suited to be a King than I am.

I feel like you’d do a better job at handling these powers than me as well. 

Reiji: ...Such nonsense. For one, I do not deserve those powers. 

Shuu: ...

...Don’t tell me you’re still hung up over that? 

Don’t you think it’s time to put it behind us? That guy too... 

Reiji: ...

ー Reiji walks away

Yui: Um, Shuu-san? What did you mean with ‘that’?

Shuu: Of course, I was referring to Edgar...The thing with Yuma.

Yuma himself even forgave him. Also...I’m pretty sure Reiji has atoned for his crimes plenty as well. 

Yui: ...Yeah.

Monologue

Shuu-san was as curt (素っ気ない) as ever.

However, it became clear to me,

that Shuu-san had already moved on,

and forgiven Reiji,

for everything which happened between them in the past.

Reiji-san left,

without speaking a single word. 

However, I’m fairly certain that when he left,

I spotted the faintest hint of happiness in his expression (表情). 

ーー TO BE CONTINUED ーー

[arty-shadow-morningstar]

Graveyard Siblings (6)

Class revenge. And mention of suicide.

[Masterlist]

(Part 1)(Part 5)

------

Normal class day and most of the class was still together. This is set after the class’s trip to Gotham.

Alix and Chloe had transferred to another class or a different school. There were a few new students but they transferred out within a week, when they all had tried to point out Lila’s lies and the class picked on them on Lila’s behalf.

Class is still taught by Mme. Bustier.

She rolled-calls and somehow Marinette’s name was on there and she just absentmindedly read it.

“Marinette Dupain-Cheng”

“Present.” A cheery voice said.

Goes to the next name before everyone froze and looked at the source of the voice which was where they exiled Marinette to before her ‘suicide’.

There she was. An older-looking Marinette who would look the same age as them as if she was still alive, her longer hair was in a high ponytail and her clothes were switched out from her usual pink to red and black and had a more mature look that was stylish instead of cute.

She wore her signature bright grin but the sight of it brought chills down everyone’s spines.

Lila thought that it was her curse kicking in and since she hadn't seen Marinette until then, fainted on the spot, thinking she was finally going to be killed.

“M-ma-marinette. What are you doing here?”

“What do you mean?” Older Marinette said with a confused face. “Oh. You mean why am I not late? First time for everything, I guess. I am not late today so Yay for me.” She giggles but everyone else thinks that it sounds terrifying.

“But this is impossible. You simply can’t be here.” Max said, “Odds of you still alive are zero.”

“Can’t I? I mean I woke up early and got here on time. What is impossible about me being early? I would normally be a zombie during the morning, Max but nice one.”

Some students checked their phones for akumas. Hawkmoth had mysteriously disappeared around Marinette’s death making a few rumours about Marinette being Hawkmoth floating around. (Lila was the first to suggest that as a theory.)

Mme Bustier cleared her throat, terrified out of her mind and scared that if she provoked the ‘ghost’ of her former star student, there would be consequences like the horror movies. But she was not going to let it hurt any of her students.

“Marinette, there must have been a misunderstanding. You should be home.”

“Why?’

“Because um...you are... you are sick and you don’t want to infect your fellow classmates, right?”

“Hm..I feel fine but now that you mention it, I feel a little dizzy. I think I am going to take the day off.”

The rest of the class murmured in agreement, scared not to offend the ‘ghost’. A few of the girls like Mylene had tears running down their cheeks. Horror movies logic dictates that you should not remind the ghost that they are dead or make them angry.

Juleka was half-scared out of her mind for Rose who was also crying and herself and also half-excited, even though Marinette might be a vengeful ghost, there is still a ghost in their classroom.

Mme Bustier started muttering prayers under her breath.

Marinette packed up her things and was out of her seat when Adrien came into the class.

He was held up because he started sneezing non-stop this morning. Turns out Natalie had some black feathers on her.

He sees Marinette in the back row.

“Ma-Marinette! How are you here?!” to which everyone in the class sans Lila who was still passed out, shushed at him.

Ignoring them, he blurted out, “You are dead.”

The word echoed through the classroom. It was silent for a moment and you could hear a pin drop.

“Dead? What do you mean dead?” Marinette took a step down the stairs, the perfect picture of confusion but her eyes seemed a little crazed and Adrien took a step back, the word ‘Traitor’ carved into his back started burning.

Everyone in their seats shifted slightly away from her. Some considered making a run for the door but they didn’t want to draw attention and face the ghost’s wrath. They all mimed at Adrien to stop.

He ignored them again. “Don’t pretend you are innocent. You did this to me. YOU MADE ME LOSE EVERYTHING. EVERYTHING. YOU SHOULD HAVE STAYED DEAD. I DON’T REGRET KILLING YOU FOR THE HORRIBLE PERSON YOU ARE, LADYBUG. YOU DESERVED TO DIE FOR WHAT YOU DID.”

Realizing what he said, he covered his mouth, hoping it would somehow fix the damage he had done.

Marinette smirked. The picture of innocence gone.

It took a moment for what Adrien’s outburst meant to register in their heads.

Adrien, in an attempt to get back into their good graces, had once claimed to be Chat Noir, the ‘hero’ of Paris. They had brushed him off. If what he had said was correct then that meant that they drove Marinette who was Ladybug to kill herself. Horrible realization sets in as it meant that Hawkmoth won.

Lila chose that moment to came back to the land of the living to scream bloody murder once she saw Marinette again.

The scream brought everyone out of their trance from their shock and started screaming or yelling.

The windows slammed open and the wind whipped. The doors of the classroom closed shut with a loud bang. The clouds were dark outside and there were some flashes of lighting and thunder. (Thank you Longg.)

Marinette’s hair was undone and whipped around her. Her eyes were glowing blue. As she started laughing at the chaos she had unleashed, the class and Mme Bustier ducked for cover and hid under their desks. Except for Adrien and Lila.

Lila, fueled by anger, pounced at the ravenette but was thrown against the classroom wall before she even had a chance to lay a hand. Fell down and appeared to be knocked out. Alya made a move to check up on her.

Adrien was thrown back against the floor when the strong winds started. The scars on his back were burning with a lot of intensity now and it was a miracle that he still hasn’t passed out from the pain.

Unknown to him, the words were glowing red and seen through his shirt. Mme Bustier, Nino, Sabrina and Nathaniel were the few that saw the bright red letters spelling out ‘TRAITOR’ on Adrien’s back as he got back up.

“Marinette, this isn’t you. Milady, please.”

“Shut up.” She flicked her wrist, sending Adrien against the teacher’s desk. He hit it hard and was knocked out like Lila.

Alya after making sure that Lila was fine. “Marinette, stop this. I know that you are probably mad at Adrien for killing you but we never did anything to you.”

“Never did anything?! Never did anything? Hah. What about the time that you slapped me in the face in front of the entire school and said our friendship was over? You called me names. You said that I deserve every bruise you gave me. The rest of you weren’t any better.” She turned around and with the flick of her wrist, the heavy desks were in the air, robbing anyone of a hiding place.

“You stood by and allowed it to happen. You destroyed my stuff, claiming I deserve it. My sketchbook, filled with commissions, torn and stepped on like trash. You all crossed a line that Chloe didn’t even dare and you call it the right thing to do. Hypocrites all of you. Some of you have known me since l'école primaire. What was it about me that you believed her over me?! ”

What happened next was all a blur to everyone, there was a lot of screaming involved, some blood, lightning and thunder everywhere and then, black.

Nino opened his eyes to see Alya peacefully sleeping on her desk. What happened?...Oh Crap I fell asleep. The last thing I remember was….MARINETTE!

Nino snapped his head up. And saw the rest of the class and Mme. Bustier asleep in their respective places.

But there was a sense of wrongness. Something was off... and he can’t pinpoint on what.

The bell rang, startling everyone awake. Nino checked the time. And crap did they all sleep through the first period?! Turning towards his now-awake girlfriend, “Hey Alya, Alya, what do you remember?”

He was surprised to see red eyes like she had been crying. “I- I- I had the weirdest dream. Marinette was there, like she never died and she… why are you looking at me like that?”

“Don’t freak out but I don’t think it was a dream.”

On the rooftop, above the classroom, a red clad figure lounged at the edge with her airpods in and chuckling to herself.

-----

Marinette didn’t torture them. Scared the hell out of them, sure but it was harmless. Mostly. She left carved words on everyone’s wrists which no one else but the class can see. (This one is more mental than anything.)

The scars are unique depending on how close they were to Marinette before she died. Most of the class had the word ‘friend’ crossed out. FRIEND

Nino and Kim had Childhood friends. It serves as a painful reminder of how long they had known the girl.

Alya was a special case with BEST FRIEND and ‘A good reporter always checks her sources’ underneath it. She remembers saying those words to Marinette a long time ago, back when she thought she knew Marinette.

Mme Busitier had Best Teacher and when she was in the comfort of her own home, saw ‘Bully Enabler’ on her other wrist.

Adrien and Lila were questioned as they weren’t the only ones with scars on their wrists. (Although Lila had LIAR written in big letters across her forehead with a sharpie and a drawn-on-moustache of a cartoon villain.)

Nino managed to get the class to back off on Adrien and later to pull him aside to explain about the scars on his back and why did Ladybug (who was apparently Marinette this whole time and she was dead... he thinks.) called him ‘Traitor’?

Adrien told Nino everything. The curse didn’t interfere so for the first time in months, Adrien was able to say the truth.

-----

That was also the day that Lila’s reign finally ended.

The class had suspected for a while about her lies and false promises. There were a few inconsistencies in the beginning that were overlooked and brushed off as Lila’s memory problems.

They all had for the first two years had defended Lila against anyone (mainly Marinette) who thought she was a liar. Lila herself made sure that her lies were believable, actually putting in research for once in her life and planting evidence here and there about her achievements with a few faked articles. They staunchly believed her lies until Marinette’s death.

With her main enemy finally down and everyone else who opposed her, lost their morale along with their ally, Lila stopped putting in the efforts to make her lies seem real and then the cracks of her kingdom began forming.

At first, the students of Mme Bustier class believed them but the stories soon seemed like bragging but they were too polite to point it out to their ‘nice’ and ‘shy’ classmates.

Lila began making mistakes from her lack of research and a few of them later pointed out the few inconsistencies but they were brushed off as memory lapses.

More and more of these ‘memory lapses’ happened more often and soon, most of the class had their suspicion of Lila.

They were just in denial of Lila lying to them.

A few like Max, Nathaniel, Juleka and Sabrina who finally find out that Lila was lying and confront her about it were threatened and they were too afraid to do anything.

After all, Marinette had tried to disprove them and look where she is now. Six feet under.

And the ‘ghost attack’ from Marinette was the final straw.

The class tried to help Lila get rid of the sharpie, especially the one on her forehead and Alya made a comment how it was so typical of Marinette despite being dead and some half-heartedly agreeing.

Max, frustrated that his friends still can’t see it that Lila is a liar and they were the ones who drove Marinette to death that she is now haunting them and it was all their fault, took out his detailed research to disprove Lila’s lies. Nathaniel, Sabrina and Juleka spoke up and brought out their own research. The seeds of doubts which had been planted the past years were finally sprouting

A while later, the entire class was in chaos, everyone was shouting at Lila, some of them were shouting at Adrien, Alya being in complete denial and Mme. Bustier trying to maintain the peace.

Unknown to them, the camera in the classroom was being live streamed to a screen in a room in Le Grand Paris, complete with audio as a group of teenagers watched the chaos unfold.

“You know.” Chloe said, “I thought it was hilarious when you went all bloody mary on them but this shit is way more entertaining.”

Maria smiled, satisfaction on her face as she snatched some popcorn from Alix. “Oh, I had fun. Took years but Lila is finally getting what is coming to her. In about an hour, Signora Rossi is going to come through the door with the police.”

“What did you do, M?”

“Let’s just say the Italian Embassy and the French Police got an anonymous tip this morning about Lila Rossi and the incidents following her around the schools she had attended in the past couple of years.”

“No..” Alix gasped.

Maria just smirked.

-----

Gabriel was freaking out when Adrien came home and told him about what happened to his class.

He did not need another ghost attack on top of everything else.

First, Afterlife had managed to steal some (read: a lot) of Gabriel’s investors and Gabriel’s shares were plummeting.

Secondly, there were a few important documents leaked onto the internet, showing a few suspicious purchases which had the brand and himself under scrutiny.

Third, Natalie told him about her recent condition which occurs during the night and raised a few suspicious glances from Emilie when there was a raven in the house while Gabriel wanted to see proof of this transformation.

Lastly, Emilie had been poking around about the years she was in her coma and it was sheer luck that she hadn't found out about Hawkmoth and connected the dots.

He called up John again to complain that it didn’t work and asked for a refund or face a lawsuit. John pointed out that the spell only worked in the house and kept ghosts out of it and other places were free game.

Needless to say, Gabriel pulled Adrien out of school to be homeschooled again and made sure Emilie stayed inside, no matter what.

The longer Natalie stayed as a raven, the whiter Gabriel’s head of hair became and he was beginning to lose hair at a very fast rate.

----

(Part 7)

I swear I didn't mean to forget tagging you guys.

Taglist: @local-witch-of-mn, @ladyqnoirr, @lolieg, @istoleyourcookies

[starseedfxofficial]

Stochastic RSI Meets the Falling Wedge: The Trade Setup You Can't Afford to Miss Stochastic RSI and the Falling Wedge: A Love Story Worth Trading Picture this: you're strolling through the unpredictable streets of Forex Market-ville, latte in one hand, trading platform in the other, when suddenly you stumble upon a falling wedge pattern and your trusty Stochastic RSI whispers in your ear, "Hey, this could be something." It's a tale as old as trading itself—like a good romantic comedy, but with fewer flowers and more potential profit. Today, I'm taking you behind the scenes to unravel the magic between the Stochastic RSI and the Falling Wedge. It's like pairing peanut butter with jelly, or for us traders, like pairing a solid entry signal with that warm feeling you get when your trade hits profit. I promise you: by the end of this piece, you'll not only understand why these two make such a good pair, but you'll also see how to wield them like a ninja of the Forex world. What's the Deal with the Falling Wedge? Let's kick things off with the star of our show: the Falling Wedge. Imagine a wedge-shaped pattern that, instead of making your car stick to a hill, points to your trading account sticking to new heights. The Falling Wedge occurs when price action is consistently pushing lower, but with less enthusiasm—kind of like a toddler running out of steam at bedtime. The lines converge as volatility decreases, setting the stage for a potential breakout. And when the breakout finally happens? It's like finding a $20 bill in an old coat pocket—pure joy. But here's the twist: Most traders think it's a bearish continuation. Nope. It’s a reversal signal that signals a bullish breakout when you least expect it. The falling wedge loves surprises more than a bad plot twist on reality TV. Spotting the Wedge Without Falling for Fakeouts Falling wedges love drama, and sometimes they’ll tease you with fake breakouts. To avoid these heartbreaks, keep an eye on volume. If volume picks up during the breakout, that's the equivalent of crowd applause—the market's way of saying, "This is the real deal." And don't forget: patience is your best trading buddy here. Wait for the candle to close above the resistance before jumping in like a kid at a waterpark. Meet the Stochastic RSI: Your Friendly Market Whisperer You’re probably wondering: how do I know when the market's finally ready to throw me a bone? Cue the Stochastic RSI. This beautiful indicator combines the Relative Strength Index (RSI) with the Stochastic Oscillator to give you those crucial overbought and oversold signals. It’s basically a reliability meter—sort of like when your dog hears you opening a bag of chips and immediately knows what's up. The Stochastic RSI can pinpoint moments of price exhaustion, which is a huge hint that something big—a breakout—could be brewing. So, if you catch the Stochastic RSI sitting comfortably in the oversold region while the falling wedge starts to tighten up, get ready. It’s like the perfect meet-cute before the big kiss in a rom-com—except in this story, you get to (hopefully) collect some pips. How to Nail the Setup: The Magic Formula Okay, let’s put the theory into practice. Here’s the step-by-step guide to becoming the Ryan Reynolds of Forex (smooth and always on the mark): - Spot the Wedge: Look for a downtrend where the highs and lows are converging, like two long-lost lovers getting closer together over time. - Check Your Stochastic RSI: See if it’s chilling down in the oversold area. If so, you're getting the green light for a potential trend change. - Confirm Volume: A true breakout has volume on its side. Like all good friendships, the market’s breakout needs a lot of support. - Wait for the Break: This is the part where you wait. Don’t go all-in just because the price touched the resistance line. Wait for it to close above the line. Trust me—nothing says "I want to lose money" like getting into a trade during a premature breakout. - Profit Target and Stop Loss: Set a target by measuring the widest part of the wedge and projecting it upwards. Your stop loss should be just below the recent low—because, well, safety first. Wedge Patterns: Why Most Traders Get It Wrong Here’s a fun fact: Most traders lose money trading wedge patterns. Why? They’re either too impatient or don’t confirm with indicators. That’s like trying to eat spaghetti with your fingers—technically possible, but you’re just making a mess of things. Combining Stochastic RSI with the Falling Wedge helps stack the odds in your favor, so you’re not just guessing. Instead, you’re making educated decisions with a bit of humor thrown in (because hey, if you’re not laughing through the red days, you’re crying—and nobody wants that). Avoiding Common Pitfalls Trading is full of pitfalls—kind of like dodging potholes after a long winter. Here are a few quick tips to keep you on track: - Don’t Rush It: There’s a reason they say patience is a virtue—it’s also a profitable trading strategy. - Use Confirmation: The market loves to trick traders, and false breakouts are its favorite prank. Use multiple indicators for confirmation. - Stick to Your Plan: Don’t move your stop loss because you think it’ll "probably bounce back." That’s like convincing yourself that one more donut won’t hurt. Spoiler alert: it will. Ninja Moves with the Stochastic RSI and Falling Wedge Want to take it up a notch? Here are a few advanced moves: - Divergence Is Your Friend: Look for divergence between the Stochastic RSI and the price movement. If the price makes lower lows, but the Stochastic RSI makes higher lows, you’ve got divergence, which often precedes a trend reversal. It's like a subtle wink from the market saying, "Get ready." - Multiple Timeframes: Always use multiple timeframes. The wedge that looks like it’s ready to burst on a 15-minute chart might look like it needs another nudge on the 1-hour chart. Think of it like zooming in on Google Maps—context is everything. The Falling Wedge pattern and Stochastic RSI are the classic Forex power couple—together, they can help identify excellent opportunities while keeping you out of low-probability trades. The key takeaway here? Don’t just rely on one factor when trading. Like the famous relationship therapist Dr. Phil (or was it Dr. Forex?), it’s all about balance and teamwork. Next time you spot that beautiful wedge, remember to call in your trusted sidekick, the Stochastic RSI. Use these tools with patience, humor, and a dash of skepticism, and you’ll be avoiding those common pitfalls and hitting profit targets like a true market ninja. —————– Image Credits: Cover image at the top is AI-generated Read the full article